DEDICATION

To you, the reader.

You can do anything.

 An Heir Comes to Rise
Copyright © 2020 by C.C. Peñaranda
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a
book review.

Published by Lumarias Press

www.lumariaspress.com

First Edition published February 2021

Map Design © 2020 by Chloe C. Peñaranda

Cover illustration © 2020 by Alice Maria Power
www.alicemariapower.com
Cover Design © 2020 by Whimsy Book Cover Graphics
www.whimsybookcovergraphics.com
Edited by Bryony Leah
www.bryonyleah.com

Identifiers
ISBN: 978-1-8382480-2-4 (eBook)
ISBN: 978-1-8382480-1-7 (paperback)
ISBN: 978-1-8382480-0-0 (hardback)

www.ccpenaranda.com
 CONTENTS

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Epilogue

Pronounciation Guide
Acknowledgments
About the Author
 CHAPTER 1

I nU ngardia , not even dreams were safe.

In fact, it was the one place humans and fae found
themselves equal in their vulnerability. To fall asleep was to
risk their minds falling to the mercy of the invading
Nightwalkers; to be unaware of their chilling presence.
Such creatures, or anyone blessed with magick abilities,
were born of the immortally supreme fae. A dark, invisible
force among their ranks, the Nightwalkers possessed the
telepathic ability to enter a person’s unconscious mind and
access their thoughts and memories, allowing them the
deadly capacity to kill from within. To Nightwalkers, the
mind was a playground of secrets and lies, and it was their
eternal delight to release such thoughts from harmless
containment and condemn their unwitting host.
Everyone has skeletons in the closet, and those who
claimed otherwise were usually the ones with the most to
hide.
Though rare, there were enough uniquely gifted fae in
Faythe’s home kingdom of High Farrow that the humans in
the impoverished outer town did not revolt against the king
or those living a life of luxury within the high inner-city
walls. The imperious fae cast the humans out as though they
were no more than dogs with the dreary town dwellings as
their kennels, where they lived in fear of their immortal
superiors. Uprising for equality would be futile. And fatal.
It was unusual to see the fae outside the wall for any
reason other than work. There were no sights to behold in
the old chipped brown buildings and uneven paths of the
outer town, and nothing of interest in the very few
amenities. The only regular sightings Faythe was used to
were the fae guard patrols, though she could never be sure if
they stalked the streets to protect the humans or as a further
measure to control them.
The fae saw Faythe’s kind as only useful for work; to be
exerted until they died undertaking the tasks that kept the
city and towns running, cycling on through generations. To
an immortal, human lifespans were no more than a slight
shift in time.
The inner city wasn’t completely cut off to Faythe’s kind,
however. Some of them sought out work behind the
fortification for better pay than anything they could get in
the outer town, but humans needed unique or sought-after
skills to be employed by the fae.
Faythe had no such skills. Her role was simply that of an
assistant to a bustling bakery stall in the main town of
Farrowhold’s market square. She spent her days making
runs from the home where Marie’s daughters baked
delicious goods to the prime spot on the square, occasionally
making personal deliveries too. The pay was miserable, but it
was made up for by a couple of breads and pastries she
would get to take home each evening.
She had never desired to work within the inner city, nor
did she envy those who were deemed worthy enough to. She
would rather suffer her long, grueling days and petty coin
than be constantly looked down upon and forced to work for
a pompous, arrogant immortal.
 Faythe shuddered at the thought of immortality. Why
anyone would want to live more than one lifetime in this sad,
war-stricken world was beyond her comprehension. She
supposed their opulent lifestyle offered more to be desired.
Yet the fae were an unforgiving, power-hungry people, and
despite her fair share of sleeping rough on an empty belly,
Faythe was glad she wasn’t one of them.
This workday was particularly busy. The merciless
summer sun beat down, testing Faythe’s strength by mid-
afternoon. She was slick with sweat and panting, returning
with her fourth run of pastries already.
“Grace says she’s out of apples to make any more tarts
today.” Faythe set down the tray assortment, wiping her
brow with the back of her sleeve.
Marie huffed her disappointment. Apple tarts were her
best seller and Faythe’s favorite.
“Well, we’ll have to make do, I suppose.”
Marie was a natural with the customers, always cheerful
and smiling, which was probably why Faythe was hardly ever
asked to work the front. It wasn’t that she was
unapproachable or hopeless, but Faythe was an open book
with her emotions, and that never fared well with clients
who were less deserving of Marie’s warmth. Marie was also a
generous woman and often felt guilty about the small sum
she could afford to pay, but Faythe understood. Money was
tight for most people in the outer town.
A lot of the small trades were stuck in a circular chain
reaction. Workers were not able to be paid enough, and as a
result, goods had to be sold at a far lower price than they
deserved since no one had much left to spend by the end of
each week.
“I have a couple of boxes ready for delivery!” Marie
shouted to the back over the clamor of the midday crowd.
 Pushing herself up off the crate she’d sat on for a few
seconds, Faythe forced down a groan to collect them, her
legs and feet starting to ache. Despite being in Marie’s
employment for two years, she never thought it got
physically easier.
“And be quick! Mrs. Green likes her pies still warm,”
Marie grumbled, trying to balance multiple tasks of packing
and serving at once.
With arms full, four deliveries to make, Faythe set off
down the bustling streets. She knew the winding stone paths
of Farrowhold better than anyone. To prove her point, one
evening, her closest friend Jakon had even challenged her to
a game of hide-and-seek, blindfolded. Faythe had
maneuvered every corner, turn, and discarded crate like a
graceful alley cat, and with her other senses forced to be on
high alert, it didn’t take long to track him down.
She considered herself too old for such games now,
instead spending her free evenings sparring with Jakon in
the square when trading ceased for the day, leaving it a
quiet, ambient space to let loose from their stresses. They
could never afford real swords. Jakon worked on the town
farm and would steal broom handles to split in two every
time they whittled the ones they had into twigs. Faythe had
been trying to put aside what she could to buy a real blade
one day, tired of hearing the thump of wood in place of the
singing steel she longed for, but by her calculations, it would
take most of a year to save for even a basic model.
After weaving her way through crowded streets and
making her pleasant but swift stops, she still had one
delivery left: the Greens’ mill. Faythe added a slight skip to
her step as she made her way there. It was always a
comforting place for her as her mother had labored for Mrs.
Green many years ago. After her death, Faythe would always
find solace within the old decrepit building she was dragged
along to as a child. Her mother had to fight against Faythe’s
protests every morning to get her to come along, but it was
there she met Reuben, the mill owner’s son. The once shy
and timid boy with curly blond hair and dimples became a
lively, playful spirit with Faythe’s pestering for someone to
play with. It wasn’t long before she was more reluctant to
leave than to go.
Once a week, Faythe would look forward to this delivery.
Mrs. Green had remained a regular customer of the market
stall bakery for years, though Faythe knew it wasn’t only the
delicious pies that kept her ordering; it was a way for both of
them to keep her mother’s memory alive. She purposely
made her previous stops a little quicker than usual to have a
few minutes spare to spend with Reuben and Mrs. Green.
Rounding the corner to the mill, Faythe slowed her brisk
pace when the large off-white structure came into view. She
almost halted at the sight of a dark, looming figure emerging
from the dainty front door.
He was cloaked and hooded—an oddity considering the
suffocating summer heat—but that wasn’t what made
Faythe stumble in her tracks. The figure was tall and broad,
way too much so to be like any of the men in town. Any
human men at least. Faythe couldn’t see this man’s ears—to
glance their delicate points that would confirm him as fae—
but his stature alone made her think he was of immortal
nature.
Faythe fought the urge to retreat as he glided toward her.
She wanted to avert her eyes; to look at the ground and not
pay any attention as he stormed forward. There was no other
route to or from the mill without them crossing paths. Yet
her eyes were fixed, compelled to track him. Her heart
became the only sound, pounding loud in her ears in
anticipation of the foreboding danger. She’d grown up with
an instilled fear of the fae. Everyone had.
 He advanced closer, and Faythe tried to catch a glimpse of
his face in her curiosity to learn more about the strange male
who held a poise different to any of the patrol she’d seen. He
didn’t march and stand intimidating like the others; he was
elegant in his movement and inconspicuous in his demeanor.
It was clear he didn’t want to be noticed.
Faythe rarely looked twice at any of the fae guards who
were a regular sight on the streets of Farrowhold. She found
most of them to be carbon copies of the same brute force.
But her intrigue was sparked by the mysterious fae stranger
in front of her.
She expected him to float past without any
acknowledgment of her, as they all did in their ignorance.
Then, as he came a foot away, his head tilted upward, eyes
locking directly on her. Their emerald color was striking,
revealing deeper vibrant hues as he angled his head to the
side and they caught the rays of the sun.
Time slowed in that second, or perhaps it was her heart as
the loud thud faded to a distant hum. She thought she saw
the same look of inquisition in his own eyes when they
narrowed a fraction. Then he passed her completely in one
long stride, and Faythe was broken from her trance.
She didn’t realize she’d stopped walking until she took a
long, conscious breath and her surroundings came into
clarity once more. She dared a look back, but the streets
behind were empty, and he’d disappeared like a ghost in the
wind.
When she faced her destination again, realization struck
Faythe. What reason would a fae have for being at the
Greens’ mill? Panic set in, and she pressed forward once
again with a hurried pace.
Faythe didn’t bother knocking as she rushed through the
mill door. The aged floorboards cried loudly with every
desperate step to locate Reuben and his mother. She couldn’t
call out for her worry.
In the large kitchen, she halted. Her relief at finding them
was short-lived when she beheld the desolate look on Mrs.
Green’s face and noticed her eyes glittering with tears.
Reuben had his back to her, but when he turned, his face was
ghostly pale.
Her heart dropped at his solemn expression in place of his
usual quirky smile.
None of them spoke for a painfully long moment. When
she couldn’t stand the suspense any longer, she choked out,
“What’s wrong?” The pie box in her hands became a heavy
weight, and she set it down on the nearby table before taking
a step closer to her friend.
Reuben opened his mouth to speak, but it moved without
any sound as if he was struggling to comprehend the news.
“I—I have to leave,” he finally got out in barely more
than a whisper.
Faythe’s frown deepened. “What do you mean? Reuben,
what do they want with you?” she asked in urgency.
He shook his head. “I’m so sorry, Faythe. I did what I
thought I had to. I… They threatened me in the woods, said
they would kill you all if I didn’t.” He stumbled with ghostly
terror.
Faythe clenched her trembling fists to hide the betrayal of
her fear. She had yet to hear the rest of what had him so
horrified.
“What did the fae want?” she pressed again through a
shaky breath.
His look turned grave. “He was a Nightwalker,” he said.
Faythe’s eyes widened, but she allowed him to go on without
interrupting. “He…he came by to warn me, tell me to leave,
before the king has one who isn’t so forgiving bring me in.
I’ve been spying information for Valgard—they cornered me
in the Dark Woods some weeks ago. They asked me to find
something, a stone of some kind, apparently hidden within
High Farrow. I…I didn’t find it. I…didn’t…” Reuben trailed
off, acknowledging the foolish and life-threatening act he’d
committed.
His confession suffocated the air in Faythe’s throat and
struck her heart into an uneven rhythm. Of all the things she
imagined his woes to be, this never even made the list.
Faythe had never left her home kingdom of High Farrow,
but the histories were common knowledge. All children were
raised with the lore through stories and song. She and
Reuben even had lessons together as children in this very
mill about the dangers and threats of the centuries-old war
in Ungardia that still remained unresolved.
The nefarious kingdom of Valgard, east off the coast of
the mainland, had waged conflict on the rest of Ungardia
over five hundred years ago. The mainland divided its
territory between five kingdoms: High Farrow, Rhyenelle,
Olmstone, Dalrune, and Fenstead—the latter two having
been finally conquered by Valgard over a century ago during
the great battles. They had tried and failed to take the former
three, who now held a close alliance. But the overhanging
possibility of another great battle made everyone afraid.
Faythe’s confusion and suspicion piqued, and the emerald
eyes of the male outside flashed to mind. It was not often the
fae offered mercy to her kind, and what Reuben spoke of was
treason. King Orlon Silvergriff of High Farrow had his
Nightwalkers rooting out those accused of such crimes to be
sentenced to death immediately.
“What are you going to do?” Faythe had no answers, and
she didn’t expect to receive a useful solution.
Though he was a man now, Reuben still held onto his
innocence. He was easily led, and his response to fear and
pressure had always been to submit rather than fight. As
much as Faythe had tried to whack the opposite into him
through her brutal pestering to play with weapons and spar
as children, it had always been Faythe’s idea of fun, and
Reuben’s idea of torture.
“I—I don’t know, Faythe. I’m scared.”
At his tone of defeat, something in Faythe awoke: a need
to help him in any way she could. She rattled through her
mind trying to think of any possible resolve to save her
friend’s life. Fleeing would be no easy task—High Farrow
wasn’t the only kingdom with Nightwalkers in their royal
service. He could be rooted out in any of the mainland
kingdoms for treason.
Then one name sang above the rest in dawning: Lakelaria.
It was the one mighty kingdom that had remained clear of
battles through the centuries. Lakelaria stood as its own
great island to the west and was guarded by the wicked Black
Sea, commanded by the queen herself, who was rumored to
be the oldest ruler in the seven kingdoms of Ungardia—and
the most powerful. Not much was known about the people or
lands of Lakelaria. They had closed off their borders long
before the conflicts started five hundred years ago and only
allowed trade routes to remain open.
It would be a long shot to get Reuben across the seas and
beg for safe entry. It was also perhaps his only hope. They
had nothing to fear from Valgard and no reason to search for
traitors. As far as anyone knew, no one left that island.
Mrs. Green’s sob broke through her thoughts. Faythe had
almost forgotten the mill owner’s presence in her focused
concern. Her expression softened at the hopeless look on her
usually cheerful, bright face.
Faythe said, “I might have an idea.” Then she turned her
attention to Reuben once more. “Pack what you can carry.
Every time you fall asleep, you’re at risk. You have to leave
tonight. Mrs. Green, you should be safe if you don’t know
anything.”
She sobbed hard, and Faythe struggled to hold back her
own sadness at the thought of her friend leaving, on the run
with his life.
Mrs. Green approached her, and she accepted her embrace
in solace. Her short, round form fit under Faythe’s chin, and
she closed her eyes for a moment as if she could feel herself
absorbing the mill owner’s pain and grief.
When they broke apart, Faythe offered a sad smile. Then
she glanced at the clock perched on the wonky mantel
behind and swore inwardly.
“I have to go,” she said, then she looked once more at
Reuben. “I’ll meet you by Westland Forest, nine o’clock.”
Reuben nodded. “Thank you, Faythe.”
She gave a short nod of her own, then she twisted on her
heel and bustled out of the mill before she could crumble
under the intense sorrow in the room. Once outdoors, Faythe
breathed in deep to calm her storm of emotion—then she
broke into a run back to the square.

The day passed by quickly after her rocky encounter at the

Greens’ mill. Faythe’s head rattled with ideas of how she
could get Reuben across the sea to his only possible
salvation.
As anticipated, Marie gave her an earful on how time was
money and didn’t let her have a moment’s rest upon
returning. Faythe welcomed the distraction anyway, but all
too soon, the sun was beginning its descent past the
rooftops, and Faythe was heading home for the evening. Well
—heading back to what she had come to call home, which
was the very small one-bedroom hut she shared with Jakon.
Its structure was poor, allowing harsh nights to whistle
bitter wind through the cracks of its crooked wooden walls.
Despite this, the humble setting brought the odd feeling of
warmth and safety.
She burst through the threshold and spotted her friend
lounging at the bench they used as a dining table in the open
kitchen and living area. The place was shoddy and lacking in
any color besides hues of brown. Neither of them was
particularly bothered about interior design as they preferred
to spend as little time indoors as possible.
“Whoa! Marie got you doing marathons again?” Jakon
quipped, peering up from the piece of paper he was studying.
Faythe gave him a flat look, and he dropped the smirk.
“What’s wrong?” He set down the parchment and stood
immediately. She had to give him credit: he was always quick
to detect her mood shifts.
Jakon was her closest friend. Older than her by three
years, he’d saved her from the streets when her mother had
died ten years prior. Faythe had no knowledge of who her
father was, leaving her an orphan aged nine. Jakon had
already lost his parents to sickness at the same age, so
Faythe often thought they were like two sides of the same
sad coin.
“Nothing. I’m handling it.” She already knew her friend
wouldn’t let it go that easily, but she tried anyway to save
putting another neck on the line.
“Do I have to force it from you?” His mouth set in a thin
line, and she knew that cool, calculating look—had butted
heads with it many times over the years from his
unnecessary overprotectiveness.
“You have to trust me on this one. The less minds that
know, the better.”
He frowned deeply, catching on to exactly what she
meant. “If you’re at risk because of one of those bastards,
you’d better tell me now,” he growled.
There was no arguing with Jakon; they were both as
stubborn as each other. Together, they were a force to be
reckoned with, but against one another, it could be
cataclysmic.
“Can’t you put your male ego aside and trust I can take
care of this?” Faythe snapped. Pushing past him, she
grabbed her deep green cloak. The summer nights still held a
chill to the air, but she slung the cloak on more for
concealment than warmth.
Earlier that day, she had snatched some extra bread and
pastries without Marie noticing. Finding an old bag, she
piled them in to give to Reuben for his journey.
Jakon ignored her remark. “Fine. I’ll just follow you until
I figure it out for myself,” he said, reaching for his own worn
black cloak.
She glared at him. “You’re insufferable.” When he
showed no sign of backing off, Faythe huffed, throwing her
arms out. “Knowing only puts two of us at risk instead of
one!” But she knew that if anything were to happen to her,
Jakon would be right behind her to accept that fate too. “It’s
not even me who’s in deep shit. It’s Reuben.”
His expression switched from relief to shock to fear in the
five minutes it took her to ramble through her short
encounter at the mill that morning. “And what exactly is
your plan to help him? Gods, Faythe, why are you getting
involved!” Jakon was pacing, which always set her on edge.
“He’s our friend! What was I supposed to do—let him get
caught?” she cried.
“Damn that boy when I see him for even telling you. He’s
practically tied his anchor to you as well,” he seethed.
“He hardly had a choice,” Faythe shot back. “You or I
would have done the same if the other were threatened the
same way.”
 His features softened a little, and he released a long sigh,
fastening his cloak. “I would have gotten us the heck out of
here before I risked both our necks. He’s not safe in any
kingdom now.”
“I have a plan.”
Jakon cocked an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue.
Faythe shifted on her feet.
“Lakelaria.”
He huffed a humorless laugh. “Right, and your real
plan?”
“That is my real plan, you asshole. Like you said, no other
kingdom is safe. They’re neutral territory.”
“If they let him in!”
“I didn’t say it was an entirely foolproof plan.”
Jakon rubbed his hands over his face. “There’s a ship
docked at the harbor for trade tonight,” he said reluctantly,
offering a solution to the glaring hole in her idea: how to get
Reuben across the sea.
She perked. “You know this for sure?”
He nodded. “I saw it this morning on my way to work.”
She beamed at the knowledge. “Then let’s go.”
“You don’t need to come, Faythe. I’ll get Reuben out
safely. I know more of the patrol timings than you do.”
With a dead look, Faythe whirled for the door in response.
She slid her hand into her pocket to retrieve the aged brass
watch—one of the last items she owned of her mother’s. It
was nearly half past eight, and dark night had begun to
blanket the town.
Jakon sighed. “I didn’t think so.”
 CHAPTER 2

F aythe and J akon crouched low in the dark behind a stack

of old discarded wooden pallets, their hoods pulled down
to mask their faces. Neither said a word as they waited for
the night fae patrol to pass.
Though they were allowed to be out, they didn’t want to
risk being stopped for questioning or possibly followed.
Any minute now, they would stroll down to the bottom of
the intersection by the inn—if Faythe’s pocket watch still
kept the correct minute. Over the years, she’d had to adjust
the handles when the minute hand occasionally stilled.
Right on time, they heard the sound of boots scuffling
against gravel and faint voices, followed by the appearance
of four tall, dark figures. Torches lined the sides of the
buildings, casting intimidating shadows of their large forms.
The fae soldiers wore uniform colors of deep blue and
black, and the sigil of High Farrow, a winged griffin, adorned
their cloaks, clasped ornately at one shoulder.
Royal guards.
Even from her position down the street, their size and
poise were something Faythe couldn’t help but marvel at.
She mentally chastised herself every time, but especially
now, as she caught Jakon stealing a sideways glance at her
obvious interest.
 For a human, Jakon was handsome. Tall and well-built,
his dark brown eyes and permanently disheveled brown hair
made him easy on the eyes. The women in town were never
subtle in their flirtation, but despite all this, he was still
painfully human in comparison. They both were. Faythe’s
only standout feature was her eyes—her mother’s eyes of
bright gold. The rest of her was perfectly ordinary. She had
chestnut brown hair and was a little too lean thanks to the
days she didn’t properly feed herself. There was only so
much bland broth and stale bread she could stomach.
The patrol stopped outside the inn. They made quiet talk
among themselves before a wicked-looking fae with a scar
marring the left side of his face gave a nod and barged
through the door with undue force. Faythe flinched at the
sound of splintering wood, surprised the door still held on its
hinges. They didn’t appear to be heading in for an ale and a
drunken chat with friends. No—they had business to do with
someone inside, likely on the orders of the king.
“We have to move now,” Jakon whispered beside her.
Faythe was rooted, her curiosity getting the better of her.
It wasn’t often she saw the king’s guard taking action in the
outer town. It was usually peaceful and boring.
Jakon hooked an arm around her elbow. “Now, Faythe,”
he hissed sternly.
She launched into a tiptoed jog behind him, quick but
quiet, keeping to the walls for shadow cover. Once around
the corner of a street further up, she heard a loud
commotion exiting the inn behind her and dared a look back.
Faythe held in a small gasp at the sight of a young man
being dragged out of the establishment with unnatural ease.
His fight would be futile against one of them, let alone the
four surrounding him. She knew him as Samuel, the
innkeeper’s son. They weren’t friends. He was arrogant and
a bully. Regardless of her feelings, she wouldn’t wish
anyone’s fate to be in the hands of the fae.
He thrashed and cried out, but she couldn’t make out any
words from this distance. The fae with the scarred face
kicked him behind his knees, and Samuel fell with palms
splayed to the ground.
“We have to go,” Jakon insisted, going to grab her elbow
again.
She pulled her arm out of his reach. “We should help
him.” The idea sounded just as crazy as when she thought it.
Even so, she couldn’t stand to leave someone helpless—even
someone like Samuel.
“Have you lost your mind? There’s nothing we can do
except earn ourselves a trip to the gallows with him,” he
hissed.
It took all her strength to close her eyes and block out the
cries of desperation. Jakon was right: interfering would only
instantly condemn them too.
As she turned her head to walk away, she almost
collapsed with the weight of the fear that drowned her. It
shocked her as much as it crippled her because she knew the
fear wasn’t for herself. She always did have a horrible sense
of other people’s emotions, and it was a curse she’d learned
to live with.
As quickly as she felt it, the fear was gone. A sharp chill
shot through her body, and she turned on her heel, once
again snaking through the shadows like a nighttime bandit.
She was still trembling with the ghost of that terror when
they reached the edge of the Westland Forest. Jakon led them
into the dark woodland, where branches on trees swayed like
wraiths. Straight ahead was cloaked in a veil of impenetrable
black.
Faythe had never liked the forest. She didn’t trust it. The
wide-open space was an illusion of safety and freedom
staggered with too many hiding places for an assailant to lie
in wait. They only ever ventured here when she and Jakon
tried their hand at hunting, more to cure their boredom than
with any hope of catching wildlife. It wasn’t just that they
lacked the skills and experience; game was starting to
become scarce in these forests.
There was no sign of Reuben. A feeling of dread grew in
Faythe as the minutes ticked by, while Jakon paced the same
few steps, his patience wearing thin. Then a rustling came
from behind, and her friend drew his small dagger, taking a
protective stance in front of her in a heartbeat.
Seconds later, the curly blond hair she’d come to love and
hate bounced into view. Jakon released a sigh of relief and
lowered the blade.
“You’re late,” was all he said to Reuben as he came to a
stop in front of them.
Reuben was panting, adjusting the small backpack he
carried. “I’m sorry. My mother wouldn’t let me leave
without triple-checking my supplies and saying many, many
goodbyes.”
Faythe’s heart broke at the sight of her friend, his face
grave as if he had already given up hope of escape.
“What are you doing here anyway?” Reuben asked him.
Jakon snarled. “You brought Faythe into your mess. I
wasn’t going to let her risk her neck alone.”
Faythe knew that if he’d had the choice, Jakon would have
left Reuben in his hopeless state rather than potentially risk
her life by getting involved.
“We don’t have time to waste on petty bickering. The
night patrol will be changing shifts at the docks soon,” she
said to cut the tension.
They still had enough time, but she couldn’t stand to look
Reuben in the eye for long—not if it meant she had to feel
the waves of fear and despair emanating from them. She
fiddled with her watch in her pocket and brushed her fingers
along the simple engraved symbol on the brass back,
suddenly finding it very interesting.
“What’s the plan then?” Reuben’s voice brought her back
to the gloomy forest.
Her eyes met his. “Lakelaria,” she said, ignoring his
wide-eyed look at its mention. “There’s a supply ship
leaving tonight.”
Reuben blanched. “That’s not a plan. That’s suicide!” He
turned to Jakon. “Please tell me you have something else?”
Jakon gave a silent shake of his head, and Reuben looked
as if he might pass out where he stood. “It’s the best chance
you’ve got,” Jakon said. Even Faythe was surprised at the
gentleness in his tone.
“I can’t… I—I won’t…”
Realizing no number of soft words was going to get him
to see sense, Faythe turned stern. “It’s either stay here and
be caught, or risk using that big mouth of yours to get safe
entry into Lakelaria.” When he still looked reluctant to
agree, Faythe rolled her eyes, and with a shake of her head,
she brushed past him and made to abandon him to his own
fate.
She got all of a few steps before she heard, “Wait.” His
tone was weak. “Okay. I’ll go if you think it’s the best plan,”
he said in defeat.
She straightened, suddenly anxious he would entrust his
life with her impulsive idea. She didn’t let it show.
“Then we had better get moving.”
They used the cover of trees along the forest edge to get
to the adjoining coastline. Once on the rocky shores of
Farrow Harbor, Faythe spotted the large cargo ship on the
docks. Men were hauling crates on and off with haste.
They didn’t have much time.
“What now?” she whispered to Jakon.
 He gave a sly smile as he spotted what he was looking for.
“Follow me,” was all he said, darting out of cover.
Faythe and Reuben followed suit, keeping low and
ducking behind whatever bushes or pallets they could find
along the way. Two fae males stood guard at the docks while
the human men carried out the work. Even though the fae
were stronger and faster.
Typical, Faythe thought.
Ducking behind a pile of crates and barrels, Jakon let out a
whistle-cry. Faythe shot him an incredulous look until she
recognized the sound: a very convincing birdcall they often
used to meet others in secret.
She looked over the large barrel she was crouched behind
—which was among various other containers yet to be
loaded on board—and noticed a familiar slender man with
shoulder-length, rugged red hair glance toward them at the
sound. Ferris Archer. What he lacked in muscle and height,
he’d gained in wits and cunning. He had been a close friend
of theirs for many years, though he had a reckless and
impulsive disposition, and they usually got up to no good
under his influence.
After making a dramatic show of looking as if he might
suddenly pass out to one of the fae patrol, they jerked their
heads toward the cargo, and Ferris made his way over. He
thumped down on top of the barrel Faythe hid behind with
an overexaggerated sigh before twisting his head and
peering down to give her a quick wink.
“This better be good, Kilnight,” Ferris said under his
breath, using Jakon’s surname. He took a long swig from a
waterskin he’d picked up.
Jakon wasted no time explaining. “We need your help to
get Reuben on that ship to Lakelaria,” he said plainly.
Ferris choked on his water a little before regaining
composure. “I don’t think I heard you right—”
 “It’s his life if we don’t,” Faythe injected. Time was not
their luxury tonight.
Ferris sat for a moment before taking a quick glance down
at Reuben and squeezing his eyes shut with a groan. “I don’t
want to know what you did, but I can take a good guess, you
foolish prick.”
Reuben shrank back at the comment.
“Please, Ferris,” Faythe pleaded.
He was quiet, and she prepared for his outright refusal.
Then he stood, making a display of closing his waterskin,
and stretched his arms.
“All these are to be boarded.” He subtly gestured to the
stacks around them. “The second to last on the left is only
half-full of grain. You should fit, and I’ll make sure I’m not
one of the guys hauling your heavy ass on there.”
One of the patrol shouted to Ferris to get back to work.
“How you get in there isn’t my problem. We’ll be hauling
barrels for the next fifteen minutes. Don’t let any of the
others see you if you value your head—they’re all
whistleblowers.” With that, Ferris turned to face them for a
final stretch, flashing Faythe another wink. He was a
shameful flirt. Occasionally, she would play along in
amusement, but she’d never once desired any romantic or
lustful relations with the red-haired deviant.
She smiled her thanks for his help, and Ferris picked up a
smaller crate beside them before making his way back to the
docks.
Faythe poked her head back over her hiding spot to scout.
There were two fae patrol and six men loading cargo. The fae
were lounging on the docks playing cards, not paying much
attention at all. She supposed they didn’t need to. Any foul
play, and they’d be alert with swords drawn before any of the
mortals could blink. Two of the men were on the ship
securing the consignments while the other four journeyed
back and forth with containers. She looked to her left. The
remaining six large barrels would take at least two or three
of them to lift each one.
Jakon seemed to arrive at the same idea as Faythe. They
gave each other a slight nod, and it amazed Faythe how in
tune with each other they were sometimes.
“It’ll be a very small window. We have to be quick and
quiet,” Jakon spoke coolly. “Take this.” He pushed his
dagger into her hand. “We can’t risk the fae hearing. We’re
too close for their ears.”
Faythe didn’t like where his addition to the plan was
going.
He gave an arrogant smirk at her look of protest and said,
“Don’t worry, Faythe.” He ruffled her hair, and she resisted
the urge to bat his hand away and tackle him. “They’re about
to turn back to come for these. Be ready.”
Faythe didn’t have time to object to his completely stupid
and reckless idea before he ducked out from behind his
barrel and rushed for the docks. She fought in irritation not
to launch the blade at him, but then the quickly alerted fae
had her shrinking back.
She couldn’t hear, but she watched in silence as Jakon
stopped in front of them and made some desperate gestures
toward the path leading back into town. One of the fae
shouted over to the cargo loaders while the other roughly
grabbed Jakon by the arm.
Faythe jolted, ready to jump out of position to intervene if
his plan went badly. Reuben put a hand on her shoulder as if
anticipating it, and she almost bit his fingers off—until she
watched the patrol begin to walk in their direction, Jakon in
tow. As they passed, he looked to her, a slight smile on the
corner of his lips assuring her this was part of his
impromptu idea.
 Faythe released a breath she didn’t realize she was
holding just as the four men, Ferris included, returned from
the ship to collect more supplies.
“This is it,” Faythe whispered as they approached. She
glanced at Reuben, and her heart cracked for him at the fear
on his face. “Listen to me, Reuben. You made a mistake, and
that can’t be undone, but now, you need to focus. You have to
live.” She pulled him into an embrace, and he let out a
breathless sound.
“I’m sorry, Faythe, and thank you for all you’ve risked for
me—all of you. I’d be dead otherwise. Look after my mother,
will you?” he said hurriedly, aware the crew were almost
within earshot.
“I will,” she whispered. “I really hope you make it,
Reuben. I’ll miss you.”
They released each other, and she brushed away a tear
from his face before crouching low, staying still as a statue.
All four of the men returned, shifting the end barrel before
lifting it two to a side and shuffling off again.
Without wasting a second, Faythe was on her feet,
angling the dagger to pry open the lid of the container Ferris
had indicated. He spoke the truth. When it came loose with a
faint pop, it was barely half-full.
Reuben hauled himself up onto the barrel beside it,
hesitating for a second before lowering himself into the
opening. He shuffled around until he was half-buried in
sacks of grain and the lid could be sealed.
“It’s not going to be a comfortable journey, but they say it
only takes a couple of days to get there.” Faythe passed him
his backpack along with the food she’d gathered earlier.
When she was satisfied he was as comfortable as he could get
and there were enough gaps in the wood for air, she grabbed
the lid but paused.
 He gave a weak smile. “I’ll be okay,” he said. But Faythe
could hear the doubt in his voice and feel his overwhelming
dread and panic.
There was no time for her to get emotional. “Goodbye,
Reuben.”
He gave her a thankful nod, and she threw the lid over
him before he saw the tears forming in her eyes.
When she was confident it was sealed, she spared just a
second to rest her hand on the wood before she pushed off it.
Checking the men were still occupied on the ship and the
coast was clear, she left.
Back at the edge of the forest, she couldn’t help but pause
to look back and watch them carry the last of the barrels
onto the ship. When they finally got to Reuben, her face
wrinkled in sadness at the thought of him in there, scared
and alone.
Ferris stayed true to his word and did not partake in
carrying that particular load. Instead, he went for the final
barrel she assumed was also half-full since he lifted it alone
with ease.
The fae patrol returned looking particularly pissed off,
and with Jakon nowhere in sight, Faythe’s stomach dropped.
She had to go find him now. With everything loaded, the fae
gave the men a nod to leave for the night before one of them
went to haul up the ship’s anchor.
Stealing a last look, Faythe mumbled a quiet prayer to the
Spirits for Reuben’s safe journey, not caring that her words
would carry into chilled wisps of wind and offer no
consolation in return.
She turned and disappeared through the dark curtain of
the forest.
 CHAPTER 3

F aythe was silent as she pressed her back to a cold stone

wall in one of the alleyways in town. Cautiously, she
dipped her head around a corner to check for the fae patrol.
She had no idea where Jakon was, and she prayed the fae
hadn’t taken him to a cell for whatever he’d attempted to
distract them with.
She was about to step out and dart across the intersection
while the street was soundless and clear when she heard a
familiar birdcall carry through the air above.
Whipping her head up, she squinted through the dark
across the distorted line of rooftops until her eyes landed on
an inconspicuous shape bulging next to the chimney of an
adjacent building. Faythe didn’t realize how tense she was
until her whole body loosened at the sight. With feline
stealth, she dashed in and out of the shadows before
reaching the drainpipe they used to climb onto the roof,
which had become a favorite hideout to evade the patrols and
escape the hustle of daytime. It offered a bird’s-eye view
over the town, where the obscure array of dwellings and
establishments were laid out like a dreary stone maze. The
vantage point presented one sight that was always
impeccable to behold: a distant view of the eternally glowing
inner city. The battered brown building stood just tall
enough for them to catch a glimpse of it over the rampart.
Faythe scaled the side of the wall, hauling herself up
using the holes and sticking-out bricks in the worn
structure. Jakon was sitting lazily against the chimney shaft,
and even in the shadows, she could make out his playful
smile. She crouched low and shot across the narrow flat of
the rooftop. When she reached him, she gave him a whack
across the arm.
“Ow! What’s that for?” he complained, though he kept
his grin.
“Don’t be so reckless next time! They could have locked
you up just because they felt like it.” When he gave her a
breathy laugh in response, she couldn’t fight her own
amusement and smiled. “Where did you lead them to
anyway?”
He let out a huff. “I told them a fight had broken out at
the inn. The place looked a little battered from those other
fae bastards earlier, so it was plausible,” he grumbled. “But
when they showed up and saw there was nothing left to be
done, they gave me two months’ cargo load duty at the docks
for wasting their time.”
Faythe couldn’t help her chuckle at his dismay and lightly
punched his arm again. “Serves you right.”
He pushed her back, then he brought her close to him in
an embrace. She sat beside him, resting her head on his
shoulder, as he draped his arm around her. She was so tired
from all the emotions of the night, she wanted to fall asleep
right there under the stars.
Sometimes, she wished it could be more with Jakon.
Faythe loved him more than anything, more than anyone,
and it always pained her when she occasionally caught the
longing in his eye—as if even after all this time, he still held
hope she might one day feel that love intimately too. He’d
kissed her once, years past, and she’d returned it, if only to
be sure it wouldn’t spark their friendship into something
deeper. It simply confirmed her platonic feelings toward him
and made her feel horribly guilty for trying. Her life by his
side would be mundane and conventional, safe, and no doubt
happy for the most part. Perhaps that was what scared her
the most.
After a moment of peaceful silence, Faythe heard the
familiar whistle for the third time that night. The pair
frowned at each other before Jakon returned the birdcall.
There were only a handful she considered friends who knew
about it.
She warily peered over the side and spotted Ferris by his
swagger. He was carefully making his way over when he
spotted them above. It didn’t take him long to scale the
building and join them.
He let out an exhausted sigh before lying flat on his back
in front of them, tucking his hands behind his head. “You
two have been busy tonight,” he said in greeting. Neither of
them replied. He continued, “Always knew it would be that
kid who would end up in deep shit one day. I mean, you’re all
pretty stupid, but he the most.”
Faythe rolled her eyes. Ferris was the oldest at twenty-
five, which apparently made it acceptable for him to act like
an arrogant asshole most of the time.
“What do you want, Ferris?” Jakon asked, bored.
Ferris rolled to the side, propping himself up on an elbow.
“They came to me with the same offer, you know?”
Faythe frowned, ready to throw him off the roof, but he
went on.
“I told them to go burn in the Netherworld.”
She didn’t believe Ferris would have used such tame
words to tell someone where to go if they displeased him. His
wicked smirk confirmed as much. They didn’t have to voice
they were talking about the same thing: the exact reason
their mutual friend was currently a cargo load.
“Valgard must be planning something big if they’re
openly terrorizing people for information like this,” Jakon
mused.
“Indeed. They didn’t like my rejection, and in response,
they said they would hunt my entire family.” Ferris laughed.
“I told them to go ahead because I haven’t seen any of them
in years.”
Faythe was trembling when Jakon put his hand on hers—
either from the cold or fear, she couldn’t be sure. They
exchanged a look, and she could almost hear the words, “I
won’t let anyone hurt you.” She smiled weakly, but then it
faltered as she recalled the earlier events of that night.
“The innkeeper’s son—do you think…?” She couldn’t
bring herself to finish the sentence.
Jakon gave her a grim look. “It’s possible,” was all he
said.
She didn’t want to think of the kind of torture and
punishment he would endure at the castle prison to share
what he knew about Valgard, and then he would be killed for
treason.
Faythe looked to the stars, beyond them, and thanked the
mythical Spirits’ she had been able to help Reuben get away.
She was hopeful that whatever met him on the journey or
after would be a mercy in comparison.
Ferris’s voice brought her eyes back down. “Just thought I
should warn you, they have soldiers testing the borders, and
some are managing to slip past. Stay out of the woodlands if
you can, and don’t go out of Farrowhold if you don’t have
to.”
For all his cockiness, Faythe knew Ferris cared for them
like family. They were all cut from the same cloth and had
been dealt similar versions of the same misfortune.
 “There’s been talk of unrest in Galmire,” he added
sternly.
Faythe shuddered at the mention of Galmire, the town on
the edge of High Farrow. It was home to the Dark Woods that
made up part of the border separating them from the
conquered kingdom of Dalrune. Valgard soldiers must be
grabbing those who were foolish or desperate enough to
wander through, and with the lack of game to hunt in
Farrowhold, she couldn’t blame the ones who did.
“Thank you,” Faythe said fiercely. The two exchanged a
warm smile—a rare occurrence since they were usually
testing each other’s patience—then she looked to Jakon.
“Let’s go home.”
He nodded with a knowing smile.
The three of them scurried across the roof one by one and
climbed back down to the street before parting ways.
Back at the hut, Faythe and Jakon didn’t stay up much
longer since they were both exhausted from the night’s
unexpected affairs. They changed and tucked themselves in,
and Faythe was grateful they never talked about any of it.
She thought her mind might burst from the exertion of
emotion.
In less than ten minutes, Jakon was already lightly
snoring in his cot beside her, but Faythe couldn’t get her
mind to settle. When she closed her eyes, a pair of bright
green irises flashed, and she wondered why she couldn’t get
them out of her head.
She scrunched her eyes shut, willing herself to think of
something—anything—else to help her drift off. But if it
wasn’t the strange sighting of the fae male earlier that day
rattling her thoughts, painful images of Reuben—cramped
in a dingy wooden cell in the middle of the ocean, losing his
wits in fear—crowded her head. The thought made her sick.
 Faythe always had vivid dreams and usually awoke feeling
more exhausted than when she went to bed. Tonight would
be no different with the lattice of thoughts and emotions
that wouldn’t settle, not even when she felt the slow waves
of sleep lap over her and pull her under all at once.

It was dark. Whorls of black and gray smoke engulfed her,

and she watched tendrils of it entwine around her fingers as
she lifted a hand to touch it. It had no scent and did not
choke her when she inhaled cautiously. Above her head, she
could make out an endless black void through the gaps in the
smoke. Below her feet, her own obscure reflection was cast
back to her by a pane of cracked black glass.
Faythe took a few wary steps into the abyss, and the
clouds moved with her. She scanned and squinted through
the infinite space to try to find something or someone, but
she didn’t trust her voice to call out. She was too afraid of
what might call back…
Feelings of dread and panic started to rise within her, and
she clamped her fists tight to stop them from trembling. She
began to feel cold. So cold. She’d had her fair share of
nightmares, but this—it felt…different. Every instinct told her
to wake up.
The smoke shifted, and she gasped in horror as thick
ringlets snaked up her arms before the translucent vines
tightened like rope. When she tried to pull free, it was futile.
The same phantom touch crawled up her calves, and she was
fully ensnared in her sleep predator’s trap.
Her panic spiked, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She had
been able to wake herself from nightmares before, so she
calmed herself and focused. Yet no matter how hard she
strained her mind, it was as if something anchored her here.
 “How brave you are to find yourself inside my mind.” The
threatening snarl came from behind.
She whirled her head only to find blackness chasing
ghosts as the silhouettes shifted to trick her. A light caress
went down her face, and she whipped her head around again
—but still, she found no solid form.
The faceless monster was taunting her.
“I…I don’t—” She tried to speak but was cut off as she
felt another shadow-arm snake around her throat and apply
light pressure. Terror doused her. It’s only a dream, she told
herself. One breath, two…
Slowly, her heart calmed a little. She would wake up soon;
could force herself to wake up if she focused right. She
clamped her eyes shut and willed herself back to
consciousness once more, imagining her bed and Jakon, who
would be sound asleep beside her.
After a moment, she felt no change and dared to open her
eyes. Faythe found herself still trapped in the bottomless pit
of her ghoulish nightmare. She let out a small whimper of
defeat.
A rumble of laugher echoed around her, bouncing off
phantom walls that made it impossible to pinpoint its origin.
“Don’t you know not to go wandering through people’s
minds when you don’t know the way out?” the voice said.
Faythe went cold as ice. The ghost of an arm tightened
around her neck, and she let out a strangled sound.
“No words?”
She detected a hint of amusement in the tone and knew it
was enjoying its taunts and relishing in her fear.
Finally, a real, solid figure started to emerge across the
dark space, and the mist cleared to reveal a striking fae male.
Not exactly the terror-inducing, foul-looking creature she
was expecting.
 Her panic dissolved into pure shock as she matched the
voice to the familiar face she had encountered earlier that
day: the fae she crossed paths with on her way to the mill.
Without his hood, he was even more beautiful than she
imagined from her quick observation in town. His short, jet-
black hair glistened in the light that had begun to chase away
the shadows.
The black and gray mist now only swirled in a lazy circle
around them, the vines that had stretched out to hold her
firm loosening slightly.
The bright green of his eyes pierced right through her
from the distance he still kept between them. They
narrowed, and his strong, angled jaw tilted as he observed
her. Faythe took the opportunity to gauge the threat.
His poise was elegant yet commanding. A warrior,
perhaps. Though she noted his black leather pants and knee-
high boots to be of exceptionally fine craftsmanship. If the
fae had access to money and finer wares, he must be of high
rank. His toned upper body was obvious from his loose-
fitting white shirt, which only added to her assumptions the
fae had likely seen the lines of battle; was honed for it.
He stalked toward her slowly, deliberately, looking over
every inch of her. Faythe had never felt more exposed even
though she was fully dressed in her usual sleep clothes. Her
feet were bare, however, making her feel strangely
inappropriate.
He stopped close enough beside her that she felt his warm
breath across her neck as he angled his head down, still
inspecting. Her heart raced at the proximity. He lifted a
finger and traced it delicately over the curve of her ear,
sending a jolt through her that made her whole body tremble
at the contact.
It felt so real.
 Faythe remained rooted to the spot. She knew she would
be too frozen in fear to make any movement even without
the arms of smoke still holding her.
“Human,” he mused.
Her heart was a wild, erratic pounding in her chest, and
she was sure he could hear it. She found her palms slick with
sweat and her mouth so hideously dry she wasn’t sure she
would get any words out.
Finishing a full lap around her, eyes still fixed, his frown
deepened when he came to a stop at arm’s reach in front of
her. “Do you know where you are?” he asked.
Faythe’s lips parted slowly. “I’m dreaming,” she
whispered, more as a reassurance to herself than in answer
to her sleep demon’s question.
His eyes narrowed, and a sly smile twitched at the corners
of his mouth. He huffed a laugh. “I remember you,” he said,
his voice smooth and eloquent. “From the town today. Or
yesterday, so to speak.” He folded his arms, resting his chin
on one hand as he pondered. “What is your name?”
She debated keeping her mouth shut. She had to wake up
at some point. This was only a dream; he couldn’t really hurt
her if she resisted. But that also meant anything she told him
couldn’t hurt her if he was just a figment of her imagination.
She had nothing to lose if she played along in this cruel
nightmare.
“Faythe,” she answered.
“Fai-th.” He drawled the single syllable of her name as if
it might offer some clue to his puzzle. He studied her for
another painfully long moment. “Fascinating,” he
concluded.
She wasn’t sure what intrigued him exactly. She stood in
silence, waiting for him to turn into some beast and devour
her or for something worse to come crawling out of the
shadows and do the job.
 “You should be careful whose mind you go walking into at
night. You might not make it out so easily next time,” he
said in warning.
Her brow furrowed in confusion. She was about to retort
that he was the one invading her dreams but quickly realized
she’d be arguing with herself.
He breathed a long sigh. “Well, I should like to get some
sleep tonight, Faythe,” he said. “I will be seeing you again,
however. Just not here, if you know what’s good for you.”
His smile made her skin crawl.
She wanted to counter that she would never be seeing him
again if she could help it; that she would banish all thoughts
of him or never sleep again if this was what awaited her.
He spoke again before she could form a reply. “You can
wake yourself up now. I won’t stop you.” He kept his grin as
he motioned for her to leave through a door that didn’t exist.
Faythe shot him a glare and was about to argue again that
it wasn’t for him to decide. But she was eager to get out of
this conjured Netherworld, so, instead, she closed her eyes
and imagined the warmth of her bed, the old wood smell of
hut, and Jakon’s soft-sounding snores…

Faythe jolted violently awake. She was panting, and her shirt
clung to her with sweat. Sitting up in bed, she rubbed her
eyes and scanned the hut, swallowing down the nausea from
her nightmare.
Real. This is real, she told herself.
Jakon’s breathing was a sure, comforting sound. She
swung her legs over the side of her cot, taking deep, concise
breaths to slow her galloping heart. Some nights, her dreams
and nightmares were so vivid it took her a while to
distinguish whether she was truly awake and hadn’t jumped
into another twisted scene in her unconsciousness. She could
go through several a night sometimes and always
remembered each one.
Jakon grumbled from his stomach-down sleeping
position, one arm and one leg hanging off the cot he barely
fit in. He peeled a lazy eye open to look at her. Faythe must
have looked as awful as she felt because he instantly pushed
himself up into a sitting position. After he scanned her over
and determined there was no physical harm, he gave her a
knowing look.
“Bad dream?” he sighed, rubbing his eyes sleepily.
She gave him a weak smile. “Yeah,” she breathed. “Just a
stupid dream. I’m fine.”
Glancing out the small square window behind him, Faythe
spied the first rays of sunshine piercing through the lapis-
colored sky, signaling a new break of dawn. She hoisted
herself up and went into the closed-off section of the hut
they’d made into a semi-functional washroom. She cupped
her hands in a bucket of icy water and splashed her face, the
coolness nipping her skin. She welcomed the feeling that
jerked her awake. Real, she told herself again, and she
proceeded to strip down and wash her whole body under the
bitter ice water.
When she stepped out of the washroom, clean and
refreshed from her night terror, Jakon was already dressed
for his shift on the farm. He wore his usual brown pants and
over-the-knee umber boots with a faded white shirt rolled
up to the elbows and braces strapped over his shoulders. In
the midsummer season, there was no need for extra layers
and cloaks during the day, especially with his type of labor.
Faythe dressed in her own plain clothes: a simple short-
sleeved purple tunic with a pair of black pants and worn
black boots. They were both in need of some new clothes.
She slung a simple belt over her waist to give herself some
shape.
“Are we still going to the solstice bonfires tonight?” she
asked casually.
Jakon grinned. “Of course. It’s your favorite holiday.”
Summer was the season of nurture and growth before the
foreshadowing autumn withered its efforts to brighten the
dull land with colorful blooms. The days were long, which
left the cool nights to be appreciated and welcomed.
The solstice took place after dark on the hills at the edge
of Farrowhold, decorated by tall, blazing stakes built by the
fae. It was one of their king’s very few acts of kindness. The
celebration put everyone in the usually gloomy town in high
spirits. The streets came to life with vendors and
entertainers, people played music and danced upon the hills,
children laughed and ran free, and for one whole night, it
seemed everyone could forget the threat of war and their
impoverished lives and just enjoy the moment.
Of course, the fae had their own celebrations inside the
wall, and Faythe could only imagine the grandeur.
She beamed enthusiastically.
“I’ll meet you back here at eight, and then we’ll go,”
Jakon said, matching her joy before leaving for his day of
work.
Faythe took a long breath, still smiling. Today, she would
allow herself to forget her nightmares, the threat of Valgard,
and her friend who would be well on his way to Lakelaria by
now. Tonight, she would have fun.
 CHAPTER 4

F aythe took her time lazily strolling back to the market.

She’d made her deliveries as quickly as possible just so
she could have these few minutes alone to enjoy the heat on
her face and watch as people adorned the walls with banners
and decorations for the solstice celebrations. It was uplifting
to see vibrant bursts against the otherwise unsaturated
colors of town. She could already feel the positivity and
excitement in the atmosphere, and Faythe herself was in
high spirits. But her break was over all too soon as she
rounded the last corner onto the market square and headed
straight for the bakery stall.
Marie was talking to customers and selling her goods as
usual. Faythe glanced at the selection of pastries, and her
stomach growled. When Marie caught her longing gaze, she
wordlessly nudged her head with a knowing look, inviting
her to take one. Faythe smiled sheepishly, leaning in to
snatch a chocolate tart before perching on a discarded crate
to eat.
She was halfway through the decadent dessert when she
stopped mid-bite, nearly choking as her eyes caught glimpse
of an out-of-place hooded figure leaning casually against a
wall under the shadow of a veranda. To anyone else, he
looked like a simple foreign merchant—one who would
likely deal in unsavory goods from the way he casually
picked at his nails with his dagger, holding a demeanor that
dared someone to approach.
But he was staring right at her out of the corner of his
eye, that damned emerald color piercing right through the
blanket of darkness beneath his hood even from across the
square. Faythe looked around, praying there was someone or
something else catching his attention, but no one even
slightly acknowledged him.
Bile rose in her throat at the quick passing thought that
maybe she was still in another version of the same
nightmare. But her instincts told her this was no dream.
He could just be here on more business like yesterday. She
calmed herself. Of course, it was laughable to think she was
memorable enough for him to recognize her from the quick
glance he’d spared in her direction.
She suddenly lost her appetite despite not having eaten
anything all day and set the tart down. Her throat was dry as
bone from the quick surge of fear and chocolate
consumption. She turned to ask Marie, “Would you mind if I
hop out for some water?”
“Of course, dear, but be quick. We’re running low on a
few items—be sure to stop by the house on your way back.”
When Faythe got up, she dared a glance back around, but
he was gone, and she couldn’t help but doubt if he’d ever
been there at all. She released a long breath of relief and
laughed quietly to herself. Perhaps her sleep-deprived mind
was playing cruel tricks on her. She set off down the street,
heading for the nearest water pump.
When she got there, she gulped the water greedily before
splashing her face to jolt herself awake. The cold licks of
wind against her wet face were refreshing and necessary in
the heat. A slight breathless sound escaped her lips.
“Are you avoiding me, Faythe?”
 She spun around so fast and, out of instinct, threw her
fist out in attack, but her assailant stepped gracefully out of
reach, and she connected with only air. Faythe backed up a
good distance as she looked over at the fae male looming too
close for comfort. He had his hood down this time, his face
an eerie, picture-perfect vision of what she’d conjured last
night.
His words finally registered in her, and she went cold
despite the blaring sun. “How do you know my name?” she
asked, sounding braver than she felt.
He cocked his head. “You told me, remember?” She
wanted to wipe the amused smile off his face. “You really
have no idea what you are, do you?”
Cheerful voices sounded down the street behind her.
Faythe turned to look, but he grabbed her by the elbow and
swiftly pulled her around the corner and into a shadowed
alley before she could bark a protest. He casually pulled his
hood back up but kept his face in full view.
“I’ve done nothing wrong! What do you want from me?”
she hissed.
He chuckled, and she fought the urge to swing at him
again. “I don’t want anything from you, Faythe. I’m merely
curious.” He was enjoying this, like a lion playing with his
dinner. “You can’t lie to me. You made the mistake of
coming into my head last night, so tell me, how does a
human come to be a Nightwalker?”
It took a moment for her to hear him right. Faythe, a
Nightwalker. She laughed out loud, and his eyes narrowed at
the outburst.
The only way her mind could process the encounter with
the fae male was to think they had perhaps already caught
on to her involvement in Reuben’s escape, and he had been
sent to bring her in. But until he made a formal accusation,
she would maintain her innocence.
 She calmed her face. “Look, I don’t know what orders
you’re on, but that’s a ridiculous charge to try to get me
arrested.” She tucked her long brown hair behind her ear and
pointed to herself. “Human, remember?” she stated the
obvious.
He laughed back at her—a sound that was quickly
becoming a trigger for her violent thoughts. He crossed his
arms and leaned against the wall.
“No one’s trying to arrest you.” He paused before adding,
“Yet.”
She stilled, and he took in her look of panic, flashing an
amused, wicked grin.
Regaining her composure, Faythe straightened. “Well, if
it isn’t happening today, I have to get back to work.” Not a
lie, but a perfect excuse to get away and buy herself some
time to plan her next move.
She felt sick to her stomach. Would she end up in a barrel
sailing off into the unknown too? Jakon would be
heartbroken; would likely go with her. She decided she
couldn’t tell him. She’d have to leave in the middle of the
night, and…
Her racing thoughts were cut off by his smooth voice. “If
you’re not playing me for a fool, you’re in even more danger
than I thought.” He frowned, his face turning serious.
Peeling himself from the wall, he took a step closer. “Listen
to me very carefully,” he said, and she resisted the urge to
flinch back at his sudden stern tone. “If you don’t know how
to control it, there are far worse minds than mine you can
end up in when you sleep. If you wander into the mind of
another Nightwalker, they’ll know about you. They can trap
you in their heads and kill you from there.” He paused for a
moment, assessing her with a look that made every nerve
cell tremble.
 A cold chill rattled down her spine. Her thoughts were a
whirlwind as she tried to make sense of what he was saying.
She wanted to laugh again; to believe it was all some twisted
joke. But the urge to ridicule the idea died when she beheld
the fierce look in his eyes. The fae had no reason to imply
such an impossible ability lived within her. It would confirm
his insanity more than her guilt.
He continued, “You’re different, Faythe—something the
king doesn’t take too kindly to. So until I’ve figured out
exactly how you came to exist, I suggest you keep your head
down. Don’t engage with any of the fae on patrol as it seems
when you do, you can’t get them out of your head.” His
straight face twitched into a teasing smirk.
Her cheeks flushed crimson. “Last night…” She trailed off
in disbelief.
He nodded, and it was all the confirmation she needed to
know he could recall every detail of her nightmare because
he had been there. Or, at least, his mind had been there—if
that was how it worked.
He said, “There aren’t many of us Nightwalkers. We can’t
enter a mind we’ve never seen the face of before, so you’d be
wise to keep a low profile. Should be easy by the looks of
you.”
Faythe didn’t have it in her to react to the insult. She took
a long breath to calm her racing heart. It wasn’t possible,
shouldn’t be possible…and yet her mind was already filled
with clarity on so many things. Her dreams—
Oh, Gods.
“It’s not true,” she whispered, though the words tasted
like a lie.
The world tilted for a second, and she shook her head to
clear the dizziness. Too many questions and no one to turn
to for answers. How could she trust this fae to keep her
deadly secret and not turn her in at the first opportunity to
earn favor with the king? She would be killed simply for
being an uncharted threat. She couldn’t even tell Jakon—it
would be too much of a risk.
Then a thought crossed her mind that made her heart
drop. Did her mother know?
For the first time since her mother had died, she felt
completely and utterly scared and alone. The excited clamor
of the town around her faded, and the sun dimmed
dramatically. She had to calm herself. This was not the right
place or company to break down in panic.
A rough pair of hands gripped her shoulders tightly. They
shook her once, then twice.
“Look at me.”
She wasn’t sure if the words were spoken out loud, but
they made her snap her eyes up to his, and the world came
back into focus.
“I’m going to help you. But you need to keep your wits
about you,” he said sharply.
She willed herself to keep looking at the green eyes that
seemed to hypnotize her. She couldn’t trust him—he was fae
and would betray her eventually. She was nothing to him.
“Why?”
He shrugged. “Maybe I like the challenge.”
So casual and friendly. It was not what she had come to
expect of his kind, but when she took race out of the
equation…he seemed perfectly normal.
He released her shoulders, and she backed up a step,
suddenly aware she would be expected back at the stall by
now and hadn’t even been to the bakehouse as Marie had
asked.
“I have to go,” she said quickly.
He gave her a knowing nod. “Don’t tell anyone about this,
Faythe, not even your friend. I’ll find you again soon.”
 She didn’t have time to ask how he knew about Jakon as
he pulled his hood further over his face and turned to leave
down the dark alley. Instead, she called, “What’s your
name?”
He stopped and turned slightly to look at her,
contemplating. “Nik,” he said at last before disappearing
through the shadows.
Oddly, she didn’t expect such a simple name.
Without another thought, she was sprinting to the
bakehouse.
 CHAPTER 5

F aythe barely heard Marie’s daughters rant about how

their baked goods had already started to spoil and go
cold. She didn’t hear much back at the stall, where Marie
also scolded her for taking so long and being late two days in
a row. She did wince when Marie threatened to find a
replacement if she was tardy again.
Her mind reeled. She thanked the Spirits when the
workday came to an end earlier than usual in preparation for
the festivities. Marie had given her the day off tomorrow.
Many of the stalls would stay closed as a rest day from the
solstice celebrations and for people to attend mass at the
temple early in the morning.
When Faythe arrived home to the hut, it was only half
past six. She figured Jakon would be working usual hours as
he’d suggested they meet at his return time of eight. She was
determined to forget everything she’d learned today as well
as her new unlikely fae ally in the quest to keep her secret
hidden. It still made her sick to think about her new
incomprehensible reality and how she would be able to live
with herself for lying to her closest friend. Even more, it
terrified her to fall asleep if she had no control over where
she went in her dreams.
 She pushed the panic-inducing thoughts aside, and with
plenty of time to spare, she decided she would use it to put a
little effort into her look for tonight, if only to keep herself
busy. Not that she had many outfit choices, but she opted for
the only gown she owned in place of her usual pants and
tunic. It had been a gift from Jakon on her eighteenth
birthday.
The gown was a deep crimson color with ornate gold
embroidery over the square-cut neckline and long sleeves—
to match her eyes, he’d said. She dressed quickly, discarding
her other clothes on the bed and going to the small, clouded
mirror in the washroom. She took sections of hair from the
sides of her head and braided them back out of her face. A
small difference to her everyday untamed waves.
Once satisfied she had achieved all she could with her
look, she huffed at her plain face in the mirror. Her eyes
were her mother’s, but Faythe couldn’t help but wonder if
she looked at all like her father. Whenever she asked about
him as a child, her mother had refused to talk, simply saying
they were better off without him.
Faythe had a long face and high cheekbones made slightly
more prominent by lack of proper nutrition. Her jaw, while
still feminine, was angled with a small, rounded square chin.
Her mother had a round and tapered face, making her look
almost pixie-like. Faythe smiled at the memory. Even ten
years after her death, she would never forget the image of
her mother’s delicate beauty.
With nothing else to occupy the painfully slow minutes,
Faythe leaned casually on the old but hardly used wooden
kitchen counter as she picked at an apple to keep her
stomach at bay. She glanced at the watch in her dress pocket,
tapping her foot impatiently for Jakon to get home. The
spare time gave her mind free rein to run wild over the huge
revelation that could change her life. Internally, she became
numb to the overhanging notion she was capable of the
notorious fae ability, refusing to accept the impossible as
fact or truth. She attempted to push the thought to the back
of her mind for fear of crippling herself with panic and
dread. No matter how hard she tried, a constant unsettling
feeling remained in her stomach.
Close to eight, the door swung open, and she thanked the
Spirits for Jakon’s arrival at last to save her from her quickly
spiraling emotions.
He stopped just past the threshold and gawked at her for
a moment, but then his lips curved up into a grin. “You look
incredible,” he said.
Her cheeks flushed, and she mumbled an awkward
thanks, smoothing down the skirts of her gown. Jakon kept
his hands clasped behind his back, hiding something, and
her face fell into a frown. When he noticed her stare, his grin
widened.
“I have a surprise for you,” he said, bringing the object
into view.
She gasped, hands going over her mouth, when she
beheld what her friend carried in both outstretched palms.
A sword!
He nodded at her to take it, walking forward slowly.
“Happy summer solstice, Faythe,” he said quietly when he
was close enough for her to accept the gift.
Faythe stood in the same frozen position, hardly able to
form words. “Jak, we… I can’t. It must have cost so much
money,” she got out, feeling guilty he would spend it on her.
“Don’t worry about it. I saved what I could, and Dalton
owed me a favor, so I got a good price,” he said, mentioning
Farrowhold’s blacksmith on the other side of town.
Faythe raised a hand to graze her fingertips over the large
crystal-clear stone on the pommel.
 “The blacksmith kindly offered the stone with no charge.
Called it The Looking Glass—some ancient rock that’s
supposed to bring good fortune and all that.” He huffed a
laugh.
Tears welled in her eyes as she continued to trace over the
intricate woven pattern of the cross guard that expanded
confidently like the wings of an eagle into downward-facing
peaks. She had no thoughts on what the symbols meant
along the rain guard, only that they were beautiful.
“They had a rather artistic side,” Jakon commented, also
admiring the craftsmanship. “Take it.” He pushed it into her
hands.
She held it between her own palms, and the light weight
surprised her. Gripping the crisscrossed leather of the hilt,
she pulled it free from its scabbard with a satisfying cry of
sliced steel. She could only marvel wide-eyed as the full
glory of the brightly polished blade glinted in the
candlelight, revealing every impressive contour of the
masterpiece as she raised it skyward, the metal a little darker
in tone than she expected.
“It’s Niltain steel,” he said as if reading her thoughts.
She gawked at him at the mention of the precious metal.
It was a rare material and the most robust, only found in the
mountains of the Niltain Isles—a small island off the south
coast of Ungardia. Not much was known of the people or
creatures who dwelled there, but they fell under the
jurisdiction of the kingdom of Rhyenelle.
“Where did you get this?”
“Does it matter?” He grinned deviously.
From his look, Faythe knew she didn’t want to know the
answer. “What about you?” she asked instead, still feeling
guilty at such an outrageously generous gift when she had
nothing to offer in return.
 He shrugged, nonchalant. “Swordplay is your thing. I do
well with only my fists anyway.” He gave her a playful push.
“You’ll just have to be the one guarding our backs from now
on.”
Faythe gave an excited squeal in acceptance, balancing
the blade in each hand to get a feel for it. Jakon stepped back
to let her use the space to swing it gently a few times. She
couldn’t find the words to describe how it felt: as if it had
been made for her alone and no one else could wield it. The
weight was perfect, with the hilt seeming to have all the
right grips for her hand that made the control as easy as if it
were an extension of her own arm. She made a mental note
to stop by the blacksmiths and commend him for his expert
craftsmanship.
After finishing her admiration and disbelief, she sheathed
the blade and unwrapped the belt from its scabbard to sling
around her waist.
“You’re going to wear it tonight?” Jakon asked, pleased
but wary.
“Of course.” She beamed.
He smiled, more to himself, at the absolute joy on her
face.
“I’m just surprised you’d trust me with a real blade
against you,” she teased. “We’ll see how long your fists hold
up then.”
He barked a laugh and brushed past her. “I’ll freshen up
quick, and we can go enjoy the celebrations.”
Faythe grabbed his elbow. “Thank you, Jak, really. You
have no idea how much I love it,” she said with absolute
sincerity.
He brushed away a stray bit of hair that never fit in her
braid and gave her a knowing smile. “I do.”
 CHAPTER 6

D usk had settled over the skies, lit by a glorious full

moon and a glittering cascade of stars. Faythe breathed
in the scent of fire—entirely wholesome and welcoming as it
coaxed her to find where dancing flames brought the aroma
to life. She linked arms with Jakon, and together, they
strolled lazily through the bustling street, past multiple
vendors offering unique treats and long sticks that sparkled
a rainbow of color when lit.
When they came across a certain food stall, Faythe
stopped to purchase two skewered sausages that made her
mouth water. They devoured them on their way out of the
stone town and up to the grassy hills, where she could
already spy waves of orange and yellow dancing the tango
with human silhouettes. The music was wonderful, and she
found herself swaying to the lute band’s ensemble as they
walked toward it.
They passed another vendor, and she stopped again,
grinning to herself. “I’m getting a drink,” she announced.
Jakon’s eyes wandered to where she was headed, and he
laughed. “The last time you were drunk, you got us banned
from the inn for starting a brawl.”
She feigned shock. “They were cheating me at cards!”
 “Actually, you were cheating them. You’re a sloppy cheat
when you’re drunk,” he countered.
“I would never resort to such measures,” she scoffed with
a playful smirk, heading to the stall anyway. She bought one
glass of wine, downed it in a few bitter gulps, and went
straight for another while Jakon rolled his eyes, sipping on
his drink. She stuck her tongue out at his judgmental look
and refrained from giving the stallkeeper the same response
when he looked inclined to say something to her.
“Some of us still have to work tomorrow,” Jakon said.
“That’s never stopped you before, if I remember
correctly.” She grinned at the memory of last Yulemas.
They’d gotten so piss-poor drunk Jakon had woken up
among the pigs at the farm. Miraculously, he’d convinced his
superior he had arrived early to get a head start. Still drunk.
“Never again,” he said, reminiscing with a smile.
The first wine had already taken the night chill away and
loosened Faythe’s tense muscles. She wished she’d left her
cloak at home. They reached the peak of the hills, and Faythe
took a moment to marvel at the sight: people dancing,
laughing, and just being together. It was a change from the
usual gloom that coated the town under the same bland
routine.
She drank, and when she looked into the raging fires
before her, they seemed to beckon with arms of black smoke.
For a second, her mind flashed to her dream—her nightmare
—the night before, which she had now come to discover had
been inside Nik’s head. She raised a hand to her throat, the
ghost of that phantom touch lingering.
“You okay?” Jakon asked, sipping his wine.
She nodded and smiled before knocking back the rest of
her second cup and discarding it in a nearby waste container.
She took his hand, leading him further into the mass of
people around the largest center bonfire. She stopped at the
edge of the flames as the song changed and women took
their place around the burning inferno for a dance. It was
one her mother had taught her as a child. Jakon released her
hand and stepped back to watch.
Faythe was going to protest she hadn’t participated in
such dances in a very long time and would most likely look
foolish, but his nod of encouragement—or maybe it was the
wine—dissolved all the words from her mouth when the
tune picked up rhythm. She watched the women carelessly
flow with the music and flames, and then she joined in,
twirling and bowing and moving her feet as she gave herself
over completely to the melody.
Faythe felt as if she were floating, her dress and cloak
fanning around her as she made spin after spin. She wasn’t
certain she was even still grounded. A sharp crackle exploded
into falling embers in front of her, and she became one with
the fire that lured her into a dance of danger and passion
with its whispers of seduction.
Minutes that could have been hours passed, and the
tempo finally slowed, coming to its final chapter. When it
stopped completely, people clapped, and the women made
their final bow toward the flames. But Faythe did not, for
through the rippling gaps in the fire, Nik’s eyes bore into
her. Dizzy from the dancing or alcohol or seeing him,
perhaps all three, Faythe turned to Jakon pale-faced and
swayed a little as she stepped over to him.
“I think we should get you some water,” he said, hooking
an arm around her waist to keep her straight. “Can you
walk?” He sighed when she shook her head sloppily, looking
around before leading her over to a makeshift bench. “Stay
here. I won’t be long,” he muttered, giving her a look over
and making sure she wasn’t about to pass out before he
made haste back down the hill.
 She wanted to protest, but the words were lost, and he
was too far down to hear her anyway. Faythe got to her feet.
She could walk. She could follow him. She took all of a few
steps before her vision doubled and she tumbled face-first
into the grassy slopes.
A hand went around her waist, hauling her upright before
she could taste the dirt.
The arm was gone as quickly as it came, however, and it
took Faythe a moment longer than it should have before she
registered the encounter. She snapped her head around, but
her alcohol-clouded mind delayed her focus.
As soon as Nik’s face came into full view, she glared at
him. “Twice in one day. To what do I owe the pleasure, Nik?”
She drawled out his name, the wine giving her a clumsy
sense of confidence.
“You know that’s magick wine you’re drinking? One cup
is enough to put you on your ass, never mind two,” Nik
scolded.
Well, that explained a lot.
She kept her glare as she muttered, “Killjoy.” Faythe
looked him over. He wasn’t in the same casual attire she’d
seen him in twice before. Instead, he wore a familiar
uniform. She noted the colors and sigil and backed up a step.
“So you are part of the king’s guard.”
She had suspected it, but seeing him dressed and armed
like a guard made her very uneasy. He knew what ability
dwelled within her. She couldn’t decide if his being close to
the king kept her safer, since he might know if anyone was
suspicious of her, or if it put her in more danger.
“Does that bother you?” he asked with a hint of
amusement.
“How do I know you won’t just go running to the king
with my secret? I’m sure he’d reward you handsomely,” she
sniped.
 “You’d have been locked in a cell long before now if that
were my intention,” he countered.
She dropped her eyes. He had point. Unless he was
waiting to find out more about her.
“How do I know I can trust you?” she asked quietly.
“You can’t,” he replied, “but you don’t really have a
choice either.”
Also a good point.
When she didn’t respond, he reached into his pocket and
pulled something out. “Here,” he said, pushing the item
toward her after a subtle look around to check if anyone was
watching. She examined the small vial of liquid in his cupped
palm and didn’t immediately take it. “It’s not poison!” he
said incredulously.
“That’s not what I was thinking!” she quickly shot back.
He gave her a look that said he knew it was exactly what
had crossed her mind. “It’ll basically help you to sleep
deeper and prevent a wandering subconscious mind. Use
only two drops per night,” he explained.
She kept her eyes narrowed, still skeptical, but with a
grumble and a mutter of, “Thanks,” she pocketed the bottle.
His eyes traveled to her hip as she did.
“Nice sword,” he observed. “Though one might think it a
little out of your…standing.”
She shot him a distasteful look. “It was a gift, and it’s
none of your damn business.”
His lips pulled up into an amused grin, and she held back
the urge to whack him. Stupid fae and their pretentious,
arrogant, selfish—
“I only meant for you to be careful. It’s not often you see
a human, especially a female,”—he winced at her pointed
glare—“with a sword of such caliber. You wouldn’t want to
draw too much attention to yourself.”
 Unspoken meaning lingered between them: “Don’t give
them a reason to look into you.”
She nodded her understanding at the silent words.
“Enjoy the festivities, Faythe, and I hope you sleep well.”
With that, he turned and weaved through the crowd with
swift grace until she lost him in a distant blur of revelers.
Jakon crept up to her seconds later, and she jerked in
fright, wondering if Nik had somehow known he was near
and disappeared on cue.
The world still spun, and when she looked into the fire,
she saw animals of flame leaping and roaring, chanting for
her to join them. A cold cup was pressed into her hands, and
she drank greedily, desperate for her head to clear.
“Let’s get you home,” Jakon said, sliding his arm around
her waist and hooking her own around his shoulder to carry
her.
She didn’t recall much of the journey back to the hut
besides blurred bodies and a loud clamor as the solstice
celebrations went on in full swing. In the hut, she threw
herself onto her cot, her head somewhat cleared from the
fresh air and constant top-ups of water Jakon kept
supplying, but the walls still tilted slightly.
Jakon removed her cloak and boots before standing over
her. “Unless you want me to fully undress you, you’d better
get up,” he said.
She giggled. “Yes, please.”
He groaned in response. “You’re always a pain in my ass
when you’re drunk.” He helped her to sit up and unlaced the
back of her dress. He’d seen almost every inch of her many
times before simply because it came with sharing such a
small space.
She turned to him once he’d finished. Her bold, tipsy state
mixed with her internal frustration when she looked into the
warm hazel of Jakon’s eyes. It should be easy for her to fall
in love with him… Was there something wrong with her? She
had lustful desires, of course, and would occasionally give in
to flirtations with single suitors on a night out at the inn—
when Jakon wasn’t there to make her feel guilty about it. She
refused to tangle their friendship with lust, knowing it would
mean something entirely different to him. But tonight, she
was irrationally angry at herself for not being able to return
his want for something more.
Impulsively, she leaned forward to kiss him, desperate to
prove herself wrong in her platonic feelings. Their lips met
just briefly, but then he pulled away.
“Faythe.” He said her name as a quiet plea.
At the pained look in his eye, she instantly regretted the
reckless move. It was selfish of her to try, and hopeless. He
seemed to know it too—at least in her pitiful tipsy state—
but he wiped away his disappointment with a teasing smirk.
It eased her guilt as he stood and lightly tousled her hair.
“Drunken fool,” he muttered playfully.
She gave him a sheepish smile, and he turned to leave
their bedroom and let her change.
Faythe mentally chastised herself, standing to slip out of
her dress, which hit the floor with a thump. She swore as she
bent down to rustle through the pockets. She retrieved her
watch and set it on the side table before reaching in again
and breathing a sigh of relief. The bottle Nik had given her
was still intact.
She quickly slipped into nightclothes and then sat on the
edge of her cot to inspect the small vial. She unscrewed the
top, tentatively lifted it off, and found a dropper attached to
the lid. She sniffed it once and immediately flinched back at
the awful odor. If it were poison, she would be none the
wiser, and that made her sick to her stomach. But as Nik had
said, what choice did she have but to trust him? Surely there
would be no reason to kill her this way when he could benefit
greatly from handing his rare catch to the king.
Then she decided. If it could put her into a deep sleep and
she wouldn’t dream of anything, she would take a chance for
that shot of bliss.
Before she changed her mind or lost her nerve, she
squeezed the top to collect the liquid inside and then brought
it up to her tongue to let two drops fall. She cringed at the
foul taste, then she screwed it closed and quickly hid the
bottle under her bed before Jakon could return and ask her
about it.
He came in seconds later and smirked at the sorry state
she must’ve looked.
As they lay in the peaceful darkness, Faythe watched the
dust dance in the air where moonlight pooled into the room.
She began to feel drowsy, but she wasn’t sure if it was down
to the alcohol or if Nik’s miracle tonic was really working.
“Lumarias,” she mumbled, her eyelids suddenly feeling
as if they weighed a ton. She heard the shift of Jakon’s pillow
as he turned his head to her. “My sword—I’ll call it
Lumarias.”
 CHAPTER 7

T he morning after the solstice celebrations, Faythe awoke

to find Jakon’s cot already empty and was shocked when
she fumbled for her discarded pocket watch to find it was
past midday. She naturally surfaced back to consciousness.
She’d slept through her entire hangover and even felt
refreshed.
Faythe had never felt so bright and alert from a full night
of peaceful rest before. For the first time, she hadn’t found
herself in a single dream or nightmare and had instead fallen
into a dark pit of blissful, deep sleep.
She slept the same for the next seven consecutive nights
by routinely taking the drops her unlikely fae savior had
given to her. A full week later, she was exuding energy. Even
Jakon and Marie commented on her glowing change of
attitude.
But her drops were running very low, with only a dose or
two left. She’d been on the lookout for Nik since the contents
drained to halfway. So far, there had been no sign of him in
any of the day or night patrols, and she was starting to panic.
Faythe needed the drops. They provided her only hope of
protection against herself. She would take them every night
for the rest of her life if she had to. After all, she couldn’t
risk accidentally wandering into anyone’s mind—if that was
what her ability meant—and better, no one could walk into
hers.
She had to ask Nik for more or find out where she could
buy the drops herself.
When the workday finished, she headed back to the hut to
find Jakon had already returned. He was hunched over the
table in the kitchen, devouring a bowl of stew and a slice of
bread. He nodded for her to sit, the same waiting for her.
“You cooked?” She raised an eyebrow, taking a seat
opposite and tucking in.
He chuckled. “Not exactly. Mrs. Bunsen had leftovers she
insisted I take back with me.”
The farmer’s wife was a kind woman and would offer
them food whenever she had extra that was going to spoil,
usually in the form of cold pies and meats. The warm meal
was a welcome treat.
“I think I’ll go to the square tonight, break in Lumarias a
bit more,” Faythe said after a few mouthfuls.
Jakon’s shoulders slumped. “We’ve been every night
since the solstice,” he complained.
They had, and while she’d enjoyed every minute of
practicing with her new blade, Faythe had never told him the
real reason she insisted on going every night. She wanted to
see if she could spot Nik in the night patrols. She’d made
them stay until midnight most nights, but still no sightings
of him, to her dismay.
“I’ll go alone. I’ve chopped through all your sticks
anyway.” Faythe sniggered. When she’d whittled his sticks
to mere twigs, he’d resorted to using a dagger in each hand,
which he was surprisingly skilled at maneuvering.
He shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I’ll come.”
She knew it was a begrudging agreement and could see
his fatigue. She rolled her eyes. “It’s a couple of streets
away, Jak, and there’s fae patrol all over. I’ll be safe, you
worrywart.” She tossed a piece of bread at him.
Jakon paused his eating, contemplating before heaving an
exaggerated sigh. “Fine,” he drawled, “but back by ten?”
“Eleven,” she countered.
He narrowed his eyes. “Deal.”
She smiled in triumph, eager to finish her meal and
change to leave.
Faythe dressed in black leather pants with a tucked-in
loose white shirt and her same old black boots. After she
braided her hair back, she looped her sword belt around her
hips and swung her cloak on. Bidding Jakon goodbye where
he lay collapsed on his cot, she had no doubt he would fall
asleep as soon as she was gone.
Slipping into the night, Faythe embraced the calm of the
quiet streets in contrast to the bustle of daytime. She passed
two fae patrol who didn’t bat an eye as she walked her usual
route. Most of them knew her face and likely where she was
headed.
Arriving at the square, she discarded her cloak on a side
bench as she began to swing at and block her imaginary
opponent, letting the world disappear around her to fall into
her usual focused calm. Close to an hour later, she was slick
with sweat, ducking and swirling and striking in a graceful
dance of combat. She could almost hear the high clank of
connecting steel where her blade met her phantom
adversary.
She paused, her breath sharp, when she heard voices and
peered down each street connected to the square to check if
it was fae soldiers. When a small group of drunk humans
walked into the space and passed by, she didn’t hide her sigh
of disappointment.
“Not hoping for anyone in particular, are you?”
 At the sound of Nik’s voice, her heart leapt in relief. About
time! When she turned, scanning each direction again, she
couldn’t spot him anywhere.
He whistled, and it sounded from above her. Flicking her
eyes up, she spied him perched on the rooftop behind,
watching her with a sly smile.
“If that little show was for me, consider me impressed,”
he said. “For a mortal,” he added with a grin. He stood and
went to jump.
She was about to bark her protest that it was far too high,
but he leaped and landed on the ground below in silent feline
stealth before straightening and leaning back against the
wall in the shadows. She stared at him wide-mouthed until
she remembered he was fae and the human laws of nature
didn’t apply to him. She snapped her mouth shut with a
scowl at his arrogant smirk and noted he was in his casual
attire again, his cloak hood shadowing most of his face. Not
on duty tonight then.
“How long have you been there?” she asked irritably.
He simply shrugged, adding to her quickly escalating ire.
She asked instead, “Where have you been?”
He laughed quietly. “I didn’t realize I was needed.” His
eyes flashed in amusement.
Faythe bit back her retort.
“You know, I’d have thought you’d be a little more…
pleased to see me,” he said.
Oh, he was enjoying this. She was doing a good job of
holding her tongue. She needed him, though it pained her to
admit it.
The scraping of boots and faint voices down the street to
her left stole their attention. Nik pressed a finger to his lips
and motioned for her to follow as he dipped into an unlit
alley. She sheathed her sword and flung her cloak over her
shoulders. Once the three fae patrol had passed with a quick
glance, she darted after Nik.
It was so dark she had to squint her eyes to make out the
different shapes and not trip over anything, but she still
couldn’t see his figure down the length of the street. She was
about to call his name when a hand clamped over her mouth.
Her scream quickly died in her throat as she was whirled
around. Faythe could just about make out Nik’s emerald eyes
piercing hers in the eerie darkness.
“Did you not get my gesture to be quiet?” he hissed
through his teeth.
She winced, muttering a low apology when he released
her.
He continued walking farther down the narrow passage.
She followed close behind as if something else might make a
move to grab her. They stopped at the end to check for
bodies before scuttling over to the next dark street.
Nik led them in and out of main streets and alleyways and
up over the hills that held the solstice bonfires. She came to a
halt before they entered the small wooded area.
Noticing she wasn’t so close behind anymore, he turned
to her. “You coming?”
No one ever entered these woods, claiming it was home to
a whole horde of unrested spirits and other wicked creatures.
She knew a boy who’d accepted a dare to go in there when
she was younger. It had taken him weeks to recover, and he
looked as if he’d seen monsters from a personal
Netherworld. He never told anyone what greeted him in
there.
She hesitated. “Aren’t these woods, like…haunted?” She
cringed at the risk of sounding ridiculous.
He laughed a little. “Yes…and no,” he said cryptically.
Seeing she wasn’t about to enter on that basis, he clarified,
“The woods has a natural defense mechanism. You might see
things you don’t like at first, but if it deems you worthy, it’ll
let you pass.”
She swallowed hard. “And how can you be sure it’ll find
me worthy?”
He shrugged, taking a step closer. “I’m not,” was all she
heard before he vanished through a veil of black.
Faythe cursed him colorfully and repeatedly as she paced
in front of the tree line. When she looked to where Nik had
disappeared, she could see nothing but pitch-black past the
first two staggered rows of trees. It was like a doorless wall
into another realm. The more she stared at the misted veil,
the more she felt its pull: a silent, chanting dare to enter.
The only slight comfort was that she could hear no screams
or shouts from Nik—unless the smoke shielded that too.
Seeing no alternative, as the fae guard had not returned
and she needed something from him, Faythe held her breath
and took a wide step straight through the blanket of dark.

It was eerily black just past where she entered, darker than
the night in the open fields as the canopy snuffed out all
hues of blue. The woodland extended further, and she was
completely surrounded by endless scattered lines of warped,
wrinkled tree trunks. Thick heads of black leaves that looked
more like flapping bats grew above, leaving not a single trace
of the bright moon and stars. When she turned to look back,
she could no longer see the grassy hills she’d come from.
There was no way to go but forward, so she took a step, and
then another, cautiously making her way deeper through the
charcoal bodies of timber.
Nik was nowhere to be seen. Faythe realized what made
her skin prickle and every hair stand on end was not the
gloom and ghostly appearance of the woods; it was that
there was absolutely no sound. Not a single woodland
creature made themselves known through song or
movement. She took another step, and the crack of a fallen
branch beneath her foot echoed through the still silence.
Then she cried out as something gripped her boot.
Panic rising, she tried to yank free of the branch that
laced its crooked fingers around her ankle, trailing its
spindly limbs higher up. When she tried to move her other
foot, she found it too was gripped by black vines that oozed a
dark liquid where they grew around her calf. She pulled
Lumarias free, but another vine lashed out beside her and
began to snake up her wrist and arm, leaving a cold, wet
trail.
Faythe dropped her only weapon, and it landed on the
moss with a faint thud. Another vine captured her limp left
arm, leaving her completely bound and vulnerable.
She was going to die. This was a trap, and she’d fallen
right into it. She would have buckled with fear if she weren’t
being held up in a tangled web of obsidian roots. She
snapped her eyes shut and focused on her erratic heartbeat.
Then the vines stopped growing.
“Faythe,” the shadows whispered.
She trembled and let out a shaky breath, clamping her
eyes closed so hard it hurt.
“Why won’t you look at me, Faythe?”
She tried to block out the sound—a female voice—but the
words rang between the trees, piercing right through her
ears to rattle in her mind.
“Look at me,” it cooed.
She refused, hoping that whatever it was would kill her
quickly and painlessly.
Suddenly, a rumble shook through the woods, vibrating
under her feet to tremble up and into her very bones.
“Look at me!”
 She snapped her eyes open with the command and let out
a strangled sound at the sight. Those eyes—her eyes—but
slightly darker in tone, and the rest of her appearance
exactly as she remembered. Her mother.
“My dearest Faythe.” It was her voice, likely plucked
straight from Faythe’s head, but also not her voice, as it was
distorted by whatever had conjured the vision. “Tell me what
you’re afraid of, Faythe.”
Tears streamed down her face. She could only stare at her
in pain. She’s not real, Faythe told herself. A trick of the mind. A
cruel, wicked trick of the mind.
“What do you want?” she whispered back, her lip
quivering.
A new voice spoke, and her heart leapt. Jakon.
“I want to know your deepest fear.”
Twisting her head to see her friend standing beside her,
she let out another sharp sob. His face was beaten and
bloodied, and the sight splintered her heart.
“Stop,” she pleaded.
“Say it.”
She hung her head and sobbed in defeat, trying to get his
image out of her mind. A part of Faythe knew she deserved
this, and she wanted to curl up and submit to the demon
taunting her. Even if it meant her life, she deserved it.
“You can’t protect anyone,” the ghost of Jakon mocked
her.
Then she realized the woods already knew exactly what
her greatest fear was. The key was getting her to own it; to
face it. From behind the wooden silhouettes, more figures
emerged. They were cloaked, hooded, and…faceless. She
caught a glint of steel as they approached her mother and
Jakon, floating like harbingers of death to the people she
loved.
 Faythe strained against the bonds that held her. “Please!”
she cried in frantic desperation.
Each step seemed faster than the last until they all
stopped, close enough to strike them. Her whole body shook
violently while she watched in cold-blooded terror. They
raised their swords in unison, poised to bring them down on
the two people dearest to her.
Faythe instantly snapped. Fear struck her mind like a bolt
of lightning, awakening her. She twisted the oily black vines
around her wrists and gripped them tight—then she poured
every ounce of strength she had through her arms, which
contracted painfully against the ropelike restraints, and
cried out with the force it took to break them.
They tore from their roots, and she released a harsh
breath when she felt her hands free. Faythe didn’t waste a
second, not a single breath, before swiping Lumarias from
the ground and swiftly twisting to sever the bonds at her
ankles. She lunged forward, feeling time slow as she watched
the fall of the blade that would seal Jakon’s fate. Gauging the
distance, she thought she would be too late. But she stepped
up and lifted her own blade above her friend’s head. The cry
of connecting steel resonated chillingly through the still
forest, mere inches from his neck.
“I’m not afraid; I’m terrified!” she cried in anguish,
pushing off the faceless monster’s blade. It backed away
from her, the copies of the ghost mirroring every flicker of
its movement. It didn’t position to attack her again, but
Faythe advanced as it went on the defensive. “I’m terrified
the people I love will die, and it’ll be my fault!”
Their swords crossed over and over, and Faythe poured all
her anger and grief into each swing to cut down the foe
threatening those she loved. Overcome with a deep fear she
could never protect them, she cried out loud while raising
her sword for the killing blow. She could do it, whatever it
took to keep them safe. Yet in her cowardice, she closed her
eyes as she brought the blade down, knowing it would strike
through the dark, faceless demon.
As her blade came to a stop between her hands at her side,
she felt nothing. She was panting hard but dared open her
eyes to face the creature she’d slain. To her shock, it was
Jakon who now stood before her, his face once again perfect
and unscathed.
“Why are you so afraid, Faythe?” it asked in his voice.
She trembled from her sobs, and her tone dropped low.
“It’s my fault she’s dead,” she confessed. The truth she’d
buried so deep to forget tore open an old wound in her heart.
“My mother… She was out looking for me that night. I didn’t
stay home like she begged me to. I left to go play in the
forest even though she warned me to never go in there. It
was dark, and I heard a scream, so I ran all the way home,
and I waited all night…but she never returned.” Her voice
cracked as the words tumbled from her. “I tell everyone she
left, but I know… I know it was her scream that night.
Whatever she warned me about in the forest came for her,
and I lured her right to it. She screamed…and I ran.”
The tears stopped forming, and Faythe went completely
numb at her self-conviction. She forced herself to turn
around and face the ghost of her mother. “I’m so sorry.” Her
eyes fell to the woodland floor as the surrounding darkness
eased into a soft gray.
A glowing figure approached and stopped in front of
Faythe, gripping her chin with a ghostly lightness and
guiding her face to look up. She stared directly at her own
bright reflection, and her phantom-self smiled softly back.
“It is not your fault,” it said. “There is so much you are
yet to discover, Heir of Marvellas. So much you are destined
for.”
 Her mother stood to its left, and Jakon to its right. Relief
overcame Faythe at seeing her friend unharmed. She was too
late to protect her mother, but she would protect him—with
her life if needed.
“Stay true to yourself, Faythe. Aurialis will be your
guide.” They parted to reveal a bright veil of white instead of
obsidian black.
Faythe felt too hollow to take in anything the voice said
and too angry to try a response. With one last look at her
mother’s soft features, she lifted her chin and wiped her
face, stalking for the blinding white exit.
She didn’t look back.
 CHAPTER 8

T he woods opened up into a bright, ethereal glade—a stark

contrast to the nightmare from which she’d emerged.
She flinched at the sudden change in light as the night
shifted into clear daytime.
The sky was a cloudless crystal blue that sparkled as if it
held eternal stars. The trees around the open space glittered,
and there was a wide lake with a beautiful shimmering
waterfall, the sound of its soft cascading water soothing her
pain and grief. Colorful flowers decorated the perfect green
grass, and Faythe breathed in pure, cool, clarifying air. It was
like no place she had ever seen before, untarnished by man
or fae.
She spotted Nik leaning casually against a giant rock near
the lake. “There you are!” he exclaimed cheerfully, pushing
off it and stalking toward her. His grin faltered as he got
close enough to take in the sight.
Faythe had examined herself already. There was no trace
of the black liquid from the vines or dirt from the ground,
but she imagined her face was pale and grim.
“You’re an asshole,” she hissed, not having the energy to
shout.
He folded his arms. “What did you see?”
 She pushed past him, stalking to the water. “It doesn’t
matter,” she said flatly.
He caught up to her in a few steps and was silent for a
moment before he spoke. “If you ever want to talk about it,
just say the word.” There was no taunting or teasing in his
tone.
Faythe gave an appreciative nod that he wasn’t pressing
the matter further. She wasn’t sure she could revisit those
events so soon, and it wasn’t something she wanted to share
with a fae male who was still little more than a stranger.
“Why did you bring me here?”
“I wanted to show you this,” he said, gesturing around
them. “Plus, it’s away from prying eyes and ears.” He smiled
—a warm, genuine smile she thought really suited him in
place of his usually cocky, sly looks.
Faythe stared into the lake that rippled with iridescent
waves.
“Not many people make it into these woods. I thought it’d
be the perfect spot for you to…train,” he said, trying to pick
the right word.
She knew then that he wasn’t talking about swordplay. “I
don’t need to train,” she said quickly. “I just need more of
those drops—they work.” The words came out a little more
desperate than she intended.
“Too well, it seems. Even I couldn’t get into your head,”
he marveled.
She recoiled in horror. “You were trying to get into my
head?”
“Only seems fair, don’t you think?” He gave a knowing
smile.
Faythe clicked her tongue and shot him a glare. Right.
She’d unintentionally invaded his mind, unwittingly exposed
herself, and led them into this whole mess. She silently
cursed herself and him and the damned Spirits—or whoever
else she could blame for giving her the ability in the first
place. She didn’t want it, not even in the slightest. It only
meant danger and trouble for Faythe and anyone associated
with her.
Nik continued, “I had to be sure they worked and the
dosage didn’t harm you.” She spluttered at the last part, but
he ignored her. “A fae would typically need four drops to
stifle the ability. Half of that seemed like a fair guess to
prescribe to you.” He grinned, amused at her look of utter
disbelief.
“And if it was too much?” she dared to ask.
He gave her one of those insufferable casual shrugs. “It
wasn’t,” was all he said.
She stared wide-eyed as he strolled over to the edge of the
broad lake, hands stuffed into his pockets. She didn’t need
him to confirm what she suspected would be the outcome of
taking too much tonic at once. She swallowed hard, caught
between a mixture of anger he could have killed her and
gratitude because she likely would have taken the risk
regardless.
Of course, who would ever suspect a human might need a
potion originally concocted for a fae body?
He didn’t ask her to join him as he settled on the grass,
stretching his legs out in front and using his arms to prop
himself up from behind. Faythe lowered herself down beside
him anyway, sitting cross-legged.
“I can’t give you more of the tonic. It was only a
temporary solution.”
She whipped her head toward him. “I need it, Nik, please
—”
He cut off her desperate begging. “It’s not something you
can buy at the market, Faythe. It’s rare and only really used
as a weapon against our kind. The king has it in his personal
collection of serums to snuff out all kinds of abilities. It was
a last resort to give you that—and a risk. If taken for too long
or in too high a dosage, the mind shuts down, convincing the
body you’re dead. The heart stops.”
She didn’t speak. It wasn’t from fear that one drop too
much could have spelled the end for her. Instead, her heart
sank at her broken hope of being rid of the curse.
“In a smaller dosage, it can also be used to stifle your
ability but still allow another Nightwalker to enter your
mind. You’d be helpless to throw them out,” he added
quietly.
She let out a long sigh of defeat.
At seeing her solemn expression, Nik sat upright and
faced her. “You just need to learn how to control it,” he said
positively. “If you do, you hold the keys to your own mind.
You can choose not to use your ability and be aware if you
find unwelcome guests in your head. You can hide things
from them without them knowing. If you master it, no one
will find out what you are.”
It was a small flicker of hope. Faythe turned her head to
look at him and found his eyes already fixed on her. She tore
her gaze away, cheeks heating.
“What are you?”
“I don’t know what I am,” she said quietly.
There was a long pause in which neither of them spoke.
She looked deeper into the lake and gasped as she noticed
the tiny orbs of light dancing below the surface. Getting to
her knees, she reached a hand in to touch them, but they
darted away from her fingers.
“Yucolites,” Nik said in answer to her curiosity. “They’re
rumored to heal any wound or illness, though I’ve never
been able to bottle them.” He frowned into the lake.
Faythe looked at the fae warrior and found herself
forgetting what he was: different, superior even, a member
of the king’s guard. And yet he was so…ordinary. It surprised
her. In fact, she even felt guilty for believing they were all the
same—imperious and uncaring of human lives. Yet here he
was, helping her when he had no reason to, and they were
barely more than strangers.
He met her gaze.
“Why do you bother?” she asked quietly.
He knew what she meant. “Despite what you may think of
my kind, we’re not all heartless.”
“It was you who told Reuben to flee.”
He cocked an eyebrow in surprise. “I did, and he wasn’t
the only one. Some I couldn’t get to in time. The king has
ordered all his of Nightwalkers to root out those in the towns
who are associating with Valgard.”
“Is he killing them—the humans?” She knew the answer
already, but it was confirmed by the grim look on Nik’s face.
Her stomach fell as if she were finding out for the first time.
Her mind flashed to the innkeeper’s son, dragged onto
the streets the night she and Jakon got Reuben out on time.
They’d left him to that fate, and even though she knew there
was no helping him, it didn’t ease her guilt.
“It’s not their fault. They’re being left defenseless,” she
said. “Life’s not easy for a lot of us in the outer town.”
He nodded his understanding. “We’re at war, Faythe, and
have been for centuries. One small piece of information
could mean all the difference. We’ve stood for a long time,
but we’re not untouchable.”
It made her think. “How old are you?” she asked.
He laughed through his nose. “Old. To your kind anyway,
but still fairly young to mine.”
She rolled her eyes. He was avoiding a direct answer. He
looked to be no older than twenty-five in human years.
“You look at least seventeen,” he observed.
Faythe scoffed. “I’m nineteen, I’ll have you know.” She
glared, but a playful smile twitched at the corners of her
mouth. She figured her lack of shape and womanly
development from going many days without a proper meal
made her look young for her age. She was actually coming up
on twenty.
He barked a laugh. “I’m close to three centuries old,” he
finally admitted. “Not around when the war first started, but
the great battles.” He paused, and she noted the dark look
flash across his face at the recollection. He inhaled deeply.
“Let’s just say, I really pray to the Spirits we don’t see
carnage like that again.”
Faythe gaped at him. A cold chill settled over her bones at
the thought of the horrors and bloodshed he must have seen
during that dark time long before she was born. The age that
saw two mighty kingdoms fall. But if he fought and had seen
his companions slaughtered, watched the streets be painted
crimson with innocent blood, it seemed his spirit never
broke. She could admire him for that courage and bravery
alone.
Nik’s age shouldn’t have surprised her—he was immortal
after all—but it made her feel strangely very young and
inferior. She was sitting next to a male who had already lived
more than thrice a mortal lifespan.
Before she could ask any further questions, he bounded to
his feet and walked a few paces back to the large clearing
with the brightest green grass she’d ever seen. Faythe
watched him but made no move to follow.
Nik withdrew his sword. “Up,” he said, motioning her to
stand with the point of his blade. “Sword out.”
She hesitated for a second, continuing to watch him
remove his cloak and discard it next to the trees. Feeling a
little self-conscious, she rose, copying his movements until
she stood facing him. She suddenly felt very vulnerable
under the sly gaze of the lion stalking its prey.
 “I don’t know if swordplay is going to help with my…
problem,” she said warily.
He chuckled. “No, but we could sit and talk all night, or
we could have fun while we do it.” He gave her a predator’s
smile.
She swallowed hard, knowing she was about to
thoroughly get her ass handed to her. While she was
confident in her combat abilities against her human friends,
she wasn’t foolish enough to think she was any sort of match
against a fae.
“Got a name?” Nik nodded his head at the blade tightly
gripped in her right hand.
“Lumarias,” she said.
He made a sound of approval. “The key,” he translated.
Jakon had never asked her if it meant anything. She didn’t
suppose it mattered, but she had chosen the word of the old
language from a book her mother often read to her as a child.
“Well,” Nik said wickedly, “let’s see how she sings.”
Then he swung rapidly and without warning.
He missed taking her arm off by a split second as she
brought her sword up with both hands, the force vibrating
through her bones and translating to the sharp cry of
connecting steel that echoed through the clearing. She
looked at him incredulously but didn’t have time to shout
her complaints as she was forced to go on the defensive
when he moved again. They parried back and forth for a
short while, and she panted, using every inch of focus to
keep up, while he hardly looked winded at all. She could tell
he was holding back for her sake, which only made her anger
rise in determination. She pushed harder, faster, ducking
and swinging, but she was severely outmatched. Nik
disarmed her, sending Lumarias flying from her grip, and
had his blade to her throat in two maneuvers.
 “Good.” He grinned, lowering his sword and motioning
for her to retrieve hers. “But you leave your entire right side
exposed when you deflect like that.”
She snatched her blade up with a frustrated groan. “Tell
me how to control the…Nightwalking.” She winced at the
word.
Faythe struck first, and Nik blocked with immortal ease.
“When we sleep, we don’t automatically walk into
someone else’s mind. It’s a choice.” He counterattacked, and
she ducked left.
“I don’t choose to enter anyone’s head,” she breathed,
again on the defensive from his flashes of steel.
“You do—you just don’t know it.” He spun around her so
fast she barely registered when they switched sides, still
tracking each other. “There’s a moment when your
subconscious first wakes that you are completely in your
own head.”
Left, right, left, she blocked his onslaught of attacks.
“You can either focus on a target and arrive at the doors
to their unconscious mind, or—”
Again, she found her sword being knocked from her hand
as Nik’s hovered over her heart.
“—you can simply give in to your own unconsciousness.
Sleep, in other words.” He lowered his blade and used it to
prop himself up while she gathered her breath.
She folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t choose it
though; it just happens.”
He chuckled. “You must have a very active mind at night
to not be aware of it.” Nik cocked his head. “Do you find it’s
usually people and events that have happened that day?”
Faythe tried to think back. Her dreams were always of
people she’d seen in town. Now she knew they weren’t just
dreams but she was in their minds, it made her feel strangely
guilty for trespassing on private thoughts and memories.
 “I suppose,” she mumbled.
“My guess would be that you let your emotions run too
high. Whatever or whoever has affected you, good or bad, is
likely what influences where you go at night.” After a short
pause, he grinned wildly at her. “I must have made quite the
impression.”
Her cheeks flamed. She wanted to hiss a retort, but words
failed her. Instead, she swiped Lumarias from the grass and
twisted it in her wrist a couple of times as it was already
starting to ache against the force of his blows.
“Arrogant prick,” she muttered.
In a flash, steel met steel, so close to her face she felt the
phantom kiss of the razor’s edge across her cheek. He looked
down at her through crossed blades, their breath mingling. It
was a battle of wills as they stared each other down, until she
pushed with everything she had, and he backed up a step
with wicked delight.
They circled each other. “The key is in your own
awareness,” he said.
She laughed without humor. “You’re not really helping.”
Nik stopped pacing and sighed. “It’ll take practice. Try
tonight. We all work in different ways. I can only guide you
with words—the rest is up to you.” He gave her a pitiful look
and sheathed his sword. “I think that’s enough for tonight.”
Faythe huffed, doing the same, and stalked over to grab
her cloak. After a silent moment, she asked quietly, “What if
I can’t control it?”
“You can, and you will. Your life depends on it, and if
that’s not enough motivation, your friend’s life may very
well depend on it too.”
He knew exactly which heartstring to pull, and she
recoiled. “If it ever comes to it, you save him, not me,” she
said fiercely. “You get him out whatever it takes.”
 He frowned at her, contemplating. “It won’t come to
that,” he concluded.
The question she’d been terrified to ask came rushing to
the surface. “Would he kill me…for what I am?” Her breath
shook.
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “The king doesn’t like
what he can’t control. He doesn’t like surprises. He has many
gifted fae in his service, but a human? He might not like the
idea of your kind having a force that could be used against
him.” He ran a hand through his inky black hair.
“I’m not a threat,” she said in horror.
“We don’t know what you are yet, Faythe.”
 CHAPTER 9

F aythe crept slowly and quietly back into the hut,

breathing a sigh of relief that Jakon was passed out in
his cot. It was half past eleven when she parted from Nik at
the edge of town, and she would never have heard the end of
Jakon’s scolding that she was late back.
She discarded her sword and cloak, changing as silently
as a ghost before sliding into bed. Her mind was a whirlwind
of thoughts and emotions.
“My guess would be that you let your emotions run too high.”
Nik’s words replayed in her thoughts, and she clamped her
eyes shut, willing herself to calm her mind from spiraling
right into whoever’s it landed on when she finally found rest.
Still, she was terrified to sleep.
She tossed and turned for hours. Every time she felt her
eyelids droop, she shook herself awake, not confident Nik’s
advice would register when she slipped into that space of
subconscious, as he’d called it.
Faythe turned on her side and looked at Jakon, asleep like
the dead and snoring peacefully. She silently cursed him in
her state of grumpy restlessness for being able to sleep
without any worries.
Her eyelids fell shut. She could rest her eyes for a
moment. That was all she needed.
 Just for a few minutes…

Jakon strolled down the street greeting everyone as he

passed. No one paid Faythe any attention as she trailed
behind him.
She vaguely recognized the far east side of Farrowhold
and wondered what they were doing here since there wasn’t
much of interest in this end of town. She heard the loud clang
of metal before she spied the blacksmiths near the end of the
street. Did her sword need adjusting? She wracked her brain
while the sounds got closer but couldn’t remember when
they had discussed it or planned a trip here.
Spotting them outside the open compound, the person
inside stopped their hammering and set their tools aside.
They wore a long apron and a welding mask.
Jakon moved further into the large space, and the
blacksmith wiped their hands on their apron before
removing their face shield. It shocked Faythe as the man she
expected to see turned out to be a young woman. She was
pleasantly surprised at the beautiful blonde lady who greeted
them, and she couldn’t help but stare with raised brows. Her
hair was in a messy braid, and there was soot smudged
across her cheeks and forehead, but Faythe gawked in
admiration at the woman’s crystal-blue eyes and effortless
soft, feminine face.
“She’s my best work,” the woman told Jakon with a wide
grin.
A strange feeling went through Faythe, and she recoiled
in bewilderment, her heart fluttering a little. She’d never had
these kinds of feelings for a woman before. They were mixed
with giddy excitement, and Faythe couldn’t understand
herself as her eyes remained fixed on the stranger. Jakon
grinned at her, and she retreated further into the workshop,
behind a curtain, coming back with something under a black
sheet.
“The stone was a perfect shape—it fit well,” she
commented, pulling the sheet off to reveal the magnificent
sword beneath. Faythe’s sword, Lumarias.
Faythe’s hand shot to her side, which was now bare.
When her eyes followed, she beheld her clothing, and—
Horror, shock, and realization paralyzed her all at once.
“The key is in your own awareness.” She wasn’t here with
Jakon—not really. She was in his mind; his memory. Her
breathing came out fast and hard. Did he know she was here?
It didn’t seem like it, but she blanched at the thought of him
knowing when he woke up. She had no right to be here.
Jakon looked over the sword in awe. “It’s perfect,” he
breathed. “More than perfect. You’ve really exceeded
yourself, Marlowe.”
Color warmed the blacksmith’s cheeks as he took the
blade from her, balancing it in his palms.
Nausea overcame Faythe. She wanted to apologize
profusely and explain she didn’t mean to be here, beg him to
forgive her. It wasn’t her feeling those emotions before; they
were Jakon’s. Her own feelings mixed with his in the
memory, and she found it hard to separate them. Now aware
she was Nightwalking, Faythe found she could listen to his
thoughts. Every thought he was having.
Dizziness struck her as she considered everything she
would be able to know about him by being in here. Every
personal secret and feeling, everything that made him who
he was, laid right out in front of her. He would never know.
“She’s a lucky woman.” Marlowe smiled.
At the look she gave him, Faythe wanted to insist things
weren’t like that between them. But she couldn’t. She was
never there and had never even been to the blacksmiths
before.
Faythe squeezed her eyes shut and covered her ears,
trying to block out the thoughts interweaving with hers,
causing her head to pound. She focused on her bed, her
room, just as she had done trying to exit Nik’s mind before.
Feeling a thread, she pulled at it with everything she had,
back into herself…

Bolting upright, Faythe struggled for breath as she tried to

get the world to come into focus. Hands appeared instantly
around her shoulders, and she thought she could her Jakon’s
voice but couldn’t distinguish whether it was real. She
trembled violently and snapped her eyes to look at him,
lifting a shaky hand to touch his face.
Real.
“—just a dream,” she heard, the words distorted as if her
head were underwater. Jakon brought his own hand up to
gently hold her chin. “It was just a dream, Faythe.” His voice
became clearer.
Oh, Gods, if he only knew.
Vomit rose in her throat, and she pushed him away to run
to the bathroom basin, barely making in in time before
heaving up her meal from the previous night.
Jakon rubbed a hand soothingly over her back and held
her hair out of her face until she slumped, resting her back
against the wall and tucking her knees up tight.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked quietly from
beside her.
She breathed a sob as tears welled in her eyes. She
couldn’t tell him and wouldn’t even know how to—or if he
would ever forgive her nonconsensual invasion of his
memory. Shaking her head, she buried her face in her hands.
Jakon only pulled her into his side and held her as she cried
out of guilt and shame. But mostly, she cried out of
hopelessness and fear she might never be able to control
herself.
When she’d finally calmed enough to stand, Faythe took
her time to wash and dress before finding Jakon at the
kitchen table. He’d made a bowl of porridge for them both
and was halfway through his when he looked up.
“Feeling better?” he asked softly.
She gave him a weak smile and sat down. “Yeah, I’m
fine,” she said, her voice hoarse.
She had no appetite, but she forced herself to eat so she
didn’t risk fainting from having nothing left in her system.
“Maybe you should ask Marie for the day off. You look
like a ghost.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m fine, honestly. I’m on thin
ice with her now anyway.” When Jakon cocked an eyebrow in
question, she clarified, “Too many leisurely strolls between
deliveries.” It wasn’t a complete lie.
He rolled his eyes with a light chuckle. “If you’re sure.
Don’t want you passing out in one of her pies. You’d
certainly get the sack.”
Faythe mustered a smile and pushed her breakfast around
to distract herself from the drop in her stomach she felt
every time she looked at him. He was completely oblivious to
what she was and what she was capable of.
Jakon finished his porridge and bid her goodbye after
checking several times that she wasn’t about to combust.
Faythe left the hut shortly after, needing the fresh air before
the workday started. The morning was just warming up, and
she welcomed the slight chill breeze as she strolled slowly
over the dusty cobbled streets, deciding to take the long
route to the square since she had time to spare.
 After a minute, she had an impulsive thought and twisted
on her heel before she could change her mind. As she weaved
through the eastern part of town, she knew it was a bad idea
but wanted to confirm what she had seen last night was
definitely a memory of Jakon’s and not just her own dream.
A desperate part of her still held onto the foolish hope she
didn’t really possess the ability Nik thought she did. In any
case, she wanted to thank the blacksmith for their work on
her sword. Having not known it was a woman, Faythe greatly
admired the young blacksmith for her talents.
Turning the last corner, she paused for a second when the
compound came into view. It was exactly as she had seen it
last night, and as she approached the blacksmiths,
everything was unnervingly accurate. She had to lean over
and touch something as her own mind flashed from viewing
it through Jakon’s memory. She had never been here before
and seeing it in person now ruled out any possible doubt it
wasn’t a dream of her own.
“Can I help you?” a man grumbled.
Her eyes darted up and landed on a rugged, slightly
rotund older man. Faythe quickly deduced this must be
Dalton, the man she thought had crafted her sword.
“I… Yes, I’m looking for, um—” She stumbled like an
idiot, still in her own mind about the realism versus Jakon’s
recollection of the place. “Marlowe,” she finally choked out,
recalling the name she’d heard from her friend.
He skimmed her from head to toe, determining she
wasn’t going to be a threat, before shouting to the back.
After a moment, the curtain lifted, and a striking
resemblance to what she remembered of the woman last
night came into view. Faythe blinked at the sight. Real. This is
real, she reminded herself. But she couldn’t stop the
trembling and clamped her fists shut. It confirmed what she
already knew as the woman she’d only ever seen in her
friend’s dream—his memory—became flesh and bone before
her.
“Hi!” she chirped. Even her voice was uncanny.
Faythe shuddered. “Hi,” she responded in little more
than a whisper.
Marlowe stared at her expectantly but kept a welcoming
smile as she leaned sideward against a beam at the front of
the structure. Dalton made himself scarce in the back.
Faythe shook her head clear as she realized Marlowe was
waiting for her to speak. “I…I, uh, I came to say thanks,” she
got out. “For my sword, I mean. My friend Jakon came to
you.” She cursed herself for stuttering so badly in her
nervousness.
The blacksmith beamed. “Yes! I remember. You’re
Faythe, right? How does she swing?”
Marlowe was a picture of natural beauty—even more so
standing in front of her in real time. Her hair was in the
same type of braid, but her face was as fresh as day. Her
expressions lit up her entire face and made all the difference
from the projection in Jakon’s memory. She could tell why he
would be attracted to her, both in looks and spirit.
Faythe nodded and smiled. “Like a dream,” she answered.
“He did a lousy job of trying to describe your height and
weight. Guys never do have a clue, so I balanced a lot of it
based on my own measurements plus what he gave me.” She
looked Faythe over. “Seems like an accurate guess.”
Indeed, they were both of similar height and build, with
Faythe having about an inch of height on Marlowe and her
bones protruding a little more. Looking at the healthy weight
of the stunning blonde, she really felt the need to fill herself
out.
“I named it Lumarias.”
Marlowe beamed again. “I love it!”
 With nothing else to add, Faythe said lamely, “Well, I’d
better go. Can’t be late.”
Marlowe straightened and gave a warm smile. “Don’t be a
stranger.”
Faythe nodded in silent promise and turned, walking a
few steps before she spun around again in a last-second
thought. “Oh! Jakon and I… It’s not like that.”
The blacksmith’s cheeks flushed, and her mouth popped
open. Faythe grinned deviously before turning to stalk away
with a quiet chuckle.
 CHAPTER 10

T he market was fairly quiet for the rest of the day after she
visited the blacksmiths, and Faythe thanked the Spirits
for it. Her energy was at an all-time low, and she didn’t
think she would survive a day of running errands.
Marie left her in charge of the stall for a while after
deeming the flow of customers small enough for her to
handle—much to Faythe’s insult. She sat idly picking at an
apple on a makeshift stool behind the counter. As much as
she enjoyed the peaceful day, it also made it a struggle to
keep her mind off her increasingly heavy eyelids.
Faythe leaned her head back against the wooden beam of
the stall, closing her eyes and chewing on a bite of the ripe
fruit. A cough sounded in front of her, and she jumped, her
apple jolting from her hand and landing on the ground with
a thud.
Nik smirked as she straightened and scowled at his
unexpected intrusion. He had his usual black cloak on with
his hood up, making him look very out of place in the
summer heat.
“Not quite the place to potentially fall asleep and wake
up…elsewhere,” he commented.
She glowered at him. “I wasn’t going to sleep.” Though
she understood it was risky to even close her eyes with how
tired she was.
“How’d it go last night?” he asked, but her pale face and
flat look must have said it all because his grin faltered.
“Bad?” He winced.
She gave a long, defeated sigh and slumped back against
the wooden post. Nik came slightly around the counter so
she could speak without any potential listening ears picking
up on their conversation.
“I was in Jakon’s head.” She cringed. “I invaded his
private thoughts, and I can’t even tell him. I can’t forgive
myself.”
He gave her a solemn look, and she hated it. She didn’t
want his pity or for him to see her as a lost cause.
“There was no in-between, no subconscious space. One
minute I was awake, and the next I was walking alongside
him in one of his memories.” She hissed the last word under
her breath.
He hummed and was quiet for a moment as if
deliberating. “I have an experiment I’d like to try,” he said
at last. At her skeptic look, he rolled his eyes. “Meet me in
the woods tonight, alone,” he emphasized.
Faythe wouldn’t even think to bring Jakon into this
anyway, but she knew it would be difficult to get him to stay
at home again. “Fine,” she said. She would think of
something. She had no other choice but to trust Nik, and
quite frankly, she was desperate enough to try anything he
could throw at her.
He peered over his shoulder, checking the area, before
stepping back. “See you tonight, at nine o’clock.” With a last
mischievous smile, he disappeared as stealthily as he had
arrived.
The rest of the day passed by painfully slow, and Faythe was
grateful for the setting sun as she started her short walk
home. She got a few streets away before an idea came into
her head. With a cunning grin, she spun on her heel and
decided to take an exceptionally long detour to pass by one
specific compound.
Her nerves rose when she stood outside the blacksmiths
for the second time that day. This was the best idea she could
think of to occupy Jakon for the night, and she commended
herself for the stroke of genius.
Marlowe was nowhere to be seen, nor was Dalton, but she
could faintly make out voices from behind the back curtain.
Faythe wrung her hands together before stepping into the
front of the workshop.
“Hello?” she called weakly.
After a second, the familiar blonde peered out from
behind the sheet. Seeing Faythe, Marlowe beamed and
stepped out fully, but then her face fell in concern.
“Is there something wrong with your sword?”
Faythe shook her head quickly. “No, I…I was actually
hoping you could do me a favor.” She winced.
The blacksmith frowned warily. “Sure. What’s up?”
Faythe hesitated, and then she rushed out the words. “I
need you to help distract Jakon for me.”
Marlowe raised her eyebrows in surprise before shaking
her head vigorously. “I can’t. I… How exactly am I supposed
to do that?” she stumbled, looking flustered at the
suggestion.
Faythe felt guilty for asking, but without something to
keep Jakon busy, he was usually latched to her side. She
cursed him for being so annoyingly overprotective.
“Just for tonight. I need to be somewhere, and he’s like a
little puppy dog I can’t shake,” she pleaded in light humor,
praying Marlowe wouldn’t ask questions.
 The blonde laughed nervously, and the red in her cheeks
only flamed more. “I don’t know, Faythe. Is there no one else
you can ask? He barely knows me.” She bit her lip.
Faythe shot her a knowing look. “I’m certain you’re the
best distraction I could find.”
Marlowe gaped at her. “He doesn’t like me like that!” she
hissed in embarrassment.
Faythe chuckled. “Trust me, he does.” She didn’t need to
know exactly how Faythe had come to the knowledge. When
Marlowe didn’t respond, her grin widened. “So is that a
yes?”
She stood chewing her lip, contemplating. “Give me five
minutes. I need to wash,” she grumbled, gesturing to her
soot-covered face and hands.
Faythe gave a squeal of excitement before ushering her to
be quick. Jakon would be expecting her back home by now.
She perched on a stool inside the workshop, fiddling with the
various hammers and spanners and marveling at the
intricate tools scattered about that she wouldn’t have the
first clue how to use.
Close to ten minutes passed before Marlowe emerged
again, clean-faced, with her hair now unbound in lazy waves
running past her breasts. Again, Faythe found herself struck
with envy at her effortless beauty. She’d changed into a light
blue cotton gown that matched her eyes and had her deep
blue cloak folded over her arm when she shouted through
the sheet a quick goodbye to Dalton—who Faythe discovered
was her father even though they looked nothing alike.
Marlowe was a picture of nerves and uncertainty as
Faythe stood beaming at her. She hooked her arm through
hers in silent encouragement and to prevent her from
voicing the protests on her face. Then, together, they took
off down the street.
When they stood outside the hut a quick ten minutes later,
Marlowe paused, fidgeting with her skirts.
“Come on—he doesn’t bite,” Faythe said with a hint of
suggestion.
Crimson flooded Marlowe’s cheeks as she glared at
Faythe. “You owe me,” she hissed under her breath.
Faythe swung the door open with a cunning smile and
sauntered in, immediately spotting Jakon in the open
kitchen, seated at the table. At the sight of Faythe, he smiled
—but then it dropped, and he fumbled to his feet when he
spied Marlowe behind her.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Faythe said innocently. “I
swung by the blacksmiths to pay my thanks, and we got to
chatting.” She gestured to Marlowe still standing shyly by
the door. “You failed to tell me my sword was crafted by such
a skilled and pretty female.” She was teasing, but a part of
her felt guilty for using Jakon’s attraction to Marlowe, which
she only knew about from feeling it in his memory. An even
bigger part of her thought it was worth it for the floundering
look on his face.
Neither of them spoke, so Faythe continued. “She didn’t
have any plans for tonight, so I asked her to join us for
dinner. You don’t mind, Jak, do you?” She was enjoying this.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
She maintained her air of innocence at Jakon’s pointed
look and the silent words she heard.
He choked out, “Of course not! But, uh—we don’t really
have anything here, so—”
“We’ll have to go out then!” Faythe interjected cheerfully.
“I’ll just quickly freshen up, and we can go to Harbor Hall.
Keep our guest occupied, will you?” she said to Jakon before
retreating to the back bedroom to change out of her workday
clothes.
Faythe dressed in her usual training attire as she had the
night before and secured Lumarias at her hip. Then she
threw her cloak on so Jakon wouldn’t ask why she was armed
when they were only headed to the restaurant on the harbor
for food. She wasn’t sure if swordplay would be a part of
Nik’s experiment or if she could even muster the energy to lift
her blade, but she thought it best to be prepared.
When she emerged again, she paused at the sight of Jakon
and Marlowe chatting at the table. They appeared relaxed in
each other’s company, and he had a gleam in his eye she’d
only seen a handful of times when he’d looked at her in that
way. She had never been able to return it—not in the way he
hoped. Yet Marlowe did. Faythe smiled at them as a warm
feeling settled in her. Jakon deserved to be happy with
someone.
“Ready to go?” she chirped, not wanting to break their
conversation, but she had less than an hour before she was
due to meet Nik.
They nodded simultaneously and stood, heading for the
door. Faythe followed after them, and the trio took off down
the pleasantly calm streets toward the harbor. It was a ten-
minute walk, which they spent getting to know their new
female friend a little more.
Faythe found Marlowe’s energy wonderfully contagious
as she chatted in depth about her creations and
blacksmithing experiments among other things. She was two
years older than Faythe and had found intrigue in her
father’s craft since she was a young girl. Her mother had
passed from the same sickness that swept the town and took
Jakon’s parents thirteen years ago. It was one tragedy the
duo had in common, and even though Faythe had lost her
mother by different means, she still connected with them on
their level of grief.
When the blacksmith wasn’t working, the beauty seemed
to never stop using her brain. She had a deep passion for
reading and knowledge, and Faythe perked at the mention of
her interest in swordplay too. She was excited to get into the
sparring ring with her sometime.
They approached the beautifully lit Harbor Hall
overlooking the sea—one of the prime spots in Farrowhold’s
outer town. Faythe and Jakon had only been a handful of
times, usually on occasions such as birthdays when they’d
saved a few extra coin, but they had been careful with their
spending recently, and she knew they could afford to eat a
nice meal tonight.
Pushing through the small white wooden doors, Faythe
was immediately hit with the delicious scent of fresh seafood
and breathed in deeply. It was moderately busy in the large,
ambient space, mostly filled with couples seated in the
intimate booths. The three of them were warmly greeted and
guided to a small four-seater table in the corner. Faythe tried
not to think of herself as a third wheel when she took a seat
next to Marlowe and let Jakon sit opposite her. It was a
subtle tactic on her part for them to engage eye contact and
conversation.
Faythe tried her best to stay engrossed in idle chatter with
her friends, but her head was elsewhere, and she bounced
her knee in an anxious tic while checking her pocket watch
every ten minutes. Marlowe seemed to notice and kept
shooting her knowing looks.
The food came, and it took Faythe’s mind off the time for
a while as she savored the delights of hot and cold seafood
fresh from that day. But when they’d finished and the clock
closed in on nine, she cleared her throat and made a show of
trying to cover her wide yawn.
 “I think I’m going to head back. I’m really tired,” she
said. Not a full lie—she certainly was exhausted, and Jakon
would realize exactly why thanks to her epic display that
morning.
He gave her a nod of understanding and said, “Of course.
I’ll get the bill—”
“Don’t let me ruin your night,” she cut in a little too
quickly, shooting Marlowe a glance for help. “I mean, it’s
still really early after all,” she recovered.
Marlowe chimed in casually, “They have great desserts
here.” She smiled sweetly at Jakon. “If you’d like to stay.”
Faythe had to give her credit: even she could be tempted
to stay with the look the blacksmith gave him. “Natural flirt”
could be added to her new friend’s list of fine traits.
Jakon’s cheeks flushed, and he smiled back nervously. It
amused Faythe immensely to see her best friend so flustered.
She had never witnessed this side to him in their decade of
friendship. She’d never actually seen him take an interest in
anyone. Like Faythe, Jakon had never committed to a serious
relationship before.
“I…I would—but, uh, Faythe…” he stumbled.
Faythe waved a hand. “I’ll be fine, you big worrywart.
Stay out for as long as you’d like and don’t do anything I
wouldn’t do.” She fastened her cloak before she stood,
reaching into her pocket and placing a few coins on the table
despite both of their protests. Then she swiftly left the
establishment with a final good night.
She’d already hashed out some details with Marlowe on
their trip back from the blacksmiths, so Faythe knew she
would try to occupy him until at least midnight. Still, she had
no clue how long Nik’s plan for the night would take and
didn’t want to risk Jakon returning to an empty hut and
sending out a search party.
 Mercifully, Marlowe hadn’t asked what she planned to get
up to, but at her few curious and concerned looks, Faythe
had promised her it was nothing dangerous.
That was only a half-truth, however, as nothing with Nik
seemed to be certain.
 CHAPTER 11

F aythe pulled her hood up as she left Harbor Hall and

made haste down the streets. She was already running
late. In her hurry, she skidded to a halt around the next
corner, nearly colliding with four fae patrol to her complete
horror.
She stepped aside instantly and bowed her head low, not
daring to make eye contact as she moved out of their path.
She recognized the brute of a warrior leading the patrol from
her quick glimpse. The unruly scar that marred the left of his
face was a distinguishing feature, allowing her to single him
out as one of the royal guards who had detained the
innkeeper’s son with undue force.
Her breathing stilled as they halted beside her instead of
marching past like they usually did. She kept her eyes to the
ground, playing the part of the scared human girl so they
might continue on without questioning her.
But one spoke. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?” A
deep, rough voice—one that sent a spear of ice through her.
“Home,” she said quietly, still not raising her head.
She heard the scuff of gravel before large black boots
came into view on the ground right in front of her. She
swallowed hard, her heart skipping a beat.
“You will look at me when you talk, girl,” he warned.
 She didn’t move.
In a second, Faythe barely had time to blink when large,
calloused fingers gripped her jaw, yanking her head up so
fast she couldn’t hide her wince of pain. The guard gave her
a vicious grin.
“Better,” he said.
She supposed he was handsome, beautiful even, despite
the disfigurement. He had sharp facial features, with eyes of
stark black and wavy brown hair that fell above his
shoulders, half-tied back in a small knot. Yet as she held his
stare, his feral eyes only delivered a promise of violence and
despair to anyone who crossed him. She couldn’t mask her
anger, forced to stare back in his viselike grip. Everything in
Faythe screamed at her to run.
“What is your name?” he said in a playful calm.
She debated not answering, but at the guarantee of pain,
she hissed, “Faythe,” while hoping her tone wouldn’t land
her in the same trouble as her silence.
One of the others spoke quietly from behind. “She
frequently trains in swordplay in the square, Captain. She’s
harmless.”
The captain held her for a moment longer,
contemplating, before releasing her with a grunt. She wanted
to thank the young fae guard who spoke up for her.
Faythe winced, her jaw throbbing faintly from his
unnaturally tight hold. She knew it would bruise.
His eyes flicked to the hilt of Lumarias before they pierced
into her golden ones again. “A mighty blade for such a lowly
human girl.” He chuckled mockingly, and her hands twitched
at her sides in a flash of rage.
“It was a gift,” she said through her teeth.
His eyes narrowed on hers for a moment, and she didn’t
balk. “Don’t give them a reason to look into you…” She dropped
her eyes to the ground again in a silent bow of submission as
Nik’s advice echoed through her.
With a disgruntled sound, the captain stepped away. “On
your way then, girl,” he said, bored.
Faythe didn’t hesitate, twisting sharply and making off
again in a brittle walk. She spied a dark alley, and once she
turned the corner, she ran.

She sprinted the rest of the way, taking the darkest streets
and running all the way up the hills until the woods came
into view. She spotted Nik immediately. He leaned idly
against one of the trees. Relief calmed her storm of nerves.
She didn’t even realize she was shaking until she slowed her
pace upon approach.
“You’re late,” he said, and then he took in the sight.
“What in the damned Spirits happened?” Nik stormed up to
her, scanning her body for signs of physical injury. “Who
hurt you?” he snarled, catching her jaw, which still ached.
“The patrol.” She breathed hard, not knowing how to
form the right sentence. “The captain,” she added between
pants, bracing her hands on her thighs as the exertion from
the short journey caught up with her all at once.
Nik swore. “I thought I told you to keep a low profile.”
Faythe stared at him, incredulous. “I was keeping a low
profile!” she snapped. “It’s not my fault your kind are just
savage, ruthless beasts who will take any opportunity to
show dominance and belittle us humans!” She shook out of
anger more than fear now.
His lips thinned as his eyes softened. “That’s just Captain
Varis.” He ran a hand through his jet-black hair. “He’s a
wicked bastard and a sadist, but he’s one of the king’s most
talented Nightwalkers. Don’t ever underestimate him.” His
tone wasn’t scolding; it was laced with concern.
Her face blanched. It was just her luck a Nightwalker
would find reason to stop her when she needed to be
invisible now more than ever.
Reading her thoughts, Nik said, “You need to be able to
understand your own abilities. Damn it, Faythe, it’s a wonder
no one’s found out about you yet with your recklessness.”
She cringed and wanted to argue, but he continued.
“If you learn to control your ability, you won’t need to
fear any of the others being in your head. You can block
things you don’t want them to see and only give access to
your completely ordinary life to keep them satisfied.”
Her head spun at the new information. Nik only motioned
for her to follow as he stepped into the woods.
She hesitated. “Will I see…things again?” she asked
quietly.
He shook his head and held out his hand. “No. You’ve
already proven yourself.”
She looked at the offer of comfort in his outstretched
palm and then to his eyes as he smiled in encouragement.
Maybe it made her foolish and naïve, but she couldn’t help
but trust him. The feeling unnerved her. He knew of the one
thing that could condemn her and had so far chosen to help
instead of turning her in. She wasn’t sure if that made him
an ally, a friend, or if he was simply fueling his eternal
curiosity. Whatever it was, she was grateful for it.
Faythe slipped her hand into his, and he led the way
through the dark, veiled entrance. Afraid he would vanish
and she would once again be alone, suffocated by dark mist
and black vine webs, she didn’t realize the strength of her
grip until he chuckled down at their joined hands. They’d
made it through the perfectly ordinary woodland and into
the waterfall clearing, and her knuckles had turned pale
from her viselike grip.
She released him immediately, cheeks flaming.
Nik slung off his cloak and walked to the middle of the
open space before laying it flat on the grass and sitting on it.
Faythe watched with a frown and didn’t immediately follow
until he wordlessly gestured for her to do the same.
“I take it this is part of your experiment?” she said,
matter-of-fact, copying his actions.
He grinned in response before reaching into his pocket
and producing two vials of liquid. “It’s just a simple sleeping
tonic,” he said at her hopeful look. “It will put you under as
you would fall asleep naturally, but your ability will still
awaken your subconscious,” he explained.
“We’re going for a nap?”
He flicked her nose. “Smartass,” he muttered, handing
one of the bottles to her. “I’m going to try to catch you in
that space between before you launch yourself to Gods know
where.”
She looked at him wide-eyed. “You’re going inside my
head?”
He gave her a devious smile. “What dirty little secrets do
you have to hide? You look so horrified, Faythe.”
She whacked his arm with a glare, and he barked a laugh.
“I’ll have to take mine first. It’ll be at least five minutes
before it works. Once I’m out, you’ll take yours. I’ll be able to
feel when you slip under, and, well…” He paused. “I’m not
really sure if it’ll work, but it seems worth a try.”
Worry creased her forehead. “And if it doesn’t? What if I
end up somewhere else?”
“I should still be able to enter your mind. You’ll feel me
there, and I can hopefully coax you back, but—” Another one
of those pauses she’d come to dread. “Well, it’s new
territory. I don’t know if your ability works the same as
ours.”
Faythe nodded. She knew he was referring to the fact she
was a human.
Nik sighed. “We won’t know unless we test the theory.”
She supposed she had nothing to lose at this point. She
had to get this under control, and if that meant letting Nik
inside her head, she had to try.
“Just know,” he said, “I’m putting a lot of trust in you not
attempting to kill me after I take this.” He popped the cork
off the top of his vial, lifted it to hers in cheers, then took the
whole dosage before discarding it beside him.
Faythe rolled her eyes and watched him lie back, his
eyelids closing with a dramatic, relaxed sigh. She sat with
her knees tucked up and studied the rise and fall of his chest
for a couple of minutes.
For a moment, she was struck by his vulnerability. A full-
grown warrior fae male lay perfectly at her mercy. Though
he’d said it in humor, she felt a small burst of warmth that
he really did trust her enough not to attempt anything. This
would perhaps be her once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to do
so; the only time she would come face-to-face with a fae
who was incapacitated enough for her to strike. Yet even if it
were the malicious Captain Varis lying there unconscious
before her, she was confident she would never take such a
cheap and dishonorable blow.
When his breathing slowed and became heavier, she
looked at her vial. Here goes nothing, she thought, tipping the
contents down her throat and lying flat beside Nik. She
turned her head to look at him, so peaceful and innocent, not
a wrinkle or frown disturbing his smooth, pale skin.
Handsome. Nik truly was a picture of immortal grace.
Her eyelids fluttered a few times as she felt herself drift
away, and with it, her rising panic faded…
“Faythe,” a distant voice called.
She felt as if she was being projected one way but another
force was tugging her in the opposite direction. She grabbed
onto that phantom thread and pulled herself toward it,
against the current that wanted to cast her into oblivion. It
wasn’t long before she saw light piercing through the pitch-
black void she was in and followed it all the way until it
blinded her and she had to squint her eyes, blinking rapidly
to adjust.
Then she was standing in an endless room of swirling
gold and white mist. She was awake inside her own head. She
could feel it; see it. The mist cleared around her to show a
reel of memories that flashed from one to another. She saw
memories from when she could barely walk, right up until
this very day—her whole life, in perfect clarity.
She thought of one person in particular, and it stopped,
playing in real time the memory of her mother not long
before she was taken. They lay in bed together, her nine-
year-old self tucked warmly under her mother’s arm as she
read to her. Tears wet her face, and her lip quivered, but she
made no sound as she walked closer to the moving picture. It
stopped as she willed it on her mother’s face. Faythe reached
out a hand to touch her, but it passed right through, and she
sobbed once.
Suddenly aware of another presence, all the images
around her faded instantly, leaving only clouds of white and
gold. She turned her head to look at Nik, who stood silently
behind her with his hands in his pockets. She supposed he
had been there the whole time. His theory had worked, and
she didn’t care what he saw before she blocked the memories
out.
“My mother,” she whispered.
 He gave a small nod. “I know,” he said. After a short,
solemn silence, he continued, “I used to spend endless
nights in my head when my mother passed. It’s different,
seeing it in front of you like that. Over time, memories can
become faded, and we forget the details. But in here…we can
keep them alive.”
She gave him a sad smile, grateful he would share such a
personal piece of information with her. She didn’t know he
too had mourned a parent and suddenly felt guilty she knew
very little about him at all while she was so selfishly wrapped
up in her own problems. She wanted to ask when he’d lost
her and what happened, but it didn’t feel right in the
moment.
“I guess it worked,” she mused instead, trying to change
the subject and lighten the somber mood.
He smiled, seeming glad for the switch. “I almost lost you
for a second, but you had the good sense to follow my lead.”
He looked around and made a curious sound.
She too observed the colors of her mind. “It looks like
yours,” she said, “but less sulky and gloomy.”
He laughed. “Think of it as your aura. The colors reflect a
part of you.”
She crossed her arms in amusement. “So what exactly
does black say about your soul?”
He shrugged impassively. “Perhaps that I’m damned to
the Netherworld,” he answered with a smirk.
She stuck a hand out to weave it through the mist. It
sparkled, and she thought it beautiful as it entwined through
her fingers. Wherever she moved, it followed, and she found
she could bend it to her will without any movement, creating
a small golden butterfly in the palm of her hand.
“You’ve really not seen the inside of your own
subconscious before?” he questioned as he studied her.
 Faythe shook her head. “I either dream—” She winced.
“Nightwalk,” she corrected, “or I don’t remember seeing
anything when I wake. But that’s rare, mostly. I guess all this
time, I was exploring the townspeople when I slept.” She
laughed a little, trying to find the humor to keep herself
sane.
The butterfly took flight before dissipating into the rest of
the mist.
Nik released a long breath. “Do you find yourself
exhausted the next day? When you’ve been Nightwalking, I
mean.”
She huffed. “I’d forgotten what a good night’s rest was
like until the week you gave me those drops.”
He raised his eyebrows. “No wonder, Faythe. You’ve
probably not had more than a couple hours’ proper rest in
years.” At her look of confusion, he clarified, “When we
Nightwalk, our mind is still active. If you spend a night in
someone’s head, you’ve not really rested. It’s why we can’t
do it every night—we’d wear ourselves out and become
sloppy.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Gods, it’s a miracle
you’ve kept it up for so long without going insane. But it also
explains a lot about your lack of control.”
She blinked in horror. “So how do I turn it off?”
“You have to figure that part out for yourself,” he said.
“For me, it’s like there are two doors, metaphorically
speaking. I can either focus on a target and walk through the
door that will take me straight into their mind…or I can take
the other door, and it all becomes black.”
She pondered, “So we can never have dreams of our
own?”
“We don’t have random visions that make no sense, if
that’s what you mean. But your mind is limitless; you can
stay in your subconscious and conjure up your wildest
desires. It can be fun.” He grinned at her suggestively, and
she rolled her eyes. She didn’t want to think of what his
“wildest desires” might be. “But again, you’re not getting
proper rest if you stay here, so we can only do it sparingly.
The darkness is the only way we get full, energy-reviving
sleep,” he concluded.
All this information was both daunting and exhilarating
for her. After thinking the worst and hating her newfound
ability, it was uplifting to discover there could be a positive
side. She could vividly see her mother in her memories and
apparently create fully unrestricted and immersive dreams
for herself. But she really longed for nothing more than
getting frequent blissful, undisturbed rest.
Doubling back to what Nik said, she swallowed nervously.
“What do you mean by ‘become sloppy’?”
He took a long inhale, and she could see he was
deliberating whether to expand on it. “This is the part you
won’t like, Faythe,” he said carefully. “You already know
that our specific talent is often used as a weapon. We can find
out everything about a person. We can plant feelings and
ideas if we’re strong enough. And we can also shatter their
mind with a single thought.” His look tuned grave. “If we
exhaust ourselves by trying to Nightwalk, our heightened
negative emotions from the lack of rest can either lead to
discovery or…accidentally kill the host.”
Faythe went cold all over, feeling the world get pulled
from under her. It took a few seconds to fully register, but
then she almost collapsed where she stood as his words
triggered a dark memory. She replayed it over and over in
her head, putting the pieces together as its new reality
dawned on her. That couldn’t be true. She wasn’t capable of
that. Because if she was…
“Oh, Gods,” she whispered to herself.
He took a step closer. “I know it’s a scary thought, but
you’ll be able to learn control now. You’ll never—” His
words faltered when she brought her eyes up with a look of
absolute terror. Nik froze at the sight, his frown deep with
concern. “Faythe, what is it?”
She was too stuck in her own pit of guilt and disgust at
the likelihood of what she’d done to respond. Faythe focused
and started to push him out. She was close to screaming in
anguish and wasn’t sure what her emotions could do to him
in here.
Very quietly, just before he disappeared altogether, she
whispered, “I think I already have.”
 CHAPTER 12

F aythe felt something trying to pull her from her

subconscious where she sat alone with her knees tucked
tightly to her chest. She didn’t sob; didn’t do anything but
give herself over to the hollowness she felt as she recalled
the memory over and over again, hoping with everything she
had that it didn’t mean what she thought it did.
The mist swirled around her as if she were a planet and it
was her stratosphere.
She wasn’t sure how long she sat there after casting Nik
out, but the force was becoming too strong for her to fight
any longer. She found herself giving in to the tug that
brought her back to full consciousness.
Faythe smelled the grass first, like fresh, crisp rainwater.
Then she heard the gentle crash of the waterfall and lapping
waves where it joined the lake below. She felt the fabrics of
her cloak under her fingers as she moved them. Taking a
deep breath through her nose, she forced her eyes open and
stared into purest shade of sky blue she’d ever seen. Finally,
she felt him as Nik’s warm hands registered, encasing one of
her own.
When she at last turned her head to look at him, he wore a
mask of concern, sitting on his knees looking down on her.
He said nothing, waiting for her to speak first in fear of her
falling apart with one wrong move. She pulled her hand out
of his, sitting for a second before standing and striding
aimlessly closer to the water.
It took a moment for her to gather herself. “How do you
know…?” She flinched, not wanting to ask but needing the
answer. “How do you know if you’ve done it? Shattered a
person’s mind, as you say?”
She heard him shift off the grass and stand, but she didn’t
turn to look at him, only watched the water ripple instead.
“It’s like…” He paused, and she noted the slight pain in
his voice. “A mind, to us, is like holding a hollow sphere of
glass in one palm. All it would take is one slight squeeze to
watch it splinter into a million pieces, and one more for it to
explode and turn to dust.”
Her stomach twisted at the thought. “You’ve done it
before,” she stated more than asked.
“It’s not something I’m proud of. I remember everyone
I’ve ever done it to—”
“Murdered,” she cut in bluntly, finally turning to face
him. “Everyone you’ve murdered. That’s what we are really,
aren’t we? Weapons.”
“We don’t have to be.”
Faythe could feel the regret and remorse in his eyes, and
for a slight moment…she pitied him. Until she remembered
he’d always had a choice over what he did; control in the
ways she didn’t.
“Why do you do it? Why work for a tyrant king who would
let humans suffer and kill without a second thought? He’s a
self-serving monster, and you are nothing but a spineless
puppet to do his dirty work,” she spat.
She couldn’t stop herself. Perhaps he didn’t deserve her
anger, and a part of her knew she was only deflecting the
feelings she felt toward her own self—what she was, and
what she’d done. But she would never come face-to-face
with the male she really wanted to scream at to relieve the
pain and hatred that had built inside her for a long time. At
least, she wouldn’t face the King of High Farrow and live.
“Careful, Faythe,” he warned.
“Why should I be? It’s only a matter of time before I’m
next.”
His eyes flashed dark. “You won’t ever be next. Not if I
have something to say about it,” he said with surprisingly
fierce determination.
She reeled in her anger and let out a sigh of defeat,
slumping down on the lake’s edge. She swirled her hand in
the water, aimlessly chasing the yucolites as they darted
from her touch.
Closing her eyes, Faythe recalled the memory that
haunted her. “There was a man in the town a few years ago.”
She didn’t hear when he took a seat close to her, but she felt
him nearby. When she glanced to her side, Nik was sitting
with his knees tucked casually under his extended arms, his
emerald gaze fixed intently on her. She looked away as she
continued, perhaps out of cowardice for what she was about
to confess. “I used to pass him every day on my way to the
market. He owned Farrowhold’s butchers and ran it with his
wife on the main street to the castle. Everyone knew him.”
Her expression soured as she recalled his face. “He was a
rotund, unkempt man who looked like he never knew the
concept of a bath. But it wasn’t his appearance that made me
balk every time I saw him.
“He was cold-hearted, violent, and I knew he didn’t treat
his wife well. No one ever saw him strike her—he liked to
keep that for private quarters.” Her tone turned dark. “It was
obvious though. She was marred by cuts and bruises, and
everyone knew what was going on, yet no one stepped in to
help her.” She shook her head at the grim vision.
 “One day, when I left early for work, the streets were
empty. I heard the commotion before I saw it, and I cowered
behind the corner leading to his butchers shop to watch from
afar.” Faythe took a pause, clenching her teeth. She felt the
bite of her nails in the palm of her dry hand. With a shaky
breath, she forced herself to continue. “He hit her so hard
she fell face-first onto the stone and bled. I wanted to help
her, but I was scared. I was only fifteen—what was I going to
do against a man of his size?” She said it helplessly, though
it didn’t ease her guilt at her cowardice.
“Two fae patrol passed, and I felt relief that they would
surely help her, punish him…but they didn’t. They passed,
and they did nothing, said nothing.” She seethed through
her teeth. “What’s one lowly human life to them, huh?” She
couldn’t help the accusatory glance she made in his
direction, but Nik kept silent. “That night, I couldn’t get the
scene out of my head. I couldn’t stop hearing her cry and the
sound of her face colliding with the ground. I wanted to hurt
him, to make him feel the pain he liked to inflict on others.
I’m not proud of thinking it, but that night, I…I dreamed of
it, though now I suppose it’s safe to say I was Nightwalking…
in his head.”
A humorless laugh came from her. “Even after all these
years, I can still remember it—feel it—so clearly. He had so
much hatred for everything, and violence was the only way
he knew to find release from the demons that plagued his
thoughts.” She shook her head in disbelief she hadn’t
realized sooner. “The scene played out exactly as I saw it,
except when he lifted his hand to strike her, I…I screamed as
loud as I could. He looked me dead in the eye, and I felt his
shock and horror for a split second before the scene
obliterated and it was only darkness. I woke up straight
away, paralyzed by a gods-awful feeling. It was so unlike any
of my other dreams or nightmares.”
 She looked into the water and found some of the yucolites
had latched themselves to her fingers as she continued her
lazy swirls. “That morning, I went to work as normal, and
the day passed by without any surprises. It wasn’t until later
on that the whispers began circulating around town… He was
dead. The butcher on Main Street. His name was Tom
Crestler, and he was found dead in his bed that morning. No
trace of any physical wound—they said he must have died
from some kind of heart failure. Some of the skeptics even
accused Nightwalkers, but those who knew him insisted he
had done no wrong to the king to warrant his execution.”
She knew she didn’t have to conclude the obvious, but still,
she whispered, “I think I killed him.”
They were both silent for a long moment. Faythe couldn’t
bring herself to look at Nik to see his reaction. It made her
no better than him in a sense—no better than any of the fae
Nightwalkers who were used to ending lives.
A hollowness opened up inside her as she realized she
didn’t really know who she was anymore. She wanted
desperately to go back to her life of ignorance; to just be a
simple human girl who loved her friends, did the work she
needed to stay fed, and enjoyed her spare time swinging a
blade that would never see the lines of battle. All of that was
gone now, and she tried to grasp her new reality. She was a
weapon forged to be a masterful thief of thoughts and a
silent assassin of minds.
Nik’s voice snapped her from the dark pit she was slowly
falling into. “You don’t know that for sure,” he said quietly.
She shook her head. “It would be easy to turn a blind eye
in ignorance, wouldn’t it? But when the pieces fit so
perfectly together, it’s impossible to ignore the truth.”
Nik knitted his eyebrows. “Is his wife living a better life
without him?”
 Faythe nodded. His wife had taken over the butchers shop
and made it flourish. Instead of it being a grim
establishment she would dread passing by every day, she
now cast a warm smile at Mrs. Crestler, who would often be
out front smiling and laughing and enjoying the company of
her customers instead of cowering away like before. She
hated that some part of her—a large part of her—had been
glad when she heard the news of Mr. Crestler’s passing, only
so she knew his wife would be free of him.
“Then wouldn’t you agree,” Nik said carefully, “he
deserved the end he met no matter how it came about?”
She knew he was only trying to lighten the burden, but it
didn’t help to clear the oily coat of disgust she felt at the
heavy knowledge she’d been the one to give it to him.
“He was still a man; still a life,” she said. “What right did
I have to take it?”
They looked at each other, and she could see it, the
understanding: two soundless assassins of the same kind.
Only, one was unwitting, and the other…
“How do you live with what you’ve done?” she asked, still
staring into the depths of his emerald eyes as if she could see
right through them and into the black-and-gray smoke of
his soul.
Nik’s frown deepened, and his mouth set in a thin line. “I
live with it by never forgetting. Some people I’ve killed
deserved it—murderers, traitors, rebels—while others were
less deserving but still guilty of crimes against the crown. I
have to follow orders I don’t always agree with.” His look
left room for unspoken words; he was being careful with the
information he disclosed. “I live with it by never forgetting
any of them. By remembering who I am and what I’ve done,
owning it, and never letting the dark part consume me.”
Faythe nodded in appreciation of his honesty. She would
find a way to live with what she was, what she had done, and
what she was capable of. She had to, if only to be able to
control herself and make sure she never used her ability
again.
“Your face,” he mumbled softly.
In a knee-jerk reaction, she reached a hand up to touch
her jaw. The pain and tenderness had gone completely. Her
eyes shot to the lake, where the yucolites had returned to
dodging her touch. She withdrew her hand from the water,
and as she stared at it, she was sure it was glowing. Yet one
blink, and it was gone.
“I guess the legends are true. They must like you.”
She imagined the purple and blue fingermarks that had
started to pepper her lower face would be completely gone
too, and she looked back into the water in silent awe and
thanks. When she caught the fae guard’s eye again, she
couldn’t stop her curiosity and figured it was a good
opportunity to ask, while they were still deep in personal
subjects, “What happened to your mother?”
She knew it was the wrong move when his eyes darkened
and his jaw twitched. He said nothing for a moment as he
held her stare, and then he pushed himself to his feet.
“I think there’s been enough dark conversation for one
night,” he said emotionlessly.
Part of her was annoyed he would evade talking about
himself when she’d all but laid herself bare to him in the
short weeks they’d known each other. But she also
understood what she wanted to know was sensitive and
something she wouldn’t push. He didn’t owe her anything
either. In fact, she owed him for everything he’d risked by
helping her.
“Let’s get you home,” he said quietly.
She stood and pulled out her pocket watch. It was half
past eleven. She prayed Marlowe had come up with enough
reasons to keep busy and Jakon wasn’t back at the hut
already.
In a few minutes, they were cloaked and ready. Neither of
them spoke another word as Nik led the way out of the
woodland.
She would never get used to the magick that kept the
woods in eternal daytime. As they emerged again onto the
hills that held the starry night sky, she couldn’t decide what
she enjoyed more: the serenity of midnight lapis dazzled
with bright constellations, or the exuberance of energy
under a crystal-blue blanket teeming with peaceful life.
At the same spot they parted time last, Faythe muttered a
weak goodbye, and Nik strained as if he wanted to say
something else. Quickly, he dropped it and offered his own
farewell before silently misting into the dark. Faythe also
kept to the shadows, her hood pulled up, as she made her
way into the town to avoid any more run-ins with the fae.
Especially Captain Varis.
Her relief dropped like a weight at the sight of the empty
hut. She discarded her cloak and sword clumsily and dressed
quickly, slipping under the covers and pulling them up to her
chin.
Faythe lay in silence for a while before she heard Jakon
creep in and dip into his own cot. She thought she heard him
ask if she was awake, but she kept her eyes closed and
breathing steady, facing away from him. Soon after, she felt
herself slipping into that familiar oblivion, confident she
would be able find the space Nik had guided her to and sleep.
Really sleep.
 CHAPTER 13

F orced to tune in to the monotone voices of pompous fae

nobles, Nik’s eyes strained against the weight of
boredom. Regardless of his disinterest in the petty politics
they squabbled over, he sat poised and attentive, but his
mind was elsewhere.
Nik had to keep his eyes off the Captain of the Guard
stationed by the door across the hall. Every time he caught a
glimpse of the wicked scar that had disfigured Varis during
the great battles, it made his fists curl in anger at his brutal
display of dominance over Faythe. It shouldn’t bother him as
much as it did, but imagining his cruel hand curled around
her jaw made him want to tear the whole limb from the
captain.
Instead, Nik diverted his focus to the bleak faces of those
in attendance at the council meeting. Most were creased in
anger and distaste as they took it in turns to parry their
discontent across the table in the hope the king, sitting at
the head, would take their woes into consideration. Nik knew
it was all wasted breath. These meetings were a formality; a
guise to keep the lords and other highly positioned fae
dormant—for a while.
King Orlon of High Farrow rarely took on the advice and
suggestion of his close councilmembers and had even less
regard for the personal anguish of the high fae who offered
him little in return. But the king was smart and knew just
how to make them all feel as if they were included in the
running of the kingdom. They had all been disillusioned to
feel important. It kept them on his side so when it mattered
the most, they were all more inclined to vote in favor of the
king’s propositions even when Nik hoped they wouldn’t.
Orlon’s voice boomed through the hall, silencing the
nobles immediately, as he recited his conclusion for the
grueling meeting. Finally, everyone stood, and idle chatter
arose while the high fae started to file out of the grand
council chamber. Nik remained seated, as he always did, to
hear the afterword from the king; his real verdict on the
adjourned congregation.
Nik couldn’t stop his gaze from flashing to the captain
one last time before he too filed out through the main doors.
Varis turned to face them and bowed low, ever the
submissive lapdog to the king. Except the captain liked to
add his own flare of malevolence to the orders he was given.
Nik blazed at the sight of him, relieved when Varis twisted
sharply and marched from the hall. It curbed his impulse to
challenge him.
A thick silence fell when everyone—even the rest of the
guard—had left the room, leaving only Nik and the king still
seated. Nik glanced at the great throne seating the King of
High Farrow, but the ruler didn’t meet his eye. Instead,
crooked fingers propped up his powerful jaw in quiet
contemplation. Nik took it upon himself to rise, standing
straight but not making a move to exit unless dismissed.
When the king remained within his own head, Nik opened
his mouth to request leave, but Orlon’s commanding voice
shook the silence. “I don’t like to be made a fool of.” The
king echoed his thoughts. “And I feel Lord Hellias thinks I
am just that.”
 Nik couldn’t hide his hint of a frown. Nothing about the
high fae in question had seemed suspicious to him, but he
knew better than to debate the king’s observations. He let
Orlon continue.
“Some of the humans with warrants of arrest have been
conveniently slipping out of High Farrow before they can be
brought in for questioning.”
Nik felt the air drop in temperature, but he focused his
breathing to keep his heart steady. He knew the king’s fae
ears might be able to pick up on an increase in tempo and
give away his nerves.
“As you know, Hellias has the Nightwalker ability, and
my spies have tracked his movements into the outer town on
several occasions. It almost fits too perfectly to be
coincidence.” The king’s lips twitched up cunningly. He
believed he had uncovered the truth of the human
disappearances all on his own. It would have been Nik’s head
long ago if he really knew the truth—that he was the one
warning the targeted humans to flee.
He kept his face placid, remaining stern and attentive as
he had been trained to do. The king rose from his throne at
last, and Nik tried not to let his size and poise intimidate
him.
“You’ll understand why I raise this matter to you
specifically. I need his mind searched, and I gather it is no
easy task to remain undetected in another Nightwalker’s
head. You are the most powerful in my service with the gift,
and you have not disappointed me before.” His black orbs
bore into Nik’s emerald eyes, and he raised his chin in
confidence.
“It will take time, but I will find out what you seek.” Nik
spoke firmly, offering a small nod of obedience—though,
internally, he was cursing the male for bestowing the task.
He didn’t doubt he could achieve what the king asked, but he
always hated being used as a weapon for his dirty work.
“Good. Though I don’t like to be kept waiting on results.
If there are traitors in our midst, I want them exposed and
dealt with swiftly. Any accomplices, I want them searched as
well.”
Nik flexed his fingers behind his back in irritation. “Of
course, Your Majesty. Though it will require great strength
and focus to enter another Nightwalker’s subconscious
without detection. I will have to be well rested between
tries.”
The king hummed his disappointment, which irked Nik
further. “A pity the Nightwalking ability has such…
restrictions.”
It wasn’t a direct insult as there was no one more
qualified for the job than Nik and no ability that could get
him the information he sought quicker. But Orlon’s lack of
patience and understanding of what it took, and what Nik
was risking for it, riled him to no end.
Nik already knew Lord Hellias was innocent of what the
king suspected, but he still planned to carry through with the
task in the hope of uncovering something that would satisfy
the king’s quest to bring down the perpetrators. Selfishly, he
needed to sway suspicion from himself too. He wasn’t as
foolishly naïve as the lord who clearly lacked the competency
to cover his tracks. Nik knew of a labyrinth of tunnels that
ran under the inner city and led out just beyond the wall.
From there, he was aware and stealthy enough to remain
perfectly incognito and evade the king’s secret spy force in
the outer town of Farrowhold. He almost felt as if Hellias
deserved to be caught for his amateur attempt at discretion.
“If that was all, Your Majesty…” Nik said, desperate for
release from the formal setting.
 The king didn’t bother to respond with words, simply
raising a lazy hand in dismissal. Nik didn’t take it personally;
the High Farrow ruler was never one for pleasantries.
He stepped away from his chair and strolled for the exit.
In the wide, bright hallways, he found himself immune to
the pristine glamour and luxury of the castle. In fact, despite
its grand size and maze of hallways and passages, Nik had
started to feel suffocated within its confines. The inner city
wasn’t much different. It was why he had started to venture
into the humble dwellings of the outer town some months
ago. He found it somewhat comforting to walk
inconspicuously among the humans and see how their lives
in the unruly brown town fared in comparison to the fae
inside the gleaming white city. The contrast was stark, and
he couldn’t shake the guilt of living in such prestige while
the humans were cast out to live impoverished lives. So he’d
taken to Nightwalking through them, to offer those he could
get to on time a chance to flee rather than be executed for
something that wasn’t entirely their fault.
Though the king sent out fae patrols to the towns, they
were sparse and had lax protection orders. Nik always
believed he could do more to prevent Valgard from
infiltrating the kingdom and preying upon the innocent
human citizens, terrorizing them for information. The
prospect of another dawn of carnage like the great battles
shook him to his very core. Whenever he approached his
concerns on the matter, Nik was immediately shut down by
his superior, the ruler of High Farrow.
His mind was too preoccupied to dwell on the matter.
Saving the convicted humans had come to a halt when he’d
stumbled upon the impossible; discovered an anomaly that
challenged the order and hierarchy of the species—or,
rather, she found him.
“You’re a hard male to get a moment with these days.”
 The eloquent voice of the king’s ward didn’t come as a
surprise. He’d already slowed his brisk walk when he picked
up on her quiet approach from behind. Nik cast her a
sidelong smirk as she fell into step with him.
“Have you been missing me, Tauria?”
Her golden-tanned cheeks flushed a shade of rose at his
teasing response. Rolling her eyes, she looked away. Nik took
the moment to admire her beauty. The tone of her skin was
radiant against the green of her gown, the rich emerald a
proud reminder of who she was; where she came from.
Her standing as the king’s ward was only a title to keep
her safe, and High Farrow wasn’t her native home. It was
known to everyone on both sides of the wall that Tauria
Stagknight was the sole heir to the Fenstead throne and had
fled here over a century ago when her homeland was invaded
and conquered by the merciless Valgard. A day he knew still
haunted the female behind her mask of resilience.
The King of High Farrow wasn’t the most loved ruler, not
since those dark battles that had turned his heart. Since
then, he’d ruled with little mercy and ruthless punishment
to those who even slightly displeased him. One of the last
acts of kindness Nik was grateful for among the king’s
wickedness was his taking in of the terrified Fenstead
princess who’d fled to their doorstep as the only surviving
royal from the Kingdom of the Stag.
“If I have to suffer the company of court ladies and
imperious lords one day longer, I’m going to go insane,”
Tauria complained, her bottom lip almost falling into a pout.
Nik chuckled softly. “And I suppose you want me to help
you get out of it?”
A sheepish smile tugged her lips in response.
Nik felt guilty then. That he’d been so absent these past
few weeks and had failed to check in on his friend. Over the
century of her living within the castle of High Farrow, they’d
become very close companions and confided in each other
about everything. Without her knowing of his antics in the
town, it twisted his gut to think she might believe he didn’t
care. In truth, he couldn’t tell her what he’d been up to with
the humans because he cared. He cared immeasurably for her
safety, so he wouldn’t risk her having any knowledge of his
treason and possibly be implicated if he were ever to be
caught.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been around,” he said quietly,
dropping the amusement. She gave him a look of
understanding that pained him. He hated keeping things
from her. “How about we take the horses out tomorrow?”
Tauria beamed wide, the smile creasing her hazel eyes. It
instantly brightened up Nik’s mood.
“You know I always beat you at horse racing,” she gibed
with a nudge of her elbow.
“In my defense, I never know we’re in competition until
you announce you’ve won. With forewarning, I might get the
chance to put in a little effort.”
The princess barked a laugh. “As if! You just can’t stand
to be bested by a female.” She teased the word.
Nik offered a crooked smile but felt hideously guilty
another female surfaced to mind in that moment—one he
wished he could tell Tauria about.
Faythe. The name struck him with both thrill and fear. Not
for what she was capable of, but for the dire fate that could
befall her in the hands of the king. A human girl. A
Nightwalker! The thought was inconceivable, yet Nik had a
daunting feeling he was yet to scrape the surface of what
truly lay dormant beneath her beauty and innocence.
 CHAPTER 14

F aythe lay sprawled across the flat of a rooftop, basking

under the intense heat of the midday sun. She finished
the final bite of her apple and tossed the core, not bothering
to check if there was anyone passing below.
Two weeks had passed since her last night in the woods
with Nik. She’d only seen him when he invaded her
subconscious on a couple of nights to check she wasn’t self-
destructing or doing any more unwitting Nightwalking. But
they never spoke of anything else, and his visits were quick
before she pushed him out.
It wasn’t that she was upset or angry with him, but since
she’d learned what she needed to do to prevent her mind
from wandering at night, she didn’t see reason to delay the
inevitable. His status would never allow them to be friends,
and she had no desire to explore her ability any further since
she had absolutely no intention of using it—ever.
Mercifully, she had managed to keep herself in her own
mind, finding the darkness Nik had tried to explain that
pulled her into blissful, deep rest every night. She hadn’t
lingered in her subconscious either to explore what she could
do with her own memories and imagination.
Marlowe and Jakon had spent many evenings together
since she’d played Cupid, and it brought her joy to watch
their relationship slowly blossom. Faythe found release and
comfort through the swinging of her sword most nights, but
she wasn’t always alone. Occasionally, Ferris would happen
to be passing by and offer to be her sparring partner, which
usually meant a colorful vocabulary of curses on his part
when she bested him time and time again, much to Faythe’s
amusement.
She’d also spent a lot of time alone with Marlowe, finding
immense joy in the company of a new female friend. It was a
different kind of comfort she was missing with Jakon, being
able to chat about topics he would have no interest in, such
as clothes, the men Faythe found attractive in town, and
other harmless gossip. It brightened up her days.
Everything seemed normal, as if she didn’t harbor a
deadly secret none of her companions knew about. She dared
to hope that would be the end of it and she could continue to
live her perfectly plain and ordinary life as she had been
before she knew anything of her ability.
She had the day off today, but Jakon did not. She’d had a
lie-in and taken extra time to laze around before deciding to
get ready and make something of her day. She’d pottered
about the streets, gushing over clothes and accessories she’d
never be able to afford—at least not on her pitiful salary. The
miserable feeling made her decide she would one day find a
more rewarding job for herself, a purpose, and something to
bring in more coin so they could live a little better. She didn’t
have many skills without a sword in her hand, but perhaps
she could apprentice in some trade.
Faythe sat up groggily, the midday sun making her
seriously drowsy despite her extra-long rest. Standing, she
made her way over to the edge of the roof and shimmied
herself down the drainpipe, landing with a quiet thud in the
empty alley. Deciding on a destination, she strolled lazily, in
absolutely no hurry to do anything at all.
 When she eventually approached the blacksmiths, she
spotted Marlowe in the front of the workshop intently
examining something through a magnifying eyepiece.
“Find anything cool?” Faythe asked in way of greeting.
Marlowe looked up and flashed her a grin. “Magestone,”
she said, holding up the iridescent black sliver of a rock.
“They say it’s the one material in the realm that can render a
fae…well, mortal, I suppose. Diminish their strength, speed,
abilities, and the like,” she said casually.
Faythe’s interest piqued, and she walked over to examine
the rock closer. Marlowe held it out to her, and she took it in
her palm. It was surprisingly ice-cold. Faythe held in the
urge to flinch at the contact, in stark contrast to her clammy
hand.
With a glance behind her, she said, “Should you really be
flaunting this out in the open if it’s possible that’s all true?”
Marlowe waved a hand. “It’s just legend now. No one’s
seen a significant quantity of magestone in very long time.
Apparently, it used to be a component in the Farhin
Mountains of Lakelaria, but it was mined and destroyed
many centuries ago. All that remains is the occasional
useless shard.” Marlowe snickered. “What could be worse for
a fae than being made to feel like a human?” She teased the
last word.
Faythe examined the rock. Colors bounced off its flat
surface at all angles.
“Keep it if it interests you so much. I found it in a pile of
scrap metal I bought off a merchant from Olmstone last
week.” She leaned back in her seat. “It’s pretty though. I
could make it into a pendant for you if you’d like?”
At the offer, Faythe smiled. “Thanks, but it’s yours. Make
a pendant for yourself. Or sell it. Could be worth a small
fortune if it’s as rare as you say.” She gave the stone back to
her.
 Marlowe shrugged. “Perhaps.” She pocketed it in her
apron. “What brings you my way today?”
Faythe perched on the table in front of her. “Can’t I come
see a friend without wanting anything?”
“Of course you can. But I don’t finish for at least another
couple of hours,” Marlowe said, abruptly standing and
retreating into the back. Something Faythe had quickly come
to learn about the blacksmith was that she could hardly sit
still for a minute and would always look for something to
occupy her hands and mind.
Faythe followed her. Behind the curtain was where they
kept the furnaces and heavy equipment for bigger projects.
Marlowe picked up a blade and began to sharpen it. Faythe
winced at the loud scraping of steel but watched her work in
admiration.
After a moment, she asked over the noise, “How is it you
know about the magestone?”
“They’re called books, Faythe. You should try picking one
up sometime.”
Faythe rolled her eyes at the playful gibe, but knowing her
friend probably knew a lot about ancient legends and beings,
she asked, “What do you know about the…Nightwalkers?” As
much as she tried to convince herself she was content with
not knowing anything else other than what she needed to
keep control and survive, Faythe couldn’t help the burning
curiosity that there may be things she was yet to discover
about her ability.
Marlowe paused, the space going silent as she cocked an
eyebrow at her. “No more than what everyone else knows, I
suppose,” she said. Faythe wasn’t sure if it was
disappointment or relief she felt. “Although,” Marlowe
continued as if she’d just remembered something relevant,
“I did read something once about a higher kind of
Nightwalker.”
 Faythe straightened, her attention piqued.
Marlowe set the blade down, turning to lean with crossed
arms against the bench. Her face contorted with
concentration as she tried to recall the details, and then she
said, “I mean, none have been known to exist for centuries,
if they ever did at all, but the book I read told a legend of
those who could enter both an unconscious and conscious
mind. Complete telepathic abilities and absolutely lethal.”
She shuddered. “The Nightwalkers are bad enough. Just be
glad we don’t have their superior mythical ancestors among
us.”
At Faythe’s blanched look, Marlowe laughed. “Relax—it’s
just an old scary story,” she teased, spinning around to
resume her work.
“Indeed,” Faythe said quietly.
Her thoughts whirled. Perhaps Nik would know more;
would be able to confirm if such an ability did exist—in his
three centuries of existence at least.
“Why do you ask?”
Faythe cleared her throat and found something to fidget
with. “Just curious. I wonder what other fae abilities there
are,” she said, hopeful it came off as a bored question.
When Marlowe showed no sign of suspicion, Faythe
internally sighed with relief. “There are quite a few:
elemental, shades, shapeshifting…” She went on to list a few
more before adding, “But gifted fae are fairly rare. Most of
them are just as normal as you and me, save for the
immortal strength, speed, and grace.” She huffed.
Faythe forced a breathy laugh. She wasn’t normal. Would
her friend be disgusted if she found out what invasive ability
she possessed? The thought of any of her friends looking at
her with hatred or disappointment made her stomach sink.
“There’s some books on them over there if you’d like to
learn more.” Marlowe jerked her head to the corner.
 Spotting the lazily discarded pile, Faythe walked over to
them, brushing off dust and soot to read the titles. One in
particular caught her attention. Grabbing the old leather
book, she held it up.
“Are Spirits a favorite topic of yours too?” she asked,
flashing the title: The Forgotten Goddess.
People sometimes referred to the Spirits of the Realm as
Goddesses. They were supposed to be the forces that kept the
world in balance to stop the species from destroying each
other. But with the war and destruction that had raged for
centuries, it amazed Faythe how people could still believe in
such nonsense.
Marlowe peered up from her blade. “Ah, that’s a good
one, actually. You can borrow it if you’d like. Did you know,
some people believe there was a third Spirit? She was
supposedly cast out of the realm over a thousand years ago.
People speculate why, but no one really knows.” There was
genuine passion in her tone.
Faythe scoffed. “I don’t believe in any of it. Spirits, Gods,
and Goddesses—where are they now, when we actually need
them?” she said, putting the book back down.
Marlowe huffed at her. “Believing or not is irrelevant. It’s
a good read. Or do you not know how to enjoy a story?”
Faythe scowled at her. “Fine. I’ll read it, and I’ll give you
my informed reasons for why it’s all absurd.” She swiped the
book, tucking it under her arm. “If you need me, I’ll be out
front, fully engrossed in the wonders of the Spirits.” She
drawled the last word.
“Don’t mock them, Faythe. You never know which ones
are listening,” Marlowe sang as she passed.
Faythe only rolled her eyes and pulled a seat out front to
bask in the sun. At least she had something to pass the time
while she waited for Marlowe to finish up for the day.
About halfway through the book, Faythe cursed Marlowe for
being right. It was captivating, to say the least, and she
found she couldn’t turn the pages fast enough. The feel of
the aged, worn leather binding in her palms and the sweet,
musky scent of old paper rekindled a lost passion for her
favorite pastime. It had been years since she’d picked up a
book, as it was something she had enjoyed with her mother,
but reading now brought her comfort instead of sadness. Her
excitement for new stories sparked again.
She read various different tales on the mythical
appearances of Aurialis, the Spirit of Life and Goddess of the
Sun, and her sister Dakodas, the Spirit of Death and Goddess
of the Moon, over the past millennia. But it was the legends
of the long-forgotten third Spirit Marvellas, the Spirit of
Souls and Goddess of the Stars, that took precedence as the
tales Faythe found the most interesting.
One of her favorite theories about the lost Spirit was a tale
dating back nearly one thousand years ago when she had
vanished. The legend depicted she had fallen in love with a
fae warrior and, with her sisters’ help, relinquished her
powers and titles to be bound in the same form as her lover.
She still didn’t believe any of it to be truth or real history,
but regardless, Faythe found herself moved by that
particular story. Perhaps foolishly, she hoped such a love
could exist in her world.
Alternatives to Marvellas’ disappearance were not so
poetic. Some theorized she was consumed by her sisters for
her powers or she broke her sacred duty and was cast back to
her own realm.
A familiar voice pulled Faythe from the fantasy. “How is
it?”
 She peeled her eyes from the captivating text and had to
blink rapidly to refocus from reading for so long. She took in
the sight of Marlowe: clean-faced, apron off, and leaning
against the wall with crossed arms.
“Is it that time already?” Faythe asked, not realizing how
fast time had gotten away from her.
Marlowe smirked. “I’ll take that as a thumbs-up.” She
pushed off the wall, grabbing her cloak and folding it over
her arm.
It had become a regular thing for Marlowe to join them
most evenings. The three of them had pretty much become
inseparable over the past couple weeks. It surprised Faythe
how well they got along considering her lack of previous
female friends, but everything was so easy with Marlowe. If
Jakon was her partner in crime, Marlowe would be her
confidante in conspiracy.
The blacksmith had also expressed her appreciation of
their company, telling them of her isolated days spent in her
father’s workshop and how her evenings had been spent
building on her already impressive knowledge through
reading. It put Faythe to shame sometimes when she
thought of how smart her friend was in comparison.
“Do you mind if I borrow it?” she asked as she stood,
closing the book with a satisfying thud.
Marlowe’s irises twinkled. “Of course! I knew you’d like
it.”
Faythe fought her sheepish smile as Marlowe looped her
arm through hers and pulled her into a lazy stroll down the
street.
 CHAPTER 15

F aythe and M arlowe picked up some meat pies and bread

on their way back to the hut after the blacksmith’s shift
and were sat at the kitchen table eating when Jakon
sauntered through the door. He flashed them both a grin
before excusing himself to freshen up after his day on the
farm.
When they were all together again, he greedily tucked in.
“I was thinking we could take a walk down to the harbor
tonight,” he suggested to no one in particular.
It sounded like more of a romantic thing to do, and
Faythe was about to exclude herself from the invitation when
Marlowe cut in.
“Actually, I thought maybe we could all go to the square
tonight. I’ve yet to see Faythe in action.”
Faythe perked up at the mention, and Jakon chuckled.
“You two in a sparring session? That’s something I’d pay
good money to see.”
Both women flashed him a devious smile.
“We’ll need to stop back at the blacksmiths to get your
sword,” Faythe said.
Marlowe shook her head and jerked it to the side. Faythe’s
gaze followed, landing on the blade that lay over her cloak in
the corner. She had been too caught up in her storybook to
even notice Marlowe was equipped with the sword when they
left. As she looked the woman over now, she registered her
casual attire of a fitted tunic and pants in place of her usual
cotton gown.
Reading her exact thoughts, her friend smirked. “That
book really took you away for a while.”
“You can read?” Jakon teased.
She scowled at the remark and tossed a piece of bread at
his mocking laughter. He caught it and leaned over to tousle
her hair. Batting his arm away, Faythe rose and stuck her
tongue out at him, then she eagerly skipped to retrieve
Lumarias and ready herself for sparring.
No one stopped them on their journey to the square, and
mercifully, she’d had no more run-ins with the fae captain
since their first unpleasant meeting either.
The two women discarded their cloaks next to Jakon, who
took a relaxed, laid-back position on one of the benches. His
eyes gleamed with boyish amusement.
They were in the midst of stretching and warming up
when they heard a low whistle. All of their attention snapped
to where a head of rugged red hair emerged into the square
with a feline grin.
“Where was my invite to this magnificent showdown?”
Ferris quipped.
Faythe smirked, twisting her sword in her wrist. “I
suppose you could do with a few lessons on what a skilled
opponent looks like,” she taunted playfully. “Take note.”
“Now, Faythe, everyone knows I let you win, being the
gentleman I am.” He bowed slightly in arrogance before
throwing himself down beside Jakon.
Faythe’s eyes flashed in challenge. “Perhaps we should
put all doubt to rest after this?”
He shifted, deciding whether he should back down or rise
to it, and said, “No, thanks. I quite like my balls and don’t
feel like losing them tonight.”
“Smart man,” Jakon commented.
Faythe faced Marlowe again. She was flexing her sword
between her hands, looking slightly nervous. “It’s been a
while,” she admitted, taking up a defensive position.
Faythe took her counter stance. “If you want me to go
easy on you, just say it.”
Marlowe’s eyes twinkled, and with a smug grin, she said,
“Never.”
Steel met steel in a ballad of action and combat, every
note sending a pulse of energy through Faythe that
compelled her to dance in time with each twist and swing of
her sword. Nothing focused her more than feeling the clash
of her blade against her target. She forgot her two friends
who sat as onlookers, tuned out every other sound, and gave
herself over to the guidance of her blade as it harmonized
her movements. It didn’t matter that it was a match of
practice and fun—every time she felt the cold leather hilt of
her sword in her palms, it awakened Faythe’s desire to fight,
her need to protect, and her want to win.
Marlowe was an excellent opponent and certainly
challenged her as good as Jakon did. Faythe brought her
sword up once again, halting in a killing strike that had her
friend bested for the third time in the half hour they’d been
sparring. They were both panting when they called it there
and slumped to the ground.
Ferris clapped slow and loud. “What a show indeed,
ladies. We could have charged good coin in an arena to have
people watch.” He smirked suggestively. “Even more so if
you were naked.”
Jakon punched his arm, and Ferris howled his laughter.
“Don’t pretend you didn’t think it too,” he said in deviant
delight.
 Faythe shook her head at their boyish bickering as
Marlowe passed a waterskin. She took it, chugging the cool
liquid down her burning throat greedily.
“You’re quite the swordswoman,” Marlowe said in
admiration.
Faythe beamed at the compliment. “You’re definitely
worthy opposition.”
She nodded her appreciation with a smile.
Ferris stood and loudly announced, “Well, if that’s all the
action I’m getting tonight, consider me satisfied.” He gave a
wolfish grin. “Seriously though, Faythe, you could turn a
good profit in The Cave. I happen to work for a man who
finds sport in it. I can get you in.”
At the mention of the notorious cave, she stiffened. It was
rumored to be below the inn and only accessible by those in
the know. An underworld of gambling, violence, and illegal
trading, The Cave was a domain of nighttime pleasures for
the wealthier members of town and those who foolishly
gambled their short earnings, or occasional fae guards who
enjoyed betting on humans like dogs.
“Not a chance in rutting damn,” Jakon growled.
Ferris cast him a bored look. “Are you her keeper?”
Jakon was on his feet facing off with him in an instant.
The two women also shot to their feet, Marlowe moving
close to Jakon so he wouldn’t swing. Ferris didn’t balk in the
slightest, instead choosing to smirk. This only riled Faythe’s
stupidly protective friend further.
While Jakon stood a foot taller and packed a bit more
muscle, Ferris had a cunning wild side that would make any
man think twice before crossing him. Faythe didn’t want to
see the outcome of that fight.
“Let’s tone the male-ego dominance bullshit down a
notch, shall we?” Faythe cut in. She couldn’t deny Ferris’s
offer tempted her a little, if only so she could earn money—
decent money—doing something she was actually good at.
Even if it was considered unsavory practice. But at risk of
having Jakon blow his top, she forced down the urge to
inquire about it further. “I’m not exactly welcome at the inn
anymore, and I doubt I’d be a match for anyone down there.”
Ferris shrugged casually. “I’ve seen the pathetic talent
they choose to show. They’re sloppy brutes who have little
actual weapon skill. Trust me, you’d stand a good chance of
holding out well.” His eyes flashed to Jakon, who blazed at
the thought, then he looked back at Faythe. “And you
wouldn’t be going as yourself.” He grinned mischievously.
“Think on it. You know where to find me if you change your
mind.” Turning on his heel, he strolled away.
“Damned prick,” Jakon muttered after him.
“Let’s go,” Marlowe said sweetly, linking her arm
through his to simmer his anger.
It worked, and Faythe was surprised as Jakon looked to
her and his face instantly softened. Even she couldn’t calm
him down so quickly. With a smile, he allowed Marlowe to
lead him over to where she retrieved her cloak and sword,
and together, they began the walk home.
Faythe felt a pang of something she wasn’t used to, and
the feeling saddened her a little. Jealousy. Of the special thing
they had between them that she’d never had before. A
closeness. A bond that couldn’t be matched by anyone but a
partner…a lover. What she had with Jakon over the ten years
they’d known each other was special. She loved him, would
give her life for him, but there was never that deeper
connection clear between the two souls walking a few paces
in front of her.
As if sensing her brooding, Marlowe turned and held her
free arm out for Faythe to loop hers around. She gave a
small, grateful smile and obliged.
 The three of them walked linked together back to the hut,
three friends who shared a different kind of life bond. Faythe
dared the damned Spirits to try and break it.

When they arrived home, Faythe made her way inside and
bid Marlowe good night when Jakon insisted he walk her
home. Entering the bedroom, she halted at the item she
spotted laying on her bed.
Warily taking it her hands, Faythe held up the familiar-
looking iridescent black stone that dangled from a black rope
necklace. She didn’t know when Marlowe had secretly left it
for her to find or even when she’d found the time to craft it
while Faythe was stuck between the pages of The Forgotten
Goddess. Still, she smiled at the magestone pendant that had
been delicately carved to form a teardrop shape. It glittered
beautifully in the moonlight, and Faythe slipped it around
her neck, feeling the coolness nip against her bare chest.
With a yawn, she dressed for bed, eager for sleep now her
muscles had started to ache from the exertion of her workout
with Marlowe. She tried and failed to wait for Jakon to arrive
back, feeling her eyelids grow heavy and shut of their own
accord. Then she drifted off into darkness.
 CHAPTER 16

T hat night , F aythe awoke in the usual confines of her

subconscious. The mists of white and gold always
stunned her; moved without needing her command. She was
about to let go and fall into a pit of dark, restful sleep—she
never did stay there for long—but she paused as a thought
crossed her mind. Maybe it was from reading the soppy love
story of Marvellas, or perhaps it was seeing her own two
friends engage amorously, but she couldn’t shake a feeling
of longing for someone to share such a deep connection with.
It was an embarrassingly foolish thought, and Faythe was
about to abandon the idea—but this was her mind. No one
was around to watch or judge, and she had yet to try
anything with her imagination. She cringed a little at what
she was about to do but sighed and closed her eyes anyway.
As she stood there in the dark, Faythe tried to conjure
both the image and emotion of what it would be like to have
someone touch her; make her pulse race. She wasn’t a
complete stranger to such feelings. There was no shortage of
young, attractive men in town, and she’d occasionally give in
to their innocent flirtations to satisfy her lust. But she
wanted more than just sexual desire.
A part of her felt silly as she waited for something to
happen. She was about to banish the thought and give up…
when she felt it.
A warm breath caressed the length of her neck. She
sucked in a sharp breath as the feeling sent a cascade of
tingles down her spine, and she tilted her head in response.
A strong, muscular force materialized behind her, and then
there were hands…trailing down her bare forearms, sending
shockwaves through her. It felt so real Faythe leaned into the
force.
More… She wanted more.
She could have sworn she heard a soft chuckle right
before phantom teeth scraped along her neck in a teasing
response. Her heart beat a wild frenzy as desire pooled at her
core. Eyes of the brightest sapphire blue pierced through her
closed lids, and she snapped them quickly open.
The strong, powerful hands became real flesh as she
watched them continue their tender strokes along her bare
forearms. Blood throbbed in her veins, and Faythe wasn’t
sure she was even still breathing when she moved to twist
out of his grip.
Just as she was about to face the man with the intense
dark blue eyes, she recognized the invading force. When she
fully turned, her imaginary seducer had vanished, leaving
her staring into Nik’s deep green eyes instead from a few
meters away.
She couldn’t hide her look of disappointment, especially
when her emotions still ran wild from the heated encounter.
She wanted desperately to put a face to those sapphire orbs
that pulled at something deep within.
“What do you want?” she demanded.
Nik smirked. “I see you’re discovering exactly the kind of
things you’re capable of experiencing in here.”
Her cheeks caught fire. “Get out!” She pointed in no
particular direction.
 His grin only widened. “You don’t have to be
embarrassed, Faythe, but if you long for release, you need
only ask.” His eyes danced with amusement.
She gaped at him. “You’re the last person I would go to
for…that.” She cringed as she said it, her blood near boiling
from the humiliation.
“Ouch. And here I thought we were starting to become
friends.” He held a mocking hand to his heart.
In a flare of anger, she began to push him out of her mind
when he said, “Wait.”
She paused, giving him one sentence to convince her not
to kick his ass.
“I thought you could use some more lessons on how to
use your ability,” he said. “Meet me in the woods?”
She folded her arms. “Like you said, I’m discovering for
myself just fine, thanks.”
“That part, yes, but you haven’t learned how to block
others.” He gestured to himself as an example. “Or how to
control what they see so you don’t get discovered. You also
need to learn how to not get yourself discovered in someone
else’s head. Another Nightwalker or not, it can be deadly for
you if you don’t.”
“I don’t plan to do any Nightwalking ever again.”
He gave her a knowing look. “You should still know how.
You never know when you might need to use your ability. We
may be deadly weapons, but we can also be useful tools to
help others.” There was a hint of encouragement in his
voice.
Faythe hadn’t thought of her ability as anything but
invasive, cruel, and deadly…but if there was a way it could be
used for good, she supposed it couldn’t hurt to learn.
“It’s been weeks. Why are you only now claiming it’s
important I learn this?”
“I’ve been busy.”
 “Not too busy to invite yourself here whenever you feel
like it.”
“Someone has to check you’re not wreaking havoc with
your untrained mind. Perhaps you’d prefer I hand the job
over to Captain Varis?”
With a glare, she muttered, “Stupid fae prick.” He only
chuckled in response. “Tonight?” she asked, not even
knowing what the time was or if Jakon was home yet.
Nik nodded. “Meet me there in twenty minutes.” Then,
with her reluctant agreement, he left, dissipating into swirls
of gold mist and leaving a faint outline where he’d stood.
Faythe swore to herself for conceding to his plan and
forced her mind into full consciousness.
Her eyes opened onto darkness. Moonlight poured in
through the box window. Turning her head, she spotted
Jakon sprawled out in his too-small cot, snoring softly.
Faythe pulled herself into a sitting position, swung her legs
over the edge of the bed, and silently reached for her pocket
watch on the side table between them.
Half past midnight. She mentally cursed at the late hour.
She knew she wouldn’t be returning to her warm bed in time
to get much proper rest tonight.
Barely daring to breathe, she maneuvered through the
small space with feline stealth. Changing swiftly, she didn’t
bother to equip her sword as she swung on her cloak and left
the hut. She muttered a silent prayer Jakon wouldn’t wake to
discover her absence.
With her hood up, Faythe made herself a living shadow as
she floated through the dark streets, keeping her ears on
high alert for fae patrol. She stopped at a corner leading onto
Main Street, hearing a quiet clamor of voices and shuffling
boots. When she peered around, her heart froze at the sight
of the patrol—at the sight of Captain Varis in particular.
They stopped outside the inn, and Faythe had a horrible
sense of déjà vu. This was where she’d seen them dragging
the innkeeper’s son out onto the street weeks ago. But they
didn’t appear to be there on any urgent business tonight,
and instead of making a brute show of forced entry, the four
guards casually strolled inside as if it were a normal night to
grab a drink.
Faythe tried not to think too much about it.
Once they were fully out of sight, she darted through the
intersection into the next dark pocket and continued her
inconspicuous trek to the hills. When she approached the
woods and didn’t spot Nik, she decided to go in alone rather
than risk anyone else spying her waiting on the outskirts.
Darkness opened up into light, and as always, she took a
moment to breathe in the clarity of the air and appreciate the
ethereal brightness of her surroundings.
At the waterfall, Faythe was imagining what it would be
like to swim in the crystal-clear waters surrounded by the
tiny dancing glow of the yucolites when her thoughts were
disturbed by a rustling nearby. She opened her mouth to say
something witty to Nik about being late, but the words died
in her throat as she turned to find a magnificent giant stag.
It was staring directly at her.
She immediately froze at the sight of the creature that
could kill her with one jerk of its hoof. She didn’t know if she
should gawk or run from the huge white beast with antlers of
shimmering silver. Faythe had seen stags in the forest before
when she’d hunted with Jakon, but she’d never seen one of
such grace and beauty. The animal in front of her was not of
any mortal nature. No—it must exist by some form of
magick, or at least be enhanced by it.
Faythe knew the smart choice would be to run and hope
she could reach the edge of the woods quicker than it could
catch her. A risk considering the length and might of its legs;
she could easily be impaled on its antlers if it got close
enough.
“Follow.”
Faythe jerked at the sound but held the beast’s stare. It
was impossible, foolish even, to imagine she’d heard the
animal talk to her. But it dragged its hoof on the ground with
a huff, flaring its large nostrils, and flicked its head in time
with the word.
Then she realized it was not spoken out loud.
Perhaps the woods took all logic and reason out of a
person, or perhaps she was just more reckless than she
realized, but she found herself walking toward the beast that
could end her in a single blow. Stupidity or bravery, she
wasn’t sure. She stayed a cautious distance behind it as it
turned, and then she followed it through the trees in a
direction she hadn’t ventured before. She had yet to explore
any of the woods besides the waterfall clearing and could
only imagine what else was lurking around, good or evil. It
made her shudder. She wasn’t in any hurry to go
investigating on her own.
The yucolites weren’t the only life form that glowed here.
She looked up to notice the aerial equivalent weaving around
the branches of the tree canopy, creating a peaceful hum.
Fireflies, she deduced, though it was strange to see them in
the daylight.
After a short walk, the trees opened up into another large
clearing, this one brighter than the waterfall, which she
didn’t think was possible. It was as if the invisible sun that
blanketed the woods in the daytime, through some ancient
form of magick, was shooting a beam directly to this glade
alone. A solitary feature stood in the middle: a grand stone
temple that glittered a soft gray. Faythe followed the stag a
little closer to the structure and then halted. It turned its
massive head to look back at her once and, with another huff
and a nod, gestured her over to the closed doors inside the
portico. The beast stalked up the steps in a couple of
powerful strides and disappeared right through the solid
stone entrance in front of her eyes.
Faythe blinked once, twice, and stood gaping where the
creature had vanished. She suddenly went cold. Maybe she
was still in her mind, and her own thoughts were mocking
her, or perhaps she was Nightwalking…
She quickly shook her head to dismiss that conclusion.
While her subconscious was vivid and very convincing, she’d
learned to distinguish the difference; feel what was truly real.
Her instincts knew this was definitely no illusion of her own
making.
She approached the temple slowly and with caution and
then ascended the few steps past the colonnades to stand in
front of the massive stone doors. Raising a wary hand, she
reached out to touch the rock. Solid. She pressed her whole
palm to the door, then her other one, and gave a push.
Nothing moved. She pushed harder, using all her strength,
before giving up and stepping back with a grunt.
Her eyes trailed the faded gold lines that made up a
pattern across both doors. Faythe had to step back down the
steps to get a view of the whole picture. She squinted and
tilted her head a few times. It was a circle with three lines
struck through it, overlapping its circumference. Simple and
familiar, she wracked her brain for a few seconds, until…
She gasped, and her hand darted into her pocket. She’d
seen that symbol—it was the same as the engraving on the
back of her mother’s watch. Pulling it out, she flipped it over
in her hand and stood with her mouth gaping. Her eyes
darted from the stone door to the brass watch, back and
forth, until she was certain they were exactly the same, not a
line different. But her discovery raised far more questions
than it answered. She was sure her gentle, innocent mother
wouldn’t have been in these woods. She would have no
reason to be…
So what did it mean?
Faythe stormed up to the doors again and held out the
watch. She tried pressing the engraved side to the stone and
waving it in any possible way she could think of, achieving
nothing but looking like she’d lost her mind. She groaned in
frustration. Why did the stag bother to guide her here if she
couldn’t get inside?
“There you are!” Nik’s voice bellowed from across the
glade.
Faythe jumped at the sudden noise and whirled to see him
stalking over to her. He didn’t look pleased.
“I had to follow your scent,” he grumbled. Then he
paused, taking in the structure around them from below the
steps. “How did you find this place?”
“You’ve never been here before?”
He shook his head. “I’ve been to these woods many times
over the centuries, but I’ve never seen this.”
“I don’t know how you could have missed it,” she
mumbled sarcastically. When he didn’t respond, she asked,
“Do you know what this means?” She gestured to the large
symbol adorning the entrance.
“You don’t know the mark of Aurialis?” At her clueless
look, he rolled his eyes. “Goddess of the Sun? The Spirit of
Life, you might call her?”
A spark of remembrance came to mind. She’d read about
the Spirit as well as her two sisters in The Forgotten Goddess
earlier that day. The revelation only raised more questions.
Faythe thought for a moment. “Do you think it’s just
some old place of worship?”
He cocked his head, ascending the steps. “Maybe, but
these woods don’t open to everyone. Perhaps it was meant
only for those chosen by Aurialis.” He smirked.
 She gave him a flat look.
Nik braced his palms against the door and strained as he
tried and failed to push them open. If his fae strength
couldn’t open them, she felt foolish for even trying.
“Strange,” he muttered.
She wasn’t about to explain she had been led here by
some giant, mythical stag at the risk of sounding completely
insane. She was hardly confident she wasn’t slowly losing
her mind. Perhaps it was a side effect of having an ability
that was never intended for a human body.
She supposed there was nothing more to do. “Let’s just
go,” she huffed, stomping down the stairs and stalking
away. If there was no way in, it was a waste of time following
the stupid stag. She made a mental note to act on her first
instinct and run next time. However, she seriously hoped
there would be no repeat sightings of large, ethereal animals
to worry about.
 CHAPTER 17

N ik paced a few steps in front of Faythe, much to her

irritation, as he went over various techniques of
guarding the mind against unwelcome visitors.
“So when you feel that pressure on your mind, you have
to be able to pull your walls up so they can’t enter,” he
lectured.
Faythe poked aimlessly at the grass with a stick. She’d
picked it up on the way back to the waterfall clearing, bored
stiff from listening to him ramble on about control, focus,
and everything else so painstakingly dull it made her eyelids
grow heavy. He stomped over to her, moving to grab her
shoulders and steal her attention, but as soon as he gripped
her, his arms immediately dropped as if she were made of
fire.
Nik’s eyes flashed to her chest. “What is that?”
She looked down, innocent, and weighed the small
teardrop pendant in her palm. “This? Marlowe made it for
me. Pretty, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t know magestone still existed, especially not on
this continent.”
She cocked an eyebrow in growing interest. “It’s true
then, what it can do to a fae?”
 He assessed her, debating whether he should share the
information he knew about a material that could be used as a
weapon against his kind. At last, he said, “I wasn’t sure. No
one’s seen it in a very long time. Most believe it’s gone
completely, but—” His lips thinned. “Touching you just
now, it felt like a magnet sucking out a small piece of
strength. Almost undetectable and not nearly enough to
incapacitate me. At least, not in such a small quantity.”
She dropped the stone to her chest with a curious hum.
Faythe wanted to tell Marlowe the myths were facts,
knowing the blacksmith would relish in the information, but
she quickly realized that would mean giving away her
meetings with Nik. Her face fell. She hated having to keep
secrets from either of her friends, but she couldn’t tell them
about Nik—it would put her at risk of them finding out about
her impossible ability.
“Be careful,” Nik spoke, still frowning at the pendant. “It
could lead to unwanted questions if anyone else happens to
sense it.” He meant the fae guards. The king.
She nodded in understanding, tucking it under her shirt.
To test her theory, she had deliberately made sure to wear
the necklace when he invited her here, and she was glad for
the answers to her question. In a larger quantity, if
magestone still existed, it could be a mighty weapon to
nullify the fae’s strength and abilities and even the playing
field for humans in battle. It was no wonder they wanted it
gone.
Thinking back to her conversation with Marlowe, Faythe
recalled a burning question she wanted to ask Nik. She
hesitated before blurting, “Has such an ability ever existed
that was more than just Nightwalking…like in a conscious
mind, for example?” Her stomach twisted as he looked at her
curiously.
 “There are legends, but I’ve never known anyone who’s
met someone with such a talent. Why?”
She wasn’t sure if it was relief or disappointment she felt.
In his three centuries of existence, Nik could neither prove
nor disprove the fact. She knew it was outlandish, completely
irrational, and he would laugh at the thought that had
swirled in her head since the blacksmith unknowingly
enlightened her to the possibility.
She was about to pass it off as mild curiosity, but instead,
she said, “Sometimes…I think I feel things that are not my
own…or hear things that were never spoken.” She laughed as
she heard her thoughts out loud. He’d think her insane and
abandon all hope of training her. She should never have said
anything about it. Yet when her friend had mentioned the
uncharted ability, Faythe couldn’t help but think of all the
times she’d heard and felt things she had no explanation for.
And since she’d already defied the impossible, she didn’t see
the harm in asking Nik about it. If there was even a slight
chance, she wanted to rule it out completely for the sake of
her own sanity.
She waited for the laugher, the mocking, the teasing, but
none of it came.
“Like what?”
Surprised he hadn’t immediately shut down the idea, she
shifted, suddenly self-conscious. It was her turn to start
pacing with her eyes on the ground, more out of nerves than
anything.
“Mostly, it’s just like a burst of emotion. Or I hear words,
phrases, when they’ve never moved their lips… I’ve always
assumed I’m good at reading people, but what if it’s more
than that?” She dared a look at him. “I know—it’s
impossible and probably just my own heightened emotions
running away with my thoughts, but—”
 “No—I believe you,” he cut in, folding his arms and
maintaining the intensity of his stare. At her raised brow, he
continued, “I mean, I shouldn’t… I should think you’re
absolutely losing it and convince you to take a vacation as
soon as possible.” He smirked. “But I think you did it to me
one time—answered a question I never even asked. I thought
nothing of it, of course, but if you’re saying it’s happened a
lot before…by the Gods, Faythe, your existence becomes
more inconceivable by the day.” He shook his head in
disbelief.
“It might not be what I think it is,” she said quickly.
He ran a hand through his hair. “There’s one way to find
out.” He grinned in mock challenge. “What am I thinking?”
She gave him a dead look. “It doesn’t work like that. I
only hear and feel projections.”
“Yes, when you haven’t been trying.” He cocked his head.
“Who knows what you could truly be capable of? A force like
no one’s known before.”
“I don’t want to be a force to be used against anyone.”
His face turned serious. “You can’t run from yourself.
Stop being so afraid of your own abilities and face them,
Faythe, or the things you’re trying so hard to hide from may
very well be your undoing.”
“Why do you care, Nik?” she said nastily. “What are you
even doing here?” She was deflecting her anger at herself
again, and he knew it too.
His face softened. “Don’t make your gifts a curse. They
are what you make them, not the other way around. There’s
a reason you have them, so embrace it. Don’t fight it.”
She knew he was right. She’d spent so long trying to
convince herself she was still that same ordinary human girl;
that she could lock up all this and try to forget she even had
an ability. But the more she discovered about herself, the
more she realized she would never be that girl again. The
idea scared her to no end, but she would learn to embrace
herself—every part of herself—and know that despite it all
and no matter what came of it, her heart would not be
tarnished.
“It could just be very weak clairvoyance,” she offered
nervously.
“We can’t be sure until you actually try to tap into it
instead of waiting to hear things you never intended to.”
“Another time,” she said. “I think I might implode if I try
anything tonight.”
He kept his gazed fixed on her, a smile tugging at the
corners of his lips.
“What?” she said, feeling her face flush.
Nik shook his head and huffed a laugh. “You’re a gods-
damned miracle, Faythe.”
 CHAPTER 18

A fter the rocky discovery of her possible extended

ability, Faythe and Nik stayed a while a longer in the
woods. The fae guard spent most of his time trying to
explain how mental barriers worked and how to Nightwalk
without risk of discovery.
It unnerved Faythe to think others could be aware—that
Jakon could have been aware she was in his mind if she’d
made a wrong move. Luckily, it wasn’t common for the
unwitting host to detect Nightwalkers, and this only tended
to happen with unrested or less experienced walkers. Again,
Nik expressed great disbelief she hadn’t been found out by
accident. Faythe was relieved more than anything.
He had brought more sleep tonic, so they spent some time
in her mind practicing the barriers. She learned how to show
him edited versions of her memories without appearing too
suspicious. Then, when Nik announced it would soon be
daybreak, she raced home and thanked the Spirits not a soul
was around to stop her as she darted through the streets.
Mercifully, Jakon was still sleeping when she arrived, so she
changed into her clothes for the day and pretended she’d
woken up earlier than usual.
Almost a week passed, and Faythe was grateful when her
day off rolled around. She was desperate to visit Marlowe at
the blacksmiths. She had new questions she didn’t want to
ask in front of Jakon. He had a tendency to pry, and it would
only raise his suspicion. Marlowe, on the other hand, had a
wonderful nature of answering questions without any
cynicism. In fact, it was like she relished in the unusual
topics Faythe brought to her. She was a pocket of knowledge
and enthusiasm, which was what Faythe loved the most
about her friend.
She stopped by the market just as they were opening and
picked up a few pastries from Marie’s stall while the mild
morning sun streamed down. One of Marie’s daughters,
Grace, had filled in to do the deliveries at least one day a
week to allow Faythe some time to herself.
She was practically skipping down the streets when she
rounded the corner to the blacksmiths. She couldn’t see
Marlowe, but she could hear the hammering of metal in the
back. Peering through the curtain, she spied the blonde bent
over another masterpiece of hers.
“I come bearing food!” Faythe exclaimed over the loud
clanks.
Marlowe startled before whipping around to spot Faythe.
She relaxed, flashing her a grin, and replied in greeting,
“Apple tarts, I hope?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t get you anything else.” Faythe set
the paper bag on a nearby bench.
Marlowe held up her creation: a fine steel blade. Simple
but elegant. “It’s supposed to be a gift for Jakon since he
doesn’t have one. What do you think?” she asked, biting her
lip.
Faythe raised her eyebrows in wonder. “It’s truly perfect,
Marlowe. He’s going to love it!”
At her enthusiasm, Marlowe relaxed and grinned widely.
“It’s not finished, but you said his birthday was coming up
in a couple of weeks. I thought it could be a gift from both of
us.” She shrugged.
Faythe’s face fell. “I can’t take any credit for that. You
give it to him. I’ve got something in mind anyway.” She
smiled reassuringly.
It was a lie. She had no idea what to get him, and now,
seeing Marlowe’s gift, she felt even more lowly. She could
never compete with a gift so thoughtful and handmade. Not
that Faythe ever saw it as a competition to lavish her friend
with grand gifts, but it still bothered her she could never
afford anything close to her own sword or even the materials
for the one Marlowe crafted for Jakon.
“Oh, okay. If you’re sure,” Marlowe said, setting the
blade down. “So what brings you down here?” she asked,
wiping her hands on her apron before going over to the bag
of pastries.
Faythe watched her take a few bites, hesitating before
saying, “I was actually hoping to pick your brain about
something, but if you’re busy, I can come back another
day?”
Marlowe waved a hand. “I have time. I don’t have any
major work on at the moment, so I’ve just been messing
around.”
Faythe let Marlowe finish her tart and chuckled as she
reached in for a second. She dipped a hand into her pocket
and retrieved the watch that was starting to burn a hole
through it. Her thoughts had been churning to find out what
the symbol on the back—the mark of Aurialis—meant in
connection to the one at the temple. If there even was a
connection. Perhaps she was reading too much into it, but
she figured if anyone might know, it would be Marlowe.
“Does this mean anything to you?” she asked, walking
over to where Marlowe perched.
 She finished her second tart and dusted her hands off
before reaching to take the watch from Faythe’s outstretched
hand. In typical Marlowe fashion, her brow creased as she
flipped it over in her palm a couple times, held it up at
various angles, and studied everything she could see with the
naked eye.
Faythe chewed nervously at her fingernails as she
watched the blacksmith ponder over her mother’s old pocket
watch. Marlowe hummed once and went to take a seat with it
at a small bench, picking up a magnifying eyepiece and
continuing to study the watch further. Faythe didn’t disturb
her but moved to lean idly against the table while her friend
examined the brass gadget with an expert’s attention.
Eventually, she spoke. “They haven’t made them like this
in a very long time,” she drawled, not looking up from it.
“I’m surprised it still ticks.”
Faythe already knew that and was waiting for her to say
something about the engravings on the back, but her focus
remained on the front as she squinted through her eyepiece.
“I’d be fascinated to see its inner workings.” She looked
up at Faythe in silent question. Faythe was about to protest
when Marlowe quickly added, “I’d be able to put it back
together, of course.” Though a little smug, there was a plea
in her eyes.
Faythe was hesitant. She didn’t doubt her friend’s
abilities, but it was one of the only things she had left of her
mother’s, and she was wary about it being tampered with.
“I don’t know, Marlowe. I’d rather not risk it to see old
cogs and screws,” she admitted, anxiety getting the better of
her.
Marlowe didn’t give in. “Who knows what strange
workings could be in such an ancient device! Wouldn’t you
like to find out?”
 Faythe had no interest in watch mechanics and didn’t
match her friend’s enthusiastic wonder. Though one word
had her deliberating while Marlowe waited with an eager
look: ancient. If the watch was as old as Marlowe suggested,
perhaps there was a chance something about its interior
could offer clues to explain the Spirit symbol engraved on
the back and if the item had any connection to the temple.
Faythe sucked in a subtle breath. What if the answer or
the key to open the spiritual dwelling was not on the watch’s
exterior, but within its inner workings?
Her giddy thrill overcame her wariness, and she gave
Marlowe a small nod to go ahead. She didn’t waste a breath
reaching for a bunch of small tools in a nearby pouch.
Faythe watched in nervous anticipation as she took a
miniature screwdriver to the back but still said nothing of
the engraving. If Marlowe knew what it meant, her face gave
nothing away.
Once the plate was loose enough to be removed, she
peeled it back to reveal a bunch of cogs and screws that made
absolutely no sense to Faythe. Marlowe, however, frowned
deeper in concentration as she reached for her magnifying
eyepiece once again and went in close to investigate. A few
minutes passed before she hummed at her findings.
“No wonder the minute hand stutters. There’s an extra
piece that doesn’t seem relevant to the main mechanics—it
just gets in the way,” she pondered out loud, picking up a
small pair of tweezers.
Faythe stood upright. “Are you sure?” she asked
skeptically, fearful of the watch breaking.
Marlowe shot her a dead look. As if she really had to ask.
Faythe backed down and nodded for her to continue. She
stayed close behind, peering over Marlowe’s shoulder and
holding her breath as she watched her go in with steady
precision. Marlowe gripped the small misplaced pin and
pulled. It came out with a click, followed by a thud.
Faythe could only gape in disbelief as she watched the
front part of the watch come away from the back completely.
Marlowe jolted her head back in shock, lifting her hands
away.
“I don’t understand. It was a dud piece of metal!” she
cried out.
Faythe didn’t want to shout at her friend for being wrong,
so instead, she took a breath to hold in her dismay and paced
to the back of the workshop in silence, hoping Marlowe
would be able to mend it swiftly.
She was flicking through more discarded books when
Marlowe said her name to quietly beckon her over. If she’d
already fixed the watch, Faythe owed her friend some
appreciation for her quick work. When she strolled back over
to the bench, she held in her whimper at the sight of the
thing still in two pieces.
However, her watch wasn’t what Marlowe was focused on
anymore. She held up a tightly folded piece of parchment
between her tweezers and said, “Did you know this was in
here?”
Faythe’s eyebrows knitted together. “That was in my
mother’s watch?”
Marlowe gave a nod before extending it to her. “It seems
you have a concealment watch. I’ve heard of them before.
They were used a long time ago to smuggle information
between allies,” she said with no small amount of relief she
hadn’t broken it after all.
Faythe took the parchment carefully. It was worn and
slightly yellowed with age. Did her mother know it was in
there? She didn’t immediately unravel the sheet. What if it
was a message from her mother?
 Handing the paper back to Marlowe, she said, “You read
it,” and damned her own cowardice at the thought.
Marlowe didn’t say anything as she took the parchment
from Faythe’s outstretched palm and cautiously began to
fold back the edges.
The suspense was killing Faythe. She held in her snap to
hurry up, tapping her foot in a nervous tic while she watched
Marlowe finally unfold it to its full size, which was no bigger
than the palm of her hand. The blacksmith read over it a few
times with a deep frown of concentration.
Faythe couldn’t stand it anymore. “Well?” she said with a
bit more bite than intended.
Marlowe shot her a glance and shrugged. “It’s like a
poem, but not in a language I can read.”
Faythe’s whole body fell with disappointment and a little
sadness. It wasn’t a note from her mother. The old
inscriptions and clearly aged paper weren’t connected to her
at all. If Marlowe was right, the parchment was likely a
scribe from a centuries-old battle and wouldn’t provide the
answers she needed to gain access to the temple.
“An old war message?” she asked in bored curiosity.
Marlowe cocked her head. “Perhaps. I might have a book
that could translate. I recognize some of the symbols.” She
shot up from the bench and wandered over to the books in
the corner.
Laying the parchment down beside them, she began to
sift through the mix of black and brown leather covers. When
she found what she was looking for, Marlowe beamed and
flicked through the pages, scanning over inscriptions that
were no more than pretty decorations to Faythe. A language
of elegance and affluence, she gathered from the delicate
swirls and coils of the ancient text.
“It might take a while, but I’ll try to translate what I
can.”
 Faythe peeled her eyes from the book, finding it of little
interest, while Marlowe ran her finger across the lines. She
was irrationally angry at the hidden message that had turned
out to be nothing of use. The small, hopeful feeling she’d let
herself have—that it might be something to bring her closer
to her mother—left a hollow void.
She looked at her friend still deeply engrossed in the
texts. “I think I’m going to wander the town for a bit. Meet
you at the hut later?”
Marlowe glanced up for quick second, her only reply a
small nod and smile before she dipped her head low again.
Faythe left her to it.
 CHAPTER 19

F aythe stormed through the streets after her

disappointing trip to the blacksmiths. She wasn’t sure if
it was her exasperation or complete lack of sense and
rationality that influenced her destination. Perhaps she had a
death wish, she thought, as she found herself strolling up to
the standalone white house in the wealthier part of town.
Without giving herself time to cower away, she rapped on
the wood door twice and took a polite step back, hoping the
person she wanted was working today. After a short wait, the
door swung open, and a familiar mop of red hair and brown
eyes stared at her in surprise.
Ferris worked as a personal servant for the occupants of
the house, though Faythe had always thought it a generous
job description since he was essentially employed to carry
out their dirty work. Ferris suited the work—was actually
good at it—with his deviance and ruthlessness when it came
to doing what needed to be done. She had to admire him for
that.
Realizing he was waiting for her to explain her
unexpected appearance, she blurted, “I want to take you up
on your offer.”
For a quick moment, she wanted to steal the words back
and scold herself for even thinking of fighting in The Cave.
She wanted to believe she was above such a barbarous sport.
Yet she couldn’t deny the dark part of her that itched to feel
what it would be like to swing her sword in real combat. She
was fed up with feeling useless, tired of holding back the
desire that truly lived under her skin, and sick of being so
impoverished she couldn’t even afford a decent birthday gift
for her best friend.
Ferris cocked an eyebrow at her before a wild grin spread
to his eyes. He stepped out over the threshold, closing the
door behind him, and leaned with arms crossed against the
frame.
“Does your guard dog know you’re here?” he quipped.
She rolled her eyes at the gibe—he meant Jakon—and
quickly considered abandoning the idea. It was a mistake to
come to him. Even so, she found herself saying, “No. And he
can’t find out about any of it.”
Ferris chuckled. “Good to know you have a mind of your
own, Faythe. I was beginning to doubt it.”
She scowled. “Don’t make me regret coming to you.”
He laughed again in response, and she fought the urge to
swing at him. “I believe I’m the one doing you a favor here,”
he said before raising his chin. “I want a cut of your profits
as your sponsor.” His eyes twinkled darkly.
“I might not win.”
His smile only widened. “I’m going to be putting in good
money for you, Faythe, and I expect a fantastic return.” He
straightened. “I have every confidence you won’t
disappoint.” He turned, bracing a hand on the doorknob.
“Next fight is in two days’ time. I’ll find you some suitable…
attire.” He gazed over her at the comment, and she shifted.
His final wink made her blood go cold and pump faster at the
same time.
Had she just made a deal with darkness?
 Without another word, he was back inside the house, and
she was left staring at the white chipped door.
She stood there for a second after he vanished, unsure if
the darkness was in her or Ferris. Then, twisting on her heel,
she retreated with haste back into the main part of town,
giddy with nerves, excitement, and…fear. But the thrill
drowned out the voices telling her this could be the most
foolish thing she’d ever agreed to.
 CHAPTER 20

F aythe ’ s mind reeled on her return from signing Ferris’s

phantom contract. She would be entertaining with her
sword at no small risk to her life. She composed her rattling
nerves at the thought, surprised to find Jakon already home
when she arrived back at the hut. He sat at the kitchen table
with his head in a book she had never seen before, looking
up to flash her a welcoming smile as she walked through the
door.
“She’s got you reading now too?”
“Apparently, it’s a wonder I’ve lived here this long and
not learned about the wonders and histories of Ungardia.”
Faythe chuckled and walked over to catch a glimpse of the
text he studied. Jakon shifted as if trying to conceal the
pages. She frowned deeply, about to question it, until she
glanced the bold heading: Legends of Lakelaria. Her stomach
dropped, and she cast Jakon a sad, knowing look.
“I’ve been asking at the docks if there’s been word of
anything unusual over there, in case there was talk of a
stowaway from High Farrow, you know?” Jakon admitted.
Faythe’s heart cracked. She’d been riddled with the guilt
of not knowing Reuben’s fate, but she didn’t know Jakon was
also silently suffering. She put her arm over his shoulder in
quiet comfort, and he embraced her around the waist in
return as they both stared down at the pages in solemn
silence.
Some of the illustrations were beautiful: glittering
channels of water and wonderous mythical lake creatures.
Faythe leaned forward to flick over a few pages, but she
wished she hadn’t. Other depictions of what possibly dwelled
in the Kingdom of the Water Dragon were not so welcoming.
Man-eating sea beasts, half-human sirens with wicked
pointed teeth, fae with the lethal ability to command the
flow of water…
Jakon must have noticed her rising panic because he
leaned in to close the book before she could work herself into
a frenzy. She looked to him wide-eyed while her mind reeled
at the horrors she might have sent her friend straight into
the arms of.
Jakon stood, hands going to her shoulders. “They’re only
myths, Faythe. Anyone I’ve asked, those who have real
knowledge of Lakelaria, have assured me it’s just as ordinary
and boring as any kingdom.” He tried to reassure her with a
faint smile, but he was a horrible liar.
She didn’t call him out on it. For both their sakes, they
had to try to believe Reuben was safe and they hadn’t blindly
sent their friend to a terrible fate in the lands of the
unknown.
Jakon pulled her into a tight embrace, and she allowed
herself to breathe and regain a sense of calm in the comfort
of his arms, composed by the time she stepped back. She
gave him a weak smile, walking past him to the washroom.
His voice halted her.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you, Faythe. Uh—”
She turned back and cocked her head. “What’s up?”
Jakon scratched the back of his neck nervously. “About
Marlowe and me. It’s not… It doesn’t bother you, right? That
she and I—”
 Faythe’s lips curled up in amusement at his flustered
look, and she cut in, “Not in the slightest, Jakon. I’m happy
for you. For both of you!” she assured.
He smiled awkwardly back. “Good… That’s good.” He
cleared his throat. “I just thought, you know, it might feel
weird or something. Since it’s always just been you and me,
but you never, um…”
She knew what he wanted to say. Faythe had never
returned his feelings of affection; never wanted to be more
than friends.
“Look, Jakon, I love you. I always will, but not in the way I
know Marlowe loves you and you love her back. You two are
made for each other, and I’m happy for you both as a couple.
I’m grateful Marlowe came into my life too.”
Relief washed over his face. “I love you too, Faythe.” He
made the few strides over to tousle her hair. “You’ll always
be my number one, you know?”
She batted his hand away with playful ire. “There’s room
for two of us to share that top spot now.”
He looked at her with love and gratitude, giving a nod of
appreciation at the comment. Faythe replied with a warm
smile before scooting off to change.

That evening, Faythe insisted Marlowe and Jakon go out

without her, claiming she was too tired to accompany them.
It wasn’t entirely a lie—she was tired—but she really wanted
to go alone to practice her sword skills in preparation for her
first fight.
It hadn’t fully settled that she was about to face off in a
real challenge that could harm or kill her if things went
horribly wrong. She could already hear Jakon’s fury if he
found out, and it made her nauseatingly guilty for keeping
yet another deadly secret from him. But she knew what she
was doing, and she didn’t need his lectures on what was best
for her.
Faythe decided to avoid the square, not wanting to risk
running into her friends or any of the fae patrol. Instead, she
found herself scaling the hills toward the woods, figuring a
tree trunk might at least provide her with stationary target
practice.
Her boots crunched over fallen branches on the woodland
floor as she passed through the maze of staggered trees,
making for the waterfall glade ahead. When she emerged,
she got all of a few steps before stopping dead in her tracks
at the cold pinch of pointed metal on her back. Not daring to
move or breathe, she remained paralyzed to the spot until
the assailant on the other end of the blade spoke.
“Please state your name and business.”
At the sound of Nik’s mocking voice, her shoulders fell in
relief—which quickly turned to annoyance as she spun
around to glare at him. “You’re an ass,” she muttered.
“What are you doing here?”
He laughed and lowered his sword. “I believe you’re in my
secret hiding spot.” He cocked his head in amusement.
“What are you hiding from, Faythe?”
“Nothing,” she mumbled. “I just came to practice in
peace.” She emphasized the last word.
Nik shrugged. “Don’t let me get in your way.” He
sheathed his sword at his hip. “It’s all yours.” He walked
past her and took a seat on a large rock near the lake, pulling
out a dagger to fidget with and making a show of looking like
he wasn’t paying her any attention.
She grumbled, irked already that she didn’t have the place
to herself. She hadn’t considered the possibility he might be
here and realized she didn’t know much about him at all,
such as what he got up to when he wasn’t being an annoying
bastard in their lessons or when he wasn’t on whatever
guard duty the king assigned him. She never saw him around
the outer town at least.
Not in the mood to converse, she swung off her cloak and
drew Lumarias, trying to block out his presence. Taking up
poise with her sword, she began to duck, swing, and dodge,
releasing herself to that glorious calm until it was only her
and the air she cleaved.
To her surprise, Nik went a good while without saying
anything. He didn’t move from his lazy position on the
rocks, but when she stopped to dare a glance at him, she
found him studying her intently. It made her squirm
inwardly, and she fidgeted, flexing her sword in her wrist.
Then he was on his feet, cloak discarded and sword drawn,
coming to a stance in front of her.
“Now, let me correct everything you’re doing wrong.” He
smiled arrogantly. She was about to retort when he said,
“You’ve got great skill, Faythe, but a load more potential if
you have the right person show you.” There was no mockery
or insult in his tone.
“So you’re going to be my teacher?”
He nodded. “In mind skills, sword skills, and…other
skills, if you find yourself lacking,” he added suggestively.
She gaped, lifting her sword to poke him with the pointed
end. He batted it away with his own blade before she could,
and the clang of steel echoed through the clearing along with
his bark of laughter.
“You really can’t help yourself, can you?” she grumbled.
He crossed his arms, still holding his sword. “I’ve never
been with a human before. I’d be curious to see if your kind
is as…fragile as you look.” He grinned deviously.
She didn’t hesitate and brought her sword up in a flash
reaction, going for his neck.
 Faster than she could blink, his blade was up and
connecting with hers once again before it could land. His
bellows of laughter resonated through the open space. She
only glared at him, her temper flaring.
“Good. Now, when you left step, be sure to be in a
position to cover your right flank from attack.” He
demonstrated her error by darting for her side and kicking
her feet from under her.
Faythe landed on the grass with a thud, wide-eyed in
disbelief. She wanted to shout that he had caught her
unaware and hadn’t given her time to even attempt a
defense, but her anger blazed and fused any words, leaving
only a burning need to respond with the steel in her palm.
She shot to her feet. In a burst of blind rage, she swiped
for him over and over, in a quick round of lethal blurred
steel, until she was panting. He deflected every strike and
swing with immortal ease. Tears welled in her eyes out of
frustration and fury—or the fact she was realizing she
wasn’t as good as she thought or Ferris believed. She was
very likely to only embarrass herself in The Cave…or worse.
“Faythe, stop,” Nik said calmly.
She didn’t. She continued her onslaught of unfaltering
attacks. Every time he effortlessly stepped out of the path of
her blade, he only made her blood pump harder and fueled
her determination.
He ducked the next blow and spun around her so quickly
she didn’t have time to register the move until she was again
falling flat on her back against the cool green floor. She
panted and clamped her eyes shut, cursing the tears that
escaped.
“You need to learn to channel your rage, not let it
consume you,” he said quietly from above.
She didn’t know why she was so angry. Or why when she
held a blade in her hands, it seemed to open the floodgates of
indignation and grief she spent so long holding back with
weak fortification.
“Thanks for the advice,” she said sarcastically, pushing
herself to her feet. She walked a few steps away before
twisting to him, her sword angled again. “Teach me
something of use, will you?”
He didn’t balk or position himself to fight at the
challenge. “Where does the anger come from?”
She went on the offensive once more, but he still didn’t
raise his sword as he ducked from her blade. “I don’t want to
be weak,” she spat, thrusting forward. He dodged her again.
“I don’t want to be defenseless.” Another swipe of her
sword. “I don’t want to be afraid.” He kept dancing around
her blows, and she felt her temper rise again. “I don’t want
anyone else to ever get hurt because I was too cowardly and
incapable of protecting them!” she screamed in frustration.
Her eyes locked on his as the last words left her. She
brought her hands up, blade poised—and then she saw his
next move before it happened. In a split-second reaction,
she twisted her sword and felt it connect with the edge of his
thigh, slicing right through where, just a second sooner, he
would have stepped fully out of range.
Faythe stopped, breathless, and stared at the shallow
gash in Nik’s leg that had started to bleed through the fabric
of his pants. Her eyes snapped to his, and he stared back at
her in surprise.
“I’m sorry,” she breathed.
She dropped her sword, only now returning to her full
senses as she realized what she’d done; the feral rage she’d
let consume her.
“How did you do that?” was all he said.
She shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t know. It was like
—oh, Gods, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” she stuttered. All at
once, her other emotions returned and threatened to drown
her now the anger had subsided.
As if sensing it, he said, “It’s nothing. I heal far faster
than you. It’ll be completely gone in less than an hour.” His
eyes bore into hers in bewilderment, awe, curiosity… Faythe
wasn’t quite sure what it was.
“I lost control. I don’t know what happened,” she
muttered weakly.
His face softened. “You have a fire in you. That’s a good
thing—if you can learn to harness it.” After another
assessing look, he went on, “You’re faster than any mortal
I’ve ever seen, but that… It was impossibly quick, even for
you.”
She swallowed, her throat suddenly bone-dry. “I don’t
know how to explain it… It was like I could see your
intentions before you physically moved.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Your ability is more
impressive than I thought. It could be an invaluable skill in
combat,” he said at last.
She blinked. “Wouldn’t that be…cheating?”
“If you have an advantage, why not use it?”
She pondered for a moment, deciding it couldn’t hurt to
see what she was capable of. “I don’t know how to read a
mind. It’s always been accidental.” She cringed as she
glanced at his leg, slightly relieved to see the wound had
already started to knit together.
“Then we’ll have to figure it out—together,” he said with
a small smile.
She was grateful to have him as her friend. That was what
she considered him now, whether it was mutual or not, and
she felt bad she had ever doubted his motives when he’d
given her no reason to. Most of all, she was glad to not be
alone.
At the thought, she perked up. “Where do we start?”
 His wicked grin returned as he motioned for her to
retrieve her sword with a flick of his own. “First, the basics.
You’re good—great even, by mortal standards.” His green
eyes flashed. “But you can be better.”
 CHAPTER 21

F or an hour , Faythe and Nik parried back and forth with

deliberate slowness while he demonstrated a range of
new maneuvers, as well as how to attack and deflect using
more than just her blade. They even ditched the swords at
one point and practiced dodges, kicks, and how to get out of
compromised positions. Faythe felt wonderfully drunk on
the combat knowledge and techniques he shared with her
and was in utter awe at the way he moved, a centuries-old
fae warrior honed for the battlefield.
She wanted to continue, thinking she could never get
enough, but Nik insisted they take a break. They sat on the
rocks by the lake, Faythe catching her breath, though Nik
didn’t look winded in the slightest, much to her irritation.
“What did you mean earlier?” Nik broke the silence.
“When you said you don’t want anyone else to get hurt?”
She didn’t answer immediately as she decided whether to
share the personal information with him. But she already
considered him a friend, and at his look of genuine concern,
it didn’t scare her to reveal the most vulnerable part of
herself: her fear.
She looked away. “My mother. She’s dead…because of me.
It’s what I saw the first time we came here. I think it wanted
me to admit it—face it. My fear of losing someone else to my
own cowardice,” she said into the lake as if whatever
governed the woods was listening too. She told him the
events leading up to and after what happened that night, and
he listened in respectable silence. When she finished, they
remained in quiet thought for a long moment.
“Valgard soldiers have been breaking through our borders
for years—it was likely they who took your mother for
information. You were just a child. It was not your fault,” he
said solemnly and with a hint of anger she knew was
directed at the ruthless kingdom of Valgard.
She appreciated his attempt to console her, but she had
already come to terms with that night and accepted her role
in it. She gave him a weak smile regardless.
“What about your mother?” she asked carefully, noting
the shift in his face. His jaw flexed, and he refused to meet
her eye. She waited for his refusal to speak of it again,
expecting his silence in answer.
“She was killed nearly one hundred years ago by an
intruder. They were never caught,” he said quietly.
Though a great measure of time separated their trauma,
Faythe felt herself tragically bonded to him through their
mutual grief in that moment. She knew verbal condolences
would offer little comfort as they never had for her, so she
didn’t bother with them. Instead, she shuffled down the
rocks until she was close enough to touch and didn’t wait to
see if he would retreat. She reached a hand over and placed it
on top of his. To her surprise, Nik twisted his wrist and
reached his other arm over to encase her small hand between
his calloused palms. A burst of warmth shot through her
chest at the acceptance, and they sat like that in comfortable
silence. It was never awkward; they simply tuned in to the
quiet murmur of the woods, content at having company
nearby.
 Then his voice broke her mindless thoughts. “Your
conscious abilities seem to surface when something’s being
projected at you or when your own emotions are running too
high,” he pondered and looked at her. “You need to find the
focus to block yourself from hearing loud thoughts in
passing and the discipline to reach into a person’s mind and
find information at your own will.”
“You make it sound like choosing to sleep or stay awake.”
He gave a soft laugh. “I would imagine it’s similar,
actually. At least to your Nightwalking.”
She winced. “I haven’t even tried to do that yet…
knowingly.”
“You have to try. Pick someone who won’t make you feel
as guilty as you feel doing it to your friend.”
She was beginning to wonder if Nik was a conscious mind
reader himself with how often he knew exactly what she was
thinking. “I’ll try,” was all she said.
His eyes met hers, and she found herself being swallowed
by the emerald pools.
“What do you want, Faythe?”
A provocative question. From his teasing grin, she knew
he was projecting it to her on purpose. Hearing her name in
his voice inside her head sent a ripple down her spine. She
refused to let it show, but she also couldn’t bring herself to
look away.
“You need only ask,” he whispered seductively in her mind.
Gods, she could even hear his change in volume. It sent a
pulse through her as if she were feeling his breath on her ear
even though he kept his distance.
“Stop that,” she hissed, ripping her hand out of his as her
cheeks flushed red.
He chuckled. “I’m just testing your abilities.” From the
way his pupils darkened, she had no doubt he could hear the
increased tempo of her heart; could possibly even smell the
effect it had on her with his fae senses. “Though that’s with
me trying. Now, you try. I’ll let you past my barriers just
enough to test the theory.”
She stared at him in horror. Did he really trust her enough
to let her go poking around in his head?
Reading her expression, he said, “Don’t worry, I have
every control over my mental walls. You’ll only be able to see
the things I let you.”
Right. Of course he wouldn’t offer himself as a test host if
she could rifle through any of his thoughts and memories.
She took a wary breath, straightening before focusing her
eyes fully on his. She pictured what his walls would look like;
imagined his black-and-gray smoke like that in his
subconscious. Then, as she pierced past the deep green of his
eyes, she found herself arriving at a thick black veil, which
she somehow knew was the entrance to his mind. She gasped
a little at the strange feeling.
“Good. I can feel you,” she heard faintly, but his voice
was a background blur like the rest of the woods as she
honed in on the image of his mind. It felt like being in two
places at once.
The wall was solid, but then she felt a small crack open up
and slipped inside. It was pitch-black until color soon
appeared in a blur of rainbow hues and a scene unfolded
around her. She was looking at herself through waves of
spitting amber fire, and she was dancing. His memory of the
summer solstice, she realized. When she locked eyes with
herself at the end of the song, her heart skipped. But was
that Nik’s heart she was feeling? He walked around the fire
with eyes fixed on her as she walked—more like swayed—
away from him to find Jakon. She felt something else.
Curiosity? At the man who held Faythe from falling. When
she was sitting by herself, Jakon having gone to get her
water, Nik started his walk toward her. When he got closer,
she stood up, yet to notice him as his eyes grazed over her,
appreciating the effort she’d made for the event. She could
hear his one thought in that moment: Beautiful.
Faythe pulled herself from the memory and focused once
again on the green eyes and surrounding noise of the woods.
She averted her gaze immediately, cheeks aflame.
“What?” he asked innocently.
She glared at him. “You know what. Why did you choose
to show me that?”
“Just in case not enough people told you how wonderful
you looked that night,” he teased, and the heat on her face
reached boiling point. His eyes twinkled in amusement
before he asked, “What was it like?”
“It felt like I was you, obviously.”
He cocked his head. “It’s not obvious though.” He looked
ahead, brow creased in thought. “When we Nightwalk, we
don’t see through the host’s eyes; we shadow them through
their memories. Most with the ability don’t usually know
emotion unless it’s relevant information, and even then,
memories don’t always capture true feelings.” Another
contemplative pause. “Your reach far surpasses the typical
Nightwalking ability to be able to shadow and embody the
host. With training, you might be able to know what a person
is thinking and feeling in real time, not only in memories.
You could maybe even alter thoughts in real time too.”
Faythe paled, and he quickly added, “Only if you choose to,
of course. You’ve gone this long without knowing what kind
of power you have, so you only need to train your mind to
enter another’s at will.”
“Is that all?” she said sarcastically at the wave of new
information.
He gave her a look of understanding. “It may seem like a
lot, but it will become as easy as breathing. Trust me.”
 She did trust him. She trusted him to help her, and she
knew that with his guidance, she might one day be able to
master both sides of her ability. Never in her lifetime did she
imagine she would be putting her trust—and her life, in
some ways—in a centuries-old fae warrior. But Nik was
different. He was good.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely.
Something changed in the atmosphere between them, but
she didn’t balk at the intimate look they shared. Slowly, he
reached a hand up to graze his fingers under her chin. Her
heart pounded when he seemed to shift slightly closer, their
thighs now touching where they sat side by side on the rock,
and she felt the soft caress of his breath over her mouth.
Only a sliver of space remained between them, and it became
a noticeable coolness. She wasn’t sure if she was still
breathing. She longed for him to close that distance.
“What is it that you want, Faythe?”
She caught the question at the edge of his mind. He
wouldn’t kiss her without her asking for it, and it was
enough hesitation for her to snap into her own senses.
Nik was fae, an immortal, a royal guard. And she…
She was human, a nobody, and that was how it would
always be. They couldn’t be seen together. She could never
tell her friends how she came to know him or anything about
him. No one would understand, and no one would accept
them.
She backed away and stood, letting his hand drop where it
had held her face. She felt cold from the absence but shook
her mind to clear the thoughts and calm her racing heart.
“I think that’s enough of a lesson for today,” she said a
little breathlessly, not daring to look at him again as she
stalked over to her discarded cloak and fastened it around
herself.
 Neither of them spoke as they left the woods and walked
over the hills, barely muttering their goodbyes when they
parted on the edge of town as usual. But Faythe couldn’t stop
her rattling thoughts and still felt the echo of his touch as
she made her way back to the hut in the dark.
 CHAPTER 22

F aythe sulked the whole way home after departing from

Nik. She knew it was for the best that they keep it
strictly friendly, or professional, or whatever it was they
were doing, but it didn’t help her sting of disappointment.
There was no changing who they were or the differences that
separated them, and she couldn’t give in to the feelings she
had for him.
Perhaps a kiss would mean nothing to Nik. Maybe getting
everything from her wouldn’t mean anything to him either.
The thought delivered a different kind of pain.
When she swung open the door to the hut, she was
immediately confronted by Marlowe sitting at the table while
Jakon paced the small space in front of the door. Upon seeing
her, he let out a deep sigh of relief, but his eyes blazed.
“Where have you been?”
She winced at his tone. “I was just out practicing as
usual,” she said, flashing the pommel of her sword under
her cloak.
“Practicing! It’s one in the morning, Faythe! We went by
the square—you weren’t there!”
Her eyes widened. She hadn’t realized the time. Her hand
dove into her pocket only to find it empty.
 “Shit. I’m sorry. My watch is still at the blacksmiths. I
lost track of time.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “We were worried sick.
You can’t do that.”
Her eyes flashed in vexation. “Can’t do what, Jak? Go out
on my own? I’m not a child! I can look out for myself.”
He didn’t deserve her anger, and she knew deep down she
was only riding on the back of her indignation over
everything that kept her from pursuing her feelings for a
certain fae guard. Not being able to talk about it only made
her resentment grow more.
Jakon recoiled at her tone and then straightened. “You
have friends who care about you. I don’t know what’s been
up with you lately, but your secrets and selfishness affect us
both,” he shot back.
Faythe felt the words hard. He knew right where to strike.
She couldn’t help herself in her flash of rage, and she
focused on his mind to see if he meant any truth in them.
Jakon was an open book; no walls like she saw in Nik’s head,
and completely vulnerable to her.
“You don’t think your actions affect me too. You only think
about yourself. I wish you would just let me in.”
The thoughts were loud, and Faythe could feel the anger
in him. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes, and she glanced
at Marlowe who had yet to say anything.
“Where were you? It’s not your fault. He only wants to help.
We both do.”
Pity resonated in her words, and she hated it.
“You two have each other—you don’t need me anymore.
Consider yourselves relieved of the burden of caring,” she
said sourly. Shutting them both out, she turned on her heel
and stalked to the bedroom.
Jakon called her name but didn’t follow.
 The tears fell silently from her eyes as she stripped down
and pulled herself into her nightclothes before curling up in
her cot. They kept falling as she thought of everything she
was and wasn’t. Everything her friends thought about her;
everything she couldn’t have with Nik; everything that made
her a screwed-up waste of existence. She didn’t deserve her
abilities. She didn’t deserve her friends. She didn’t deserve to
be loved. She would only end up disappointing everyone in
the end.
After a long moment, she heard shuffling, and then, from
her position facing the wall, she felt the dip of her bed and a
warm body curl around hers. The petite female form fit
neatly behind her own.
She released a sob, and Marlowe stroked her hair without
saying anything. She only held her tight and let Faythe cry it
out. And she did. Sadness poured out of her like her anger in
the woods. She wanted so badly to tell Marlowe everything in
that moment—and Jakon too. It pained her more every day,
the walking lie she was to them.
When her sobbing ceased, she felt hollow and tired. She
was starting to fall asleep when she heard more shuffling
and the creak of Jakon’s bed as he sat in it.
Neither woman moved, but Jakon spoke. “I’m really
sorry, Faythe. I didn’t mean what I said.”
She didn’t respond. She knew he’d meant it from peering
into his thoughts, and for once, she didn’t feel guilty for it.
Jakon didn’t press the issue further, and she heard him lie
back in his cot.
As silence filled the room, she embraced the fall into
darkness, still safe in the warmth of Marlowe’s arms.
Faythe sat in her subconscious idly playing with the mist
between her fingers. She intended to guide herself to full
unconsciousness at first, but she had been toying with an
idea for some time now.
She couldn’t get Marlowe and Jakon’s thoughts about her
from her mind and was tempted to walk into Marlowe’s head
to see if they ever spoke about her when she wasn’t with
them. It seemed petty, but she was desperate to ease the pain
and insecurity. She could deal with it from anyone else—
herself, even Nik—but she wouldn’t be able to live with
herself if her friends truly thought of her as selfish and
uncaring…or worse.
She could control it, only see what she needed to see to
put her own mind at ease and not pry into anything she had
no business seeing. At least, she hoped she could. Which was
why she had sat on the idea for all this time, out of fear she
might accidentally walk into Marlowe’s private thoughts or
memories and never forgive herself.
She stood abruptly. Nik had said she needed to try; to
practice. If anyone would understand, it was Marlowe, she
was sure of that. So, without giving herself time to back out
again, she closed her eyes and thought of her friend until she
felt a pull…and just like that, gold changed to hues of vibrant
purple when she opened them.
Marlowe’s mind.
It shocked her how easy it was, but Nik had warned her
not to stay in this part of the mind for long and to find the
memory she was looking to jump into. She began sifting
through memories of Marlowe and Jakon, quickly flicking
through them to rule out the ones in which she was
physically present, until there was only one prominent
memory left.
The scene unfolded around her as she willed it to, and she
stood behind Marlowe as she and Jakon walked hand in hand
down by the harbor. Faythe recognized the path just past
Harbor Hall, beautifully lit with amber torches. The moon
was bright, catching the ripples of lapping water and making
the sea glitter like the stars in the night sky above. It was the
perfect romantic setting, and Faythe couldn’t help but feel
like she was intruding.
Find the relevant information.
The memory skipped forward, and they were sitting on a
bench, Marlowe resting her head on Jakon’s shoulder while
he wrapped his arm around her. Faythe’s heart stung at the
sight. It was jealously, she realized, at their completely
effortless, carefree relationship.
Finally, Jakon spoke. “Do you think Faythe is okay with
this?”
Marlowe lifted her head, knowing he meant the two of
them. “Why wouldn’t she be?”
He shrugged, looking out over the tranquil sea. “She
seems distant lately.”
Faythe’s face fell at his pained look.
“It was never like this between us—you know, like what
you and I have,” he started. “But I feel like she’s been
pushing me out ever since. Or maybe I’ve been pushing her
away by not including her as much as I should. It’s always
just been the two of us, and now…” He trailed off.
Marlowe put her hand on his thigh. “She’s a grown
woman, Jakon. She’s headstrong and fierce, but her heart is
always in the right place. She knows how to look out for
herself.”
He nodded. “Gods, I know she does.” His frown deepened
as he put his hand on hers. “I think…I think I’m scared to let
her go. To accept that she no longer needs me.”
“You’ve looked out for her since she was a child. She’ll
always need you. But she also has her own life to live.”
 He was silent for a moment before admitting, “I love her,
Marlowe. I always will.”
She gave him a warm smile. “And nothing will ever come
between that.” Squeezing his hand, she added, “I love her
too.”
Faythe felt the damp trails on her cheeks before she
realized she was crying. She didn’t stay to see if they said
anything else, only projected herself back into her familiar
gold-and-white mist.
She sobbed loudly in the comfort of her own head, feeling
awful she’d ever had doubts about either of them. Jakon, who
had been by her side since she was orphaned at nine years
old and always put her first. Even now, when it came to
Marlowe, he made sure to confess his love for her. Not as a
lover, but no matter what, he would always choose Faythe. It
made her feel hideous he ever thought he’d have to choose
between the two. And then there was Marlowe, who showed
absolutely no sign of jealousy or resentment for it.
Faythe felt crippled with guilt and undeserving of their
love and loyalty. But she wouldn’t let herself fall into
despair; she would rise and prove herself worthy.
 CHAPTER 23

W hen F aythe awoke the next morning, both of her

friends had already left. She pushed back the
disappointment she felt at not getting to tell them she was
sorry and that they didn’t deserve her display of anger last
night. Her words of apology would have to remain unspoken
until she saw them later.
For now, she hopped out of her cot and washed, feeling
fresher and lighter than she had in a long while. It was as if a
weight she didn’t realize was slowly crushing her had been
lifted—that uncertainty of who she was and what she meant
to the people who mattered.
She was dressed and heading out the door when she
paused on the threshold, nearly tumbling over a package on
the doorstep. She frowned and gave it a light kick, making
sure nothing live or combustible was inside. When it
remained stationary and silent, she warily picked it up and
took it into the hut. She gave it another look over before
gently pulling at the string that bound the box shut and
peeling back the lid cautiously. Inside, a note on the top was
the first thing to catch her attention. She picked it up and
read:

Faythe,
This cost me a month’s wage,
but I expect the debt to be paid
in full in good time. I’ll meet you
on Crow’s Lane at ten o’clock
tomorrow night.
Don’t be late, and be sure to
leave your guard dog at home.

Yours always, darling Faythe.

Ferris didn’t have to sign his name; there was only one
person she expected this particular delivery from. Faythe
discarded the note and looked into the box. As promised, the
contents consisted of more “suitable attire” for her first
fight. She pulled out the first item: a scarf, one that would
cover her head and act like a mask over her nose and mouth
to leave only her golden eyes on show. There was also a pair
of plain black gloves.
The next item stunned her for a moment. She pulled it out
fully and held it up for a quick inspection. It was a matte-
black, textured leather suit. It looked to be a tight fit, but the
material flexed and stretched, and she could imagine the
freedom of movement it would allow. A real fighting suit.
The final matching items were revealed to be a pair of
black boots and a long black cloak.
Faythe marveled at the ensemble laid out on the table.
She’d only ever dreamed of owning such a set for use in
professional combat. She didn’t dwell on where Ferris got his
hands on such items. The suit certainly wasn’t from
anywhere in this town—perhaps not even this kingdom.
Folding everything together, she stashed the clothes
under her bed. It would all be over if Jakon found out about
it. Then, giddy with new excitement and thrilling nerves, she
skipped out of the hut.
After a deliriously dull workday, Faythe was left alone to
close up the stall. She’d spent most of her shift trying to stay
busy and offering to run extra errands to keep her mind off
her friends—and Nik. She’d tried and failed to push the fae
guard from her thoughts.
She had just boarded up when a voice appeared behind
her. “I thought you might want this back.”
Faythe whirled, and a small sound came out of her at the
sight of Marlowe. She was holding out her mother’s pocket
watch as if it had never been tampered with at all. Faythe
gave her a weak smile and took it in her own hands.
There was a small silence before she blurted, “I’m so
sorry, Marlowe. You didn’t deserve my anger last night, and
neither did Jakon. I—”
She was cut off when Marlowe lunged at her, flinging her
arms around her in a tight embrace. All of Faythe’s sadness
and worry dissipated instantly. She didn’t know how much
time passed as they held each other, nor did she realize just
how much she needed it from her friend. It felt as if a small
weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
Marlowe pulled back and didn’t remove her hands from
Faythe as she looked her in the eyes and said, “You know you
can tell me anything, right?”
Faythe swallowed at the intensity in her ocean-blue irises
and gave a small nod. Marlowe waited another second as if
hoping she would say something to explain her moods and
absences. Gods, she wanted to. But she couldn’t. It was better
for both their safety if Marlowe remained oblivious.
Finally taking a step back, Marlowe gave her a small
smile, but she couldn’t hide the slight disappointment on
her face at Faythe’s silence. Regardless, she linked her arm
through hers to start their walk to the hut.
 “Actually, there is a favor I need to ask of you.”
Marlowe pulled them to a stop and unhooked their arms
so they could face each other, giving Faythe her full
attention while she waited for her to continue.
Faythe cleared her throat. “I—uh…I need you to keep
Jakon busy again tomorrow night.” She had no right to ask
her again, especially not after her outburst yesterday.
Marlowe crossed her arms. “If I’m going to do that,
you’re going to tell me exactly what you plan on getting up
to.”
It was a fair bargain, and Faythe knew she could trust
Marlowe with this secret. It was a perfectly normal human
activity, albeit stupidly dangerous and reckless.
“I’m going to fight…in The Cave. I went to see Ferris, and
he’s arranged it.” She waited for the outcry of horror; for
Marlowe to shout at her for being completely out of her mind
and run straight to Jakon to talk her out of it. None of that
came. She couldn’t read the expression on her friend’s face
as she stared back for a moment, contemplating.
“You’re sure you can win?”
Faythe blinked in surprise. “Well, no, but Ferris seems
pretty convinced I have a good shot.” She winced. His
judgement of her skills wasn’t exactly solid ground to go on,
and even she felt foolish for trusting it.
Marlowe huffed, but a small smile tugged at her lips. “I
hope he knows if he’s slightly wrong and you come out with
even a scratch, it won’t be Jakon’s wrath he has to worry
about.”
Faythe sagged with relief and grinned widely. She didn’t
deserve such a loyal friend. Marlowe simply looped her arm
back through Faythe’s without saying anything more of it,
and they continued their walk. Her heart swelled. Although it
was yet another secret she was keeping from Jakon, it was a
relief to have at least one of her friends to talk to about it.
 Back at the hut, Jakon strolled in no more than ten
minutes after them. His lips parted to speak, but Faythe
hurled herself at him before he got any words out. Jakon’s
solid arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her slightly as
she clamped hers around his neck. They stayed like that for a
long moment. Faythe was overcome with emotion, but she
had exhausted all her tears last night.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into her hair.
She pulled back to look into his brown eyes and shook her
head firmly. “It’s me who should be sorry. I don’t know what
came over me. You had every right to be angry.”
“I’ll always need you, Faythe, and I’ll never stop caring
about you,” he said quietly.
“I know,” she barely whispered. “I’m sorry if I’ve been
distant lately, but it has nothing to do with you or Marlowe.
I’ll always need both of you, and I’ll never make you choose
between either of us.” She stepped out of his arms.
Marlowe smiled warmly at her while Jakon gave her an
appreciative nod. The air between them finally returned to
full, bright clarity, and Faythe filled her lungs with it in
relief.
“I think we should all go to Harbor Hall tonight—my
treat.” Marlowe beamed.
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

T he 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

F aythe 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.
“Next fighters!” a voice bellowed.
It shook Faythe awake. She took a deep breath, and the
pair exchanged a nod of understanding. It was a final good
luck from him.
Faythe turned for the entrance down to the pit and began
to calm her turbulent mind into a smooth river of focused
calm. The loud pounding of her fear faded to a quiet hum,
leaving only enough to awaken her senses, not shut them
down. With every step, she counted her breaths, slowing
them to steady the tempo of her heart. She dove deeper and
deeper into the well of lethal tranquility that forced her to
hone in on every teaching, every practice, every trick that
made her a force to be reckoned with in the face of threat or
challenge.
She would not be weak.
She would not cower.
She would not lose.
Her foot hit the stone floor of the fighting ring, and she
emerged a different person than who she was on the balcony.
The crowd had gone utterly silent. Faythe stood tall,
unflinching, and cast her bright gold eyes up—the only part
of her identity on display—to scan the onlookers. Everyone
watched her, even those who had been chatting idly with
mild interest before.
Death incarnate, Ferris had described her. And it was
exactly what she would become in this arena; how she would
win.
The pit master, a tall, skinny man, stood in the center of
the ring. His eyes grazed over her, and at the promise of pain
in her eyes, his throat bobbed.
“And the opponent!” he hollered.
She looked over at the other entrance to her left. After a
short pause, a dark-skinned, dark-haired man stepped out.
The crowd broke into murmurs and gasps as they took in the
sight of the tall brute—pitted against her.
He stood over a foot taller than Faythe, and he was built
like stone. He wore a beaten-up brown leather tunic,
completely sleeveless to show off his incredibly muscular
arms and draw attention to the fact he wouldn’t need much
protection against any challenger. He was a fool, and it was a
weakness Faythe had already noted.
If they wanted blood, she knew exactly how to give it to
them.
Another weakness was his sandal-clad feet. Faythe felt
insulted by his obvious confidence he would to be able to
wipe her out without much movement. A fool indeed. She
had every intention of making him dance.
His eyes scanned her, and his look was nothing short of
feral. “Is this all you can give me?” he called loudly,
throwing his arm out as though she were a mere cockroach
for him to crush. He wanted to rouse the crowd and assert
his status as the victor before the match had even begun.
Faythe knew the tactic and let him belittle her as she kept
still and silent.
Ferris was right. No one would bet on her given these
odds, and it would work right to their advantage.
Beneath her mask, she smiled deviously but didn’t let it
reach her eyes.
Her opponent got the response he wanted as the crowd
roared their laughter. Some even booed at the weak
competitor who wouldn’t offer up much of a spectacle before
she was wiped out.
“Last bets!” the pit master yelled before motioning for
them to take stance.
Chatter rose on the balcony, and she looked up again to
see people flashing their coin in a wild frenzy, likely not in
her favor. She couldn’t blame them. To anyone, this looked
like a shoo-in for the wild beast against the tame doe.
Then she spotted Ferris leaning on his forearms over the
rails as he stared at her. He was grinning, but she could also
see his look of concern. She gave him a subtle nod to assure
him she was not about to fall apart upon seeing her
opponent. She even surprised herself as she felt the complete
opposite.
“Weapons?” the pit master said.
The brute scoffed as if he didn’t think he would need any
but drew a simple steel sword from his side in one hand and
took a dagger from his belt in the other.
 Slowly, deliberately, Faythe drew Lumarias from its
scabbard on her back, not taking her eyes off his for a
second. They were wild as he stared at her, a hunter primed
to strike his feeble pray.
“Good luck to both. You may begin.” The pit master made
himself scarce quickly at his final announcement.
They circled closely, and Faythe watched his every flicker
of movement. Just as she predicted, he launched forward in a
lazy attack meant for a quick knockout with brute force. She
ducked and stepped right, missing the blow with ease.
He grunted and immediately swung with his blade this
time. She stepped out of his path in a steady motion. His
nostrils flared at her taunting maneuvers.
Faythe was yet to lift her sword, instead getting a feel for
his steps and going on the defensive until she tired him out.
Not out of breath, but patience.
It wouldn’t take long. She could already see his temper
rising.
He swung his sword again, faster, going in with his
dagger straight after in an attempt to catch her unaware. But
she knew that trick. Jakon had been the first to show her how
to block and maneuver around the attack of two
simultaneous blades, and Nik had built on that knowledge
significantly.
She ducked and dodged around his onslaught of quick
jabs and long swipes, enjoying the look of absolute rage and
disbelief on his face that he had yet to strike her.
The crowd had long disappeared to Faythe as she honed
in on her moving target with cool calm. Deciding she’d
grown tired of the foreplay, with his next lunge forward, she
twisted around him, concurrently bringing her sword up and
slicing down toward his exposed left arm. She felt the slick
tear of flesh under her blade and repositioned herself once
behind him, noting the deep cut that began to bleed from his
shoulder to his elbow.
Once, she would have balked at the sight; at the fact she’d
caused the wound. But this was a fight, and it was either he
or she who had to wear the scars when it was over.
She vaguely heard the gasps and murmurs above but
didn’t dare look up or lose focus as he whipped around with
a loud, animalistic sound that would send any sane person
running. She stood her ground as she faced off with the bull.
He saw red as he dragged his feet across the stone, poised to
charge.
And he did—fast. Faythe barely had time to register the
movement as she instinctively ducked low, pivoting. He
practically flew over her, and she swiped her sword to catch
his upper thigh as they switched sides again.
He roared once more and didn’t leave a second before he
was upon her. Their steel connected over and over in a battle
of feral rage against cunning defiance. Faythe had to recall
all her teachings with Nik to deflect with her sword while
being aware of his dagger and veering from that too. But
with all her tricks and training, she would soon falter against
his brute strength if she continued this way for much longer.
She feinted right, and where he went to strike, she raised
her sword skyward, bringing the pommel down to connect
with the wrist that held his dagger. It went flying from his
hand, and in the same breath, she leaned back and put all her
might into a kick that sent him stumbling back. In his shock,
he didn’t recover fast enough before she brought her sword
up and sliced low across both of his thighs.
Crying out, the giant fell to his knees.
In a flash, Faythe was standing over him, the point of her
sword resting over his heart. She panted heavily as she
looked down at her opponent. His face contorted in rage, and
she could feel it coming off him in waves mixed strongly with
embarrassment and disbelief.
“You’ll pay for this, bitch.”
The thought was so loud she couldn’t have blocked it if
she tried.
Despite the heat and the sweat that had formed a layer
under her suit, Faythe went utterly cold at the promise in
those words. Her senses opened up as if she had just
remembered they were in an arena and there was a crowd
cheering and shouting.
“The victor!” she heard the pit master announce as he
emerged into the fighting ring once again.
She backed up a step, lowering her sword. Her eyes flicked
to the skinny man beside her who stared back with wide-
eyed disbelief. Some people cheered for her, but many, she
noticed, were livid at her victory; at their loss of coin for
betting against her.
All of a sudden, Faythe realized the real danger was never
in the fighting; it was in the repercussions of winning.
She looked to the fallen man still on his knees and the
threat that lingered in those eyes. Had anyone lost enough
coin tonight to also want a target placed on her back?
Twisting on her heel, she hastily retreated to the exit and
hurled herself up the stairs where no one could see her. Once
she emerged at the top, she didn’t pause, marching for the
exit. Onlookers parted, opening a clear path for her as she
passed.
Lumarias was a dead weight in her hand, the edges of the
blade still slick with its first taste of blood in real combat.
She hadn’t drawn too much from her opponent and doubted
it was enough to satisfy the more bloodthirsty members of
the audience like the previous fight. But she had done what
she needed to do.
And she had won.
 CHAPTER 26

F aythe sat on a discarded wet crate in Crow’s Lane under

the safe cover of darkness. She had removed the scarf,
pulled back her hood, and unzipped her suit from under her
neck. She almost moaned at the cold lick of air that swirled
around her head and over her chest, feeling her breath start
to come easier. She discarded Lumarias on the ground next
to her, needing to find something to clean off her opponent’s
blood before she returned it to its scabbard.
She leaned over, putting her head in her hands while her
mind replayed the events of the night.
“You’ll pay for this, bitch.”
Such promise and malice in his thoughts—in his feelings
—it made her uneasy he might try to fulfil his wish one day.
She might not be so lucky next time.
Faythe had humiliated him. A giant brute taken down by a
woman. His mind had told her he was not going to let it pass
without punishment and retribution. This was a man of little
forgiveness and much vengeance.
Hearing a scuff of boots to her left, Faythe rose to her
feet, swiping up Lumarias and extending it toward her
intruder in a single breath. Still skittish and hostile in the
aftermath of her first real combat, when her eyes adjusted,
she beheld Ferris holding his hands up in surrender with a
wide grin.
She lowered her sword with a disgruntled sigh of relief,
and he came closer. Then she felt a surge of anger and
pushed his chest with both hands. He stumbled back a step
in surprise.
“You bastard!” she hissed, careful to keep her voice low.
“You’ve put us all in danger! A man like that isn’t going to
bow down and accept a humble defeat, Ferris!”
“Whoa, relax! Faythe, you’re forgetting no one knows
what you look like. You’re as good as a shadow to those
people!” he defended.
She retreated in realization and relaxed slightly, but she
maintained her edge as the echoes of her opponent’s feelings
haunted her. Her ability was a blessing and a curse—though
she was finding it far less positive.
“You’re safe. Don’t worry too much about it, okay?”
Ferris said calmly.
She nodded warily and took a seat again, still not trusting
herself to stay upright.
“Here.” He held a small package out to her: a coin pouch.
Faythe took it in her palm, and her eyes widened. It was
heavy. Drawing the strings, she emptied some of the coins
onto her hand, and her face blanched at the silver. These
were no mere coppers. She could already tell this was more
than what she’d make at Marie’s stall in a whole month.
“That’s for your participation and victory. And this…” He
reached into his tunic and pulled out another brown leather
pouch, which she took from his outstretched hand.
More silver coins—and a couple of gold, she realized in
absolute shock.
“This is your share of the betting profits. After I took back
what was owed for the outfit and claimed my cut from what
was left, of course.”
 She gaped at the money. There was so much coin she
didn’t know what to say. They had already made enough for
her debt to Ferris to be paid off in full. This was all
completely hers.
“Are you sure this is right?”
He chuckled. “You did a lot better than I thought. People
were betting like crazy for the other guy to make a sure
handsome return on their coin.”
Her face fell, and her stomach turned. “Won’t a lot of
them be pissed and want to get back at me?” She winced.
“Like I said, no one knows who you are. Besides, this
business is a sport to them. Sometimes you win, sometimes
you lose. They’ll get over it, and it won’t stop them from
betting in future, trust me.”
Ferris was not one to coddle or sugarcoat situations—
another trait she admired when the circumstances called for
it. Like now. She eased a little as he continued.
“Keep it up, and we’ll be living the good life in no time.”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets.
Her face fell in dread. “You want me to fight again? I
think we made more than enough tonight,” she said quickly.
“And when it runs out? Do you want to go back to running
pastries all day for a wage that can barely keep you fed?” He
looked her over.
Faythe knew he was talking about her particularly lean
stature. She didn’t respond.
“One fight a week, and you can keep your day job to
maintain appearances. Just tell that guard dog of yours you
got a raise or a promotion.”
It was tempting. Too tempting. She could do this once a
week and make a better life for herself and Jakon. When she
thought of what it could do for him, there was no question
anymore. After all, it wasn’t blood money. She hadn’t killed
anyone or done anything criminal to earn it. No—she’d put
her own life at risk and won in complete fairness thanks to
her skill with steel and her stealth.
With a deep breath, and without giving herself a chance to
second-guess, she said, “All right. I’m in.”
Ferris beamed darkly, and in his eyes, there it was: the
understanding she had just signed away her soul. Whatever
lay in the pits of the Netherworld would claim her soul
instead of the blissful Afterlife.
 CHAPTER 27

F aythe fiddled with a strange compass device she’d

picked up from the workshop bench in the blacksmiths.
Next to her, Marlowe was completely engrossed in the old
book of words and phrases that was apparently older than
the king. She was at least halfway through translating the
strange note they’d found in her mother’s watch.
It had been nearly three weeks since her first fight at The
Cave, and she had fought and won two more fights since,
with her fourth only a couple of days away. Faythe had never
felt more alive and confident in herself. She finally had a way
of putting her skills to use that would benefit her and her
friends.
They had spent many evenings together in Harbor Hall,
dining and drinking wine. Jakon had bought into her story
that the bakery had picked up and Marie had entrusted her to
run the stall alone on a higher wage. He was skeptical at
first, so Faythe had to be careful with just how much she
spent to avoid raising his suspicions about her unsavory
weekly activities. She had also been shopping with Marlowe
during the week and purchased a couple of new gowns,
tunics, and pants. Again, not buying anything too expensive
to keep her roommate from finding out about her new
unorthodox source of income.
 She had not heard from Nik since their last encounter in
the woods, and while she didn’t expect him to think of her
enough to warrant even a short visit to her subconscious, she
felt his absence more than she cared to admit. Had she
messed up whatever friendship they’d formed because of her
stupid overactive thoughts and emotions? Maybe he thought
he had nothing more to teach her—and besides, she was not
at risk anymore, so perhaps he no longer saw it appropriate.
Her mind had been too occupied by the fighting to think
about him, but now the initial thrill and adrenaline of an
approaching challenge was wearing off, she found herself
missing the fae guard.
“Have you heard the rumors of the Gold-Eyed Shadow?”
Marlowe’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. “Apparently,
she’s like a deadly ghost and haunts the town.”
Faythe scoffed. “Sounds like an arrogant fool who’s in
over her head.” She flashed Marlowe a grin.
Her friend chuckled. “I thought so too.” She was quiet for
a moment before she added, “You need to be careful, Faythe.
I’ve never seen a set of eyes quite like yours before. Unless
you fight blind, it’s the only thing you can’t hide, and it’s
your most distinguishing feature. Luckily, Jakon doesn’t
tune in to petty gossip, or he would have put the pieces
together by now. But I’ve heard mention of you here—clients
inquiring about new weapons to challenge you with—so you
should know.”
Faythe cursed herself. She hadn’t thought about her eyes
possibly attracting attention and had tried not to stare at
anyone for so long they would take notice. But with
Marlowe’s warning, it seemed she hadn’t done a very good
job of that.
“Don’t worry about me. As Faythe, no one is exactly
looking in my direction for anything anyway. No fool in this
town would be able to make the connection.” She gave her a
reassuring smile—the best she could muster while also
trying to convince herself she wasn’t in danger of being
discovered. Changing the subject, she asked, “Is everything
in place for tonight?”
All concern wiped from Marlowe’s face in an instant at
the mention of Jakon’s birthday. “Of course! He’s going to be
so surprised. I can’t wait to see his face.” She beamed.
They had planned a surprise party at Harbor Hall and
invited everyone they were acquainted with in town, some
friends closer than others. Faythe was to meet Jakon at home
and take him down there for a meal, just the two of them.
Little did he know, Marlowe would already be there with
everyone ready to surprise him.
The profit from each fight was still substantial despite
Faythe’s reigning title of victor. With her winnings, she had
been able to afford the whole space for the night as well as
hire the hall to cater a spread of food, treats, and wine. Jakon
would never suspect anything like it. They usually celebrated
each other’s birthdays by going out for a modestly priced
meal and exchanging a small gift if they could afford one.
She already planned to say Marlowe had helped with the
costs when he undoubtedly asked.
He had left early this morning, and Faythe was yet to give
him his gifts. She had splashed out on a selection of new
jackets, shirts, and pants as well as a pair of new boots. He
was in desperate need of it all. Marlowe had finished crafting
the sword for him from scratch, and it was impeccable just
like her own. She had an eye for detail that stood out as her
maker’s mark. Jakon was about to be spoiled like he’d never
been spoiled before by both women, and they had been giddy
with excitement all week.
“Good. Well, I should probably go. I want to be home
before Jakon gets back.” Faythe pushed herself up from the
bench.
 Marlowe gave an excited squeal in response, and Faythe
left her to finish up for the day.
When she arrived back at the hut, she decided to get
herself ready while she had some spare time. Earlier that
week, she and Marlowe had gone shopping for new gowns
just for tonight. Her dress—a white crystal-embossed corset
that overlapped long, lilac chiffon skirts—made her feel
beautiful and showed off the woman’s body she was slowly
filling into from eating well these past weeks. Faythe had
never thought she’d be able to wear such a fine dress and
still marveled at her new wardrobe, embracing the
femininity.
She went to work on her hair, pinning half of it back in
various places until she had some form of braided knot at the
back, leaving the rest in its loose natural waves. She applied
a thin, flicked line of kohl to accentuate the brightness of her
eyes and powdered her cheeks to give herself a natural
rosiness. As she was finishing off, she heard the door swing
open and dropped what she held to skip out and greet her
friend.
Jakon paused across the room at the sight of her, but she
ran and threw herself at him anyway. He caught her around
the waist as she flung her arms around him, squeezing
tightly.
“Happy birthday, Jak!” she squealed.
When he put her down, she stepped away and found him
still staring wordlessly at her. Her cheeks flushed as he
looked her over from head to toe.
“I thought I would put in the effort for your birthday,”
she said, shifting nervously.
“You look…” He trailed off. She knew it wasn’t lust in his
eyes as he observed her, wide-eyed; it was friendly
admiration. “Incredible.” He settled on the word and then
regained his usual composure. “You didn’t need to go to so
much trouble. I’m going to have to spend my birthday
fending off lustful men all night now,” he teased.
She huffed. “I hardly think so.”
“Trust me, all eyes will be on you tonight,” he said
playfully. “Let me just go change. Except now, I think I’m
going to be severely underdressed in comparison.” He
scratched the back of his neck with a hint of embarrassment.
“Actually,” Faythe drawled, “that’s where your gift
comes in.” She didn’t wait for him to say anything before
she scurried off into the bedroom and returned beaming,
carrying three different paper shopping bags.
He gaped at her, not immediately going to them when she
placed them on the kitchen table and gestured for him to
take a look. “Faythe, I… Where did you get the money for all
this?”
She knew the inquisition would be coming and rolled her
eyes. “I was saving long before I got the raise. Now, stop
worrying and open them!” she lied, pushing him over to the
table so he wouldn’t question her further.
Jakon pulled out each garment one by one, stopping to
gawk at her after every piece. She watched like a kid on
Yulemas morning, grinning at every new item as if it were
the first time she was seeing them too. Marlowe had played a
part in some of the choices, and she had to admit, together,
they had impeccable taste in men’s attire.
“I want you to wear the royal blue jacket tonight. The
rest, you can pick,” she said, specifically choosing that one
because she knew it was the same color as Marlowe’s dress
for the party.
He looked at a loss for words as he finished fishing
through all the articles, but he finally said, “This is too
much… Far too much. We can return some of it if—”
“You’re really killing my buzz, Jak, and I’m started to get
offended,” she cut in with a look. He seemed like he wanted
to protest more, but Faythe held her gaze firm, letting him
know she would kick his ass if he did.
Instead, he smiled, and with a long sigh, he said, “Thank
you, Faythe. It’s way more than I could have ever asked for,
so thank you.”
She embraced him again with a squeal of delight. “Now,
go change. I made a reservation for the best seats, and we’ll
be late!” She gathered up the clothing and pushed him into
the room before moving to wait in the kitchen, reeling with
excitement. She couldn’t keep still and paced around
humming a tune to herself to distract her from checking her
pocket watch as she’d done twice already since he retreated
to the bedroom.
When he finally emerged, she had to clasp her hands and
bring them up to her face to hold in her cry of happiness. He
could have been a painting; she almost didn’t recognize him
in his finery. He wore black leather pants that had silver
studs down the sides to match with the studs on his deep
blue jacket. His white shirt underneath was crisp and much
better fitted than his old ones. Finished off with his new
black leather knee-high boots, he looked the part.
“Now who’s going to have to fend off lascivious females…
and males, perhaps?” she gushed.
He nervously pulled at the jacket with an apprehensive
smile. “It’s not too much?”
Faythe shook her head quickly. “Not at all.” She held an
arm out to him and sang, “Shall we?”
Jakon gave a soft laugh and linked his arm through hers.
His eyes trailed over her again, and he smirked. “Look at us
—you’d have thought we just robbed the wealthy part of
town.”
She chuckled, her lips pulling up in a deviant grin. He
wasn’t too far from the truth.
Faythe practically skipped down the streets, unable to keep
herself still from the thrill of nerves. If Jakon noticed, he
didn’t comment on it as they idly chatted about his day and
what she had been up to earlier. She edited the details of her
particular activities.
Harbor Hall came into view, and it took every ounce of
Faythe’s control not to jump from her burst of excitement.
No one was sitting at any of the tables she could see through
the windows, and she prayed Jakon wouldn’t question the
unusual quietness before they could get inside.
She let him go in first. He gripped the handle and pushed
the door…
“SURPRISE!”
Jakon nearly knocked her over as he launched backward,
going to grab her from any threat of danger. Faythe howled
with laugher—so much so, her eyes started to well with
tears, and she doubled over, clutching her stomach. He
gaped between her and the crowd of their friends inside in
utter shock and horror.
Marlowe came bounding to the door and grabbed his hand
to drag him in as he stood there frozen. Faythe followed
inside just as some lute players started their ensemble, and
everyone flooded over to wish Jakon a happy birthday.
Every ounce of stress and lost nerve had been completely
worth it for that moment alone. In fact, Faythe decided she
could die right now and be happy that was the last thing she
saw.
Inside, the party fell into full swing. They had moved the
tables away from the center of the hall, allowing space for
people to dance and chat together. Candles burned low, and
Faythe admired her own handiwork as the glittering
decorations made the room sparkle beautifully against the
amber flames.
The food was delicious. Faythe was already on her second
glass of wine—perfectly normal human wine, thankfully—
while picking at some finger sandwiches and watching the
revelers sway in time with the lute players.
“You look magnificent tonight, darling Faythe.” Ferris’s
voice carried over the music as he came up beside her with a
glass in one hand.
She mumbled her thanks, taking in his own fine attire as
they both watched the party.
“I see you’re not letting a single coin of your hard work
go to waste.” He gestured around and gave her another look
over.
She smirked. “I’d barely call it hard work.”
“How do you make it look so easy in there?” His eyes
danced.
She shrugged. “Give me some real competition, will you?
It’s starting to get boring.” Smug, she took a casual sip from
her cup.
“Profits are starting to decline. People expect the Gold-
Eyed Shadow to win nowadays,” he remarked, using her
newfound nickname.
She hummed. “I’m not throwing a fight if that’s what
you’re suggesting.”
“Never, Faythe. I wouldn’t diminish your talents like
that.” He paused and then said, “But we should find you
someone more…challenging.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “And you have someone in
mind?”
He hesitated as if even he thought it was a dangerous idea.
That spoke volumes, yet she still couldn’t have braced
herself for what came out of his mouth.
“How do you think you’d fare against a fae?”
 She choked into her wineglass and met his insane
proposition with wide eyes. “Do you want to get me killed?”
she hissed, the music hiding her tone.
“All you’d have to do is outsmart him. Go on the
defensive until you can get into a killing position,” Ferris
said nonchalantly.
She glared at him, trying to hold back her expression of
outrage so people wouldn’t question their encounter at the
edge of the party. “If that’s all, then you can bloody well try
it yourself,” she snapped.
He chuckled in amusement. “It was just a suggestion—
and one that could rake in a much higher sum than even
your first night.”
She contemplated—actually gave the senseless,
absolutely ridiculous idea some thought. There was no
chance of her besting a fae. Their speed alone was simply not
a match for any mortal—not even close. She had dabbled in
swordplay with Nik, and he had never even been trying. It
would be near impossible to dodge their attacks. Unless…
Faythe straightened, sucking in a subtle breath.
Unless someone possessed the ability to foresee their
movements beforehand.
Her heart’s tempo increased as she thought it over. She
had done it once—had caught Nik’s leg before he could fully
move out of the way because she’d seen him plan his next
move. It would be a risk. A huge risk. And it would be her life
on the line if she took it. There was a high chance her death
at the hands of a fae would go unpunished, accidental or
otherwise. Especially as she’d be foolishly and willingly
putting herself in the line of peril.
She shuddered. This was a very, very dangerous game she
was playing.
“I’m in,” she blurted.
His eyebrows raised at her agreement.
 “But not yet. I’ll need a couple of weeks…for experience
and practice. I’ll need to be fully prepared,” she said with all
the bravado she could muster.
She would need to practice—just not in the way Ferris
assumed. She had only foreseen movement once, by
accident, and since that time with Nik, she hadn’t really tried
to tap into her conscious abilities and see what else she was
capable of.
He stared at her for a moment, an eyebrow still cocked in
surprise, giving her one last chance to take it back. When she
held firm, he gave her a single nod in answer; a phantom
handshake for the deadly deal she’d signed.
The song slowed, and Faythe stood drinking while she
watched couples join and sway to the romantic melody. Her
eyes drifted to her friends, and her heart melted at the sight.
Their outfits matched perfectly, and together, they brought
the starry night sky to the dance floor, dark blues and silver
accents creating beautiful floating constellations where they
swayed. They were laughing, eyes bright, as Marlowe’s
hands draped behind Jakon’s neck and he held her tightly by
her waist.
She knew she should look away from their moment of
intimacy, but she couldn’t help the sting in her heart at the
way they looked at each other. A set of emerald eyes flashed
in her mind, and Faythe hated herself for exactly who she
pined after in that moment.
“Dance with me?” Ferris’s voice broke through her
thoughts.
She turned to find his hand held out to her. Grateful for
the distraction, she took it and let him lead her into a space
where they could join and dance together.
After a quiet moment, he said, “You are some woman to
behold, Faythe. Both on and off the fighting field.” His eyes
darkened.
 A playful smile tugged at her lips. “It’s a shame I don’t
mix business with pleasure.”
He chuckled softly. “A shame indeed.”
 CHAPTER 28

T he party came to an end at one in the morning, and they

all left together while the hall staff cleared up as part of
Faythe’s generous rental sum. Marlowe had booked a room
for her and Jakon at the East Town Hostel so they could have
a night alone for once, not wanting to stay with her father in
the cottage behind their compound. They dropped Faythe off
at the hut and said goodbye with no small amount of teasing
on Faythe’s part about what they would get up to. Her
friends flushed in embarrassment, to her great amusement.
She didn’t change into her nightclothes, instead pulling
on a pair of leather pants and a loose white shirt and sliding
into her boots. Maybe she was being foolish, but she hadn’t
been able to get a certain arrogant, annoying, irritatingly
handsome fae guard out of her head all night, and she was
tired of waiting to see if he would seek her out—in her head
or otherwise.
As she slipped into bed fully clothed, she closed her eyes
and waited to fall into darkness. Then she awoke, standing in
the gold-and-white mist of her mind.
Her hands became slick with sweat, and her heart raced
with nerves. The last time she was in the black-and-gray
clouds of Nik’s subconscious, she’d had no clue about
anything she was—or what he was. So much had changed
since. That day seemed like another lifetime ago.
Nik could very well push her out with half a thought or
not let her enter at all. He would be aware the moment she
tried to project herself into his mind, just as she was
whenever he visited hers. Without giving herself time to
cower, she closed her eyes and thought of him. When she felt
the pull and didn’t immediately hit a mental wall, she knew
she had made it through. It didn’t stop her from slowly
peeling one eye open first to check, though, a part of her
hoping to still see gold. But it was the starkly contrasting
whorls of black and gray she was met with when she opened
her eyes fully, and she wasn’t sure if she felt relief or fear at
being back.
After a short moment, Nik came into view. She almost
stumbled, gaping at the sight of him bare-chested, hands
casually slid into his sleep pants. His usual loose-fitting
white shirts had hinted at his toned upper body, but this…
Seeing him bare made Faythe’s cheeks catch fire. She was
at a loss for words and screamed internally to channel
herself out of his mind. She’d clearly interrupted his deep
rest.
“I…I can go if you, uh—sorry,” she stumbled like an idiot.
“I was planning on a full night’s rest, but I couldn’t deny
you, Faythe.” A wicked smile twitched the corners of his lips
at her obvious embarrassment. “Why are you here?”
At least he was back to his insufferable cocky ways. Their
last awkward encounter hadn’t tainted the air between them.
“You haven’t been around in a while…” She trailed off,
having no idea where her train of thought was going.
“I didn’t realize I was needed.”
“You’re not,” she snapped instinctively. Then she
recovered. “I mean, it would have been nice for you to check
in or something,” she said lamely.
 “Why?”
Faythe gawked a little. “Sorry. I guess I made the mistake
of thinking we might be friends.” She turned to leave as if
there were an imaginary door when the mist shifted to wrap
around her middle and hold her still. Even her mind felt a
weight upon it as she was held from projecting anywhere.
Nik had once told her it was possible to become trapped in
another Nightwalker’s mind. It was why they didn’t often
risk it. Now, she was stuck here against her will.
“You could just as easily have visited me anytime as well,
you know?” he said softly.
She turned to him. All the anger she was about to unleash
faded at the remark. He was right. She had been just as
absent as he, and she hadn’t even realized, stupidly waiting
on him to make the first contact, thinking he wouldn’t want
to see her again after their intimate moment in the woods. It
had been nothing.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ve been…distracted,” she said
with a weak smile. She wouldn’t tell him about The Cave, not
wanting a lecture on the dangers and her recklessness like
Jakon would give her. “Can you meet me in the woods?” she
asked.
Nik cocked an eyebrow. “Tonight? It’s almost two in the
morning.”
“Please?”
He released a long, dramatic sigh. “Fine. Twenty
minutes,” he said begrudgingly. She felt the mist release her,
and then the pressure lifted off her mind too. He gave a
smug smile. “You’re free to go.”
She childishly stuck her tongue out at him and heard the
echoes of his chuckle before she was back in her own mind.
Rising to consciousness, she immediately shot out of her cot.
Faythe arrived first, emerging into the waterfall clearing
and taking a big gulp of pure, fresh air. She sat near the
water’s edge, idly picking at the grass and letting the
calming sound of running water hypnotize her.
After another few minutes, rustling came from the tree
line, and a familiar head of polished black hair and piercing
green eyes came into view. She beamed at the sight of Nik. It
struck her just how much she had missed his company these
past couple of weeks. It felt different, clearer, seeing him in
person compared to in their minds.
“So what is it you have to tell me that couldn’t wait?” he
said by way of greeting. He dropped down next to her,
casually leaning back on his hands as he observed her with
his usual arrogant smile she’d come to love and hate.
“I was actually hoping you’d help me with…my conscious
abilities,” she said warily. He looked at her in curiosity,
waiting for her to elaborate. “I want to learn how to control
them better—in combat specifically.”
The air was silent as she waited for him to quiz her
further. She had no doubt he would force her to reveal her
completely futile plan to challenge a fae in a fighting pit.
“I suppose I could volunteer to be your test subject,” he
said casually. She grinned in response. “But if I release my
mental barriers to you, I trust you won’t go poking around
where you shouldn’t,” he added in playful warning.
Faythe frowned. “How does that work? Your barriers. I
was able to slip right into Jakon’s mind and Marlowe’s.
There were no walls.” She cringed as she admitted to what
she’d done.
He cocked an eyebrow. “Did you now…? And how was it?
Being in their minds, I mean.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
He chuckled. “I’m curious too, you know? You’re
something that’s either never existed before or hasn’t for a
very, very long time.” When she didn’t respond, he rolled his
eyes. “They have them—they just don’t know how to use
them. And not because they’re mortal. I’m a Nightwalker and
a powerful one,” he said, not out of arrogance. “Mastering
the mind is part of who I am, and I’ve centuries of practice. I
don’t think you’d get past my barriers even if you tried. Most
of us are the same. With weaker immortals, you might stand
a chance. But those without our gift, fae and human, don’t
naturally have the instinct to protect their minds and
wouldn’t know how to even if they did. Some have trained
specifically against our ability and are able to form solid
mental barriers, but it’s not common.”
She hummed her interest. “Have you ever come across
someone with a barrier?”
Nik nodded. “Many times, but none I haven’t been able to
shatter through.”
Faythe shuddered. Was he really that strong in his ability?
At her unspoken question, he went on.
“I guess some may have held out against a lesser
Nightwalker.” Again, there was no haughtiness in his tone as
he explained the facts. “It’s risky though. If the host
discovers you’re in there, it’s as good as killing them. Their
fragile mind can’t handle the confusion of having two
essences consciously present at once; they don’t tend to
recover mentally. It’s also dangerous for us. A lesser
Nightwalker might never recover. It takes a lot of strength to
keep the separation and get out before both minds mingle.”
Faythe swallowed hard at the new information, knowing
now why he was so worried about her being discovered. Not
just for her physical well-being, but the mental danger it
presented.
“When I was in your mind, you said you could feel me,”
she said, more as a question.
“The other side of your ability is different in that respect.
When we Nightwalk, our whole mental being gets projected
into another’s. With your gift of consciousness, you’re still
completely awake and in your own head at the same time.
It’s fascinating,” he said in awe.
Faythe felt more bewildered than fascinated by the
concept.
“But I would be cautious,” Nik continued. “While I
believe you could dive as deep as you wanted into a person’s
mind without causing them harm, every ability has its limits.
With you, I’d be wary of having your feelings and emotions
become too entwined in another’s that you lose yourself in
there in the heat of the moment. You need to always be able
to separate yourself from the host.”
A silence settled while she pondered over the new
information. Then she spoke.
“I only heard what I wanted to know…when I looked into
their minds,” she began quietly, finding the grass suddenly
very interesting. “I haven’t tried going any deeper—only
what’s been on the surface. Thoughts that were just…there.
It was easy to hear them.”
Nik made a curious sound.
Since she was getting all her truth out, Faythe added, “I
Nightwalked through Marlowe too.”
Sitting up straight, Nik’s arm grazed hers as he scanned
her face, possibly looking for any sign of guilt of anger. “On
purpose?” he asked carefully.
She winced and nodded.
“Good,” he said, leaning back again. When she whipped
her head to him, he shrugged. “You needed to practice. I
assume it went to plan, or you’d be taking out a tree by
now.”
She chuckled softly, grateful he didn’t hold any judgment
or disapproval in his response. It was a relief being with him,
she realized. She didn’t have to hide anything about herself,
and he never looked at her with any kind of distaste or
hatefulness. He didn’t fear her for what she might be capable
of.
“Now, are we going get some progress made here so we
can both get back to sleep tonight?” he asked, getting to his
feet.
Neither of them had brought their swords, but Faythe
didn’t need a blade to practice reaching into his mind and
predicting his movements. She stood too, going over to
where he waited. Nik braced himself as if he were going to
pounce. And he did. She couldn’t stop her squeal of surprise
as he lunged impossibly fast, ducking and lifting her over his
shoulder.
Not even winded from the sudden movement, she was
astonished by his delicate hold. “Put me down!” she
shrieked.
He rumbled with laugher beneath her, but just as fast as
he’d scooped her up, she was once again on her own two
feet, dizzy from bewilderment.
“Sorry. I thought we were starting.”
She gaped and then dropped her face into a scowl.
Changing stance, Faythe braced herself this time. She took a
breath and locked eyes with him.
“Are you ready?”
She heard the question at the edge of his mind. The
corners of her mouth twitched up in response—and in
taunting challenge.
“Don’t hold back,” she said.
He answered with a wicked grin.
She saw his first intention to go for her legs again a split
second before he physically moved, and she jumped right to
narrowly dart out of his path. Turning around, he
straightened, giving her an approving side smile. Nik didn’t
waste a second, the thought of his next attack flashing from
his mind to hers, and she twisted around him in the nick of
time.
Her heart raced from the concentration she had to hold to
keep track of him and his speed. She saw his following
maneuver, but she was a second too late in avoiding it before
he swiped her feet from under her with a side kick. He
caught her with an arm around her waist before she could hit
the ground, their faces coming intimately close as he
straightened, and in a flash, the feelings from their last
near-kiss pulsed through her.
They were gone the moment he released her and stepped
away. Faythe noticed his taunting grin had also vanished.
Clearing her throat, she said, “I need to be faster.” She
was already panting—not from physical exertion, but the
mental toll it took.
He gave a short nod. “Try again.”

They practiced for another hour, and she gained speed on

her reaction time—slightly, as the thoughts flowed into her
more naturally. Still, she couldn’t keep it up for long before
he had her beat.
She sprawled out on the grass, feeling both mentally and
physically drained. Nik sat beside her, looking completely
unfazed.
“Do you ever get tired?” she remarked in irritation.
“Of course I do.” He smirked down at her. “Just not
nearly as easily.”
They sat in a long minute of silence, and when her
breathing was once again normal, she lifted herself upright
next to him. “We could work out a schedule,” she said, “to
meet here for practice. If you can, that is.”
 He shot her a side glance, thinking it over. “I suppose I
could dedicate some of my nights to helping. I’m nothing if
not charitable.”
She pushed his arm playfully, but he barely budged, her
palm feeling like it connected with a slightly cushioned
stone.
Breaking through their peace, a loud, animalistic scoff
sounded behind her. Faythe whipped her head around, then
she shot to her feet at the sight.
The mighty white stag!
It took her a moment in her shock to ask, “You see it too,
right?”
“The giant beast? Yes, Faythe, I think it’s pretty damn
hard to miss,” he retorted.
She didn’t respond to his sarcasm, relieved she wasn’t
hallucinating. “Do you know what it is?” she asked instead.
Before he could state the obvious in that irritatingly derisive
way of his, she added, “I mean, what it wants?”
It was uncanny how similar this encounter looked to the
last. The stag once again threw its head sideways as if
beckoning her to follow.
“I would say that’s pretty obvious too. Wouldn’t you?”
She bit back her retort but managed a glare in his
direction. “Have you seen it before?”
He shook his head. “Never.”
Since he wasn’t offering any help or encouragement, she
went to follow it of her own accord and didn’t glance back to
see if he joined her. Just like the time before, it led her
through the uneven rows of trees and right to the same
temple in the clearing, motioning her toward it before
disappearing through the stone doors. She knew Nik had
followed and witnessed the whole encounter from his
footsteps nearby, and she shook her head, trying to make
sense of what she’d just seen for the second time. Not a
movement was different on the stag’s part.
“It was exactly like before,” she mumbled, confusion
creasing her forehead.
“You mean, you’ve seen it before?” he asked with piqued
curiosity, coming to stand beside her.
A vacant nod was her only answer as she trailed up the
stairs of the portico and pressed her palms to the doors.
“What do you want?” she pondered out loud. Resting her ear
against the solid, cold rock, she strained to hear if there was
something—or someone—inside.
“You need the Riscillius, Faythe.”
She pushed off the stone with a gasp. “Did you hear
that?”
“Hear what?” Nik said from behind her.
Perhaps she was going crazy. That seemed like the only
logical explanation. She dared to press her ear to the door
again and waited.
Nothing.
Huffing her frustration, she marched back down the stairs
and turned to look at the structure. It offered no clue or
insight as to why she should be here, and she wanted to
bellow her annoyance at the still stone building for wasting
her time.
It must be mere chance. The stag could have appeared to
anyone. Maybe it was on some centuries-old magickal loop
no one had bothered to stop; a message for someone long
since passed. These woods were bound to be full of ancient
tricks and mysteries.
Faythe shuddered, not wanting to stay longer and
discover them—or they her, since that was how it seemed to
work around here. Yet as she held her eyes on the symbol of
Aurialis that branded the door, she swore it started to glow
slightly as if beckoning her to discover what lay beyond. She
wanted to turn from the structure and vow never to follow
the damned stag again, but the reckless, impulsive side of
her dominated her sane, rational brain.
One word became a chant in her mind that she couldn’t
silence: the Riscillius. It had to be the key to get inside.
Fortunately, there was one book-loving blacksmith in the
kingdom who might hold the answer of where to find it.
 CHAPTER 29

T he early - morning air held a chill to it as Faythe made her

way to the market for work. Autumnal equinox was only
a week away, and eager revelers had already started
decorating the buildings with banners of vibrant fall colors
in anticipation of the full bloom of the new season. She
pulled her dark green cloak tighter around her and glared up
at the sun that mocked her by not offering any warmth. Still,
she was a little relieved the days were no longer so clammy
and dry.
Over the past week, she had met with Nik every second
night to practice her mind skills for combat—which was a
fancy way of saying “to get put on her ass every five
minutes.” She was getting better though. Slowly. She was all
too aware the fight with her fae competitor was looming
closer. Two weeks’ time, Ferris had told her a few days ago.
She’d had to force back her panic that it might not be enough
time for her to be competent in her ability to foresee their
impossibly fast movements and stand a chance. But she
couldn’t tell that to Ferris.
Rounding the last corner, she strolled up to the bakery
stall and offered a cheerful greeting. Her smile fell when
Marie looked at her sadly without responding.
 “We’ve been thinking, Faythe. I know you’ve helped us
for a long time now, but we just can’t afford the cost to keep
you any longer. Grace has agreed to help with deliveries, but
we don’t expect it to be as busy here with the cooling
weather.” Marie spoke quickly and nervously.
She was being let go. A month ago, Faythe would have
perhaps embarrassed herself by falling to her knees and
begging Marie to reconsider. The small, insufficient wage
was all she had to make ends meet. But now…
She smiled warmly. “I understand, Marie. You’re doing
what’s best for your family, and I wish you and your
daughters well.”
It obviously wasn’t the reaction Marie expected. Her
mouth popped open in surprise. She came around the small
counter and took Faythe’s hands.
“You’ll be all right, dear?”
Faythe answered with a squeeze and a nod.
The baker embraced her tightly. “Could you run one last
errand for me though?” she asked, shuffling back around the
stall and producing a small box. “Mrs. Green hasn’t made an
order for a while, but would you take this to her? I would
hate to think she might have had a bad lot the last time.”
Mrs. Green!
Faythe frowned, taking the box. How had she not noticed
when Mrs. Green was one of her most frequent and joyous
delivery stops? She had been so wrapped up in her own
problems, she hadn’t even realized how long it was since she
last saw her, and Faythe felt riddled with guilt at her
selfishness.
Then a dark feeling settled over her. The last time she’d
seen Mrs. Green…
Faythe nodded with a weak smile and offered Marie one
last farewell before setting off. She quickened her pace, the
urge to get there as fast as she could drowning her with
overwhelming dread.
Her nerves were irrational, she tried to reassure herself,
and she would be breathing in her relief the moment she
walked into the mill and saw Mrs. Green sitting in her usual
spot at the kitchen table doing something to occupy her
hands. Still, she was almost jogging by the time she rounded
the next corner and the large off-white building came into
view.
She hurled herself through the door, not bothering to
knock or call out.
When the familiar chirp of Mrs. Green’s voice didn’t greet
her straight away, her stomach dropped further. Faythe
walked into the kitchen and found it empty. She called out in
the hope someone would echo back. Leaving the box on the
table, she continued her search as a daunting feeling set her
on edge.
Everything was too still and untouched.
Too quiet.
Hearing movement from outside, she loosened off
slightly. One of the workers! They would know where she
was.
Out the back door, she spotted an older man by the shed
grinding some contraption she assumed was full of grain.
She practically ran to him, blurting out, “Have you seen Mrs.
Green?”
He jumped in surprise at her sudden outburst, and Faythe
mumbled a quick apology.
“You haven’t heard?” he said.
She blanched immediately. “Heard what?”
His face fell grave. “She was taken near two months ago
now, to the castle. She never came back,” he said solemnly.
Taken… Just as they had gotten Reuben out. Faythe had
told Mrs. Green she would be safe.
 Her hand shot up to cover her wide mouth, and she
backed up a few steps as if the news were a physical blow.
The pain was similar. Her chest tightened painfully, and the
air around her refused to fill her lungs properly.
The man muttered something else, condolences she could
faintly hear. “Some fae guards came in the middle of the
night. One had a particularly nasty-looking face with a long
scar,” he recalled.
The man tilted. No—it was her own vision that wavered
and threatened to make her collapse at the malicious face
that flashed to the forefront of her mind. Captain Varis. He
had been here, and he had seized Mrs. Green. Had she been
brutally handled like the innkeeper’s son?
Oh Gods, oh Gods!
Faythe’s stomach twisted as nausea washed through her.
It was her fault—she had told Mrs. Green she would be safe
if she didn’t know anything and had sworn to Reuben she
would look out for his mother. She had to blink fast to stay
present through the waves of dizziness while her thoughts
became a whirlwind. She didn’t know what to do, think, or
how to react.
Twisting on her heel, she took off.
Her feet slapped loudly against the cobblestone as she
sprinted down the streets, barely dodging the pedestrian
traffic. Her cloak bellowed behind her, and she didn’t stop
for a second even when her lungs and throat caught fire,
begging her to rest. She kept running through the grass and
all the way up hills, across long fields, until she saw him.
Jakon glanced up from his work, then he did a double take
when he spotted her hurling herself over the plowed fields
toward him. Dropping his shovel, he briskly walked to meet
her.
Faythe came to an abrupt halt in front of him but couldn’t
get her words out as the exertion of her long sprint caught
up with her all at once. She panted hard and nearly doubled
over to throw up, but Jakon grabbed her by the shoulders, his
face chalk-white as he frantically looked her over.
“Faythe, what’s wrong?” he asked in panic. “What’s
happened?”
She gathered enough breath, and her eyes burned as she
said, “Mrs. Green… They took her.”
Jakon released a rush of breath at the information,
disturbed but apparently relieved the grave news wasn’t
about her or Marlowe. He embraced her as if she might
collapse, and she very well might have if he didn’t hold her
as she released her grief into his shoulder.
He let Faythe cry and compile herself before pulling back
to look at her. “Tell me what happened.”
They retreated into a barn and sat on stacks of hay as
Faythe relayed the vague information she knew.
“Shit,” Jakon swore, pouncing to his feet. “What reason
would they have for taking her?” He began to pace the floor.
Faythe shrugged weakly. “Maybe she knew more than she
was letting on, or maybe they’re more ruthless than we
thought and are eliminating whole households that displease
them.”
Jakon ranted a colorful array of curses and insults to
portray exactly what he thought of the fae, their guards, and
the royals. Faythe was too hollow in her own grief—her own
guilt—to have room for anger.
“It’s my fault. I should have got them both to leave, but
I…I told her she’d be safe.”
Jakon sat next to her and put his hand under her chin,
tilting her head so she could look him in the eye. His
remained fierce as he said, “This is not your fault. Her death
is not on your conscience, not even for a second.”
Neither of them considered the possibility she could still
be alive. The fae didn’t take human prisoners. But it still
stung Faythe’s heart to hear the word that was so final.
Death.
“She must have known they would come and didn’t want
to risk ruining Reuben’s escape. We can only hope she
sacrificed herself with the intention of saving her son—that
it wasn’t in vain,” he said, and Faythe picked up on his slight
tone of uncertainty.
If they had failed—if Reuben hadn’t made it to safety—
her death and his would be in vain.
Faythe couldn’t dwell on it further for fear she would fall
apart completely. She left Jakon to finish his workday and
headed back to the hut. She didn’t plan to tell him she no
longer had a job at Marie’s stall. She would keep up the
pretense to justify her income. It was yet another lie, and she
hated herself more every day for the master deceiver she was
becoming.

At home, she sat in utter silence and let her mind reel. She
barely registered Jakon coming home or the small idle
chatter he tried to engage in over supper. When he was
asleep, snoring next to her, she shot out of her cot and
dressed swiftly before quietly leaving and storming all the
way to the woods. She spotted the fae guard with his back to
her through the tree line, but he didn’t turn when she
emerged.
“Did you know?” she said with icy calm. Her rage boiled
beneath the surface, but she wouldn’t release it—not until
she heard it from him.
Nik twisted slowly around, his face unreadable. “You’re
going to have to elaborate a little, Faythe.”
Her anger spiked and then simmered. “Mrs. Green—
Reuben’s mother. Did you know she was taken the night
after we got him out?”
He was silent, deliberating, and her patience began to run
dangerously thin.
“I did.”
She expected it, but it didn’t make the blow any less. “You
kept it from me all this time?”
“I didn’t think it was something you needed to know.”
She had to close her eyes and breathe for a moment or
else she would erupt. “He was my friend, and I swore I’d
look out for her!” she seethed, opening her eyes again to
blaze at him.
His face fell a little, the only display of regret he would
show, but then he wiped all expression away and started at
her blankly.
“Did you have any part in it?” She braced herself, not sure
how she would handle the knowledge if he had.
Nik shook his head. “No, but Varis found out about
Reuben the night before I did and had plans to bring him in.
When they found he was missing, they took his mother
instead. He doesn’t like to be made a fool of, so he conjured a
story about how he saw the same traitorous actions in her
mind too,” he explained plainly.
It made Faythe sick. She had never seen him so detached
and unreadable. She wanted to believe him—he had no
reason to lie—but he was fae and a king’s guard; she would
be a fool to think he was any different to his companions
when they were all tethered by the same leash. Her anger
flared to a reckless rage, and before she could stop herself,
she honed in on him—his mind—intending to take the
information for herself to be sure.
She was met with a stone-hard black wall, as anticipated,
but she threw herself into it and focused all her mental
strength on pulling it down.
“Stop,” he growled, his voice low in warning.
 She didn’t and kept trying until sweat trickled down her
forehead and a headache formed from the effort. The woods
disappeared into a faint blur as she hurled everything she
had into the block on his mind. Her mind was a wrecking
ball, slamming into his over and over while she pictured the
wall’s destruction that would grant her free access to his
thoughts; his memories. She could feel it weakening, but not
nearly enough for her to get inside.
“Faythe, stop. Now!” he barked louder this time.
When she didn’t back down at his second command, he
was upon her in a flash. Her feet were out from under her,
and she was airborne for a split second before her back met
the cool grass.
She breathed heavily as the mental contact severed, and
she took in her surroundings again. He was on top of her,
one knee applying light pressure to her chest, while his hand
held hers locked above her head. Her eyes flashed, and she
thrashed to get free, but his hold only tightened, and her
eyes burned in frustration.
Giving up, Faythe went limp beneath him, squeezing her
eyes closed to calm herself. One look in his eyes right now,
and she knew she would erupt again. He made her feel like
nothing when he enforced his strength, and she hated him
for it.
“Don’t try that again,” Nik said in quiet, lethal caution.
Then the pressure released completely, and he walked away
from her.
She lay there a moment longer, gathering herself so she
wouldn’t lose control again—then she pounced to her feet
and whirled to face him. “I don’t need your help anymore.
I’ll figure it out for myself,” she hissed coldly. She didn’t
wait for his response, twisting on her heel and marching
straight out of the woods.
He didn’t follow, and she didn’t look back.
 CHAPTER 30

S itting at a workshop bench surrounded by open books

she had no interest in actually reading, Faythe sighed.
When she awoke that morning after her blowup with Nik,
she instantly felt guilty for her outburst. Sure, he deserved
some of her anger—he had kept information from her when
he knew what it meant—but he didn’t deserve her attempt to
infiltrate his thoughts.
In hindsight, she was glad she hadn’t been able to break
through his firm mental barriers. He had looked quietly
furious at her for trying, and she didn’t blame him. She
sulked because she felt like she had lost a friend. Not just a
friend to practice her mind skills with; Faythe felt the loss
much more than that, fearing Nik would never forgive her.
She had come to the blacksmiths since she had nowhere
else to go with all her spare days and would be bouncing off
the walls if she stayed in the hut. She’d told Marlowe about
her dismissal from the bakery, and her friend had been more
than welcoming—had even offered to teach her a thing or
two about her trade.
Marlowe sat at another bench, still poring over the
foreign note Faythe had long since given up caring about.
However, the blacksmith was fascinated and spent a lot of
her time trying to decipher it.
 “I think I have it!” she exclaimed, making Faythe jump a
little as they had been sitting in silence for some time. “Well,
there are some words that don’t make full sense yet, but I
have most of it.” She twisted in her seat and beckoned
Faythe over with an eager wave.
Faythe welcomed the distraction and obliged, going to
stand close to where she sat.
“It’s worded like a poem, with stanzas and rhyming
couplets, but it doesn’t make sense really.” Marlowe held out
the new piece of paper she had scribbled her translated
version onto.
Faythe took it with a frown and read:

Spirits of the Realm, there were three;

A balance of life, soul, and death.
And all together they would agree
To balance the world until their last breath.

One to guide the light,

Her temple stands tall,
In a wood that begins in fright.
A fear is the key, or thou shalt fall.

One to tame the dark,

Her temple sinks low.
In a black labyrinth stark,
Blood is the key to chase away foe.

One to connect the souls,

Her temple rises high.
A winding path not without ghouls,
A bond is the key to touch the sky.
Each hold power of mighty great,
But together they form one.
The Riscillius is needed to open each gate,
To retrieve the pieces and undo what was done.

Faythe’s eyes widened as she finished, and she set the

paper down, pointing to one word that sent a spear of ice
through her. “Do you know what this is?”
Marlowe squinted. “Riscillius? That’s what puzzled me
too.” She got up and went over to the stack of books.
Faythe trembled with anxiety though she hid it with
clenched fists. It had to be a coincidence that it sounded like
the name she’d heard through the temple doors. Her
thoughts were a mess as her mind started putting together
pieces that would fit.
The poem was a riddle and had something to do with the
Spirits. She knew the temple she had visited must be the
“light” the poem referred to. The location was a match. The
woods had demanded she reveal her darkest fear, and upon
getting it had let her pass. Nik had pointed out the symbol on
the door—the circle with three overlapping lines—was of
Aurialis, the Spirt of Life and Goddess of the Sun.
She felt dizzy and had to take Marlowe’s vacant seat. The
killer question that sent her reeling: Why was there such an
ancient artifact in her mother’s pocket watch?
Had she known about it?
Faythe shook herself at the thought. No—she couldn’t
have known anything about it; would never have been in the
woods either.
“There are mentions of it in this book of old relics and
such,” Marlowe said, scrutinizing a new tome. “A ‘cillius’ is
like a stone or glass, and ‘riscus’ means something like ‘to
look’ or ‘see.’” She looked up at Faythe as if she might
understand it more.
 A shrug was all she could muster, trying to keep her face
impassive so she didn’t give away the fact she knew what
any of it meant. “It’s just an old romantic poem on the
Spirits,” she said, keeping her tone disinterested. She
couldn’t tell Marlowe about the temple for risk of her finding
out other things.
Until Faythe could make any sense of it herself, there was
no point anyway; she still had no way of getting inside.
Besides, whatever the Riscillius was, there was no guarantee
it was even in High Farrow.
“I’ve read of the Great Spirit Temples. These must be
their locations,” Marlowe pressed, coming over to examine
her translation again.
“Who knows if they even still stand?” Faythe drawled.
She kept her voice bored despite the racing thoughts that
shook her to the core.
“They say it’s the one place someone can make real
contact with the Spirits,” Marlowe continued, relaying her
knowledge regardless.
Faythe scoffed. “And you believe that?”
“You don’t have to be so pessimistic all the time, you
know?”
“I just like to be realistic.”
Marlowe rolled her eyes, and her brow creased slightly. “I
wonder what it was doing in your watch.”
Faythe stood from the bench. “Probably just some old,
forgotten tale written by a long-passed ancestor.”
Marlowe didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t say
anything else about it. “Are you ready for your fight
tonight?” she asked instead.
Grateful for the change of topic, she grinned smugly.
“Always am.”
Marlowe answered with a wan smile, and Faythe felt a
pang of guilt. She knew her friend hated keeping her deadly
secret from Jakon even more than she did. Regardless, she
helped by keeping him busy every time Faythe had a fight,
usually inviting him to stay at her cottage overnight.
She put a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “I haven’t lost
yet,” she said by way of consolation. “And thanks for
keeping Jakon…occupied.” She added a hint of
suggestiveness to lighten the mood.
Marlowe gaped, and her cheeks turned bright. Faythe
chuckled mischievously, moving around her to leave.
“See you tonight!” she sang before strutting out of the
blacksmiths.
 CHAPTER 31

T hat evening , M arlowe skipped through the door of the

hut without knocking—as Faythe and Jakon had insisted
a while back—and beamed at Faythe as she grabbed a meat
pie for herself and joined her in the kitchen, where they both
dug in.
“Keep your appetites. It’s the shows tonight—there’ll be
plenty of stalls,” Jakon said as he emerged from the bedroom
where he’d gone to change out of his work clothes.
Faythe cursed internally. She’d forgotten all about the
annual shows that took place in the square. They were a
small dose of entertainment before the autumnal equinox
outdoor ball at the end of the week and a tradition Jakon and
Faythe attended every year. She loved watching the
performances, and he knew it. Except this year, she had
unknowingly double-booked. She had a far more unsavory
activity planned for the night.
Faythe shot her gaze to Marlowe in a plea for help, but
her look suggested she had no idea how to get her out of
going. “I—I totally forgot. I’m not feeling too great tonight.
Maybe you guys should go without me?” she said
pathetically, unable to come up with a more convincing
excuse.
 Marlowe nodded in understanding, trying to help her
cause, but Jakon frowned deeply.
“That’s never stopped you missing the shows before,” he
accused.
Faythe wracked her brain, but nothing came up. He
wouldn’t buy that she was simply too ill to attend, so she
mustered a weak smile.
“You’re right. I guess I could come for a bit.”
Jakon relaxed, and Marlowe disguised her worry with a
wide grin.
“I’ll just go change,” Faythe said to excuse herself.
In the bedroom, she cursed again as she stripped down.
She had to think of something to excuse herself early, but for
now…
She climbed into her fighting suit and pulled on her boots
before choosing a dark crimson gown and sliding into it over
her leathers. It made her a little bulky, but not enough that
Jakon would notice, especially not if she wore her black cloak
over the top.
The bedroom door opened with a creak, and she jumped,
but she relaxed when Marlowe’s head poked around the
frame.
“What are you going to do?” she whispered.
“I’ll have to leave early.” Faythe lifted her gown to show
what she wore underneath.
Marlowe grinned in appreciation.
“Can you convince him to leave with you now? I’ll need a
minute to stash the other things.”
Marlowe answered with a nod. “Good luck,” she mumbled
before closing the door again.
Faythe heard them chatting in the kitchen when she went
into the washroom to braid back her hair and hoped Jakon
wouldn’t think anything of her hairstyle choice. She usually
only pulled all her hair back when she went to practice
swordplay or on particularity hot days.
When the door clicked shut, signaling their leave, she
slung her cloak on and gathered her other fighting items
without a wasted second.

Faythe walked hastily through the streets with her hood up.
It was unusually busy with the shows going on, and she
found herself having to weave and squeeze through small
crowds on her way to the square. She concealed her other
fighting items under her cloak, but no one paid her any
attention.
Taking a long route down a backstreet she knew would be
quiet, she ducked into Crow’s Lane after checking the coast
was clear. There, she found an old discarded crate and lifted
it, placing her items down before covering them over with
the wood. She added a few more that were laying around on
top for extra measure—not that she expected anyone to be
wandering down here. Satisfied, she left the way she came
and merged with the flow of traffic on Main Street headed
for the event.
When she got to the square, it was packed. A stage had
been set up on the far side. Kids sat as close as they could get
while the adults stood behind, tightly compacted together.
She had no idea how to find her friends in the masses and
cursed herself for not anticipating it.
An idea came to mind. Faythe darted around the corner.
She had never tried to climb the roof in a dress, but she was
wearing her suit underneath. She hoisted the skirts to her
waist, and with free leg movement, she scaled the usual way
up. Faythe lay on her stomach and peered over, careful no
one would notice her. This was their hideout spot, and she
didn’t want to give away their vantage point.
It didn’t take her long to scan through the heads before
she spotted the familiar blonde and brunette couple near the
edge of the crowd with drinks in hand. Location pinpointed,
she quickly shimmied back down to the ground to join them.
Weaving and nudging her way to her friends, she greeted
them cheerfully over the clamor.
“We weren’t sure if you would find us. Jakon was about to
head back for you,” Marlowe said.
“I have my ways.” Faythe flashed him a grin, and his eyes
instinctively flicked behind them and upward as if he would
spot her still spying on them from the rooftops.
“Why do I ever doubt you?” He shook his head, sipping
from his cup.
Marlowe held a glass out to her. “It’s wine,” she said with
a hint of caution, and Faythe knew it was to make sure she
didn’t drink too much of it ahead of her other planned
activity.
She nodded gratefully and took the glass but didn’t drink
straight away.
The lights that canopied the square went out, and the
crowd reacted with increased noise and piqued attention.
Faythe checked her watch. She had time to enjoy at least one
show.
The curtains drew back, and a lady dressed in a
magnificent ball gown appeared behind them along with a
large harpsichord. The crowd gushed, and even Faythe
gawked as the woman took a small bow and sat in front of
the beautiful instrument. Her fingers graced the strings with
a melody that weaved through the bodies, striking Faythe
right where she stood. The whole world disappeared around
her until she was completely transfixed. Then the woman
began to sing, and a pleasant thrill rocked her to her core. It
was a tale of the Spirits—their beginning and their purpose
—and though Faythe didn’t think she believed in such
things, she drank every word and marveled over the graceful,
poetic depiction. The lady’s fingers plucked and stroked with
such eloquence, the melody rising to the stars and beyond in
a quickened tempo. Her body moved with each note like a
wave in a storm as she poured her heart and soul over the
strings.
Then she slowed, and Faythe swore she looked right at
her as she sang her final verse:

The heir of souls will rise again,

Their fate lies in her palms.
With rings of gold and will of mind,
She’ll save the lives of men.

A sudden loud disruption in the crowd jerked Faythe from

her hypnotic state. She looked to Marlowe, who was beaming
and clapping along. When Faythe returned her attention to
the performer, the woman was standing, taking her last bow,
and did not look in their direction again as she left the stage.
But Faythe was left with a strange, unsettling feeling.
Shaking it off, she reached in to check her pocket watch
and realized she would be late if she didn’t leave now. When
no one was looking, she emptied her glass of wine to appear
as if she had drunk it before turning to her friends.
“I’m really not feeling good. I think the wine had the
opposite effect tonight,” she said, putting on a drained face.
Jakon’s brow furrowed. “We can go back—”
“Aw, but I’d like to stay,” Marlowe cut in for her. “I don’t
usually come to these things. Faythe will be okay—won’t
you?” She turned to her.
Faythe played her part. “Of course. You guys stay. There’s
no point in us all sulking at home tonight. Enjoy the rest of
the shows,” she pleaded.
Jakon’s forehead only creased deeper. She could tell he
wanted to protest, but at Marlowe’s sad look, he let it go
with a sigh. “All right. Well, I’ll see you at home then,” he
said a little reluctantly.
She gave them both a quick embrace before weaving her
way back out of the mob. She was quick at making it to
Crow’s Lane in her hurried pace and soon beheld Ferris
leaning casually against the wall, waiting for her as usual.
“A little overdressed, don’t you think?” he remarked.
She didn’t deign to respond and started pulling the crates
down, discarding them quickly to get to her hidden items.
Not waiting to see if Ferris would turn around since she was
already dressed anyway, she started to untie the back of her
gown and let it drop. He didn’t flinch, but she knew he was
disappointed she wasn’t actually standing in her
undergarments in the middle of the street.
It didn’t take her long to be fully equipped with her sword
on her back and her hood and scarf concealing her face—
fully embodying the Gold-Eyed Shadow she’d come to be
known as. She hid her dress just as she had with the other
items. Then, not wasting a second as they were already
pushed for time, they made haste indoors, refusing to stop
for anyone when they stalked past.
They arrived in The Cave just as the pit master was
announcing the victor of the previous fight. At the top of the
pit entrance, Ferris took Faythe’s cloak from her—as was
their routine now—and when they announced the next
fighters, she descended and let herself fall into her lethal
calm. By the time she emerged into the great fighting ring,
she was ready. The audience seemed to grow larger each
time she was here, but she never let it rattle her focus.
When her competitor emerged, she had to hide her
surprise. He was of a lot smaller build than she was used to
being pitted against, standing only a few inches taller than
her. While it might have been a relief to anyone else, Faythe
still saw the opponent as the toughest she was yet to face.
Her size wouldn’t be of much advantage in this match. She
would be wise to assume he could be equally as quick on his
feet. But she gauged she might also be an equal match in
strength—or at least close to it. That was all she needed.
The pit master announced the beginning of their combat,
and they stalked each other with a tracker’s eye. As
anticipated, he was fast. Faythe dodged a lot of his advances,
but he was smart and started to predict her moves.
She tried to feign right while going for an attack to the
left, but he saw it coming, and she felt his elbow connect
with her side, knocking the wind from her. She stumbled
back and didn’t have time to regain her composure before he
kicked her stomach. She went flying backward, hitting the
ground hard.
Pain stabbed her abdomen, but she rolled just as he went
to bring his blade down and shot to her feet. For the first
time, she was closely matched in stealth.
Their blades connected in a series of high-pitched
symphonies as they parried back and forth. When they met
in the middle, her opponent pushed his blade against hers,
sending her backward. In the same breath, steel flashed
before her eyes, and Faythe twisted—but not fast enough.
She felt a sharp sting across the top of her arm where the
edge of his blade had sliced.
Retreating but not losing focus, she gaped. She was
losing.
As a reigning champion, she’d let herself get complacent;
arrogant. Her flame of passion had dwindled into dying
embers. Besting brute men never challenged her. But now,
coming to this realization awoke something within Faythe,
and she found herself on the edge of his mind without even
trying. Everything was right there for her viewing pleasure,
but she couldn’t dive too deep or she wouldn’t be present
enough to fight.
His movements flashed through her. She deflected far
faster than she ever had before, gliding like smoke around
his swipes of steel. It was as easy as breathing when she gave
herself over to the instincts of her mind, and she moved with
graceful swiftness to avoid his advances and deliver her own
counterattack—all while being careful not to dodge so fast it
wouldn’t look realistic. Though no one could ever suspect the
advantage that dwelled within.
She had already cut him a few times, only to rouse the
crowd and satisfy the onlookers’ bloodlust. She let her smile
reach her eyes under her mask, taunting him as his
frustrations grew. He ditched any sort of strategy for a series
of lazy, frenzied attacks. Finally bored, Faythe twisted
around to avoid his final blow and kicked his feet out from
under him, standing over him a heartbeat later with two
hands braced to plunge her blade down through his chest.
The crowd roared as the man beneath her seethed with
rage—a look she was eerily familiar with. She made a few
supercilious bows, remaining in character for the revelers
above, before swaggering to her exit, a victorious smile
tugging at her lips.
 CHAPTER 32

F aythe waited in Crow’s Lane for Ferris to appear. Her

arm stung and still bled a little as she examined the full
extent of the injury, having no idea how she would explain it
to Jakon. The bruises no doubt forming on her side and ribs
would be much easier to hide.
Ferris gave a low whistle. “I thought I was going to lose
you there for a moment.”
“So did I,” she grumbled.
“But alas, you pulled through.” He held out two pouches
of coin—getting lighter each week, but still a generous
amount.
She snatched them, then she took her cloak and slung it
over herself.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
Faythe gave him a flat look, ignoring the fatuous
question. “I need more time to fight the fae. I won’t stand a
chance if I’m weakened in the slightest. Another two weeks.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but she gave him a look
that said it was reschedule or she would back out completely.
Ferris nodded in agreement.
“There’s already a lot of talk about it. It’s going to be a
packed night.”
 This wasn’t exactly encouraging information. Grabbing
her discarded gown, she made to leave, but Ferris grabbed
her arm.
“Even if you lose, we’ll still make good money. Don’t
worry about it too much,” he said by way of comfort. When
she answered with a small nod of thanks, he released her.
Becoming one with the shadows, Faythe made her way
home.

Expecting Marlow and Jakon to still be at the shows or her

cottage, Faythe threw the hut door open and halted in shock
at the sight of them in the open kitchen, seated at the table.
While she gaped, Jakon got to his feet, his face a mask of
rage and disappointment. Marlowe met her bewildered look
and winced, her face wrinkling in apology.
“I’m sorry, Faythe. He knew something wasn’t right. I
had to tell him,” she said quickly, silently begging her
forgiveness.
Faythe looked at Jakon and swallowed hard, waiting for
the shouting to begin.
“How long?” he asked quietly.
She would rather he shouted at her, if only so she
wouldn’t have to stare at his completely heartbroken face.
“I… Jakon, I’m sorry. We needed the income, and I—I’m
good at it,” she stumbled, unable to justify going behind his
back.
He laughed bitterly, barely able to look at her. “Clearly, if
you’ve been lying to me for as long as I think you have.” He
shot an icy look at Marlowe. “Both of you.”
The blacksmith recoiled at the comment, and Faythe
stepped between them.
 “It’s me you’re angry with, not her. I made her keep the
secret. You would never have let me do it.”
His eyes targeted her again. “It’s not for me to let you do
anything, but lying to me? And getting Marlowe to distract
me—that’s what you’ve been doing, isn’t it? It’s an all-time
low for you,” he seethed.
She winced at the words but regained her composure. “I
lost my job at the stall—I didn’t know what else to do. I
wanted to earn my own money with a skill I happen to be
really good at. It may not be up to your standards, but so far,
I’ve done a pretty damned good job,” she retorted, not
bothering to specify she had started fighting long before she
was let go from Marie’s service.
His eyes flashed to her arm, and he scoffed. “Yeah, it
seems so.”
She pulled her cloak back over it to cover the tear in her
suit and glared at him. “It’s the first time I’ve even had a
scratch, you prick.” They stared off for a long moment, the
tension growing thick.
“Please can you not fight?” Marlowe said quietly from
behind them.
It was Faythe who conceded first. With a long sigh, her
face turned apologetic. “Look, Jak, I’m sorry I lied to you.
Even at the mention of it, you were jumping in to stop me. I
chose to do this, and you don’t have to like it, but I need you
to accept it.”
The look of distaste and disappointment didn’t leave his
face as he huffed in disbelief. He fired Marlowe the same
look before turning on his heel and retreating to the
bedroom without another word.
Faythe whirled to Marlowe who had tears forming in her
eyes. Her shoulders sagged at the sight. This was all her
fault. She’d caused friction and distrust between them all.
 “Marlowe, I’m so sorry—” she began, but Marlowe
waved a hand.
“I chose to help you. It’s not all your fault.” She cracked a
weak smile that broke Faythe’s heart.
“No. I’ve been so selfish and foolish to think we could
have kept it up without him ever finding out. I didn’t
consider your relationship in this, and I’m sorry.”
Marlowe stood from her seat and motioned for Faythe to
take it without a word. She did, and Marlowe removed her
cloak, waiting for Faythe to unzip her suit so she could
examine her wound. Her heart fractured. She didn’t deserve
her tenderness—not now.
Faythe winced pulling her arm free but sat in her modest
black undergarments while Marlowe filled a small basin with
water and grabbed a cloth. Then she went to work,
wordlessly cleaning Faythe’s arm with loving softness, while
Faythe clenched her teeth to keep from hissing at the
stinging sensation.
“He was suspicious the moment you left tonight,”
Marlowe whispered. “He said nothing would make you miss
the shows, and then he started to recall other times he
thought your behavior was amiss. I couldn’t persuade him
otherwise when he insisted we come back here, and when
you weren’t home…it all came tumbling out. I’m so sorry,
Faythe. I couldn’t think of any excuse for where you might
be.” She sniffed, crying.
Faythe put a hand over the one that was brushing her
arm, and Marlowe looked at her through teary eyes. “This is
my doing, and his anger is with me. You have absolutely
nothing to be sorry for. You’re a better friend than I deserve
sometimes.” She smiled and reached to brush a stray tear
from her friend’s perfect porcelain cheek. “He won’t stay
mad for long,” she said softly, trying to ease her own fears
as much as Marlowe’s.
 “Maybe not, but I worry we’ve broken something that
won’t be so easily mended.”
Faythe knew it too. It would take time before Jakon fully
trusted either of them again, and her gut twisted. While one
secret was now out in the open, an even deadlier one lay
within her than was still unknown to either of them.
When Marlowe finished, she took a seat opposite Faythe.
“We should let him sleep on it. Nothing’s going to be
sorted tonight,” Faythe said sadly.
Marlowe nodded and went to stand. “I think I should
head home.”
“I’ll come with you.” Faythe rose too. “If that’s okay?”
Marlowe’s answering smile was enough. Faythe pulled
her suit back up and slung her cloak on, Marlowe doing the
same, and they headed out without a goodbye. Jakon would
know where they had gone and would appreciate the
solitude. His last look had suggested he couldn’t stand to be
around them right now.
With a heavy heart, Faythe linked arms with Marlowe,
and they took off down the cold, dark streets in somber
silence.
 CHAPTER 33

“H ammer , F aythe ?”
Marlowe’s voice snapped her out of her
wandering daydream. She glanced to her friend who stood
holding a small dagger poised over an anvil expectantly.
“Sorry,” she muttered, grabbing the requested tool and
passing it over.
Marlowe took the item without looking and went to bring
it down upon the blade but paused, examining it with a sigh.
“I know we both have our minds elsewhere, but rawhide is
not going to fare well against steel.” She walked the few
steps to swap her hammer without asking Faythe again.
Probably wise. Faythe had failed to retain any of the
information Marlowe tried to teach her about the
blacksmithing trade.
She had been staying at her friend’s cottage, borrowing
Marlowe’s clothes and following her to the workshop to
distract herself from her aching heart. They were both
suffering and had barely mustered any cheerful chatter in all
their brooding. Faythe had decided to give Jakon as much
space as he needed and would let him come to her—to them
—but it had been three whole days since he discovered her
unsavory nighttime antics, and each day, her heart cracked
deeper.
 It was the autumnal equinox outdoor ball on the hills
tonight. Faythe couldn’t even bring herself to be slightly
excited and had even considered not attending for the first
year ever. It was much like the summer solstice, with
bonfires, dancing, and stalls, but revelers usually wore
masks or dressed as animals as a tribute for a good harvest
that would see them through the winter. Faythe and Marlowe
had already been shopping for their outfits last week.
“How long do we give him?” Faythe pondered out loud.
Marlowe paused her work and gave her a sad look. “As
long as it takes,” she offered.
It didn’t help the sinking feeling Faythe had that he might
never forgive her—not fully. She had lied to him for over a
month and put a wedge between him and Marlowe because
of it. She was horrible and selfish and wondered why
Marlowe didn’t hate her too. She would deserve it, even
accept it, if she did. But she was also incredibly grateful the
blacksmith remained by her side. Marlowe was all she had to
keep her from full self-destruction. She’d already pushed
Nik away twice now, but missing Jakon was a deeper kind of
empty void.
Faythe pushed off her perch by the tools and wandered
aimlessly, eager to find something to take her mind off
everything. She found herself by Marlowe’s smaller
workbench, where the translated paper still remained along
with the original and a series of books, as if Marlowe had
tried to look deeper into some of the meanings. She noticed a
few scribbles and circled words on her translated version and
picked it up in curiosity. Next to the first line, she had
written the names of the three Spirits:

Aurialis, Dakodas, Marvellas.

A line was drawn from the second verse.

Fenstead: Silver Forests?
High Farrow: Eternal Woods?

Faythe froze, realizing that must be the name of the

woods she and Nik frequented. But she didn’t believe her
friend would try to visit the woods that seemed like a living
nightmare. No one tried to go in there.
She glanced at Marlowe still fully concentrating on her
work. No—her friend was a picture of pure, delicate grace.
She couldn’t imagine her ever setting foot in a place like that
and enduring the same horrors Faythe had. She went back to
examining the paper and the line that was drawn from the
second verse:

Dalrune: Mortus Mountains?

Rhyenelle: Niltain Isles?

The thought of another one of those temples being as

close as the mountains bordering High Farrow made her
uneasy. But they were just old, useless stone buildings. At
least, that was what Faythe convinced herself to retain her
sanity about how she came to discover the Light Temple and
what other magickal tricks could surround any others.
The third verse only had one possible conclusion for
where the temple might be located:

Lakelaria: Sky Caves.

Faythe felt slight relief. At least there was no chance of

her coming across that one. Regardless, they were all just
Marlowe’s speculations; her obvious thirst for knowledge
and ancient wonders coming into play. This was fun for her.
 One word circled in the last verse made Faythe’s heart
jump. A line leading from it said:

The Riscillius—The Looking Glass?

Was this Marlowe’s new translation of the word? Why had

she not thought to share the information? Perhaps Faythe
had done too good a job in appearing impassive to the whole
thing.
“You’ve been busy,” Faythe commented, waving the
paper at her.
Marlowe looked up and shrugged. “Just something to
pass the time. I find it interesting.”
She didn’t explain more, which Faythe found strange. Her
friend was always enthusiastic about sharing her findings
and going off on tangents about strange, wondrous things.
She didn’t press further as the blacksmith quite literally
threw herself back into her current piece, bringing the
hammer down time and time again with a little more
frustration in each swing.

The rest of the day passed agonizingly slow. Both women

were headed out of the workshop for home when they froze
in their tracks at the figure waiting before them.
“I have come to escort both of you ladies to the equinox
ball tonight,” Jakon said with a sheepish smile, fiddling with
a plain black mask in his hands.
Faythe let out a small sound and ran for him, not
bothering to worry if he was still too upset to accept her
embrace. It all melted away when he caught her and returned
her hug. The weight of the world lifted from her shoulders.
 “I’m so sorry,” she blurted.
He released her and gave her a sad look. “This doesn’t
mean I fully forgive you…yet.”
She nodded, understanding it would take time to regain
his trust but still overwhelmingly happy he was here. She
had missed him more than she imagined.
His eyed darted to Marlowe still standing by the curtain,
and Faythe stepped back. Jakon walked over to her and
stopped a foot away.
“I’m sorry, Marlowe. I understand you only kept it from
me to be a good friend to Faythe, and I can’t fault you for
that.” He shot her a glance—because he would have done the
same if she’d asked him.
Faythe’s face fell. She hated being the reason they had
any kind of divide and vowed to never use either of them like
that again.
Marlowe’s answer was a bone-crushing embrace, and at
the sight, Faythe’s relief flooded out of her. They had
returned to some form of normalcy, though she had a long
way to go to prove herself to Jakon.
In that moment, she decided her secrets would not drive a
wedge between any of them again. She would find a way to
tell them about her abilities, as ludicrous and impossible as
they were, and she would pray her friends accepted her as
the same person she still was—not view her as the weapon
she could become.
 CHAPTER 34

F aythe smoothed down the pleats of her skirts, anxiously

awaiting Marlowe and Jakon’s arrival so they could go to
the celebrations together.
Her two friends had gone back to the cottage so Marlowe
could change since Jakon had already come in his outfit for
the ball. Faythe had returned to the hut and now stood in her
white floating gown. Its bodice was layered with a feathery
texture that matched her eye mask. She had chosen to
imitate a swan tonight and had braided the sides of her hair
back and added matching feathered white clips to further
portray her animal of choice. She fiddled with the mask
adorning her face, and then a thought crossed her mind,
sending her heart into a gallop.
Would Nik be there tonight?
He had been assigned to patrol the summer solstice, so
she imagined there was a good chance he could be at this
large event also. It required more fae than usual in case
anything got out of hand, what with the streets being filled
and foreign vendors stopping in town to sell their wares.
The thought made her suddenly giddy to leave, and she
paced to curb her anxiety while she waited for her friends.
The last time she saw the fae guard, they hadn’t left on good
terms. In fact, that was a light way of putting it. She’d tried
to force herself into his thoughts against his will and as good
as declared she never wanted to see him again.
Faythe had been wanting to make amends for that night
since it happened but was too cowardly to infiltrate his mind
at night. The celebrations would offer the perfect
opportunity to accidentally run into him, and she would tell
him she was sorry and hope for his forgiveness—something
she was gaining the habit of doing to everyone around her.
She could live with it if he decided she’d crossed a line
and never wanted to speak to her again. She could, but she
cursed the stab in her heart at the thought.
The door swung open, and Faythe leaped in excitement as
she beheld her friends. Marlowe looked stunning in her
turquoise and royal blue gown that matched her mask. She
had chosen a peacock and simply glowed as she embodied
the creature. Jakon was dressed in mostly black. His sleek
mask had a slight point to its nose. A crow. Simple, but he
too looked the picture of elegance.
“Look at us!” Marlowe cried cheerfully, glancing between
them all.
Faythe grinned, bounding over to loop her arm through
Marlowe’s, and they left the hut, emerging onto the bustling
streets already thick with revelers in an array of different
masks and costumes. Laughter and chatter floated through
the air as well as the smells of bonfire and various delicious
foods. They stopped to purchase some chocolates and wine
before making their way up to the grassy hills where the
main entertainment would be.
In the dark of the autumn night, the hills were alight,
diffusing the sky with hues of yellow and orange from the
tall stakes that burned with passion and fury. People moved
around them, some throwing their own sculptures of wood
or bits of cloth into the inferno with an added prayer to the
Spirits.
 Faythe had been subtly scanning the crowds everywhere
they went for a certain fae guard but had so far had no luck
and was beginning to think her efforts were futile with the
amount of people and fae patrol out tonight. Though the fae
did stand out as the only ones who were unmasked and in
uniform.
They made their way over to a large gathering that had
formed around some fire breathers performing dangerous
tricks that had everyone transfixed.
“I’ve always wondered how they do that,” Marlowe
commented.
Faythe only hummed in agreement. She watched for a
while longer before she felt compelled to scan the masses
again. Colorful masks were everywhere. Couples danced,
children played, women chatted, and then…
She sucked in a breath as her eyes met with a familiar
emerald green pair.
He wore a black mask and had his hood up on his cloak,
but there was no mistaking him—Nik stared right at her on
the edge of the audience to her left. He angled his head,
beckoning for her to follow, and then he turned to leave the
spectacle.
Faythe looked to her friends who were still immersed in
the show. Jakon had his arm lazily draped around Marlowe’s
waist.
“I’m going to get more wine. Do you want anything?” she
asked.
Marlowe tore her eyes away to answer, “No, I’m good.
Meet us right back here?”
She nodded and didn’t hesitate as she turned and pushed
her way out of the growing cluster of people. When she was
in a more open space, she stopped to scan the mob again but
couldn’t see Nik.
“Up the hills.”
 From his voice in her head, she knew he had to be close
and watching her to be able to project the thought. She
twisted her head around, and sure enough, he was standing
at the top of the hills. Once she spotted him, he turned and
kept walking farther toward the woods. Faythe hastened her
pace to catch up, weaving her way past scattered bodies and
dodging children who ran through her path. They continued
until the clamor was faint and there were no people this far
back.
Nik stopped at the tree line and leaned against one,
casually folding his arms. “You look very eager to find
someone tonight,” he said in greeting when she caught up.
She scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself.” Her cheeks flamed,
and he gave her a knowing smirk. Desperate to change the
subject, she asked, “You’re not on duty tonight?” as she
noted his casual attire beneath his cloak. He didn’t plan to
stay long.
Nik didn’t respond straight away. His eyes grazed over
her. “No, I am not,” he said at last.
Thinning her lips, she was about to cower out, but she
blurted, “I’m sorry.” At his surprised look, she continued. “I
tried to push into your mind, and I crossed a line. So I’m
sorry,” she finished awkwardly, adjusting her mask as her
skin grew clammy beneath it.
He laughed, and she gaped at him. “How much sleep have
you lost over that?” he teased.
“None! I just thought it would be polite to apologize, you
prick.” She turned on her heel to leave but was stopped by
his call.
“Wait.”
She paused with her back to him.
“You did try to cross a line, but you didn’t succeed. I
understand why you wanted to, but I promise you, Faythe, I
had nothing to do with that woman’s death, and I would
have stopped it if I could have,” he said sincerely.
She slowly turned to him. She thought she would be the
one doing all the apologizing, so she couldn’t hide her
surprise at this turn of events. His face spoke volumes too.
He was sorry. And all this time, she had tormented herself
over what she’d done and would need to atone for.
“You’re different, Nik, from the rest of them,” she said
quietly.
His lips curled up. “I don’t know if that’s entirely true.”
“I do.”
He looked at her with an intensity that made her pulse
race.
Averting her eyes, she cleared her throat. “What are you
doing here tonight?” It was the first diversion that came to
mind.
“Am I not allowed to enjoy the celebrations like everyone
else?”
She didn’t want to point out that his casual clothing,
aside from the mask, suggested he wasn’t here as just
another reveler.
“If you came all this way to apologize, consider me
flattered.”
His eyes danced beneath his mask. “Maybe I did.” He
paused, looking her over again with deliberate slowness, and
Spirits be dammed, it set off all kinds of scandalous thoughts.
“Or maybe I came to see just what great spectacles the outer
town had to offer.”
She didn’t balk at his gaze, lifting her chin. “And how do
they fare in comparison to your fancy inner city?”
His smile widened, and his eyes flashed. He straightened
and stalked over to her, coming so close she could take one
last daring step and close the gap between their bodies.
Leaning his head in close, his warm breath on her neck sent
ripples of desire down her spine to pool at her core.
“I think I much prefer the sights to behold here,” he said,
each word vibrating wonderfully over her skin. She had to
suck in a breath when she felt his fingers graze slowly over
the feathers of her bodice, trailing right between her breasts
to finish at her navel. “How fitting,” he mumbled quietly.
She didn’t know what he meant by it—or really care in
that moment as his lips hovered below her ear. The whisper
of a kiss lay there, and she wanted him to make contact so
desperately she thought she would come apart.
Then he stepped back swiftly with a wicked smile.
She must have looked as dazed as she felt. He slid his
hands into his pockets, amused, while he watched her try to
clear her head and calm her frenzied heartbeat.
“Your friends will be wondering where you are by now,”
he said innocently.
Her mouth popped open, trying to form a retort, but when
nothing came, all she could mutter was, “Prick.” She turned
on her heel to stalk back down the hills while the echoes of
his laughter followed her.
Faythe stopped by a stall selling wine and purchased a cup
before heading back to where she’d left her friends. Jakon
and Marlowe were at the edge of the fire show, out from the
crowd, laughing with each other. She almost didn’t want to
interrupt their moment of carefree joy.
Still, she approached in a haste. “Sorry—the queue was
long,” she said. Her breathlessness wasn’t fake, however.
“You didn’t miss much. We were going to go watch the
magicians next.” Marlowe beamed.
Faythe rolled her eyes. “You know it’s not real magick,
right?” she teased. Only the fae possessed magick, and it was
usually confined to one form. These “magicians” were
merely cunning human tricksters.
 “Don’t be such a killjoy,” Marlow grumbled, grabbing her
arm and dragging her in that direction anyway.

They stayed for another hour, trailing around and visiting

different stalls and entertainers until they started to get tired
of all the flamboyance. They removed their masks as they
left the greenery, and Faythe moaned at the fresh air that
cooled her face where the material had clung to her eyes and
nose.
The streets were quieter as they strolled back to the hut.
They were about to turn the last corner when four figures
came into view like dark, looming shadows. Faythe didn’t
even have a second to react before the largest grabbed her
and started to drag her down the dark alley opposite where
they stood. His hand clamped over her mouth, and to her
horror, she caught sight of another brute grabbing Marlowe
the same while the other two tackled a thrashing Jakon.
Once they were all out of sight down the alley, she was
thrown against the wall. The impact ricocheted down her
spine, and stars danced across her eyes from the blow to her
head. When her vision returned, she recognized every one of
them, to her absolute terror: the men she’d fought and beat
in The Cave. They had figured out who she really was and
were now seeking revenge for their humiliation and disgrace
at her hand. And her friends would suffer for it too.
The one she’d bested on her first night held her. “You
think we wouldn’t find you, Gold-Eyed Shadow?” His breath
reeked from the closeness while he spat the words in her
face.
She had no weapons on her tonight—none of them did—
and she could see no way out of their compromised position.
At least, not with her companions. They would be able to kill
her right here, and no one would stop them. But Faythe
wasn’t afraid for herself as she looked to her friends in cold
panic.
“Your fight is with me. Let them go.” She seethed
through her teeth.
Marlowe was crying and near hysteric under the grip of
the tall, built man—her second combatant—and Jakon was
so frantic in his struggle that the other two had already hit
him several times in an attempt to silence him. His lip bled,
and there was a cut above his eyebrow.
Faythe saw red and snapped her eyes back to the crook
who held her. “Hurts even more now you see the girl who
beat you beneath the mask, huh?” she taunted. Anything to
get their attention off Marlowe and Jakon. “It gave me great
delight to take you all down.” She laughed haughtily. “You
can’t handle that I stripped back your guise and exposed you
for what you really are—a coward.”
His face contorted with inhuman rage, and he slammed
her against the wall again before sending his fist into her
gut. The breath was knocked from her, but before she could
double over in pain, he grabbed her by the throat, his grip
tightening.
“Not so brave now,” he sneered. “You’re nothing without
your fancy sword tricks.”
Faythe clawed at his arms as he began close off her
airway. Her throat burned from the restricted breath, and a
loud pounding filled her ears. She barely heard the
commotion of Jakon fighting the others, but then Marlowe’s
bloodcurdling scream sent a wave of wild panic through her.
She was completely and utterly helpless under the
strength of his grip. She would die right here, under his
hands, in a few short minutes. She had failed them…
Air flooded down her throat all at once, and she spluttered
as the brute was suddenly ripped away from her. Faythe fell
to her hands and knees, gasping for her lungs to fill with
oxygen once again. She allowed herself all of a few seconds
to let the dizziness pass and her vision to clear before she
looked up in time to see a familiar dark-haired fae take out
the final man. They all lay unconscious—or dead—where
they had stood just a moment ago.
She couldn’t even begin to wonder how Nik got here or
managed to find her just in time. Marlowe’s hysteric cries
rang through her, and her eyes returned to the alley floor,
where she saw her leaning over Jakon.
Then she beheld the dagger protruding from his
abdomen, and the world stopped.
She stared in wide-eyed horror for a second before she
scrambled to her feet, falling back to her knees beside him in
bone-trembling shock. His breathing was severely weak and
labored, but he was still conscious, and when his eyes met
hers, they held nothing but blind dread. She couldn’t speak,
couldn’t move, and didn’t know what to do.
It was Nik who spoke finally. “We need to get him inside.
Do you live far?” His voice was calm, calculating, like a
warrior on a battlefield to his comrades.
She mustered a vacant shake of her head in response.
Rough hands grabbed her by the arms, pulling her to her
feet. She went to protest and fall to Jakon’s side again, but
Nik was already there, sliding an arm under his back and
helping him to stand.
“Do not remove that blade,” he said firmly.
Jakon held his stomach where the blade was fully
submerged. Faythe could only stare, paralyzed by emotion,
while Marlowe’s hysteria was barely audible.
“Faythe, we need to go now,” Nik growled.
She snapped back into herself. They needed to act fast, or
it would be Jakon’s life. Every second counted. She nodded
sharply and rushed out of the alley, checking it was clear
before motioning for them to follow. Nik carried Jakon’s
whole weight—one arm braced around his waist, the other
holding Jakon’s arm over his shoulder—but her friend was
so pale and limp Faythe almost collapsed at the sight. She
had to keep her calm—at least until they were inside and
could tend to the wound.
Mercifully, they made the short journey without meeting
another soul on the streets. They burst through the wooden
door, and Nik set Jakon down on the kitchen table. Marlowe
began immediately crashing through the kitchen for towels
and a basin of water.
Faythe tore Jakon’s shirt without thinking to get a better
look at the wound. She recoiled. There was so much blood.
Too much. Blind terror consumed her. He wouldn’t live much
longer if they couldn’t stop it. And if they could, they would
have to pray to the Spirits the dagger hadn’t hit anything
major inside. She met eyes with Nik, but she didn’t have to
read his mind to know he was thinking the same thing: The
odds were incredibly grim.
Marlowe arrived next to her and began to press towels
around the blade. Then she put her hand around the hilt to
pull it out. When Nik’s hand caught her wrist, the blacksmith
could have killed him with the look she shot.
“He’ll start bleeding uncontrollably as soon as you
remove that,” Nik explained.
“We can’t leave it in there!” she cried.
Jakon was too quiet. Faythe looked at him. He was so pale
she would have mistaken him for dead if his eyes didn’t
flutter. He released a moan of pain.
“You are not going to die tonight, Jakon Kilnight. Do you
hear me?” she said firmly.
He didn’t respond, and her panic surged. She looked to
Nik for command as if he’d know what to do, but his face
was grave. He knew there was no coming back from a wound
like this on a mortal man, and the dawning of that
realization snapped something in her.
“Do something!” she shouted.
“Faythe, I…” He didn’t finish what she knew he was
going to say.
There was nothing to be done.
Just then, a faint beacon of hope lit from a flash of
memory. Faythe’s eyes widened, and her head whipped up.
She turned to Marlowe.
“Listen to me. You keep him alive. Keep him awake and
stifle the bleeding as much as you can until I come back,”
she spoke with controlled calm.
Marlowe nodded with a sob and fixed herself over Jakon,
pressing more towels to his wound. Faythe didn’t waste a
breath, whirling to the cabinets behind her and throwing
everything out of her way until she found what she was
looking for.
“Faythe, what are you doing?” Nik asked.
She didn’t pay him any attention, couldn’t waste a single
second, as she grabbed the small bottle and hurled herself
out of the hut and into the streets without another word. She
didn’t care that her white dress was now stained crimson or
what the occasional passerby would make of the ghastly
sight as she raced past. She hauled her skirts up to mid-
thigh and sprinted as fast as her legs could carry her, the
burning in her lungs disappearing in her targeted focus.
Faythe took a route she knew would have the least
stragglers from the celebrations and flew up the hills. She
didn’t pause for a single second when she reached the
woods. Branches clawed at her ankles as she darted through
it, but she never registered any pain. When the waterfall
clearing came into view, she breathed a sigh of relief and fell
to her knees at the water’s edge.
 It was a huge gamble and one that could cost her the last
moments at her best friend’s side, but she had to try—even
though Nik’s words haunted her the whole way.
“They say they can heal any mortal wound, but I’ve never
been able to bottle them.”
She prayed to every Spirit and God in the realm and
promised to worship them for the rest of her miserable life
as she uncorked the bottle and plunged it into the lake. Ice
doused her when she pulled the bottle out. It was just plain,
clear water…no glowing yucolites. She tried again and again,
but still, the container collected none.
“Please!” she cried skyward. She began to sob as she kept
sinking the bottle in, trying to catch them, but they mocked
her by darting away every time.
“Faythe.”
A woman’s voice, like an echo from a shadow, sounded
around her. She turned and beheld the mighty white stag at
her side. Instead of being struck with fear, she whimpered in
frustration. She didn’t need another stupid tour to the
temple; she needed the yucolites.
But the stag did not beckon her this time and instead
walked closer—so close Faythe got to her feet in fright that
she was about to be trampled.
“What is it you come for?”
It seemed to say the words as she looked into its eyes. She
blinked for a second, and in her desperation, she replied,
“My friend—he’s dying. I need…I need these.” She pointed
to the glowing orbs in the lake.
“There is no give without take, Faythe.”
“I’ll give you anything you want.”
“Be careful what you say.”
“Please!” was all she could cry. She had no time to play
this game.
 “You will have to return something that was once stolen from
here,” it said. “It dwells now within the palace of High Farrow.
The Light Temple ruin.”
Faythe didn’t have a second to spare or she would have
laughed at the impossible task. “I will.”
“If you do not, your soul will belong to my woods for all
eternity.”
“I said I’ll do it!” she yelled. Every second that passed
was a second closer to Jakon’s heart stopping.
“Then the bargain is struck.”
She couldn’t contain her gasp as she felt a sharp tug
within her—a chain that anchored her to this place and
would remain until she fulfilled her end of the deal.
Not wasting another breath, Faythe dropped to her knees
and dunked her bottle into the water once more. When she
pulled it back out, a whimper of relief came from her at the
dozens of yucolites that now floated within.
“Thank you.” She pushed to her feet and began sprinting
back the way she came. She thought she heard faintly, just as
she met the tree line…
“I shall see you again soon, Heir of Marvellas.”
 CHAPTER 35

F aythe exploded through the hut door, nearly taking it off

its hinges. She was panting raggedly from her flat-out
round-trip sprint but didn’t let the pain in her throat
register as she rushed over to Jakon’s side. He was still
breathing—barely, but it was enough.
“You caught them?” Nik said in disbelief.
She ignored him. “When I say I want you to pull the
dagger out…” she commanded Marlowe, who sobbed but
nodded, bracing her hands around the blade. “Nik, I need
you to be ready to apply pressure with a towel immediately,”
Faythe ordered.
He didn’t say anything and braced himself with a cloth,
ready to tame the immediate blood flow.
She felt a hand weakly curl around her wrist, and her eyes
met Jakon’s tired gaze. Pain laced his eyes, but she couldn’t
let it break her in that moment. He needed her.
She cupped his face and leaned down to say, “You’re
going to be okay, but this is going to hurt.”
He managed a slight nod, and then his head went limp to
the side, eyes closing, as his fingers left her wrist to dangle
over the table.
Faythe went cold. “Now, Marlowe!”
 To her credit, Marlowe didn’t hesitate for a second, and
Nik was right there applying the necessary pressure when
blood started to pour. Faythe couldn’t be too late. She yanked
the cork off the bottle and, as precisely as she could with her
trembling hand, poured the liquid over the deep gash.
Straight away, the yucolites came together as one over the
wound and formed a glowing seal. The blood dramatically
ceased but still fell slightly while the light magick did its
healing work.
The three of them stepped back to watch in awe, but then
Faythe lunged forward to examine Jakon’s face. She felt for a
pulse and recoiled in world-shattering horror when she
couldn’t find one. Marlowe sobbed loudly again and fell back
against the cabinets as Faythe went rigid in shock.
“Give it a moment to work,” Nik said softly.
Faythe met his eyes as if it would calm her, and it did. His
waves of comfort smoothed the edges of her sharp panic. It
relaxed her enough that she was able to go back to Jakon. She
grabbed his limp hand in hers and stroked his hair while she
waited in painstaking agony for him to take a breath.
The seconds felt like hours, and she focused on his mind
as best she could without his eyes to open the doors, coaxing
him to come back.
“You can’t leave me, Jakon. I won’t survive it,” she said into
his empty mind.
Silent tears fell down her cheeks when she didn’t hear
anything in there. It was dark and hollow. She was too late,
and now she would pay the ultimate price. Her worst fear
was coming true: Not only could she not protect those she
loved, but she was responsible for bringing perilous danger
right to them.
Just as she began to spiral into a bottomless pit of guilt
and grief, she caught the echoes of a faint voice.
“I won’t ever leave you, Faythe.”
 She sucked in a sharp breath at Jakon’s mental response
—so quiet she thought she imagined it in her desperation.
But his chest started a low rise and fall again. She let go of
that breath in relief.
Marlowe shot over. “Thank the Spirits,” she sobbed.
After a few more tense seconds, Jakon groaned. His eyes
flickered open. He blinked a few times before he turned to
look at Faythe, and a small noise came from her.
“You can’t get rid of me that easily.” He gave her hand a
weak squeeze.
“It seems not,” she said quietly, a smile tugging at her
lips.
Marlowe came up beside her, and she smiled at her
friend, moving out of the way so she could take the spot. The
deep wound on Jakon’s stomach still glowed, and she had no
idea how long it would take for the yucolites to fully heal him
—if they could.
She ran her hands over her face and breathed her first
relaxed breath in what felt like a lifetime. Nik was right in
front of her, and she couldn’t stop herself as she fell into
him, wrapping her arms around his waist. He held her
tightly. She closed her eyes in silent solace as the events and
reality finally caught up with her.
None of them would have made it out of that alley alive if
Nik hadn’t showed. He’d taken out all four men in less than a
minute. They wouldn’t have got Jakon here if it weren’t for
Nik either. He grounded them—was the calming source—
when it mattered most.
“Thank you.”
She projected the words to him and hoped he heard
through his walls.
“There’s nothing to thank me for, Faythe. You saved him.”
“I’m also the reason he almost died.”
 Something in her cracked at the truth. This was all her
fault.
Nik’s arms gripped her shoulders, pulling her back to look
at him.
“Walk with me?”
She looked at her friends. Marlowe stood over Jakon,
gently stroking his hair while he fell asleep. Faythe’s eyes
darted to his chest in a spear of panic, but it eased when she
noted the steady rise and fall.
Walking over, she put an arm around Marlowe in quiet
comfort. “I won’t be gone long,” she said quietly.
Marlowe looked at her and then at Nik and gave a small
nod, returning her focus to Jakon wordlessly.
Faythe looked down at herself. Her white gown was
stained with Jakon’s blood, and it turned her stomach. She
excused herself to quickly change and then went to the
washroom to scrub her hands at least. A full-body wash
would have to wait.
She threw on her black cloak and emerged, checking
Jakon over one final time. Assessing that he was in good
hands, with the yucolites still working their magick, she
followed Nik out into the night.

They walked in silence for a few streets until they turned

into a narrow, dimly lit alley.
Nik stopped to turn to her. When he didn’t immediately
speak, she did.
“How did you know where to find me tonight?”
It wasn’t an accusatory question, but she noted he had a
good sense of where and when to find her and rarely offered
any explanation. Though he was at the equinox ball, it was
too much of a coincidence for him to be passing in their
moment of dire need when she’d left him long before the
fatal confrontation.
He stayed quiet for a moment, brow creasing in
deliberation. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you ever since you
started fighting in The Cave,” he spoke at last.
Her mouth opened in shock. She was about to ask how he
knew about it, but he continued.
“I looked into that foul beast’s mind that first night. I saw
the look he gave you, and my assumptions were right. He
was never going to let it go.”
Faythe stayed silent—out of bewilderment or awe, she
wasn’t sure.
“The more men you fought… Gods, Faythe, you were only
adding more to his army each time. He didn’t know who you
were—not really. I still don’t know how he figured it out.
None of them knew, and I’ve been tracking them since in
case they did.”
Faythe was in disbelief. All this time, he had been
protecting her, and she hadn’t realized. She’d been so caught
up in the money and victory she was ignorant to the growing
danger she’d amounted against herself, which ultimately fell
on her friends too.
“Why?” was all she could muster in response.
She didn’t deserve it. Her friends, Nik—everyone was
hurt because of her, and her worst fear was coming true. She
couldn’t protect anyone, and instead could only rain danger
upon them.
He stepped closer, and she angrily swiped a stray tear that
fell. She gritted her teeth. She didn’t want to cry anymore
and felt her rage and guilt rising to the surface in that self-
destructing way it always did. As if sensing it, Nik’s rough
fingers curled tenderly under her chin, and he gently guided
her head up to meet his eye.
 “This is not your fault, Faythe. It was spiteful, vengeful
human men who have nothing else to live for. You won
against them, fair and square,” he said fiercely. “And you
put on quite an impressive show, by the way.” He gave her a
weak smile in an attempt to lift her spirits, and damn him,
she could love him for trying.
They stared at each other in earnest silence for a long
moment, and then he released her. She almost whimpered at
the absence of his touch, but he didn’t step back.
“You’ve been in my head enough times. I think it’s only
fair you let me in yours just this once,” he said quietly;
carefully.
Her heart skipped a beat. “I’m thinking…” She swore
internally. Then she cursed the world, cursed the Spirits,
cursed everything that made them such an unsuitable match
in every way. “Screw the damn consequences.” She pushed
up on her toes, hands going to the back of his neck. Then his
mouth met hers, and the stars awoke, chasing away the
darkness that had started to engulf her.
Nik’s hands glided across her waist in response, leaving
trails of fire where he touched. She was about to pull back,
only needing to kiss him once to know she wasn’t alone in
her feelings, but his grip tightened, pulling her flush against
his body as if he knew her intention. She didn’t object.
Instead, she leaned in further, arching her back and feeling
like she could never be close enough to him. Their lips
moved together passionately, almost desperately, every
impulse and desire that had been mounting since the day
they met pouring out of her and into that kiss. Her fingers
wove through the silk of his jet-black hair, savoring the
luxurious feel. She was all too aware of his own hands
exploring her waist and back, making her body ripple with
impulsive lust.
 Faythe didn’t realize they had moved until her back met
the coolness of the wall behind. He leaned into her this time,
trapping her between two forces of safety. His hands left her
waist to cup her face, and she whimpered at the loving
tenderness of his hold.
Then, just as she thought she might explode with ecstasy,
he pulled out of the kiss. She almost cried. But he stayed
close, resting his forehead against hers, and for the first
time, Nik looked almost as short of breath as she was.
Faythe chuckled softly, and he brought his head back to
look at her.
“Should I ask what amuses you?”
Her eyes danced with delight. “I guess it doesn’t take
much to make you breathless after all.”
He huffed a laugh, and Faythe’s heart fluttered at the
sight of him. He looked happy in a way she’d not seen him
before. It lit a small beacon in her among all the negative
emotions. Knowing she could make him happy—it might
just be her salvation.
 CHAPTER 36

J akon was still pale and clammy, but he was breathing,

and it was a steady, even rhythm as Faythe monitored
each rise and fall of his chest from her seat beside him.
Marlowe tenderly cleaned the wound that still glowed from
the magick of the yucolites. She had not asked Faythe about
them, and Faythe wasn’t sure how she would explain it or
their unexpected savior in the form of a fae guard.
Nik had left her at Jakon’s side an hour ago. He had no
reason to be here when he woke up, and Faythe wasn’t ready
to explain him to her friends yet.
When Jakon stirred, Faythe was on her feet in an instant,
scanning his face. With a weak tilt, he turned his head, and
his eyes fluttered open. After a few blinks, he went to sit up,
but Faythe held his shoulder.
“Just a bit longer,” she said quietly.
He looked at her then, brow creasing in confusion. It took
a moment, but she knew the events of the night had caught
up with him when his eyes widened in horror.
“Are you hurt?” His voice was hoarse. He studied her
over, and then Marlowe.
“No, but…you were, Jak. I’m so sorry.” Faythe’s lip
wobbled.
 He propped himself on his elbows against Faythe’s
protests and beheld the glowing line on his abdomen. It was
clean of blood and had almost finished sealing as the
yucolites began to dim.
His eyes were wide as saucers. “How?” was all he
managed.
“I’ll explain everything.”
She would have to. It scared the rutting damn out of her,
but there would be no more secrets between any of them. She
would find a way to live with their judgment of what she was
and what she had kept from them these past months because
her friends deserved to know. She had endangered their lives
with her secrets and would rather face eternity alone than let
them risk their lives in her web of lies again.
“Can you move? I think we should all try to get some
sleep,” Faythe said, exhausted both mentally and physically.
He nodded, and with Marlowe and Faythe’s help, they
managed to shuffle into the bedroom and set him down in
his bed.
Faythe loaned Marlowe some nightclothes when she
insisted she wasn’t going anywhere while Jakon was still in
recovery. The two women squeezed themselves into the cot
beside him, and Faythe let herself fall into beckoning
oblivion knowing she and her friends were safely asleep.

Faythe stood in the gold-and-white shimmers of her mind

as she flicked through memories of her longest best friend.
The thought of nearly losing him had haunted her on her
way to sleep, and she found herself immediately needing the
comfort of his presence.
Happy memories. She smiled and even laughed at some of
their earlier antics. Reflecting on their younger selves made
her heart hurt. They had been so innocent and oblivious to
the world around them. Even though they had never had any
luxuries and struggled to keep fed, their childhood years had
been blissful; the most carefree and joyous.
She felt Nik’s gentle nudge on the edge of her mind before
she allowed him to enter, but then his full presence
surrounded her. She didn’t turn to look at him as she
continued to watch the memories unfold in front of her like a
motion picture.
“I can leave. I just wanted to check you were okay,” he
said carefully.
She shot him a grateful smile over her shoulder, then she
held her hand out, inviting him to come closer. He obliged,
coming up behind and resting a hand across her lower back.
His touch, even in her mind, soothed every aching feeling.
“He’s almost fully healed. It’s a miracle,” she said,
turning to look at her friend’s face as she recalled the
memories to display in front of them.
“You look happy with him,” he observed.
Faythe detected the slight hint of a question in his words.
Everyone had wondered it at one point or another—why she
and Jakon had never become a romantic couple.
“We were… Still are,” she corrected. Noting the slight
stiffening of his hand on her, she continued, “I love him, but
not in the way everyone expects. He’s not a lover. He’s not
just a friend or a brother either… I can’t explain it.” She
twisted to face him, her hands coming up to rest on his
chest. “But you should know, I’ve never felt this way for
him.” She reached up to brush her mouth against his, and he
responded by pulling her gently closer so no air could move
between them. The kiss was short but needed.
When they pulled back to look at each other, his eyes
sparkled. He smiled down at her, and it made her heart
flutter wonderfully. It felt right with Nik. She hated that she
had ever denied herself before. They would figure it out, keep
it secret to whatever end if they had to, and only meet in
here or the woods if necessary, because any time she could
get with him would be better than nothing at all.
He leaned down and kissed her again, harder this time, as
if in silent agreement with her thoughts.
She sighed contentedly and turned to her memories again
just as the scene switched.
A much more recent memory: the day of the summer
solstice when Jakon had just arrived home, about to present
her with the sword she’d come to call Lumarias. She tuned in
to hear the excitement in his voice when he gave her the one
thing she’d wanted most—now her dearest possession.
Faythe closely examined it while Jakon explained its
craftsmanship. She grinned at the recollection as she had yet
to know the brilliant mind behind the sword and how close
she would become to the blacksmith.
“The blacksmith kindly offered the stone with no charge.
Called it The Looking Glass—some ancient stone that’s supposed
to bring good fortune and all that.”
Faythe sucked in a sharp breath, and her mouth popped
open. She couldn’t have heard it right. She rewound the
memory, convinced her mind was possibly was mixing up
words from another event. But then she heard it again,
unmistakably:
“The Looking Glass.”
She froze, and Nik noted her stiffness. “What is it?” he
asked in concern.
How could she not have made the connection earlier? If
Marlowe had indeed translated the word correctly, it meant
the Riscillius required to open the temple…
Looking over the blade in her memory again, Faythe was
astonished she’d never paid heed to the markings etched on
the guard of her own sword before: three similar symbols in
a vertical line. Blended in with the tone of the metal, it would
take a keen eye to distinguish them, but when she did, a cold
chill went through her as she identified the top one to be the
mark of Aurialis.
Why would the blacksmith put such a thing on her sword?
She knew her friend had a guilty pleasure for the Spirits and
other mythical lore, but it made no sense to incorporate it
into her work.
Faythe felt shaken with dread at the recurring sight of
that damned symbol. She cursed herself for her own
slowness in not making the connection sooner. But had she
really held the real thing in her sword this whole time? Her
stomach fell slightly. There was a good chance it was only a
replica from some nonsense merchant trying to get more
coin. A simple rock with no abilities whatsoever.
There would only be one way to find out. But…did she
really want to discover what dwelled inside the temple?
Perhaps there was a damned good reason it was sealed and
could only be opened with one very specific, very ancient
stone. She might risk awakening something that had been
asleep for centuries.
“Faythe, what’s wrong?” Nik pressed again.
She twisted to him. “Nothing,” she said sweetly, though
her mind was reeling. If there was danger behind those
doors, she didn’t need to risk anyone else finding out the
hard—possibly deadly—way. “I think I’m going to get some
sleep. It’s been a whirl of a night.”
He gave her a smile of understanding and ran the back of
his hand down her cheek. His fingers settled under her chin,
angling her face up to kiss him again. She would never get
tired of the feeling it gave her and the light it brightened
inside of her.
“I’ll see you soon,” he promised when he pulled back.
 She answered with a nod and then watched as he faded
into her swirls of gold mist before disappearing altogether.
When she could no longer feel his presence, she forced
herself awake.
 CHAPTER 37

F aythe ’ s eyes snapped open, adjusting to the darkness of

the small bedroom. She didn’t have to glance at Jakon to
know he was asleep from the familiar sound of his light
snoring. She cautiously tilted her head to the blonde beside
her—also sound asleep.
She slowly rose from the bed and tiptoed out of the
bedroom in a deliberate pattern to avoid the uneven spots on
the floorboards that creaked loudly. In the main room, she
didn’t dare move or breathe too loudly while she
maneuvered the space with stealth, swinging on her cloak
and snatching Lumarias. Then Faythe misted into the night,
giddy with an adventurer’s thrill.
Logical reasoning didn’t come into play as she darted in
and out of shadowed streets before scaling the hills to the
eternal woods. If she really held the key to those doors, the
Riscillius, all this time…
It could just be a simple rock. Then I can let go of my fixation
on the damned thing.
But the reckless, dark side of her hoped The Looking
Glass needed to open the temple was indeed within her
grasp. Her fingers flexed tighter around the hilt of her sword
in adrenaline-fueled anticipation while she marched through
the trees to the waterfall clearing.
 She halted abruptly when she emerged, her heart
skipping a beat as she stared incredulously across the open
space. The mighty white stag stood in wait as if it knew her
intentions. She didn’t let the thought rattle her nerves and
pressed forward, following the beast for the third—and
hopefully final—time. She would either come to find what it
so eagerly wanted to guide her to, or she was foolishly
trailing behind the Grim Reaper incarnate, happily escorting
her to a sure death beyond those doors, ready to claim her
soul that was still bound to the cursed woodland.
The temple glade unfolded in front of her, and the loud
pounding of her pulse thrummed in her ears as she watched
the stag float up the steps and disappear through the stone
doors once again. Realizing this time, she might truly hold
the key to follow it all the way, Faythe pulled her sword free
from its scabbard without looking, taking slow steps toward
the looming structure. The cry of steel awoke her senses,
turning her attention to the rational thoughts that screamed
the danger of what she was about to do.
There was only one glaring problem: How to use the
Riscillius?
She held up the hilt of Lumarias and squinted at it. There
was no obvious lock on the door, and even if there were, the
thought of having to ruin Marlowe’s perfect craftsmanship
to remove the stone pained her. Her sword was more than
just a key. It was strange to think she could be bonded to an
item, but her attachment to Lumarias was strong.
She stalked up the portico and held out the rock, pressing
it against the door at all angles and feeling over the rough
surface for any unusual marks or dips that could indicate a
slot for the Riscillius. Nothing revealed itself, and Faythe’s
frustrations grew.
Why lead me here and not offer a clue to get inside?
 In her moment of anguish, she growled loudly and
slammed a palm against the hard stone. It did nothing but
sting her skin and send a hideous jolt of pain up her arm. She
rested her forehead against the cold stone door, about to cry
out to no one in particular, when a soft female voice made
her whirl around.
“It’s a lens.”
When Faythe’s eyes landed on a familiar blonde head, all
she could do was gawk in absolute shock at the sight of
Marlowe at the bottom of the steps. She couldn’t speak for a
moment and blinked hard a few times to be sure she wasn’t
just another illusion conjured by the eternal woods.
“What?” was all Faythe could breathe in response, still
not believing her friend was really there.
Marlowe nodded to the sword in her hand. “The Riscillius
—The Looking Glass. It also means ‘to see what is not there.’
It’s to be used as a lens to open the temple.” Her voice was
different and her expression conflicted. It looked out of place
on the blacksmith’s usually bright face.
Then her words registered, and Faythe too glanced down
at Lumarias. “How would you know that?” she asked shakily.
Marlowe didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she climbed
the few steps to level with Faythe and held her hand out.
Faythe passed her the sword, too stunned to object or force
any explanation from her. The blacksmith gave a small smile
—which was a slight relief at least—and then she held up
the pommel to her eye.
Faythe watched silently as her friend reached into her
pocket and pulled something out. Chalk.
“I saw it…in a dream,” Marlowe spoke quietly. Stepping
up to the doors, she began to draw steady lines across one
side. “You wouldn’t have believed me before, and it was not
for me to tell you either.” She carried on tracing, not
meeting Faythe’s eye as she pondered her deep thoughts out
loud. “You needed to figure it out on your own. Everything
has an order. Disrupt it, and you can throw it all out of
balance. One small alteration to the chain of events…can
change the fate of the world.”
Faythe’s heart hammered in her chest. It was Marlowe’s
voice, yet the words shook right through her very bones, so
she couldn’t be sure if they were entirely of her friend’s
making.
“Did you follow me here?”
The blacksmith cast her a smile in answer. What it meant,
Faythe wasn’t certain. She raised the stone to her eye once
again before switching sides, continuing her delicate tracing
across the gray stone. Then she held the sword back to
Faythe.
She dared to bring it to her eye with a shaky hand and
gasped as she saw the markings glowing bright gold under
her friend’s white chalk drawings.
“The temple is warded by a memory spell,” Marlowe
explained. “You won’t remember the markings to enter in a
few minutes. You’ll need the Riscillius each time as they will
fade from the doors once they are sealed again.”
Did her friend know this all along?
Faythe looked at Marlowe through new eyes, caught
between heartbreak and admiration that she had kept such
knowledge from Faythe throughout their friendship. But she
decided she had no right to be angry for the deception when
she harbored a deadly secret of her own.
Then another thought froze her still, and she stared at her
friend.
Did Marlowe know about her abilities too?
It would be impossible. Her ability wasn’t something the
blacksmith could pick up from a book—not connected to
Faythe specifically. Though this didn’t ease her nerves. She
was an anomaly that shouldn’t exist in the world; a human
with an unexplainable gift…
Was the quiet, book-loving blonde one of her kind too?
Faythe trembled, unable to reel in her racing thoughts
and wild, outlandish conclusions about her friend’s
knowledge. It seemed too vast, too perfect, and Marlowe
always held the answers as if she knew exactly when they
would be needed. But Faythe couldn’t bring herself to
outright ask or accuse her. Before she could send herself into
a frenzy of possible explanations, Marlowe finished her
artwork on the temple doors and stepped back. Faythe copied
the movement in nervous anticipation. After a moment of
deafening silence, the doors groaned loudly, caving inward a
fraction.
Faythe was stunned. Quite literally. She stood with her
mouth agape and couldn’t peel her eyes from the slither of
darkness that opened into the temple. Her hands shook
violently, and she gripped Lumarias so hard it hurt.
When no danger immediately presented itself, Faythe cast
a look to Marlowe. The blacksmith beamed enthusiastically.
“Shall we?” She didn’t wait for Faythe to join her as she
walked the few paces to brace her splayed palms against the
door.
Faythe watched her strain for a second, still dumbfounded
by the events, and then she moved to help. Together, they
pushed against the heavy door. External light flooded in to
illuminate the interior of the temple. Marlowe moved to
enter first, unfaltering, unflinching, while Faythe remained
on the edge of caution, eyes darting to scan every inch of the
place as she took her first wary steps inside. She kept her
sword poised.
But it was not at all what Faythe was expecting. There
were no rows of benches or any sign this was ever intended
as a place of worship. Instead, the great hall was surprisingly
empty. The first thing that caught her eye was the symbol
engraved into the center of the ground—the mark of
Aurialis, identical to the one on the door. It became the focal
point of the room, shimmering gold under the light
emanating from a dome in the roof that allowed the eternal
sun to penetrate a perfect circle.
The walls were lined with rows of sunken alcoves, each
holding various old books and artifacts. Marlowe found
herself at home with the treasure trove of knowledge,
already scanning the pages of a thick volume. A deep frown
creased her perfect skin. Luckily, no threats were triggered
in her boldness to tamper with the long-forgotten items.
Despite its abandonment, the temple didn’t choke
Faythe’s lungs with dust or sting her nose with damp stone
rot. The air was surprisingly clear and bright. She breathed
deeply to calm her racing heart and allowed herself to
admire the beauty of it now it was clear no foul creatures or
deathly traps lay inside. Though the latter still kept her
slightly vigilant. Nothing was certain with ancient magickal
dwellings.
Spying a podium past the circle of light, Faythe stalked
for it. As she stepped over Aurialis’s crest, Marlowe called
out.
“Wait!”
Faythe halted on command, bringing her sword up in a
spike of fear. But when she did, what startled her was the
laser beam of light that shot out from the pommel—from
the Riscillius. Marlowe stared at it wide-eyed too, an
indication her friend didn’t hold the answers this time.
Faythe’s eyes followed the line of white light, but it struck
nothing except the gray stone of the wall near the exit. When
she moved her sword, the beam moved with it, always
channeling through The Looking Glass.
Then she saw it.
 Right above the stone doors, she spotted a protruding
sculpture in the shape of an eye. And within it…a stone
identical to the one she held.
She didn’t need Marlowe to conclude the obvious. Without
overthinking it, Faythe took a firm stance and braced
Lumarias in both palms, blade pointing to the ground. The
laser wavered slightly, and she gripped the hilt tighter to
steady her trembling hands. She didn’t look to Marlowe
again, and the blacksmith made no call to stop her as she
began to guide the light to connect it to the crystal above.
She tuned in to the sound of her own heartbeat, cast out all
thoughts of reservation, and then, when the light met its
destination…
All went blindingly white.
Marlowe no longer stood beside her as she was encased in
an impenetrable veil of the brightest white light. She
dropped her hands, keeping her blade poised, and twisted to
look for any sign of the grim stone walls that were around
her a second ago. She looked to the floor, relived when it
confirmed she was indeed still inside the temple. The symbol
of Aurialis remained under her feet, now glowing brightly.
She called out to Marlowe, but her name only echoed off
the phantom walls, and her panic surged. She was about to
reach out and touch the white sheet that surrounded her
when a voice spoke.
“Hello, Faythe.”
She whirled to meet a tall, slender woman. Only, she
wasn’t fully there. The figure appeared slightly opaque and
glowed around the edges. Despite this, Faythe’s breath left
her as she stared at the ethereal beauty. Her hair was moon-
white and poker-straight down her long, slim face. A silver
ornate band adorned the top of her head, over her forehead,
and she wore a gown of layered, flowing white.
 “Who are you?” Faythe managed to get out, though her
throat had turned paper-dry.
“My name is Aurialis. Your people call me the Spirit of
Life and Goddess of the Sun,” she answered, her voice like a
melody.
Faythe’s face blanched. She was convinced the form in
front of her was nothing but a mind trick triggered by the
stones.
“We don’t have long. The veil can only be opened for a
few minutes at a time,” Aurialis continued softly.
“How do you know my name?”
“I have been watching you and your companions for a
long time. Nothing is chance; nothing is coincidence. Your
destiny has led you here, and you must trust your instincts
and the people around you to guide you.”
Faythe shook her head. “I think you’re mistaken—” Her
objection was interrupted as the Spirit continued.
“No, Heir of Marvellas. You are exactly where you are
meant to be.”
“Why do you call me that?” she snapped. It was not the
first time she had heard the name in these woods.
“Because it is what you are, golden-eyed child. Your
power is what the land has been waiting for.”
Faythe’s eyes narrowed. “What do you know of my
power?”
“Those with abilities of the mind among the fae are
bloodline-blessed by Marvellas, the Spirit of Souls, from her
time as a Spirit of your world. When she joined you, her
direct human descendants also inherited powerful forms of
her gift,” she explained, her tone and expression
unchanging. The Spirit’s eyes were the lightest shade of
blue, almost white, and Faythe’s gold eyes were transfixed.
Faythe could almost laugh at the absurdity of the story,
but it didn’t feel appropriate. Instead, she gathered herself
enough to say, “My mother?”
“Also a descendant of Marvellas. She thought she could be
the one to fulfil the prophecy, but she did not have the same
power as you, Faythe. I have waited centuries for you.”
Faythe felt sick. Her mother had known about all this?
The watch, the temple, their abilities…
“Did she know…about me?” She wasn’t sure she could
handle the answer.
“Yes. And she tried to take your place, but it could never
be.”
Faythe breathed sharp air. “She was here?”
“She knew of a prophecy—that one conceived from both a
bloodline-blessed and direct descendant of Marvellas would
hold enough power in their blood to wield the Tripartite Ruin
and rid Ungardia of the evil that grows. She came to me
when she learned of your conception.”
Her head pounded trying to take in the crushing new
revelation. “My father?” she asked in barely more than a
whisper.
“A bloodline-blessed.”
Which only confirmed one other thing that brought the
world down on Faythe. Her father was a Nightwalker—and a
fae.
“I think you have it wrong. I can’t be—”
“I don’t have much longer, Faythe. This is the only way I
can speak to you directly for now, but I still have ways of
communicating with your world. It is not by chance you
come to me tonight. I have been working through your
companion to help guide you here when the time was right.”
Dawning flooded over Faythe. “Marlowe?”
The Spirit raised her chin, and Faythe braced herself for
what she was about to be told.
“She is an oracle. She has the gift of foresight through the
Spirits. She is your knowledge.”
 The word repeated over and over in Faythe’s mind, and
she swayed with the weight of it. Oracle. She didn’t believe
such a thing existed—not in this realm, and certainly not in
the form of a harmless, beautifully natured human. Was
anything legend anymore? Or had every inconceivable myth
once derived from some distorted truth? Faythe herself was
living proof of the defied odds, and Marlowe…
Gods above.
“The Riscillius was cast into your sword by Marlowe with
my influence,” Aurialis explained. “Long ago, your mother
sold the stone when I told her what you were destined for,
hoping you would never come to find me. What she didn’t
know was that The Looking Glass would sit idle in the
blacksmiths until a curious young woman would stumble
upon it in her father’s workshop. One who would cross your
path and forge a great bond. When you learned of your
ability, it was time to set the rest in motion. The making of
your blade was not the first encounter between your two
friends.”
Faythe gasped at the knowledge Jakon was involved too.
This couldn’t be true...
“Their paths briefly crossed before, and in friendship,
Marlowe offered Jakon a price that would allow him to afford
the weapon. Lumarias—The Key. Even the oracle remains in
the dark about the extent of her ability, but in time, she will
understand. As will you, Faythe.”
The world shifted from under her. Faythe fell to her
knees, her sword clattering to the ground, unable to trust
she wouldn’t pass out from standing. Her thoughts screamed
louder than any words, the tornado of emotion at the
revelation about herself and her female companion
threatening to shatter her completely.
“I am no one,” she whispered.
“You are the last hope.”
 “Hope for what?” she snapped a little nastier than
intended.
The Spirit remained impassive. “There is much for you to
discover, but you are on the right path. You have already
befriended knowledge, courage, and wisdom… Resilience,
strength, light, and darkness will find you soon, and
together with your power, you will see the world righted.”
Aurialis started to fade, and Faythe shot to her feet.
“Wait! You’ve left me with more questions than
answers,” she called.
“We have no more time right now, but we will see each
other again soon. The stones require twenty-eight suns to
charge and be strong enough to pierce the veil. Do not be
fearful, Faythe, and be wary of colorless eyes.”
With those last words, the Spirit Aurialis faded
completely.
Faythe remained in the circle of light a moment longer
until, suddenly, it dropped, and she had to blink rapidly as
her eyes stung at the sudden dullness. She met Marlowe’s
ocean-blue orbs, and they both stood, silently staring at
each other in bewilderment.
The blacksmith, the timid bookworm, her closest female
companion…an oracle. Faythe didn’t know what Marlowe
already knew about herself—whether she knew the term for
her gift that put so many things into clarity—but it was time
for Faythe to reveal her own secrets to her.
Or, more importantly, to find out what the blacksmith
already knew.
 CHAPTER 38

N either woman spoke as they sat on the stone steps of the

temple. Faythe tuned in to the serenity of the woodland
around them to organize her thoughts, dizzy with where to
start on her storm of questions and explanations. The silence
also allowed her to calm the raging emotions that put her on
the edge of eruption. Though she feared her composure
would be short-lived when the inevitable conversation with
the blacksmith would lash her with harsh truths and
inconceivable answers.
The temple had sealed itself once again. The marks
Marlowe drew had indeed faded away and erased themselves
from memory.
All this time, her friend had been cradling her own
unexplainable ability… Above everything else, Faythe felt
guilty for being too consumed by her own problems to see
that Marlowe too was suffering in silence, unaware of what
her knowledge and foresight truly meant.
Marlowe dared to speak first. “You saw Aurialis, didn’t
you?” It was a statement rather than a question; Faythe
didn’t need to confirm what the blacksmith already knew.
Her blue eyes bore into her gold ones, but she didn’t balk at
their intensity.
 “You knew I would come here tonight.” Faythe didn’t
leave the fact open to denial.
Marlowe looked away from her then and wrung her hands
together nervously. Faythe kept her focus on steadying her
heart rate, which had picked up an uneven tempo in
anticipation of the difficult conversation ahead.
“I’ve known a lot of things,” Marlowe began quietly.
“Some things, I have no explanation for. I see visions—
mostly in my dreams, but sometimes in the day too. I can’t
always be sure what they mean until events happen that put
them into context and I know exactly what to expect next.”
Her face crinkled in deep concentration as she tried to
verbalize that which she couldn’t make full sense of yet.
“Do you know what you are?” Faythe asked in little more
than a whisper.
Marlowe turned to look at her and gave a helpless shake
of her head in response. The terrified glint in her eye cracked
Faythe’s heart. She had the answer to the blacksmith’s
burning question. Aurialis had told her, and she felt grateful
to be the one to relieve her of the most terrifying feeling of
all…
Not knowing your own self.
Faythe was all too familiar with the once overwhelming
daunting notion. She had found solace and guidance in the
form of a fae guard. In the form of Nik.
She took her friend’s hand, and Marlowe’s shoulders
loosened slightly as she flashed a weak smile. “Your
knowledge far surpasses the books you read.” Faythe huffed
a laugh in awe as she saw Marlowe in a whole new
perspective. “You have a gift, and I can’t believe I’m about to
say this, but Aurialis told me…” Faythe paused to take a deep
breath, and the blacksmith’s hand tightened in her grip, her
eyes widening a fraction. “She told me…you’re an oracle,
Marlowe. As insane as it sounds, I’m not surprised by the
concept—not with you.”
The blacksmith was quietly stunned. Mouth popping
open, she averted her gaze from Faythe as she mulled over
the revelation. She didn’t look horrified or fearful or worried.
Rather, she looked…content. Faythe could almost see the
internal cogs at work as Marlowe pieced together loose ends
to explain her visions. She could only imagine how
frustrating it must be for her friend to see so much, know so
much, and not be able to make any sense of it.
Finally, the blacksmith inhaled a long breath,
straightening as she let it out through her nose. Her face
brightened in liberation at the light shed on her gift; the
purpose she now had for it.
“I think a part of me always knew I was different, yet I
didn’t want to believe it. I’ve read many, many things—
myths, legends, histories—but I could never comprehend
that any of it might apply to me. I’m just… I’m just…”
“Incredible,” Faythe finished for her, beaming in
admiration.
Marlowe gave a timid smile, but then a sad frown creased
her forehead. “I haven’t been entirely truthful with you,
Faythe. I knew about the Riscillius—what it really was—
from the moment I translated its mundane name, The
Looking Glass. And I knew exactly where it was. I cast it into
your sword, though I didn’t know at the time what it would
come to be used for. I didn’t know about you.” Marlowe
fidgeted with the folds of her tunic, still unable to meet her
eye as she told the story.
Faythe stayed silent, absorbing every word.
“Then, after that day you came to me at the compound,
the visions started to get more frequent. But they came in
riddles.” Marlowe nodded her head to where Lumarias lay
across the step below them. “I cast the marks of the three
Spirits into that sword before I even knew you would be its
wielder. Then, when we met…I can’t explain it, Faythe, but I
knew it was important you learned about the Spirits. You
needed to believe.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” She couldn’t hide the hurt in
her voice as it cracked slightly.
A pained look flashed across the ocean of Marlowe’s eyes.
“It wasn’t for me to tell you; only to guide you. As I’ve said,
everything has an order, and there are far bigger fates at
stake than just ours. I can only interpret the visions and offer
guidance in the right direction. I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m
sorry I kept it from you, everything I truly knew, but I hope
you can forgive me…and trust me.” The blacksmith went
rigid under her touch, bracing for Faythe’s possible
rejection.
Faythe felt the need to squeeze her hand in reassurance
and consolation but didn’t respond with words to confirm
nothing could make her turn her back on her. Something was
burning a hole through her chest that she had to get out
first.
“Do you know…do you know about…about my—?”
“Your abilities?” Marlowe said, and Faythe recoiled in
wide-eyed shock. Before she could say anything, the
blacksmith continued. “Not at first. Not for a long time,
actually. Then one day, I felt compelled to read an ancient
text about prophecies and mythical abilities. It was
fascinating, but I thought nothing more of it. Then a few
days went by, and you showed up at the compound…asking
about the one thing I couldn’t get off my mind: the
Nightwalkers’ higher power. That was when it clicked. I’d
once read a story about the Heirs of Marvellas—the gold-
eyed children. Humans with a unique talent: control of the
mind, both conscious and unconscious.” Marlowe’s eyes
twinkled in disbelief, and Faythe shifted nervously. “By the
Spirits, Faythe. I couldn’t believe it at first. It’s still hard to
wrap my head around. You’re a miracle.”
Her cheeks flushed crimson, and she had to avert her
eyes. “At least I’m not the only one. I knew you were a lover
of books and wonders, Marlowe, but you had to blow all
expectations out of the water and be an oracle? It’s a tad
overdramatic, don’t you think?”
Marlowe laughed—a genuine, humble laugh that lifted
the heavy weight in the air that threatened to suffocate
Faythe if they stayed so somber. It elated her to see the wide
grin on the blacksmith’s face, and she knew they didn’t need
verbal acceptances then; their souls were fused. Faythe could
see it now clearer than ever. They’d both defied the odds to
exist. It was a relief Marlowe already knew about her
abilities. Faythe didn’t feel like such a freak of nature. She
would find a way to tell Jakon about them too—about both of
them. After everything he had gone through, everything he
had sacrificed for them, he deserved to know.
One final question battered her mind restlessly, almost
painfully, as she fought against forming the words. She
didn’t know if she could handle the answer or even want to
know it. But the only other person who might possibly be
able to give it to her—other than Aurialis—was Marlowe
with her gift.
When the silence settled, she lost the fight and blurted,
“Do you know who my father is?”
Marlowe gave her a grim look. Faythe’s blood pounded in
her ears as if trying to block her from hearing the
blacksmith’s response. When her friend shook her head,
Faythe’s stomach dropped. She couldn’t be sure what was
more crippling: the disappointment, or the relief. A part of
her longed to discover her true heritage; her fae heritage. But
an even bigger part, she realized, wanted to remain blissfully
ignorant for a while longer.
 Marlowe spoke. “I don’t know who he is, but I do believe
it’s not yet the time for you to find out. You have to trust in
the order.”
Screw the dammed order!
It suddenly made her anger boil that perhaps nothing was
in her control anymore. It twisted her gut to feel like she
wasn’t dealing the cards in her own life. She may be an Heir
of Marvellas, whatever that truly meant, but she also felt the
tether to another ethereal being—to Aurialis. She had tied
herself to the very roots of this woodland in her desperation
to gain the yucolites and save her friend. It had been a trap,
and she now felt in a tug-of-war between two all-powerful
beings.
“I need to gain access to the castle,” Faythe said, her tone
turning dark.
Marlowe’s brow furrowed.
She raised her chin in a flare of determination, staring out
over the vibrant, glittering woodland. Despite its beauty, she
was intent on freeing her soul from its prison.
“I made a bargain to get the yucolites that saved Jakon. I
need to return Aurialis’s ruin to her temple…and it’s within
the castle.” She dared a look at her friend, though she didn’t
seem at all surprised by the foolhardy errand. Faythe’s brow
relaxed and rose in realization. “But you already know that,
don’t you?”
Marlowe smiled sheepishly. “I knew your path would lead
you to the royal household. That is all,” she admitted.
Faythe huffed a laugh. Her friend would always be one
step ahead of them all, solving conflicts that were yet to
arise.
“There’s one person we both know who is cunning
enough to know of a route in. Who happens to work for a
high household that has unsavory dealings with the fae
beyond the wall?”
 A light switched on, and Faythe slowly turned her head
away, reluctantly grumbling, “Ferris Archer.”

“My girlfriend is a what? And my best friend… Gods above.”

Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to open up to Jakon while
he was still in recovery. Sitting across the table from the two
women, he looked even paler than he did in death. But he
had been insistent, and they didn’t want to delay the
inevitable any longer.
Faythe’s thigh hurt from gripping it so tight in her
nerves, anxious about Jakon’s reaction to the unveiling of
her ability—then of Marlowe’s. The double dose of shock
made his emotions too hard to read. Faythe felt as if she
were teetering on the edge of a cliff, waiting for
confirmation he didn’t think of her any differently, didn’t
hate her for keeping it from him, and didn’t fear her for
what she was.
It was selfish of her to only think of herself in the
painfully tense wait, but Marlowe being an oracle with the
gift of foresight was far less intrusive and deadly compared
to what dwelled under her own skin.
“So you really went all this time without realizing what
you were?” Jakon asked at last, looking directly at her. She
supposed, above Marlowe’s gift, it was even harder for him
to believe the woman he had spent a decade living with had
turned out to harbor such a lethal ability. She could only
imagine the shock of it. But he remained curious, and it was
a relief he wasn’t displaying any distaste or horror toward
her.
She shook her head sheepishly. “Once Nik explained it,
you can imagine my reaction. It didn’t make sense, but at the
same time…it did.”
 Jakon shifted, his face turning defensive, and she knew
exactly what triggered it before he spoke. “So you and this
fae guard…” He trailed off with a hint of wariness.
Faythe sighed. “His name is Nik. And I didn’t intend for
anything to happen between us, but it did.” Her eyes turned
pleading. “I don’t expect you to like it, but it’s my choice.”
His face softened, and he nodded. “Whatever makes you
happy, Faythe. But he should know, fae or not…I’ll kick his
ass if he hurts you.”
Faythe stifled a laugh at the ridiculous image of Jakon and
Nik having it out with each other on a sparring field. She had
no doubt Nik would be the victor, but with Jakon’s courage
and determination, it would at least be worthy
entertainment.
“Have you ever…you know, read my mind?” he asked
with a wince.
Faythe’s face fell. “Once,” she admitted, recalling the day
she infringed upon both their thoughts. “When I came home
late a couple of weeks ago… What you said about me being
selfish, Jak—I only wanted to know if you truly meant it. So I
looked into both of you, only on the surface.” A sad look
passed his face. “But never again since. I won’t ever do it
without your permission, I promise,” she said firmly.
Both friends gave her a grateful nod though she didn’t
feel deserving of it.
“So you have complete control then? You don’t just
bounce around minds and hear things in passing?” Jakon
queried further.
“I can hear things if they’re projected loudly enough,
when a person doesn’t realize just how loud their thoughts
are. But mostly, I have to sort of…reach in.” She cringed at
the notion.
Faythe went on to explain about mental barriers and how
she got Nik to teach her how to protect her mind—from
herself, but mostly from other Nightwalkers. She struggled
to put her ability into comprehendible words and had to
admit there was a lot she was still figuring out.
When they settled into silence, Faythe rose to her feet.
“There’s something I have to do,” she said, going for her
cloak.
“We’ll come with you,” Jakon responded immediately. He
went to stand but winced, clutching his middle.
Faythe gave him a scolding look. “I don’t think so.” Then
she looked down at Marlowe, offering an encouraging smile.
“I think you two have a lot to talk about.”
The blacksmith nodded in appreciation for the
opportunity to explain what she knew of her oracle gift. She
glanced at Jakon, and his face also smoothed out in
realization of the time they needed alone as a couple.
“Where are you going?” he asked in concern. He had
every reason to be anxious with the trauma of the thugs’
ambush still fresh. Nik had assured her he’d take care of
them, but she didn’t have the stomach to ask what he meant
by that. She’d told Jakon as much, but if the tables were
turned, she’d be sick with worry too.
“I’m not putting you in any more danger than I already
have. I’m going to tell Ferris I’m done.”
 CHAPTER 39

S tepping up to the large white house, Faythe felt confident

when she rapped on the door and took a step back. To
her relief, Ferris’s mop of wavy red hair came into view, and
he grinned at her.
“How are the preparations for your big fight at the end of
the week?” he asked in greeting.
She didn’t match his dark delight. “I’m out, Ferris.”
His face fell instantly, and he stepped outside, closing the
door behind him. “What do you mean, you’re out?” he hissed.
She didn’t balk at his switch in tone. “I mean exactly
what I said.” She went to turn on her heel, but he grabbed
her elbow. Her head snapped around to snarl at him.
“You can’t back out now—not for this one,” he said with
a hint of trepidation that alarmed her. In all her years of
knowing him, she had never seen him cower from anything.
But right now, there was genuine dread in his eyes.
“What have you done, Ferris?” she asked calmly, though
her heartbeat quickened in anticipation.
He let her arm go to run his hand through his rugged hair
and began a short pace. “I didn’t do anything except what we
agreed,” he shot defensively. “But the fae—he’s expecting
you, and it’s my head if you don’t show,” he said through his
teeth.
 Her frown deepened. “Just tell them I’m no longer
interested.”
“Did you not hear me?” He halted in front of her, his face
grave as he said, “It’s not about the money, the glory, or any
of that anymore. If you don’t show, he said he would kill
me.”
She paled. “It’s just a stupid fear tactic—”
“No, Faythe,” he interjected. “He was deadly serious. He’s
one of them—you know he can get away with it.”
Horror clung to her like a frozen blanket. “I was attacked
last night, Ferris. Jakon was stabbed by one of those vengeful
monsters I fought in The Cave, and he almost died because of
it! Do you understand? I won’t risk his safety again for
others’ entertainment,” she tried to keep her voice low,
conscious of the occupants in the household behind them.
Now it was Ferris who blanched chalk-white. “I—I didn’t
know…”
Faythe shook her head in disbelief, turning to walk away
again.
“You don’t have to win! Just be fast enough to dodge until
he can get you to submit,” he said desperately.
She huffed a humorless laugh. “Is that all? And what if he
decides he wants to kill me?” Faythe wanted to shout and
rage at him—it was his crazy plan to challenge a fae in the
first place—but, frustratingly, she realized she couldn’t. This
was just as much her mess for being so foolishly naive to
agree to it.
“I’ll make sure there are men in place to intervene,” he
said, though even he knew it was little consolation.
She wanted to laugh in his face at the completely futile
offer of protection. If a fae wanted it, she’d be dead before
another man could take one step. Her hand was forced. It
was either risk her life or forfeit Ferris’s. While she didn’t
particularly hold the strongest love for him at the best of
times, he was still a friend, and she’d be damned if she let
anyone else get hurt when she had a chance to prevent it.
“If I save your ass now to die in that cave, you’d best
believe I’ll be seeing you in pits of the Netherworld when
Jakon gets a hold of you.”
“Don’t I know it,” he muttered.
She didn’t plan to ask Ferris for his help in gaining access
beyond the wall yet. Admittedly, she wanted to hold off just a
little longer in fear of the daunting task. But it seemed like
the perfect—and perhaps the only—opportunity she would
get since he owed her for risking her life in The Cave.
“I need something in return,” she blurted.
Ferris cocked an eyebrow, folding his arms inquisitively.
“Whatever you need, it’s yours.”
She exhaled a long breath, closing her eyes for a moment,
not quite believing she was about to ask such a foolish
request. “I need a route into the inner city…then to the
castle,” she got out quickly. When Ferris didn’t immediately
respond, she squinted one eye open to check his reaction. It
remained the same: unflinching, deliberating.
“When?” he asked at last.
Relieved he wasn’t reprimanding her for the obvious
recklessness of such a plan, she straightened. “Soon,” was
all she answered. She had to get through this fight first and
couldn’t let the thought of her impending fool’s mission
distract her.
Unless I die in that cave. Then Aurialis will be free to torment
my soul with my failure for eternity in those woods.
“You may want to listen carefully then. It will not be an
easy task.”
No—nothing ever was. But it had never stopped her from
trying before. She tuned in carefully to Ferris’s instruction,
all the while trying to tame her leaping heart, which was
close to eruption now.
 CHAPTER 40

“A bsolutely no way in rutting damn!”

Though she expected Jakon to blow up at the
news of her fight with the fae, Faythe winced at the outburst.
“They threatened his life—I have to at least try,” she argued.
Jakon’s eyes were livid, and she would be lying if she said
it didn’t scare her a little. “Better his life than yours,” he
growled.
She gave him a flat look. “I’m not going to try to win. I
only have to be fast enough to dodge and let the fae beat me
—safely,” she added quickly.
He scoffed. “You’re good in combat, Faythe, I’ll give you
that, but you’re not that good to outrun a fae!”
“You’re right—no mortal is. But you forget I have other…
advantages,” she countered with a cunning smile.
He caught on to her meaning but shook his head.
“They’re still too quick.”
Faythe explained how she had been training with Nik to
reach in and glean her opponents’ maneuvers before they
physically made them, and how she’d succeed to some
extent against the fae guard. Surprisingly, Jakon looked
impressed, and his anger even cooled—slightly.
“That damned rutting bastard. I swear, when I next see
him—”
 “You’ll do nothing,” Faythe cut in. “I agreed to it. If I can
just get past this one last fight, I promise there will be no
more.” She held his stare, and she could see he was fighting
against the will to protest further. But he conceded with a
reluctant nod.
Marlowe had gone back to her cottage for the night after
much persuasion from Jakon that he was almost in full
health and didn’t need coddling. Her two friends had worked
over everything, and it was an immense consolation to know
nothing had changed between them because of what
Marlowe was. Jakon always had a heart of gold, and Faythe
felt horribly guilty she ever doubted his acceptance of either
of them.
She was relieved when the blacksmith hesitantly agreed
to stay at home for the night. Faythe’s cot was much too
small for the two women to get a comfortable sleep, and she
had been dealing with a stiff neck and back all day from the
previous night. It was also liberating that Faythe could tell
Jakon about her plans to meet with Nik. Although she didn’t
need to sneak out anymore, Nik still insisted they meet after
midnight. She didn’t press the reasons why but hated the
uneasy feeling he wasn’t being entirely open about his
assignments in the guard beyond the wall. He still never
spoke of it.
She quickly dismissed any thoughts of suspicion. He had
given her no reason to be paranoid or distrust him. She
swallowed the feelings of caution and passed them off as
nerves for what was blooming between them. She had yet to
fully understand what it was.
Jakon retired for the night after a long lecture on being
safe and careful, throwing in a few threats to Nik should
anything happen to her. Faythe rolled her eyes the whole
time at his overprotective nonsense—the irritating downside
to him knowing everything.
 She envied his soft snoring she could hear from the
kitchen, where she stood cloaked and ready to leave. She was
mentally exhausted from the beating of emotions she’d
taken after her confession to Jakon and confrontation with
Ferris, both piled on top of an abundance of new information
she’d received from a Spirit she’d long believed to be a myth.
Faythe was surprised she was still sane, and she craved a
long, restful sleep to keep it that way.
But she longed even more to see Nik, she realized, and it
made her giddy with excitement. She forced everything else
she had to deal with to the back of her mind. She had to find
a way to ask him if he’d agree to meet her every night this
week for practice. She only had five nights left before she
would face off with a fae opponent in The Cave, and she
needed every second of learning to tune in to her abilities if
she were to even stand a chance of not being annihilated. She
only hoped she wouldn’t have to tell him exactly why she was
so eager to exercise her mind so much. She feared his
reaction would be far worse than Jakon’s.
When the hands of her watch hit midnight, she left the
cottage quietly to not disturb her friend and made off down
the streets, stealthy under the cover of the shadows. In the
woods, she made out Nik’s figure with his back to her as the
clearing drew close, and her heart leapt with a thrill at the
sight of him. He turned to her when she emerged past the
tree line, and his greeting smile was enough to make her
breathless. He took a few steps forward to meet her, and they
stopped within arm’s reach.
“How are your friends?” he asked quietly, his emerald
eyes sparkling as he looked down at her.
“I don’t think I want to talk about them right now,” she
said, taking the last step to close the space between their
bodies. Her hands reached up, fingers curling in the back of
his hair, as she pushed up on her toes to kiss him. She could
never get enough of how it made her feel; how being close to
him sent her into a whole new world of blissful freedom
from any of her fears or worries. He kissed her back fiercely,
and she felt the longing in him too.
When they broke apart, neither stepped back. Nik traced
his fingers along the side of her face, and she leaned into the
touch.
“I’ve been waiting quite a while to do this,” he mumbled
softly.
Her eyes bore into his, telling him she had long desired it
too. She kissed his palm at her cheek and then abruptly
stepped back, out of his hold. At his look of protest, she
chuckled in amusement.
“As much as I’d love to do that all night, I need your
help.”
He didn’t answer, instead folding his arms and tilting his
head inquisitively.
She nervously shifted her weight. “I need to work on my
mind abilities in combat. Will you go back to being my test
subject?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “I’m sure we could dedicate a
couple of nights to—”
“Every night?” she blurted before she could stop herself.
His face fell into a frown, and she cursed inwardly. “I mean,
the sooner I get acquainted with what I already know I can
do, the better I can get at exploring other things,” she
recovered quickly.
Faythe new she’d ruined it when his eyes narrowed a
fraction.
“Why so eager for it to be in combat?” he questioned
accusingly.
She cursed herself again and wracked her brain for an
excuse, but nothing came that would withhold the inevitable
reveal of her foolish mission.
 His frown deepened at her floundering silence. “What
aren’t you telling me?” A look of hurt crossed his eyes—that
she would attempt to hide something from him.
She sighed in defeat. “Promise me you won’t blow up
about it?”
He gave her a look that said he could make no such
guarantee.
“Promise me,” she repeated, a plea in her voice.
His only reply was a small nod, and she scowled at him.
Taking a deep breath, she rambled through the deal with
Ferris and why she couldn’t back out of it. When she
finished, she dared to look at him through one eye. His face
was a mask of calm, dark rage, and it shook her far more
than Jakon’s outburst.
“You are not going to that fight,” he said in a lethal quiet
that would send most men running.
“Didn’t you hear? I don’t have a choice—”
He was a foot in front of her in an instant, his green eyes
much darker than they were moments before. They burned
holes straight through her.
“I don’t think you quite understand what you’ve naïvely
signed yourself up for. It’ll be your death warrant, Faythe.
Win or lose.”
“I can do this,” she argued, her own anger simmering.
She was sick of everyone believing they knew what was best
for her and what she was capable of. Sick of being treated
like some delicate girl to be protected.
His eyes flashed. “The fae don’t go easy. They don’t give
in—especially not to a human. They won’t hesitate to kill you
given the opportunity, and you’re offering yourself on a
damned silver platter.” He seethed, walking away.
“If you won’t help me, I’ll damn well teach myself. But
you can’t stop me.”
 He whirled back around, and there was nothing kind in
his face at her defiance. They stared off for a moment,
neither backing down, until Nik sucked in a long breath and
ran a hand over his face.
“Your heroism is not admirable; it’s reckless,” he said,
but she didn’t respond to the remark. He sighed. “If you
can’t best me by the time this fight comes around, I don’t
care if I have to tie you to a gods-damned tree—you will not
be going.”
A compromise, she supposed, and a challenge.
She straightened, a smile tugging at her lips. “Deal.”
His face fell, and she knew he was struggling internally
not to screw the deal and be sure she never made it back to
The Cave regardless. She knew he could by brute force alone,
so it was a small relief when he agreed to at least give her a
chance to prove herself.
“This friend of yours means nothing to me, but you…” He
trailed off as if unable to finish the sentence. He didn’t have
to say anything more; his face was laced with fear that
something could happen to her down there. She was as
fragile as an insect compared to him.
She closed the distance between them and held a hand to
his face. “I know,” was all she said, and he loosened under
her touch. Faythe kissed him once—in promise that she
would walk out of that cave alive. Though she knew it was
not a promise entirely in her power to make, it was all she
could do to curb his worry.
She stepped back and walked a few paces away. Drawing
her sword, she turned to him with a goading smile.
“Shall we begin?”
His answering look was weak, but Nik obliged,
unsheathing the blade at his side and coming to stand off
against her.
Her eyes locked on his. “As always, don’t hold back.”
 CHAPTER 41

“A re you even trying?”

Faythe ducked as she narrowly missed yet
another of Nik’s inhumanly fast swipes. Without giving her a
second to respond, she saw his next move and jumped before
he could knock her feet out from under her. She wanted to
scowl, but she knew better than to listen to his taunts by
now. He had been using them as a distraction tactic, and it
had taken her a while to catch on before she started to block
his words out completely.
“Honestly, I think you should just give up,” he drawled,
bored and not in the slightest bit out of breath. But he didn’t
stop, or even slow for that matter, as she parried against his
brutal onslaught of attacks.
She was sweating and had not once broken eye contact,
using all her mental focus to foresee his next anticipated
move. It was the last night they had before her fight
tomorrow, and she had gotten better. A lot better. But it still
took an incredible physical and mental toll on her, and she
took every moment she could get when she wasn’t training
to fall into a dark, restful sleep and regain her strength.
The thoughts had started to come to her quicker, and
now, she was able to dodge more swiftly through practice.
She found that although she could remain in his mind
without maintaining eye contact, the information came a lot
quicker if she held it. Nik had opened his mind enough to let
her in for those immediate thoughts only. She didn’t dare try
to go beyond, though she was sure he would be guarded in
case she tried anyway.
No one liked to have their personal thoughts raided, and
it wasn’t the way she wanted to find out more about him.
After a couple more dodges and clashing swords, she
twisted away from his next move before he made it and held
the point of her sword to his back. She let out a breathy
laugh of victory and began to lower her blade, but the
moment she let her guard down, he twirled, taking her feet
out from under her. In the same breath, Nik held her as they
twisted so she fell on top of him instead of the hard ground.
It wasn’t much better; he was almost as solid as stone, and
the air was knocked from her despite his chivalry.
He rumbled in laughter beneath her as she scowled,
rolling off him to lie on the ground.
“You don’t take your mind off him for one second, not
even once it’s over. You keep focused until you can clear the
ring.” His voice dropped into stern command. “Even if you
think you can, you don’t win. It will only put a much deadlier
target on your back.” He propped himself up and leaned
sideways so he half-hovered over her. He looked into her
eyes, and her guilt rose at the pain on his face.
She reached out to touch it. “I’m going to be okay, Nik,”
she assured him with all the confidence she could muster.
It was hard to comfort those around her when she had her
own fears and doubts about how she would fare in The Cave.
But she would wear the mask of bravery and resilience for
her friends and for Nik.
He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers before
kissing her fully. Slowly and tenderly at first, but then she
felt his tongue in silent invitation to deepen the kiss. Her
mouth opened, and he didn’t hesitate to heat the moment
between them.
They had barely been able to keep their hands off each
other over the course of the week. They’d spent every night
together, but Faythe always held back the full extent of her
desire that pulsed every time she was near him. She couldn’t
allow herself to get too distracted from her task.
But now, with the threat of tomorrow looming and her
days not promised, she felt the overwhelming urge to be
close to him and show him just how much he mattered to
her.
She ran her hands through his hair, savoring the feel of
the silk entwined with her fingertips, and arched her back in
her longing to be closer. He moved, coming to hover over her
completely between her legs, but while his body pressed
against hers, he remained utterly weightless above her. Heat
flushed her skin, awakening every sense and impulse, while
his hands roamed over her waist and bare stomach where
her shirt had lifted, leaving trails of fire everywhere his
fingers caressed. A part of her screamed for his hand to
travel higher—or lower. Her hands left his hair to feel the
powerful contours of his back, and to her delight, she found
his shirt untucked. When her fingers brushed the
wonderfully smooth skin around his waist, he buckled
slightly, the movement enough to frenzy the lust at her core.
His mouth left hers. She was about to cry in protest, but
his lips found her neck, and she sucked a sharp breath,
tilting her head back in invitation. She felt him smile against
her throat as he trailed teasingly downward. The sensation
filled her with new waves of pleasure.
“Nik,” she breathed.
He stiffened at the sound, and his eyes met hers with a
flash of hunger and desire.
 She was breathless, but the pause was enough for her to
gather her thoughts. She recoiled slightly in realization of
what her lust-clouded mind wanted from him, right there on
the woodland floor.
He must have seen the hesitation in her eyes as he gave
her an understanding smile. Kissing her mouth once more,
he twisted so he was back to leaning on his side next to her.
Her cheeks heated. “I don’t want to go too fast,” she
admitted.
He brushed a stray piece of hair from her face and leaned
in to kiss her again, his breath caressing her neck as he
spoke. “We can take all the time we want.” He left one last
whisper of a kiss on her collarbone, and it would have set her
off again if he didn’t immediately jump to his feet afterward,
leaving her dazed and frustrated, still lying on the grass.
“That’s enough rest,” Nik called from his position behind
her.
She groaned and didn’t move. “We’ve been at it for hours
already!” she complained.
“And another one might just be the difference between
you walking out of that cave with one arm or two.”
Her lips thinned. She was about to retort back when rough
hands grabbed hers, hauling her to her feet. She never even
heard him approach, and the sudden movement made her
head spin, but Nik only grinned wickedly.
She narrowed her eyes. “Stupid fae prick,” she grumbled
under her breath.
His smile widened in response as he held her sword out to
her. She took it begrudgingly, and he didn’t give her even a
minute to brace herself before he was making her retreat
through a series of ruthless attacks that sent the clank of
joining steel echoing through the clearing once more.
Nik was relentless in his assaults over the next hour, and
Faythe was more drained than she had been after any of
their previous sessions. She knew it was because it was their
last before tomorrow night and he was overcompensating to
cram in what would likely have taken months for her to
grasp. She wasn’t perfect, and he had still managed to
theoretically kill her on many occasions, which made Nik
very wary about letting her go through with it. But she had
also managed to best him a handful of times—or at least
dodge long enough that she could concede in a safe position.
Like Nik had said, she wasn’t out to win anyway, or it
would most definitely be her head.
“I won’t be able to be there tomorrow night,” Nik said
quietly.
Faythe’s stomach dropped. “Why?”
They hadn’t discussed it before, but he had been secretly
watching her for every other match, so it disappointed her to
know he wouldn’t be there when it mattered most. If only
because he was probably the only one capable of intervening
on her behalf should things take a turn for the worse.
A conflicted expression flashed across his face, but it was
gone when he looked at her. “I’m not supposed to be out of
the city walls. If there are other fae there…I can’t be seen,”
he said.
Faythe crossed her arms. “You’ve been beyond city walls
before. You were on patrol at summer solstice,” she argued.
A day that seemed like a lifetime ago. So much had
changed. She had changed. Her life was completely different
to the girl who had danced around bonfires on the solstice.
Faythe didn’t know if it made her sad or grateful. Her life
before was safe—carefree, even—but it was also a lie that
had held her back from discovering who she truly was.
“That was…an exception,” he said carefully.
 She knew there was something he was holding back from
her, and she wanted to push. Maybe it was her nerves for the
fight tomorrow or anger that he would abandon her when
danger was imminent, but she realized how little she really
knew about the fae guard she spent so much time with and
had come to care deeply for.
“What do you really do behind those walls, Nik?”
A dark look flashed across his face so fast she could have
missed it. He didn’t reply.
She huffed a humorless laugh. “Right, of course. Not
something you could share with a lowly human.” She
sheathed her sword and grabbed her cloak, fastening it
around herself and making to leave.
His hand caught her elbow. “Don’t leave like this,” he
begged, his face desolate.
She whirled around to face him. His eyes were pleading,
but she was too angry to feel bad for him. He knew
everything about her and wouldn’t share anything about
himself. Perhaps he had a gag order from the king to not
speak of his affairs in the city or the castle, but it still hurt
that he didn’t trust her enough. It would remain solely
between them, whatever information he shared about his
personal life.
“I have to rest to have all the strength I can for tomorrow.
I guess I’ll let you know how it pans out—or not, since it
doesn’t seem to be to your interest.” She knew it was a low
blow. He had been on edge all week and had to refrain from
outright banning her from going. Yet she couldn’t stop the
nastiness that came from her.
His grip on her arm tightened slightly. “I won’t be there,
but I’ve made sure other guards will be. Whoever you fight
tomorrow will not get the chance to seriously hurt you,
certainly not kill you, before they have orders to intervene.”
His voice was low and stern.
 Her brow furrowed. “Orders from who?”
His jaw twitched. “Let’s just say, I have influence,” he
said in a way that told her the conversation was over.
She was wise enough to note it and gave him a small nod
in understanding.
His face softened then, and he sighed, twisting her
around fully and pulling her to him. She embraced him
around the waist, inhaling his comforting scent when he
wrapped his arms around her shoulders and rested his chin
over her head. Just like that, all her negative feelings melted
away.
“You mean a great deal to me now, Faythe. I won’t let
anyone harm you,” he said, his words so hushed they tugged
at her heart.
She pulled her head back to look him in the eye. “You
mean a great deal to me too, Nik.”
His hand held her chin as he kissed her one last time.
 CHAPTER 42

D aylight fell to welcome twilight, and Faythe watched

the hues of pink and orange diffuse the sky from her
position on the rooftop. It was serene and could almost
distract her from the fight of her life that would take place in
just a few hours.
She looked all the way out, past the harbor and over the
unwavering line of the horizon, where the water shimmered
confidently under the last fleeting rays of the bold
descending sun. The air was clear and the streets below
silent as the town settled before dusk chased away the last
drops of the day.
She was already dressed in her black suit, which had been
mended by Marlowe the day after her last appearance in The
Cave. Her cloak billowed behind her slightly in the cool night
breeze, but she never registered the cold. She had told Jakon
she wanted a moment alone and came up here in the hope
the tranquil air would help to sedate her nerves. And it did,
to an extent, while she reflected on everything she had
learned with Nik and his assurance the fight could not get
out of hand thanks to his friends in the guard.
Now she’d had time to calm, she was glad Nik would not
be there. She would likely take a beating of some sort, and
she knew firsthand the pain of seeing a close companion
hurt. If it were the other way around… Gods, she wouldn’t be
of much help, but she would damn well try to intervene.
Against man, against fae, against the damned Spirits if need
be—she would fight for those she loved.
With a final breath, Faythe left the rooftop.

“Are you sure you have everything you need?” Jakon fussed
for the third time.
Faythe rolled her eyes and made a show of patting herself
to check. Though, aside from her clothing, all she had was
Lumarias sheathed to her back.
“Armed and ready.” She saluted him in an attempt at
light humor. He was growing more antsy by the minute, and
it was seriously damaging the calm Faythe had been reeling
herself into for the past few hours.
He was about to scold her when Marlowe walked through
the front door of the hut. As much as she had tried to
persuade them to stay home, both her friends were firm on
the fact they were going to attend tonight. Ferris was going
to meet them here to get Jakon and Marlowe in, while Faythe
would arrive alone a short while later. She didn’t want to be
seen entering with them as the “Gold-Eyed Shadow” in case
anyone looked closely enough to make the connection.
“I made this for you,” Marlowe said as she approached
Faythe, holding something in her palms. When she removed
the small piece of cloth concealing the item, Faythe gasped
at the beautiful jeweled long dagger beneath. “For good
luck.” Marlowe smiled weakly.
Faythe was deeply humbled by the kind gesture and took
the dagger from her, marveling at it for a moment before
embracing her friend tightly. “I love it. Thank you. It means
a lot,” she said in all sincerity. She would have a piece from
both of them on her tonight, and that symbol alone lit a new
fire of strength and determination within.
A moment later, a light rapping sounded at the door,
signaling the arrival of Ferris. She looked to her friends and
straightened with every ounce of mustered courage, more to
ease their concerns than in genuine confidence.
“Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

Standing as the same immovable force, the guards on either

side of The Cave entrance didn’t balk or hesitate to open the
thick iron doors as she swaggered toward them, concealed
under her hood and mask. She didn’t let herself flinch either
upon noticing the crowd of people reached all the way to
those doors. They parted hastily when she approached.
The whole venue—if that was what it could be called—
was packed to full capacity, and as much as she tried to
ignore it, she would be lying if she said it didn’t rattle her
nerves. She was used to large audiences, but this?
She weaved through them like a black wraith, and they
moved out her way where there was small space to do so.
People turned to each other and whispered as she passed, but
she kept her eyes focused on getting to her usual entrance to
the pit. She couldn’t see her friends in these masses and
didn’t want to try looking.
When she got to the other side, Ferris was already waiting
for her, biting his fingers as he scanned the balconies. His
eyes fell on her, and he visibly relaxed as if he thought she
might not actually show up after all.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
She gave him a dead look, not deigning to respond to his
ridiculous question.
 He winced and nodded his understanding. “Well, they
should be ready any moment now you’ve arrived,” he said
quickly, taking her cloak like he always did.
She should have expected it, but for some reason, it
unnerved her that her fae competitor was already in the
same vicinity and had been waiting for her. She didn’t dare
scan the mobs to find out if they were watching her at this
very moment. The place was packed mostly with humans,
but she hadn’t failed to notice the few pointed ears standing
on the front line of the balcony. Humans left space around
them, not bold enough to stand too close.
“One last time, Faythe. And thank you, truly. You’re the
bravest person I know,” Ferris said, putting his hand on her
shoulder.
If there weren’t so many eyes on her, she would have
embraced the bastard, if only as one last comfort before she
went down there, and to show her appreciation at the
comment.
“We bring you the fight of the decade!” the pit master
bellowed from below.
Faythe stiffened, and Ferris noted her surge of nerves at
the announcement. He braced his hands on both her
shoulders and forced her to keep looking at him.
“It’ll be over quick. You won’t be harmed too badly. I’ve
seen fae guards posted down below.”
Faythe sagged in relief a little. Not that she doubted Nik’s
word, but it was reassuring to know they’d be so close and
were already stationed down there.
“I introduce the notorious Gold-Eyed Shadow!”
The revelers roared at her mention, and she breathed
consciously, willing her heart to slow as she did before every
fight. Ferris muttered a brief, “Good luck,” as she turned to
walk down the stone stairs, right into the lion’s den.
 She descended with deliberate slowness, letting the
jeering sounds of the crowd above fade, then tuned out
completely with each step down she took. She plunged
herself deep into the well of calm that would allow her to
focus solely on her target and the sword she would wield.
Faythe called on Nik’s teachings, Jakon’s courage, and
Marlowe’s confidence and set fire to the embers of her own
determination to succeed. She closed her eyes, steadying her
heart rate to still her trembling hands. By the time she
reached the bottom, she’d opened them, completely
embodying the ego of the Gold-Eyed Shadow one last time…
She didn’t look up and risk her nerve, especially if she
were to spot her undoubtedly anxious friends. Instead, she
took in the familiar surroundings of gruesome, bloodstained
stone walls and the entrance where her opponent would
appear.
The pit master stood in the middle looking more shaken
than usual. She supposed it had something to do with the
presence of the three fae guards who were evenly spaced
around the circular arena, each looking rather bored but
standing straight with their hands over their swords should
they be needed. She swallowed hard to moisten her paper-
dry throat. Was her opposer that dangerous? She knew the
fae were fast and strong, but even this seemed a little
excessive for one being.
“And now, I present the challenger.” The pit master’s
voice faltered a little as he paused, already taking a step
toward his exit. “Captain Varis of the Royal Guard!”
Everything around Faythe stopped the moment she heard
the words. She recoiled in cold horror when the captain
emerged from the entrance, his face taunting in malice as he
stared directly at her with his first steps into the ring. His
wicked scar gleamed under the lights of the pit, making him
look all the more terrifying.
 She had to remember to breathe. She couldn’t lose her
valor now, or the fight would be over before it even started.
Then she recalled something about the captain Nik had
warned her about so long ago. It was almost her undoing…
“He’s one of the king’s most talented Nightwalkers. Don't ever
underestimate him.”
It shot a spear of ice-cold dread down her spine,
threatening her sedated composure. All of her practice and
training could be for nothing if he had mental barriers like
Nik’s. Her one advantage was her ability, and it was the only
thing that stood between her and being able to last even one
minute in this fight. Without it…
She didn’t even allow herself to wreck her emotions with
the thought.
It wasn’t humiliation she was afraid of; it was the look in
the captain’s eye that told her he wasn’t going to end it that
quickly. No—he wanted to make her suffer, and no one
would stop him since that wasn’t against the rules. She was
only protected against excessive brutality and a death strike,
but she knew he’d be smart and would play it to look as if
every hit he dealt her was fair game.
The pit master called for them to draw their weapons and
take stance. She was running out of time, and as she
unsheathed her blade, she held his black stare and gently
pushed into his mind in case he could feel her.
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

“H e 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 her
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 held 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.
His hands trailed over her bare waist below her bandages,
and his touch soothed the pain in her heart just for a
moment. When she leaned back to look at him, she traced
the contours of his face with her fingers. Over his jaw, then
his nose, then his mouth, trying to memorize every detail if
this was the last time she would ever see him.
She leaned up to kiss him fiercely, and he responded with
aching tenderness. Her body caught fire everywhere he
touched as his hands roamed her exposed skin, painfully
delicate to be cautious of her injuries. But she didn’t want
gentle and didn’t care if her body protested as she pressed
herself to him. A quiet sound came from her, and he leaned
down, hooking his hands under her thighs and lifting her so
she didn’t have to strain on her toes to kiss him. She
wrapped her legs around his waist and could have exploded
from the new angle, which offered her better access to his
mouth. His hands at the tops of her thighs made her wild
with desire. While she wanted him—all of him—she knew
giving over to her desperate impulse would only make their
parting all the more gut-wrenching.
Before things could get too heated, the kiss slowed,
turning devastatingly tender. His lips left hers, and he kissed
her neck—sweetly, not lustfully. He seemed to be savoring
the smell and feel of her. Then he set her gently back on her
feet and stared at her while he stroked her bruised cheek.
“I’m going to miss you,” Faythe whispered, not trusting
her voice to sound steady.
He gave her a sad smile. “There will never be another like
you, Faythe. Human, fae, highborn, commoner… Never
another soul like yours.”
She knew the comment had nothing to do with their
personal relationship, and the words broke and fixed her at
the same time. She didn’t have the expression to respond, so
she only leaned into him once more, suddenly aware of the
cold draft around the hut as his warmth encased her in its
net of safety.
They held each other for the last time. Neither had it in
them to say a formal goodbye, so, with a final lingering kiss,
Nik left without glancing back.
Faythe fell apart the moment the door clicked shut behind
him.
 CHAPTER 44

T hey spent thefollowing day gathering provisions for

their journey. Only what was necessary—the rest they
could buy on the road and once they got to safety in
Rhyenelle.
Jakon had been on edge all day, re-checking everything
and going over every detail of the plan more than four times
already. It hurt Faythe to see him so worked up, but there
was nothing she could do to persuade him to change his
mind.
Marlowe had been at her cottage all day, assembling what
she needed and spending the last of her time with her father.
The fact she would be leaving family behind pained Faythe
the most, but, like Jakon, Marlowe was adamant she would
be joining them.
Faythe spent the whole day in a quiet pit of despair at
what she would be leaving—who she would be leaving. She
would not get to see Nik again, not in her mind or his, before
she left since the drops had done their work last night and
sent her straight into a dark sleep without even a flash of her
gold mist. They would do the same tonight also.
Jakon had left her to her brooding, figuring she wouldn’t
be much help in the planning of things anyway. She had sat
in her bed most of the day, reflecting on her life in High
Farrow that was about to come to an end.
She was watching the dusk fall through the small square
window when Jakon finally joined her in the bedroom. He
sighed sadly upon seeing her.
“You’ve always longed for adventure. Try to see the
bright side.” He offered a comforting smile.
But she couldn’t bring herself to even force one back. He
was right: it would be a new beginning and offered an
opportunity for them to see more of Ungardia. Who knew
what she might discover in Rhyenelle? She only hoped it
would be completely mundane, and her dealings with the
Spirits and malicious fae captains would be over.
She shuddered when the encounter with Aurialis crossed
her mind. She would never get to see the Goddess again.
Whatever she thought Faythe was needed for, she’d have to
find another suitor, and the answers to Faythe’s burning
questions about her heritage might forever remain lost.
She reached over to the table to grab the last of the drops,
eager to get the final night over with and start their journey
by twilight tomorrow.
A loud banging out front made her jolt, and she almost
knocked the glass bottle right off the nightstand.
Jakon frowned, turning to leave the bedroom. Faythe shot
up too as the frantic banging continued and her heart started
to race. She grabbed Jakon’s elbow.
“What if it’s him?” she whispered in cold panic.
She didn’t have to say his name for Jakon to gather she
meant Captain Varis. His eyes widened at the possibility, and
he scanned the hut wildly for a plan, but they both knew the
only way out was the front door.
She was about to scramble to find a hiding spot when a
voice called through the wood.
“It’s me, Jakon, please!”
 Faythe recognized the voice but couldn’t put a face to it.
Jakon, on the other hand, went wide-eyed in fear as he ran
the few paces to the door, swinging it open. Dalton came into
view, and Jakon quickly scanned behind him before nodding
him inside.
“Where’s Marlowe?” he asked desperately.
Dalton panted heavily. He was unfit at the best of times
and appeared as if he had more or less run the distance
across town to be here. Faythe began to tremble in
anticipation.
“She—they…came…and—” The man could barely get out
the words.
Jakon grabbed him by the collar to keep him upright as he
gasped for air. “Where is she, Dalton?” he pressed urgently.
Faythe had never heard such dread in her friend’s voice, and
it made her sway in dizzy suspense.
Dalton finally caught enough breath, and his next words
brought the world down on her. “Guards took her, said it was
for treason, but she would never—”
Jakon released him and took a step back in horror. He
looked to Faythe.
“It’s a message,” she choked out. “He couldn’t find me
through my head, so he went for hers.” The final dawning
came out in hushed terror. “He took her because he found
out it would hurt more than anything he could do to me
physically.”
The realization crippled her. She looked between the two
horrified men, completely at a loss for what to do. Captain
Varis would have taken Marlowe to where all those detained
for judgment ended up: the castle prison. She refused to
accept there was no saving her friend, and Faythe knew
exactly how she would gain access past the wall to pledge for
her life.
 She had already been briefed by Ferris on a sure path
through. It was unpatrolled; a secret labyrinth that tunneled
through the inner city. The redheaded deviant was many
distasteful things, but she thanked the Spirits for his
cunning brilliance in that moment. This was a route used by
very few in the know to smuggle unsavory and often
unlawful items into the city, right under the king’s nose.
Faythe twisted, heading into the bedroom without
another word. Everything around her went still as she fell
into a cool, calculating calm. Her eyes flashed to her empty
cot, and she contemplated contacting Nik. He was in the
royal guard and could at least ensure Marlowe stayed alive
long enough for Faythe to infiltrate the castle and gain an
audience with the king to beg for her release. But she had
nothing to send her into a quick sleep that would awaken her
Nightwalking ability, and there was no guarantee Nik was
even asleep himself. The night was still young. Every minute
that ticked by was too precious to risk.
No—she didn’t have time to attempt a message to him
that way. Her rage was a storm of fire and ice under her skin.
If the captain wanted Faythe, he would damn well get her.
And my dagger won’t halt before slitting his throat if given a
second chance.
She stripped down, changing swiftly into her suit as it
would allow for the best movement in her task. She tried to
make herself numb to the painful aches of her body from the
brutal beating yesterday, but she had to clench her teeth to
keep from hissing at the sharp stabbing in her ribs and thigh
especially. Jakon’s presence behind her was noted, but she
paid him no attention. She was fully changed and braiding
her hair back in record speed.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
She strapped Lumarias around her hips and equipped her
dagger in a few swift movements, charging back out of the
bedroom. “I’m going to get her out.” Faythe swung her cloak
on and was pulling up her hood when Jakon caught her
elbow. She almost snarled at his move to delay her. Every
ounce of kindness and mercy had left her moments ago.
“And how exactly do you plan to do that?” he hissed.
“There’s a way into the city—underground,” she said
quickly. “I would ask you to stay, but I know you’re not
going to, so don’t slow me down.” She ripped her arm from
his grasp and didn’t wait for his response or for him to equip
his own sword and cloak.
Faythe glided back into the main room and stopped just
for a second to rest a hand on Dalton’s shoulder. “Go home.
We’ll bring her back, I promise,” Faythe said as confidently
as she could though her own uncertainties threatened her
calm demeanor.
Then she left the hut, intending to walk straight into the
trap the captain had laid and bring the hunter down with her.
 CHAPTER 45

W aves thrashed violently against the jagged rocks

Faythe and Jakon clung to in desperation. The
entrance to the tunnels was far away from the town
dwellings, on the opposite side of the great inner-city wall,
at the edge of the kingdom by the wicked Black Sea.
There was a far easier way into the large cave that began
the underground labyrinth into the city, other than the
completely insane route Faythe had taken them on that had
them putting their lives at risk. But when they stopped to
scan the footpath Ferris had pinpointed, she immediately
spotted the fae halfway down the road and was forced to
retreat. They weren’t uniformed guards; they appeared to be
some of the rookies Ferris had warned her about.
The only alternative route had been to scale the deadly,
steep, and nauseatingly high coastline. Any other day, Faythe
would have shut down the impossible idea, but with
Marlowe’s life on the line, all logical thought had left her.
Clawing over the next uneven bulge in the wall, her
gloved fingers ached hideously with the iron grip she held at
all times. She cautiously shuffled her way across the next
relatively flat side. It was made all the more difficult by her
already injured body, but the bitter-cold wind helped to
numb the stabbing in her chest with every movement. More
than once, her foot or hand slipped slightly against the slime
and dampness of the sea-battered rocks, and each time, her
heart leapt in her throat. Adrenaline kept her moving. To let
clumsy, misjudged footing end her life to the monstrous sea
below would be embarrassingly tragic now.
Finally, Faythe hauled herself high enough that she was
able to peek over the edge and check the entrance straight
ahead.
Clear! Thank the Spirits.
No fae lingered around the mouth of the cave. She
whipped her head down in a surge of panic but let it go the
moment she spied Jakon—as safe as he could be with the
waves that crashed higher each time as if desperate to claim
his body in their black waters. She shuddered violently at the
thought.
Taking the final stretch upward to level with her, Jakon
also halted to investigate the area of solid ground. “How the
Nether-damned did you find this?” His voice was barely
audible against the howling wind and storm below.
Knowing Ferris’s name had become something of a
trigger for Jakon’s violence, Faythe didn’t answer. Instead,
she steadily maneuvered her footing, bracing her arms and
pulling herself up and over to lie flat against the oddly
comforting firm ground. Jakon copied her, and they both
stayed down, her heart galloping now they were semi-
exposed and at greater risk of being caught. They still had
bush cover, but in the autumn they had shed their leaves and
offered little hiding.
Faythe commando-crawled forward on her forearms until
she came to the edge of the bushes. When no lingering fae
came into view, she sagged a little in relief.
A torch flickered in its hold outside the cave, burning a
vibrant blue instead of amber. She didn’t have time to admire
the wonders of the magick that made it so, only noted it as
an indication that the labyrinth was indeed in use tonight.
They would have to be vigilant inside.
She jumped into a crouch, every sense on high alert,
before slowly rising to her full height. She was terrified as
she stared into the black void of the cave mouth. The
unknown dwelled inside. They had no map other than
Ferris’s vague description of what to expect and where to
turn. She only prayed her recall of his directions wouldn’t
turn up blank when it mattered most.
Faythe felt a hand graze her lower back and jerked hard in
fear, her hand shooting to her side for Lumarias. Her eyes
fell on Jakon, and she winced, muttering an apology when he
recoiled.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked worriedly.
She knew he wouldn’t hold any judgement if she cowered
out. In fact, he would likely be relieved more than anything if
she decided against the brash plan.
“I don’t have a choice,” she muttered. The captain’s fight
was with her, and she’d be damned if she let Marlowe’s life
end as collateral in the battle between them.
Jakon gave her a weak smile in understanding, and she
couldn’t help but fall into his arms at his look of sadness and
uncertainty. He held her tight, and she let all her fear and
crippling worry go numb in his embrace, absorbing his fierce
courage instead for the dangerous path ahead.
When they released each other, they exchanged one last
look of affirmation. Then they turned and didn’t falter a step
as they stalked to the entrance of the cave.
Jakon swiped the torch outside—smart, as they would
have little chance of finding their way in the pitch-black
inside. Without the bitter, whistling wind, only two sounds
remained: the thrum of her own heart, and the slight
shuffling of their boots against the grain of the cave floor.
Not even the glowing blue flame uttered a single crackle. It
allowed Faythe to tune her hearing in to anything outside of
those two noises.
They followed a long, straight path for a minute, and she
felt the walls closing in as the passage narrowed the farther
they ventured into the belly of the cave. It made her
breathing turn ragged; arose her fear of confinement in the
underground space. She flexed her fists to distract herself.
After another painstaking stretch of passage, they came
to a junction. It was time for Faythe to wrack her brain for
Ferris’s instructions, but in her wild frenzy of thoughts and
emotions, the sequence of left and right paths they had to
take to end up at the castle became a disarray of blurred
lines.
“I think it’s that one,” she said shakily, pointing to the
right. She wouldn’t tell Jakon she wasn’t entirely sure but
was rather following her gut.
He didn’t seem inclined to question it, which dropped
guilt in her stomach that he was blindly putting his trust in
her to guide them through the maze of mud and stone.
Hopefully, there aren’t any ghoulish creatures lurking that
Ferris failed to mention…
A sharp tremor rattled down her spine. Jakon pressed
forward, and with a deep inhale to soothe her rising doubts,
she followed after him. Faythe walked close to his side,
almost glued to him, as if he might be snatched away from
her by the shadows—or she from him. She was selfishly glad
for her friend’s presence; her fear might very well consume
her if she attempted the venture alone.
They walked straight for a few more arduous minutes,
and Faythe knew the prestigious inner city would be alive
above them by now. She tried not to dwell on the nerve-
wracking fact. They came to two more crossroads. Each time,
Faythe chose on impulse which path to take, not allowing
herself time to debate her decisions. But it wasn’t her
strained hearing that was alerted first; it was her sight,
picking up a faint glow in the far distance.
Could it be a way out?
Her hope was short-lived when the light expanded,
revealing an intersection at the bottom of the passage. Her
hand lashed out to grab Jakon’s arm, and they both halted in
cold horror.
They weren’t alone.
Jakon looked to her, wide-eyed, and it was the last thing
she saw before he threw the torch to the ground and tried to
snuff out the blue flame. No matter how much dirt he
shuffled over it, however, the fire still burned bright.
Faythe’s pulse turned erratic when she picked up on
voices growing louder with each passing second. The blue
flame had been conjured from magick; it was logical to
assume it could only be extinguished by it too. Gripping
Jakon harder, she pulled him with her as she silently jogged
back into the pitch-blackness, away from the torch light.
Their company was too close for them to retreat the
whole way back without making a noise. They would have to
hope they could hold the element of surprise long enough to
attempt an ambush. Faythe stayed deathly still, pressing her
whole form hard against the freezing wall as if it could
swallow her whole and save her from the impending
confrontation. She freed Lumarias—slowly, silently. Jakon
stood against the opposite wall.
More than one voice echoed, louder now. They would
need both angles to stand a chance. Though if the oncoming
voices belonged to the fae, Faythe doubted any weapon,
attack, or position could save them.
She didn’t let the fact cripple her internally. They couldn’t
fail—not when they hadn’t even made it to the city streets
above.
 She turned her head to watch the shadowed forms grow
larger, their distorted bodies like wraiths filling the bottom
of the intersection. Unable to balance her breathing with the
racing of her heart, Faythe felt dizzy under the weight of
danger.
Then shadows were made flesh when the figures rounded
the corner toward them. They each held a torch of blazing
amber. With their faces illuminated, the first thing Faythe
identified almost made her sigh out loud in shock and relief.
Humans!
“That pompous bastard! Making us trek all the way here
and not show!” one man cried. He had a short, lanky stature.
Faythe had already picked him for herself as he was
conveniently on her side anyway.
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 every 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.
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

“W ell done , N ikalias .”

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.
“Resistance 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

F aythe 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.
Faythe could have sobbed in defeat. He wouldn’t listen to
her, and they would all die here in this castle. She didn’t
fight when her friends were both pulled to their feet and they
were all escorted from the hall. She dared one last look at
Nik, but he never met her eyes. Damned spineless coward! She
wanted to shout the words at him, but Faythe had become
too tired for her anger to rise. She had failed, and her friends
would pay the ultimate price. There were no more cards to
play; there was no saving grace. She fell into a hollow pit of
despair and let her hope fade to nothing.
 CHAPTER 49

T he prince stared after Faythe and her friends in cold

trepidation but kept his face placid. His father could not
know about his connection to Faythe and what he’d been
doing these past months. Gods, if his father knew what she
meant to him, he would kill her in an instant. It was one
thing to feel sympathy and compassion for the humans, but
to love one…
The king could never find out. He would end her life as a
brutal lesson for him alone.
His mind was still reeling from seeing her, dagger poised
over Tauria’s throat, when he was summoned to the throne
room. It took every restraint in him not to grab her and flee
from his father right then. As much as it pained Nik to see
the look on her face—the look of betrayal at learning who he
really was—he had to be smart so he wouldn’t get them both
implicated. He only prayed Faythe would remain impassive
about knowing him too.
She had played that part too well, and he knew her anger
and loathing were not a front. There was no friendliness or
love in her eyes when she glared right through him, and he
had achingly tried to refrain from looking at her or his face
would have begged her to hold off judgement until he could
explain.
 “Tell me what else you know of this…Faythe,” his father
demanded as soon as they were alone again.
He shrugged nonchalantly. “Her powers are strong, as
you already saw for yourself. But I think she is capable of a
lot more.”
“Do you think I should put her down before she becomes
a threat?”
A test—his father was always one to feel him out on
sensitive matters such as executions. He claimed his son’s
heart was too soft to one day be the ruler of High Farrow.
“Yes. The kingdom has no room for such an unhinged,
traitorous thing.” The words burned like acid in his throat
when he thought of who he was forcing himself to speak
such words about. But his father liked agreement and
ruthlessness. After a pause to let his satisfactory answer
settle in, he continued. “But then again…she could prove to
be a useful weapon.”
The king raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Oh?”
He didn’t let himself back out of the horrible fate he was
about to propose. “As you said, the Nightwalking ability has
limits. Faythe does not. She can know everything with a
single glance into a conscious mind, right in the moment.
She is powerful. With our training, she could bring your
enemies to their knees before you. Best of all, no one would
expect her to exist, least of all as a human.” He stepped up
onto the dais to look down on his father still sitting on the
throne.
Nik knew Faythe would detest the idea; would quite likely
rather die than serve the king in such a manner, invading
people’s unwitting thoughts—even strangers—even if it
would save her life. But it wasn’t her own life Nik was
counting on her being desperate enough to save.
“You are wise indeed, my son,” his father commented,
and he could see he was deliberating.
 “I, for one, quite like her spirit.” Tauria’s voice bounced
through the room. She dabbed a small cloth over her neck
where Faythe had drawn blood, the wound already sealed
over.
Nik raised an eyebrow, suppressing a crooked smile.
“What? It’s not often you see a female with such fire.”
Her eyes twinkled mischievously.
He supposed he should have seen it sooner—that Faythe
and Tauria matched in strong-willed spirits—but it made
him nervous for the world if they were to ever meet. Without
one holding the other as a hostage, that is.
“I shall think on it. And what of the other two?” the king
asked the counsel.
Nik turned to him again. “It would be unwise to kill them.
She won’t make a cooperative ally if you kill her friends, and
you can’t force her ability out of her.”
“If we let treason go unpunished, it puts the kingdom at
risk and makes us look weak.”
“I believe there has been no treason committed, Your
Majesty. As I’ve been watching Faythe, I have also been
tracking her friends to see what information they hold, and I
have suspected nothing.”
A small lie, but if Marlowe or Jakon were to die here—
Gods, she’d bring the might of the Netherworld to their
doors. While he had not really seen inside Marlowe’s head
for himself, he knew the captain had lied to get to Faythe.
Nik decided he would find some way to have Varis
removed—and not just from his position.
“You say Captain Varis has lied. What reasons would he
have?”
“There are rumors of his unsavory activities in the human
towns. Perhaps he held a grudge against someone else, and
the girl was collateral.”
 The king hummed and rose from his throne. “I will think
on your proposition for this Faythe girl. To award a criminal
with a high position in my court—a human… It has never
been done before.”
Nik could only pray to the Spirits his father would see her
usefulness outweighed her brazenness, because the
alternative… He couldn’t bear to think of it.
 CHAPTER 50

F aythe sat hollow against the cold, uneven wall of her

cell, the ground chillingly damp beneath her. She would
have registered the bitter nip of the icy stone if she were
capable of feeling anything at all in her numb state. They had
taken her weapons and even her cloak, then chained her to
the back wall of the cell as if they were afraid anyone who
came too close to the iron bars might fall under her mind’s
grasp if she had free movement.
The thought humored Faythe slightly. How the mighty fae
people could be fearful of her… She didn’t know if she could
do it again—seize control of a mind like she did with Varis.
She had acted purely on instinct and desperation and had no
recollection of how to replicate it.
The harsh scrape of iron bit at her wrists. They were
already red and swollen from her futile attempts to
maneuver them free. The steady drip of a leak somewhere
nearby had been the only sound for a while now, and she had
no concept of how many hours had passed. She had been
ripped away from her friends the moment they came down
here, and she didn’t know where they had been taken as she
was alone in the block of dark, empty cells that reeked of
neglect and death.
 Jakon fought valiantly, but it had been wasted energy.
Marlowe only cried, and Faythe was too broken to do
anything but watch helplessly as they were separated
without a chance of saying goodbye. Faythe wasn’t even sure
if they were still alive or had been executed the minute she
was not there to stop it. So she lay down, the sound of her
chains echoing through the loneliness, and slept for a
temporary escape from her crippling pain and grief.

When she awoke again, it was to the screeching cry of a door

opening and rough boots shuffling against gravel. She
groggily propped herself up to lay her head back against the
wall and brought her knees up in a casual position to greet
her guest.
Captain Varis came into view, and Faythe huffed a laugh,
all fear she had of the male gone. When his eyes flashed in
rage, she laughed harder until she was clutching her
stomach while the space echoed eerily with the sound.
Recalling the look of helplessness on his face and the sight of
him thrashing in terror made the laughter rumble through
her in her state of delirium. But there was no humor, and she
simply relished in making him angry. If these were to be her
last days—last hours—she had nothing else to live for now.
He had taken everything from her.
The captain slammed his palms against the bars, and the
loud clash of rattling metal cut through her chuckles. She
slowed her giggling to a stop but kept her wide smile. She
was surprised he still remained outside the cell and had not
entered to beat her to oblivion as his look told her he
desperately wanted to.
“You’ll find you won’t get into my mind so easily next
time.” He seethed.
 “Want to come closer, and we’ll find out?” Her eyes
danced in challenge.
His nostrils flared. She could see he was deliberating. The
darkness put a dampener on her even being able to try to
make the initial connection into his mind from where she
sat. When she locked eyes with Varis in the throne room, she
had felt everything through him, and the sensation of being
in such a wicked mind still made her sick to her stomach.
Mixing her thoughts and feelings with his was a dangerous
gamble. If she dove too deep, she could have lost herself
completely and done things there would be no coming back
from.
“How you managed to deceive so many people in that
cave… It’s fitting it was your own foolishness and arrogance
that brought you here. To think you could best me.”
“If I remember correctly, you failed to best me also. Not
as sharp as you thought you were, it seems.”
“I could have crushed your throat without any feat of
strength.”
“After I held a dagger under yours. But if it helps you rest
easy at night to see that as a win, by all means.”
She was really just trying to rouse him enough to get him
to break through the bars so she could have a second chance
to end him. She had no reason to hold back this time; the
king had already cast his verdict on them all.
“I’ve seen your darkest fears, Varis. You are nothing more
than a sheep in wolf’s skin. You can drop the façade. It must
be exhausting.”
She watched in delight as his fingers flexed tighter
around the cell bars, using all his restraint not to pull them
clean from the wall and storm right in to kill her with his
bare hands. He had more control than she gave him credit
for as, instead, he lifted his chin after taking a moment to
calm.
 “Your life will be short, girl. I’ll make sure I’m the one to
end it for you. Consider it a parting gift…just like I gave your
friends.”
The air turned ice-cold, and Faythe lunged for him. The
chains stung her wrists, but she bit back the pain and
snarled. She strained furiously to get a line into his mind,
but he was too far away, and his black eyes were barely
distinguishable in the grim darkness.
“I’m going to kill you,” she promised.
It was his chuckling that now filled the silence, and
Faythe jolted again.
“You probably should have when you had the chance,” he
sang as he walked off.
The main door opened, and when it slammed shut, the
vibrations met with loneliness once again.
Faythe slumped back down in a heap, and the tears
started to fall. Everyone she loved was dead because of her. It
had started with her mother and ended with Marlowe and
Jakon. The pain was so overwhelming she screamed and let
her anguish ricochet off the stone and iron cage. When they
came for her, she would make it count. No matter what she
had to do, she would make them suffer as she now suffered.
And the crown prince would be her target.

She didn’t know when she fell asleep again. Days could have
passed, and she’d be none the wiser as she confined herself
to that dark, restful pit. She couldn’t bear to stay inside her
own mind for long; didn’t want to conjure the images of her
friends for fear she would find some way to end her own
suffering. She would meet her end, but not until she
achieved something in her last moments. Not until she had
the chance to unleash her retribution on the King of High
Farrow.
“Be wary of colorless eyes.”
Had Aurialis known this day would come? Was that some
sort of warning about the trap she’d naïvely fallen into? First
with Captain Varis, and now with the king. Both had the same
haunting black orbs.
Faythe cast away the thought of the Spirit of Life, even
cursed her, as she had failed her friends. She forced herself
to sit up, her bones aching from the solid ground as they had
not provided her with hay or any form of padding. She sat
limp, with her hands on her stretched-out legs. The dripping
sound actually kept her sane—it was like a metronome for
her thoughts. She should have been smarter; should have
forced Jakon to stay home so at least one of them would have
a life. She had been on a fool’s mission from the beginning.
The block door cried open again, and Faythe tipped her
head back against the wall with a groan. She was far too low
on emotional energy for another round of insults and
taunting from Captain Varis.
But it was not the black-eyed monster who greeted her
this time. Instead, the demon bore eyes of striking green and
a mask of cunning deceit.
Two other guards were behind the prince. His stare never
left her as he said to them, “Leave us.” They hesitated but
reluctantly shuffled out, foolishly leaving her alone with her
intended target of revenge.
She straightened her head to look at him. “A visit from
the Crown Prince of High Farrow himself. I should be
honored,” she drawled.
“Faythe, I—”
“You don’t get to call me that,” she snapped. “You don’t
get to call me anything. I am nothing to you, as you are
nothing to me.”
 She could have sworn his eyes twinkled with sadness.
Another game. One she wouldn’t fall for this time. She heard
the keys jingle in his hand a moment before he twisted them
into the lock and the door swung open. Foolish prince. He
stepped inside but remained at a distance. If he came a little
closer, she would throw everything into breaking his damned
wall, and she would tear him from the inside out.
“I had to tell him, or he would have killed you right
there,” he said quietly.
She laughed without humor. “Don’t act like you give a
damn.” Her eyes met his—still too far away in the dark. “I
have to give you some credit though: you played the role
perfectly. Or perhaps I’m simply more of a fool than I
thought.”
He took another step toward her. “I was never
pretending, Faythe. Never with you.”
She ignored him. “I hope I at least satisfied your human
curiosities. Tell me, are we as fragile as you thought?”
A pained look shot across his face.
She shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s just a pity you never got
to sample the full-course menu…” She clicked her tongue.
“Might have hindered your findings a little.”
He took a small step closer, and it was enough. As soon as
she felt his mind, she slammed into the black wall with
everything she had and saw him physically wince. It was
starting to crack, and she pushed harder. He didn’t retreat,
when he could have in a matter of seconds. Instead, he
walked toward her, and when he was right in front, he
crouched to where she sat.
“I’m going to let you in. To show you it was all real,” he
said, heartbreakingly soft.
At his closeness and tender voice, tears welled in her eyes
from better memories. But they were lies and disillusioned
feelings. She didn’t break focus.
 The strain lifted as he granted her access, and she
stumbled into his mind. Flashes of thoughts and feelings
came her way, but she pushed them aside and dove deeper
and deeper until she found the part of his mind she was
searching for.
Nik audibly gasped. “Faythe—”
She told his lungs to stop breathing air, and a choked
sound came from him. She forced his knees to meet the hard
stone, and she too shifted herself to kneel in front of him.
His eyes were wide as he gasped for breath. She took his
face in her hands. Tears trailed down her cheeks, but she
made no sound as she watched the prince before her
flounder for breath, unable to inhale. He would suffocate
soon, and for what felt real on her part—the days they had
spent and kisses they shared—she would hold him until the
light in his eyes went out. Even though he had betrayed her,
even though her body trembled in pain to do so, she could
kill him. For Marlowe, for Jakon, for his role in their deaths,
and to punish the king. She could do it.
He gripped her arms as she felt him start to fade, but one
message shot through the walls she’d put around herself in
his mind.
“They’re alive.”
Faythe inhaled sharply, and the mental shield she’d
erected around herself wavered. He showed her an image of
her friends in a cell, huddled together, cold and scared but…
alive.
“How do I know that wasn’t days ago?”
She wouldn’t let him breathe again, not yet—not when he
could force her back out of his mind the moment she
released control.
“You have to trust me.”
“Not good enough.”
 Then all his feelings were thrown at her at once, and she
was living through familiar memories from a different
perspective. Everything they’d seen together; every moment
they’d shared together—it was real. His emotions wracked
through her like a storm, and she sobbed. Not in relief or
happiness. She sobbed in sadness and frustration. This
changed everything and nothing at the same time.
His grip on her arms loosened, and his hands fell as his
mind began to fade to blackness…
Faythe let his body fall.
 CHAPTER 51

F aythe sat back against the cell wall, bringing her knees
up to her chest as she watched Nik’s still figure lying in
front of her. Unconscious, but breathing. After a short
moment, he came around and groggily rose to a sitting
position.
He groaned. “I suppose I deserved that.” His voice
croaked.
She remained emotionless. “I’m not finished with you
yet.”
His face fell, and then he stood, brushing himself off. She
took in his appearance as he did, and it was so obvious she
wanted to slap herself. Prince Nikalias Silvergriff of High
Farrow. Though he wore casual clothes when they met, his
poise, his grace, his secretiveness… It was right there in
front of her the whole time. She had been too blinded by her
own problems to really look at him. Maybe if she had, she
would have figured it out sooner.
“I’m sorry, Faythe—truly. I never meant to deceive you
by not telling you who I really was. Nothing would have been
the same if you knew. You would never have trusted me to
help you.”
She wanted to laugh at the irony. “And I’m supposed to
trust you now? Trust built on the foundation of a lie is
always doomed to fall.”
“When you assumed I was a guard from the solstice…it
was the perfect cover. I never lied, only concealed my true
name and standing.”
“Semantics.”
She had seen it in his mind—the truth he couldn’t hide
from her; his feelings for her. While it comforted her to know
she was not alone in those, nothing would ever be the same
for them.
“Who I am—it changes nothing.”
“It changes everything.”
“Not the way I feel about you.”
Her heart splintered, and she had to turn her gaze from
his. “It can never be between us. It never really was anything.
The fae guard I fell for…he was never real.”
Nik opened his mouth to respond, but the main door
interrupted his words as the same two guards entered
through it. Taking in the open cell door and the risk to their
prince, both guards darted for the hilt of their swords.
Faythe rolled her eyes.
One cleared his throat. “Your Majesty requires your
presence in the throne room, Your Highness. We’re to escort
the prisoner.”
She would never get used to him being addressed with
such a foreign title.
Nik sighed as he looked down at Faythe. The unspoken
words he had for her would remain so, possibly forever, if
she was to head to her death. She was ready. If Nik hadn’t
lied, Marlowe and Jakon were still alive. There was still hope,
and she would do everything in her power to see them walk
out of here, free.
Nik left her with one last longing look before he stalked
out of the cell and then out of her view completely.
 The guards warily stepped inside. Faythe smiled slyly at
them, and they flinched a little, both of them taking extra
caution to avert their eyes. She could at least have fun with
their obvious unease about what she could do.
They mercifully removed her chains, and she rubbed her
tender wrists, which had formed thick red abrasions. Each
guard held her tightly by the arm so she couldn’t make any
quick maneuvers. She didn’t plan to fight or struggle
anyway. Words would have to be her weapon if she stood a
chance of getting her friends set free.
They took her down familiar hallways. She’d tried to note
as much detail as she could in her previous short tours. A lot
of them looked the same, and she knew she wouldn’t stand
much chance of navigating her way out easily—if at all. She
glanced at her guards, but they didn’t dare look back, and
she smirked to herself. They passed a few others, and she
picked up on the sound of a couple more joining her escort.
Faythe had to admit, she was kind of flattered the king
considered her such a threat to warrant so many. They
approached the familiar double doors of the great hall, and
the two fae posted outside swiftly opened them before they
arrived. Her guards didn’t falter a step as they guided her in.
Inside, she beheld the king atop the dais on his throne,
his ward on the smaller throne to his right, and Nik on his
left. She allowed herself one quick glance at the prince, and
his eyes met hers with cool impassiveness. It made her
realize he must have kept the knowledge of just how well he
knew her from his father.
Faythe then cast her gaze to the ward and was struck as
she only now took in the full appearance of her hostage. Her
skin was a glowing golden brown, and her long, dark
brunette hair fell like a waterfall of silk, elegantly half-
braided back to show off her delicately pointed ears, which
were decorated beautifully with gold accents. She sat
perfectly poised in a deep green flowing gown, appearing
like a monarch in her own right. But what stunned Faythe
the most was the bright, eager smile she cast back to her.
Not exactly the reaction she expected when she’d held the
ward at knifepoint and threatened to end her life.
Finally, her eyes fell on the king who stalked her
carefully, calculating. Perhaps deciding how best to make a
show of her death as the human girl who brought a fae to his
knees and took hostile action against another.
The guards halted a few paces before the throne and
bowed. Faythe remained upright, and the king’s eyes
narrowed in irritation at the disrespect. She felt hands on her
back about to force her down, but the king raised a hand, and
they released her, stepping to the side but remaining close.
“It seems you are something that has not existed before,
Faythe,” the king began. “And I fear what you may be capable
of if left…unchecked.” This was it: her death sentence. She
squared her shoulders, about to plead for the life of her
friends with her last breath, but he continued. “That is why,
at my son’s wise counsel, I have decided you may be of use to
me here in the castle.”
Faythe couldn’t have heard right. Her eyes flashed to
Nik’s in accusation, but he showed no emotion.
“Just listen.”
She heard it at the edge of his mind. She wanted to scowl
at him, but instead, she reluctantly turned back to the king.
“You can’t be serious,” she said.
His jaw flexed at her informal tone. “Oh, I assure you, I
am very serious. In return for my sparing your life and
dismissing your treason, the rest of your days will be bound
to my service as my spymaster. However, you will live here
under an alias as emissary to the humans in the presence of
any…guests.”
 It took her a moment to register his words and be sure
she heard them correctly. Faythe laughed breathily. She
looked around the hall, but no one shared her incredulous
humor at the completely absurd idea. Her laughter faltered
as she took in everyone’s straight faces and realized this was
no joke. Then it dawned on her exactly what he was asking.
No—not asking; ordering, or it would indeed be her life. But
to be his spymaster…
“I won’t.”
His eyes flashed at her defiance. “I throw you a lifeline—a
very generous offer—and you have the audacity to decline
me?” His voice dropped low.
She tried not to let the dark tone rattle her. “I will not do
your dirty work. If you can’t trust those in your company,
Your Majesty, I suggest you seek new counsel.”
His nostrils flared, and he shot to his feet. The sudden
movement made her flinch, but she did not retreat back as
he stepped down to her level, still casting a shadow as he
stood a foot taller.
“You would rather die? Miserable, pathetic human,” he
spat. “Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear enough.” He
motioned his hand to a guard, and a second later, she heard
a clamor to her right.
Her head snapped to the side at the commotion, and her
entire body fell with relief upon seeing her friends alive.
Shaken, but alive.
“It was not a request.” He gave a small nod in their
direction.
Steel flashed and sang through the hall as the guards who
held them drew their weapons, poised to strike the instant
the command was made.
“Wait!” she screamed. “I—I’ll do it. Please. If you let
them go, I’ll do everything you ask. I won’t resist it.” Her
eyes met those of her friends, and her heart shattered at the
sight. Even Jakon looked weak and exhausted, but the fire in
his stare remained at least. How would she ever get them to
forgive her?
The king scoffed. “So weak, you humans.” He stalked
back up to the dais. “I’m glad we could come to an
agreement. Your friends will be free to leave tonight. You,
however, will remain.”
She sagged in overwhelming relief. They would live and
get to go back to their homes; to be with each other. That
was all that mattered. She had tethered herself to the
Netherworld to do it, but she supposed that was always her
end destination anyway.
“All I ask is a moment to say goodbye. Please,” she
begged.
The king contemplated. As if deciding it wasn’t worth the
argument or her outcry if he denied her, he simply waved a
bored hand, permitting her to go to them.
She briskly made the short walk to the side of the hall,
and the guards stepped away from her friends as she fell into
them with an arm hooked around both. They all held each
other in silence for a moment, relived none of them would be
meeting an inevitable end. Then she pulled back, unsure of
how many precious minutes the king would have mercy for
before they were snatched away from her again.
“I’m so sorry. I know you can never forgive me, but—”
“There is nothing to forgive,” Marlowe said softly.
“Thank you for coming for me. I will never forget it.”
“What have you promised them, Faythe? I’m not leaving
without you,” Jakon growled.
“I’ll be okay. They’re keeping me alive at least. They seem
to think I might actually be useful to them.” She huffed a
laugh to disguise her revulsion at what they had planned for
her. “You need to go and promise me you’ll look after each
other. This is not goodbye—not even close. I’ll find a way to
see you again soon.” Her throat burned with a painful lump
as she tried to keep her voice steady and not break down
completely.
Jakon pulled her to him, his arms tightening as if he
planned to screw the odds and run off with her. “One word.
You get one word to me, and I’ll tear the damned wall down
to get you out,” he mumbled into her hair.
Gods, she knew he would—or would at least die trying.
“I’ll be okay,” she repeated.
When Jakon released her, Marlowe immediately pulled
her into her own bone-crushing embrace. The quiet whisper
of her voice in her ear sent a shiver through her.
“This is the right path, Faythe.”
She could have collapsed as a million thoughts hit her at
once at those words. Did Marlowe know the captain would
come for her? Had she simply played her role, knowing this
would always be the outcome?
Faythe didn’t get to ask any of it out loud as Marlowe
went on to answer her unspoken questions quietly but
cryptically. “Nothing is certain. Fate can change. Good may
not always triumph. But you are on the right path toward the
beginning of the end.”
It was all riddles to Faythe, but she understood Marlowe’s
gift as an oracle meant she couldn’t press for information—
at the risk of altering far more than her own life, it seemed.
The Spirits worked through her; knowledge was both a
blessing and a curse for the blacksmith. She had the power to
guide the light but the burden of knowing impending
darkness and being helpless to change the order of events.
There could be no victory without suffering; no compassion
without pain.
Faythe’s grip tightened on Marlowe. “It doesn’t feel like
the right path,” she admitted, perhaps selfishly as she
thought of her wicked role for the king.
 They released each other, and Faythe cursed the tear that
rolled down her cheek. Marlowe wiped it away with a sad
smile.
“That’s enough! Take them away and escort them to the
wall,” the king’s voice boomed from across the hall.
Faythe quickly reached under her suit and tugged hard at
the pendant hanging there. The thin rope snapped, and she
pressed it into the blacksmith’s hand, looking her dead in
the eye.
“Its effects are true.”
Marlowe’s eyes widened as she heard Faythe’s thought in
her mind. She glanced at the slab of magestone and then
gave Faythe a subtle nod of understanding. She let out a sob
as Marlowe was roughly pulled from her grasp by nearby
guards.
“Look after each other,” Faythe called again when they
were dragged further out of reach.
She tunneled into hollow despair with each stride they
made away from her, until they were both gone through the
wooden side door. She would have collapsed right then if she
wasn’t all too aware of the audience behind her. Quickly
wiping her face, she straightened, holding back her sadness
for when she could finally be alone again.
 CHAPTER 52

A fter her friends ’departure, a guard approached Faythe,

and she snapped her eyes to him. He quickly averted his
gaze. These guards were quick studies.
She heard movement from behind and twisted to see the
king and his ward stalking toward her. Faythe straightened
nervously at the dark approaching force.
His voice dropped deadly low. “Make no mistake, girl. If
you try a single mind trick or try to attack or escape, I will
personally see to your agonizing execution.”
She swallowed hard at the lingering threat.
Then his voice perked, and the mood turned chillingly
jovial. “Lady Tauria will find suitable living quarters for you.
I trust there are some apologies to be made for your earlier
antics.” He gestured a lazy hand to his ward, who kept a
sweet smile as she looked at Faythe.
Honestly, she would admit Tauria made her more anxious
than the king in that moment. Did she plan to settle the
score between them the second she got Faythe alone?
Tauria walked gracefully past her and mumbled for her to
follow. She did so without a glance back at where Nik stood
atop the dais.
Six guards flanked them, and Faythe refrained from
huffing at the excessive protection detail. It wasn’t as if she
could hold the minds of more than one person—or, at least,
she had never tried and supposed they were just as
unknowing about the full extent of her powers as she.
They weaved through a maze of hallways that all looked
the same, and neither female spoke. The pristine splendor of
the palace was more daunting than welcoming, making
Faythe feel hideously out of place at the stark contrast to her
humble hut. This was to be her new home? It shocked her to
hear she was even getting living quarters as she had highly
anticipated she would spend her life in the cells given the
king’s obvious distaste for her. But she was to be integrated
as a member of his counsel; spymaster to those in the know,
and human emissary to any outsiders. She knew such a title
had never existed in High Farrow’s history—or likely any
kingdom’s past. The fae couldn’t care less about the affairs
and lives of the humans in the towns below them.
Jakon and Marlowe—they were the reason she would
submit to it. As much as the thought twisted a knot in her
stomach, it would ensure their safety, for she had no doubt
his offer of execution would extend to them also if she
refused or stepped out of line.
They walked down another wide, bright hallway that
looked just like the last—except a few paintings were
different, she noted.
“It might look like an endless loop of halls at first, but
you’ll learn the differences quite quickly,” Tauria said,
observing Faythe as she scanned her surroundings.
Faythe met her deep brown stare. “I’m sorry…about
before. I just needed the king to hear me,” she said
sheepishly.
Tauria shrugged in dismissal. “I wanted him to hear you
too.” A sly smile appeared at the corners of her mouth, and
Faythe’s brow rose. The ward stopped in front of a large
wood door. “This should do nicely.” She opened the door and
glided inside.
Faythe hesitated for a second before following her in with
four guards. Two others remained outside.
She stood and gaped when she entered. She was sure the
bedroom was big enough to fit the whole feeble structure of
the hut inside, with an excessively large bed a prominent
focal feature along the wall. She walked a few steps further
in, eyes grazing the finery in admiration. She spotted a
separate wardrobe ready to be filled with clothes, and a
private bathroom complete with its own bath. Another door
to her right led off into a small dining area.
Gods, she had never seen such a luxurious living space,
and this was to be where she stayed?
“A little ostentatious, I know, but I’m sure you’ll find
yourself quite comfortable.” Tauria’s eyes twinkled in
amusement at Faythe’s dumbfounded gawking. Then the
ward headed to the far end of the room that was lined with
full-length glass double doors leading onto a stone-walled
balcony. She pushed them open and stepped outside.
Faythe read her silent invitation to follow, where they
might talk semi-privately out of earshot of the four guards.
It was night, and the cloudless sky opened up to a view of
the bright blanket of stars and a glorious full moon that
illuminated where they stood. Tauria braced her palms on
the balcony’s stone rail, and Faythe stepped up to join her.
The view that unfolded from the vantage point took the
breath from her. The entire inner city sparkled as if the sky
had rained its stars below.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Tauria commented.
Faythe didn’t reply. Instead, she asked, “Why are you
being kind to me?” It wasn’t an accusation or a lack of
appreciation, but Faythe didn’t expect the warm reception
from any fae female, never mind one whose life she had
threatened.
Tauria looked at her, eyes turning a bright hazel in the
moonlight. “Why shouldn’t I be?” When Faythe didn’t reply
again, not seeing the need to state the obvious, Tauria sighed
sadly. “We’re not all the heartless, human-hating monsters
your people have come to see us as, Faythe. I hope in time
you will see that.”
Faythe winced. “It’s hard to believe your kind has any
regard for us when you live like this while so many suffer in
those towns outside the wall.” She nodded to the city below.
Tauria was quiet in contemplation of her words, but then
she spoke again. “There are a lot of us who would like to see
that changed.”
Faythe turned to the ward, glancing briefly at the delicate
points of her ears that set the two females apart. For a
moment, she imagined what it would be like for their two
species to get along in friendship and equality rather than
live in a divided coexistence. It struck her then that in
Tauria’s voice, she heard the words and wisdom of Nik. It
warmed and broke her heart at the same time.
“Do you think it’s possible?” Faythe said quietly.
The ward gave a wholesome smile. “When Prince Nikalias
takes the throne, I think it will be the dawning of a new age
for the citizens of High Farrow—for both races.” Tauria
spoke in loving admiration of Nik, and it had her wondering
what kind of history lay between them.
They stood in silent thought, and Faythe tried to imagine
her kind living side by side with the fae in the star-kissed
city below. The image put a smile of hope on her face.
Tauria released a long breath. “I’ll leave you to get
acquainted with your rooms.” She turned for the glass doors.
“I’ll have one of the servants stock the wardrobe with
clothing for you, and you’ll have a uniform for any meetings
and formal business the king requires your presence for.”
Tauria glanced over her, and Faythe shifted. “You can bathe
and freshen up in the washroom. I’ll have fresh clothing sent
up and a hot meal.” Tauria twisted and strolled back into the
room.
“Thank you,” Faythe called.
The ward paused to look back over her shoulder. She
answered with nod and a small smile.
Faythe welcomed the solitude when the guards filed out
behind her and the door clicked shut. She remained on the
balcony, letting the cool, crisp air engulf her, while she
pondered her new twist of fate. She looked past the sea of
lights, over the waves of uneven rooftops, and reminded
herself one of thing: Though she was now physically chained
within the castle, her spirit would remain free and unbroken.

True to Tauria’s word, a short while later, there was a quiet

knock on her door. When Faythe answered, two young
women stood holding fresh clothing and a meal tray. Her
stomach grumbled and ached at the sight, and she wondered
when she last ate.
She let them inside and went immediately for the food
they left on the dining table before even considering a bath.
“Is there anything else we can get you?” one spoke
timidly.
Faythe looked up at her and smiled gratefully. They were
both human, and it was a comfort she desperately needed.
“No. This is perfect, thank you.”
The women looked a little taken back at her warm
response, and it pained Faythe to think of what kind of
reception the human servants in the castle were used to from
the fae. They bent over in a short bow and went to leave.
 “Wait,” Faythe said quickly. “What are your names?”
They blinked at each other and didn’t immediately
respond. “I’m Elise, and this is Ingrid. We’ll be your personal
servants, Lady.”
Faythe nearly choked on her bread. “Please—my name is
Faythe. Just Faythe.”
Elise gave her a small answering nod.
Faythe had not expected to have anyone tend to her, and
she would have refused their service, but she had to admit,
having frequent human company might just keep her sane in
this place.
“Would you like us to help you bathe and dress for bed?”
Ingrid asked.
Faythe shook her head. “No. Thanks again, Elise and
Ingrid.”
They both took their leave, and Faythe greedily devoured
everything they had brought for her: stew and bread with a
side of cheese, grapes, and wine. The food was glorious, and
she couldn’t help but feel guilty for fine dining while all the
people she loved still lived in poverty in comparison. At least
she knew Jakon would have all her coin from The Cave. It
would keep him and Marlowe comfortable for a while.
She stretched from the dining table and wandered into
the bedroom. Elise and Ingrid had laid out a short silk
nightgown and a soft robe for tonight as well as a rather
lavish gown for tomorrow. She was to be blended into the
court as one of its ladies, so the fae wouldn’t undermine her
presence when it came to the important tasks. They could
dress her in all their best finery, but it would never disguise
her human heritage, and she was sure she would never truly
feel at home among the fae—at least, not under the current
social divide and friction.
Tauria’s earlier words echoed through her mind, offering
hope for the future.
 There was a sharp knock on her door and then a pause
before it opened. A familiar head of sleek black hair
cautiously stepped inside, deliberately closing the door
slowly to give her the chance to cast him out.
Nik lingered just in front of the closed doorway, and they
stared at each other for a moment.
He cleared his throat. “I just wanted to see how you were
settling in,” he said awkwardly.
It pained her to see Nik standing before her now as a
different male to the one she’d opened her heart to. She
pushed back the ache and huffed lightly.
“It’ll take time to adjust, for sure.”
He nodded in understanding. “The views are—”
“Why are you really here, Nik?” she cut in, not in the
mood for idle chatter.
His face fell, and he came a few steps closer. “I need to
know you don’t hate me for who I am.”
“I hate that you lied to me,” she admitted.
“Can you forgive me?”
“I don’t know.”
It was the truth, and she refused to meet his eye. Instead,
she distracted herself with the folds in the dress splayed out
on the bed.
He stepped closer again, and out of the corner of her eye,
she caught his hand going to her face.
Faythe retreated a step. “Don’t,” she warned.
Pain flashed across his face. Then it was gone, and he
straightened.
“We can’t pretend anymore—not here.” Her heart
cracked. She couldn’t hide her sadness as she looked him in
the eye. “You’re a crown prince and will one day be the King
of High Farrow. Maybe not in my lifetime. We were doomed
from the start, Nik.” She blinked back the burning in her
eyes. It wasn’t just who he was; there had always been the
fact of what he was that Faythe had tried so hard to forget.
But no one could outrun time. She would grow old and pass
away, while his immortality would keep him young and
thriving.
She wanted so badly to take away the despair in his eyes
at the cruel reality they had both avoided confronting until
now.
“When you said the fae guard you felt for was never real…
did you mean it?” he asked in no more than a whisper.
“Yes.”
He winced a fraction.
“And no.” She held his intense stare. “What we had
between us was real. But I have no idea who you really are,
Nikalias.”
He bowed his head in understanding. “Will you give me a
chance—to find out? The real me, no more secrets?”
She smiled then—a warm, genuine smile. “I’d like to.”
His shoulders loosened in relief. “I will always care for
you, Faythe.”
It was all the closure she needed. Though it was torture to
have him close and not be able to find comfort in his touch,
she would be able to move on knowing she had a true friend
in him for as long as she lived. There was no denying the
bond between them.
“I will always care for you too, Nik.”
They went out onto the balcony and sat chatting together
on the cushioned chairs. She listened, awestruck, while he
talked passionately about his life as the Prince of High
Farrow. It was liberating to finally learn more about the fae
male she had spent months in the company of—the one who
had saved her from herself, and then from his father. Despite
everything, she would always owe him a great debt for what
he had risked—more so now, as she discovered how difficult
it must have been for the prince to roam incognito through
the town.
“Tauria seems like an interesting female,” Faythe
commented when Nik mentioned the ward.
He huffed a laugh. “You two could wreak havoc in this
castle.”
Faythe grinned wide, and for the first time in what felt
like a lifetime, it was genuine happiness she felt. Her friends
were safe, she was alive, and her ability had become her
salvation instead of her doom in the face of the king. Her
secrets were out and could no longer destroy her. She
despised the reason why she’d ended up in the castle, but
she was exactly where she needed to be—to find the temple
ruin and free her soul, which was still anchored to the
eternal woods. Whatever else she learned about herself from
the Spirit Aurialis, she would be ready for it.
“I knew your path would lead you to the royal household. That
is all.”
A small smile tugged at her lips in awe and disbelief.
Whether Marlowe had known before exactly how she’d come
to be here, Faythe couldn’t be sure. She supposed it didn’t
matter.
She turned her head to look over the glittering city. If she
had to now call this home, she could at least make the most
of it.
With a mischievous smile, she said, “I can’t wait.”
 EPILOGUE

- Reuben -

T he faint intermittent scraping of scuttling rodents had

been the only sound for some time now. Still, Reuben
remained silently cramped in his small wooden cell, not even
daring to breathe too loud. Every time a rat screeched or
clawed at the ground, the disruption of the deafening
stillness sent his heart into a frenzy.
He knew they had docked from the loud commotion of
exiting crew members a while ago and the fact he no longer
swayed nauseatingly with the motion of wild, thrashing
waves. He was relieved he had managed to hold back the
vomit that rose in his stomach too many times on their
journey across the sea. He couldn’t be sure how many days
had passed since leaving High Farrow or how many hours
since they’d finally reached their destination of Lakelaria.
His whole body had ached during the first stretch of the
grueling journey, and he’d tried to shuffle his position
routinely as best he could within the painful confines of the
crate. Now, he was completely numb all over and worried
about the functionality of his limbs.
 Deciding no one was coming back for the cargo anytime
soon, Reuben braced his splayed palms against the lid above
his head. His pulse drummed in his ears in anticipation of
being free from his confines and setting foot on completely
new land; unknown territory. He strained against the
enclosure and would have tasted the fresh air sooner were it
not for his dead muscles that were agony to stretch,
protesting against the strength it took.
Finally, the lid popped off, and he slid it to the side with
steady caution.
He tuned his hearing again. Silence. Though he couldn’t
be sure if there were any fae stationed outside the ship, they
were likely to detect him from inside if he was brazen in his
movements.
Reuben was slow to rise from his crouched position as
pain started shooting up every muscle and bone that had sat
dormant for days. He knew it was dark in the cargo hold
from the small cracks in the barrel, but he could barely make
out the distorted shapes of the other containers around him
when he fully emerged. He felt around and braced against
the solid form beside him. Then, as stealthily as he could, he
hauled himself free at last.
When his feet met solid ground to stand straight, he
almost buckled under his own weight. He took a moment to
stretch and then reached back into the barrel for his very few
belongings. Turning, he spotted a rectangular slither of
light: a door! The only one he could see. He crept toward it,
wincing with every creak of the cursed floorboards.
When he crossed to it, he paused for a moment to press
his ear to the exit. Nothing alerted him to any man or fae
within hearing distance. With his heart a wild rattle in his
chest, he grasped the handle and slowly pulled it open. He
dared a wary peek out the door first, finding no bodies in the
dimly lit cabin—to his great relief.
 Reuben didn’t have a plan, but once he made it off the
ship, he supposed he would be able to find another human
and beg for refuge…if the fae didn’t catch him as a stowaway
first. He was never blessed with the skill of stealth—not like
his childhood friend, Faythe. The thought of her, the thought
of every friend, and his mother! He’d been forced to leave
them behind, and it sent him into a dark pit of despair. He
couldn’t think of them right now. Not until he at least got to
safety, or he would be crippled with grief.
Reuben felt the wisp of wind before he found a sure exit
off the ship. He followed that wind, and it took him up a set
of narrow, winding stairs, down another damp and dingy
hallway, until…
The outside at last!
Moonlight signaled the way out where it pooled in from a
doorless gap at the end of the passage. His steps quickened,
so eager to feel the force of fresh air on his face that he
momentarily forgot his life depended on him being slow and
quiet. He approached the exit with caution, stopping to crane
his neck around and scan the main deck. Surprisingly, there
was not a soul—man or fae—left on the ship or the sandy
shore.
Reuben straightened and strolled out of the cabin.
Out in the open, he filled his lungs with the salty fresh air
and welcomed the blissful freedom. He didn’t feel the need
to hide or remain inconspicuous as it was clear the docks
were abandoned and unpatrolled during the night. A relief,
since it was unlike High Farrow where fae soldiers crawled at
all hours.
He disembarked the ship with a slight skip in his step.
Perhaps this kingdom wouldn’t be so bad after all if they
were lax on security and control.
The thought made him smile, and he crossed the sandy
shore to head into the woodland. It reminded him a lot of
Westland Forest, though he supposed little could be different
about a woods. It was too dark to pick out anything that
might set the scene apart from his homeland. It was quiet,
however—almost too quiet—but he put that down to the late
hour and the fact there maybe weren’t as many small
woodland creatures in Lakelaria.
There wasn’t much he could remember about the mighty
land from old teachings in school, but he knew from maps
that Lakelaria was famously named for its channels of water
that ran throughout the kingdom. There was one chilling tale
that had stuck with him since childhood though. This was
once a kingdom ruled and occupied by the sirens, who held
the ability of song to lure man into their waters. Of course, it
was all myth and scary stories, but Reuben would be keeping
far away from the lake paths…just in case.
Walking through the crooked rows of trees, he was eager
to get out of the woods that were starting to make his skin
crawl. But he stopped dead in his tracks, certain he caught
one of the skinnier tree trunks…moving.
His calm heart picked up a rapid, uneven rhythm, caught
between remaining paralyzed in fear or taking off in flight.
He decided on something in the middle, pressing forward
slowly while clutching the straps of his backpack painfully
tight should he need to make a run for it.
Capturing another flinch of movement out of the corner
of his eye, he whipped his head around.
It could just be the leaves.
He reeled in his panic. There were infinite things that
moved in woodland areas; his mind was simply jumping to
irrational conclusions in fear, triggering mild paranoia that
he was being tracked. Still, he quickened his pace.
Just as he took his next step and a branch cracked
underfoot, all went black.
 Reuben cried out when something was thrown over his
head, followed impossibly quickly by someone restraining
his arms and binding them behind his back. He didn’t even
catch a breath before he was fully captured by his stealthy
assailant.
“Please! I—I mean no harm! Please, let me go!” Reuben
cried frantically in his panic.
No one spoke back to him. Still, he knew the first attacker
wasn’t alone when he felt an arm hook around each of his
elbows and begin to drag him away. He didn’t have it in him
to fight as his crippling fear froze his movement, triggering
an incoherent slur of pleas and protests instead.
His captors paid him no attention and didn’t loosen their
grip or slow their fast pace that had Reuben tripping over his
own feet. He soon gave up trying to walk and let them drag
him.
It was the most agonizingly long few minutes of his short
life, and it shook him into a frenzy to imagine they would be
his last if he was being led to his death. He heard the screech
of door hinges, then he felt the change in the ground. His
toes didn’t turn up dirt or catch over sharp branches. Now,
they glided over a far smoother and much more even surface.
Then they halted, and he was suddenly released.
Reuben went from dangling limply in his captor’s arms to
falling against the cold ground, his shoulder taking the brunt
of the force thanks to his bound hands. He shuffled himself
to his knees, and then the bag over his head was roughly
snatched away. His neck snapped back painfully with it, and
he blinked rapidly to the beat of his heart as he adjusted to
his new surroundings.
He was now indoors, in a shoddy hut that was barely
illuminated by some nearby torches. He glanced to his side
and shrieked, flinching back at the sight of two huge fae
males, cloaked and hooded in a black uniform. He knew that
uniform, and when realization hit, Reuben thought he would
pass out from the wave of flashbacks to his last encounter
with such a force.
Valgard.
He stared at them wide-eyed and wide-mouthed, unable
to speak, move, or switch emotion from cold-blooded terror.
The fae remained stationary and didn’t return his stare as
they stood straight and poised, eyes fixed behind him.
The floorboards creaked, signaling a new presence in the
room. Reuben snapped out of his shock to whip his head
around. Only, when he did, he wasn’t met with the death-
promising, brute-force male he expected.
Instead, his horror soothed into gawking awe at the tall
female fae who emerged from the dark hole in the wall. He
was struck by her beauty—it was matched by no fae or
human he had seen before. Her hair blazed such a dark
amber it was almost red, and it moved like real flames. Her
face was delicate, pale, perfect. But when he looked into her
eyes…
He’d seen those eyes before—their color.
No. It’s only a coincidence.
She came to a stop in front of him. The female crouched
down to where he knelt paralyzed by bewilderment more
than fear. She wore a feline smile that made every hair on his
body stand on end. She was beautiful—but dangerous. He
didn’t know what it was, but something told him not to be
fooled by her graceful exterior. With the beauty of the
leopard came the capacity to kill.
Finally, the temptress spoke. “Yes,” she said in an elegant
melody. “I think you’ll be of great use to me.” Even her voice
sounded not of this world; hypnotizing.
And he felt it too, as he couldn’t tear his gaze from her.
Perhaps he was still in a deep stupor at the thought of who
else surfaced in his mind at seeing her eyes—eyes of
glittering gold. There was only one other he knew whose
irises shared such a color, except the female’s in front
burned slightly brighter, almost glowing, in comparison. The
ethereal beauty’s rouge painted lips twitched in a cruel smile
that had him trembling violently. Reuben stared and stared
into those blazing orbs, straining his mind to not let the face
morph…into Faythe’s.

The story continues in…

A QUEEN COMES TO POWER
 - COMING 2021 -

W hen courts collide , blood may be spilled . B ut when destinies

collide , blood may hold power .

A DUTY…
Bound in service to the king within the city, Faythe grapples
with morality to keep herself and her friends safe. Nik’s
loyalty is tested as he struggles against his father’s cruel
ways. When blood and duty divide the heart, can love
conquer all?

AN ALLIANCE…
While the kingdoms prepare to unite, Faythe is forced to
remain hidden in plain sight. But suspicions quickly arise
with the mysterious fae general from an ally court. Getting
close to Reylan could unravel truths she longed for, but trust
is hard to gain and even harder to hold. When lurking evil
threatens the alliance that keeps them all safe, Faythe may
find herself on the side where danger meets desire in a force
that could break past the guard on her heart.

A CHOICE…
For the threat of battle isn’t the only conflict to fear. Faythe
can’t forget the deal she struck in the woods to save her
friend’s life––and it’s time to fulfil. Finding the temple ruin
leads them to harrowing discoveries within the castle…and
something far more sinister than the war that lingers. It
seems everyone will receive more than they bargained for. A
history that haunts, truths that destroy, and a tangled
destiny they didn’t expect.

COMING 2021

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www.ccpenaranda.com
 PRONOUNCIATION GUIDE

NAMES
Faythe: faith
Nik: nick
Jakon: jack-on
Marlowe: mar-low
Tauria: tor-ee-a
Orlon: or-lon
Reuben: ru-ben
Ferris: fer-iss
Varis: var-iss

PLACES
Ungardia: un-gar-dee-a
Farrowhold: farrow-hold
Galmire: gal-my-er
High Farrow: high-farrow
Lakelaria: lake-la-ree-a
Rhyenelle: rye-en-elle
Olmstone: Olm-stone
Fenstead: fen-stead
Dalrune: dal-rune

OTHER
Riscillius: risk-ill-ee-us
Lumarias: lou-ma-ree-as
Yucolites: you-co-lights
 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

It’s been a journey. A wonderful, fantastic journey of

introducing my world of Ungardia to you, and I have many
people to thank as part of my creative and support team who
without each and every one this book would not have come
together.
To my mum Yvonne, who never once thought my dreams
were too big and encouraged me to reach for the stars. The
one who listened to my stresses, crushed my self-doubts,
and gave me belief in myself. Thank you for being you.
To my sister Eva, the first reader of the raw and unedited
version of AHCTR. Thank you for your enthusiasm and
encouragement for this series. Reuben is a character forever
dedicated to you.
To my niece Chiara, also a first reader of the unedited
book. Thank you for your honesty and encouragement,
which helped me make changes that strengthened the plot of
this book.
To my dad, who has always been a number one supporter.
Thank you. And to the rest of the family unit, I owe credit to
you all in your own special way who have given me
confidence and drive to pursue this book. Thank you for your
love and support.
 To my extraordinary editor, Bryony Leah, I thank my
lucky stars for you. Your edits and suggestions are
invaluable, your encouragement and praise inspiring, and
your dedication and attention admirable. Thank you for
being so professional, accommodating, and going above and
beyond for this book.
To Alice Maria Power, for the absolutely stunning cover
illustration. Your work is honestly as close to real-life magic
as it gets. Thank you for being so wonderful and attentive to
every detail. I cannot wait to illustrate this series with you.
To Beck Michaels—my book sensei! Thank you for your
fantastic design work on this cover, and above that, I found a
great friend in you and invaluable support as a fellow author.
Finally, and perhaps most importantly, I wouldn’t get to
do what I love without you—the readers! Thank you from
the bottom of my heart for choosing to pick up my book and
begin the journey through Ungardia. This is only the
beginning, and I hope to see you all along for the trials and
tribulations of Faythe’s story, and those of many other
characters to come! Here’s to you.
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR

C.C. PEÑARANDA is the Scottish author of the compelling young adult novel  An
Heir Comes to Rise, the first book in an epic fantasy series. 
A lifelong avid reader and writer, Chloe discovered her passion for storytelling
in her early teens. An Heir Comes to Rise has been built upon from years’ worth
of building on fictional characters and exploring Tolkien-like quests in made up
worlds. During her time at the University of the West of Scotland, Chloe
immersed herself in writing for short film, producing animations, and spending
class time dreaming of far off lands. 
In her spare time from writing in her home in scenic Scotland, Chloe enjoys
digital art, graphic design, and down time with her three furry companions.
When the real world calls...she rarely listens.

www.ccpenaranda.com