Page 28 of Return of the Darkness
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Nyzaia had witnessed countless atrocities, much of it caused by her own blade, yet the carved open body pinned to the wall made even Nyzaia fight the urge to gag. The man was topless, and blood drenched his black leather trousers; his feet were bare, and three incisions marked the soles of each foot, still dripping blood onto the stone ground of one of the many torture chambers. Large iron nails, as thick as two fingers, pierced his palms spread wide from his sides, holding his body against the wall.
Symbols had been carved into his flesh, matching those three on the wall; the rest of his skin had been flayed off, with barely any remaining to contain the man's organs. What remained was an intricate pattern of whirls and shapes with various lines running through them, some straight or curved, and some with arrowed lines or dots up the length. Whoever had done this had taken their time, like creating art rather than inflicting pain.
The blood-etched symbols encircled him, and she checked each one, ensuring no difference existed between those on the wall and his body. Identical—all of them. Something was familiar about them, too, though she could not place what. She focused on his face again.
“His eyes?” asked Nyzaia.
“Gone,” Najat murmured.
“Tongue and teeth?” Nyzaia assessed the man's face and the three slashes on his neck.
“Also gone.” A part of Nyzaia was thankful she could avoid the terror in his dead eyes. Nyzaia stepped back to stand between Farid and Jabir. Farid still clutched the pommel of his sword, while Jabir crossed his arms, tilting his head at the display.
“Why sacrifice those with power and specifically members of theRed Stones?” Jabir asked. “The army has a rank of those who can wield a flame.” Nyzaia hummed, having thought the same.
“Most of those in the army are watered down, distant relatives of lords or royalty.” Nyzaia looked at Najat. “Those sacrificed… were they all directly sired by a current lord or lady?”
Najat nodded. “Every single one came from current lords or their parents. Regardless, they would have all had direct claims as heirs if they had been born legitimately.” Was someone eliminating threats to the throne—those who could claim her title if anything happened to her?
“I know this man, though,” Jabir said, squinting at the remains of the victim’s face. “He never showed any signs of power.”
“Issam and Rafik didn’t know either.” Bitterness crept into Nyzaia’s voice as she looked at the Head of the Torturers. Najat bowed her head.
“We did not want them to know yet. We wanted to investigate it ourselves. The Red Stones have always been separate to the crown.” Nyzaia did not reprimand her, for she was right. Had this been a few years ago, Nyzaia would have never shared this information with her father. “As for their powers, they only started showing signs of them after you were crowned.”
Nyzaia frowned, recalling Osiris’s warning.There are people waking up, memories resurfacing.What if this was similar? What if powers were awakening because of the heirs taking their thrones? What if these sacrifices were beginning because someone—somewhere in Keres—was remembering something that had once been hidden?
“Was there anything left behind?” Nyzaia asked. “Any indication of who might have done this?”
Najat shook her head. “Nothing, the symbols were the same on every body, except the forehead.” She reached for a piece of paper on the desk beside her and passed it to Nyzaia. How was it possible for the murderer to have entered the Red Stones undetected? More than one person had to be involved—maybe, perhaps a couple tokeep watch or cause distractions.
“The top symbol was found on the spy and dealer, the next on the courtesan and alchemist, and then the bottom on the blade and this torturer.” Nyzaia scanned the symbols again. They reminded her of something. She tapped her foot and stared at them, begging her mind to reveal the familiarity. She stopped tapping.
“I’ve seen these before,” she murmured. They were three of the four symbols inked on Kazaar’s arm. She passed the paper to Farid, who looked between them and the symbol on the man’s forehead. He tapped the paper.
“I’ve seen a similar symbol to the one on his forehead somewhere else,” Farid said. “It’s on some of the pages in Princess Sadira’s wiccan book.” Nyzaia stared at the symbol marked on the wall. Farid was right. When Sadira was struggling, they had all attempted reading the book to help decipher the imbuement. Nyzaia had seen it too, referenced in various places throughout the book. She glanced over at the paper in Farid’s hand again.If one is a mark relating to those in Garridon, could the other two—and the other one on Kazaar’s arm—symbolise the other realms?Theories whirred through Nyzaia’s mind. Why were the Red Stones involved, unless it was to get Nyzaia’s attention? Farid nodded, sensing her train of thought.
“If only three symbols have been used, you need to be on alert,” Nyzaia commanded before spinning to the door. “There will be another two attacks using a fourth symbol.”
“But there are no more pillars,” Najat called. “How do we know who the targets will be?”
Nyzaia’s hand paused on the doorknob before turning over her palm to stare at the symbol marking her and Farid, a symbol that had not yet been used. It was not identical to the mark on Kazaar’s arm, which she assumed symbolised Keres, but it had plenty of similarities. The lines curled into a point, speckled with dots inside. However, the main difference was the absence of a curved single line striking through it in a curve. Ignoring Najat’s question,Nyzaia opened the door and strode into the dark hallway, with Farid and Jabir flanking her on either side.
“What is our next step?” Jabir asked. Nyzaia blinked and set the wall sconces alight. She clenched her fists, internally preparing for who she must speak to next.
“There’s a certain prisoner who should know more about the symbol of her people.”
Chapter Seventeen
Soren
Soren did not need to open her eyes to know where she was. She could taste it—feel it—the remnants of his darkness drifting towards her skin and enveloping her in a comforting embrace. If she opened her eyes, she would have to accept that Caligh, her Lord of Darkness, was not here. If she opened her eyes, she would be reminded of all she had done for him. The fabricated memories of her sister and grandmother, haunting her every night before sleep, forced her to question the past. Had her grandmother ever instructed Soren to kill Caellum? Or simply take the throne? Had taking the throne meant placing Sadira upon it?
Soren shook her head and scrunched her eyes harder. Perhaps if she kept them closed, her mind would return to the world around her. A chill rippled through Soren but did not settle like it usually did. In fact, the air seemed oddly normal, absent of any reminders of him. But what had it been before? Could she recall her dreams as vividly as she did now when Caligh called her here? Though questions bombarded her mind, Soren had gained a sense of clarity that had been absent in the waking world as of late.
She flinched when something wet grazed her hand, but it only took a second for her to recognise the comforting touch. Releasing a deep breath, she opened her eyes, glanced down at her hand, and smiled. A small sob escaped her lips. She collapsed onto her knees and buried her face in Seiko’s deep grey fur, who whined, stopping the tears from falling. When she eventually pulled back, her green eyes met Seiko’s heterochromatic gaze: blue and milky white. She stroked his head as he licked her cheek.
