Page 43 of Legacy of the Heirs
“Five if it happens in this castle.”
“Ten it does not happen at all,” Farid said, and Nyzaia raised her eyebrows at him.
“I did not take you for a gambling man, Farid.”
Farid raised his shoulders in a half-hearted shrug, and Nyzaia smiled. Perhaps those walls would slowly crumble, and he would truly become a part of the syndicate.
“If you are all finished with your childish bets, can we refocus on the plan?” Nyzaia pulled the book towards her and analysed the sketch of a sword.
“What is the plan?” Farid asked as Issam and Rafik approached the bed and rolled out the map again.
“We need to find the other half of the Keres talisman.” Rafik’s large hands pointed to the Xs across their realm. “These are the places we considered so far.” He gestured to the oasis at the edge of Ashun Desert, the vaults of Tabheri Palace, the white rock face meeting Myara’s ocean, and the thinnest walkway within Nefere Valley. None of them felt right.
“What was the purpose of hiding the other half?” Farid asked, scanning the map.
“Hiding it within the realm allegedly allows the power of Ithyion to flow through the land and provide other citizens with connection to the royal line’s power,” Issam confirmed, and Nyzaia nodded.
“It also had to have been hidden somewhere difficult to access to ensure no power-hungry royal accessed it alone and took it for themselves. We do not know what effect it might have on me once it is connected with the other half.”
The men scanned the map again, deep in discussion. Farid was quiet at her side, rubbing his beard in thought. There was something in his eyes, something that indicated he had an idea. Nyzaia nodded in encouragement, and Farid leaned forward, pointing at the map.
“It’s hidden in the rock face of the Abis Forge behind the lava flow.” The other three all looked up at him, their confusion clear.
Jabir watched Farid intently, who shifted beneath his gaze. “How can you be so certain?”
“I spent a lot of time there growing up,” Farid said plainly. “It is there.” Everyone exchanged looks, and Jabir shifted in his seat, watching Farid closely. There was something else to Farid’s story. Nyzaia recognised his usual discomfort.
“You are certain?” she asked, and he nodded. The other three men were clearly sceptical, analysing him and questioning what he knew.
“I trust him,” Nyzaia stated. “We head to the Abis Forge at sunrise.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sadira
Sadira’s eyes were still rimmed-red as the cold wind lashed at her face as rain descended in the City of Antor. She forced her gaze downward and not at the approaching buildings. When she had awoken that morning and pulled back the drapes from her chamber windows, she was faced with not only the rising sun but the sight of Lord Alvan leading Princess Zarya around the gardens. He gently lifted the princess onto the wall above the flower beds and crouched before her, and Sadira could not suppress her tears as the princess fell into Alvan, her body shaking with tears of her own.
Other than Caellum, Larelle was the first ruler who made Sadira feel welcome. Sadira had pictured them becoming friends, yet now she did not know whether to grieve or act hopeful. Their last conversation played on her mind as Sadira dismounted her horse, and her guards came to a stop. Taryn reached for the reins. Now that the hall from their engagement required repairs, Sadira had sought a change in his position and requested he become one of her personal guards.
Larelle had asked Sadira about Wiccan and whether they had any other abilities besides what Sadira knew, like the gift of sight and an affinity for healing. Although Sadira was unsure, she decided to help Larelle in the hope she would speak to her again. The trip also allowed her to avoid Soren while searching for anything about Wiccan that may give Sadira an advantage against her sister.
A dull brass bell rang above Sadira’s head as she pressed on the glass-paned door, the navy paint peeling away onto her fingers. Shelowered the hood of her forest-coloured cloak in the hopes she could see better. She could not. Despite the early hour, little light streamed through the one window as though the weather itself mourned those lost during last night’s attack. Her eyesight was no better by the lack of sconces or fireplace in the small shop. Only a few scattered collections of pillared candles burned on the worn, wooden worktops, with wax slowly dripping onto the books.
“Hello?” Sadira called into the small space.
“One moment,” a quiet voice called from behind a door, propped open by a jar of dark liquid. Sadira waited and patiently folded her hands in front of her woollen dress. She took in the singular room that was Athena’s Apothecary. A large wooden table was pushed against each of the open stone walls, leaving Sadira in the centre spotlight. Little of the wooden surfaces could be seen beneath the scattering of leather books, random jars, string-wrapped herbs, pestles, and mortars. Behind a taller counter were countless mismatched shelves nailed into the wall, each housing rows of different-sized jars, all labelled in scrawled ink.
“Sorry for the delay.” A short elderly woman kicked away the jar by the door, wobbling the contents inside. She kept her head down and wiped her hands against what Sadira imagined had once been a pale linen apron yet was now covered in a spattering of colour. As she inspected her nails, grey hair tumbled over her face.
“It is not a problem,” Sadira said. The woman finally looked up as she stepped onto a stool behind the counter, elevating her to Sadira’s height. The woman raised her eyebrows, the gesture widening her hazel eyes and lifting the wrinkles on her forehead.
“The fallen princess wishes to grace my shop with her presence?”
Sadira winced. She hated that term.
“Sadira is just fine,” she said as the elderly lady’s eyes roamed Sadira’s body with a tense jaw.
“You look like your grandmother,” the woman said with a tilt of her head. Sadira could not hide her shock.
