Page 135 of Mother of Death and Dawn

I felt foolish for not realizing it sooner: we had been following the edge of the lake this entire time, though we had done some bobbing and weaving through the woods on the way. Now, we stood at the shore, cracked slabs of stone at our feet. Before us, a dark, broken palace loomed over us from the island ahead. Curved bridges extended from its peaks out above us, and a crystal dome rose from the shores like a gruesome entryway from the grey, motionless water.

“This is Niraja,” Ishqa said. “ThetrueNiraja.”

He sounded rattled.

“The part of the island that was inaccessible through Zagos,” Sammerin murmured, taking in the scene. “It’s…”

“Beautiful.”

That was the word that came to mind, but even as it left my lips, it didn’t seem like quite the right one. Yes, the ghost of a kingdom before us was beautiful, in the way that ancient gravestones were beautiful. But with that beauty came something darker, something that made the hairs raise on my arms.

Ishqa swallowed thickly. “It was, once. Long ago.”

I stepped into the swampy water, then onto one of the stone slabs. Maybe once they had formed a bridge, but now they were large, broken pieces.

“It calls me in,” I said. “We can get across on these. At least we will not have to make you carry us, Ishqa.”

Sammerin climbed up on the slab, but Ishqa did not move.

“Is there a problem?” I asked him.

He shook his head after a long silence. “No. No problem.”

* * *

No place should be asquiet as this. I could hear nothing but ghosts here.

Perhaps Zagos had been partially built over the remains of the dead kingdom, but this—this really was Niraja. The swamp was still and murky, the water smooth as black glass. Mist reduced ruins to dark, formless shapes. Sometimes a breeze would rustle our hair, but it moved soundlessly through the leaves, leaving no whispers.

We walked along the stone bridge, careful not to slip into the depths between the broken blocks of stone. A faint glow outlined the debris to the south—the distant lights of Zagos, but the city felt as if it was a million miles away from this tomb. There, we had been able to see small traces of what Niraja had once been long ago. But here, the lost kingdom’s past was suspended in amber—the beauty and the tragedy alike. The bridges arched overhead, vines and flowers tickling our hair. I paused to admire a sheet of stained glass reaching up several stories to the second and third tiers of the bridge above us. Faded colors composed a portrait of two people, a man with shoulder-length fair hair and a woman with dark waves, crowns atop both of their heads. A number of the glass panels had shattered, but the image was still striking. The glow from my hand, now so bright it hurt to look at it, cast a mournful flicker from below.

“This place must have been stunning,” I murmured.

“It was.” Ishqa paused before the stained glass. “That is Ezra, the king of Niraja, and his human queen, Athalena.”

Sammerin’s brows rose. “Human?”

“Yes. Full-blooded human. I never understood…” Ishqa’s brow furrowed. “Surely he knew that the kingdom he built would wither long before he did. Why would anyone want to do that? Put themselves in a position to watch their wife and children and grandchildren die?” He looked over his shoulder, and I was taken aback by how utterly confused he seemed, like he was genuinely seeking an answer from us.

I couldn’t give him one. I wanted to say something about the preciousness of love, however fleeting it may be. But I had just sent away Max because I could not stand the prospect of losing him. If I were Ezra, would I have taken a human wife knowing I would lose her?

Sammerin said simply, “Because it was worth it. Does that seem so unbelievable?”

Ishqa shook his head and kept walking. “I witnessed this palace burn with their children trapped inside. Nothing was worth that.”

* * *

We traveled down,down, down, through seemingly endless, intricate staircases of rusted metal and cracked marble. Eventually, we reached the bottom of the final set of stairs, which hugged the curvature of the castle. Brackish water lapped at our toes. Silver arches curved above us, creating a half-collapsed entryway that seemed to lead to nothing. The ruins overhead closed in on it, making the route ahead a dark tunnel into the swamps. My hand glowed so brightly that it painted garish shadows over the walls.

I stepped into the swamp after a moment of hesitation. I expected the ground to be muddy and the water to be cold. Instead, the ground was hard, as if tiled, and the water, despite its unnatural darkness, was oddly warm.

“It’s leading me in there,” I said.

Sammerin looked wary. “That’s ominous.”

None of us could disagree with that. Even Ishqa looked a bit disconcerted.

“I… what am I looking for?” I turned to him. “What—”

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