Page 39 of Return of the Darkness (The Lost Kingdom Saga #3)

“Who said they were the only gods?” Israar smirked and strode towards the circle; the flames licked to warm him as he stepped onto the carpets and positioned three objects in a triangle: a rusting dagger, a red feather as long as her forearm, dipped in gold, and a single jar of what appeared to be ash.

Nyzaia kept her face neutral. A jar of ash had been present on the table when Farid found her.

She thought of Exandria, how she shifted with smoke as ash filtered through her very being.

Something told Nyzaia the odd encounter was more than a drug-hazed dream .

“If there are more gods, I’d like to know where the hell they’ve been while we’ve faced war,” Nyzaia scoffed.

“Why would they serve those who worship the celestial four, tyrants who believe themselves to be the only worthy gods?” While Israar’s expression remained neutral, the robed men and woman sneered at his description.

The mark on Nyzaia’s palm burned—a celestial tie.

Why did Israar differentiate Novisia’s gods from these supposed others?

“Don’t the other gods also consider themselves more worthy?” Nyzaia scoffed.

“Ah, but they would be correct.” Israar smiled.

“I’ll do you a kindness, a final piece of information before I take your life.

” In the circle, Israar spun until he faced her again.

Nyzaia snorted at the absurd notion he was capable of taking her life.

“You have only been queen for a short while; I have been a lord for far longer, providing answers when people asked and money where needed.” Israar looked at each face around the circle.

“You may see me as greedy or self-motivated, but in offering my services, I became the most sought-after person when citizens of this realm needed secrecy and assistance, trusting the word of a lord over the Red Stones. Thus, when an old man appeared at my door and spoke of old awakened memories, and different gods and lands—a place where I could be king, if only I helped with one thing—who was I to refuse?”

Israar’s tale seemed as farfetched as the idea of Caligh’s once did, except the notion of other lands was becoming more and more plausible following Osiris’s claims, and now this.

What if the gods Israar believed existed originated from other lands?

On Nyzaia’s left, Soren continued fidgeting, as if trying to reach the circle; her eyes fixed on the ground.

“Tobias here”—Israar gestured to an old man—“originally hailed from Keres, but married into a Garridon family soon after arriving on Novisia. Imagine his surprise when one morning he awoke to recall memories that had long been hidden.” Nyzaia clenched her fists.

Her assumptions about Osiris’s warning and the link to the sacrifices were correct.

“Oh, do tell us more about these fascinating very real memories.” Nyzaia feigned disbelief, prompting Israar to narrow his eyes, offended by her mockery.

“Tobias hailed from a religious family, a religion no one on Novisia can recall; it worships undocumented gods and great warriors who once ruled desert lands. We questioned where Tobias had come from and if he was really from Ithyion.” When Israar reached for a dagger in his jacket pocket, Farid and Nyzaia shared a look.

“And then news of the battle spread. People spoke of a man who could turn men into beasts and back again. That must confirm the existence of other lands, races, and even other gods, must it not?”

“Is that what the sacrifices are for? You want to speak to some made up gods Tobias claims his family once worshipped? To discover if he is really from Ithyion or other lands you foolishly believe you could rule?” As Nyzaia approached the circle, Soren fought against Farid more loudly, grunting as she tried to pull free from his grip.

Israar chuckled. He only had eyes for the queen.

“I want to know who stole the memories of those on Novisia and why before I determine if it is safe for me to leave in search of these lands .” Israar’s dark eyes glinted. “We have one more sacrifice to make, a sacrifice representing Novisia and Ithyion’s last god, Keres.”

“Why are sacrifices required in the names of the celestial gods?” Nyzaia’s toes were at the circle’s edge.

“Because there is no one else the deities hate more.” Israar smirked and flung the dagger at Nyzaia’s face.

“Nyzaia, don’t!” Soren shouted. Fury overcame Nyzaia, who dodged the dagger and stepped into the circle.

Heat rushed through her, like she was burning from the inside out, knocking her to her knees.

“Farid!” Soren screamed as the captain dived towards Nyzaia, reaching for her shoulders.

He lifted her up before he, too, grunted in pain.

Nyzaia trained her eyes on the carpet, where a drawn symbol in the sand peeked out from the edge: a circle surrounding a cross, with a small swirl in its centre.

Nyzaia turned to Soren, who stared at the mark on the floor. She tried to warn her.

“How does it feel, your Majesty?” Israar asked.

Nyzaia grunted at the burning pain within and rose beside Farid, gripping his arm for purchase as he fought against a similar feeling.

Israar looked towards him as Nyzaia reached for her dagger, yet her fingers were numb and motionless, unable to find purchase.

This was worse—far worse than the attempt on her life at the chambers.

They must have known the attacker was dead when he did not return.

Now, they knew to try harder to successfully restrain a queen with Keres’s fire in her veins.

Israar narrowed his eyes at Farid. “Interesting. I did not know you had any power the old language would null.” He knelt and folded back a piece of the rug, revealing the repeated symbol drawn in the sand, which wielded a power to stop her.

Nulling . The flame within Nyzaia flickered then, and the pain subsided as darkness took over.

She blinked, hoping to conjure a flame, but nothing appeared.

Her body numbed, as did Farid’s, and they collapsed to the floor as the sparks within them extinguished.