An Heir Comes to Rise

by C. C. Peñaranda

  The other, a bit taller and packing muscle in comparison, grumbled in agreement. “I think we may have to find another fae for dealings on the inside. Lord Hellias may be compromised,” he said roughly.

  Faythe flashed Jakon a look, barely visible under the cloak of darkness, and he gave a short nod. They didn’t need words to confirm their plan of action in that moment. Over their decade of friendship, they had developed their own unspoken alignment of thought.

  “That’s strange,” the lanky man mumbled, brow creasing when he caught sight of their discarded torch still glowing a few meters away from where they lay in wait. While the smaller man bent down to investigate it, his companion wisely drew his sword, scanning the area—but, foolishly, he advanced with caution toward them.

  Just a little closer…

  Before he had a chance to distinguish their bulging forms against the flat wall, Jakon lunged, and Faythe didn’t hesitate to follow his lead. The larger man clashed swords with Jakon, and she only hoped he was winning as she darted for his friend, still crouched, and heaved her foot against his chest. He went flying backward, splaying across the ground in terrified bewilderment. Then she was above him, sword poised over his heart.

  She breathed hard, letting go of her pent-up suspense. The cries of steel added anguish to the shadows, but Faythe couldn’t take her eyes off the man under her blade to check if Jakon was leading the fight.

  There was a loud clattering of steel against stone. Someone’s disarmed. Her heart thundered at the thought of it being Jakon. Then she heard a quick-step commotion.

  Come on, Jak…

  Finally, a loud thud as a body hit the ground. She froze.

  Please, please, please…

  When a figure caught the corner of her eye, she didn’t hide her long breath of relief at the friendly face.

  Jakon smirked. “Did you really doubt me?” he said with mock hurt.

  She scowled in response before they both turned their attention to the man staring back fearfully.

  “Which path takes us inside the castle?” Faythe asked with malice in her tone.

  The weasel of a man scoffed, flaring Faythe’s anger. She pressed the sharp point into his chest, and he hissed, recoiling further back into the ground.

  “Which path?” she repeated through her teeth.

  His eyes narrowed and nostrils flared. She raised her elbows to add more pressure through her blade.

  “Left!” he said quickly, before she could break the skin under his tunic. “You’ll want to go left, then take the next two rights. There’ll be a ladder to an exit chamber—it leads to an alley just outside the castle gates. You’re on your own from there,” he told her reluctantly.

  With the information she needed and not wanting to waste any more time, Faythe looked to Jakon. He gave her a quick nod, and she knew what he was about to do. He lifted his foot, and Faythe turned her head to avoid the brutal sight. But the sickening crack as he knocked the man unconscious still made her wince.

  She didn’t look down at him while she straightened then pressed forward once again, swiping their eternally flamed torch.

  Their pace quickened with the new certain route—and in fear that the men they’d left to the bitter, dark cold might not be alone down here. They scurried like rodents through the next couple of passages.

  He’d spoken true, and Faythe sagged in relief at the circle of light she spotted in the roof ahead. She didn’t give Jakon a chance to be annoyingly chivalrous and insist he go first up the ladder; she subtly overtook him, curling her fingers around the iron bar, and started the climb. She heard his mumbles of protest but didn’t acknowledge them. At the top, she braced her splayed palms against the thick metal, straining as she pushed it open a fraction to glance through the smallest gap she could.

  It wasn’t as dark as she expected. In fact, the gray stone ground sparkled a little. She used her shoulder to lift the hatch higher. Then the heavy weight of it was suddenly relieved from her completely.

  Her shock and horror didn’t have a moment to settle as, in one blinding movement, bright light encased her, and she was flying. Or, rather, was being hauled out of the underground dwelling with immortal swiftness. It took her a second longer than it should have in her bewilderment to refocus, and when she did, the world fell from under her at the sight of the four fae guards surrounding her. She had been tricked.

  That lying sewer-rat bastard!

  “Well, well,” one of the fae drawled in amusement. “What a night this has turned out to be.”

  She took in her surroundings then, and her anger toward the trickster switched to cold, trembling fear. She stared directly ahead, down the long garden path beyond the iron gates, craning her neck in awe and horror at the dauntingly tall white stone castle. She had naïvely believed the spineless coward’s directions, and he’d led her right to the wolves guarding the castle perimeter.

  “You’re not the first to have tried to gain unpermitted access into the city, though you’re certainly the most foolish,” another guard sniped.

  She didn’t have it in her to respond with words or facial expressions. She could only surrender to her shock and disbelief that it was over. She had been caught and would be taken straight to…

  Straight to the castle!

  It was exactly where she needed to be. They would be the fools for escorting her directly to her intended destination.

  Then, in a spear of panic, she remembered she hadn’t come here alone.

  Faythe didn’t dare glance back at the hole she’d been pulled from and risk arousing their suspicions. Jakon was smart—he would have seen her being grabbed and wouldn’t be foolish enough to expose himself too. There would be no plausible reason to doom himself; he had to stay below and find another way in or out. Though the latter, she had painful doubts about. He wouldn’t leave her or Marlowe, who was already beyond the royal fortification.

  Mercifully, he didn’t emerge from the dwelling behind her, and after a quick glance down, the fae guards seemed satisfied enough to seal the hole back over.

  Faythe didn’t fight when a guard approached and grabbed her arm. She began walking when he tugged, not even offering a scowl of defiance. The weaker she appeared, the less of a threat they would consider her. Not that she thought four fae would ever consider her such if she did resist. But it worked. She was let go and allowed to walk of her own accord toward the castle gates.

  They opened as they approached, and she noted only one fae guard accompanied her through while the others went back to their stations around the perimeter.

  How hard would it be to elude one guard?

  She didn’t think it would be easy, but she rattled her mind for ideas of how to escape once she was within the castle walls. The fae took her through the main entrance, and she felt oddly out of place stepping up such pristine white steps and through the ornate, dauntingly tall iron doors that were also hauled open upon their arrival.

  In better circumstances, she would have stopped to admire the grand, brightly lit reception hall. Everything glittered in stark contrast to the night outside. She had to blink rapidly to curb the slight sting in her eye.

  It was an ocean of white and royal blue as he led her through a series of long, wide hallways. The griffin crest of High Farrow adorned the tapestries, and elegant sculptures stood intermittently. She shook her head and focused. She couldn’t afford to get distracted by marvelous decor. Any turn now, and she would likely descend from the beauty, right into the grim pits of the dungeons.

  Another figure rounded the corner down the hall.

  A female fae!

  Faythe had to refrain from gawking. She had very rarely seen a female as the outer town was too dull and dirty to appeal to the elegant, immortally beautiful race. The one before her was exactly that—and far more. She was slender, with rich, light brown skin, perfectly poised as she almost floated toward them. The waves of her gown caught on the wind behind her. Then her eyes fixed on Faythe, and she almost
flinched at the attention. But it wasn’t fear Faythe was struck with; it was reckless adrenaline.

  She flashed her eyes at the guard who wasn’t on the right side to be between her and the female drawing closer. While his hand rested on the hilt of his sword, he marched at almost an arm’s reach from her, thinking there wasn’t any chance of a mere human girl being able to escape him. A fool. She was quick, and her plan didn’t require her to be able to maneuver far.

  Perhaps she had gone completely and utterly insane in her desperation to save her friend. Faythe subtly reached for her dagger under her cloak, slowly sliding it free with no sound. Then she braced herself, counting her heartbeats with each step to steady her trembling hands. She would have one second, one chance, and no room for error.

  When the female came to pass, Faythe lunged forward, twisted on her toes, and halted in position behind her. She breathed hard as she faced the guard, who stared back in wide-eyed fury—not at her face, but at the dagger she held poised over her captive’s throat.

  Chapter 46

  “I need an audience with the king.”

  Faythe spoke the words calmly; confidently. She stood behind the female fae with her arm wrapped around her shoulder, dagger pressed into her throat to slit it clean in one movement should the guard get any ideas. The female, to her credit, didn’t whimper or tremble at all beneath her.

  The guard assessed the situation with his sword drawn, eyes calculating everything, like a male in combat. Upon concluding there was no maneuver he could make quicker than she could cut, he nodded.

  She didn’t let her relief show.

  Faythe knew there would be no coming back from harming or threatening a fae, especially not within the castle. It was a sure death sentence but her only ticket into the throne room to plead the case for her friend’s life. It was an ill-conceived plan and perhaps a fool’s hope, but it was all she could come up with in the heat of the moment as every echo of the phantom clock struck an overwhelming fear that she would be too late to save her friend. All logic and reasoning had left her long ago.

  “This way,” the guard said—not in anger or worry, much to her displeasure. Yet she knew if she let her guard down for a split second, she would be disarmed and detained before she could take a breath. So she focused on her surroundings as she followed the fae guard down the hall to her doom.

  They walked through a short maze of passageways and bright, open halls. Faythe kept her hold on the female firm, ears straining for sound, and an eye on every corner should another guard appear. The halls were surprisingly quiet, and she thanked the Spirits for that small mercy. Any more of them, and she would risk losing her hostage before she could make it to her destination.

  It wasn’t long before a set of very large double doors came into view down the hall, and Faythe’s heart became a wild beast rattling in her chest. It definitely wasn’t the best way to get the king’s attention, but she could only hope her hostage was valuable enough to get him to listen.

  The two guards posted outside the ornate wooden doors drew their swords the second they laid eyes on them. The female’s companion held up a hand, and they lowered their blades slightly, still remaining rigid.

  “Open the doors,” the guard commanded.

  Their eyes looked her over, assessing if there was anything they could do to save the female and prevent Faythe from gaining access to the throne room. With anger and reluctance, they grabbed a handle each and hauled the doors open.

  “All of you inside first,” Faythe ordered. She wasn’t foolish enough to leave her back exposed so they could grab her before she could inflict harm on her captive.

  They did as she asked, and once they were all past the doors, she allowed herself one second to breathe and release all her nerves before following. She only had one task—to free Marlowe—and then she would accept her fate in whatever form they chose. She would give herself up gladly if it meant the safety of her friends.

  She paused for a moment in the doorway, assessing her surroundings in case the guards had a plan of ambush the moment she stepped inside.

  The great hall was almost as she expected it to look, but she’d never had a room make her feel so dwarfed. Colonnades ran parallel down each side, holding up a balcony that encased the perimeter. A true masterpiece of a chandelier hung low, illuminating the royal crest that was painted into the center of the large white marble floor space. Beyond the crest was a long dais that held three thrones: one prominent center seat cushioned in royal blue fabric with gold embellishments, and two smaller ones featuring silver instead.

  Then she beheld the cluster of males gathered in a lazy circle at the far end to the side of the dais. Every pair of fae eyes was now locked on her.

  Noting the guards still poised to strike just past the door, she motioned with her head for them to keep walking. They hesitated for a second, glancing between each other as if deliberating a strategy. Faythe pressed the dagger a little harder, and the female hissed. She wanted to apologize—she was merely collateral damage—but it did the trick as the three guards started to walk further down the hall, keeping their eyes firmly on her.

  She didn’t fail to notice another four of them under the balconies, two on each side. The whistle of steel echoed through the open space as they all became armed, alert to the danger that had infiltrated their castle.

  Faythe wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation: seven fae guards and a handful of other powerful fae at the mercy of a human girl. Not even the bards could make this story believable through song.

  “What is this?” a voice boomed from across the hall.

  She saw him then. There was no mistaking the figure who trumped the whole room through manner and stature alone: King Orlon Silvergriff of High Farrow. Aside from the obvious gold crown that adorned his short black hair, he wore the royal coat of arms and a deep blue shoulder cloak over his impeccably tailored black jacket with gold buttons. He stood as the tallest male in the room and looked to be at least in his forties, if Faythe were to compare him to a human man.

  She tried not to let her confidence falter as the king stormed closer, his face livid at the commotion. But she trembled slightly at his intimidating presence. Though her breathing was steady, her heart was erratic.

  “I apologize for the dramatics, Your Majesty,” she began, surprised the words came through her ridiculously dry throat, “but I need an audience with you. Your guards have wrongly imprisoned a girl tonight.”

  The king’s eyes blazed at the sight of her. She wasn’t sure if she had gotten lucky with her target who could be important to him or if the fact a human girl had managed to even get this far was what enraged him the most.

  “I’ll have your head for your insolence, human!” He spat the last word. “Guards!” He called them to seize her.

  “Not until you hear what I have to say. I can slit her throat faster than your guards can stop me,” she warned.

  She watched the cogs turn in his head as he concluded as much. Whoever she had in her grasp was important enough at least that they wouldn’t risk her life. Faythe looked into his eyes then—eyes of the purest black she’d only seen the likeness of once before, in Captain Varis. But he was not present in the room, which was a slight relief.

  The king was silently seething behind those eyes, but he let her continue.

  “Her name is Marlowe Connaise. She is the blacksmith’s daughter, and she was wrongly taken from her home tonight. I want you to set her free.” She spoke a lot calmer than she felt.

  The king laughed haughtily. “You do not make demands, girl.”

  Faythe pressed the dagger further until it made a shallow cut, enough to draw a trickle of blood. She heard all the guards shift, but the king held up a hand to halt them. His eyes locked on hers, and if looks could kill, she would most certainly have turned to ash where she stood.

  “Bring in whomever she speaks of,” he commanded in a deadly quiet tone.

  Faythe never dropped focus on ever
y fae around her, noting one of them leaving through a side entrance in a hurry.

  “You’ve made a grave mistake tonight,” the king said to her.

  “I only needed you to hear me and let her go—then I will accept my punishment.”

  His answering laugh was dark. “I don’t bargain with my human subjects.”

  “Your Captain of the Guard wants me. He only took her to get me here,” she said, hoping to anchor him to her fast-sinking ship.

  The king cocked an eyebrow. “Did he now? A bold accusation.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  His eyes narrowed on hers for a second as he took her in. The gaze made her uneasy, but she didn’t balk.

  “Where is my captain?” he asked his guards casually.

  A few shuffled, and another left the room—she could only assume to locate Captain Varis and bring him here. She couldn’t let her fear show. Not until she achieved what she’d recklessly barged her way in for.

  There was commotion from the side entrance where the first guard had left, and when two came back through, it took everything in Faythe not to loosen her grip in horror. She tried to focus her mind as she watched Marlowe get dragged in…closely followed by Jakon.

  “I send you out for one, and you come back with two. How interesting,” the king admired when he turned to them.

  “This one was apprehended in the city, trying to get through the castle gates,” the guard said.

  Faythe commended Jakon for even getting that close when their plan had turned nether-damned. But as her eyes fell on the blacksmith beside him, her heart broke. Marlowe had been crying hard—she could tell from the streaks on her usually perfect face and her red, puffy eyes. Her hair was disheveled, and it lit Faythe’s anger that on top of everything else, she appeared to have been mistreated.

  Jakon was like a wild animal as he thrashed between the two fae guards holding him. His courage remained strong even in the hopeless odds against a species too superior in agility to be beaten.