Page 36 of Return of the Darkness
“You cannot use your power while unconscious,” a haunted voice echoed through the haze. Its movements were hurried as it twisted from Nyzaia, pulling further and further until it formed a cocoon before her that tightened. Her last dagger was a welcome reassurance in her hand, though. If she truly was unconscious, it would prove useless. The smoke twisted and thinned until forming the shape of a body. Finally, the smoke dissipated, shifting away on an imaginary breeze. A woman stood there, surrounded by a burning orange plain.
“It would appear as though you used power of your own,” Nyzaia said, raising her chin. “So, forgive me if I do not believe you.” The woman’s indifference matched Nyzaia’s as they assessed one another. Her skin was ash-toned, like the swirling smoke had been. Nyzaia imagined the woman’s complexion was once warm toned like her own before greying with age. Her hollow cheeks and eyes made the woman’s features sharp and unwelcoming. Prominent black brows sat above grey eyes, offering nothing but criticism and scepticism; her matching black hair was pulled taut to furtheraccentuate her gaze. The woman might have been beautiful once, but something haunted her soul until only suffering remained.
“It is wise not to trust people.” The woman lifted her chin in the same manner as Nyzaia. “But you are welcome to reach for your power to test my truth.” The woman’s darkly painted lips twitched at the corners, knowing Nyzaia already had. She was telling the truth. “You are the queen.” Nyzaia was unsure if it was a question or statement, but gestured towards her with a flick of her hand.
“And you are?”
The woman seemed to debate her answer as smoke shifted from her arms before clinging to her form again. “Exandria,” she said, her voice assuming more power as she announced her presence. The woman waited and watched Nyzaia, frowning at her lack of reaction. “You do not know who I am?” The black sash across her body, secured by a bronze pin at her waist, fluttered as she stepped forward. She donned a white shirt beneath, with fitted blood-red trousers.
“Should I?” Nyzaia asked, crossing her arms. Only when Exandria approached did Nyzaia realise just how tall she was, commanding attention from the very air itself. A heaviness pressed against Nyzaia, then, as if something urged her to back away and submit, a feeling she was unaccustomed to.
“Memories have awakened. I thought you would know more by now,” she said. A closer look revealed the grey in her eyes was not colour, but swirling smoke forming patterns throughout her irises. A flash of burning ember blinked within them every so often. Nyzaia thought back to Osiris’s words. Could this woman be from lands similar to his?
“You are welcome to tell me all you know.” Nyzaia plastered on a fake smile. “It would make my life so much easier.” Exandria scoffed and turned, raising her hands as she walked. Smoke and ash rose from her skin, wiping away the burning red plains of their surroundings. Nyzaia blinked against the blazing sun.
“Life is not easy, child,” Exandria murmured, stepping to theedge of the red stone Nyzaia was all too familiar with. Swords clashed and shouts sounded across Nefere Valley below. Nyzaia strode forward, her feet feeling distant from her body. She wondered about the danger her true body was in while she floated on this unconscious plain of existence. At the valley’s edge, Nyzaia’s eyes widened. She stood side by side with Exandria, her head only reaching the woman’s chest. Down below, steam rose from the valley, remnants of evaporating water that revealed a sea of scattered bodies below. At the valley’s edge, where Nyzaia knew the oasis had once been, a scorched black mark resided, with blackened streaks stemming from it like lightning. A woman collapsed before it in glinting red armour, like she were on fire beneath the sun. A scream shattered the valley as the woman dug her nails into the sand. Her flowing black hair whipped in the wind before dissolving into smoke. Nyzaia looked up at Exandria.
There was no mistaking the look in her eyes, for Nyzaia had seen it in Elisara’s—the look mirrored the devastation she felt in her heart when Caligh took Kazaar. Heartbreak. Exandria had lost someone. Nyzaia wanted to ask who and show some empathy, but questions whirred through her mind about the valley, at what the land she called home had been before her ancestors made it their own.
“Why show me this?” Nyzaia asked. Clearing her throat, Exandria shot out her arm and pulled back the smoke to blur the scene before them.
“For you to understand there are two sides to every story,” Exandria said mournfully, leaving Nyzaia to question just who the woman that had once been stood on the scorched earth below was.
“But what help—” Exandria raised a hand to Nyzaia’s mouth and blew smoke into her face.
***
Nyzaia’s body ached. It took her a second to realise the pain was not from the hard tile floor but the after-effects of the drugs in her system. She kept her eyes closed, not wishing to alert her attacker. Movement shifted roughly six paces from her feet; blades clinked, thudding on a table, which meant the door was on her left, and the archways to the baths on her right. Her bed was further away behind her head. Taking a quiet, shallow breath, Nyzaia focused on where she had been while asleep. Was it a dream or reality? She had no time to dwell as footsteps approached. Only one pair. One attacker.
Robes brushed her ankles, where iron chains bit into her skin. Opening her eyelids a fraction, Nyzaia peeked towards her feet. The attacker wore the beige, now burned robes, with a hood concealing their features. A simple blink could set the robes alight, but she wanted to understand who they were and their intentions first. Through the archway, water sloshed against the wall of the bath. The attacker’s hands stilled. Soren. They did not know Soren was here.
Their movements were slow as they dropped the chain by Nyzaia’s ankle and reached for their wrist.A man’s hand, Nyzaia realised, as he pulled a dagger from beneath his sleeve. A large gold signet ring glinted on his middle finger, graved with the letter M. The man hailed from the lord’s house in Myara. Nyzaia had stared too long and did not close her eyes quick enough as the man turned and widened his eyes, clearly confused as to how she was awake so soon. Nyzaia shifted her hand, ready to set his robes alight, when a growl rumbled across the tiles and a flash of fur lunged for the man.
Nyzaia scrambled back as razor teeth clamped around the man’s neck, followed by a resounding crunch throughout the chamber. The wolf’s jowls clamped around the man’s neck and shook with fervour. When his head thudded to the ground, the chamber doors slammed open as Farid barged in with blazing wings, his sword raised. The moment his eyes met Nyzaia’s, his shoulders relaxed.He tilted his head at the wolf as it tore off the man’s arms.
“Seiko,” Soren commanded. The wolf raised its head, an arm still in its mouth. “Enough.” Seiko whined before dropping the arm and padding through the archway to his keeper. Nyzaia leaned back against the bed frame and watched Seiko collapse at the edge of the tile, resting his large head on soaked red paws. His milky eye stared at Nyzaia as if to say, ‘You’re welcome.’ With a trembling hand, Soren patted his head. Her body was still submerged beneath the water, with only her eyes and forehead visible over the bath’s edge.
“Are you okay?” Farid asked, kneeling before his queen and retracting his wings. He moved quickly, ripping the chains off her ankle. Nyzaia watched Soren and Seiko before finally nodding. The wolf had saved her, but why? It could have provided a distraction for Soren to escape. The queen’s eyes roamed her captive’s expression, yet Soren kept her eyes downcast, avoiding any attention.
“The table is littered with sharpened blades and the same nails used in the sacrifices,” Farid explained. Nyzaia felt the intensity of his stare and the worry rushing between them. Tearing her gaze from Soren, she squeezed Farid’s hand gently, reassuring him she was okay. He nodded and squeezed back before reassuming his usual rigid position. “Jabir reported robed men entering the Palm Tavern.” Farid kicked the dead body on the floor. “I assume they are all linked.”
Nyzaia cracked her neck and pushed herself to stand. Her legs trembled for a moment as she reached for the clothes she had laid out for Soren. A jar of ash sat on the table, a reminder of the smoke and ash that seemed to form Exandria’s entire being in her unconscious state. She frowned before slowly approaching Seiko and Soren with a wary level of respect for the wolf. She dropped the clothes in front of Soren, whose green eyes peered up at Nyzaia through her lashes.
“Time to get some answers.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sadira
Something about the dull brass bell ringing above Sadira’s head felt comforting. Since arriving on Garridon, she had learnt more hidden knowledge of the Wiccan people and her own ancestry than she had on Doltas Island. While she was raised learning the Wiccan ways, like an attachment to plants, reading ancient symbols—something Soren had always excelled more at—she felt like Athena and the Wiccan from Albyn could teach her far more. The male, in particular, had appeared old enough to have hailed from Ithyion and likely had hidden memories that might have now unravelled.
“We’re closing,” said Athena’s quiet voice behind the raised counter. She did not look up but continued tying strings around dried herbs. The apothecary was darker compared to her last visit, a consequence of the night sky developing outside. She had struggled to leave the castle initially, overwhelmed with empathy for Jorah’s experiences and the realisation Soren might have experienced the same. She tried to recall a specific moment when a shift occurred in Soren, changing her into a more driven and power-hungry person, focusing solely on plans for Garridon. Nothing came to mind. One moment, they were happy children—perhaps even friends—and the next, they were distant. Strangers. When Sadira had left the castle before sunset, she looked up at the tallest turret, noticing a glow emanating through the window. Caellum was still reading, having lit the candles in his father’s study.
“I was hoping you would make an exception,” Sadira responded, balancing the silver trinket box under her arm as she removedher velvet gloves. Crinkling paper filled the silence before Athena answered.
“War has aged you,” she said, focusing on her herbs. Despite the tremor of old age in her hands, she swiftly tied the strings before wrapping bundles in brown paper. Sadira noted two of her fingers were frozen crooked.
“It has?” Sadira asked, glancing around the room. It had not changed since she was last here: wax dripped on piles of books, and the scent of herbs drifted from the mortar and pestles nestled in corners.
