An Heir Comes to Rise

by C. C. Peñaranda

  The king looked back at her. “Another friend of yours, I assume?”

  Faythe said nothing, and a cruel smile spread across his cheeks.

  “Two for the price of one doesn’t seem like a fair trade now, does it?” he taunted.

  “They’ve done nothing wrong,” she flared.

  “That’s not a verdict you can pass.”

  Just then, a door to the back of the room was flung open, and Captain Varis swaggered in, a dark force that made everyone around him recoil. Faythe didn’t flinch even as he fixed his eyes on her with the same predatory gleam. He came to a stop near the king and gave him his attention, bowing low.

  “Do you know this woman?” the king asked.

  The captain’s eyes went from the king to lazily graze over her. “This one in particular? I can’t say I do, Your Majesty.” He shrugged casually.

  Faythe’s nostrils flared. “He’s lying.”

  “Tell me, Captain, how this human girl came to elude your guards and capture my ward.” The king spoke calmly, pacing back over to him.

  Captain Varis stood straight, hands clasped behind his back. “It seems I’ll have to make some necessary cuts and replacements.”

  The guards around them shifted, and the king looked over them all.

  Faythe had the king’s ward under her knife? She was as good as a daughter in some respects.

  The king hummed in response as he finished his scan of the room. “I want everyone out except the guards,” he announced to the hall. In a second, all the fae behind him, with whom he had been in conversation before her interruption, shuffled out the back immediately, and the guards repositioned themselves. “And bring me my son. He should see what they are capable of if left unchecked and what will be done to human traitors. I fear his heart has grown too soft for them.”

  “You will let them go. I’m the only one who has committed a crime,” Faythe said, holding her position firm and jerking her head toward her friends, who wisely stayed quiet. Jakon had stopped fighting.

  The king rolled his shoulders back. “Captain Varis, what is it the woman stands accused of?” he asked, gesturing to Marlowe without looking over.

  “Treason, Your Majesty. I have seen it.” As he said it, his eyes fell on her with vicious delight.

  Faythe’s stomach dropped in realization. He could make up any story he wanted, and Faythe’s word would be nothing against it. He was one of the king’s most powerful Nightwalkers, his trusted advisor, and Captain of the Royal Guard. It didn’t matter what Faythe pleaded.

  “Lying bastard!” Jakon spat from the side of the hall.

  Faythe couldn’t hold in her wince as one of the two guards punched him hard in the stomach and he fell to his knees. Then the other one hit him across the face, and she almost broke her position to lunge for them.

  The captain’s mouth twitched a little in amusement, and Faythe’s anger flared wildly.

  “Check his mind,” she blurted, knowing it was a step out of line. But she had already danced and skipped over the gods-damned line so much it was blurred beyond existence now. “You have other Nightwalkers in your service.”

  The king’s eyes snapped to her. “You dare to ask such a thing?” He stalked over to her, and she adjusted the blade. Orlon stopped a few feet away. “Captain Varis is a skilled Nightwalker and has served me loyally. You are but a desperate human fool who will say anything to save a friend.” His head tilted in curiosity. “Though I do admire your cunning bravery in getting yourself this far. It would be a pity kill you. Such a waste.”

  “You can’t execute people on the word of one male.”

  His eyes narrowed on her. “You forget who you speak to, girl.” Then his eyes turned upward, to the main doors she had entered through, and a satisfied grin spread across his face. “Ah, my son, I’m glad you could join us.”

  Faythe was about to turn in case the prince thought to try anything smart. But instead, she gripped her hostage tighter and cast a glance to her friends, who went absolutely chalk-white and wide-eyed as they stared. Faythe’s own panic rose at their reaction, and she braced herself.

  When she felt the prince at her side, everything slowed. He stepped around her and came to stand a few feet in front of her.

  She stopped hearing, stopped feeling, stopped seeing anything but him.

  Noticing her slackened hold on the ward, the prince’s eyes left hers for a split second, and he gave a quick nod to the guards she hadn’t even realized had snuck up behind her. With a few quick movements, she was disarmed and detained, and the female was ushered away.

  Faythe didn’t fight; didn’t struggle. All she could do was stare and stare, rooted to the spot in a state of frozen shock. Her heart shattered, and the world tilted as she looked straight into the expressionless eyes…of Nik.

  Chapter 47

  “Well done, Nikalias.”

  The king’s voice was faint, but when she heard it and whom he spoke of, Faythe snapped. The guards had a hold of her upper arms loosely as they no longer considered her a threat. As quick as a fae in her blind rage, Faythe reached to her side, drew her sword, and lunged for the prince.

  She barely made it a step before she was tackled. Her face hit the cold stone floor, sword clattering out of her hand as a weight pressed on her back. Her vision blacked out from the force of the blow to her head, and her already injured ribs stabbed excruciatingly.

  She swayed a little when they pulled her up to stand again and blinked slowly, waiting for the dizziness to pass. When it did, her eyes met the familiar emerald-green stare, and she fell apart inside.

  He kept his face neutral, no hint of the kind, tender male she had come to know—even started to love. The male looking at her now held no warmth and no recognition. She glanced to the silver-banded crown over his sleek black hair in utter disbelief.

  All this time, he had played her for a fool, and she had been stupid enough to walk right into his deception.

  Had his plan all along been to discover the true extent of her abilities and offer her as a prize to his father? It made sense. He was always pushing her; always curious to know more. And she had confided everything in him like a damn naïve child. She should have trusted her instincts. She was no better than chattel to the fae, and she had led herself right into the abattoir.

  Her heartbreak was overshadowed by cold, simmering fury. She wanted to make him suffer.

  “I’m growing bored of the theatrics. Bring them all to me,” the king said, strolling toward the dais.

  Nik turned and followed. With a rough pull, Faythe was dragged along too.

  The king stepped up onto the dais but never took a seat on his throne. Nik stayed below the platform and turned to face forward again, but he did not meet her eyes this time.

  Faythe was forced to her knees before the king, and her friends joined her on either side. She didn’t look at them for fear it would break her. She kept her eyes down on the white marble floor as her mind rattled through ideas that could still save them.

  “What is your name, girl?” the king spoke.

  She said nothing—an act of defiance that didn’t sit well with him. A second later, a guard grabbed the back of her head, forcing it up to lock eyes with the king. She clenched her teeth to prevent the hiss of pain, not wanting to give any of them the satisfaction. Her gaze darted to the side, where they met with the black holes of Captain Varis. She wanted to tear him limb from limb at the look of victory and amusement on his face. He had gotten exactly what he wanted—more, even—to see her go down with those who were most precious to her.

  “I won’t ask again,” the king warned.

  When she kept her mouth clamped shut, the king gave a quick nod to the captain, who smiled in wicked delight as he drew his sword and stalked to Marlowe on her left.

  Faythe’s eyes widened in horror. “Faythe!” she shouted, then she snapped her head to look the king in the eye. “My name is Faythe,” she hissed through her teeth.

  “Resistan
ce is not bravery, Faythe; it’s foolish.”

  She bit back her retort, quickly realizing an argument with the King of High Farrow would not end well for anyone in the room. She was running out of options.

  “Please,” she begged. “Please, spare my friends. They have done nothing wrong.” She had no other way out of this. They couldn’t fight, and even if they managed to escape by some miracle, they would not get far before the king found them and executed them on sight.

  “And here I thought begging would be beneath you,” he commented. “I’m a little disappointed.” He looked them all over for a moment, contemplating, and then he sighed with feigned sympathy. “I’m afraid I cannot let this go unpunished. You and your accomplices have been found guilty of armed infiltration of the castle with criminal intent against the crown. For your acts of treason, my sentencing is death—for all of you.” He looked at the captain and gave him another nod to proceed.

  The ground trembled beneath her as she watched Varis stalk toward Marlowe once more, his eyes dancing with an executioner’s delight.

  “Don’t you touch her!” Jakon’s voice was animalistic beside her. She heard the commotion of his struggle as he was roughly detained but couldn’t look at him; she could only stare, numb with horror, at the dark beast who promised death with each stride.

  “Please! Please!” she cried, desperate, staring into the king’s eyes. But there was no mercy in them. She snapped her eyes to Nik instead. He could stop this; he could talk to his father and save her friend.

  He didn’t meet her desperate look. He also had his eyes fixed on the captain with an unreadable expression. His jaw twitched, but he made no movement and said nothing as he watched Marlowe’s death loom closer.

  Her friend was hysterical beside her as two guards grabbed her arms and shoved her forward in a firm position to be beheaded. A brutal, messy death as a spectacle for Faythe; an extra punishment for her to watch for making a fool out of his guards and capturing his ward.

  She couldn’t hear the sobs, couldn’t hear anything, as she scanned everywhere trying to think of something, anything, that might offer salvation. Her golden eyes settled on the captain who lifted his sword skyward. Her whole body shook, numb and ice-cold, and a high-pitched ringing filled her ears. When his eyes met hers, a cruel smile appeared in the corner of his mouth. He wanted to delight in her reaction at the exact moment he took her friend’s life.

  The steel glinted in the light as he poised to bring it down in one clean motion. And as it started to fall, with her eyes connected to his, Faythe screamed.

  Chapter 48

  Faythe met the oily black wall of the captain’s mind—and shattered clean through it. She heard him choke slightly as she instinctively seized control, and his hands halted the mighty blade in the air above Marlowe’s head.

  “Captain,” the king demanded at his paused execution.

  She didn’t know how she was doing it, but in her moment of terror and desperation, she had latched herself to the part of his mind that could command movement. As easy as if she were telling her own body, she ordered him to step back and drop his sword to the ground. She could see his physical resistance as he strained against her influence, but, reluctantly, his feet moved, and the loud clash of metal against polished marble ricocheted through the great hall.

  “Explain yourself!” the king bellowed in outrage.

  “I…I can’t—” the captain tried, but she could take away his speech too.

  His eyes remained on hers as disbelief and fear crossed his face. A sly smile tugged at the corners of her lips, and the realization made his eyes bulge when he finally fit the pieces together to discover she was the one in his head.

  “You made the biggest mistake of your miserable life when you decided to go after my friend,” she said into his mind, bringing the captain to his knees.

  The king’s voice boomed again. “Captain Varis, you will stand at once!”

  But he couldn’t take his eyes off Faythe even if he wanted to. She held them fixed on her. Everything inside his mind felt wrong. So much malice and hatred in his thoughts. He relished in pain, and his anger surged through her. He wanted to kill her—that thought was loud and clear above the rest—and while she was in there, she realized she could kill him. She could shatter his mind or command a sharp enough twist to snap his neck. With his rage and thirst for violence pulsing through her and mixing with her own emotions, it took everything in Faythe to keep herself separate and remember who she was. She would gladly rid the world of such an evil and not think twice about it, but her logical mind sang through, and she knew it would not win favor with the king if she killed his captain.

  But she could at least hurt him a little.

  Reaching in to grab his deepest fears, she turned his internal monsters into a vivid vision. The captain began shouting in terror and thrashed wildly from his position on the floor, fighting off foes that were not visible to anyone else in the room.

  The guards around him shifted in bemusement, angling their swords to strike the phantom danger.

  “Enough of this! Seize the girl!”

  Faythe felt rough hands haul her to her feet, but she remained focused on the captain for as long as she could, relishing in his fear just as he had hers—until another calloused set of hands gripped her chin with painful force, and her eyes met the black depths of the king’s. As he seethed in her face, she heard the captain gasp for air. Her connection to his mind severed, and Faythe too returned to herself, her physical surroundings coming back into full clarity.

  “What is this trickery?” The king let go of her roughly and stepped back again, but he was reeling. His eyes narrowed on hers, and she lifted her chin. “You?” he said, incredulous. “Impossible.”

  Exposing herself had been the only way to save Marlowe, and she would find a way to hold the minds of everyone in this damned room if she had to. She cast a glance toward Nik and found him already staring at her, though he remained impassive to her display.

  Faythe kept silent but didn’t balk at his look, her eyes blazing at the sight of him.

  “It’s true.” For the first time since he’d entered the hall, Nik spoke.

  At the sound of his voice, her heart broke, and anger flared at the same time. Here it was: the great unveiling of everything he’d learned about her to send her to her doom. She glared at him, but his eyes left her to fall on the king—his father. The thought was still inconceivable.

  “I’ve been watching her for some time now, gathering what I could to bring her to you. She is more gifted than I or any other Nightwalker, Your Majesty. She can enter the conscious mind,” he said plainly, as if relaying battle information.

  It made Faythe sick. She couldn’t bear to look at his face, for all she could see was months of lies and deception. Every feeling had been so real for her when it had only been a trap to him. She focused her gaze on the king instead, whose eyes widened a little in bewilderment.

  He took a cautious step toward her, sizing her up and down and making her feel horribly exposed. “What an interesting night this has turned out to be.” He chuckled, though it lacked real humor. “A human with gifts more powerful than yours, you say?” He cast a glance to Nik, who said nothing. “And your friends?”

  “It’s just me,” Faythe said quickly.

  “What else do you know, Nikalias?”

  She had to close her eyes for a moment to brace herself.

  Nik angled his head. “Faythe Aklin. Mother—human, deceased. Father—unknown. She lives a simple life in Farrowhold, though her swordsmanship is quite impressive. No criminal or violent history. Her ability is an anomaly without any indication of where it derived from.” His voice was smooth; factual.

  She found the bravery to look up, but he was already focused on her. Anger and heartbreak fought to be her commanding emotion, but in the end, pain took over. There was no hint of kindness; no sign of remorse. He spoke of her as if she were no more than a rare find—an object—as
he laid out the brief summary of her life to the king.

  Faythe shook her head in disbelief and switched her gaze to the king. “Now you know everything,” she said calmly, and then she straightened with confidence. “My friends played no willing part in any of it; I used them through my ability. They were unwitting bystanders in my plan to get here. They’re innocent.”

  The king cocked an eyebrow in surprise at her confession. “And what exactly was your plan?”

  “To avenge my mother. You had her executed,” she lied easily.

  “Faythe, no—” Jakon’s voice sounded from behind, and it took everything in her not to turn to him when she heard him struggle against the guards.

  “Their minds are not completely their own,” Faythe said, dismissing Jakon’s plea.

  “Sounds like a fool’s desperate hope to save her friends.”

  Faythe’s nostrils flared. “I think we’ve all seen the extent of my reach.” She cast a wicked smile to the captain, whose face contorted in savage fury.

  The king also looked to him. “Indeed,” he drawled, stalking back up onto the dais and taking a seat on his grand throne at last. He propped one elbow on the arm of the chair to hold his strong, angled chin as he pondered her fate. “Now, what to do with you? We do not know what you are capable of if left untested, untrained…” He cast another glance over to Captain Varis, who had regained his composure and stood livid, anticipating the call to end her life. “Powerful for sure, to bring a fae to his knees and whatever else you implicated on his mind.” The captain’s face twitched in humiliation. “You pose a threat to us all.”

  “You can do whatever you like with me if you let them go.”

  The king huffed a laugh. “Noble of you.” He took a long breath in as if only now finding himself bored of the events. “Take them all to the cells. Separate Faythe,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.