Page 15 of Return of the Darkness
It took little time before the palm trees appeared in her vision, where a black stallion drank from the oasis. When Nyzaia dismounted, she found Kazaar sat at the water's edge, with his boots and socks off and his feet submerged in the water. With his sleeves rolled up and forearms resting on his knees, he stared silently at the high canyon walls, casting a shadow over the calm surroundings.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Nyzaia called, removing her boots. She walked barefoot across the sand, wriggling her toes as she went. He did not turn his head as she sat beside him and bumped his shoulder. Nyzaia frowned at the prominent circles under his eyes. “I was all packed ready to head to Myara, but was missing a vital person,” she jested, smiling.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I had to get out of the city and didn’t want to stare at Vala’s god-awful mountains in the distance. Ashun Desert was too hot; Myara was too far. This was easiest and quickest.”
“Why did you want to get out of the city?” Nyzaia asked, filtering the sand through her fingertips. Kazaar shrugged. Together, they sat in silence for a while, watching the sun shift around the canyons, moving the shadows over the oasis with it.
“Do you think I’ll ever have what you and Tajana have?” Kazaar asked. Normally, Nyzaia would have made a joke, like siblings did, but she sensed his forlornness as he stared into the distance. “Someone who understands every part of you, like an extension of yourself. When they look at you, it’s like they’re looking at theirwhole world.” Nyzaia raised her eyebrows. It was an unusual question. Kazaar so rarely spoke about his feelings. He had opened up on a few occasions, usually when their father had done something to anger or upset him, but this felt different. He shook his head. “Ignore me. That was stupid. Just a thought.”
“Your thoughts aren’t stupid, Kazaar—your card playing abilities perhaps, but never your thoughts.” The corner of his lips quirked; they both knew his card skills were far from stupid. “One day, you will meet someone who lights your soul on fire and sees you for everything you are. They will love you so much, they will give over every part of themselves just for you.”
“That was an extreme answer, but I appreciate it.” Kazaar scoffed, and Nyzaia bumped his shoulder.
“I mean it, Kazaar. You’ll be happy. I know it.”
There was something about that moment, knowing how deeply Kazaar yearned for love, and for a brief time had it, that prompted Nyzaia to choose the oasis to commemorate him. Elisara would have liked the memory too if she had been here to hear it. Kazaar got everything he hoped he would: a woman who gave every part of herself to him and believed she was nothing without him by her side. Nyzaia wished he could have experienced Elisara’s love for a lifetime.
Beneath the setting sun, Nyzaia swigged from the bottle of amber liquid and hoped Kazaar was watching. She had never subscribed to the idea of an afterlife; many in Keres believed you either burned for eternity or were delivered to an oasis. For the Red Stones, death meant death. It’s an easier notion to live in certainty than spend the rest of your life wondering if your lost loved ones are happy somewhere where you’re not. Because knowing they were gone but happy made you feel selfish for a part of you would rather them be alive and miserable, as long as they were still with you. There was no room in the mind or heart of a Red Stone for dreams, desires, or ‘what ifs’. Still, Nyzaia foundherself wondering.
“What was his favourite card game, Nyzaia?” Jabir called from the horses, fishing in his satchel for a pack of cards so worn you could barely see their drawings.
“Snap,” Nyzaia muttered. Farid choked on his drink beside her, and she clapped him on the back. “He didn’t have a favourite; he could beat me in any.”
“I have never played, so I shall sit this out,” Larelle said from where she sat with her feet in the water. She rested her head on her knees, twisting spirals of the oasis in her hands. Smiling, Alvan watched her with flushed cheeks.
“I’ll play for the both of us,” he said. Larelle followed him with her eyes as he rose and sat beside Farid, Vlad, Issam, and Rafik, in a half-moon formation. Nyzaia wanted to smile at their joy but thought of Tajana instead. First Kazaar, and now Tajana. While she betrayed Nyzaia, seeing her chained up and in pain made her sick. Currently, the only remedy was swigging the amber liquid and feigning laughter. She would be fine eventually, particularly after a visit to the dungeons to unleash her frustrations on a certain blonde enemy.
Nyzaia swigged from the bottle again, her mood having soured with thoughts of Soren. “I’ll sit this round out.” Nyzaia glanced at her split knuckles, where the wound was slowly scabbing over. A very appropriate look for a queen. Nyzaia found it rather odd how Soren had not fought back. She had never backed down from Nyzaia before. Nyzaia hoped she would fight back during their next encounter. Torture was no fun when people accepted it.
A flicker of warmth skated over her heart when Nyzaia stole a glance at Farid, watching her intently. The sunlit glow on his skin reminded her of his wings. He tilted his head to the side, and Nyzaia nodded to reassure him. Their silent awareness of one another had become second nature. The bond between them had never felt odd—it felt right. Farid turned back towards the rest of the men and glanced quickly at a laughing Jabir. The comfort Farid provided twisted into fear. She had lost Kazaar; she could not loseFarid too, no matter how new their friendship was. She hoped their destiny together lasted long into the future.
Behind her, Rafik and Issam spoke in hushed tones about the Pillars. Nyzaia sighed, knowing after today there would be no time for grieving. She was to return to her duties and investigate the sacrifices. But for now, she had a moment to mourn.
Despite being wrapped up in her thoughts and worries, Nyzaia sensed when Larelle rose from her spot and padded over to sit closer. The oasis seemed to ripple quietly as she did, as though mourning the loss of the water queen’s attention. Nyzaia focused on the water and the reflection of the palm trees. An uncomfortable feeling crawled in her stomach, reaching for her chest.
“I apologise if I said something that upset you earlier,” Larelle said in a voice that screamed she was a natural born queen. Awkwardness consumed Nyzaia, who was never one for apologies. Hell, what did she—the queen of the assassins, and then the realm—have to apologise for? Nyzaia did not reply. Instead, she took another swig, hoping the alcohol would numb this conversation, too. “Everyone handles grief differently,” Larelle said. Nyzaia tried not to roll her eyes at what she expected was another pep talk. “Olden once told me there were stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.” Nyzaia did not think she would ever experience the latter. “But what people do not acknowledge is the lack of order to feel such things. You might circle back to the beginning again or flit between all the others.” When Larelle paused, Nyzaia finally looked her in the eye. Cross-legged, Larelle rested her palms on her knees and straightened her back, staring into the water. “Anger appeared to fuel Elisara initially, but when I was with her, depression was at the forefront. It’s okay for her to feel both emotions, even if we do not always understand it.” Nyzaia put down the bottle of liquor and clasped her hands, running her fingers over the wounds. “The same way it’s perfectly okay if you feel anger, too, Nyzaia, but—” Larelle paused, and their eyes met, grey meeting brown, water meeting fire, calm meetingfury. “Do not let your anger consume you to the point of pushing those you love away. They will be the ones to support you when the depression takes hold.”
Nyzaia turned and hung her head. Larelle was right, as she so often was. Nevertheless, that feeling still sat in her stomach—the unease at not being able to admit her feelings.
“Larelle, we need a judge! There’s cheating happening!” Alvan called, earning many complaints of the men.
“She’s biased!” Jabir cried.
“She will obviously side with you!” Issam hung his head back, already admitting defeat. Larelle chuckled and rose, lifting her dress to guide her feet over the sand to the others. Nyzaia assessed how Alvan’s gaze tracked her every step; he had the same look in his eye that Kazaar had when he thought nobody was watching him watch Elisara. Pain flitted through Nyzaia’s heart, the pain she shielded with anger. She sighed.
“Larelle,” Nyzaia called. The queen paused and turned back, the sun bathing her in serene light. “I’m sorry. You know that, right?” She could not meet Larelle’s eye.
“I know,” Larelle said.
Chapter Nine
Larelle
“Shh!” Alvan hissed, grasping Larelle’s waist to silence their laughter.
“I stubbed my toe! I’d like to see you attempt being quiet through that!” Larelle whispered, sliding her hand into Alvan’s arm. As the dusky sky quickened to the deep blue of oceans, Larelle straightened on the steps of Tabheri Palace.
“You wouldn’t have hurt yourself had you kept your shoes on,” he chuckled.
