Page 47 of Return of the Darkness
“I once knew people with the same power as you. I can teach you to wield the darkness and pull it back into yourself when it is unrequired.” Elisara straightened the gown, untangling the pieces of fabric that flowed over her shoulder, hanging loosely over her arms like capes. The fabric glowed copper and bronze as it caught the light of the flames. It was fitted to her chest, leaving a small gap between the top of her bust and the hollow on her neck before the fabric enveloped her neck. It provided the perfect gap to display her talismans. “I know having to control it constantly is tiring you,” Sallos whispered. Elisara sighed while smoothing the flowing fabric of her skirts. He was right. Every tug of the shadows exhausted her further. Willing the wall of shadows to fall, Elisara faced Sallos, who rocked back on his heels, watching her in silence. She felt uncomfortable dressed as a queen again. “Youlook—”
“What would helping me look like?” Elisara cut him off and perched on the edge of the bed, her arms crossed.
“We would need some space,” Sallos said, gesturing towards the throne room. “We need to focus on what is blocking your mental space. Silent meditation would work—”
“No.”
“It is a simple exercise—”
“No.” Elisara winced at the memories of Kazaar—the moments they meditated before the war, trying to unlock any additional power. Sallos averted his eyes, and Elisara knew he felt her grief. “Find another way.”
“There are not many other ways I can think of, your Majesty. You can control the shadows perfectly fine in all other ways. I only assume the inability to withdraw them is linked to your mind, wishing them to remain present.”
“I cannot,” Elisara said quietly but firmly. Sallos ran a hand through his hair and sighed.
“You need to.”
“Why?”
“Because your inability to recall your own power is affecting your ability to control us,” Sallos said, taking a cautious step closer. Elisara assessed him and straightened.
“My ability to control you all is fine. I did so just before I bathed.” She raised her chin in defiance as Sallos crouched, meeting her eyes. Elisara tried not to recoil as she forced herself to meet his gaze like a queen. Yet when he approached in a way that spoke of comfort and kindness, she felt unworthy. She had failed.
“Those of us you control feel the tug of your commands and obey willingly—currently.” Sallos softened his voice. “There are others in this sword for a reason; since the battle, they can easily ignore that tug, particularly when you order us away. They will claim they obeyed yet will act against your will. When you sleep, and sometimes when you awake briefly at night, there are soldiers slipping from your control. Some have travelled to the realms and stalked not just Vala’s people, but the others too.”Elisara scanned his eyes, looking for signs he was lying. Though she would feel his betrayal if he was. Why would they venture to other realms?
“Have they hurt anyone?” she murmured. Despite its absence, the weight of the crown felt heavy on her head, though it remained alongside her other possessions in the Ashun Desert. Sallos shook his head, and his hand twitched, like he wished to reach forward and offer comfort.
“They have hurt people in Garridon, but the king intervened. You have slept so much you have missed the return of the slain soldiers.” Sallos lifted the corner of his lips slightly in a soft, sad smile before asking, “What would Kazaar tell you to do?” Elisara looked down at her hands; her chest constricted upon hearing his name aloud. “Think about it.” Sallos rose and backed away to his station in front of the hallway. “But you will need to try channel in your waking body.” Slowly, Elisara nodded before sliding down the edge of the bed onto the floor. She pulled her knees up under her chin and waited for herself to wake.
***
Pink skies shone through the opening at the top of the mountain. Elisara debated going outside; the fresh air and calming sky would likely help with meditating, but she was not yet ready to face the world. Instead, Elisara sat directly under that small opening of light. The laws of dreams seemed not to apply as she sat in the same deep bronze dress Sallos had given her. She wanted to wear Kazaar’s shirt, but knew it was too dirty now. She resorted to placing it on her pillow at night, so it was the last thing she saw before sleeping and the first thing when she woke. She twisted her hand around the leather on her neck, where Sitara’s talisman—once his—pressed against her chest. It hummed in her hand, the threads of silvery light twisting amongst the whirling shadows within.Elisara grazed the tiny chip in the back—the missing part she knew was somewhere in her arm beneath the raised scars decorating her skin.
What would Kazaar tell you to do?Sallos’s question rang through her mind as she stared at the deep crack in the chequered floor, where the creature had landed during their first visit. Who knew such a simple question could focus her mind? Kazaar would say she was better than this and stronger than her heartbreak. Although she would not believe him, that is what he would say. Elisara smiled, recalling the moment Kazaar had ignited a flicker of flame within her. His memory would centre her again, even for the selfish act of lightening her aches. A part of her mind warned that no matter how much she feigned indifference, she yearned to regain control over the soldiers—the one thing she could protect her people from.
Finally, Elisara raised her head and looked up at the mirror, now propped against what had once been a tomb of ice, long since melted. Depictions of the elements were etched on the gold frame, along with the sun and moon at its crown. It was difficult to focus on the reflection and not the engraved words of the prophecy on the glass. In the aftermath of everything that happened, the prophecy had always been about her. Elisara straightened, ignoring the words. She glanced briefly at Sallos, who stood to the side of the mirror that reached up to his shoulders. His shadowed form raised a hand to his chest, exaggerating the motion of inhaling. Elisara nodded and returned her focus to her reflection. Her loose curls, frizzy from sleeping on it wet, hung behind her back, while the shadows under her eyes matched the darkness twisting on the floor. Were she in better health, the deep bronze dress would have complimented her hair and skin, both of which now paled in the darkness. In some lights, it almost looked like armour, a similar tone to the copper army, but darker. Elisara clenched her jaw at the returning memory of battle and took a deep breath. She exhaled, closing her eyes.Find the source of your power, Kazaar had once said. But how could she, knowing it stemmed from a piece of stone inher left arm, wrapped in Sitara’s essence?
When Elisara focused on her arm, the shadows approached, twisting up her elbows. She felt the darkness in her skin, the link to the sword. Perhaps she should just cut it out, hide the talisman, and end the connection to the shadowed army. Sallos flinched at her thought. The darkness continued, twisting up Elisara’s arms and around her chest until the pressure was suffocating. She furrowed her brows, thinking of the dark fragment in her arm, but that flicker of Sitara’s essence around it felt absent, as though it had spent so many years drifting through her it no longer had a tethered home. Elisara clenched her hands as the threads of power crawled across her skin, trying to offer comfort but achieving the opposite.
“Leave me alone,” Elisara murmured, picturing Kazaar’s face. His memory had ignited that flame before—she could do it again. But Elisara stilled when she thought of him. One day, she would forget the details of his face, the positioning of his stubble, and the changing shades of his eyes. A tear rolled down Elisara’s cheek, and a shadow wiped it away. “Stop,” she whispered, but sensing her sadness only drew them closer. Kazaar was gone because of this power, because Sitara decided Elisara was the perfect vessel to host both the essence and link to the sword. But why her? The shadows cried along with their queen, skating over her skin like a gentle caress. If Elisara had not harboured the essence, Caligh would not have come looking for them. He would not have killed Kazaar. “It’s my fault,” she choked. She sensed Sallos step towards her, but she pushed him back and commanded him against the wall with the others. She cried, sagging under the weight of her powers. Still, the shadows ignored her pleas and continued twisting and stroking her hair.
“STOP!” Elisara screamed. When she opened her eyes, her irises were black, consumed by anger in the mirror. She wanted them out, wanted them gone. Given the chance, she would rip the power from her body for their role in Kazaar’s death. Elisara panted, watching her reflection. The shadows paused, wondering ifher threat was true. Elisara screamed, and with a single, forceful thought, commanded a strip of darkness to lash the flesh along her back, cutting open her skin, and hopefully ripping the power out with it.
Chapter Thirty
Caellum
Caellum had spent most of his life in wariness and uncertainty, worried for himself, his siblings, and the mood his father might be in. But as he strode through a field of flowers, with the morning dew dampening the ends of his trousers, any uncertainties about his life drifted away on the breeze. A glow of pink tinted the field of white irises as the sun rose behind the clifftops and glinted across the ocean, a serene backdrop for their fairytale. The breathtaking haze of petals stretched as far as the eye could see until reaching the sea on one side, and the forest on the other, where a row of guards stood. Their backs were turned, watching for anyone approaching.
Caellum let loose a shaky breath as Sir Cain grinned. The man who had been a father figure to Caellum, when his own could not, clasped his forearm and embraced him with a pat on the back.
“Everything you asked for is all set up,” Sir Cain said, a smile plastered on his face. He walked alongside Caellum into the clearing, where a woven archway stood, intertwined with the same vines and white flowers from the chairs at their engagement ball. Off to the side were three men playing stringed instruments, the only other people present for the marriage between a king and princess. Caellum had always expected their wedding to be a large affair to symbolise Garridon becoming whole again. Perhaps they should have waited to provide their people with such a joyous moment, but this felt right. “The blanket and all other items are by the cliff's edge.” Sir Cain guided Caellum’s shoulders and positioned him off-centre to the archway, turning his back from where heknew Sadira waited with her guards. He took several deep breaths, reminding himself to enjoy this one peaceful moment together before they travelled to the Unsanctioned Isle to aid Elisara, as per the request on Larelle’s letter that reached him late last night. Elisara appeared to have lost control over her shadowed soldiers, who had invaded not only the settlements of Garridon, but Keres and Nerida too. Caellum and Sadira had one moment together at sunrise, but by the time the sun was signalling the beginning of afternoon, they would set sail for the Unsanctioned Isle.
“Ready?” Sir Cain asked. Caellum looked up at the sky as eight birds soared past the clouds. Eight hawks, one for each member of his family. As the birds settled behind him on the treeline, where his bride waited, Caellum smiled. The largest one seemed to watch him closely.
“Ready,” Caellum breathed. Sir Cain nodded, and music wove amongst the flowers, along with the many butterflies floating into view. Caellum straightened the lapels of his forest green jacket. He wanted to reach for the crown atop his head and check that was straight too, but a breeze brushed Sadira’s scent towards him and wrapped around his heart: roses and morning dew. She was near. Sir Cain squeezed his shoulder, and Caellum turned.
During the time he had known Sadira, the king had described her in many ways: beautiful, breathtaking, ethereal. Yet as Caellum’s eyes watered, he could not think of a single word in existence that captured the woman who had claimed his heart forever. Sadira was the first breath of countryside air, calming his whole being, and the first glimpse of spring flowers to signal a beautiful day. Sadira was both the rise of the sun and the power of rainfall; she was his beginning, end, and his constant in the unknown. Sadira was simply everything.
