Chapter Five
TALIK
“There are easier ways of asking for a holiday than pretending to be in a coma.” Talik slid into the closest chair to Sypha, careful to keep space between them so he wouldn’t accidentally touch them. He patted his pocket. “But I admire your commitment to the cause.”
Meraki had moved farther away from the door, giving them privacy, or at least the illusion of privacy.
A hint of a smile flickered on Sypha’s face as another single bloody tear streaked across their face.
Talik paused and resisted the urge to wipe the tear away.
Touch heightened Sypha’s power. He didn’t want to be the reason they were in more pain, and truthfully, he didn’t want them peering into his future.
“Stop trying to distract me. You owe me one of your Ferraris.” Sypha chuckled before they began to braid their ponytail. “I think the orange one.”
He crossed his arms. The orange one, as Sypha put it, was a classic F8 Spider Ferrari that was one of his favorites. “How do you know you won the bet?”
It had been a very stupid bet, but he couldn’t resist the challenge.
Sypha didn’t always get it right, had sometimes gotten the vision disastrously wrong, but not this time.
Until he had seen it happen, he would never have believed Dante Delacroix would surrender power for anyone—including his twin sister’s life.
But he had. It had been for Rieka, the hybrid archaeologist and lost heir of House Atlas, the only living descendant of the royal family.
Dante had also agreed to Rieka’s wish to not announce her bloodline and claim to the throne.
A throne that had been empty for more than eleven thousand years.
A claim that would have cemented Dante’s legacy within Atlantean history.
It had been nice to be wrong, for once. Perhaps worth his Ferrari.
“I am a seer,” Sypha said. “Not that it has stopped you from placing a bet against me for the last two hundred years.”
One day, he would win. Odds were in his favor. And the bragging rights would be phenomenal. He wouldn’t be above using it, no matter how petty it sounded.
Sypha shifted on the bed, rolling their shoulders. “Is Vandana’s flame protected?”
Talik smiled, not bothering to hide it. “If you mean the eternal violet flame that is protected within House Azaes, then yes. But if you are asking if Rieka can freely wield the fire, it’s a bit more complicated.”
Vandana’s flame, Talik had never believed the stories that as long as the flame burned, a descendant of the royal House of Atlas walked the earth. Now he knew it to be true.
“How complicated?”
“It doesn’t always work.” Talik answered. He had seen Rieka try to call forth the flame, a power that had only been recently activated, but so far it had only worked once. When they had faced the serpopards and the wayfarers.
Sypha stared off into the distance before they turned back to face him. A smile etched on their lips. “Do you remember when we met?”
Talik scoffed. He hadn’t thought about it in centuries. “You threw a bucket of water on me, then proceeded to follow it with a second one because, I quote, ‘The first one didn’t work,’ if I remember correctly.”
“You stunk.”
It had not been a great moment in his life.
Reaching rock bottom, not wanting to crawl out of the self-imposed hell but to dig deeper and wallow further within—it had been all he wanted to do.
His entire world had fallen apart, disintegrated into atoms, until he hadn’t known why he was alive anymore.
Every breath had been agony, a knife to his beating heart, and a reminder of what he had lost. Trying to drink himself into oblivion hadn’t worked out how he had wanted.
He would have welcomed death with open arms, except Sypha had shown up.
They had been half gone themselves. Both of them had been a sorry sight to behold, but somehow, they had dragged each other up to some semblance of normalcy. “I hadn’t bathed in months.”
Sypha wrinkled their nose. “It was apparent.”
He waited. Sypha was not nostalgic unless it suited them, or if they had a point to prove.
“You can go. Find Khalida,” Sypha ordered. “Dante and Rieka will be here soon.”
Talik paused.
“Go,” Sypha repeated. “The past does not define our future. There are endless possibilities.
“You are not being helpful.”
Sypha snorted. “I’m not supposed to be.”
Great. Sypha was back to being cryptic. Sometimes, he was pretty sure they purposefully spoke like a fortune cookie because they knew it drove him bonkers.
“And the relic?”
Sypha shrugged. “I don’t know what it is. The image was distorted, as if it was underwater, and I was looking through ice.”
“Is there anything else I should be aware of?” Talik asked cautiously, aware that he shouldn’t push Sypha.
The seer was in a fragile position and highly vulnerable.
In Sypha’s current mental state, they likely were still trying to distinguish between what was their reality and what memories belonged to Idris.
Pushing too hard could break them. And if that occurred, he would never forgive himself.
He didn’t want to be responsible for another life.
“Wear body armor.”
Talik was taken aback. “Is Khalida going to stab me?” He looked up at the sterile white ceiling and counted to ten. “Getting blood out of my clothing is an expensive endeavor.”
And time-consuming. His tailor would have a panic attack if he requested an entire new wardrobe. Damn Italians.
Sypha smiled at him as they closed their eyes, settling back into the bed. “When you search the catacombs, make sure you have something that is made from iron.”
For what? He wanted to demand, but Sypha was already asleep. Damn seers!
Forgotten tongues. Ancient gods. And a potential stabbing. The hits just kept coming this week, and he hadn’t had a drink in over twenty hours.
He did not get paid enough for this.
***
KHALIDA
Khalida waited for Talik outside of the room.
Giving him space to talk to Sypha allowed her to have time to compose herself.
She smoothed her sleeve, pulling the material until it covered the mark on her wrist. Not that she would ever forget it existed.
In the silence, she could remind herself that she was supposed to be apathetic toward Talik.
Hate was far too strong a word to describe the way her heart raced when he was near, or the stupid fluttering she felt when he smiled.
She turned her focus to Sypha, not entirely trusting them. The seer may have been in a comatose state for the last twenty-four hours, but Khalida wasn’t na?ve enough to think that would stop them from scheming.
Being a pawn in a game she didn’t know the rules to or have any inkling on how to play was not something she took kindly to.
Khalida had observed it over the centuries as an outsider.
Sypha casually manipulated the situation around them until certain plays were seemingly guaranteed to happen, often when Dante could take full advantage of the situation.
The power plays of her extended family were of no consequence to her. Unlike most Atlanteans, she had never been driven by the desire to accumulate as much influence or wealth as she could. Perhaps she was her mother’s daughter, after all.
Khalida shook her head. She didn’t need thoughts of her absent mother to darken her already souring mood. Instead, she hovered near the end of the corridor, leaving enough distance that she couldn’t be accused of overstepping any boundary. But close enough that she would hear any commotion.
Waiting was not one of her strengths.
She fought the urge to look at the strange scroll Sypha had handed them, not giving in to temptation to touch the pocket she had placed it in. Her wrist tingled in warning a second before Talik appeared next to her.
She was semi-impressed she hadn’t heard him leave the room. But that may have been more an indictment of her current mood than his skill.
“Overhear any interesting information?”
Khalida curled her lip. “Unlike you, I have manners and a sense of decorum.”
Talik smirked as he dusted a nonexistent piece of lint from his uniform and then shrugged as if he had all the time in the world. “Careful, Khalida, we wouldn’t want people to think we were friends.”
Khalida glared at him, itching to pull out one of the smaller knives strapped to her leg and stab him. She wouldn’t kill him. She wasn’t suicidal. Their lives were tied together. But perhaps she could inflict just enough damage for it to hurt while it healed.
“And if it has escaped your notice, we still have to work out how to find Ninhursag. I don’t know how helpful the scroll Sypha gave us is, since we need to decode it, but I’d much prefer not to get blood on it,” Talik said as he pulled the scroll out from his pocket.
“When?” Khalida demanded. She clenched her hands as she held them by her sides. The map had been in her pocket when she left the room, and she’d only stopped for a moment to brief Meraki on her duties.
She’d been nowhere near Talik, and then it hit her.
Talik had made up an inane excuse to listen in on the directions that she stupidly hadn’t objected to, and squeezed past her as he walked out of the room. She had done everything to make sure they wouldn’t touch, but that hadn’t been enough.
Clearly, he hadn’t outgrown his propensity for pickpocketing.
Bastard.
“Did you think I would let you walk out with the only clue we have?”
“I would assume there was a level of trust between us as professionals,” Khalida responded, careful to keep her tone neutral and without a hint of emotion—glacial. Talik would hate it. To his credit, there was no reaction, just the slight flare of his nostrils.
“You assumed wrong,” Talik answered. “Would I pass up an excuse to touch you?”
Responding would be taking his bait. He was just taunting her into a reaction. Holding out her hand, she waited. “I believe Sypha has entrusted both of us with it.”
“I will hand it over, only if you promise me you won’t try to stab me.”
She’d only stabbed him once, and it was all he could think of. It had happened centuries ago, in a sparring match, and it had only been a flesh wound. In hindsight, if she had known it was going to keep coming up, she would have aimed better.
Talik scowled at her, narrowing his eyes until they were almost black slits. But to his credit, he handed the scroll to her. She was careful not to let any part of her touch him.
“Try?” Khalida smiled as she took the scroll back. “Let’s not make promises I can’t keep. Everywhere on you is fair game—except I promise not to stab you in any vital organs.” She forced her smile wider. “Or any parts you may miss.”