“I think we are.”
Fantastic.
“Well,” I muttered, “might as well keep an exciting day exciting.”
We approached the door. Despite the boats we saw in the distance, it was completely silent. If there were other people here, they didn’t make a sound. I did not find this especially comforting.
The door was large and heavy, and let out a spine-chilling squeal as it swung open. It was dark inside — so dark I had to blink several times to force my eyes to adjust. In those seconds of blindness my hands tightened around my weapon.
The room was a large, circular, open space, with stone benches around its edge. Lines of writing were carved into its walls, in circles on the floor, even into the benches. A perfectly round spot of light fell on the ground through an opening in the roof, and sun spilled through narrow windows.
A single figure stood at the opposite side of the room, back to us. He was tall, with long golden hair that fell down to his waist. As the door squealed open, light fell across his form. He wore odd clothing, swathes of gold fabric that wrapped around his torso and over his shoulder.
He turned, revealing an unnerving stare. Bright gold eyes. He moved strangely — too smooth, too graceful.
“So I see you received my gift,” he said, with an unfamiliar accent. “By your appearance, perhaps it got to you somewhat late.”
“Let’s start with introductions before we get so familiar,” I said. “Who, exactly, are—”
“I know you.”
Tisaanah’s voice came in a gasp, like she hadn’t realized she was speaking aloud.
“I know you,” she breathed again. The man stepped forward, and I matched the movement, my weapon raised.
“Wait. You tell us who you are before you go anywhere.”
He was looking past me, to Tisaanah, so still that it seemed like he was barely breathing.
My grip tightened around my weapon.
“Who are you?” I said again.
He was silent for a long moment before answering.
“My name is Ishqa Sai’Ess. And I am here to right a wrong that I made very, very long ago.”
Chapter Sixty-Six
Aefe
It was so dark inside that at first, I could see nothing. I heard hushed whispers suddenly go silent. Slowly, the room came into focus around me. We stood in a large, circular room. The bright light from the half-open door spilled in from behind us, casting a violent streak across the ground. The walls, like the columns outside, were carved. A single curved stone bench lined the perimeter of the room.
On that bench sat the humans.
There were perhaps two dozen of them. Most were men, but there were a few women. They wore different styles of dress, though most wore flowing garments that reminded me of the Wyshraj’s apparel. Nearly half of them had colorless skin and white hair, like the man I had encountered in Meriata.
I opened my mouth to speak — though, what would I even say? Would they even understand me? But then one of the humans stepped forward, and all words left me.
The light fell across his pale face, catching silver hair in the sunlight. Silver hair, and a scar that ran from the corner of his mouth all the way to his ear.
Instinctively, my hands shot to my blades. But one of the other humans lifted their hands, and my weapons flew across the floor, scraping the whole way. I tried to lunge, but Ishqa’s hand was still firmly around mine, even though I tried to yank it away in frustration.
“Ishqa, go!” I gasped, but another one of the humans approached me, eyeing me like a cat, and suddenly my head, my thoughts, were in paralyzing agony.
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think.
And still, Ishqa was not moving.
He released my hand, and I collapsed to the ground, my muscles suddenly beyond my control.
And that was when I heard eight words that ripped me apart.
“I fulfilled your request,” Ishqa said, to the scarred human. “Now you fulfill ours.”
Everything went numb.
My whole body jerked as I wrenched my head around to stare up at Ishqa. He did not look at me.
What are you doing?! I tried to scream, but my body was not my own.
One of the white-haired humans, a young woman, knelt beside me. She took my face in her hand and turned it, looking at me like one would examine a horse to be purchased. She said something to the scarred human in a language I did not understand — did not understand except for one word:
Essnera.
The scarred human smiled, as if pleased by whatever she had told him.
“You do not know how long and how hard we have worked for this,” he told Ishqa, through a thick accent. “Many of our people’s lives will be saved.”
Ishqa did not return his smile. A sneer twitched at his lip. Still, he carefully avoided my stare. “You have already taken many of ours.”
“Out of desperation alone. Actions that we sincerely regret.”
“Well. Now it will no longer be necessary.” He bowed his head. “Queen Shadya appreciates your alliance.”
The realization dawned. Betrayal bled through me like a dagger’s tear. I tried to scream, tried to shout, tried to lunge for Ishqa. If I could move, I would have ripped his skull from his body. I would have torn his eyes from that beautiful face.
But I could not move.
I could not even weep.
“Likewise,” the scarred human said, and bowed his head.
Ishqa began to turn away. Then he paused, and looked back at me. Something shuddered across his face.
“Is it really so powerful?” he said, quietly. “The thing that she will become?”
The human smiled. “It is the most powerful thing the world will ever see.”
One of the other humans touched me, and agony consumed me. Two sets of hands dragged me to my feet. My limbs were limp, but I fought, fought with everything I had against the spell that sapped me.
For just one moment, I broke through it. My limbs thrashed. Two
