W hen I returned to the group, I was breaking. I tried not to let it show, but I knew it was obvious, anyway. Even Ishqa looked sympathetic.
“It was the best thing,” he said.
Was that how the Fey said, I’m sorry?
I bit my tongue and didn’t say a single word save for muttered directions at splits in the path. That, at least, was a welcome relief. I could handle putting one step in front of another.
The wayfinder’s call grew stronger as we walked. Eventually it got so loud that I couldn’t imagine how I never noticed it before—surely, this song had always been playing in the back of my mind. Surely, this thing that was inside of me must have always been whispering.
Hours had passed when Ishqa suddenly stopped short. “It led you here?”
I looked around, seeing only the same trees we’d been walking through all day. “Why? Do you know this place?”
He pushed past us, parting the ferns until the forest broke. Sammerin and I followed. The glowing in my hand intensified.
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. “The true Niraja.”
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 AS quiet 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 carefully navigated the stone bridge, mindful not to slip into the gaps between the broken stones. To the south, a faint glow highlighted the debris—the distant lights of Zagos—yet the city seemed worlds away from this tomb. There, we could glimpse remnants of what Niraja had once been. But here, the lost kingdom’s history was frozen in time, preserving both its beauty and tragedy. The bridges arched above us, with vines and flowers brushing against our hair. I paused to admire a tall sheet of stained glass stretching up to the second and third tiers of the bridge. The faded colors formed a portrait of two figures: a man with shoulder-length fair hair and a woman with dark waves, both wearing crowns. Despite some shattered panels, the image remained striking. The glow from my hand, now so bright it was painful to look at, cast a somber flicker from below.
“This place must have been magnificent,” I murmured.
“It was,” Ishqa replied, stopping before the stained glass. “That’s Ezra, the king of Niraja, and his human queen, Athalena.”
Sammerin raised his eyebrows. “Human?”
“Yes, fully human. I never understood…” Ishqa’s brow furrowed. “Surely he knew the kingdom he built would fade long before he did. Why would anyone choose to watch their wife and descendants pass away?” He glanced back at us, genuinely perplexed, as if seeking an answer.
I couldn’t provide one. I wanted to speak about the value of love, no matter how fleeting. But I had just sent Max away because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. If I were Ezra, would I have married a human 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—”
A crash shivered through the air. The black water around my ankles trembled.
We all whirled to the left at the same time.
“What was that?” I whispered, after several seconds.
Ishqa didn’t answer, instead stretching out his wings and launching himself into the sky. When he returned, the frantic look on his face made my stomach drop.
“We are not alone here. The Ela’Dar army approaches from the south
—”
Sammerin swore.
“—and an Aran army approaches from the west.” This time I swore, louder.
“Both of them?” I gasped. “How did we miss this?”
“Half of the people in Zagos are bounty hunters,” Sammerin muttered.
“Everyone knows where we went.”
I cringed. He was right—and worse, we had ended up barely a few miles from where we had started. Nura had battalions throughout Threll. With the help of magic, she would have been able to mobilize them very quickly.
Brayan had been serious. The bounty hunters and spies and mercenary networks worked fast.
“My fear is that they are not after us,” Ishqa said grimly, “but the power that we came here to get.”
A horrible thought occurred to me.
“Aefe,” I said. “Was she with them?”
“I could not get close enough to tell.” Ishqa had the thought a moment after I did. “Do you think she could find it, too?”
I looked down at my hand. How much of this pull would I feel if I didn’t have the wayfinder? How much was the artifact, and how much of it was me? “I don’t know.”
I thought of my strange dreams, the ones that seemed so vivid—dreams in which I felt I was being watched. How much of this magic did Aefe have? Did she feel what I did?
The Arans were probably coming for me, and that was frightening on its own. But the Fey? The Fey were likely coming for this, and that was utterly terrifying.
Another crash, this one closer. We didn’t have time to stand around and worry about it. “Then we should hurry.”
I stepped into the swamp and Sammerin began to follow, but Ishqa didn’t move.
“Sammerin and I should stay,” he said. “What?” Sammerin and I said in unison.
“They are coming fast. If they rip this place apart, you could be trapped or cornered inside. Someone needs to defend you.”
“You’ll defend me against an entire army? Two entire armies?”
“We do not have a choice, I’m afraid.” Ishqa’s eyes flicked past me, to the swamp. “And… I do not know whether either of us will be able to withstand contact with such deep magic, without your inherent tolerance.”
I blanched. This concern seemed like something Ishqa should have mentioned earlier.
“You’re saying that just touching this thing could kill us?” Sammerin said. He sounded like he did not like that fact at all.
“Kill, perhaps not. Harm? Maybe. Could it take our sanity?” Ishqa made a gesture that could only be described as a strong version of a shrug, which seemed odd coming from an elegant, 600-year-old Fey.
I wanted to dismiss his fears out of hand, but I’d watched Zeryth unravel at the hands of magic too deep for him firsthand. There was nothing outlandish about the idea of powerful magic destroying one’s sanity.
The crashes had now turned into a rolling, distant roar.
“We don’t have time,” I barked. “Fine. I will go alone. But—” “You aren’t going alone,” Sammerin cut in.
“Yes, I am. If this thing can injure me or take my sanity, then you two can… respond accordingly.” Briefly, I was struck by an image of myself as one of Nura’s horrific creations, crazed and deformed. I shook it away. “This is not a negotiation.”
I gave Sammerin no time to argue with me, instead turning to Ishqa. “Tell me what I am looking for. An object? A… a place?”
The question was so broad it sounded ridiculous. Fine, I could wander into a swamp in search of anything that felt like a “source of world-ending- powerful magic.” Then what?
Ishqa looked a little hopeless.
I let out an exasperated sigh. “You do not know.” “I do not know.”
At least he admitted it, even when doing so clearly pained him. “Fine.” I turned to the tunnel of darkness ahead.
Despite myself, I was afraid. This place felt… strange, wrong. My body protested entering, the way our animal instincts protested sticking our hand into flame.
But then again, I had learned to love fire, too. “Be careful,” Ishqa said.
“Stay safe, Tisaanah.” A crease of worry separated Sammerin’s brow. “Come back if it’s too much. If you’re alive, we can always try again. But if you’re dead, that’s it.”
I nodded, but we both knew I’d die there before giving up.
“I’ll see you soon,” I said, and ventured forth into the darkness.
