Page 52 of Return of the Darkness
“I am fine, Soren,” Nyzaia snapped. Kazaar was still at the forefront of her mind. The fallen queen did not respond. She tilted her head, watching Nyzaia with a moment of clarity. Nyzaia was beginning to learn when she was present and when her mind wandered, allowing the dark remnants to scratch and pull at her memories, toying and pushing her in the wrong directions. Her eyes gave it away—vacant, angry, or fearful. Now, brightness replaced them. Sadira and Caellum had relayed everything they had found in the deceased Kings of Garridon’s journals, and it immediately resonated with what Nyzaia had witnessed in Soren’s behaviour since Caligh’s departure. Nyzaia had told them as much yet struggled to interpret Sadira’s emotions. Had she blinked back tears of relief or frustration, as though she was unsure how to move forward? Soren looked away from Nyzaia to scan the shadowed soldiers standing to attention around the room. Some filtered in and out to survey the isle, moving like humans, unlike Caligh’s shadows. With a closer look, she noticed a silvery tinge to them, perhaps reflecting their souls flowing throughout. Soren lowered her brow, the brightness dimming in her eyes.
“Hey!” Nyzaia snapped, clicking her fingers in Soren’s face. She should have realised the darkness could trigger those in her mind. Soren spun her head and sneered. “Cut it out,” Nyzaia said in a low, threatening tone.
“Or what?” she spat.
Nyzaia smirked and prowled closer. “Do you want a second round with our fists?” Soren stepped forward until the two women stood toe-to-toe.
“You’ve seen what I can do with a knife. Maybe that would be more fun,” Soren whispered, staring Nyzaia down before peering over the Queen of Keres’s shoulder to where Sadira rose from her slumped position beside Larelle.
“Do you want to talk to her?” Nyzaia asked. “To tell her the truth about the past?” Soren’s eyes met Nyzaia’s.
“Who?”
“Sadira,” said Nyzaia. Soren’s brow furrowed, and the light in her eyes returned, glazed with fear.
“Sadira,” Soren murmured. Her face seemed to relax before she clenched her jaw. “I don’t want to hurt Sadira. Sadira, I—don’t take Sadira.” Nyzaia swore and tugged Soren closer.
“I see you,” Nyzaia said, hoping it pulled her focus back the way it had before. Soren narrowed her eyes on Nyzaia but continued to fidget, rocking on the balls of her feet and tapping her thighs. “Farid, put the chains back on, just in case.”
Soren frantically looked around the room and stumbled towards the staircase, away from the soldiers before Farid clicked the cuffs around her wrists.
“Do you think it will make much difference? We’ve seen she can use her power just fine,” said Farid, descending the staircase with Alvan and Zarya. Wide-eyed, the young princess struggled to focus, flitting between the shadowed soldiers, Farid’s flamed wings, and the magnificence of the throne room.
“I believe she can only control it properly when her mind is more present—when she is herself,” Nyzaia said. “When the darkness takes over, it seems to alter her ability, hence the dying plants whenever she wields. It’s like she is poisoned.” Soren winced at Nyzaia’s words. Perhaps poisoned wasn’t the right term, even if it was true.
“Do you want us to come with you?” Still, Farid kept his wings out as a deterrent. Like Nyzaia, he did not trust the shadowed soldiers. Given how easily he incited fear in them, Nyzaia wondered if Farid was a descendant of a god after all.
“No, I don’t want to overwhelm Elisara. You and Jabir stay out here.”
Jabir grinned at Farid.
“Fantastic,” Farid mumbled.
“Don’t worry. I offered to escort Helena and Vigor to the ship with Vlad, so you won’t have to suffer through my jokes.” Jabir grinned. They had all been resting for a few hours, allowing Elisara time to heal from Vigor’s work. Nyzaia had kept Soren as far from everyone as possible, hoping to avoid discussions of her past allegiance with Caligh. Given Elisara’s quick departure from Keres, she was clueless about Soren’s part in separating her and Kazaar during the battle.
Larelle parted the waterfall Elisara’s protector had shown them, and Nyzaia followed the Queen of Nerida through the narrow walkway, igniting a flame to light their path. Sadira followed closely behind.
A soft glow from the fireplace met the three queens, who were forced to graze against one another as they walked through the room, filled by furniture and the presence of Elisara’s self-appointed protector. It would have felt claustrophobic if not for the fireplace, although the shadowed soldier leaning on the desk did pull down the warmth of the room.
“Look who’s awake,” Nyzaia chirped, entering the room. Elisara was propped against a mountain of pillows on the four-poster bed while Caellum poured her a fresh glass of water. Nyzaia moved towards the stool and sat down, propping her forearms on her knees as she leaned towards her friend. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again, do you understand?” Nyzaia said, the smile gone from her face. Her eyes were serious yet glassy as she surveyed the frail queen.
Elisara nodded and gave a small smile. Addressing the shadow, she said, “Sallos, can you leave us?”
“He has a name?” Larelle asked, moving as far from the man as possible to perch on the bed at Elisara’s other side. Nyzaia studied the shadowed man. His rigid posture seemed practiced, like he was used to standing to attention in a room of royals.
“That’s all I know about him,” Elisara said. “And he’s stubborn,” she emphasised as the soldier hesitated at the door beforeconceding.
“He moves like someone well accustomed to fighting and war,” Sadira said, sitting at the end of the bed. Four queens, reunited.
“He doesn’t look like one,” Elisara said.
“You mean you can see past the shadows?” Caellum asked from his seat at the desk. Elisara shook her head.
“Only when I sleep. When I am sleeping, he appears without the shadows. Apparently, they all do, though I have only seen him. He looks rather… normal.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Nyzaia scoffed. “Most men would be offended by such a remark.” Nyzaia noted Elisara’s arms, furrowing her brow at the raised scars on her skin, images she had seen before.
“They match Kazaar’s,” Elisara murmured, stroking a thumb over the raised vines on her forearm. “Do you know how he inked his?” Nyzaia nodded with an understanding smile.
