Page 38 of Return of the Darkness (The Lost Kingdom Saga #3)

Nyzaia

N yzaia fidgeted more than usual, refusing to meet Soren’s eye as she stood captive in Jabir’s clutches in the dark, dusty alleyway.

The Palm Tavern was quiet from outside, with no drunk revellers or thunderous music echoing from within.

Even the rule-breakers appeared to abide by the curfew that had been enforced ever since the battle.

The journey to the tavern had been tense; Farid was on high alert after the attack in Nyzaia’s chambers, and Soren jumped at every shout near the alleyways.

“Jabir said the owner is still inside. He saw at least four men in hooded apparel enter through this back entrance,” Farid relayed to his queen, keeping his voice hushed.

Nyzaia nodded, unsurprised. It sounded like they resembled the man who had attacked her.

Farid glanced over his shoulder at Soren, but the fallen queen stared only at her boots.

With the dirt and blood washed from her skin, Soren looked small, with her hunched shoulders and golden braids catching the light.

Her dark brown tunic and trousers she had been provided washed her out; she was a shadow of the fierce warrior she displayed in battle. She looked lost.

“You feel sorry for her,” Farid said.

“No!” Nyzaia snapped, prompting Farid to raise his eyebrow.

Nyzaia looked away, her blood simmering again.

The memory of Caligh and Soren on the Ashun Desert flashed through her mind.

Nothing had happened when she spoke his name in the bathing pool, confirming the way Caligh had controlled her mind, was different to the control the debt had over Osiris.

“I can’t forgive her, Farid. Regardless of her broken state, she is the reason my brother is dead, and why Elisara is the way she is. She has caused too much damage.”

“You do not need to forgive to understand or help someone.”

“She doesn’t deserve help.”

“Even after she saved you today?”

“Her wolf did. Besides, I was moments away from handling the situation.” Nyzaia clenched her jaw.

“She could have told him not to but didn’t.

” Farid pushed, but Nyzaia did not respond.

“What now? Should she rot for crimes she committed not of her free will, even after allowing you to be saved? I sense your feelings, Nyzaia. I know you checked. While she was not controlled the same as Osiris, I felt your shock. You discovered something about his hold over her.” Nyzaia replayed the scene in her mind—the memory of Soren, Sadira, and Caligh.

It felt so real, as if she had been there as it happened, watching the events unfold.

She could not explain what had connected her mind with Soren’s.

“Why are you so damn reasonable?” Nyzaia muttered, pressing her ear to the tavern’s back entrance. The corner of Farid’s lips twitched.

“Seeing someone broken reminds me what it was like to find someone who helped me piece myself back together.” Farid’s appreciation flooded through Nyzaia as he glanced at Jabir. Nyzaia smiled and decided to apologise.

“About earlier, I’m s—”

“I know.”

“If you two have finished with whatever emotional heart to heart you’re having, could we maybe, I don’t know, prevent more human sacrifices?

” Jabir half-whispered, half shouted. Nyzaia sighed and nodded at Farid.

They were ready. When he returned the nod, Nyzaia knocked on the battered wooden door, but no response came.

No voice shouted they were closed. They heard only the creak of the door from the other end of the hallway before heavy footsteps approached.

Nyzaia palmed two daggers in her hands as the door opened and swiftly pressed the dagger against the owner’s throat as Farid held the man’s shoulder against the wall, securing him in place.

Before Nyzaia could have her fun with threats, the man spoke in his usual gruff voice.

“They’re waiting for you,” he said, gesturing to where a trapdoor lay open on the floor.

“Well, go on then. I have tables to clean.” Nyzaia pressed her dagger deeper into his throat before signalling for Jabir to step forward.

“Unfortunately, the table cleaning will have to wait,” Nyzaia hummed. “Jabir here will make sure you stay put while we head inside.” The man conceded with a sigh as Jabir traded Soren for the landlord, passing her to Farid. They followed Nyzaia down the hallway.

“Did you know this door was always here?” Farid whispered.

“No,” Nyzaia murmured, staring down. “I hate surprises.” A rickety ladder was propped in the hole in the floor.

Her chest tightened, but it was not her own.

Nyzaia flicked her eyes to Farid, and she watched as he swallowed, staring at the small, cramped hole below.

A sliver of orange light glowed beneath what she thought was the door, while darkness bathed the red stone walls.

It reminded Nyzaia of the caverns at the Abyss Forge, where Farid had been forced into a space similar to this and was starved by his father.

“I’ll go first,” Nyzaia said, stepping onto the ladder.

“No,” Farid said. “It’s fine, I’ll go. We can’t risk your life.” Farid guided Soren towards Nyzaia, who reached for Soren’s slender fingers before thinking better of it and gripping the chains instead. Soren remained silent, watching the darkness below as Farid descended.

“You are next,” Nyzaia said, pushing Soren towards the ladder.

As Soren descended, Farid knocked on the door below until light flooded the space, brightening Soren’s hair and face.

She peered up at Nyzaia with an unknown emotion in her eyes.

Farid caught her arm when she reached the last step, tugging her into the room.

With a crack of her neck, Nyzaia jumped and landed in a crouch at the bottom.

Light bathed her dark leathers, an entrance worthy of an assassin queen.

Myara’s symbol on her attacker’s ring flashed in her mind; she knew who she would face.

“Hello, your Majesty,” said a slick, oily voice. Nyzaia raised her head and flipped her braid over one shoulder, meeting the eyes of a man that disgusted her.

“What a lovely welcome, Lord Israar.” Nyzaia smirked, assessing the lord.

“Had you visited with your friend earlier, we could have avoided such a delay.” Lord Israar’s mouth twitched.

He wore his usual blood-red sherwani, littered with flecks of golden thread that glinted in the light from the staggered flames in the room’s centre.

Instead of sconces, the light shone from the wooden stakes plunged into the sandy floor, forming a circle.

Twelve faces, illuminated by the flames, formed a larger circle around the blaze.

Nyzaia did not recognise the people gathered, but noted their wrinkles beneath the woven fabric of their hoods and robes, drowning their figures.

They were all old—far older than her attacker’s hands, perhaps as old as the Historian had appeared.

“It’s nice to see you in your natural attire for once.

” Lord Israar smirked, perched on the edge of a table littered with leather books and papers.

Nyzaia narrowed her eyes. “Come now. Did you think I knew of Tajana’s identity, but not your own?

” He chuckled, entertained by Nyzaia’s naivety.

She merely grinned, tugging her daggers back into her thighs.

“I simply did not care, Israar. I am Queen of Keres. Your opinion matters little when I control this realm.” Nyzaia scanned the room—it was bare, mostly.

Twelve wooden chairs lined one wall, matching the number of people standing in a circle, their eyes downcast. She could not determine the purpose.

Patterned rugs lay scattered on the ground; perhaps it was their usual dining spot.

No weapons peeked out from clasped hands, no markings were on the walls, or blood on the floor.

From what she could tell, no sacrifices had occurred here.

Soren’s chains clinked as she wriggled in Farid’s grip, staring at the floor in the centre of the circle while avoiding the eyes in the room .

“You really should care, your Majesty.” Israar pushed off from the table and turned to look at his books; he feigned reading the pages.

“I imagine you have questions and are here to accuse me of unnecessary murder.” Nyzaia glanced between the lord and those in the circle.

No one moved; they kept their wrinkled eyes averted.

She could not imagine such elderly people committing murder.

Perhaps the attacker Seiko had butchered was the main assassin, maybe a son of one of the elders.

“So, you did not break into the Red Stones den and sacrifice six of my men and women?” Nyzaia asked. “And then have someone attempt the same on me?” Israar did not turn around, though he stroked his oily beard.

“Your men and women? Last I heard, the Red Stones are now a democracy.”

“They are residents of Keres. That makes them my people.”

“Do you feel remorse knowing your people grieve for those who died at your own hands, assassin?”

Nyzaia did not flinch. “Enough, Israar,” she snapped. “You and I both know our thoughts on one another. The simple matter of the fact is, I am queen , and you are sacrificing people for gods know what reason.”

“Ah!” Israar spun to look at her again, holding three objects. “For gods, that’s just it. All of this is to speak with them.”

Nyzaia frowned. “You want to speak with Keres and the others? Why?”