Page 31 of Return of the Darkness
Chapter Nineteen
Nyzaia
“Try harder.” Nyzaia sighed, leaning against the damp cell wall, her leathers deterring any moisture from seeping in.
“She’s a bloody deep sleeper,” Jabir murmured. He shook Soren again, who lay curled up in a ball on the threadbare blanket on the ground. Nyzaia analysed the fallen queen’s face, searching for any muscle movement or sign she was faking slumber to avoid another torture session. The only movement was the rapid flutter of her eyelids, leaving Nyzaia to wonder what she dreamed about so intensely. Her face was calmer, the deep-set frown having fallen with sleep. Sleeping, she appeared incapable of all she had done.
With another hard shove, Jabir knocked Soren onto her back. Her head lolled to the side, thudding the back wall of the cell. Jabir stood with an exasperated sigh while Nyzaia strode forward and crouched. Soren was completely unrecognisable from the stubborn and furious queen who battled with words and swords. Her clothing was crisp from dried blood and sand, and her face smeared with the stains of battle. Underneath it all, she looked younger lying there. Nyzaia nudged her with the handle of her dagger, but Soren did not stir. The queen rolled her eyes.
“Very well, the most effective way it is then.” She drew back her hand and struck Soren across the cheek. Farid inhaled sharply behind them as the sound echoed across the cell. Soren reacted slowly. Her eyes fluttered open until a bright green glow stared back at Nyzaia, a glow so bright she didn’t think she had seen it before. Gradually, Soren peered around, seeming to remember where she was. She huffed.
“Do you torture people while they sleep now too?” she asked. The Keres queen did not answer.
“Sit up,” Nyzaia commanded. Soren did not resist but was slow in pushing herself off the ground. She sat propped against the wall and rested her bony forearms on her knees, glaring at Nyzaia, Farid, and Jabir. She blinked rapidly until the glow of her usually deep green eyes faded. Nyzaia clenched her jaw at the green in Soren’s gaze, a reminder of the only woman she had ever loved. She recalled the lightness in Tajana’s eyes and how fear filled them when Caligh fled with her chains in hand. Soren had contributed to so much pain in Nyzaia’s life. “Don’t think about trying to use your power to escape. There are guards stationed at every possible exit, some of whom can wield minor flames.”
Soren scoffed and tilted her head. “Have you ever seen me use my powers?” Nyzaia did not respond. “Exactly. My power is a curse. It takes from life and wilts Sadira’s beautiful creations, leaving death in its wake. At best, I create dying vines barely strong enough to hold a person for a few seconds.” Soren furrowed her brow, as if recalling a memory. “Besides, steel is a more enjoyable way to end a life.” Soren tore her eyes from Nyzaia and her guards, focusing on the damp floor instead. Nyzaia raised an eyebrow at Soren’s damnation of her power, as though she wished it was different.
“Was it always like that?” Nyzaia asked. The genuine question felt obscure as it passed Nyzaia’s lips, tinged with sincere curiosity. She was grateful when Soren did not reply or acknowledge her words. Instead, Nyzaia added, “I need you to look at something” and withdrew a piece of paper from her pocket as she stepped forward. Soren’s flinch made Nyzaia pause and her brows raise a fraction in surprise. Soren had never appeared afraid of Nyzaia—or anyone for that matter. Was Nyzaia’s torture having such an impact? Or had something else altered Soren’s personality?
“Perhaps give her some space,” Farid murmured, but Nyzaia ignored him and crouched.
“When you were sat on that chair beneath my blade, I told youto watch me and see the fury in my eyes.” Nyzaia’s voice was deadly quiet as she donned the face of the Red Stones Queen. Soren vacantly stared at the stone floor as Nyzaia retrieved a dagger from her side and pressed it against the scar on her cheek, turning her head until their eyes met. “The same applies here.” Soren held Nyzaia’s stare, but when she spoke again, her tone was sickly-sweet.
“My deepest apologies, yourMajesty. Please, I beg you. Tell me how I can be of service today.”
Seeing the fight return to Soren’s eyes, Nyzaia smirked and handed Soren the folded papers. The chains clinked around Soren’s wrists as she raised her hands. Red rings swelled on Soren’s skin as the iron slipped past her wrists.
“Do you recognise it?” Nyzaia asked. Soren held the paper in different directions, focusing on Nyzaia’s drawing from different angles. She traced her finger over the lines of the Wiccan symbol and hummed before repeating the motion several times. With an exasperated sigh, Nyzaia hung her head, trying to keep a leash on her temper until she had enough information. “Well? Do you?” Nyzaia probed. Soren stopped tracing the symbol and flicked her eyes up to Nyzaia’s face, a cunning glance through her top lashes as her eyes bored into Nyzaia’s.
“What’s in it for me?” she purred. Nyzaia tilted her head at Soren’s calculating, fierce, and ruthless nature, traits Nyzaia would normally admire in a woman had they not led to her brother’s demise. Despite the anger boiling in Nyzaia’s blood, she could not deny the sudden intrigue at Soren’s change of tone, enticing her to join the game. “What is my information worth?” Soren crumpled the paper in her hand and tossed it aside, keeping her eyes on Nyzaia knelt over her who lifted her dagger and trailed the blade down Soren’s cheek before resting it under her chin. Soren’s eyes flickered to the blade and then Nyzaia.
“You seem to be under the impression you’re in a position to negotiate,” Nyzaia murmured. “Maybe we need to have some more fun in the other room.” Nyzaia pressed the dagger harder intoSoren’s throat.
“Cut me all you want, Nyzaia. I’ll only bleed regret,” Soren said in a soft, almost delicate voice. She jerked her head back, almost as baffled by her own words as Nyzaia. Soren had never used Nyzaia’s name before. It was a trick; it had to be—feigning regret for her actions to leverage information. Nyzaia narrowed her eyes.
“There is plenty more for us to discuss. I’ll grant you one ask, but when will you use it? Now, or when you think this information will be most important to me? Perhaps you will risk waiting until I want more from you, so you can bargain for something more important?”
“My wolves,” Soren said without hesitation. “I want to see my wolves. In exchange, I will tell you what I know about the symbol.”
Nyzaia smirked. “One wolf.”
“Since I only have five now, it seems only fair I should be able to check on more than one.” Soren averted her eyes. Nyzaia could not recall the dead wolf’s name.
“Onewolf.”
“Seiko, the deep grey one.”
“The blind one?” Nyzaia mocked. Soren snatched the blade with unnatural speed and shoved it from her neck. Blood trickled down her palm.
“Do not underestimate those who seem weak,” Soren spat. Farid and Jabir stepped forward, but Nyzaia raised a hand, rising from her crouch and watching Soren closely. At her request, Garridon soldiers had rounded up the wolves and kept them in cages on a covered terrace under guard. Nyzaia ensured they were fed and kept cool, although several guards had lost their hands from doing so. She kept them there as bargaining chips.
“You may see Seiko once.”
Soren scanned Nyzaia’s face, seeming to search for a lie.
“As far as I know, the symbol represents Garridon. I have seen it in various books my grandmother owned and in other texts on Doltas. I was taught the symbols are an old language from Ithyionthat Wiccans are fluent in.”
Nyzaia smirked. “You should have held onto your ask; you merely confirmed what I suspected.”
