An Heir Comes to Rise

by C. C. Peñaranda

  She almost buckled in panic when she met a similar black barrier wall, but then…

  Cracks!

  There were gaps in his mental barrier, unlike Nik’s. She could only assume that by some small mercy of the Spirits, Captain Varis hadn’t reinforced his mental shields in the daytime—because he wouldn’t expect to need to guard himself against someone like her. A slight relief, but she knew it would be twice as difficult to see his movements through the tight spaces in the wall.

  The pit master had already retreated to the stairwell as the captain approached her with a predatory grin. Inside, she trembled violently like feeble pray, but her exterior embodied the laser-focused combatant she needed to be to make it out alive.

  He began to circle with his blade angled, stalking her, and she kept her complete focus on him as she mirrored his movements. Before the announcement could be made for the fight to begin, she saw his intention to strike and spun to narrowly avoid the swing of his sword. He had no plans to wait for a formal invitation.

  His eyes flashed at her unexpected swiftness, but he composed himself and sized her up again. She tracked him. She could see his movements, but not nearly as fast as she’d come to read them in Nik’s open mind. She would have to make it work—at least long enough to give them a show and surrender herself.

  His next attack flashed through her, and she brought her sword up to meet his in the nick of time. Her heart rose in her throat, and she hissed through clenched teeth, putting her whole weight into holding off his blade. He was too strong, however, and in her efforts, her concentration faltered. Varis pushed roughly, causing her to stumble back, and with the same breath, his fist connected with the side of her face.

  Pain shot through her jaw. She slammed, palms splayed, against the ground with a loud smack. Her eyes blackened for a second before she pushed herself to her feet, swaying a little from the disorientation. A copper tang filled her mouth. Blood. She leaned forward, pulling the scarf down quickly to spit the blood that pooled on her lip. Adjusting her face cover again, her head snapped back up to him. Faythe’s rage was immeasurable, and it threatened to blind her into recklessness rather than focus her into stealth. She took slow, concise breaths to reel in the all-consuming emotion.

  The captain’s eyes were wholly black and sparkled with sadistic pleasure at the sight of her blood. She rolled her shoulders back and focused on the dark orbs once again.

  He lunged at her with an onslaught of attacks, which she danced around the ring in answer to, not raising her sword to meet his again. Her head throbbed with concentration to see each maneuver before he could land a blow, and when she faltered slightly, she was sent sprawling to the floor again from a punch to her stomach.

  She gasped for breath on all fours at the force of it, but he was next to her again before she could regain any composure and kicked her stomach right were the last hit was. The pain was excruciating as she was thrown onto her back and her head ricocheted off the stone floor. She couldn’t do it—couldn’t last against the unhinged beast. Her anger diffused and welcomed despair. She wanted to dissolve into the hard ground beneath her. Was she underwater? The roars of the crowd were distant…distorted, and the lights blurred and dimmed.

  I’m sorry, Jak. I’m sorry, Marlowe. I’m sorry, Nik. I tried.

  “Get up,” the wicked voice spat.

  She couldn’t. She was ready to succumb to the darkness that offered relief from the pain and failure. She wanted to sleep and drift away from all the roaring chaos of the crowd and the stabs that laced her abdomen and head. But then rough hands grabbed her, yanking her to her feet and forcing her to stare into depthless black holes.

  “You call that a fight? I said, get up!” The captain seethed in her face. He let her go, and she was surprised when she stumbled back but remained upright, her sword still clutched with an iron grip in her hand. She looked down at it.

  Lumarias. The Key. I will not cower.

  She blinked a few times, and her vision focused. She had to keep going. Her body groaned in protest as she straightened, rolling back her shoulders and fixing her eyes on the captain again.

  Pushing through the pain, she continued to deflect with her sword in both hands as their connecting steel sang together, slicing through the bustle of the audience above. She didn’t let her blade meet his for long enough that he could use his strength against her again.

  His blade caught her leg at one point, and she was forced to retreat when fire ripped up her thigh. Still, he stalked her with predatory slowness, relishing in her pain as he played with her. He didn’t give her long to recover, and their swords crossed once again. She was fast—but he was faster, and his stamina never faltered in the slightest, whereas hers was on the verge of full depletion. He landed another sharp jab with his elbow to her side. Faythe was a mere second from missing it completely. While it winded her, she stood her ground.

  After another round of quick parry, she failed to see his next move, and his fist connected with her sword hand, sending Lumarias flying from her grip. In the same breath, he lunged for her—the killing blow. Not even the fae standing close by would be fast enough to stop it.

  Time slowed as she tracked the blade that promised her death rising above her head.

  But the image of his intention flashed in her mind a second earlier than he acted. Right before he could bring his sword down fully, she took one step forward to meet him, pulling Marlowe’s gifted dagger from her side.

  Then everything went quiet.

  He halted, his sword mere inches from her neck…as she held the point of her dagger under his chin.

  A mutual defeat.

  The crowd fell mute.

  Her breathing was ragged, her pulse erratic. She held the captain’s stare as his nostrils flared and his eyes turned wild. It should have been over, but she saw something snap in him.

  He was so close she never stood a chance to react when he grabbed the wrist that held her dagger so hard she dropped it. He let go of his own blade as both his hands curled tightly around her throat, lifting her to her toes, and he leaned into her.

  “You think I don’t know who you are, girl?” he hissed in her ear.

  Faythe choked against the viselike grip of his hands, which squeezed harder to restrict her airway.

  “Captain Varis, the fight is won,” she heard one of the guards call as they all took a step closer.

  Faythe clawed at his hands that didn’t loosen off at the warning. It would take minimal effort to crush her throat in a second.

  “Who do you think sent those men after you? Foolish girl. You can hide everything but your eyes and that damned sword of yours,” he spat. “Only a fool would believe a weak, pathetic human girl could best a man, and especially not a fae.”

  “Captain Varis!” a guard called again in final warning.

  She gasped for air as blackness started to cloud her vision.

  “You’re hiding something, Faythe, and I’m going to find out exactly what it is. You made the biggest mistake of your miserable life tonight.” He released her with a forceful shove, and she collapsed to the ground, sputtering for air in agony under her mask. Varis crouched down to retrieve his sword and leaned in close again. “I’ll be seeing you soon, Faythe, but maybe not in the way you think.” His last words were a playful taunt before he sauntered out of the pit.

  Faythe remained on all fours for a moment to return her breathing to normal, but when she was conscious enough to think, her blood went cold.

  What had she done?

  Chapter 43

  “He knows.”

  They were the first words Faythe had uttered since they met back at the hut nearly an hour ago. She’d been too consumed by panic to speak. Jakon hadn’t stopped pacing, trying to coax something out of her, while she sat at the table in a pair of sleep shorts and a crop top letting Marlowe tend to her wounds.

  Faythe could barely register the pain as her friend cleaned and dressed the deep gash on her thigh and bandaged h
er bruised ribs. She knew there would also be a harsh purple mark along her cheekbone and that her lip would be swollen with a nasty cut. But none of that mattered as she was soon to be caught and executed anyway.

  “Or at least, he will as soon as I fall asleep,” she added quietly in her state of shock.

  It was the hint the captain had given her in his last words: “Maybe not in the way you think.” They had been replaying in her mind, filling her with cold dread, the whole time since.

  “Does someone want to explain this to me? It’s over—why is everyone so worried?” Ferris said from his spot in the corner.

  Faythe had forgotten he’d followed them back here to make sure she was okay and give her the money she was owed from tonight. She didn’t want it. She wanted to give it all back and to have never set a single foot inside that cave. Everything since that moment had been a slow descent into a deadly fate she couldn’t escape.

  Before she could reply, Jakon halted his pacing and stared at Ferris with an inhuman rage. In two strides, he had Ferris pinned to the wall by his collar.

  “You piece of shit. This was all your fault!” He seethed into his face.

  “Jak,” Faythe muttered.

  He didn’t respond and continued his stare down as if deciding whether he should swing.

  “Jakon,” she repeated in warning.

  Reluctantly, he released Ferris with a rough shove and stalked back over to the table. “What do you mean, ‘he knows’?” His anger boiled but not toward her.

  She took a slow breath. “He knows I’m hiding something, and he intends to find it out.” She trembled as if the cold air was just now catching up to her where she sat half-dressed.

  Marlowe draped a blanket gently over her shoulders, and Faythe smiled gratefully as she dropped into the seat next to her, satisfied her injuries were the best she could make them. Jakon cursed—a lot—and she watched the wheels turn in his head as he tried to figure out what to do. It pained her, but she wouldn’t have any of them dragged into her mess.

  An idea came to her. “I…I have a tonic. Nik gave it to me when I was still learning to control my ability. It will stifle it when I sleep and also protect me from…others.” She winced, not able to say the captain’s name without seeing the vicious scar and malice that laced his face. It was a temporary solution. She only had two nights left of the tonic at best, and Nik had said it could have fatal consequences if used for long periods. “It’ll give me two days at least.” She couldn’t bring herself to think of what she would do after.

  “Then what?” Jakon pressed.

  Faythe knew what she would have to do to keep herself and them safe. The thought of stowing away in a barrel like her friend Reuben made her stomach turn, and she had to cover her face with her hands and breathe for a moment. She had never left High Farrow. This was her home, and she would have to abandon the kingdom and, worst of all, her friends. What crushed her spirit was that she would never get to sever the tie the cursed eternal woods held on her soul. She had failed in that too, and her bargain would forever remain unfulfilled. She would never get to join her friends when the Afterlife claimed her. It was a crippling, damning feeling.

  “I failed you all, and I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  Marlowe’s arm went around her shoulder, pulling Faythe into her warmth. “We’re going to figure this out together,” she said, her voice calm and soothing.

  “Again, anyone want to fill me in?” Ferris said.

  Jakon whirled to him, and Ferris wisely flinched into a defensive position, but Jakon never moved. If looks alone could kill, he’d have already turned to cinders.

  Seeing no reason to keep her secret any longer, Faythe reluctantly rattled through the basics so Ferris would understand their urgency and the cause of the thick tension in the room. It felt strange but also liberating to be able to talk about it so openly.

  “Bullshit,” was his first response to the reveal of her abilities. “Prove it.”

  Faythe scowled at him. “I don’t have to prove anything to you, prick.”

  His eyes narrowed as his face turned contemplative. “Well, if what you say is true, we need to get you out of here.”

  Jakon looked to her immediately. “I’ll come with you.”

  She shook her head. “Absolutely not. This is my problem, and none of you are getting dragged into it.”

  “We would never leave you to face it alone. We all go,” Marlowe added softly.

  Faythe snapped her head to the blacksmith and leaned out of her embrace. “Not a chance in—”

  “You don’t get to decide for us,” Marlowe cut in. “We are in this just as much as you are, like it or not.” Her tone was firm—something Faythe wasn’t used to from the softly spoken blonde. But she would be wise not to argue with an oracle connected to the Spirits.

  “I can get you safe passage,” Ferris cut in before Faythe could argue further. He looked between them. “For all of you. I could get you to Rhyenelle. You’re not traitors. You could stand a chance of being let in as citizens. Marlowe has a trade skill that could be useful to them, Jakon is a farmer, and, well…dance a little with your sword, Faythe, and they might see use for you.”

  Faythe bit back her retort since the offer was exactly what she needed, but her heart dropped at the inclusion of her friends. “I can’t ask you to give up your lives here,” she pleaded.

  Jakon’s face softened, and he took a seat in front of her, reaching a hand over to take hers. “You don’t have to ask. Wherever you go, I go.”

  Marlowe nodded in fierce agreement.

  They were willing to sacrifice everything they had built here to follow her on a road of uncertainty, and it was a debt Faythe would spend the rest of her life—however short or long—repaying.

  “I’ll make the arrangements for two days’ time. This should be enough, with the rest of your earnings, to get you all by for a while on the road and help you settle in when you arrive.” Ferris came over to the table, careful not to be within Jakon’s reach as he still glared menacingly at him, and dropped a heavy pouch of coin in front of them. His portion from tonight, Faythe realized.

  She was about to protest, but he gave her a look that told her not to bother.

  “You earned every penny.” He stared at her in curiosity for a moment and then huffed a laugh. “Who would have thought? Faythe, a human mind reader.”

  She smiled sheepishly, and he flashed her a sad smile back.

  “It’s a shame it turned out this way. And for my part, I’m sorry.”

  She gave him a small nod of understanding and forgiveness. He returned it and then spun on his heel toward the door.

  “I’ll see you all by Westland Forest at nightfall in two days,” he said as he left. Then the door closed behind him, and the three companions were alone in solemn silence.

  A knock sounded at the door a short moment later, and they all looked to each other expectantly.

  “I won’t hesitate to strangle him this time if he’s come back,” Jakon muttered as he stood to answer it.

  Faythe’s eyes widened at the tall cloaked figure who floated in seconds later. Nik’s brute statue made their small hut seem even more feeble.

  When they simply stared at each other and no one spoke, Marlowe stood from the bench. “Jakon, will you walk me home?” she asked sweetly, and Faythe could have hugged her for it.

  She didn’t think she could handle explaining the events of tonight—specifically, what it meant for her and Nik as a result—while her friends were in the same room. It only now dawned on her that this was likely the last time she would ever get to see the fae guard, and it shattered her heart into pieces where she sat.

  Jakon nodded to her, understanding she would need this time alone to say goodbye, and the couple left without another word.

  When she heard the door click, Faythe stood, coming around the table to where Nik had yet to make a move. His jaw flexed as he silently scanned over her face, taking in her injuries. She hel
d the blanket around her to conceal her ribs, but it still exposed her bare thigh and the large bandage the wound was bleeding through a little.

  “I had to make sure you were all right,” he said, his voice achingly quiet in an attempt to contain his anger at the state of her.

  “It was Captain Varis,” she blurted, not able to delay the inevitable heart-wrenching news that she was leaving.

  His eyes flashed in a rage like nothing she’d seen before, and he straightened. “And you let him win, didn’t you?” he asked, his voice like a knife’s edge.

  She winced at the dark look on his face. “Kind of,” she said, and she noted the slight tremble of his tightly clenched fists. “He was going to kill me—I saw it. None of your guards would have been fast enough to stop him. So we came to a mutual defeat.”

  Nik let out a humorless laugh, running a hand down his face. Before he could reprimand her for not being smarter somehow, she continued.

  “It wasn’t a coincidence. He knew who I was, and he knows I’m hiding something,” she explained quickly. She didn’t have to go further as realization immediately clouded his face, and his rage turned to horror. Her next words came out in a choked whisper. “I have to leave, Nik.” Tears burned the backs of her eyes at his look of pain, and she blinked hard to force them away.

  He walked the few steps over to her and took her face gently in his hands, wary of her bruised cheek. “I’ll take care of it,” he said, but she saw his determination falter. It was too far out of his control this time.

  She shook her head. “I leave for Rhyenelle in two days. Jakon and Marlowe will be coming with me.”

  He rested his forehead against hers. “Faythe,” he breathed, but no other words came. They both knew it was her only chance at safety.

  She let the blanket fall to wrap her arms around his neck, and he held her tightly. Her silent tears fell then. It wasn’t fair. They were being ripped apart because of some monster and his need for dominance and violence. She allowed herself to believe she could have had something with Nik. An unorthodox, complicated relationship for sure, but she would have accepted it, and the risks that came with it, for a chance to be with him.