“His subjects really love him, don’t they?”
“They do.” I nod in confirmation. “Against what is said in Ryawarath about him, he is a good King. Fair and caring.”
“I’m sure he is,” she says in a serious tone.
“You are?”
“You forget, Blaise, that we’re keepers of the prophecy. Of history, really. We know better than to buy into the lies the Fae Royals feed us.”
“I never thought I would hear a Fae say that in this lifetime,” I admit.
“We’re not all bad, pretty boy.”
“No, that you are not.”
She’s quite a surprise, and I’m not sure how to feel about the way she is making me reconsider many aspects I would have deemed irrefutable until a few days ago. But then again, nothing has ever been black and white in this cursed realm.
“Aren’t they afraid of the impending war? Life seems to flow so unperturbed here,” Sariah says in a low voice, as if afraid to burst the brittle bubble of joy that surrounds us.
“Of course they are, but we’ve been surviving through wars for centuries. Thriving against them. When tomorrow is never guaranteed, you learn to treasure the moment.”
“That’s tragically beautiful.”
“I suppose it is.”
We finally arrive at the entrance of the tunnels, hidden in plain sight between two buildings. I push the heavy metal doors aside, gesturing for her to enter, before stepping into the torch-lit tunnels myself.
The rest of the journey is spent in silence, and I can sense Sariah’s nerves at facing Aimee and admitting her cunningness. It might come from a good place, but it’s still a deception that she enacted for five years. Will Aimee feel betrayed?
Will she get mad, or will she understand, having done something rather similar to Killian?
I guess we’ll find out soon enough.
When we emerge inside Sangeries, I take Sariah directly to Killian’s chambers, but we’re met with silence and stillness.
No sign of Killian anywhere.
We search Aimee’s room next, the training hall, the library, but there’s no trace of them. It’s as if they’ve vanished into thin air, and the hairs on the back of my arms stand on end in alarm.
What the fuck is going on here?
Chapter 8
Aimee
Sweatclingstoeveryinch of my body, my feet sinking into the sweltering sand with each step I take. Next to me, Killian is the picture of stoic resolve; a tic in his jaw and his furrowed brows the only sign that he might be suffering in this hellish heat too.
All around us, towering dunes shimmer in the unbearable sun like molten gold. I can’t believe this is where the humans chose to flee from the Fae massacre. I can almost taste their raw desperation, the heartbreak and relentless will to survive that led them to forge an unnavigable path in a place that was not meant to sustain or nurture life.
But they didn’t just escape from one hell to another, did they? Against all odds, they found shelter in this desert wilderness, and they thrived.
Azwrah is the living embodiment of that. Of the human capacity to adapt, to flourish in even the harshest environments. They are not pampered like the fucking Fae, nor are they immortal like the vampires. Their beautiful fragility makes it all even more astounding.
Hidden in the shifting sands is a city unlike anything I’ve seen before. Defiant towers rise proudly from foundations buried deep within the bronze sands, piercing the humid air like yellowed tusks of ancient beasts.Overflowing terraces and wooden bridges connect the imposing structures, creating intricate footways for humans to travel from one building to the next.
It dawns on me that nobody is walking on the ground like us; several pairs of eyes are overlooking us in curiosity from above. I nudge Killian’s shoulder, pointing to a ladder woven from sturdy rope.
“Shouldn’t we take to the pathways above? I can feel the skin on my feet melting in this cursed dust.”
