Page 40 of Return of the Darkness
“Oh, do tell us more about these fascinating veryrealmemories.” Nyzaia feigned disbelief, prompting Israar to narrow his eyes, offended by her mockery.
“Tobias hailed from a religious family, a religion no one on Novisia can recall; it worships undocumented gods and great warriors who once ruled desert lands. We questioned where Tobias had come from and if he was really from Ithyion.” When Israar reached for a dagger in his jacket pocket, Farid and Nyzaia shared a look. “And then news of the battle spread. People spoke of a man who could turn men into beasts and back again. That must confirm the existence of other lands, races, and even other gods, must it not?”
“Is that what the sacrifices are for? You want to speak to some made up gods Tobias claims his family once worshipped? To discover if he is really from Ithyion or other lands you foolishly believe you could rule?” As Nyzaia approached the circle, Soren fought against Farid more loudly, grunting as she tried to pull free from his grip. Israar chuckled. He only had eyes for the queen.
“I want to know who stole the memories of those on Novisia andwhybefore I determine if it is safe for me to leave in search of these lands.”Israar’s dark eyes glinted. “We have one more sacrifice to make, a sacrifice representing Novisia and Ithyion’s last god, Keres.”
“Why are sacrifices required in the names of the celestial gods?” Nyzaia’s toes were at the circle’s edge.
“Because there is no one else the deities hate more.” Israar smirked and flung the dagger at Nyzaia’s face.
“Nyzaia, don’t!” Soren shouted. Fury overcame Nyzaia, who dodged the dagger and stepped into the circle. Heat rushed through her, like she was burning from the inside out, knocking her to her knees. “Farid!” Soren screamed as the captain dived towards Nyzaia, reaching for her shoulders. He lifted her up before he, too, grunted in pain. Nyzaia trained her eyes on the carpet, where a drawn symbol in the sand peeked out from the edge: acircle surrounding a cross, with a small swirl in its centre. Nyzaia turned to Soren, who stared at the mark on the floor. She tried to warn her.
“How does it feel, your Majesty?” Israar asked. Nyzaia grunted at the burning pain within and rose beside Farid, gripping his arm for purchase as he fought against a similar feeling. Israar looked towards him as Nyzaia reached for her dagger, yet her fingers were numb and motionless, unable to find purchase. This was worse—far worse than the attempt on her life at the chambers. They must have known the attacker was dead when he did not return. Now, they knew to try harder to successfully restrain a queen with Keres’s fire in her veins. Israar narrowed his eyes at Farid. “Interesting. I did not know you had any power the old language would null.” He knelt and folded back a piece of the rug, revealing the repeated symbol drawn in the sand, which wielded a power to stop her.Nulling. The flame within Nyzaia flickered then, and the pain subsided as darkness took over. She blinked, hoping to conjure a flame, but nothing appeared. Her body numbed, as did Farid’s, and they collapsed to the floor as the sparks within them extinguished.
Chapter Twenty Five
Soren
Soren had not panicked for anyone but herself for as long as she could remember, not since the day Caligh wanted to take Sadira. Yet all she felt was panic as two robed men rushed forward, seizing her hands, preventing her from running to Farid and Nyzaia. Though what they expected her to do while bound in chains, Soren did not know. While Israar reeled Nyzaia in with his petty words and foolish claims, Soren did what was now normal for her—staring at the smooth, sand-carpeted floor, avoiding all attention. Doing so had notified Soren of the anomaly at the carpet’s edge: a rough mark reaching out from beneath the rug, like someone had traced their finger through it. She had stared at the symbol, willing herself to remember its meaning.
Focus on something small, Nyzaia had said when helping Soren to recall a memory. So, she did just that. She thought of the room where she and Sadira had their lessons, picturing the old leather books and hastily bound pages, where symbols had once been recorded from memory. The symbol then appeared, an interchangeable meaning for locked, null, and pause. At first, Soren was unsure of Israar’s intention with the circle, but knew Nyzaia should not step inside.
Soren had failed again. The robed followers dragged Nyzaia’s limp body into the centre of the circle beside Farid and pierced large iron nails in each of her palms. Nyzaia could not scream; instead, she stared motionlessly at Farid as they did the same to him. Something was different about Farid, though. When they pierced the iron through his palm, a gut-wrenching scream roaredfrom his lips. A robed man closed the door to the room, preventing Jabir or anyone else from inspecting the sound. Yet when Jabir’s scream echoed nearby, Soren knew he was already on the other side, banging against the door to break it down. Farid and Nyzaia’s bodies were locked up, their powers nulled. They had no way of escaping. Yet Farid still spoke and cursed at the lord standing over them, who had an intrigued and inquisitive look in his eye, like Caligh had in the memory Soren shared with Nyzaia. Soren’s heart quickened, and she grunted when the two men tightened their hold on her wrists, digging the iron chains deeper into her skin.
“Soren!” Farid called. His head was still lulled to the side, watching his queen, but Nyzaia’s unwavering gaze was on Soren, a silent command to do whatever Farid instructed. A man approached him with a rag. “Soren! You are not broken!” Tears welled in Soren’s eyes. Faridsawher. No one ever saw her. “Look within yourself, Soren. You. Are. Not.Broken.” Farid grunted the final words, his voice snuffed by the rag shoved in his mouth and secured behind his head. When the robed figures pulled Soren’s arms taut, she whipped her head to the side, sneering at one man, who looked on with a passive expression. Shadows crept back into her mind after laying so long in wait.No.
“Does it look like I’m going anywhere?” she snapped, the usual venom returning to her voice. “I’m in chains! Why would I care about the fate of my captors?”
Soren glared at Nyzaia, and the queen’s expression faltered—no.Darkness stroked the edges of Soren’s mind, taunting her to come out and play, return to her old ways, reigniting the old feelings embedded in her soul after so many years under Caligh’s words and control. Soren stared at Nyzaia as a robed woman stooped with a knife to slice through her leathers, revealing the thin fabric concealing her chest. Nyzaia’s eyes fluttered when the woman began carving into her skin. Despite the rag in Farid’s mouth, agony tore through his throat as another woman knelt to carve the same mark on him. Sweat broke out along Soren’s back with Farid’s screams inher ears. The panic in Nyzaia’s eyes taunted her.You are not broken.Soren closed her eyes. Focus on one thing; focus on those words.You are not broken.The shadows in her mind remained, clawing for control, but a drop of power bloomed in Soren’s stomach.You are not broken.As the men held out her arms, she furrowed her brow and clenched her hands into fists, focusing on the delicate white petals and vibrant green vines in her mind, fighting to break free.You are not broken.She thought of when she saved Sadira.You are not broken.As the feeling took root in her stomach, Soren finally opened her eyes to meet Nyzaia’s. Although she did not move as blood trickled down her chest, Soren swore she saw a smile in her brown eyes as Soren’s glowed green. A small voice broke free then:I like Nyzaia.Listening to that voice, Soren unclenched her fists and splayed her fingers. Roots shot up from the sand—a hungry, dormant power—reaching for the bodies in the room. Others reached for her chains and tore them in two, knocking aside the men on either side of her. Soren screamed, “Jabir!” hoping he would hear as her roots and vines tossed the body blocking the door aside. The power was overwhelming; Soren could not focus on everyone at once. Watching Nyzaia and Farid, she willed her vines to trap the arms of the two robed women and drag them to the floor.
Jabir finally burst through the door when Soren’s powers reached Israar. The two men from before scrambled forward to push Soren towards the circle and null her abilities, yet blood sprayed from them as Jabir sliced the back of their knees with his dagger. He threw the blade to Soren and ran for the circle.
“Don’t step inside it yet!” Soren shouted. Jabir halted at the circle’s edge as the vines ensnared the last of the followers and swept them across the floor, pushing the carpet aside and removing any traces of the symbol. Sweat trickled down Soren’s face as she held thirteen bodies in her grip. She found Nyzaia’s eyes while Jabir tugged off his leathers and wrapped them around Nyzaia’s torn attire. The queen trembled, although she watched the fallenqueen with an emotion akin to awe. Soren groaned at the shadows reaching for the brightness in her soul, intent on extinguishing it.
“I can’t hold this for long!” Soren cried. Jabir rested his forehead against Farid’s and mumbled to him. Something snapped in Farid then, as when Jabir sat back, raging blue fire shone in Farid’s eyes. Slowly, he rose to face Israar. The lord stopped thrashing against the vines the moment their eyes met. Warmth bathed Soren as flamed wings shot from Farid’s back, blinding the room. Blue flames licked his arms, contrasting the orange glow of his wings.
“Nefere,” said the robed followers in unison. They collapsed to their knees in the vines that held them and bowed their heads. The reaction made Soren pause, confused. She had only heard that name in relation to the valley in Keres. Taking advantage of the sudden silence, Soren strode around the room, slicing her vines at the root and drawing her remaining power back in. She left the followers kneeling on the floor, wrapped in the remaining vines.
“What are they saying?” Farid growled at Israar, whose eyes widened with a mixture of fear and awe. Israar had not been on the battlefield to witness Farid’s wings, she realised, and even Soren had not witnessed the blue flames before.
Israar bowed his head. “They are worshipping you, oh great one. Nefere, God of the Xyra, protector of Q’Ohar.” Farid looked at Nyzaia with raised eyebrows as Israar continued mumbling. “But we did not complete the sacrifice. How are you here in this body?”
“I’m not a god,” Farid sneered, and then he sliced a dagger across Lord Israar’s throat. “I’m Captain of the Queen’s Guard.”
Unfazed by Farid’s violence in defence of his queen, Soren continued around the room, slicing at the vines. Her hands trembled, her body weakened at the rare use of power. When she had sacrificed her family, she had inherited their powers, along with Sadira. But Caligh’s manipulation warped her gift to destroy Garridon’s creations. Soren faced the final three robed men. They no longer watched with passive indifference. Instead, fear widened their eyes as she stalked towards them. Darkness was returning. The shadowsshe had extinguished with her powers had returned with a vengeance, hungry and punishing. Soren shook her head and approached the final bound men when she saw it: the darkening vines, the crumbling leaves. Her usual power was returning. The men snapped out of the decayed vines in seconds and bolted up the ladder.
Soren growled, intent on only one thing—darkness. Death. She clenched tightly to her dagger and sprinted after them before halting in the darkened alleyway. The shadows were no longer only in her mind. The three men stood face to face with shadowed soldiers—Elisara’s soldiers, she realised, although Vala’s queen was nowhere to be seen. The dark soldiers seemed to speak to that darkness in her mind, beckoning her forward. Steps sounded in the hallway from behind, and she lunged before anyone could stop her. In a blur of movement, Soren swiped a man’s legs out from under him before slitting his throat, leaving him gurgling on the ground.Wonderful. Beautiful. Keep going,the soldiers encouraged, forming a barricade to keep the other men from escaping. They fell to their knees in tears. Soren wasted no time slicing their throats too. With wide eyes, they gripped their necks as blood spilled from their mouths. Soren tilted her head. Fear—is that what her family had felt? The horrifying memory of her family’s deaths at her own hand overwhelmed Soren as she knelt over one man and screamed in his face, plunging her knife repeatedly into his chest, splattering blood onto her face.He would want this for you,the soldiers said. Caligh wanted her to do this, to become merciless. Soren moved to the next body and plunged her knife into his neck—in and out—until his head began to fall, hanging on by a tendon. Soren screamed, drenched in blood.
“Soren!” a voice commanded, though she did not recognise it. Darkness consumed her mind, suffocating a tiny white flower in its centre, struggling for breath. “Soren!” the voice yelled. A hand seized her wrist, stopping her dagger mid-air. Soren screamed at the woman, who shouted, “Drop the dagger!” The woman’s eyesburned with fire, matching the flames in her other hand. Something pulled at Soren’s mind then. The shadows halted as the flower began to blossom, trying to break free. Soren stared back at the woman, panting, as blood dripped down her head and into her mouth. The woman did not look at Soren or the blood with disgust. Instead, her burning eyes seemed to peer deep into Soren’s soul.
“I see you.” Those three simple words prompted Soren to drop the dagger, blinking. A man with flaming wings appeared behind the woman, prompting the shadowed soldiers to flee. “I see you, Soren,” she repeated.I like Nyzaia,whispered a small voice in her mind. Soren slumped into Nyzaia’s arms with a strangled cry. “I see you.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Larelle
If someone predicted a year ago that Larelle would be walking down an unending tunnel within the city’s church, hand in hand with a man she had known briefly as a child, she would have thought them delusional. Routine and a quiet life had been the staples of Larelle’s life for the five years after her banishment. But something lay beneath her rapidly beating chest, sweating hands, and anxious breathing—excitement about the unknown. She wanted to hurry forward. Such experiences, like her brush with death at the engagement ball, the war, and even now in the looming tunnel, made her feelalive, converting her from a comfortable mother at home to a risk-taking queen. As she glanced at the man whose hand she held, she did not believe it was entirely because of the new life thrust upon her.
