Page 2 of From the Myths of Kings

“Did you have a nightmare?”

Aurelia came to her side, turquoise eyes glinting with concern in the moonlight. A sand-colored scarf wrapped around her head in a series of intricate twists, obscuring the golden curls that normally flowed around her shoulders. A single flaxen strand slipped from beneath the scarf and caught on the wind. Aurelia wrapped her hand around Saoirse’s, twining their fingers together.

“Yes,” Saoirse confessed, grateful for Aurelia’s unwavering presence. Though the dream was now lost to the void of sleep, the lingering emotions it evoked were still fresh in her heart.

You betrayed me too.

She squeezed Aurelia’s hand harder, leaning into her warmth. “Thank you for staying with me. I don’t think I could do this without you.”

Aurelia’s eyes softened. “I know that look, Saoirse. The guilt is gnawing at you again.”

Saoirse cringed, hating how easily Aurelia could decipher the truth behind her words.

“There is nothing to thank me for,” Aurelia continued. “I will stay by your side for eternity. But your guilt is a lie. The voice in your head that says this is your fault and whispers to you in dreams is deceiving you.” Aurelia tightened her grip on her hand for emphasis. “This is real.”

Saoirse nodded, willing herself to let go of the phantom faces in her head. Clinging to her longest friend, she blocked out the voices hurling accusations at her like stones.

“You’re right. This is real.”

“We have a long night ahead of us,” came a smoky voice. “Are you ready?”

Noora Mir slipped from her tent, eyes flashing as she strode forward. A quiver of arrows was slung around the archer’s shoulders, her elegant bow tight against her side like an extension of her own body. Twin knives were strapped to each of her thighs. A scarf identical to the one Aurelia wore was wrapped around her head, securing her dark hair against the desert wind. She looked positively lethal.

As she took in Noora’s determined face, memories of the first time Saoirse had seen the Tellusun warrior materialized in her mind. It was the night of the tribute’s banquet, when all four kingdoms of Revelore had gathered in the courtyard of the Auran citadel to celebrate the Tournament, each dressed in their finest silks and adorned with a vicious hunger to win.

It felt like a lifetime had passed since that distant evening. Saoirse didn’t recognize the person she had been that night, a woman obedient to ambition and so blinded by hatred that she couldn’t see the people sitting beside her as anything other than enemies, obstacles she needed to overcome.

Noora had once been one of those nameless adversaries in the arena, nothing more than a dangerous weapon of an enemy kingdom. The former personal guard of the Tellusun princess had just been another tribute competing for the Crown of Revelore. In reality, Noora and her fellow Tellusun tributes had been fighting a secret war, championing an underground rebellion against the ruling kingdom of Aurandel, and in turn, the entire institution of the Tournament as a whole. The Tournament had just been a distraction for the greedy nations of Revelore, a petty game that focused the world’s attention on entertaining trials and away from the true goal: stealing the Crown of Revelore to destroy it.

Now, Noora was an ally. Saoirse wouldn’t consider her a friend just yet. The archer still held an understandable measure of wariness for her and Aurelia. But since they had both willingly joined the resistance, Noora seemed to be giving them a chance to prove their loyalty. Princess Hasana Yerimya of Tellusun was ultimately behind Noora’s gradual trust in her former enemy tributes. Hasana believed Saoirse’s intentions were true, and she had done her best to convince her band of rebels to do the same. Because of Hasana’s faith, Noora readily agreed to lead them through the Shujaa Desert to the Soundless Oasis, guiding them to the home of Tezrus the Scholar, the elusive, foremost expert on the Myths of Old.

They’d set off from Bezhad, the capital city of Tellusun, three days ago. During the day, they pitched their tents and hid from the blinding sun, sleeping under the protective shade yielded by specially made Tellusun fabric with cooling properties. By night, they trekked through the dunes, their journey illuminated by a swollen moon against a cloudless expanse of sky, the wind at their backs. At first, they were silent as they climbed up and down the steep slopes of sand all night. But after a day or two, Noora had slowly relaxed in their presence, opening up about some of her childhood in the Clay City and her journey to becoming a personal guard of the royal family.

It was odd to share those small, quiet moments as the purpose of their journey loomed so heavily over them. They didn’t speak of what was to come, nor of what would happen to the kingdoms of Revelore if things didn’t go exactly as planned. They didn’t speak of the chaos ensuing across the continent, or the military forces gathering in Aurandel and Terradrin in the wake of the attack on Coarinth. They didn’t speak of the Auran prince who was still recovering in Bezhad after his brush with death. And Saoirse was grateful for that.

“We’re ready,” Saoirse answered, letting go of Aurelia’s hand.

Noora nodded. “All right then. From my calculations, the Soundless Oasis should be about an hour away. Prepare yourselves.”

Saoirse shouldered back inside the tent, Aurelia one step behind her. They folded their bedrolls in silence, the foreboding weight of their upcoming task thick in the tent. The sounds of swords being sheathed, boots being tied up, and buckles being clasped were familiar. They were the sounds of an upcoming battle, each chink and slide of metal mingling to build a grim chorus that would eventually crescendo into bloodshed. How many times had the two of them prepared like this, muscle memory awakening to the song of combat? If someone had told her she and Aurelia would be in the middle of the Shujaa Desert tracking a mythical oasis two weeks ago, she would’ve thought them mad. It felt like they were living in an unraveling myth themselves.

Little was known about the Soundless Oasis, but based on what Hasana had shared with them, it was incredibly dangerous. The hermit scholar Tezrus had taken refuge there after he had escaped from the Order of Elders decades ago. Just as every Elder did before him, Tezrus had sworn fealty to the sacred Order and promised to remain faithful until his death. When he renounced the Order, he forfeited his own life. Tezrus fled to the desert where no member of the Order would dare search for him, for fear the Soundless Oasis would eat them alive.

Saoirse rose and strapped her sword across her back, pulse thrumming in her throat. The Soundless Oasis was said to be a living entity, as deceptive and cunning as any animal. It was nomadic, never staying in one place. It tricked those who sought it out, appearing in a mirage on the horizon or as a compelling glimmer of green against the golden sand. But when a hapless traveler finally stumbled upon the oasis’s fertile land, desperate for a sip of crystal blue water and shade from the merciless sun, it vanished without a trace, stranding them in an endless sea of sand and sentencing them to death by dehydration. Others whispered that ancient creatures of myth made their home there, so hungry for human flesh that the oasis itself lured travelers to its lush gardens and allowed its children to feast upon unsuspecting visitors. Even in the vast quiet of the desert, the screams of victims could not be heard.

Soundless indeed.

Saoirse would be lying if she said she wasn’t terrified. But Tezrus was the only living person survive after renouncing the Order. After learning their secrets and studying their ancient traditions, he was the only soul who could share knowledge of the Myths of Old, and with it, the key to destroying the Titans once and for all.

Saoirse swept her hair up into a knot at the nape of her neck. Wrapping her scarf around her head, she twisted it around her neck so the ends hung over her shoulders like wings. She tightened the laces of her boots with a final tug, apprehension surging through her body as she mentally readied herself for what was to come. She could taste bitter irony as she prepared for the oasis, a trial in its own right. Just weeks ago, Saoirse had been in a tent not unlike this one, readying for the last trial, putting on her tribute’s clothing for the final time. In that tent, she hadn’t known life was about to change, that her understanding of Revelore and her place in it was about to be entirely rewritten. But that final day in the tribute’s encampment wasn’t the beginning of her world turning upside down. No, the foundation of her life began disintegrating the moment Saoirse met him.

Rook.

She’d avoided thinking about him for days. The mere idea of him sent a bolt of pain shuddering through her, reverberating in the empty places of her heart where he’d only just started to take residence. After the truth came out about the bargain she’d made and Aurandel had declared war, a hollow look had overcome him, his eyes cold and haunted. He’d kept to himself in the days leading up to their expedition to the oasis. He needed to rest and recover after nearly being killed by the Sea Witch, of course, but Saoirse knew his true wounds were deeper than any physical trauma. Saoirse’s betrayal was likely only the beginning of the overwhelming emotions he was feeling right now. His sister, the last living member of his family and the person who knew him most in the world had declared war against Hasana’s rebellion—a rebellion he was now a part of. And the real urgency they faced wasn’t even an impending war of man, but the potential rise of ancient gods thought to have been long lost to time. Overwhelming was a gross understatement.

Saoirse longed to speak with Rook, to make him feel less alone. She had Aurelia by her side. He had no one. But he’d made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with her, choosing isolation over finding solace with the girl who’d once promised to take his life. She didn’t blame him.

When they left Bezhad, Saoirse had all but fled the city, desperate to escape the cold resignation and raw pain that radiated from him even across the palace. Maybe that made her weak. Maybe the fact that she became physically ill thinking about confronting him meant she was selfish and childish. But it was more than that. Saoirse couldn’t spend another moment there knowing Selussa was hunting for the Relics, already in possession of two out of four and so close to completing her depraved mission. Saoirse’s broken heart be damned; she cared more about her people and the fates of every kingdom of Revelore than her foolish tragedy.

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