Page 18 of Return of the Darkness
“It doesn’t have to be like this, Levanna!” he shouted again. He was too far away to discern his expression, but she knew Kai well enough to know the urgency in his voice would be paired with a furrowed brow. Levanna scoffed. He had a funny way of proving his words as his soldiers flourished their hands, aiming fire at her ship. His chestnut brown hair, which Levanna once loved combing her fingers through, blew in the wind.
“Yes, it does, Kai! You know damn well I’m not returning to the mainland with you. I won’t let you do this; I won’t let you start this war!” Levanna screamed back. This was all a game to him; he could easily make the leap between the boats or have his soldiers burn the ship into ashes. He was toying with her. Either that, or a part of him truly still loved her before his heart had blackened, corrupted by greed.
“And what does sacrificing yourself have to do with ending myattempts?” Kai shouted over the ship’s edge. He crossed his arms, the deep red of his cloak billowing in the wind behind him. Levanna paused to look at him. She wished she could save him. She wanted to reveal everything she knew—everything they could have shared if he had never left Thassena.
“Goodbye, Kai,” Levanna called. She did not look back at his ship to see if he heard. Instead, she stared down into the ocean, spotting the iridescent wings of the river drake spanning wide from its blue-scaled body. Levanna loosened the grip on the water and sent a silent command, twisting her power until the drake glanced up at her with purple irises and catapulted through the ship. As the deck splintered into pieces, taking Levanna with it, she could have sworn she heard the pain in Kai’s voice as he screamed for her, like he was himself again.
Elisara woke with a start, clasping her neck and sputtering salty water from her lips. She was reminded of when Kazaar saved her from the Vellius Sea.River Drake.The creature in the dream looked so similar to the one she had encountered when searching for the other half of her talisman. Elisara’s shadows crept up to stroke her skin like a gentle caress. Her flinch turned into a shiver when she realised how cold she was. She placed her palms on the stone floor and pushed herself up from where she lay, taking in her surroundings. Glimpses of the checkerboard floor appeared in her vision, though her shadows slithered along it, filling the majority of the throne room on the Unsanctioned Isle. She glanced up at where she knew the opening to be, but found only twinkling stars watching her. No wonder it was so dark. When she flourished her hand, the sconces instantly lit along the wall. Elisara jumped when the flames illuminated the shadow army lined along the walls and up the staircase. They extended so far that they were likely in the tunnel and fields as well.
Elisara had no time to process how effortlessly she conjured a flame; instead, she watched the swaying bodies, silently waiting. She wrapped her power around herselfand shivered under the soldiers’ stares. Imagining their eyes on her was unsettling. Elisara did not know what they wanted. As of now, she had no further use for them. She had already failed.
“You can leave. I don’t want you here,” Elisara called. She tried to draw the dark threads lingering over the floor back into her, but they disobeyed. They continued floating across the floor, forming a barrier between her and the army. She squeezed her fists, willing them to retreat again, but still, they did not obey. Though it appeared at least some of her soldiers had listened to her command, a handful of dark bodies filtered back and through the walls. Above, she sensed a creature shift on the rock face it clung to and fly towards her. She scrambled back, but as it neared, she saw its wispy form and recognised it as another soul from her sword.There are no more creatures here. Caligh is gone, she assured herself. The darkness shot up and wrapped around the creature’s throat before flinging it against the wall. Elisara’s eyes widened; she had not commanded them to do that.
“Take that as a warning!” she shouted, feigning confidence. “Leave!”
Still, the army remained, watching. It was as if they taunted her lack of control. A handful more shifted on their feet before drifting through the wall. Elisara frowned and tried to focus on them. Where she once felt their emotions, now only darkness remained in those leaving. Perhaps she had been too slow to try to understand them before they departed. None of those remaining in the room taunted Elisara. If anything, they pitied her—pitied the queen who had lost her everything, the queen who could not even control her powers enough to be alone. Despite the army’s suffocating presence, Elisara was still lonely. Her body was cold without Kazaar’s warmth while she slept. When Elisara willed her shadows to whisk her away, she had no destination in mind. Kazaar was simply the only image in her mind. But the Isle made sense, having been the only place that was theirs. As soon as her cheek touched the floor upon arriving, she had immediately fallen asleep.Her body was exhausted, it made sense that her mind had run away with itself and dreamt of people she did not know. Elisara snapped her head up. Or did she know them? Peering around the throne room, Elisara tried to recall the snippet of a memory that surfaced when her shadowed protector had re-entered the sword. Had her dream been the memory of a shadow here? Was Levanna in the room with her? Or Kai? Scoffing, Elisara glanced at the shadows wrapping around her again. Perhaps she was just going crazy with the new power squirming under her veins.
The shadows around Elisara’s body pulled away to circle her instead, revealing the clothes from battle still on her back. Elisara frowned at the crook of her arm and brought it closer, inspecting the skin in the bend of her elbow. Her fingers traced a raised scar, paler than her skin; it assumed the shape of a ship’s sail that had never been there before. Like Kazaar’s. Was this because Elisara had now conquered the elements during her grief-stricken display of power? She considered checking the rest of her body but halted when movement caught her eye. Her power seemed to subconsciously emerge when flames rose from the floor and formed a ring, protecting Elisara like Kazaar would have. Her newfound protector patrolled the room.
Elisara tugged her shirt sleeve over the scar. Kazaar’s shirt. She brought it to her nose and breathed. Still, it smelled of him; smoke and ember intertwining with pine and snow. On her wrist was his leather band, which she had used to tie her hair into a braid. On her legs were leathers he had made just for her. On her feet were the knee-high boots he had gently unlaced. Everything reminded her of him. Everything. Elisara closed her eyes, refusing to look at the room, knowing they had once fought here, battling each other and then the creature. Kazaar had run to her with so much concern. Tears filled Elisara’s eyes, and the threads of shadows tried to embrace her again.
“No!” she screamed. “I don’t want you near!” Her joints were stiff as she tucked her knees up to her chest and hid her face, crying.What was she to do now? She was alone with her grief and a lingering presence who would not leave her be. As Elisara sobbed into Kazaar’s shirt, she sensed her protector's presence drawing near. She did not know why she appointed him such a title, but it felt wrong not to, especially after his silent declaration of allegiance. The shadows that were quick to throw the creature against a wall now drifted apart for him. Through blurry eyes, Elisara peeked over her knees and watched his shadowed boots come into view. His head blocked her view of the stars when she looked up. Deep down, a voice cautioned against trusting this being. She did not know his name, where he was from, or why he had been trapped in the Sword of Souls to begin with. She could differentiate between the killed copper soldiers and those who had been there before. The older ones felt cold in her soul, dead for far too long.
The protector tilted his head and offered his hand, keeping his movements slow, as though careful not to frighten her. Gentle. He had a gentle nature. She imagined his hands were gloved. The link imbued on the weapons tugged at her, willing her to accept. Carefully, she placed her hand in his, surprised at howrealhe felt. Despite the age sitting in his shadows, a flicker of warmth burned beneath. The protector pulled her up with ease and supported her waist when she wobbled on her feet. Elisara pulled back at the foreign touch. Kazaar was the only person who could touch her.
The protector bowed his head in understanding and gestured with his hand to cross the onyx and marble floor. None of the army made to follow them. He did not spare a glance at the two thrones as they walked between them, approaching the black waterfall. He pointed at it, and she understood his request. With a wave of her hand, the waterfall parted, revealing the hidden corridor. The army moved again when Elisara glanced back, mingling and pausing before each other, as though having silent discussions. She tilted her head, wondering if they could communicate and did so now, acknowledging there was no current duty. A gentle touch of shadow captured her attention, and she turned back around asonly a wisp from his arm reached out to her. He hadn’t touched her; he understood not to. Elisara nodded and followed him into the hidden room.
It was the same as when Elisara and Kazaar were last there. The thick white blankets remained strewn across the bed from where neither of them had thought to make it, assuming nobody would ever use it again. Paper no longer littered the writing desk after the pair had taken them all. Cushions remained scattered before the unlit fireplace, which she set alight with a single glance, promptly warming the smaller space. Elisara looked at the tapestry hiding the entryway to where a room of statues would greet her. She ground her teeth at the reminder of the gods and Sitara’s statue. She did not wish to see them again. What had they done for her? She inspected the tapestry. Last time, she had been too focused on following Kazaar to pay it any attention. It was almost as dark as the onyx clashing against marble on the floor, but on closer inspection, it was the deepest dusk blue—a scattering of stars woven into the night sky. Below it were two thrones: a sun engraving on one, and a moon on the other. Something was scattered across the thrones, drifting into the night, but she could not discern what. It reminded her of the stardust on the throne room floor with Sitara. It was rather ominous for a bedroom piece.
Threads of shadows trailed Elisara, who twisted to face the room. The protector stood by the entryway, watching. He was taller and broader than the other shadows, moving with purpose and command. Perhaps he once had held a higher station in life than the others trapped in the Sword of Souls. When he gestured to the bed, Elisara narrowed her eyes. He simply bowed his head and turned, watching the entry to the room that was now apparently hers. Elisara assessed him as she slowly slid under the covers, pulling the thick blankets to her chin. Curling herself into a ball, Elisara tried to fall asleep while watching the fire, imagining she could see herself and Kazaar dancing amongst the flames.
***
Slowly, Elisara opened her eyes. She blinked several times at the embers in the fireplace. Footsteps sounded over the floor, and she instantly shifted, backing up against the headboard and pulling the dagger from the inside of her boot. Elisara waved it at the man approaching from the doorway.
“I cannot hurt you here, nor can you hurt me.” His voice was smooth, and she detected no ill manner in his tone. “You are still sleeping. This is one of the few places I can talk with you as… myself.” His voice trailed off, and he winced. Elisara narrowed her eyes, keeping her dagger high. “You are wise to be cautious, especially as you cannot normally see our faces.” He attempted a reassuring smile, but Elisara was not swayed by it. “I have protected you in the real world and will continue to do so here.” As he bowed his head, Elisara’s hold on the dagger wavered. Slowly, she lowered her hand. It was him, the shadowed man who had immediately fought by her side in the second battle and kept Caligh away. But why was he so intent on protecting her? She was nothing to this man.
Elisara had not even considered how he might look beneath his shadows. He wore loose black trousers tucked into dark brown leather boots with mud-caked soles. A loose tan jacket partly concealed his white linen shirt. He wore no set colours—no clear indication of his allegiance to a realm. There was nothing significant about his clothing at all, but his features told another story. He looked as though he had lived through a thousand epic adventures. His skin was tanned, except for the pale skin beneath his collar. Scars littered his arms, and his hands were calloused. A light black stubble, seemingly well-maintained, concealed his firm jaw, and amber ringed his dark eyes, just like those on Osiris and Arik, a mark he was bound to the Sword of Souls. Despite their shade, there was no darkness in them. Crinkles formed around his eyes, and Elisara could read the jokes he likely told in amongst the lines. His black hair looked like it had once been short but was growing out, flopping to the side as he combed his fingers throughit and scratched the back of his neck, glancing at her through his lashes. He was nervous. He was not the person Elisara had expected—the man who so selflessly defended her and stood by her side. She had expected a soldier, or royalty, but this man seemed… normal. Laughter erupted from behind him in the throne room, disrupting her analysis and making her jump.
“I apologise, your Majesty. They have not had the opportunity to socialise in so long. I can ask them to lower their voices?” said the protector.
“They?” Elisara swallowed, realising she had commanded real people into war for revenge. The laughter filtered through again. Human—they were all humans once, with lives and families, and now they were stuck in a sword to do whatever she instructed. Perhaps Sadira had been right about finding a way to free them. Her protector nodded with a smile.
“They are your army. You granted them some life when you released them from the sword, though it is certainly a saddened existence. When you are awake, they must watch silently as shadows, but when you slumber, you give them the greatest gift.” He gestured to the chair by the desk in a silent request to sit. Elisara nodded.
“They awaken in their real bodies when I sleep?” she asked, and his smile faltered.
“Unfortunately, we do not have access to our corporeal bodies in the waking world. Still, we are but walking shadows, but here—” He gestured around himself. “Here, our minds come alive again.”
Elisara nodded slowly. “And you are?”
“Sallos, your Majesty. I am yours to command.” He smiled, watching her through his lashes. “I have been waiting an eternity to speak with you.”
Chapter Eleven
Nyzaia
Nyzaia was in a room that was nothing like the torture chamber she preferred. She wanted the empty room with only a desk, a mirror, and a chair. She wanted her usual blades of differing lengths splayed on the table, not the different array of tools before her now: iron clamps to keep a mouth open, sharpened pliers for plucking teeth, and curved blades for flaying skin. Nyzaia preferred simple things, like a blade and fire. The last person she had tortured was Isha and gained nothing except for the simple warning to trust only the other heirs. If Nyzaia had listened, she would not be here now, about to slice into Soren’s skin for her role in Kazaar’s death.
