Page 42 of Legacy of the Heirs (The Lost Kingdom Saga #2)

Larelle

D arkness had become the new normal, weighing on Larelle’s chest. She had tried to conserve her breaths for what she believed was three days now, provided her counting method was correct.

A slither of light had broken through a crack in the piled rocks to her left three times: three moments of daylight from the world outside and three days without food.

Her only source of water was what she drew from the rocks.

They had left her there to die. The hard ground was moist and seeped through her dress; she had torn it several times on the first night and grazed her hands as she sought a way out of this makeshift prison.

Her slow shuffles and stumbles around the small space confirmed her suspicions about where they kept her.

When the creature took Larelle, dragging her from her daughter, Alvan, her home, and all she had, Larelle was certain this was the end, which was why she named Alvan her successor.

Forever a forward thinker, even under the notion of death and panic.

Larelle also learned about her drastic fear of heights that night, scrunching her eyes shut as the creature soared from Garridon.

Larelle was unsurprised when she felt the familiar call of Nerida’s waters, but their landing soon after came as a shock.

Her body jostled in the creature's claws as it flung her against the slippery rocks.

She had assumed it would drop her somewhere to die—or kill her itself—not land on one of the rocky islands protruding off the coast of Mera.

Larelle quickly understood the creature’s intentions as it advanced with a growl and backed her into a small opening at the back of the cave.

When she was inside, it pushed and gathered rocks to block her exit.

Yet, in doing so, it showed the creatures to be smarter than they appeared—calculated.

Such information would prove of use should she ever escape.

How else would it know to trap Larelle? She was yet to understand its motives, but surely, they did not want her dead if they kept her here alive.

During the entire first night, she heard it.

Its claws scraped outside the cave as it growled to itself, and when that first slither of light shone into her prison, it had sniffed once at the rocks separating them before she heard the flap of wings fading into the distance. It left and had not returned since.

She hoped to have found a means of escaping by now or a way to use her power.

Instead, she was plagued with the look on Alvan’s face when she was taken—the twisting of his features as though a dagger pierced his chest. His scream rang through her mind as he insisted she would not die.

Screams of sheer agony. Then, her mind flitted to Zarya and the fear her daughter would grow up without a mother. Alvan will look after her.

Larelle stiffened as a thud sounded outside, followed by a growl— two growls.

It had returned, but it was not alone. She pushed her hands against the floor, forcing her body to slide up the wet wall.

Yet there was nowhere for Larelle to go should the creatures come for her.

Her heart thundered, but she kept quiet and listened for anything that might help. The growling stopped.

“I swear to Makaria, are you a fucking fool?” hissed a deep voice in an accent she did not recognise. It came from the other side of the rocks. Makaria? Larelle heard a scuffle and then a thud against the wall outside. “What were you thinking by taking one of them?”

“What was I supposed to do?” barked a higher, younger voice. Larelle’s eyes widened. People stood outside. “They waved that sword around, and I didn’t want to turn out dead like the others, or worse, trapped—”

“Shhh!” snapped the deeper voice. “You do not know what she could hear.”

“She might not even be alive!”

“What do you mean?”

“After I left her here, it took me two days to get back and find you, which is a reasonably long time without food and water.” Back to where? Had he been in Novisia? And then left?

The deeper voice, likely belonging to the superior, sighed.

“Let me get this straight.” His voice changed, a menacing undertone in his words. “You took a queen of their kingdom, hid her in her own realm, and then left her to starve?” Silence was his answer. “It is like you are asking to be a part of this war.”

Larelle shuffled, straining to hear more. She did not recognise the voice.

“ Please ! We became a part of this war the second he called in the debt that was owed and had us hunt for that damned sword.”

Endless questions whirled through Larelle’s mind: the war, the sword, these people, and the debt they owed . Pushing closer to the rock, she turned over his words. “ I left her here,” he had said, but since when could the creatures speak?

“Be careful how you speak to your superior officer.” Larelle heard movement—the rustling of fabric, as though unwrapping something and then the sound of clinking metal.

“What are those?” asked the second man with a youthful lilt to his voice.

“You wanted my help, did you not? This is our way of talking to her without her escaping.”

Larelle frowned, itching to see the creatures and figure out their plan. The goddess must have heard her wish, for it was granted almost instantly. The rocks shifted, and the blinding light from outside entered the cave, forcing Larelle to shield her eyes and stumble back.

She blinked rapidly and slowly withdrew her arm. She tried to discern the dark silhouette, who stood against the backdrop of the rising sun over the oceans.

“Queen Larelle. I must apologise for the length of time you have been kept here in such ungodly conditions,” said the deep voice.

He knows my name . As her eyes adjusted, she took him in.

Larelle had not known what to expect; she was unable to match his accent to a location or culture and could not decide if she was surprised or mesmerised by the man before her.

He was taller than most men with a similar stature to Commander Kazaar; his long hair was sleek, as though woven of silk stolen from the night itself.

Although it appeared as though he rarely saw the sun, there was an iridescence to his skin that made him seem far from sickly, and his eyes—unlike any she had seen before—scrutinised her in the same manner she watched him.

She saw no malice in his gaze, which made her uncomfortable.

Was this man truly a foe or indifferent to her plight?

His eyes narrowed on something behind her, and he tilted his head to his companion. Golden rings circled his dark irises, far darker than her own. She would have assumed them black if he had not been bathed in light.

In the same spotlight, she discerned a faint scar running from halfway down his cheek all the way along his neck and beneath the high collar of his black jacket.

His clothes were embroidered with amber swirls that matched the flower pin on his jacket breast. Larelle did not recognise it.

His clothes were similar to those a lord or king would wear in Novisia, but there was something different about it, though she could not place what.

“I realise you do not know who I am, Queen Larelle, but it is rude not to greet your hosts.” Larelle refrained from dropping her jaw at the man’s audacity. Instead, she pursed her lips and looked to his companion, the man—or rather, the boy—who brought her here.

He looked no older than sixteen; his deep umber skin reminded Larelle of her father, but in place of multiple braids was a close-cut style, the tight coils of his hair flat against his head.

His height and features gave away his age; he was less chiselled and had gangly arms to grow into.

She wondered how someone so young had kidnapped a queen.

“He is not as young as he seems,'' said the pale man. Larelle’s head whirled to him.

Was she so easy to read? The man smirked.

Larelle became acutely aware of the silence in the cave and glanced around.

The creatures she had initially assumed were talking had not returned, though she could have sworn she had heard them since being brought here. The pale man chuckled again.

“You do not strike me as someone who is easily confused, Your Majesty,” he taunted.

His smirk twisted then. Long canines began to protrude from his lips as his face elongated and his stance broadened.

Larelle stumbled as dark leather wings extended from his back.

As they grew, the golden rings in his eyes glowed brighter.

She could not tear her eyes away from his transformation as the man formed into the creature like that which had taken her.

“I think she understands, Osiris,” the younger boy mumbled. In the blink of an eye, he returned to his previous state, yet his wings remained free.

“What—what are you?” Larelle stuttered, trying to regain the regal composure she possessed so easily.

“That is not a question I can answer, nor is it relevant to you,” Osiris responded.

“How can it be irrelevant when your people murdered innocents in Garridon and Ithyion and destroyed our home?” Osiris’ demeanour quickly changed, his arrogant smirk replaced with a tight jaw and clenched fists.

“Do not make assumptions based on myths and lies,” he sneered, stepping towards her.

“Then speak to me in truths,” Larelle countered, refusing to cower under his stare as he approached. Osiris towered several feet above her and tucked his wings behind him, though even retracted, they were large enough to cast a shadow over Larelle, shielding the light and her escape to freedom.

“I am not here to give you the information you seek, queen,” he whispered, reaching for her hair. She batted his hand away, and the smirk returned as laughter rumbled through him and reverberated off the surrounding walls. “I am here to find out just how much you know, as requested.”

“Requested by whom?” She turned her head as he leaned closer. The silky sweet scent on his breath reminded her of the over-perfumed flowers possessed by the wealthy in The Bay. The smell made her nauseous.

“Not important.”

“Who do you owe a debt to?”

“Also, not important.”

“What do you fear of the Sword of Sonos, if not death?” His eye twitched upon her mention of the sword.

“Do you always ask so many questions?” he asked, searching her eyes.

“Do you always avoid answering a queen?”

He laughed at her response.

“If I were to serve a queen, you are not the one I would choose.” Before Larelle could ask her next question, something cold nipped at her wrists, followed by a firm click.

She glanced down at two metal rings clasped around her wrists, binding them together.

Osiris smirked again and stepped back. He had distracted her.

“It is not as if I planned to go anywhere with you two in the cave.” Larelle feigned confidence, and Osiris turned his back to her, walking towards the cave’s edge and peering out across the ocean. The sky slowly lost its pink hue as the sun rose higher.

“They are simply to stop you from using your power against us while we talk.” He hummed and turned back, leaning sideways against the damp wall.

Larelle reached for the ocean, but nothing happened.

She reached for the water pooling in rocks, but again—nothing.

She reached for the tears threatening to spill in her eyes at the emptiness blooming within her. Nothing.

“Now that you have confirmed you indeed have lost access to your power, let us discuss what you know.” Osiris examined his fingernails. “I would hate to do this the hard way when we have only just met.”