Page 37 of Return of the Darkness (The Lost Kingdom Saga #3)

Sadira

S omething about the dull brass bell ringing above Sadira’s head felt comforting.

Since arriving on Garridon, she had learnt more hidden knowledge of the Wiccan people and her own ancestry than she had on Doltas Island.

While she was raised learning the Wiccan ways, like an attachment to plants, reading ancient symbols—something Soren had always excelled more at—she felt like Athena and the Wiccan from Albyn could teach her far more.

The male, in particular, had appeared old enough to have hailed from Ithyion and likely had hidden memories that might have now unravelled.

“We’re closing,” said Athena’s quiet voice behind the raised counter.

She did not look up but continued tying strings around dried herbs.

The apothecary was darker compared to her last visit, a consequence of the night sky developing outside.

She had struggled to leave the castle initially, overwhelmed with empathy for Jorah’s experiences and the realisation Soren might have experienced the same.

She tried to recall a specific moment when a shift occurred in Soren, changing her into a more driven and power-hungry person, focusing solely on plans for Garridon.

Nothing came to mind. One moment, they were happy children—perhaps even friends—and the next, they were distant.

Strangers. When Sadira had left the castle before sunset, she looked up at the tallest turret, noticing a glow emanating through the window.

Caellum was still reading, having lit the candles in his father’s study.

“I was hoping you would make an exception,” Sadira responded, balancing the silver trinket box under her arm as she removed her velvet gloves. Crinkling paper filled the silence before Athena answered.

“War has aged you,” she said, focusing on her herbs. Despite the tremor of old age in her hands, she swiftly tied the strings before wrapping bundles in brown paper. Sadira noted two of her fingers were frozen crooked.

“It has?” Sadira asked, glancing around the room. It had not changed since she was last here: wax dripped on piles of books, and the scent of herbs drifted from the mortar and pestles nestled in corners.

“There is an air about you—authority, certainty.” Athena finally looked up with wide hazel eyes, blowing a tuft of grey hair from her vision. “Like a queen.” Her lip quirked as she brushed her hands on her splattered apron, knocking fragments of dried sage onto the floor.

“We are not yet married. I am still a princess.” Sadira smiled and approached the counter, placing the silver trinket box before Athena. The old Wiccan did not immediately look at the box but watched Sadira with a tilted head.

“The marriage is merely a formality. You are and always have been destined to be a queen. And remember, queen or not, you still owe me a secret.” Sadira recalled the woman’s last words from her previous visit, a secret owed in exchange for knowing Athena’s secret: she was Wiccan, and a skilled one at that.

Though it was information that did not need to remain a secret.

Not when neither Caellum nor Sadira would condemn the race as Wren and Jorah had before them.

The old woman pulled the box towards her and flicked open the lids.

Her hands stilled. She glanced at Sadira through her lashes.

“Where did you find these?” she whispered, wide-eyed. Athena knew something.

“The king found them in his father’s belongings.”

A phantom of a smile traced Athena’s lips as she whispered, seemingly to herself. “That would make sense.”

“Why? ”

She did not reply. Instead, Athena reached for the candle at the edge of the countertop, bringing it into her eye line and squinting.

She hovered the pin with the wolf's head by the flame to better see the engravings.

Patiently, Sadira waited as Athena switched between the pins, pausing longer on the one Sadira could also not discern, the symbol similar to the Wiccan one but harsher in its lines.

“This one.” Athena held up one. It was the symbol of the Brodie Clan, her family lineage from the non-royal side, which she had learned from the Wiccans in Albyn. It matched the one on her book.

“It is the symbol of the Wiccan,” Athena said, and Sadira frowned.

“Not a specific clan?” Athena raised an eyebrow, moving the wrinkles on her forehead.

“Once, yes, but they were the first clan, thus it became the symbol for all Wiccans.” Sadira nodded slowly in understanding. Her family line from her great-grandfather’s side, Lyra’s father, had been the very first Wiccan clan. Perhaps even the first ever Wiccan.

“Who would wear such a pin?” Sadira asked, and Athena shrugged.

“It could simply be an old pin worn by Wiccans to identify themselves to others of their kind.”

“Then why would it be in the Balfour family's possessions?” asked Sadira. Caellum’s family had no connection to the Wiccan lineage.

Jorah himself had outlawed them on Garridon.

Athena frowned, swaying where she sat on her stool, the pins slipping from her fingers and clinking against the table.

When the old woman clutched her head, Sadira rushed around the counter to join her, steadying Athena on her stool.

Sadira glanced at the window, wondering whether to summon her personal guard, Taryn.

“I am fine,” Athena mumbled, waving Sadira off. “I have had odd visions recently.”

“Of the future?” Sadira asked, recalling Athena had once foreseen the creatures’ attack. Athena shook her head.

“I cannot tell.”

“Memories,” Sadira murmured. Athena glanced at her, pouring a liquid into a glass.

She glugged it before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and focusing on the pins again.

“There is a man from different lands.” At that, Athena finally met Sadira’s gaze.

“He said there was a power withholding the memories of those on Novisia; he said when the prophecy was triggered, people would begin remembering things.” Athena glanced at a painting on the back wall, hidden by trailing plants.

Sadira could barely discern its contents, though it appeared to be a castle hidden amongst towering tree trunks, with a slumped body on the castle wall, and a red-headed woman lifting a sword. What had prompted Athena to look at it?

“A painting from a story?” Sadira asked, but Athena simply frowned and turned her attention back to the pins.

“Who is this man?”

“Osiris,” Sadira said.

“Last name?” Sadira opened her mouth to answer but realised she did not know.

“Can you trust the information of a man who has not revealed everything he possibly could?” Athena stared at the pin with the unreadable symbol, gripping the counter’s edge and squinting.

“Please, let me get help,” Sadira begged. Athena shook her head before shooting up to meet Sadira’s stare. She dropped the pin in a pot of ink. When her voice emerged from her throat, it echoed throughout the room and sent shivers along Sadira’s arms.

“What once was hidden can again be found,

Listen to the land and understand you are bound.

A reverse, a reflection, a sister, a mirror,

Find the truth beneath you and all will be clearer.

Healing and prophecies, curses and spells,

One abides, one rebels .

For the cost of a curse, there must be a price,

Find your reflection in the ancient and say goodbye.”

Athena gasped for air as Sadira poured another glass from the woman’s canter, unsure of its contents. Blinking rapidly, Athena accepted the glass from Sadira, who scribbled the words onto parchment littered across the countertop.

“A prophecy,” Sadira said while Athena glugged.

“But I have heard the first part from Osiris, and given his age, I assume it stems from another land, someplace old.” Athena hit her chest as she spluttered.

Finally, she calmed and glanced between Sadira and the inkpot now soaking the pin.

With hurried hands, she pulled a piece of cloth free from under a stack of parchment.

“Prophecies are often triggered by the energy held within items,” Athena murmured, dipping her finger into the inkpot to pull the pin free.

“My words are somehow linked to this pin.” Athena wiped the cloth over the pin before lifting it to the light.

The faded engraving was now filled with black ink and made the symbol easier to see.

While Sadira could now see the symbol more clearly—the sharp criss-crossing lines and scattered dots—she knew nothing of its meaning.

“Do you know what it means?” asked Sadira. Athena lifted the other pin with the Wiccan symbol, holding them side by side.

“No, but it is a variation of the old language. It shares similarities to the symbols we use, but it’s different enough.

” One abides, one rebels. “Whatever the man told you, whatever you must find or discover, is linked to the owners or history of these two pins.” Athena dropped the two trinkets back into the box, along with the wolf head pin.

Before Sadira could ask more, Taryn stormed into the apothecary, wide-eyed, followed by the other three guards.

His mouth hung open, panting. Reaching for the fabric hanging above the window, he tugged the rope, allowing it to fall, cursing when it only covered the upper half of the window.

The other guards leant against the doors, their hands on the pommels of their swords .

“What is the meaning of—” Athena stopped when a phantom breeze drifted through the room, snuffing out half of the candles in the process.

A chill drifted around Sadira, who wrapped her cloak tighter around herself as she approached Taryn.

The guard pushed his blonde hair back and held a finger to his lips, quelling her many questions.

Sadira did as instructed. Silence fell across the room as they all waited, though Sadira did not know what for.

“Let me pass,” Athena hissed, trying to shove the guards aside.

“Athena, if they say not to go outside, don’t—”

Three dark figures slowly hovered past the window and paused right before the door. Sadira watched, waiting to see if they pulled for a weapon, but only as she stared at the faint glow of the remaining candles did she see the dark wisps. They were not men; they were Elisara’s soldiers.

“It is fine. They will not harm us.” Sadira smiled at Athena, who shook her head. Sadira’s smile faltered.

“If you wish to keep your fears and emotions in check, you will let me get to the door,” Athena hissed at the guards.

The men looked at Taryn and then Sadira, who nodded, permitting them to step aside.

Athena withdrew a blade from under her apron and sliced her wrist before shoving the handle into the guard's chest in a bid to take it.

Outside, the shadows shifted, like they could smell the blood.

Athena was swift as she traced her finger over the crimson liquid and painted a Wiccan symbol on the door: an encircled cross with a swirl at its centre, like a lock in chains.

Locked, null, pause. Athena was stopping the dark soldiers from crossing into the apothecary, though her actions had earned wary glances from the guards.

They waited silently as the soldiers passed the window and reached the door.

Sadira jumped when it rattled. As the guards drew their blades, the silence was broken only by the echo of steel.

They halted as the door stopped moving. Taryn edged towards the window and stooped to peer through the glass. Sadira held her breath .

“Gone,” Taryn whispered. “For now.” Sadira gave a sigh of relief.

“Stay here until sunrise,” Athena murmured, reaching for a basket of blankets under a table.

“They protected us in Keres. Why would they be different now?”

Athena shook the blankets free of dust as she looked at Sadira.

“It would appear I am not the only one remembering things.”