Chapter Twenty-Seven
TALIK
Talik slowly opened his eyes.
The scent of peonies surrounded him. It reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t quite remember who.
He scooped up a handful of them—all differing hues, including blue, pink, and red—and watched as they floated slowly to the ground.
They were everywhere; beneath him, over him, and as far as he could see.
The field he was lying in never seemed to end.
The flowers were beautiful in full bloom.
It was the softest blanket he had ever felt.
He tilted his head to catch the warmth of the sun, the pale-blue sky was not marred by any hint of clouds.
Pushing himself off the ground, he slowly stood, surprised at the stiffness of his body.
He must have been lying down for a long time.
Stretching, he realized he was no longer in pain.
He frowned, trying to remember why he had been in pain.
But the memory didn’t seem so important anymore.
The bright light made him squint as the smell of myrrh and frankincense wafted their way toward him.
In the distance, there was movement, a speck on the horizon.
Voices rose up in the distance, a mixture of languages.
He strained to hear what they were trying to say.
It reminded him of the small village he had grown up in.
Their markets had been a place of pride among their people, and travelers, human and Atlantean, had come across the globe to experience their wares.
He turned his head. The markets on the edge of the field were bustling.
And the aroma of familiar cooking meats made his mouth water, and his stomach growled in anticipation.
The roasted duck smelled exactly the same as when his father had made it.
He didn’t know how long it had been, but if he closed his eyes, the memory was all he could focus on, so real it was almost like he could taste the rich meat now.
Decision made, Talik headed toward the market, hoping to make it before it was too late.
He walked there in silence, but every so often, he would stop as if he was forgetting something.
After a minute of trying to recall it, he would move on.
His feet almost floated above the field of flowers.
He brushed the blooms, enjoying the satin-like petals and the vivid colors.
A flash of memory dangled just out of his reach.
He half expected something to be there, but there was nothing.
Trying to catch it was like trying to catch a cloud.
Checking his sides, he was surprised to feel nothing; it was tinged with an emptiness as if he was missing something.
Shrugging, he walked toward the noise and people, his hands trailing along the tops of the field of flowers.
The soft petals caressed his palms, tickling him.
He didn’t know how long it took him to reach the crowd, but once he had arrived, he was greeted by friendly voices. A wave of happiness floated around him. Colorful tents surrounded him. The stalls were varied. Some carried mulled wines, some meats, and others carried wooden toys.
Children laughed in the background. In response, a wave of warmth rushed through him and with it, a hint of memory that he tried to push to the forefront, but he couldn’t quite grasp it.
His stomach growled, urging him forward toward the stalls. Food and drink may help his memory loss.
A flash of silver caught his attention before recognition dawned on him.
The figure floated through the peonies, and he forgot all about the market and his hunger, far too entranced by the beauty who had stolen his breath. He walked toward her, leaving the crowd behind.
Long-limbed and dressed in a simple black dress, the woman swayed silently to music only she could hear.
She moved with the grace of a trained dancer, every move designed to elicit desire and awe.
He couldn’t look away. Her silver hair hung in loose waves, reaching her waist, carelessly held together by a leather band and a delicate floral hairpiece.
The blood-red petals were a stark contrast to her hair and the only color she wore.
Khalida.
The wind caressed him, moving him forward, he reached out then stopped himself, not wanting to disturb the trance she was in.
As if she sensed him, she danced toward him, close enough that her warm breath filled his senses.
Grabbing his hand, she twirled around him, making him walk in a circle.
She swayed silently until the dusky hues of the sky darkened above the field.
The sounds of the market had long disappeared.
“Khalida.”
She laughed. The sound vibrated through him, sending a rush of warmth to his heart.
“Do you not remember me, my love?”
Stopping in front of her, he was hypnotized by her kohl-lined gaze, her eyes sparkling in the dying light. She reached out. Her hand caressed his face before she brushed her mouth against his.
“I do,” Talik answered. Her touch was so familiar and gentle, he never wanted this to stop.
“What do you desire most? What do you dream of?” she asked, her lips grazing his cheek. She pressed herself against him. “My beloved.”
Talik swallowed as she pulled back. Yellow wolf-like eyes gazed at him, full of wonder and lust and a hint of something else. Something he didn’t recognize.
“I can give you anything you want.”
The possibilities were endless, but something in the back of his mind was gnawing at him.
It was too neat and perfect. Talik had learned a long time ago that life was messy and chaotic, full of both pleasure and pain.
This was the opposite. It was like all his dreams, even the ones he had never acknowledged to himself, were coming true.
For him, the light was nothing without the darkness that surrounded it. This was far too easy.
“My beloved.”
Something was wrong—the voice was too sweet, too submissive, nothing like the real Khalida.
Even in his dreams, she had never been like this.
There was a tightness in his chest as he tried to sort through his thoughts—they weren’t making much sense.
A flash of a memory he couldn’t hold onto zipped across his mind, disappearing before he could decipher it.
He stared at the fields and the markets behind him, almost swept away by the sheer beauty. But where was he?
Unbelievable pain racked his body as he stumbled forward. Khalida moved to the side, watching him intently, like a predator stalking its prey. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. He looked at the mark on his wrist. It was a dull yellow.
He grabbed her wrists, turning her around so her back was to him, and he wouldn’t be tempted to ignore the warning signs he was getting. “What is my name?”
She looked at him over her shoulder, confusion flashing across her features as her eyes widened. Tears threatened to spill. “My beloved.”
Talik closed his eyes. It was a fucking dream.
No matter how much he wanted it, this wasn’t his life.
It wasn’t Khalida. There had never been this much innocence surrounding her, even when they had first met.
Khalida’s fighting spirit had been what had drawn him to her, the defiance that dripped from every word and action, as if she wanted the world to accept her as she was and not what they wanted her to be.
He had understood that desire like no one else could have.
The pretender in front of him didn’t hold a candle to the real Atlantean.
It was just a figment of his imagination.
This time, the memory slammed into him, making him suck in a breath.
Khalida’s eyes changed from yellow to reptilian green before they quickly changed back. But it was enough for him to know.
“Ninhursag, I assume,” he whispered. He pulled out one of the doppelg?nger’s hairpins, the sharp silver edge as deadly as any blade Khalida normally carried.
The thing had gotten that correct about Khalida—right down to her obsession with knives and the fact that everything she wore and owned could be used as a weapon.
This place wasn’t real, just a cage to entrap him and tempt him into giving up what he didn’t own—his soul.
It was already owned by someone else.
He held the knife at her throat and slowly dragged it across, pressing hard against her neck but unable to pierce her flesh. The god still looked like Khalida.
Ninhursag grabbed him by the neck, talons pressing into him as the hint of pain he had felt came back in full force.
He flew, petals thrown into the air as he hit the ground with a thud that vibrated through his body, before he rolled into a kneeling position. The knife was still in his hand. He licked his lips. The metallic taste of his blood tinged his mouth.
The world around them transformed.
Ninhursag stood over him, a sword at his throat.
Blood dripped down his neck, but he didn’t give her the benefit of reacting.
The dirt beneath him was warm. In his periphery, he could see the stone walls and the chains.
It was the dungeon in House Azaes—or how the dungeon had looked when he had been thrown in it the first time he had unofficially met Khalida.
He had spied her through the bars when she had taken over one of the guard’s shifts.
In this version, the dungeon was resplendent with the rats that used to scurry through the walls. ..goose bumps exploded over him.
He knew they were not real, but his body didn’t.
His mind conjured the old, forgotten memories—how the rats used to crawl over him at night, scurrying beneath his clothes as they searched for heat during the desert’s chilly nights.
The days and nights he had spent listening to them through the walls until all he had to do was close his eyes and be transported back to the dungeons.
He didn’t hate many things, but he despised rats.
And the Anki.
A little girl’s giggle flowed through the room. His heart thumped as the laughter grew louder until it was directly behind him. Soft and sweet.
Sidra.
He closed his eyes, willing the laughter to disappear.
Anything but that. The numbness that had taken centuries to develop threatened to fall down and disappear within a heartbeat.
The laugh was close enough that if he turned, he would see Sidra behind him, and he could not bear to watch the dream shatter again.
He refused to look, unsure if he would want to go back to reality if he laid eyes on his daughter.
The onslaught of guilt was never far away when he thought of her.
It was his fault that she had died, his fault that her genetics had been human and not Atlantean. There was no one else who could be blamed. And it was his fault that her death had torn Khalida apart.
“You could have anything you want?”
The question was in the tongue of his childhood, a dialect he hadn’t heard since he left his village and long before he’d realized he was Atlantean.
Ninhursag was still using Khalida’s voice. Talik forced himself to close his eyes before he slowly opened them. She hadn’t moved and still wore the face, body, and arrogance of Khalida.
He shook the chains. The metal bit into his skin, bruising him. Talik gulped and hoped this nightmare was going to end. “Who are you really?”
“Whatever you want me to be.”
“Is dead an option?”
Ninhursag laughed, but it sounded nothing like the real Khalida. This laughter rolled through him as if the god was searching for a weakness. Older than time itself, the laughter wanted to burrow itself into his flesh.
“Papa.”
His hold almost broke at the whispered words.
Ninhursag lowered herself to Talik, her eyes changing back to the reptilian green that had flashed before. The black slits dilated for a second.
It was the only warning he got.
Her touch was agonizing as her hand went through his chest, before she clenched his heart and squeezed it tightly.
Doubling over, he tried to breathe but couldn’t. Everything hurt. Black spots appeared behind his eyes as he wheezed. He forced his head back, ignoring the agony as he stared at her, refusing to back down and submit.
“Interesting. You would die first.” She squeezed harder. Tsk-tsking, her eyes changed back to yellow. She brushed her lips against his. “If you need me, say my name thrice, and I will give you anything you desire.” She released him.
He gasped as he held his chest. “But for a price,” he mustered, refusing to back down.
“It will be our little secret,” she continued, as if Talik hadn’t said a word. She looked up, a macabre smile slowly forming on her lips. She trailed a sharp talon along his cheek. “You wouldn’t want to be responsible for another loved one’s death, would you?”
Talik sucked in a breath and couldn’t stop himself from following her gaze, but he couldn’t see beyond the cold stone ceiling, only the gouges made on the sandstone walls from all those who had been imprisoned before him.
“You may become useful later.”