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‘We were warned of a traitor, but I must admit I thought it’d be more in the form of a spy, trading secrets,’ Kione admitted, his voice laced with regret. ‘Never imagined she’d use kätu to direct one of ours to attack their own men.’
‘But we were wrong,’ Kaxim added, his words hoarse with frustration. ‘Our enemies are getting bolder. They lurk within our ranks, sowing chaos and terror.’
The group shifted with unease, the weight of the burly warrior’s words settling with heaviness.
The reality of the situation began to sink in, and they were facing ruthless and cunning adversaries.
‘What happens next?’ Kione asked.
Killen took an inhale, an unholy rage flickering in his eyes. ‘We prepare for the unseen,’ he rasped. ‘For whether we like it or not, the enemy draws near.’
The King’s First Armourer jerked his chin. ‘If what you say is true, we cannot waste time. Each moment brings us closer to more bloodshed.’
A murmur of agreement rippled through the small group.
‘Kalila, Kultur, and the arokí are also becoming brazen and far more sinister now than ever,’ Kesia added.
‘Fokk, I’m sick of the never-ending scrimmage,’ Kaxim snarled. His voice was bitter, and his gaze hardened with the burden of past experiences.
‘Why are we like this?’ Kione growled.
Killen sighed. ‘Because we, for so long, Katáne entertained, toyed with, and was even proud of the terrible concept of embracing a marauding, bloodthirsty identity. Now that the cancer is turning inward, it is shaking its planet to its core, bringing it to its knees. Is it not?’
‘’Tis,’ Kaxim said with weariness.
‘Your previous kings lost paradise and left you with an abyss.’ Killen’s voice rumbled, his timbre deepened by the gravity of the shadowed predicament that hung in the air like a thick fog. ‘The only way forward is to rid the place of this cancer. To do that, we have to incise it. We must unearth the source of this evil and cut it out.’
Just then, a fierce wind whipped through the kambí.
Killen’s head cocked, and his eyes flew to the gossamer cloud skies above.
‘What?’ Kaxim asked, approaching his friend.
‘Not sure. Yet,’ the Král-In-Waiting rumbled. ‘But Sana’a needs me.’
Chapter 30
At midnight, Kos was hushed, its obsidian architecture so dark it disappeared into the landscape.
Only the trails of golden íkan and a string of glinting lights from its street lamps, kantinas, and eyries remained, which appeared to be floating midair.
The clouds above were like delicate lace veils, kissed by the moon’s silver light and lined with threads of pure starlight.
Sana’a’s eyes flicked over the strange and beautiful view of the high-roosted residences of the city.
She perched like a sentinel overseeing the metropolis from the rocky outcrop she was crouched against, halfway up a hill looking down on the garden of a magnificent eyrie.
Her mark had not yet emerged from its depths.
So she waited in silence, the only sound the distant chirping of crickets and the occasional snap of a twig beneath some nocturnal creature’s claw.
She shifted, uncomfortable, thighs burning from crouching for so long, but it was a price she was willing to pay, for time was of the essence.
She’d been waiting, watching, and chewing on some of Killen’s klaw for hours while keeping a distance, wary of the boundary curse surrounding the eyrie. Kamilla had warned her of the vines that ringed each homestead and looped around their sponsor’s eyries, except at their primary entrances.
They were mostly evident, strung between tree branches. Others ran them ostentatiously along the ground.
In Kos, the arokí hung them three feet above the surface. Diviners across the obsidian city ensured their tendrils touched a row of ritually prepared sculpted sab?rs, linking and reinforcing their initial power.
