Faythe grinned in answer, grateful for the change in topic to shift the mood. Her stomach grumbled loudly at the mention of food, and as soon as Jakon was freshened up from the farm, they swiftly left the hut.
They strolled lazily together down the quiet street toward the harbor. Torches lining the buildings aided the fading sunlight as it finished its descent over the horizon. At Harbor Hall, they were guided to a table by the window overlooking the sea. This time, Marlowe and Jakon scooted into the booth together, and Faythe sat opposite them. She had been worried about feeling out of place in the trio, but it surprised her just how comfortable she was. They dined and laughed and talked about everything and anything. She relished in the normalcy and joy at seeing her friends so carefree.
She hadn’t realized just how much she missed and needed this. If she was going to learn how to control her anger and sadness to become more in tune with her abilities, the key was balance.
Their spirits were elated, and Faythe felt drunk on laughter as they paid their bill and left, making the short walk back home. But as they rounded the last corner before the hut, Faythe stiffened, all joyous feelings snuffed out in an instant. Marlowe noticed the change where their arms joined and followed her gaze.
The trio faced another force of three walking toward them from the bottom of the street. Two fae guards…led by Captain Varis. Marlowe said nothing but subtly pulled Faythe closer into her side as if sensing her fear. Faythe tried to keep her eyes fixed on the ground and not pay them any attention, hoping the captain wouldn’t remember their last encounter. But his dark voice rumbled through her mind.
“Look at me, girl.”
A show of dominance. He wanted her to look at him as they passed, to taste the fear in her eyes and prove to himself he had succeeded in evoking the terror he wished upon his inferiors. She knew that if she didn’t oblige, he would stop them and physically try to satisfy his sadistic desire for violence.
When the guards were only a foot away, she forced her eyes up to meet his. She didn’t balk at his black stare, though the waves of hatred and malice that radiated off him turned her stomach, nearly knocking her off-balance. At seeing her defiant stance, a flash of rage stabbed her chest. His rage.
Maybe she was foolish for not giving him the reaction he wanted, but in that moment, her own vexation took over from logic and rational thinking. She would not cower. Never again.
They held each other’s stares as they passed, arms almost grazing, one second feeling like a lifetime. When Varis didn’t stop to punish Faythe, she released a long breath and offered Marlow a weak smile as her friend squeezed her arm. It seemed she’d managed to pass the encounter off as her general wariness of the fae. A wariness everyone had, and justifiably so.
“It’s as if they have nothing better to do with their immortal existence than invoke fear and stand pretty,” Marlowe quipped once the guards had passed.
Jakon laughed at her lighthearted comment, and just like that, Faythe banished all thoughts from the past few minutes, remembering the great night she’d had with the best company instead. Back at home, she hugged Marlowe good night before Jakon walked her to the other side of town as usual. Then, safe and tucked up in bed, for the first time in a long time, Faythe fell asleep with a smile on her face and glee in her heart.
Chapter 24
The following day was a series of pastry deliveries, pleasant chatter, and Marie complaining Faythe wasn’t focused when she messed up a couple of orders. Her scolding was justified. Faythe’s mind was elsewhere today—on the fight that loomed closer with every tick of her watch. She’d barely put the thing down, checking relentlessly as the hands drew closer and closer to the ten o’clock mark when she’d meet Ferris down Crow’s Lane.
When she got home after the workday, she sat at the kitchen table and made herself look immersed in the book splayed out in front of her. Her foot tapped nervously against the wood, the only sound echoing through the painful silence as she waited for the door to swing open, announcing Jakon’s arrival. But he was late.
Jakon was usually quite punctual with his return time of eight o’clock, but it was approaching half past nine, and Faythe was starting to grow worried. He’d been late home before, when work had needed him for an extra hour or so. It was just her luck this would be one of those days.
At the sudden creak of the door, Faythe jumped up—but it was only Marlowe who strolled across the threshold, and her disappointment was obvious.
“He’s not home yet?” she asked, brow furrowed.
Faythe shook her head and huffed as she sat back down.
“What time do you have to be there?”
“Ten,” Faythe muttered, checking her watch yet again.
“Go change—I’ll distract him from coming through if he gets home.” She ushered Faythe to her feet.
Faythe was wary but nodded and retreated into the bedroom to slip into her new attire. Discarding her tunic and pants, she stepped into the suit, pulling it up and sliding her arms into the long, tight sleeves. When she zipped it up, she took a moment to marvel at the feel and fit as it became like a thick second skin. Around her forearms, bodice, and knees, the material was reinforced but blended in with the gritty matte texture of the rest. A fixed belt went around the hips, and she noted the various slots for potential daggers and other weapons.
Although she owned no mirror big enough to see herself, Faythe knew the suit was stunning. She would have to thank Ferris. She was sure he expected her to pay him back through her earnings if she was successful, but she had to give him credit for his taste and for matching her fit perfectly.
She had just slid into the boots when she heard the front door swing open, followed by shuffling and the murmur of voices. Faythe swore, throwing the rest of the items back under her bed. She looked around wildly to find something to conceal herself from Jakon. With minimal options, she decided to quickly throw her bedsheets back and slide herself in, tucking them up under her chin.
She closed her eyes, feigning sleep as the voices grew closer.
“I think she wasn’t feeling too well and headed to bed,” she heard Marlowe say louder than necessary, and Faythe knew it was really intended for her ears. She thanked the Spirits her brilliant friend had come up with a similar excuse to her own in the heat of the moment.
The door to the bedroom creaked, and Faythe slowly peeled her eyes open, trying to muster a drowsy, disoriented appearance. “Hey, Jak,” she said hoarsely.
His face fell with concern as he took her in. “Sorry I was late home. They kept me back for extra work.”
She gave him a weak smile. “It’s okay. I’m only going to sleep anyway. I don’t feel so good.”
“We can stay in tonight, make sure you’re—”
“I’m fine, Jak. Go have a nice night together,” she insisted a little too quickly. She didn’t know what time it was now, but she was sure she would be late if she didn’t leave very soon.
He opened his mouth, about to protest further, but Marlowe chimed in, “I had something planned for us tonight. I made sure Faythe was seen to and tucked in before you got home.”
She dared a look at her friend that would show her gratitude. It wouldn’t be easy for Marlowe to keep this from Jakon either.
He gave her a grateful smile and then turned his attention back to Faythe. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Absolutely stellar.” She grinned, hoping that would be enough to convince him. With a final glance, he nodded and turned to leave.
Marlowe flashed her a wink and mouthed, “Good luck,” before following him out of the bedroom.
Faythe stayed in bed for an anxious few minutes more until she heard their mumbled voices fade and, finally, the last click of the front door closing behind them. She didn’t waste a second before whipping back the covers and launching herself up. Fitting Lumarias swiftly across her back, she pushed the gloves on and slipped the scarf around her neck, deciding she wouldn’t cover herself fully just yet
so she wouldn’t look too inconspicuous on her short journey to Crow’s Lane.
Swinging her new black cloak over her shoulders, she darted out of the hut and became a living shadow, blending in seamlessly with the dark night. She was a stroke of black smoke as she weaved through the streets with feline precision. The suit granted her a new freedom of movement she had been missing out on in combat. Not a single piece rubbed or itched, and despite its thick material, she felt utterly weightless.
She rounded the corner onto Crow’s Lane, suitably named as one of the darkest alleys in town where crows feasted on discarded scraps from the inn and butchers. The sounds and smells were vile enough that no one ever took this route if they could help it.
She could only faintly make out a figure leaning sideways halfway down the alley. She prayed it was Ferris and not some unfriendly foe. After all, she would have little chance of defending herself in this darkness, and her cries wouldn’t be heard from down here either.
The figure pushed off the wall as Faythe neared. “I was starting to worry you’d bailed,” Ferris jested, though it was with no small amount of impatience.
She stopped in front of him and began to make out his features as her eyes adjusted. “I’m here, aren’t I?” she retorted.
“Indeed.” He looked her over in admiration. “How exquisite you look, Faythe. Like death incarnate.”
She shifted. “Who would have thought you had taste?”
“The suit is straight from Rhyenelle. The female warrior fae wear such a garment. It was not an easy thing to get hold of.”
She gaped at the mention of the legendary warriors of Rhyenelle. Their legions of mixed-gender fighters rivaled even those of High Farrow. Suddenly, Faythe felt very unworthy of the garment and considered removing it immediately to avoid insulting such skilled combatants.
“A simple black leather pants and tunic would have sufficed,” she mumbled.
He shrugged. “If you plan to be the best, you should look it. And I expect you to pay it back and then some. Tonight even, perhaps.” He gave her a cunning grin.
She swallowed hard. No pressure then.
He continued, “We go in, you don’t speak to anyone. I’ll do all the talking. You need only show up, put on a performance, and leave. I’ll deal with the rest. Got it?” His voice was stern. This was business to him, and she was his wild card.
Her nod was her only answer, nerves swallowing her ability to speak.
“Don’t act cocky. Don’t show off. The less people bet on you, the more money in our pockets, understood?”
Hustling—that was his plan. Faythe didn’t have the option to back out now, she realized, as this lethal game she was about to enter had just become all the more deadly.
Chapter 25
Faythe fixed the scarf around her face as a mask and pulled the hood of her suit up as they exited Crow’s Lane and rounded onto Main Street. She clenched her gloved hands into tight fists to stop from trembling as nerves and adrenaline coursed through her veins.
A few wandering humans gawked and retreated as she swaggered past. She tried hard to muster every ounce of confidence to portray the character of a ruthless assailant like the kind they would expect to find in a place such as The Cave.
They approached the inn, and Faythe took a deep breath before she followed Ferris inside without allowing herself to falter a step. She hoped the owners wouldn’t recognize her. They weren’t on particularly good terms since she’d played a part in destroying furniture and glass bottles in her drunken brawls.
The establishment was peppered with small groups of men chatting and drinking. A couple glanced at her, their curiosity piquing, as the mysterious hooded figure glided past. She continued to follow Ferris’s back while he didn’t so much as peek in any direction, making a beeline straight through the tables, past the bar, and down a dimly lit hallway toward a descending staircase. No one seemed to stop him or ask his business, and she wondered just how often her friend visited the notorious cave below.
Her hands grew slick under the leather of her gloves. She flexed them as more of a distraction than anything else as the torches lining the walls became less frequent. At the bottom of the stairs was another short hallway, and two giant human men stood guard on either side of the large iron double doors at the end of it. She tried not to balk, hoping she wouldn’t be fighting anyone of that size.
She had no idea who she would face in the fighting pit, actually, and if Ferris knew, he hadn’t given anything away. Maybe it was out of fear she would change her mind, or perhaps his silence was a blessing so she wouldn’t get herself worked up beforehand.
Ferris stopped walking and turned to her. “I’ve put a lot of money in for you tonight, Faythe, and I’ve persuaded my master to as well. Losing isn’t an option. You’re quick, you’re smart… Don’t disappoint us,” he said quietly, so only she could hear. He wasn’t scolding her or trying to spark fear and pressure so he wouldn’t lose his coin. No—from the look in his eyes, Faythe knew this was her friend’s way of building her confidence.
She took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders back with a new flare of determination. Losing would not be an option. Not tonight or any other night.
Ferris turned on his heel and stepped up to the guards. He spoke quietly, so she couldn’t make out what they said, and then he flashed something to them from inside his fitted black-and-silver jacket. They looked him over before they did the same to her a foot behind him.
For the first time, she really took in the redhead’s appearance. He was dressed in finer clothes than he usually wore, and it made Faythe wonder what kind of audience would be waiting inside to greet her. She could faintly hear the clamor of voices and cheering, but it was mostly drowned out by the thick wrought iron doors behind the guards.
It all came to life a moment later when the guards nodded and each pulled a handle that opened into the massive space: The Cave. It truly lived up to its name, and she followed closely behind Ferris as he stepped into the cavernous dwelling.
The smell hit her first. It wasn’t the odor of bodies or the sting of alcohol that turned her stomach; it was the copper tang of blood. Her vision swayed a little. She hadn’t expected it. She was a fool not to, but she had hoped she could get away with quick wit alone and not have to draw blood.
Ferris put a hand on her back, guiding her further in, when she slowed to take in her surroundings. He leaned in close to her ear.
“You only have to strike enough to put on a show. It is not a fight to the death, Faythe.”
His reassurance eased her nerves a little. She would not be able to go through with it if she had to kill someone.
He led her over to a balcony—not too high—that overlooked a huge stone ground pit. A fight was well underway, and she caught sight of two bloodied men engaged in savage combat. There were ghastly stains on the pit floor and walls, and Faythe almost turned on her heel and stormed right back out at the gruesome display.
Revelers cheered and relished in the gore, some leaning casually over the rails and watching in silence with predatory grins. Others stood looking nonchalant as they observed the fight, casually drinking from finer-looking pitchers than could be found in the inn above. The crowd was mostly men, all finely dressed like Ferris. Faythe recognized no one and figured they were the minority humans who actually possessed some wealth and didn’t venture into the same parts of town she did.
There were some women too, dressed in scandalous gowns that left little to the imagination. But they were beautiful. Some clung to the arms of their male companions like proud trophies, while others stood more independent but still clearly with company as they smoked from long ornate pipes. They seemed to enjoy the show as much as their male counterparts from their sly smiles and seductive eyes.
The contrast of finery and savagery made The Cave an interesting hot spot for the elite.
Faythe again fixed her eyes on the fight below. The sight did nothing to ease her nerves, but at least she
could take in what she could of the arena and figure out what angles she could use to her advantage.
The men fighting held daggers in each hand. The smaller of the two looked close to conceding—or passing out—as he sluggishly stepped around the ring. Ferris had said nothing of rules or weapons, and so far, she assumed there were none; anything was fair game.
The beast of a man leading the fight showed no mercy to the other as he attacked again and again. Faythe could only watch the ruthless beating in horror, her heart increasing in tempo at the thought of facing off with such an unhinged opponent. Gods, if Jakon could see this place—see her in this place and what she was about to do…
She shook her head. She couldn’t think about that just now. She had to stay focused.
“Come,” Ferris said into her ear above the clamor. Keeping his hand firmly on her back, he led them around to the opposite side of the balcony just as she heard the crowd roar and assumed the weaker man had finally fallen.
There was a downward staircase through an open gap in the stone. Faythe knew it could only lead to one place.
Ferris stepped behind her, and she felt his arms over her shoulders before he reached to unclasp her cloak. It fell away, and he came to stand in front of her with it draped over his arm.
She suddenly felt very bare and very vulnerable. A wave of panic washed over her.
Oh Gods, oh Gods, what had she been thinking? This was no place for a novice human woman to practice her swordplay tricks. This was a place of merciless brutality, and she was going to get herself hurt—or worse.
Strong hands gripped her shoulders hard enough that the pain broke her frenzied thoughts. The crowd had settled again as if waiting for the next dose of carnage. A sharp shake snapped Faythe’s eyes up to meet hazel ones.
“Get yourself together, Faythe. You know you can do this. Your size is your biggest asset—they won’t see it, but I do. You’re fast, you’re observant, you’re smart. They won’t expect it,” Ferris spoke directly, a coach gearing up his prized fighter at the edge of the ring.
An Heir Comes to Rise Page 17