Page 74 of Return of the Darkness (The Lost Kingdom Saga #3)

Soren

T hirty-seven days—the length of Soren’s banishment from Garridon so far after being stripped of her name and title.

She had not spoken to her sister for thirty-seven days, though at least they had lived under the same roof for the last twenty-five.

Staring out of the chamber window all day was becoming both a blessing and a curse, having to face Garridon every time she looked outside.

On clear days, she saw the trees in the distance and mourned the comfort they provided.

While Soren had slept, Nyzaia received word from Larelle about all rulers evacuating to Mera, where they would spend the next month preparing for Osiris’s arrival.

Nyzaia had not asked Soren to attend, nor had she told her not to after walking into Soren’s room at the Tabheri Palace to find her packing.

The Queen of Keres had been guarded since their moment outside the temple—the moment she kissed Soren.

Nyzaia did not trust her, not fully, but Soren was loyal and wanted to assist with finding Farid.

Having a goal and someone to serve kept her grounded—it was all she had ever known no matter the lack of willpower or sanity involved.

However, the one thing nobody had allowed was for Soren to attend the rulers’ meetings, though that mattered little.

Soren lacked the focus to listen to numerous voices at once.

Instead, she read or grew flowers in her palms to calm her mind.

Nyzaia visited every evening, and nobody seemed to ask the Keres Queen why she did not dine with the other rulers, assuming her grief-stricken because of her unsuccessful search for Farid.

When Nyzaia entered Soren’s rooms unannounced on their first night in Nerida, carrying a tray of meats, breads, and fruits, Soren did not ask either.

She did not ask on the second or third night, or the twenty-fifth—two nights before the kingdom fell. They ate in silence again.

Everybody in the castle was on edge. While Larelle appeared relieved Osiris was coming to save them and their people, Elisara’s story of his brother, and the tale he had since relayed, made them all wary.

An entirely different race of beings—Fae—existed with different factions of power, raising questions as to how powerful these new lands could be compared to Novisia’s rulers.

They had suggested Elisara call upon him again to ask for more detail, but she refused, not since he had revealed his true heritage.

Whether or not she was afraid of him or just truly believed what she continued relaying to them, that he would not willingly offer more information.

Nobody seemed intent on pushing Elisara further, not with how blunt and short-tempered she had been of late.

Soren supposed she would be the same in Elisara’s position.

Speaking with a man—a fae, no less—who had shown his true teeth and revealed his ability to control minds did not sound appealing.

Based on her experiences, Soren would have sided with Elisara, too, though nobody cared for her opinion.

They steered clear of the fallen queen. Soren was sure it was because they wanted her dead for what she did to Caellum, and they couldn’t trust themselves to keep her alive.

“What was the name again, the place to cross reference?” Soren asked, rubbing her forehead.

Her memory was short-lived from the trauma inflicted in her mind.

Nyzaia often had to remind Soren of certain words while she stuttered or stared at a page for too long, but other than assisting with the task at hand, the pair spoke little.

“Q’Ohar,” Nyzaia said, not looking up from her book as she bit into a stone fruit.

Soren’s eyes lingered for a second too long at the juice dripping down Nyzaia’s chin.

The Queen of Keres lounged sideways on the armchair opposite Soren, with her legs swinging over the arm.

In the evenings, she had taken to wearing fitted black trousers and a loose red shirt and wore her leathers and red sash during the day.

She had only worn her lehenga once at Larelle’s welcome dinner, another event Soren was not invited to.

Seiko curled in front of Nyzaia’s chair, nudging her hand.

“Q’Ohar,” Soren repeated, frowning. Nyzaia’s eyes peeked over the red-bound book, watching Soren, waiting to see if she continued. When she didn’t, Nyzaia straightened.

“One of the lands on the map.” Nyzaia pointed at the book’s spine. “It’s the place all these books are about.” Soren blushed; it was such a simple thing to forget.

“Queen Larelle found them all in the church, along with others we also assume are the names of other lands,” Soren said, her voice rising slightly for confirmation.

“Exactly,” Nyzaia said. She dropped the fruit stone onto the table beside her and reached for the wine.

Soren counted, waiting for the same nose scrunch Nyzaia always did after sipping from the glass.

One… two... three... Next, she would say–“It’s nowhere near as good as Tabheri’s.

” Soren smiled, having predicted Nyzaia’s words exactly. “Why are you smiling?”

Soren straightened and raised her book in front of her face before reaching to stroke Varna. The other three wolves were curled before the fire, but Tapesh had distanced herself from the pack with a sorrowful look in her eye, watching the flames.

“I’m not,” Soren mumbled, tracing a finger under the words.

“I can tell you’re lying.” Soren lowered the book to find Nyzaia staring at her with a raised brow. The flames from the fireplace made her eyes brighten as if they, too, were alight.

“I should hope so. It was your job once,” Soren quipped. Nyzaia’s eyes widened a fraction. “Sorry, I–” Soren had not meant to offend.

“Don’t apologise. It was getting boring without your snarky remarks,” Nyzaia said, turning the page. Soren almost stayed silent, but something felt relaxed between them.

“Good to know I’ve been boring you, your majesty,” Soren said, turning a page to examine a drawing.

Although Nyzaia didn’t reply, Soren glimpsed a faint smile on her face.

Soren was on the eighth volume of the books.

She had initially scanned for anything that might offer insight into the Isle of Gods, skipping past family trees, and accounts of battles and history.

She needed only information that would offer them another way to reach the Isle of Gods and hunt for Farid.

But Nyzaia had soon requested she switch her focus to Q’Ohar.

Soren had not asked why, but Nyzaia had explained a brief reference to ‘Nefere of Q’Ohar’ in a different book.

She relayed to Soren what Keres had revealed about Farid’s ancestors and resorted to focusing only on the books of that land.

“I remember three images after reading the name in Myths and Lies of Ithyion ,” Nyzaia said.

Slowly, Soren nodded, flicking through the pages for pictures first before continuing reading.

Nyzaia had not found the book since the war began, though she claimed to doubt the accuracy now, given Caligh Servusian was the author.

The book alternated between a language she knew and one she did not. Soren paused.

“Like these ones?” she asked. Nyzaia dropped her book on the table and leaned forward to reach for the one in Soren’s lap, grazing her hand against Soren’s.

Her skin was warm from sitting close to the fire, and Soren tried to convince herself it was that very same flame that made her cheeks flush.

Their eyes met briefly, making her wonder about Nyzaia’s thoughts.

Sometimes, she was certain she knew the Keres queen’s thoughts, imagined them as clearly as if stood in her mind the same way Nyzaia had when they briefly connected in the bathing pool.

The thought of the bathing pool and Nyzaia’s hands in Soren’s braids deepened her flush.

Soren felt the spark ignite whenever they came into contact, but a look of regret always crossed Nyzaia’s features afterward, so Soren withdrew her hand.

Nyzaia’s hand lingered a second longer before she returned her attention to the book.

“Yes!” She stood and aimlessly paced the room, staring at the pages.

“When I saw them, they were all rather smudged—but these! I can see far more detail. Look.” Nyzaia reached Soren in two strides and placed the book on Soren’s lap, pointing at the pictures.

Soren tried to focus but was far too distracted by the spiced orange scent of Nyzaia’s soap.

Nyzaia rested her arm on the back of her armchair, behind Soren’s neck, while the left gestured at the page, her body surrounding Soren’s.

“This person has two swords at their back. This one appears to have smoke around it, similar to Exandria, and this one.” Nyzaia pointed at the third illustration. “Look familiar?” The question refocused Soren, who squinted at the drawing.

“Like Farid’s wings,” Soren confirmed, looking up at Nyzaia.

It was the first time in thirty-seven days that Soren saw her truly smile, a smile so bright it highlighted the whites of her teeth.

“It’s something,” Soren whispered. Their faces were in such close proximity she could smell the fruit juice on Nyzaia’s breath.

Nyzaia gulped. Soren clenched her hand around the edge of the book as Nyzaia’s eyes roamed her features.

A knock sounded at the door, then. Nyzaia moved away as quickly as she’d dodge a sword in battle.

She tucked her arms behind her back as Taryn, Sadira’s personal guard, entered.

Shame . Guilt. Regret. Soren could practically taste Nyzaia’s emotions.

“Apologies, your Majesty. Your guard, Jabir, said you were up here, but I assumed you were alone.” Taryn bowed his head to the queen and backed away from the door. That was unsurprising, Jabir spoke little these days, keeping his grief to himself. Soren shifted in her seat.

“You don’t need to leave,” Nyzaia said. Taryn glanced at Soren.

“My queen wished to speak with you regarding some basic defence training.” Taryn looked at Soren again, making the reason for Sadira’s request clear. Soren rolled her eyes and turned back to the book in her lap.

“Very well, let’s go,” Nyzaia said.

“No, it is fine–”

“She is already outside the door. That is why he is so hesitant,” Soren said.

She always sensed her sister’s presence.

Taryn narrowed his eyes, and Nyzaia looked between them both.

Soren shrugged, as if to say, ‘Tell me where you want me to go.’ The decision was made for them when Sadira entered, her head held high.

Soren leaned forward in her chair and lowered her book.

Something was different. Sadira’s arms and face had thinned, like she had not been eating, yet the rest of her body appeared as it usually did.

A deep green gown covered her entire body, except for her face and neck—a dress to show the queen in mourning.

If Soren knew her sister, she would forever be.

The fabric was close-fitting to her arms, neck, chest, and ribs, only flowing out into a chiffon waterfall once it hit her waist. A gold chain hung around her neck beneath the Garridon talisman.

Caellum’s wedding ring. His bloodied body beneath Soren’s dagger flickered in her mind, and she forced herself to focus on her sister.

Sadira only looked at Soren briefly before refocusing her attention on Nyzaia.

“I don’t wish to disturb your intimate evening,” she began.

Soren wanted to roll her eyes at the dig, but kept her face neutral out of respect.

“If we do indeed set sail in two days, I would like to spend some time on the ship learning some hand-to-hand defence. We may, of course, be entering unknown dangers, and I must be able to protect myself.” Sadira smoothed the skirts; her hands lingered on her stomach. Soren tilted her head.

“Of course. We can start the first day we sail,” Nyzaia said, her words clipped as if sensing Soren’s discomfort. Sadira nodded at Taryn and turned to leave. Against Soren’s better judgement, she opened her mouth.

“Sadira–”

“No!” Sadira whirled to face her sister.

Vines twisted from the ground, enveloping Soren’s arms and chaining her to the chair.

Soren did not fight. Nyzaia took a step towards Soren, only one, but it was something.

Varna lowered her head, a low rumble sounding in the back of her throat.

“You do not speak to me; you do not look at me. If I could control it, I would not even have you think of me. I would wipe my existence from your memory.” Soren had never seen Sadira sneer until now.

“Sadira—” Nyzaia tried to speak, her voice soft. Perhaps somebody might actually defend Soren.

“I did not question your choice, Nyzaia. Do not make me regret it. I can still have her executed.” Sadira turned back to leave, and Nyzaia’s eyes flickered with flames.

“No, you can’t,” she said. Sadira and Taryn froze.

“Excuse me?” Sadira whispered, facing the door, away from Soren.

“She was claimed by Keres—by me. If you were to kill a citizen of Keres, I would be forced to seek justice.” Nyzaia raised her chin. Soren moved, wanting to diffuse the tension, but Nyzaia moved her hand the smallest amount in a silent request she stay put. She lowered herself back into the chair.

“Is that a threat?” Sadira asked. Seiko rose from his position and padded over to Nyzaia to sit by her side.

“It does not have to be,” Nyzaia answered. Both queens looked at one another, waiting for the other to break. Eventually Sadira turned.

“Now is a poor time to make an enemy of one another, Nyzaia.”