An Heir Comes to Rise (An Heir Comes to Rise, #1)

by C.C. Peñaranda

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.

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.

“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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

“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.”

“Stay true to yourself, Faythe. Aurialis will be your guide.” They parted to reveal a bright veil of white instead of obsidian black.

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.

“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.

“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.

“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.”

“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.

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.

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.

“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.”

Youre literally dumb asf

She thought she heard faintly, just as she met the tree line… “I shall see you again soon, Heir of Marvellas.”

“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.”

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.”

“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.

“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.”

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!

Yo mama is dead boo sorry

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 eyes, straining his mind to not let the face morph…into Faythe’s.