Page 55 of Return of the Darkness
“Oh,” Zarya paused as all the rulers turned to look. She blushed as Alvan strode in and placed a hand on her shoulder.
“I apologise all. She insisted on telling her mother something and said it could not wait.” Alvan gave Larelle an exasperated look, as if to say he had done everything he could to stop her.
“Zarya, sweetie, if Alvan tells you to wait, you need to wait, okay?” Larelle rose from the bed and crouched before her daughter. “Now you are here, quickly tell me what it is.” Larelle smoothed down her daughter’s curls while Zarya glanced over Larelle’s shoulder at the other rulers.
“You know what Ossie said about my intu–”
“Your intuition?” Larelle prompted.
“I’m sorry, Ossie?” Nyzaia barked a laugh, and Zarya grinned at the Queen of Keres.
“Yes! That! Well, I need to show you something.” Zarya grabbed her mother’s hand and tugged her into the hallway. “All of you!”
“Gods, she’s bossy—I love it,” Nyzaia chuckled, helping Elisara up from the bed. Larelle had taken off her shoes to be comfortable, and the onyx and marble floor beneath her feet was cold. The waterfall parted, and Sallos, the name of Elisara’s protector, paced back and forth in the centre of the throne room.
“He agrees with me!” Zarya said, pointing at the shadowedsoldier. He waved an arm, as though hurrying them along.
“You can sense him?” Elisara asked, shuffling into the room. She rested her hand on Nyzaia’s shoulder to steady herself.
“Uh huh,” Zarya sang, dragging her mother to the mirror in the room’s centre. “There!” Zarya pointed at the glass, and Larelle frowned, reading the words of the original prophecy.
“Zarya, sweetie, we have already read this,” said Larelle, crouching again. The other rulers came to stand behind her, squeezing into the reflection.
“You can’t see it?” Zarya asked, her smile fading. She frowned at the mirror, then at her mother and the others, before asking them the same question. Sallos pointed and approached the mirror. Larelle looked at Elisara for elaboration, who frowned.
“I can’t hear him, but there’s a sense of urgency about the mirror.”
“Well, what can you see, princess?” Nyzaia asked from behind, a curious lilt in her tone.
“It looks like that dream place,” Zarya said.
“The one you saw Osiris in?” Larelle asked, and Zarya nodded.
“Look, I’ll show you!” Zarya giggled and rushed towards the mirror, placing her hand against it—only, it didn’t stop there. Her hand sank through the glass, wrapping tightly around her wrist. Larelle’s instincts kicked in as she grabbed the back of Zarya’s dress, tugging her back before she walked through.
“Well, I sawthat,” Nyzaia said, drawing closer to the glass.
“Find your reflection in the ancient and say goodbye.” Elisara murmured the final words from the paper. “The mirror could definitely be ancient. The words also tell of mirrors, reflections, reveres, opposites.”
“The priest was transfixed on the mirror in his room, as though he was piecing something together,” Larelle murmured. They all looked at the glass, which appeared completely normal without Zarya’s hand inside it.
“I’m going to be honest. I don’t love the sound of saying goodbye,”Nyzaia said. “What if we don’t come back if we go through?”
“I suppose it’s a risk we must take.” Sadira shared a look with her husband.
“Well… shall we then?” Elisara asked. The rulers exchanged a look with each other and their friends behind them. Larelle rose from her crouch and before she could tell Zarya to stay with Olden and Lillian on the ship, her daughter tugged her hand and pulled her through the mirror.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Soren
Soren shielded her eyes against the stark light, a shock from the dimly lit throne room from moments ago. Her heart quickened, and her palms clammed with sweat. Was she hallucinating? While the rulers discussed the mirror, she did exactly as Farid had asked—standing silently at his side without moving a muscle. Yet as she blinked now, Soren was not in the throne room, and Farid and Nyzaia were nowhere to be seen. Birds chirped overhead, and she looked into the tree, where a nest was buried amongst the branches. Yet the shade of green seemed wrong; it was not luscious or full of life. Had Caligh learned to infiltrate her mind in new ways? She frantically scanned the trees, where above, the bluebirds had an unusual brown tinge to them. Soren lowered her gaze to where she brushed the rough bark of the tree trunk, where the brown was faded. This was Garridon, she realised, while beginning to navigate the roots and fallen branches. Antor Castle could be spotted through the last trees, towards the end of the sandy path. It was the route she had travelled with Sadira when arriving, except there was a wrongness to it.
As Soren broke through the final row of trees, she took in the landscape. It was like someone had taken a paintbrush and coated the land in pale sepia, tinging her entire vision a warm brown. Soren took a deep breath. The air felt stale and lacked Garridon’s usual freshness and scents, devoid of sap from the trees and pollen from the flowers. As she approached the castle wall, laughter sounded from within. Children's laughter. Soren halted to listen, reminded of when she and Sadira were young. The fallenqueen blinked, realising how clearly she recalled memories and the absence of the dark shadows. The sound of howling wolves had Soren spinning in the opposite direction and quickening into a jog to the city’s entrance. Something was freeing about this place, even though she had no idea how she ended up here. All worry left her, the weight lifting from her chest and shoulders. Still, she felt the darkness, dormant in the corners of her mind. It seemed afraid to come out and taunt her.
Soren slowed, panting from the exercise. She had not trained since the end of battle and was weak because of it. She wished Nyzaia could see her like this. Normal. They had exchanged only a few words since that night at the tavern when Soren had let the darkness creep in. Yet she couldn’t control when it reared its ugly head and demanded a return to her old ways of pleasing Caligh. But now, wherever she was, her mind was quiet. She wanted to apologise to the queen while she was of sound mind. Maybe Soren would never leave this place and would learn to live in peace with her mind.
Her footsteps slowed as voices drifted through Antor’s streets. Soren stilled when rounding the corner, staring wide-eyed at the city square. It was filled with people, though she recognised none of them, and their clothes seemed older than the styles worn in Garridon now. Two little girls ran past, giggling, like Soren and Sadira so often had; their hands grazed Soren. Cold. As cold as death. Mumbling began as the people looked at her, forming a crowd. Soren peered down at her clothing; she donned the same brown trousers, green shirt, and boots—the colours a stark contrast to the sepia world. Soren backed up and hit a wall as the figures drifted towards her, still talking. With her head pounding, she was unable to focus on their words. Instead, she forced her eyes shut as darkness crept into the corners of her mind, slowly waking and stepping into the light. Before she could worry, a rough voice called across the square.
