Page 75 of Legacy of the Heirs (The Lost Kingdom Saga #2)

Nyzaia

“ I do not like this,” Farid grumbled from where he crouched atop the tavern. He twisted the tip of his knife into the burnt red rock. Nyzaia pulled the black cloth from her face and squinted in the distance.

“They have a lot to deal with. Running late should not be a shock,” Nyzaia murmured, keeping her voice low from the ears of the drunkards below. “Jabir will collect them.”

By Farid’s sideways glance, she knew Nyzaia was trying to convince herself as much as him.

After the revelations of Caligh’s letter and the plans set in motion, Nyzaia and Farid had left immediately to complete their tasks.

It had taken most of the day, meaning they now had the cover of nightfall for their duty.

Nyzaia tapped her fingers against the leathers on her leg.

She had sent the note to Rafik and Issam early enough for them to receive it in time, and when they had not shown up, she sent Jabir to investigate.

A knot formed in Nyzaia’s stomach; she was not used to being separated from her syndicate and was yet to adjust. We will never be complete again, she thought, thinking of Tajana and recalling the last time they had run atop the rooftops together.

Nyzaia hoped to feel relief while donning her leathers for the evening, a reprieve from royal clothing but felt only longing as time passed.

“Is it odd?” Farid asked. “Being here with me instead of—”

“No,” Nyzaia cut him off, not wishing to hear her name. She rubbed at her chest as though it would erase the ache in her heart, and when she pulled her hand away, the scar of her celestial tie shone beneath the moonlight. Farid said nothing about her dismissal but must have known she was lying.

He lightly nudged her elbow before moving from his crouch.

Three shadows shifted through the lantern-lit street opposite before moving to the back of the tavern.

Following quickly in Farid’s path, Nyzaia glided over the rooftop before dropping off the side, landing in a silent crouch at the back of the dusty alleyway.

“You took long enough,” Nyzaia hissed as Issam, Rafik, and Jabir stepped into the moonlight, yet she frowned at the cut on Jabir’s cheek.

Issam held a finger up to his mouth, signalling for her to step away from the tavern’s back entrance.

Nyzaia trusted him enough to do as he asked, and though Farid frowned, he stepped back with Nyzaia.

The Palm Tavern had been a frequent haunt for the syndicate, the only tavern Nyzaia kept from the other Red Stones—their haven.

It felt odd to enter through the back, but although it was once their haven, word of the queen of Keres being spotted in the slums of Tabheri would only raise risks and questions.

Issam knocked on the cracked wooden door six times with a series of specifically placed pauses.

Five long minutes later, the heavy footfall of the owner approached, and the door creaked as it swung open, hiding Nyzaia and Farid from view.

The light from the tavern creeped out into the alleyway, and the owner grunted.

“Haven’t seen you lot in a while.” His voice was gruff, and Nyzaia knew from experience that he beheld the three men with judgement.

She had endured many arguments with the man because of his worries about dragging unwanted attention to the tavern.

“Usual room?” he asked. Issam nodded silently and handed over a pouch of clinking coins.

The man grunted and walked back inside, leaving the door open.

Farid made to step around the door, but Nyzaia tugged his sleeve.

They waited, listening, and when the heavy steps faded, followed by a slam of a door, Nyzaia knew the coast was clear.

Issam glanced up and down the alleyway, Rafik watched the rooftops, and Jabir and Farid flanked Nyzaia inside.

The tiles of the floor were sticky underfoot as Nyzaia took a right into a smaller corridor and opened the door.

A small smile graced her lips despite the pain in her chest. Nothing had changed.

The room remained exactly as it always had, as though it awaited their return.

Dust collected on Nyzaia’s fingertips as she grazed them along the circular wooden table, filling most of the room.

Five overturned crates were positioned around it, a seat for each of them.

A deck of cards was scattered across the table, many with bent corners and stains from the amber liquid remaining in the glass decanter in the centre.

“Looks like enough for a glass each.” Issam jostled Nyzaia as he grazed past, reaching for the drink and pouring a glass for each of them. Farid glanced between the crates and avoided the one where Tajana would sit, but with a nod from Nyzaia, he took her place.

“You will need the drink,” Nyzaia sighed. She rested her arms on the table and shuffled the cards.

“That bad, huh?” asked Rafik, catching the glass as Issam slid it across the table.

“Not sure things could get much worse,” Issam grunted, glancing at Jabir and the cut on his face. Farid huffed, knowing they would indeed get worse.

“What happened?” Nyzaia sipped from the glass, the liquid a welcome burn in her throat. Issam sat down on her right.

“It’s nothing,” Jabir mumbled. “Not with everything else we have going on.” Nyzaia glanced at Farid as she felt a wave of his concern wash over her.

He watched Jabir intently. Not knowing when she would next have the opportunity to talk with her syndicate, Nyzaia prioritised her friend’s matter first.

“Tell me,” she commanded, organising the cards into separate piles. The room was silent as the men looked at one another. Eventually, Issam sighed and downed his drink; the table shook when he slammed it down.

“Things with the Red Stones are… uneasy,” Issam said .

“That’s an understatement,” scoffed Rafik, accepting the cards Nyzaia dealt around the table.

“Get to the point,” Farid said, watching Jabir over the rim of his glass, who smirked.

“Someone is sacrificing people,” said Issam. “Is that to the point enough for you?” He raised an eyebrow at Farid, whose hand had paused halfway from returning his glass to the table. Nyzaia froze in her seat and then reached for a card.

“What do you mean sacrificing people?” she asked, frowning.

“Someone is taking a member from each pillar, tying them to a wall, carving their chests, and painting symbols around them for us to find the next morning.” Rafik relayed the events bluntly before silence weighed heavily on the room.

Nyzaia absorbed his words. Why would someone sacrifice people, and who—or what—was the sacrifice for?

She immediately thought of Isha and the symbols painted in blood across her room, yet they believed it was an attempt to contact the gods.

“Did you recognise the symbols?” Farid asked, and Rafik and Issam shook their heads.

“Which pillars?” asked Nyzaia.

“Courtesans were first, followed by dealers, spies, and alchemists,” answered Issam.

“Only blades and torturers left,” Nyzaia murmured. Given their areas of expertise, she assumed they were blamed for the killings.

“Any suspects?” Farid asked, and the silence answered his question, though the other men glanced between one another nervously as though scared to speak. “So, what happened to you?” Farid stared at Jabir, who shifted on the crate before glancing at Nyzaia.

“They said my arrival was odd timing.” He cleared his throat. “They believed it was the queen’s way of punishing them for forming a democracy and going against Red Stone tradition.” Nyzaia scoffed.

“That’s ridiculous,” Farid voiced.

“Clearly, the heads of the pillars do not think so, given I narrowly dodged a knife thrown at my face,” Jabir said, his jaw clenched. Shit. Nyzaia rubbed her chin. If the heads of the pillars did not trust her, it made asking for support in the battle difficult.

“We have more serious things to discuss,” Farid said, sensing her worry.

“More serious than sacrifice?” Issam asked. Farid’s eyes were dark, and Jabir nodded slowly. “The talismans worked? Did you contact the gods?”

Rafik leaned forward as Nyzaia nodded, launching into the story of what they had missed while being separated.

***

By the time Nyzaia finished recounting all that had happened, stopping regularly to answer the men’s questions, the candles burned low in the room. She flourished her hand to reignite them as the men frowned, taking in all she had told them.

“So, you need the Red Stones to fight?” Issam asked, and Nyzaia shook her head.

“We have soldiers. I need you to clear Myara and get the people to Khami safely.” Rafik exhaled.

“That will be a hard ask when the heads are questioning your involvement in the sacrifices.”

“I am still their queen by the law of Keres.” She scowled, and Issam laughed.

“And other than you carrying out your father’s missions, when have the Red Stones ever listened to the crown?”

Issam was right. Jabir remained silent on the other side of the table, fiddling with the cards, but when Farid shifted on his crate, Jabir finally looked up. The two looked at one another, and Nyzaia smiled as she noticed the nod of encouragement Farid gave him.

“We could use this to our advantage,” Jabir said, and the others all turned to look at him.

“Caligh’s arrival times well with the sacrifices.

We could blame him, which gives the Red Stones a reason to help and turns their attention from you.

” Jabir faced each of them, waiting for their nod of approval, as was tradition.

Nyzaia nodded first, followed by Issam; Rafik hesitated before nodding, and finally, Jabir looked at Farid, waiting.

Nyzaia’s heart warmed at including Farid in their traditions.

“Then what happens after? With the sacrifices?” Farid asked, not yet following suit with a nod.

“If all goes well in battle, we have time to investigate the sacrifices,” said Jabir. Nyzaia turned over the idea that Caligh could be involved in the sacrifices, or was there something else at play in the kingdom’s underground?

“And if the battle doesn’t go well?” Issam asked.

“Then we will all be dead,” Farid replied, nodding at Jabir.