Page 50 of Return of the Darkness
“She saw into a memory of Soren’s, though that in itself remains a mystery; perhaps it’s some dormant part of Soren’s Wiccan bloodline.” Sadira sighed. “But Nyzaia was reluctant to give me any details and said it should come from Soren.” Walking alongside Soren and her two guards, Nyzaia’s behaviour was much changed from before. Every so often, Nyzaia leaned towards Soren and murmured something, though Larelle could not discern their words or if Soren replied.
“Will you speak with her?” Larelle asked. Sadira frowned,contemplating it.
“I will think about it.”
“For now, that’s all you can do.”
Nyzaia dropped back, and the three queens continued to share everything they had learned. By the time they reached the lake in the centre of the isle, they had told each other everything—everything except for the gold wedding band on Sadira’s finger beneath her engagement ring, and the matching one on the king’s. Larelle smiled and kept it to herself. They would announce it when they were ready, when good news could finally be celebrated.
“Wow! It looks like my drawings!” Zarya exclaimed, surveying the glistening turquoise lake. Larelle thought the same. The lake sparkled beautifully under the rising sun, peeking above the trees and shining a light on the mountain in the centre, carved by nature. Larelle waved a hand, and the lake separated into two towering walls of water, forming a path to what Larelle knew lay within. Zarya’s mouth fell open in awe as she squealed and clapped her hands. It did not take the group long to cross, and the water crashed behind them once they were inside. Larelle glanced back for a moment, surprised by the water’s unexpected roughness, seemingly defying her gentle guidance. A scream from within the cave stopped her contemplation, making her stiffen. The group exchanged a glance before Vlad ran into the darkness.
“Eli!” he shouted, and Nyzaia followed. Larelle turned to ask Alvan to watch Zarya, but he assured her before she could speak.
“Go! She is fine.”
Jabir held Soren, who stepped forward briefly, watching Nyzaia and Farid. Her green eyes glowed for a second, and her bottom lip trembled as they ran ahead.
“The guards will stay with you,” Larelle called back, running forward with Sadira and Caellum. A pained scream echoed again as they ran through the darkness. Farid spanned his wings to light the way as they dodged a hole in the floor before reaching the top of a staircase. As she looked down below at Vlad and Nyzaia, tryingto push through the army of shadows, Larelle’s hand flew to her mouth. There in the centre of the room, Elisara knelt in a pool of her own blood, with lines down her back as threads of shadow whipped her skin.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Elisara
Physical pain felt like a worthy punishment, and perhaps Elisara would succumb to it until she was reunited with Kazaar. Then, she would no longer have to live with reminders of him or endure each day, numb, knowing the power inside her was the reason he was dead. There would be no weight on her shoulders to lead a realm, fight a war, break a curse, or win back lands for others. The growing list of expectations was as long as the whip formed from her shadows. Each time the whip struck with force, she felt the icy-cold wind along with it, though its bite was nothing compared to her tearing skin. She relished in it—finallyfeelingsomething, something worthy of what Kazaar endured, and what they all had because of Caligh. Because Caligh wanted Elisara. Elisara did not know how long she had knelt, shredding her skin at her shadows’ hands. Eventually, her skirts dampened, and when she briefly leaned back from her hunched over position, blood coated her hands.Red. Another reminder she was no longer tied to Kazaar. He was gone.
Elisara sensed Sallos pleading as she glanced briefly through her lashes. His shadows pulled taut, trying to push towards Elisara to stop her. Other than the relief of punishment, only one other positive came from Elisara’s submission to pain. The shadowed army were finally listening. She recalled Sallos words whilst she was sleeping, some of the soldiers were simply choosing to ignore the tug of her commands. She knew Sallos’s inability to force his way to her now, meant her control over them all was holding strong.
“Change it,” Elisara begged. “Change the prophecy! I want nopart in this,” she sobbed, hoping Sitara was watching and listening to her cries. There was nothing but silence as she looked at the words inscribed on the mirror and the blood pooling at her feet. Finally, Elisara stared at her reflection. Her skin was far paler than normal, perhaps even paler than Osiris’s, highlighting the dark shadows beneath her eyes and the blue veins protruding under her skin from where her muscles had deteriorated. She paused on the scar on her collarbone, the moon still visible despite its absent glow. An internal roar reached her as Sallos tried to move again. “Please,” she whispered. Another lash struck her back, and she screamed. The force was not as strong as the previous lashes. She was struggling to break more skin, though whether that was because of the lack of force—or lack of skin—she did not know. Elisara looked back at the mirror again, but her vision grew hazy. For a split second, she could have sworn, in the reflection of the ancient mirror, someone ran down the stairs behind her. Then she heard it, a faint cry over the ringing in her ears.
“Eli!” screamed the voice. Elisara swayed where she knelt, steadying her hands on the floor and coating them with blood. Few people ever called her that. She scrunched her eyes shut, struggling to focus on the sound of the voice. “Eli!” the voice cried again. Leaning back, a flash of golden blonde hair appeared on her left, trying to break through her army. Her command held firm. Shoulder to shoulder, the dark soldiers formed a protective ring around her, and she had no strength left to disband them. The woven strands of shifting darkness moved again, and the whip came down with a subconscious thought. Elisara’s screams had stopped. She hunched over, limp, trying to focus on the surrounding voices. Was she dying? Were these the voices of the other dead?
“I can’t get through!” a male shouted, a deep voice, one she recognised, though it held more authority than it once had. Three women appeared behind her in the mirror, trying to shove past her army. Elisara looked at Sallos, her mouth half open, as if a part of her wanted to tell him to let them in, even though, in herblood-drained haze, she couldn’t recall who they were. Sallos knelt now, just as he had when he bowed to her on the sands, but his former honour and pride were tainted by fear and pity.
“Farid!” one woman shouted. “They’ve never liked your wings. Try to push through.” The man with flamed wings appeared on her left, standing opposite the rows of shadows. Despite her command, the soldiers pushed back as the man strode through, with the three women following close behind. They broke the ranks of soldiers. Fear rippled through Elisara at the flaming wings rushing forward. Losing control, her panicked shadows wrapped around her body, afraid of the man with wings like the sun.
“I can’t get through her power,” the man grunted. Elisara was conscious of a blue light creeping into the cocoon of darkness she had formed around herself. Alone with her pain and the mirror’s prophecy, she sobbed.
“When she was here with Kazaar, it was the first time their powers had tried to merge,” A different female voice spoke, strong and powerful, despite the softness in her tone.Kazaar.Her lip wobbled again as she stared at her reflection. She recognised this voice; this voice carried the same pain of grief and had done so the last time she heard it. Elisara remembered the moment they found and stood before the mirror, with Kazaar’s breath tickling her neck from behind. For a moment, she thought she saw the scene play out on the glass, hallucinating snippets of him. “Perhaps if we try merging our own power, we can break through,” the female voice urged. Elisara lost all strength as she slumped onto the cold ground, coating her cheek and hair with blood. She stared at her body in the mirror. Time melted into nothing while she lay there, numb and blinking. She calmed her breathing, waiting for death.
Her shadows loosened, stretching into threads, allowing the bright light outside it to seep in. Her eyes flickered down, a quick glance at who had tried to save her in her final moments before death. Through the fading darkness, she saw a woman with beautiful brown skin and hair the same shade as Kazaar’s. The leatherswere the same too, save for the red sash across her body. The woman glowed; a white light emanated from her hands, stretching outward. Elisara flicked her eyes back to the mirror. Behind her was a woman with curly dark hair in a flowing navy gown; a silver crown of waves sat atop her head. The same light flowed from her hands, connecting her to the woman that looked like Kazaar. The third woman had hair that formed a halo, surrounded in white light. Threads of brightness tied the three together, repelling Elisara’s shadows. Her eyes fell on the man standing behind the blonde; he rested his hand on her shoulder, a ring glinting on his finger. The sight tugged at a distant memory as darkness crept into her vision. Elisara looked at the owner’s face: a powerful jaw, hair falling just above his eyeline, and tears rolling down a small scar on his cheek. Pain marred his brown eyes. He didn’t want her to die. Elisara frowned.
“Star, please,” he said, standing on the sidelines, his face crumpling. The shadows stretched further, pulling at her skin, and distancing themselves as whatever power connecting the women tried to dissipate.
“Caellum,” Elisara murmured, remembering them as children, when he fell and gained the small scar on his cheek.
“He would not want this, Star!” Caellum shouted. “Kazaar would not want this!”
Elisara frowned.He does not know Kazaar like I do. Kazaar would want to see me again.Returning to look at the mirror, she pictured them standing in his rooms after their powers had merged. He had stared at her reflection with a look of complete adoration and devotion, his eyes promising she was his sun, moon, and stars—his everything. Elisara watched his face and smiled at the hallucination, happy to picture him one last time before they were reunited.
“He wouldn’t want it, Elisara!” said the woman with golden brown skin.Nyzaia.She knew him.Her eyes flickered to the image of Kazaar in the mirror again.Fight, she imagined him saying,pounding his fists against the glass.You are stronger than this.
“I’m not.” Elisara closed her eyes and sobbed.Eyes on me, angel. His voice rang through her mind. The memory of his voice was suffocating as she looked back at the hallucination.You are a queen, my queen.Elisara blinked, recalling the first time he called her that. She was strong, he had always known it. Elisara fought the darkness creeping into her vision as the hallucination of him faded.He wouldn’t want me to do this,Elisara thought, focusing on his words and finding the flicker in her soul, the origin of Sitara’s power. She tugged, drawing her darkness back into her with a scream of relief. With that, the weight lifted, and the light trying to pull apart her power faded. Feet thundered on the tiles, rushing forward. Before Elisara closed her eyes, she saw Sallos’s shadowed boots approach as he knelt at her side.
“Eli!” Vlad cried. “Get Vigor! He’s on the ship with Helena.” His command echoed in Elisara’s mind before everything went dark.
***
Elisara’s unconscious state was at peace. She did not dream of other lives or see Sallos. Instead, there was simply darkness, and for once, it was not a burden. Despite relenting, despite knowing she had to go on, a part of her wished to stay in that darkness until a murmured conversation prompted her eyes to open.
