Page 101 of Legacy of the Heirs
“If I have Kazaar, I have the potential to unleash all the power in the world. You on the throne benefited me in the interim, but you failed, Soren.”
“I can do better,” she pleaded. “Anything! I will do anything you need.”
He paused before returning to the metal bars.
“It will be difficult to take Kazaar if Elisara is beside him. Separate them on the sands, if you can. Fight as though you are on their side; I may still have need of you, but that needdiminishes if they know you work alongside their opponents.”
Before Soren could promise to do as he asked, he faded with her surroundings.
She opened her eyes to the sound of whimpers. Something wet was on her hand. She glanced down to find her wolves watching her. Baelyn and Tapesh curled closer and whimpered while Seiko licked her hand.
“What is wrong?” she asked, pushing herself up in the bed. She pulled the silk sheets to her chin at the odd coldness in her room. The drapes by the balcony fluttered in the wind, and Soren slipped from the bed, her wolves trailing behind her as she wrapped the sheets around herself. The tiles were cold as she padded onto the balcony, greeted by the sound of guards in the courtyard to the right. She scanned the horizon; the rooftops of Keres crept into view as the sky lightened, a midnight blue as the sun awoke.
Just before dawn. It was time for Soren to ready and meet Sir Cain before heading to the camps. Serene and Octavia curled around her feet, and she chuckled as Tapesh and Baelyn fought to take their spot.
“I know the sands are not ideal for you.” She reached down and stroked Varna’s head. “But perhaps you can help me with my mission.” Standing back up, Soren stared into the distance. Later that day, she would reach the sands. Tomorrow, she faced war. While Soren had prepared for war within Garridon for years, nothing prepared her for this. Yet on a cool morning, imagining what tomorrow would bring, a small voice asked her what life might have been like if she had never met Caligh.
Perhaps she would not be so alone.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Nyzaia
“Ido not like this,” Farid grumbled from where he crouched atop the tavern. He twisted the tip of his knife into the burnt red rock. Nyzaia pulled the black cloth from her face and squinted in the distance.
“They have a lot to deal with. Running late should not be a shock,” Nyzaia murmured, keeping her voice low from the ears of the drunkards below. “Jabir will collect them.”
By Farid’s sideways glance, she knew Nyzaia was trying to convince herself as much as him. After the revelations of Caligh’s letter and the plans set in motion, Nyzaia and Farid had left immediately to complete their tasks. It had taken most of the day, meaning they now had the cover of nightfall for their duty.
Nyzaia tapped her fingers against the leathers on her leg. She had sent the note to Rafik and Issam early enough for them to receive it in time, and when they had not shown up, she sent Jabir to investigate. A knot formed in Nyzaia’s stomach; she was not used to being separated from her syndicate and was yet to adjust.We will never be complete again,she thought, thinking of Tajana and recalling the last time they had run atop the rooftops together. Nyzaia hoped to feel relief while donning her leathers for the evening, a reprieve from royal clothing but felt only longing as time passed.
“Is it odd?” Farid asked. “Being here with me instead of—”
“No,” Nyzaia cut him off, not wishing to hear her name. She rubbed at her chest as though it would erase the ache in her heart, and when she pulled her hand away, the scar of her celestial tieshone beneath the moonlight. Farid said nothing about her dismissal but must have known she was lying.
He lightly nudged her elbow before moving from his crouch. Three shadows shifted through the lantern-lit street opposite before moving to the back of the tavern. Following quickly in Farid’s path, Nyzaia glided over the rooftop before dropping off the side, landing in a silent crouch at the back of the dusty alleyway.
“You took long enough,” Nyzaia hissed as Issam, Rafik, and Jabir stepped into the moonlight, yet she frowned at the cut on Jabir’s cheek. Issam held a finger up to his mouth, signalling for her to step away from the tavern’s back entrance. Nyzaia trusted him enough to do as he asked, and though Farid frowned, he stepped back with Nyzaia.
The Palm Tavern had been a frequent haunt for the syndicate, the only tavern Nyzaia kept from the other Red Stones—their haven. It felt odd to enter through the back, but although it was once their haven, word of the queen of Keres being spotted in the slums of Tabheri would only raise risks and questions.
Issam knocked on the cracked wooden door six times with a series of specifically placed pauses. Five long minutes later, the heavy footfall of the owner approached, and the door creaked as it swung open, hiding Nyzaia and Farid from view. The light from the tavern creeped out into the alleyway, and the owner grunted.
“Haven’t seen you lot in a while.” His voice was gruff, and Nyzaia knew from experience that he beheld the three men with judgement. She had endured many arguments with the man because of his worries about dragging unwanted attention to the tavern. “Usual room?” he asked. Issam nodded silently and handed over a pouch of clinking coins. The man grunted and walked back inside, leaving the door open. Farid made to step around the door, but Nyzaia tugged his sleeve. They waited, listening, and when the heavy steps faded, followed by a slam of a door, Nyzaia knew the coast was clear.
Issam glanced up and down the alleyway, Rafik watched therooftops, and Jabir and Farid flanked Nyzaia inside. The tiles of the floor were sticky underfoot as Nyzaia took a right into a smaller corridor and opened the door. A small smile graced her lips despite the pain in her chest. Nothing had changed. The room remained exactly as it always had, as though it awaited their return.
Dust collected on Nyzaia’s fingertips as she grazed them along the circular wooden table, filling most of the room. Five overturned crates were positioned around it, a seat for each of them. A deck of cards was scattered across the table, many with bent corners and stains from the amber liquid remaining in the glass decanter in the centre.
“Looks like enough for a glass each.” Issam jostled Nyzaia as he grazed past, reaching for the drink and pouring a glass for each of them. Farid glanced between the crates and avoided the one where Tajana would sit, but with a nod from Nyzaia, he took her place.
“You will need the drink,” Nyzaia sighed. She rested her arms on the table and shuffled the cards.
“That bad, huh?” asked Rafik, catching the glass as Issam slid it across the table.
“Not sure things could get much worse,” Issam grunted, glancing at Jabir and the cut on his face. Farid huffed, knowing they would indeed get worse.
“What happened?” Nyzaia sipped from the glass, the liquid a welcome burn in her throat. Issam sat down on her right.
