Page 11 of Legacy of the Heirs (The Lost Kingdom Saga #2)

Kazaar

K azaar continued watching Elisara, hoping the image of the throne room had not been a fluke and that, somehow, he could reach her.

A bombardment of emotions hammered at his mind, trying to break through the walls compartmentalising the different parts of his life: fear, betrayal, longing.

The emotions were not his own, yet he recognised their invasion in his body. He always knew when they were hers.

When he averted his gaze from Elisara’s face, magic swarmed them.

He froze, his hand still gripping hers as the magic twisted around them.

It began at their conjoined hands. Kazaar’s burning white flame sparked, sending beautiful pearls of light to land on his brown skin.

He jumped at its coolness, expecting it to burn.

Dark wisps lingered in their wake—small at first until the sparks and wisps bounced off one another, growing more curious.

The lingering wisps lengthened and twisted around Elisara and Kazaar’s hands.

The sparks responded like a kindred spirit, growing until silver threads of light intertwined with the darkness that appeared to tie Kazaar to Elisara.

The threads coiled and danced, trailing up their arms until caressing the newly graced marks on their collarbones.

Kazaar did not move, uncertain about what this power might do to her. He could not cause any further pain.

He closed his eyes as dark and light threads licked his skin, and behind his eyelids, a flash of the throne room appeared again.

He opened his eyes, and Elisara’s eyelids fluttered.

His mind was trying to tell him something, but what?

He closed them again and trusted his intuition.

The image held for longer, long enough to envisage Elisara yelling at him from across the ice tomb, where the Sword of Sonos had been encased.

A memory, he realized, yet something was different about it. The walls were missing; instead, the night sky surrounded the pair. He had seen the memory depicted this way when he last tried reaching out to Elisara.

“Is this what you are thinking about?” Kazaar murmured.

He stroked her forehead with his free hand, careful not to disrupt the encircling threads of magic.

They ebbed and flowed until shadow and light encased the pair.

While he had no idea how he must look to an outsider, Elisara was easy to describe.

The gathering of shadows resembled a dress scattered with specks of light as if she was made of the night sky itself.

Tendrils flooded behind her like wings, wishing to carry her away on the night breeze.

Kazaar squeezed Elisara’s hand, and her eyelids fluttered until the glowing white threads formed above her head, reminding him of a drawing he had seen as a child.

An angel. She reminded him of an angel. He smiled despite his worry.

It was apt that she should resemble such a serene and calm myth, given how she made him feel when he lowered his walls.

If she looked like an angel, he only wondered what dark creature he resembled should anyone walk in.

He sensed the shadows’ caress, enveloping him like they did her, yet he was too blinded by the brightness that was Elisara to see if it touched him.

A door slammed shut behind him, and the power between them dissipated. An uncomfortable absence remained.

“What was that ?” Nyzaia exclaimed. It seemed the unearthly power had not dispersed quickly enough. Kazaar turned his head, and Nyzaia stepped back, colliding with the door. He frowned.

“Your eyes,” she whispered, taking slow steps towards Kazaar.

He looked for a mirror before glancing at his hand intertwined with Elisara’s, unwilling to part from her.

He heard the soft padding of Nyzaia’s feet as she approached and held a mirror out to him.

His reaction resembled Nyzaia’s. Kazaar jerked his head back and gaped.

He had only ever seen eyes like this once before when he had stared into Elisara’s in the moments of her rising power before she fell unconscious.

Where Elisara’s had glowed white with wisps of shadow, his own were now ebbed with darkness, dispersed with specks of white that changed each time he blinked.

He blinked and dropped his hand from Elisara’s, his eyes returning to their usual glow of amber before fading to brown.

He looked up at Nyzaia, whose eyes scanned his. Uncertainty crossed her features.

“Please tell me you found something,” Kazaar choked, tossing the mirror onto the bed and reaching again for Elisara’s hand. Nyzaia grasped the collar of his shirt, and he flinched.

“I need to see something to be certain.” Nyzaia pushed his head to the side, and his hair tumbled with it.

“Careful,” Kazaar exclaimed as she yanked at his shirt.

He flinched the moment she touched the sun that marked him.

Wrong . It felt wrong for anyone but the woman lying before him to touch it.

Nyzaia took a sharp breath, circling the bed and kneeling before him.

She glanced at Elisara, settling her gaze on the moon-shaped scar on her collarbone.

“On Ithyion—”

“I do not want to hear of a forgotten kingdom, Nyzaia. I want to know how to wake my queen,” he snapped. She narrowed her eyes at him, like she had so many times as bickering children.

“On Ithyion , there is a myth of celestial ties,” she continued. “A book in father’s office explains a link of sorts between two people that marks them.” She looked pointedly at the sun on his chest. “Such markings are a blessing by the gods. It means your destinies are tied to one another.”

Kazaar frowned. “What does a baseless myth have to do with waking up Elisara?”

“I would hardly call it baseless, given you both now carry a shared marking.” Nyzaia tapped her fingers against her knees. “The text explains that once you are tied together by the merging of your essences, you share not only your powers but also your memories and minds.”

Kazaar recalled all that had happened with his queen: the threads tying them together, the change in his powers, the flashes of altered memories in his mind. Had they been hers?

“So, let’s assume this celestial tie is real. Did it say how to wake her should something like this happen?” It was the only answer Kazaar cared about. Yet when Nyzaia cast her eyes downward, he sighed and scrunched his eyes shut.

“It said the tie could grant you access to one another’s minds,” she whispered while Kazaar tapped his foot, blinking back frustrated tears. “Kazaar, look at me!” He blinked and met Nyzaia’s eyes. “You need to try to reach her.”

He analysed Elisara’s face again, and her eyelids fluttered.

“How?” He rose from the small wooden chair and knelt beside Elisara. Reluctantly, he let go of her hand to stroke her hair, running his fingers through it like silk.

“Have you ever felt any connection to her before?” Nyzaia asked. Kazaar did not answer. If he were to finally speak those words aloud, only Elisara would hear them. “What were you thinking about when I entered earlier? When those strange powers floated around you both?”

He did not recall doing anything out of the ordinary except simply holding her hand and thinking only of her. But then the memory appeared.

“I do not know if I can do this with you in here, Nyzaia,” Kazaar murmured. His fingers paved a trail down Elisara’s face and paused inches from her collarbone.

“What if something goes wrong?”

“You will hear from the other side of the door.” His eyes did not leave Elisara.

If he looked up, he would see the conflict whirring in Nyzaia’s gaze.

Instead, he waited for her to accept his request and held his breath as she strode to the door.

Only when the door clicked shut did he release it all in a shaky, panicked sigh.

“Please, Elisara,” he whispered, resting his forehead against hers, finding her warming skin a comfort.

He traced the raised moon on her collarbone, wishing for something— anything —to happen before grasping her hand once more.

“Please.” At his whimper, the same memory flashed in his mind again.

The Unsanctioned Isle. Kazaar focused, searching for something to tether himself to in the memory.

Elisara’s face was all he needed—she was all he needed.

The familiar draw to Elisara yanked him forward until he tumbled headfirst into her soul.

“KAZAAR!” Elisara screamed. Kazaar watched from the sidelines as Elisara screamed at the past version of himself, hurling the Sword of Sonos in his direction. His past-self reached for it and pierced the blade through the creature’s skull.

He knew what happened next, so instead of watching himself defeat the creature, he turned to Elisara, who used the steel sword as a crutch, hobbling to the other side of the throne room.

Shadows forced his eyes to the opposite side of the room, where another Elisara watched.

They were both there, watching their past selves interact.

Why had this moment prevailed in her mind?

The shadows concealing Elisara pulled further away, revealing her red silk dress that would be forever engrained in his mind.

Her eyes flickered from the memory to meet his.

One moment, he watched the scene of them, and the next, he glanced back at Elisara, who was no longer there.

When Kazaar glanced down again, Elisara watched him; they were both fully immersed in the present while their past selves faded into nothing.

Kazaar pulled Elisara to him and grasped her face.

“You need to wake up,” he said, transfixed on her eyes as the bright blue glow faded to brown, and when Elisara frowned, her eyes changed again, a blazing white. It was as if the shadows threatened to ensnare and punish the man who had caused the invading darkness.

“Get out,” she hissed, shoving him backward.

“Elisara! ”

“I don’t want you here!” she spat.

“You know,” he pleaded. “You know I did not intend to hurt you.” He reached for her again. “I have been waiting by your side for every passing second, desperate for you to wake.”

Elisara’s glare faltered at his words. “It is your fault I am here.”

“Which is why I am here now.” He stepped forward again until the pair were toe to toe.

“I wanted to tell you. But this”—Kazaar gestured between them— “This is what I feared. You still hated me when I arrived in Vala. If I told you the truth then you would hate me even more.” Kazaar reached for her face, but she slapped his hand away.

“I am not going back without you,” he choked. “I cannot go back without you.”

“I said I do not want you here!” Elisara bit back.

Kazaar scanned her eyes, sensing the lies beneath her words.

He did not know how to lower her defences.

Elisara spun and walked away, but Kazaar reached her in seconds, grasping her wrist and turning her toward him.

Colliding with his chest, she faltered, offering Kazaar a brief opening to keep her there—to say anything to keep her with him.

“Really?” Kazaar towered over Elisara and tilted her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. She swallowed, and as he leaned in, he felt the rush of Elisara’s conflicting emotions and heard her racing heart.

“Then, why were you thinking about me?” Restraint hit him in the gut—Elisara’s restraint.

She was holding back, but holding back what?

Her anger? Her feelings? Or simply her words?

Betrayal overshadowed Elisara’s restraint as she summoned air, readying to use it.

He guessed her intentions and braced against the force of her wind, sliding a few feet instead of the entire throne room.

He corrected his balance with his own air and flourished a hand to push her back.

Using the powers he had hidden for so long felt right, as he used them only for her.

Kazaar knew she was hiding from the truth instead of confronting it.

If she did not wish to relent, he could easily do the same instead of hiding his truth behind teasing.

Elisara made a disgruntled noise, and Kazaar refrained from laughing.

She took heavy, determined steps toward him while the sky behind her brightened.

The walls remained lost, yet the night sky was awash with falling stars that cascaded behind her as she stormed toward him.

The shadows and light surrounding them earlier returned.

A halo effect formed around Elisara and blinded him with her beauty.

“I expect more from you, my queen,” he said. Her expression wavered at his change in tone as if suspecting his tactics had changed. She narrowed her eyes and jabbed a finger into his chest. He tried not to react to her touch.

“Do not call me that,” she snarled, curls of hair half falling before her face. “I am not yours .”

Kazaar inhaled Elisara’s intoxicating scent of lavender and fresh snow. Her eyes darkened, but not with the shadows haunting her gaze—no, he sensed the desire buried beneath her fury.

“Are you not?” He reached for her collarbone, where the moon marked her skin. “Are you not mine?” The power within them sparked as his nose brushed hers, and she reached for his chest. This is what he wanted but had tried so hard to prevent himself from having.

“You hurt me.” Elisara’s voice cracked. “How am I meant to trust you?” Stars fell around them and washed away the memory, and when Kazaar opened his eyes, he was beside Elisara again in his chambers. He sighed in relief as she blinked, staring up at him.

“I’ll spend my life proving myself to you, angel.”