Page 15 of Sins of His Wrath (Myth of Omega: Wrath #2)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

T he morning sun beat down mercilessly by the time they passed through Onn Kkulma’s ruins. The city looked different in the harsher light—somehow both better and worse than it had in the pre-dawn hours. When Akoro’s mount picked its way carefully through the remnants of the marketplace, hooves crunching over shattered tiles, shadows no longer softened the devastation, but neither did they hide the clear attempt of the community to rebuild. Everywhere Naya looked, people worked together with quiet determination—chains of women passing buckets of debris, men reinforcing damaged walls, children scurrying between them with water skins and tools.

When they finally reached the palace steps, Akoro dismounted, pulling Naya down after him. Irritation flared through her fog of fatigue. She was exhausted and the day was nearly over, and she hadn’t even started on the Solution yet. He had given her the whole day to work—something that required her to be sharp and alert. Instead she was being handled like a plaything; lifted and moved and taken back and forth to a forest and wasted precious hours.

“Why did you take me with you to the Omega forest?” she asked, realization hitting her. “You could have done that without me.”

Akoro turned to her, his dark eyes raked over her face. “No, I couldn’t.” His rumble vibrated through her body, pulling on that needy part of her. “Make sure you use this day wisely.” He held her gaze for just a moment longer, then turned and stalked toward the palace steps.

Anticipation coiled tight in her stomach, tangled with a thread of nervous energy. Five uninterrupted days to work on the Solution—it was more than she’d dared hope for.

“Princess.” Prillu appeared at her side while Naya was still trying to steady herself. The diplomat’s dark brown eyes that used to be somewhat warm, were cool and assessing. “What do you need for your investigation?”

Naya rubbed her fingers hard on her forehead. She wanted nothing more than to sink into a bath and then into her own bed. But she couldn’t afford to waste what remained of the day.

She straightened, forcing her mind to focus. “I’ll need access to all historical records about first manifestations of magic in these lands. Maps showing where the destruction is most concentrated and details of any patterns to the outbreaks.” She paused, thinking about the vast desert and the magic that raged across it. “I need to understand how the magic interacts with the land—where it’s strongest, how it moves through the desert, what triggers its most violent manifestations.”

The diplomat nodded once, sharp and precise. “Anything else?”

“Records of previous attempts to control or study the magic. The previous Solution attempts you mentioned, too, even if they ended in failure—I need to know what’s been tried.” Naya closed her eyes and thought for a moment, then opened them. “Also, records of people who interact with magical on a regular basis and documentation of magical artifacts or items of importance. There might be answers there.”

Prillu pressed her lips together. “You’ll receive historical records of the magic’s manifestations and previous Solution studies, but information about our magical items and artifacts is classified. Anything that could provide military advantage to the Lox Empire is, obviously, forbidden.” She turned to leave, then paused. “Someone will show you to your chambers so you can refresh before you start.”

In the washroom, Naya splashed cool water on her face and neck, taking a moment to narrow her thoughts and remind herself why she was here. Her Empire and her people were the ones who mattered. She had to make as much progress as possible—make it worth surrendering once more to Akoro in her heat.

The woman who bathed her this morning was in standing in her room when she returned. A new outfit was laid out for her, and at the end of the bed was a tray with a wide selection of fruit and a small bowl of porridge.

“ Kkermo ?” Naya asked, pointing to the tray.

The woman blinked in surprise. Nodding, she left the room.

Naya took a long drink from the tmae stem and instantly felt better. After the woman returned with her kkermo , which Naya drank more slowly and deliberately this time, she helped her into the new outfit.

A guard collected her from her room and escorted her on the familiar journey to the battle planning room. Two guards pushed the doors open, and she lifted her chin, preparing to step back into the room where she was forced to help plan for her empire’s demise.

It looked even more impressive than when she’d last saw it; huge with beautiful, painted walls, thick pillars, and gleaming weaponry, lit by the sharp morning light spilling in through the lattice windows. This time, the Known Lands maps had been pushed to the back of the room, but they hadn’t been removed completely.

The members of Akoro’s council were spread throughout the room, quiet and still. Nrommo stood in one corner of the room, arms crossed, with one of his ugly scowls. He didn’t look directly at her. The administrator, whose name Naya couldn’t remember, stood by one of the windows staring out, while the policy maker sat at the table in the middle of room staring at his hands clasped. It was a stark contrast to when she’d first arrived and they all watched her like she was about to attack.

The only one of them looking directly at her was the striking-looking woman, Tshel, who always wore red. She’d been the only one who had attempted to be friendly during Naya’s talks with the council and claimed she was a “Hearer”—whatever that meant. She studied Naya with curiosity and a quiet thoughtful intensity.

Akoro stood next to one of the pillars, his arms crossed, his expression dark and moody. Of course he was staring at her, though the expression on his face wasn’t easy to read. Naya met his stare steadily, refusing to look away first. It was probably too much to expect he would leave her to get on with this investigation on her own. “Are you here to help me or track my every move until the day’s end?”

Akoro smirked.

She narrowed her eyes at him. Before she could say anything, someone near the back of the room moved. “Princess Nayara.” Her name was spoken with a thick halting accent.

She turned to look to see the healer, Oppo, coming toward her, his eyes stretching wide and his mouth dropped open a little. He looked over her as if amazed that she was standing in the room.

Instantly the tension that held her rigid softened. “Hello, Oppo.” His face lit up so brightly that she couldn’t help but smile. “It is good to see you again.”

“ Shnim em? nnar nte ku?n hhe shta nlok. Hhe kkio?t pa ron. Shku? ram? ttan hhe ithim? llu— ” He spoke quickly and fluently, as though he’d forgotten Naya couldn’t understand him, but after a few words, his speech faltered and then stopped. Half bowing, he said, “Seeing you, I am glad.”

Akoro shot foreign words that him like arrows, sharp, direct and hard.

Oppo’s face cooled. He turned, directing calmer words back at his brother, but then Nrommo spoke, deep, demanding, and clearly displeased. Before Oppo could respond, the policy maker at the table was saying something.

Naya watched the exchange; their body language, their tone of voice, their eye contact. Oppo moved to the other side of the table as he spoke again, this time every inch of his body defensive and hostile. Nrommo and the policy maker exchanged a series of words that didn’t seem friendly.

Naya frowned, surveying the room the whole room again. So there were conflicts in Akoro’s council, seemingly to do with her. They had appeared so strong and impenetrable when she was first here, but now they were no longer as united as before. She needed to figure out how to use this to her advantage.

Akoro spoke and all voices fell silent, the tension in the room coiled tighter.

Prillu stepped beside from behind Naya, startling her. The diplomat still looked worn and tired but not as much. A little liveliness had returned to her eyes somewhat, but she behaved more formal than she’d been with Naya previously. “You may start your investigation, princess,” she said.

Naya glanced at the table. There was nothing on it. No stacks of parchment, books, or even wooden tablets. She looked around the room. “Where are the things I asked for?”

Prillu swept an arm over the room. “This council is the living archives of the Sy Dynasty. Our knowledge of magic, culture, and history covers anything you’ll need to know.”

“I did not ask for your memories. I asked for written documentation.”

“I assure you, our input is better than those records, princess.”

Her words scraped against Naya’s nerves. “Forgive me if I find it difficult to take any reassurance from those who oversaw my imprisonment,” Naya said, her voice steady despite the tremor of annoyance in her chest. “I would prefer to examine your records myself. To draw my own conclusions.”

A dark chuckle rolled through the room. Akoro pushed away from his pillar, his massive frame expanding as he unfolded his arms. “Have you suddenly learned to read our language, tmot zia ?” His voice carried equal measures of mockery and demand. “How do you intend to draw conclusions from words you cannot read?”

Heat crept up the back of Naya’s neck, but she refused to let him disarm her. Just him being here was a distraction—the attraction between them thrummed constantly, like the static charge before a storm. Regardless, she couldn’t show weakness. Not now. Not to him.

She turned to face the council, ignoring him. “I don’t want your interpretations or your memories,” she said to Prillu. “I want to see the written records—the original documentation. If they need to be directly translated to me, that’s fine.”

A weighted silence fell over the room.

“All right,” Prillu said stiffly. “We can bring them from the Archive. It will take some time to?—”

“No.” Naya’s voice was sharp. “You’ve already had the hour I was changing to bring the materials I asked for. I’m not waiting. If they are in the Archive, take me there.”

Nrommo stiffened visibly, his broad shoulders squaring. His face twisted into something beyond a scowl. Then the administrator stepped forward, words spilling from her in sharp, rapid bursts. Though Naya couldn’t understand the language, the tone was unmistakable: objection, warning, maybe even a threat. Her fingers jabbed the air as she spoke, her gaze never leaving Naya’s face.

Naya ignored her. She already knew the council could all speak the Common Tongue fluently so this woman was just being fucking rude. “You assured me you wouldn’t interfere with this investigation,” she said to Prillu, speaking over the woman.

The tension in the room shifted, and the woman immediately quietened. Council members exchanged glances, unsure, their bodies tense. Naya sensed they were waiting for some kind of input from their king.

The heat of Akoro’s stare burned against Naya’s skin. She refused to turn toward him, refused to acknowledge him. Instead, she fixed her gaze on Prillu, who was looking at him. He must have given a signal—a nod, a gesture, some silent command—because Prillu’s posture changed, tension bleeding out of her shoulders as she inclined her head.

“I will take you to the archives.” She paused. “Do you need the entire council’s presence for the duration of the day? They have made time to be available if you require.”

Naya thought for a moment. While she didn’t want them elaborating about the official records, they could help put things into context depending on their specialism. “Can you remind me who oversees what areas?”

Prillu nodded. “Of course.” She gestured to each person as she named them. “Nrommo Hirkkle of the ssukku?rian is our battle chief, overseeing our military strategy and security.”

Naya didn’t even bother to look at him.

“Nanaek Unn of the ssukku?rian,” Prillu continued, indicating the administrator, “manages our treasury and administrative affairs.” Nanaek had a stern look to her, with narrow, watchful eyes and a set mouth. Her sharp eyes assessed Naya without warmth.

Prillu gestured to the man at the table. “Ranin Tol of the ssukku?rian oversees our ritual and cultural law and policy.”

Naya remembered him from the meetings with the council, though she’d only met him and Nanaek once. Although gray streaked from coiled hair at his temples, his black skin was glossy with no sign of a man older than thirty. He usually had a calm expression. Today, his eyes held a calculating watchfulness that made her skin prickle.

“Tshel Nekku of the Enru.” Prillu’s hand indicated the red-robed woman, who still watched Naya thoughtfully. “She is a Hearer for the Sy Dynasty and can guide on the Voices of the Sands.”

Naya squinted at her. Maybe that was some sort of religion.

“And Oppo Sy of the Sy Dynasty. He specializes in healing and medicine,” Prillu finished, nodding toward Oppo who smiled, though his enthusiasm was somewhat muted now.

“And I’m Prillu O?llehh,” she added, “I have some knowledge of all these areas to better represent the Sy Dynasty’s interests inside and out of the region, and in trade and negotiations.”

Naya nodded again, looking around the room as she considered carefully. She didn’t need Nrommo, and he probably wouldn’t be pleasant to deal with. He’d been annoying when she was first here, no doubt he would get in the way now. But the treasurer was also hostile, and the policy maker seemed calculating. She needed allies, or at least people who wouldn’t actively work against her.

She made her decision quickly. “I’ll need Tshel, Oppo, Ranin, and yourself. The others may go, but I might need them later.”

The council stilled for a moment, relief flashing across some of their faces, then Nrommo bowed stiffly to Akoro and strode from the room, followed by Naneak.

Naya eyed who was left, a question rising to the forefront of her mind. “Why do you introduction yourself as sukk…”

“Ssukku?rian?” Priilu asked

Naya nodded.

“Ssukku?rian is the name for the people across this region. We include it in our introduction to make it clear that we are of the people. We don’t come from a Dynasty—” She gestured to Oppo. “—or the Enru.” She gestured to Tshel.

“Hm.” That was a surprise. The council had always held themselves like they were from powerful backgrounds. “There are other dynasties?” she asked.

Prillu hesitated. “That is tricky to explain, but historically, yes.” She walked to the door and gestured for Naya to follow. “Let’s go. The Archive is in a secure section of the palace.”

As they walked through the corridor, Naya sensed rather than saw Akoro fall into step behind her. She turned, finding him much closer than she’d expected. “You weren’t one of the people requested,” she said, keeping her voice low.

“No, I’m not.” Surprisingly there was amusement in his tone, and his eyes shone with a strange mirth. “I go where I please in my own palace, tmot zia .”

That name again—whatever it meant. The way he said it sent shivers down her spine. Naya forced herself to turn away from him. Whatever mood he was in now was one she hadn’t seen him in before. Maybe he was finding all of this pathetically humorous—a source of entertainment before leading up to enjoyment of her heat, but for Naya, this was her one lifeline. She resolved herself to ignore him and focused instead on following Prillu through a series of corridors.

Their small group moved deeper into the palace, down hallways Naya had never seen before. They entered a different wing of the palace, older with a subtle change to the architecture—the ceilings were higher, the decoration more austere. The air cooled and carried a distinct scent: woody, spicy, and smoky. Guards stood at intervals along the corridors, formally dressed and armed.

They descended a wide staircase carved directly into stone and reached a massive doorway guarded by four warriors wearing ceremonial armor that differed from the regular palace guards.

Naya tried not to gape at them. “Why are there so many guards here?”

“Our Archive is sacred,” Prillu explained. “These guards protect our history. Generations of knowledge lay beyond these doors.”

The guards straightened as the group approached, pressing fists to their chests in salute to Akoro.

When the guards stepped aside, the doors swung open revealing a vast chamber that took Naya’s breath away. The ceiling soared high overhead, supported by patterned columns. Shelves lined the walls, reaching from floor to ceiling, filled with scrolls, bound volumes, and tablets of stone and clay. The air was dry, stuffy and still, as though time had stopped here, but small, high windows were tucked into various areas around the room, allowing in enough sunlight to make it mellow and comfortable.

To the left stood a large stone table with smaller reading desks positioned throughout. Prillu walked into the room and stood next to the table, and turned her gaze to Naya. “How do you wish to begin?”

Naya inhaled deeply, a strange buoyancy rising her mood. The vast knowledge surrounding her both intimidated and thrilled her. Not only did it remind her of the Record’s Keep and the hours she spent studying her own history, but somewhere in this cavernous chamber lay answers that could save not only her people, but Akoro’s. She turned to the council members. They all looked wary, and a little uncomfortable. Still, she had to use them wisely if she was going to make the most out of the day.

“I’d like each of you to gather specific records,” Naya said finally, her voice echoing slightly in the vast space. “Tshel, bring the earliest accounts of magic manifestations in the desert. Oppo, I need medical records concerning those affected by wild magic. Ranin, gather documentation on previous Solution attempts. And Prillu, maps showing the progression of magical devastation over time.”

She paused. “Gather the materials and documents and sit along here.” She gestured to the left side of the table.

Prillu nodded once and raised her hand. The small gesture summoned three figures from the shadows—two young men and one woman dressed in bright robes of yellow with patterns of red, green and deep blue.

Prillu spoke to them in her tongue, and the group dispersed along with the council members. Their movements were practiced and efficient, fingers skimming along rows of scrolls, climbing narrow ladders to reach high shelves, and navigating the labyrinthine stacks with confidence.

Naya remained by the stone table, acutely aware of Akoro’s presence behind her. His heat radiated against her back, though he stood several paces away. She refused to acknowledge him.

After a short time, the young group returned carrying stacks of scrolls, bound volumes, and clay tablets. The council members followed, arms similarly laden. As they seated themselves, Naya stood opposite them on the other side of the table, hands placed flat on the cool stone. “I’ll be asking specific questions to each of you,” she said. “Answer only with what these records show first and then I might ask for your expertise. I need facts first.”

She met each person’s gaze in turn. “I’m looking for patterns—connections between the magic’s manifestations and the land itself. I want to understand its history.”

A flicker of something passed across Oppo’s face as Tshel translated for him. Ranin leaned forward and Prillu remained calm and confident.

Before Naya could ask her first question, the heavy doors creaked open. A man entered dressed in cream, red, and yellow patterned robes. His eyes landed on Akoro immediately, and he bowed deeply before approaching and whispering something to him.

Akoro glanced up, meeting Naya’s eyes, and after a long moment, he turned and strode from the chamber, the doors closing behind him with a resounding thud that echoed through Naya’s chest. She took a small breath. It would be easier without him in the room, and yet his absence felt like a loss.

Shaking it off, Naya turned back to the council. She still had many hours of the day left, and she intended to use every moment of them.

For the next few hours, Naya methodically questioned the council members, with Tshel translating Oppo’s responses when needed. The day stretched into on, sunlight shifting through the high windows, casting pools of golden light that drifted across the shelves like a quiet murmur. Naya’s throat grew dry from speaking, her mind racing with connections and possibilities. The picture that emerged from the council members was grim and unsettling.

From Ranin, she learned there’d been seven previous Solution attempts over the past century. Each investigator had approached the problem with different methods, but all died, often violently, when they attempted to actively engage with the wild magic themselves.

“But what about language?” she asked him. “Has language ever played a part?”

The policy maker’s glossy forehead creased in confusion. “Language? In what way?”

“Words, phrases, incantations,” Naya reeled out. “Using language to direct it or tie it to something.”

“Magic is not a being to converse with, princess,” Ranin said slowly. “It is a force, like the wind or fire. It doesn’t come when we call it and we have no control over it.”

Naya leaned forward, confused by his confusion. “But you create magical items, don’t you? Items that make magic behave in certain ways. How are they encoded to respond?” She leaned back. Maybe she was speaking to the wrong person. “Who creates your magical items?”

Before Ranin could answer, Prillu’s voice cut through the air. “As I told you before, princess, information about our magical artifacts is classified for security reasons.”

“Your lands are being torn apart by wild magic,” Naya shot back, her voice rising sharply. “People are dying and your culture is suffering while you worry about a threat that isn’t as immediate.” She leaned forward again, palms flat against the table. “What would you prefer, Prillu—what would it take to solve this problem and find the Solution?”

Prillu’s expression remained calm and measured, almost stoic, with only the slight narrowing of her eyes. “You can pursue other avenues for now. Our military concerns must be respected unless absolutely necessary.”

Naya exhaled, crossing her arms in annoyance.

From Oppo, she learned that wild magic tore skin apart on contact, just like the white fire at home, but it also ravaged the body like an intense fire. Unlike normal flames, it burned from within. His scrolls carried horrific illustrations of charred bodies with crystalline formations protruding from blackened flesh, internal organs fused or exploded outward. Those attacked by magic suffered varying degrees of burns, with the most severe cases literally exploding from the inside out when the magical energy became too much for their bodies to contain.

The horror of living with these results was reflected in the eyes of all at the table. They couldn’t look at the scrolls, and Prillu looked as though she didn’t even want to listen. Naya stared at the drawings wondering if that would have been the fate of her people if the white fire hadn’t been naturally contained to the Wastelands.

From Tshel, Naya discovered that, historically, the ssukkǔrians saw magic as something alive, conscious and woven into the very fabric of their world. The magic flowed through the desert sands like blood through veins, ancient and primal.

Naya absorbed the information, thinking back to how magic felt before she left the empire—like it was alive and paying attention to her. That couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? “You mentioned ‘the Sands’ several times,” she asked. “What is that?”

Tshel shrugged. “I don’t know another name for it in your language. The plentiful sand that covers our region.”

“The desert?” Naya suggested.

“No.” Tshel thought for a moment, but then shrugged again. “A desert is one type, but we have many. Collectively, they have a name: Tikshon ,” she explained. “It translates to sand in your language.”

“All right, we’ll call it the Sands,” Naya said. “What other kind of sands are there?”

Tshel reached for a map and unrolled it carefully, revealing a beautifully drawn landscape of swirling sand and rocky outcroppings. Her finger traced an area across the map. “Here is the Isshiran Sands—the shifting sands. They constantly move, swallowing pathways and evidence of travel. They never look the same from one day to the next, so many have been lost here. It’s very dangerous.” Her finger moved along. “Here is the Ushro? Sands. These sands are rich in iron and minerals, giving them a rust-red color. Many wars were once fought in these sands. This is the Tikshon Hann, a vast stretch of golden dunes, scattered with gemstones and rare metals. Historically, the ssukkǔrian wealth once depended on these sands.” Her finger moved north. “This is the Sands a Ro—the Omega sands. It is said that the air here is thick with the raw magic that plagues them and that it is always attracted to this area.”

Naya thought back to this morning. There had been no magic by the dead forest and no sign of magic in the area. She hadn’t felt anything. She peered at the map and saw the markings of the forest. It seemed to be the right area.

Tshel moved on. “Shlar Sands.” Her voice quiet. “These sands are sacred to our people.”

Naya squinted at the map. “What is this dark area here?”

“The Nni?n-kka Sands.”

“ Nni?n ….” That sounded familiar. “Doesn’t that mean magic?” She turned to Prillu. “You told me that translates to magic.”

Prillu nodded. “Yes. Nni?n-kka means magic fields. It’s where nni?n-ellithi —the wild magic—originates.”

Naya’s heart quickened. “What do you mean it originates from there?”

Prillu gestured to the map. “This is where the wild magic came from. Historically, it was bound solely to this area of the Sands.” She pointed to the dark area marked on the map. “Magic is an inherent part of the Sands, but the wild magic never used to travel beyond these sand fields.”

“That’s exactly how magic works in my land—our white fire is contained within a specific boundary.” She looked up. “What changed? When did the magic spread beyond its boundaries, and why?”

Prillu consulted several scrolls, her movements deliberate and precise. After several minutes of silence, broken only by the soft rustling of parchment, she looked up. “The records aren’t clear, princess. Approximately seventy years ago, the patterns began to change, but there is no documented cause.”

Something in Prillu’s tone snagged Naya’s attention—a slight hesitation, the way she swallowed. “But you have suspicions,” Naya pressed. “Something must have triggered such a fundamental change in how the magic moved across your region.”

Prillu’s held her eye, remaining almost too relaxed. “The records do not reflect any suspicions, princess.”

“Then give me your insight as diplomat and council member.”

“I cannot.”

“Why?”

Prillu looked at her but didn’t answer.

Naya looked around the table at the council members, but none would meet her eye, their gazes suddenly lowering to the stack of documents or flitting across the room.

“Ranin,” she said. “What is your insight on this?”

Ranin firmly shook his head. “Discussion on this isn’t allowed, princess.”

“Not allowed?” Naya made a face. “By who?”

Prillu cleared her throat. “No one can make speculations on this topic without the zmola’s permission.”

Frustration burned in Naya’s chest, hot and insistent. If magic had been contained to one area, how that changed could be the key to finding the Solution. Besides, magic had been contained in her Land for hundreds of years. Did that mean the same thing could happen to the empire?

Her gaze settled on Oppo, whose solemn eyes watched her with something akin to sympathy. “Oppo,” she said gently, “surely as the king’s brother, you have some discretion in this matter. Can you tell me why the magic moved out of this area?” She gestured to Tshel. “Please, translate for me.”

Tshel hesitated before speaking in their hard, harmonious language. Oppo listened intently, his expression growing grave. He leaned forward, the bulk of him hunching over the documents on the table. His voice, when he spoke, each word measured and weighted with what seemed like genuine regret.

Tshel’s translation came reluctantly. “He says: ‘I offer my deepest apologies, princess, but this matter has been a source of deep hurt, betrayal, and bloodshed for my family. Even speculation about is uncomfortable for many and borders on treason. Only—” Tshel hesitated before saying the next word. “—Akoro may explain it to you. He does not talk about it, but if you ask, he will.’”

A chill slid down Naya’s spine. Treason. So this was serious.

Prillu pushed back her chair, the wooden legs scraping against the stone floor.

“It’s nearly lur ennen ,” she said. “We should stop.” She gestured toward the door where a guard had appeared, silent as a shadow. “Sarla will escort you back to your chambers, princess. We can reconvene afterward.”

Frustration coiled in Naya’s stomach—just as she was beginning to get answers, she was obstructed by Akoro’s absence of all things. The word treason echoed in her mind, drumming against her temples. What secret could be so dangerous that even speaking of it bordered on betrayal?

“No,” she said, pushing away from the table. Her feet ached after standing for so many hours. “You all can go but I don’t need to eat. Where is… the zmola ?”