Page 53 of Legacy of the Heirs (The Lost Kingdom Saga #2)

Nyzaia

N yzaia could not remember the last time someone cried in her arms, as Farid did now.

Before settling in for the night, she shouted up to the others and articulated her requests with hand signals.

The syndicate had endured plenty of precarious situations where they were forced to communicate with only their hands.

She instructed Jabir to keep watch and would motion for a rope in the morning, which he accepted without question. They trusted her guidance.

Nyzaia did not mind spending all hours of the night comforting Farid.

They sat against a sidewall in the cave, with the flow of lava to their left.

Farid’s head was on her shoulder, his breathing even and shallow.

Through the gap in the forge's opening, Nyzaia watched the sunrise.

She needed to wake Farid; they would need to move before the workers arrived.

“I am up,” he mumbled, lifting his head from her shoulder.

“I am not sure I will ever be accustomed to you sensing my feelings.” She smiled at him as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He grumbled. “Not a morning person?”

Farid glared at Nyzaia, and a wave of his exhaustion washed over her.

“We should get going. How is your rib?” He offered his hand and stood. Nyzaia prepared to wince as she rose, yet felt no pain. Unstrapping her leathers, she lifted the loose shirt underneath to find no bruises.

“Perhaps the tie healed me?” she asked, making a mental note to ask Elisara and Kazaar if they had experienced anything similar.

She could not recall seeing either of the pair injured in Garridon, but amongst the chaos, she likely missed so much.

Farid hummed as he approached the edge of the cavern and looked up.

“Ready?” he asked. Nyzaia dramatically glanced around the cave.

“Am I blind to the imaginary tools we will use for travel?” she asked. Farid’s head scanned the area below him. There were no sounds from the forge; they still had time. He turned back to her, his eyes glowing.

“We could fly?” he asked, and Nyzaia beamed as his wings emerged behind him.

“You don’t need to ask me twice.” In one swift movement, he scooped her up and cradled her.

“I am less keen on this hold, though. Next time, I think I would prefer it if you—AHH!” Nyzaia screamed as Farid stepped off the ledge.

It took a second for his wings to propel them upward, and Nyzaia’s scream of terror turned to one of joy as they soared.

It did not take long before he veered onto the smaller ledge where she had fallen.

It was a tight squeeze for the pair of them, and Nyzaia kept her body flush against the ledge to her right to avoid the lava falling to her left.

She examined the metal vein in the rock, a dull grey streak that reached what she believed was the other half of the talisman.

The piece around her neck warmed. Confirmation number one , Nyzaia thought as she peered closer to discern the engraved flames and sword matching the half around her neck.

Confirmation number two. She reached for the talisman.

“Fuck!” she exclaimed, snatching her hand back. “It’s scolding hot!”

“Try to melt the metal holding it into the wall,” suggested Farid, crouched next to her. Nyzaia reached for the metal above it and let her flames burn for several minutes, but when she pulled back, there was no change. Nyzaia frowned.

“You try,” Nyzaia said uncertainly, inclining her head.

“I have seen your wings, Farid, and I know you can wield a flame.” She thought back to when he accidentally burned her in Khami; she should have known then that he possessed power over fire, but how had his fire burned Nyzaia given she was immune?

“It’s not the same as yours,” he sighed and reached towards the metal, flames bursting from his hand. He was right; they were not the same. While Nyzaia’s flame was orange like one would expect, Farid’s was ice blue.

He withdrew his hand, and metal dripped down the wall.

Nyzaia reached for the talisman and flinched again when it scorched her fingertips.

She gestured to Farid to take it, and he wrapped his fingers around the top of the talisman, which snapped as he broke off the bottom vein of metal.

Does it have something to do with his flames being different or his wings?

She could not understand why it would not let a ruler take it.

Farid held it out in his open, scarred hand.

“I’m not touching it again!” she exclaimed. Farid’s mouth twitched as he ripped a piece of fabric from his uniform and tied it around the talisman. “You take care of it,” she urged.

He paused, watching for a moment, and she narrowed her eyes. He was trying to sense her emotions. Relenting, Farid tucked the talisman into the hidden breast pocket of his uniform. “What now?” he asked.

Nyzaia shuffled back towards the edge and peered upward.

In the faint light of the rising sun, one silhouette appeared above—Jabir keeping watch like she requested.

She waved her arm out and gestured pulling down, signalling for the rope.

“We could have just done that to get here,” Farid said beside her. Nyzaia’s jaw dropped, feigning shock.

“And not have the chance to fly?” she exclaimed, grinning.

Her smile widened when Farid rolled his eyes, and the rope dropped behind them, narrowly missing the flow of lava.

Nyzaia shifted from a crouch and grazed her head as she reached for the rope and wrapped her legs around it.

She gripped it with her knees and feet and began to climb.

She glanced down when she felt no change in the rope’s weight.

Farid stood, watching her intently.

“Are you not coming?” she called, and he shook his head.

“Not until I know you are safely at the top. I can grab the rope—and you—should anything happen again.”

She rolled her eyes. “You better not become too overprotective!” she shouted, turning back to climb.

During the final few metres, her hands burned against the rope, reminding her of the scar on her hand.

Shit. How could she explain that to those who saw it?

A flicker of reassurance ignited within her, yet it belonged to Farid, who must have sensed the emotion.

“Please tell us you found it after all that,” Issam joked. Nyzaia reached the hand void of any scar for his large one, allowing him to haul her effortlessly over the edge. Before answering, she peered back over to ensure Farid was climbing. “He is one fast climber.” Issam whistled.

Farid was already halfway up the rope as Jabir peered over.

“Well?” Rafik asked, continuing to monitor the rope they had staked in the ground. Nyzaia nodded, and Isaam grinned like an excitable child. “Let us see it then.”

“Farid has it,” she said, and the three men frowned. “It would not allow me to take it.”

“It’s odd that it would not allow its true owner to possess it,” Rafik said, voicing her thoughts.

She hummed but kept her eyes on the edge of the rock, waiting for Farid to appear.

Perhaps it was meant for the true heir, which she never intended to be— despite what the prophecy suggests .

Or maybe it was a defence mechanism to prevent younger siblings or distant relatives from attempting to usurp the throne with the talisman’s power.

Jabir reached for Farid’s hand, the scar visible on his palm.

“What is that?” Jabir asked as Farid hastily let go and stepped back. Nyzaia checked to see if any of the other men had noticed while Jabir reached for Farid’s hand again but stopped at the coldness in Farid’s eyes .

“What is what?” Rafik asked.

“There is a scar on your hand,” Jabir said, glancing to where Farid crossed his arms.

“I have many scars on my hands,” said Farid, and Nyzaia winced at the memories of his own fire creating those scars and the pain emanating from him.

“That was different. It was raised, like it was new.” Jabir stepped towards Farid, who hesitated before stepping back. Sensing Farid’s discomfort, Nyzaia intervened.

“It is not important right now,” Nyzaia said with queenly authority, a tone that was becoming second nature. “We need to return to the Neutral City.”

“Nyzaia,” Issam said, and she turned her head at his solemn tone. Issam, Rafik, and Jabir stood in a line of mismatched heights and builds, yet they shared the same tight-lipped frown.

“What is wrong?” she asked. Farid edged towards her until he stood by her side.

“While you were both down there, we”—Rafik gestured to the men standing either side of him—“were talking.”

“About what?” Nyzaia snapped, immediately regretting her tone. Rafik rubbed the back of his neck and averted his gaze, and Issam took over. He was always more straightforward.

“What that boy said about the Red Stones is not okay, Nyzaia,” he said firmly.

“There is no one there to maintain the way of things or keep them in check.” He stepped forward, his hands somewhat pleading.

Nyzaia was forced to consider how much their lives had also changed since she became queen.

The Red Stones was a culture—a way of life—yet her syndicate lost that the moment they followed her to the palace.

“You know why you appointed each of those heads,” Isaam continued. Ruthlessness, leadership, dedication. “And you know without someone there to oversee their operations that a power struggle will soon ensue, perhaps even a war among them in your realm.” Nyzaia did not like where this was going .

“What am I to do?” she exclaimed. “I cannot be in two places at once.” Nor did she believe the people of Keres would respond well when discovering their queen had been an assassin.

“We are not suggesting you lead.” Jabir sighed, shuffling on his feet.

“Then who?” she demanded. Farid’s presence burned beside her as the three men exchanged a look. Slowly, Nyzaia nodded, finally understanding. “You three?”

She turned her back on them and fiddled with the saddle of her horse, hiding the tears she furiously blinked away. She could not lose Tajana and the rest of her syndicate in one fell swoop. Her family.

“Not all of us,” Jabir replied. Nyzaia forced herself to turn, catching Farid’s eye. He appeared uncertain, and she felt his questions sitting within her chest like a swinging pendulum. Jabir raised his chin. “I will stay with you and Farid. Rafik and Issam are well paired, brains and brawn.”

“We described my position as a little more than simply brawn last night,” Issam jabbed him, but Jabir ignored him as he met Nyzaia’s eye. She turned over the suggestion but could think only of their absence by her side. Farid voiced her thoughts.

“How would the queen know if your plan to monitor the new council is successful?” he asked, folding his arms. Jabir studied him for a moment.

“We are a direct extension of you, Nyzaia. We are family. They are not leaving you,” Jabir reassured her, stepping forward again until he was only steps away.

“With Rafik and Issam overseeing the Pillar Heads and in turn, the Red Stones as a whole, you will have an understanding of what is going on. It can help you rule.” Jabir reached for her hands, and she let him.

It did not go unnoticed when he grazed the underside of her palm where the raised scar marked her skin.

His face did not falter. “We will all meet once a week for formal debriefs, and of course, we still want our regular nights of cards.” He tried to smile, but must have noticed her lip quiver.

“You are in safe hands with Farid and I. You can let them do this.” Jabir squeezed her left hand, and only her left. He knew they were tied.

Nyzaia did not fear a loss of safety. She feared losing two people who distracted her from the pain of Tajana with their playful bickering and bets.

Nevertheless, Nyzaia knew little of the Red Stones since leaving and becoming queen.

It was selfish of her to make them stay.

As queen of Keres, she did not have the luxury of returning, not when they might need to gather weapons in the coming weeks or months, with the threat of darkness and creatures likely to arrive again—perhaps in her realm, this time.

Nyzaia nodded in acceptance of their proposal and her personal sacrifice.