Page 80 of Return of the Darkness
Elisara
Elisara’s hair blew from her face as she peered out across the ocean. Sadira stood to Elisara’s left, their arms linked. Larelle stood on her right beside Nyzaia. Four queens looked towards what was either their salvation or downfall. But they had no other choice. Staying on Novisia was not an option. Over the last month, the land continued to cave in, until only a ring of land remained, holding what was left of Novisia’s people. The wealthy had resorted to sailing their ships across the land, with no idea of where they headed, while some of the poor joined as stowaways.
“Are we certain about this?” Nyzaia asked.
“There is no other option,” said Larelle.
“Once they are within reach of us, I’ll raise the protections,” Elisara said. “Allow them to think I’m fully exerting myself.”
“We can trust Osiris,” Larelle said, but her voice faltered after what Elisara had relayed Sallos’s revelation about Osiris and what he had kept hidden. Larelle tried to argue the curse limited what he could share and said they could still trust him. Larelle was only trying to convince herself, though, especially after Zarya’s numerous interactions with the prince.
“Even if she is a seer, I do not trust Sallos and the two are related,” Elisara snapped.
“Being related doesn’t mean you are the same,” said Sadira, squeezing Elisara’s arm gently to calm her. Elisara turned her head and squeezed her hand back. The two had been near inseparable since arriving in Nerida.
“That’s them,” Larelle murmured.
“Gods,” Nyzaia breathed. Elisara’s eyes widened as ships crested the horizon. One appeared first, then two, four, six, more and more until an endless fleet of black sails, signified with an amber flower, travelled to what remained of Novisia. The darkness within Elisara flickered with momentary fear, soon replaced with anger that Osiris had kept the true size of his army’s secret, whether by choice or not. Novisia paled in comparison to the size of the lands which these ships hailed from.
“Now,” Larelle said. Keeping one arm linked with Sadira, Elisara waved her other hand before her, exactly as she had done in the battle. It was merely a precaution in case they had mistakenly placed their trust in Osiris. A moat tunnelled across the sand, and, with a flick of her wrist, she filled it with twisting vines, littered with thorns, before setting them ablaze. The only change to her plan was the low twisting wall of shadows, which were high enough to meet a man’s waist. With a blink, Elisara could raise it if needed. Soldiers of every realm lined the sand and stretched all the way to the castle on their left and The Bay on their right. The Sword of Souls weighed heavily on Elisara’s back, but it was not uncomfortable. Her wounds had healed, leaving only scars. She no longer needed to wield the sword to call upon her army, shadows oozed from Elisara with a single command, pooling at the feet of the four queens. None blanched at the sight; they held their heads high in unity. A flurry of darkness swam from her back as the soldiers from the sword fell into formation behind their ruler, ready to move once they received word. Elisara felt Sallos’s presence hovering behind her shoulder.
“Not now, Sallos,” she murmured. She knew the queens heard her for they tensed, knowing the fae prince with one too many secrets stood behind them. “You are only here until I find a way to trade your life if Osiris tries to betray us.” A wave of sadness washed over her, then, stemming from the prince, though she did not understand why.
“I can feel the front three ships dropping anchor,” Larelle said;her eyes flickered a glowing blue, responding to the ocean’s power. The largest ship pushed forward with a forceful ocean wave, banking on the sand.
“Was that you?” Sadira asked cautiously. Larelle shook her head, frowning.
“They must have someone on board with a connection to Nerida or somewhere with an affinity for water.” Ropes flew down the side of the wooden ship painted in ornate copper. “A powerful one.”
“Some of the ships are different,” Nyzaia said, with an edge of panic.
“An ambush?” asked Elisara, though it was hard to tell.
“The next row aren’t black sails with the amber flower; they’re white with purple stems,” said Sadira, surveying the hundreds of ships filling the ocean.
“These three,” Nyzaia murmured. “They’re the leaders.” Elisara sensed it as well as three bodies descended from the front ship. The one in the middle was the tallest, donning copper armour similar to that worn by Osiris’ soldiers, the ones controlled by Caligh. The difference was the accents on their uniform: gold shoulder strips and swirls decorated the copper, a symbol this person was worthy of more. The man flanking on the right was shorter, but not by much, and broader, with muscles Elisara knew rippled beneath his gold armour that was so pale it was almost silver. He tilted his head as though watching her with intensity and Elisara’s spine straightened. A man wearing the same white gold uniform stood on his left, appearing leaner than the other two. All three wore masked helmets concealing their identity.
“I don’t like this,” Sadira murmured. Elisara readied her hand. A moment later, the soldier on the left waved his, raising the water from the moat and tossing it aside in one large wave. The soldier on the right waved a hand, summoning a gust of wind to extinguish the burning vines. Elisara did not move, not yet. There were only three men; she could take them, even if they had powers. As theyapproached her wall of twisting darkness, she analysed their helmets, noting the metal wings on both sides. An intricate pattern of whirls was engraved on the front, while a slatted visor covered their eyes. Elisara gritted her teeth as the soldier in the middle parted his hand. Her darkness obeyed, and she let it, allowing them to believe the four queens were weak enough to take rather than save.
The three men walked through the opening, the darkness threading back together behind them. In the ocean, nobody else descended from the ships, which spanned the coastline, wrapping around the realm. Other than these three soldiers before them, there was no other threat. The middle soldier released his grip on the pommel of his sword and reached for his helmet. Elisara heard Larelle’s sigh of relief as the helmet came off. The man shook out his long black hair from his face, his pointed ears peeking from beneath. Osiris grinned as a roar sounded across the sky in the distance above the incoming fleet.
“Well, this is an unusual way to greet the men who’ve come to save you.”
Epilogue
The Captain
Four Months ago
The streets were cast in a pink glow, as they always were at this exact time of sunrise, when the sun fell just exactly between the end of the street and the promenade into the city from the docks. The captain tipped his hat to the sailors cleaning the side of the fleet and flicked a gold syiruna towards the homeless girl leaning against a wooden pillar. He winked, and she flashed him a smile, both knowing she was neither homeless nor poor, but simply one of Ophelia’s spies. She shook her pot before her, mocking the people foolish enough to believe a girl so beautiful would live on the streets. Under the rising sun, a blend of gold, silver, and copper syiruna gleamed inside the pot. She had created a pile of zonri beside her, likely from visitors arriving through the ports and ridding themselves of a currency no longer in circulation here. The dark steel stood out like a sore thumb, crimped and ugly, like everything else from the land it hailed from—Xyliar. Of course, that meant it was only worth something to the poor.
The captain tipped his hat to her and continued walking. The metal on his boots clinked as he strode the marble streets leading into the city. He stepped over puddles of water being tossed from buckets onto the street, while brooms began their daily motions of polishing the marble. It was late for cleaning, but the city’s day of rest was sacred to most—well, at least in the morning as everyone slept off their nights of revelry. By early noon, the streetswould be filled with people seeking to satiate their appetites and waste their days, wandering about the stores and dining at the finest restaurants in the city, only the best for the wealthiest city in the kingdom. The captain reached the towering fountain at the opposite end of the city atop a circular marble slab. Behind the fountain, the palace shone, as though forever untouched by grime. However, the captain knew thousands more people, like those sweeping the streets, cleaned the palace for the city’s custodian. The captain scoffed at his boss’s excessive demands.
But on the day of rest, the captain did not work for her, which was why the note in his left breast pocket was so unusual. Etched in purple ink was the name of a prisoner, and simple instructions were scrawled below for him to find out what he knew. Vague as usual. But until noon, he was still eligible to rest. Even the custodian would not tempt the deities. The captain flicked another gold syiruna into the fountain, making the same silent wish he always did before taking a left down the city’s most expensive street. A wish for answers to his past. Signature purple banners laced in gold hung on every other building, bearing the stemmed floral emblem in its centre. This was the hardest working street in the city; the streets already gleamed, dry from their morning clean, which was conducted two hours before every other street awoke. Ophelia knew how to keep up appearances. String music already spilled from each of the twenty establishments lining the street, but he headed for the largest in the centre, its ornate columns symbolising how deserving you had to be to grace its doors. He had no idea how the hell he achieved that status, but he bowed to the fae guard on duty and entered. He ducked as a glass sped towards his head and smashed against the wall.
“I told you not to come back until you paid me for the night you spent with Castella.”
The captain grinned.
