Page 56 of Return of the Darkness (The Lost Kingdom Saga #3)

Nyzaia

T he air rushed out of Nyzaia’s lungs as someone yanked her back with force, gripping tightly to the red sash wrapped over her chest. She only had a second to comprehend what had happened before opening her eyes, peering down into the depths of Nefere Valley—a treacherous drop of jagged rocks which levelled out into the dry cracked earth with nothing to cushion her fall.

Rock crumbled at her toes and were it not for the hand pulling Nyzaia back, a second later she would have tipped forward and plunged to her death.

She spun as the hand released her, finding Farid surveying their surroundings, confusion underlying his stoic assessment of any threat.

“Perhaps our shared destiny means I’ll always be here to save you from plummeting to your death.

” Farid kept his face neutral and his hand on the pommel of his sword as he stepped back towards the edge.

Nyzaia stood by his side, more cautious this time, firmly keeping the toes of her boots a step behind Farid’s as they stared out across the realm.

Despite the odd brown tinge to the sky and sun, the heat of the realm beat down on their necks with its usual ferocity.

“If the celestial tie would just grant me access to your power and the ability to have wings, I wouldn’t have a problem,” Nyzaia grumbled, crossing her arms and peering over the drop.

The corner of Farid’s lips quirked, watching her from the corner of his eye.

Nyzaia was reminded of Lord Israar’s reaction to his wings.

Nefere. He had called Farid the same name as the valley they now stood before, a valley Nyzaia had been shown in a different form during her drug-induced dream.

The many references left her wondering if there was something greater about Farid, something key to helping them understand the different people and lands, especially as his wings were so unique in Novisia.

“This is… different,” he said. Nyzaia frowned at the valley before glancing up at the sky.

“Keres isn’t exactly a vibrant place, particularly across the sands and canyons, but this feels drained,” Farid continued, and Nyzaia nodded.

The path through Nefere Valley, the surrounding canyon rock, and the sands of the deserts, had always been varying shades of brown-tinged orange.

Yet here, the sky matched it, and the trees in the distant oasis were tinged the same shade. Something was wrong.

“Where exactly are we?”

“It appears to be laid out like Novisia, but something’s off.” Farid turned and spun slowly to look in every direction. “Everything is flipped. From where we stand, Tabheri should be on our left, the Neutral City on our right, and Vala behind us. But from here, I can see the mountains.”

“It’s like a mirror,” Nyzaia murmured, squinting at the snow-capped mountains in the distance. Had Elisara emerged there, alone?

“A reverse, a reflection, a sister, a mirror,” Farid murmured, the lines Osiris had recited.

“Find the truth beneath you and all will be clearer,” Nyzaia continued. “So, has this been here all along? This… I don’t even know what to call it.”

“Bound,” Farid said, perplexed. “Listen to the land and understand you are bound.”

“So, this place is somehow bound to Novisia?” Nyzaia contemplated, her eyes turning to the oasis and recalling how only a week ago she sat by the water’s edge to remember Kazaar’s life. The realm around her felt as dead as him.

“Or are we bound to this existence?” Farid murmured.

Nyzaia tried to understand the implications of where they were and what they should do when movement stirred in the distance.

She focused her eyes to track the movement.

Someone with dark hair and deep-red clothing walked from around the palm trees and sat by the water’s edge.

The man moved his hands back and forth, but from here, she could not identify him.

“Why don’t we ask him?” Nyzaia suggested, tilting her head in his direction.

Farid followed her eyeline and nodded before turning.

The valley’s high rock walls meant they had to backtrack, climb down, and circle around to the oasis.

Usually, during missions through the canyons or the valley, dust from the dry paths would blow up in her face, but Nyzaia quickly noticed the lack of wind and stagnant air as the dust lined her boots rather than her leathers.

Farid and Nyzaia walked in comfortable silence until Farid finally broke it.

“I like the sash addition,” he said, eyeing the red gauze pinned to her upper half. “Why did you decide to add it?”

Nyzaia shrugged, yet the reminder of her near-death flashed before her eyes—the pain she felt while powerless.

“I don’t know… After what happened in the tavern with Israar, I realised if I hadn’t survived that night, the realm would have no queen—no one to lead them, no symbol of Keres.

I’ve never really cared about being queen before, but in the face of death, it made me question if I should start taking my duty more seriously. ”

“So, it’s a symbol?” Farid asked.

“I suppose so. It’s like this uncomfortable crown. I think I just realised…” Nyzaia kicked the sand at her feet. “Maybe I do care about being queen and protecting the people. I can’t keep ignoring the fact I am.”

“So, wearing the red and the crown is a sign of your acceptance—daily acknowledgement?” Farid asked with a small smile. Nyzaia nodded. “What happens if you do die?”

“Gods, Farid! Talk about depressing conversation,” Nyzaia joked, but Farid remained silent, waiting.

“You can have the crown.” She grinned and pushed aside the real possibility of death, and the lack of a plan in place if that occurred.

She thought of Lord Israar. At least he could not try to take her throne if she was dead.

For all she cared, the other lords could fight for it.

“Absolutely not.” Farid scoffed before falling silent again. A sheen of sweat beaded his forehead as they quickened their pace. “What if I die when you die? Could the tie do that?”

“I don’t think so; Elisara didn’t…” Nyzaia trailed off, not wishing to speak of Kazaar.

“I assumed that was because they had fulfilled their shared destiny. They were destined to draw out Caligh and go to war to fulfil the prophecy. Kazaar was destined to…” Farid paused, as though searching for the right words. “He was destined to benefit Caligh.”

“Perhaps whoever is at the oasis could answer that question. I sense this is not a place of normal existence,” Nyzaia said as they reached the final bend in the rocks and finally saw the oasis.

The man sat at its edge, his hair reaching past his shoulders.

“Couldn’t you have flown us down and saved us from doubling round? ”

“It was the first thing I tried. I can’t draw my wings out here,” Farid said, a sad lilt entering his voice.

Nyzaia hoped his gloom was because he finally recognised his wings as a beautiful part of himself, a part he could naturally call upon rather than hide away.

Extending her hand, Nyzaia focused on channelling her power, but found she could not.

Yet she still sensed her power flickering within her soul, unlike when she was drugged or weakened within the circle.

Its presence provided some comfort, though, despite its disobedience.

The conversations of death and ‘what ifs’ made Nyzaia’s mind spiral.

Craving a distraction, she glanced at Farid and studied his face.

“I think you and Jabir would make fine kings.” Nyzaia waited for his reaction or a tell in his expression that confirmed her suspicions. His face remained neutral.

“Remember, I can sense your intentions. I can practically feel your laughter running through me,” Farid murmured.

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“You didn’t ask a question.”

“Come on, Farid, you know what I meant.” Nyzaia elbowed his side, but he remained rigid until finally glancing sideways at her. When Nyzaia grinned, Farid relented. Light burned in his pale blue eyes.

“We just talk is all,” Farid said, his mouth twitching.

“I have quite literally never heard you say more than a few sentences to him.”

“If that’s so, why are you making assumptions?”

“You may have only said a few sentences, but I felt the tension in them,” Nyzaia laughed. “Why am I not privy to these conversations?”

“They are while you’re sleeping. We take shifts guarding your chambers at night. When we crossover, we talk for a bit.”

“What constitutes ‘a bit’?” Nyzaia was intrigued by Farid’s honesty, especially as her question about Jabir had coaxed it from him. Farid’s as his smile stretched into a wide, almost complete smile, for once.

“It started as brief comments and small talk when we changed over. Then, on one occasion, he bought me some food and ate with me while we were on guard. I don’t really know when it changed, but small talk slowly became an hour, and then two.

Then we were nearly always outside your chambers and so would alternate our sleeping patterns during the day instead.

” Farid appeared to realise how personal his remarks were and cleared his throat, refocusing on the approaching oasis.

“You mean to tell me there has been a love story unfolding outside my chamber doors at night and I missed it?” Nyzaia exclaimed.

“Please, you do not care about love stories,” Farid scoffed.

He was right; Nyzaia was not one for fantasies or romantic tales.

She had only cared about her love—her only love.

Nyzaia lost her smile as her mind replayed all the recent deaths and destruction.

What was happening to Tajana at this very moment? Nyzaia sighed, bumping Farid’s arm .

“I care about your love story,” she whispered. Farid looked down at her with softened eyes.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “Do you think he is safe?”

“If he is not with us, I’m sure he is still back on the isle.

He wasn’t as close to the mirror as you were when I walked through,” she said.

Farid gave a small nod and smiled. Nyzaia tilted her head at him, mesmerised by the emotions she rarely saw.

They made him appear younger and lifted the weight of his traumatic upbringing.

She wondered how different he might have been growing up without his father and the wings on his back.

“Can I officiate your wedding?” Nyzaia beamed, distracting him from any worry.

“I’ll push you in the water. With all the fire you wield, I assume you’re like a cat who hates getting wet.”

“Did you just compare me to a cat?” Nyzaia asked.

Her smile slipped when she saw the man by the water's edge rise and turn to face them.

He held a sword in one hand and a cloth in the other, using it to polish his golden blade.

His red robes grazed the sand, revealing his bare feet beneath.

His grey beard was manicured into a sharp point while his dark and greying hair hung loose, framing his face.

Mischief twinkled in his flaming amber eyes as he approached.

“I see I made an entertaining choice in tying your destinies together,” Keres chuckled.