Song of the Forever Rains by E.J. Mellow

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The only thing in the following days that helped ease the ache of Zimri’s departure was the letter Larkyra received from her sisters. Sitting on the windowsill of the grand library—a converted watchtower, where a winding metal staircase rose from the middle and connected to various balconies of books—Larkyra read over the words that fought each other for prominence on the page.

MyOur dearest sister, I will warn you now this letter may be complicated, for Niya is standing over my shoulder, inked quill in hand, ready to—Let us not waste paper on cordial beginnings. Have you found anything yet? What is Lachlan like? Is there anything to entertain on such a waterlogged territory?—I am sorry for that nonsense, Lark. I will write quick to—We all know I have the best penmanship so should be—By the lost gods, be thankful you are safely away from this redheaded thorn. I have spelled my harp to grab hold of her, ensuring us some peace. All is quiet in Jabari, save for Niya’s usual antics. Father has set ears in every corner of the kingdom regarding our black leak. I hope your days have been fruitful. We anxiously await any news on your or Zimri’s end, mainly so we can soon be together again. Have you visited the surrounding towns? Perhaps there are those outside the castle who might know better of the things within. My darling girl, have you fallen asleep yet? Do not worry. I have safely distracted Arabessa from writing any more. She is too busy dancing out of the tangle her skirts have tied her in. I will close this letter quickly by saying this—you might be there for work, but please do find some fun along the way. Laughter will shun any dark you may turn up in your search.IWe love you dearly.

N +A +N

Larkyra couldn’t help but smile, rereading the letter. Her finger grazed over the indentations made by each quick swipe of her sisters’ quills. Have you found anything yet? No, nothing to write home about. With Clara’s constant guard-like company, Larkyra had explored the north wing, which mainly consisted of the sleeping quarters for guests—now reduced to one—and a large ballroom that was unsurprisingly kept closed and shrouded in white sheets. She’d been led on a tour through the music room and multiple sitting rooms—none that looked used—guided through halls lined with ancestral history of carved busts and more painted portraits, and piloted on a walk around the perimeter of the castle. All places in the open, meant to be displayed. The exact opposite of the tour Larkyra needed.

Perhaps there are those outside the castle who might know better of the things within.

Arabessa’s words danced across Larkyra’s mind as she stared out the library window at the rocky landscape that dropped into the surrounding lake.

“Clara!” Larkyra pressed one hand against the glass. “It has stopped raining.”

Clara looked up from where she sat across from her, mending a silk stocking. “So it has, my lady.”

“Well then.” Larkyra jumped from the sill. “Why are we still sitting here? Let us go for another walk.”

The air was crisp and misty, causing small droplets of water to cling to Larkyra’s deep-maroon cloak. Plucking at a low-hanging leaf, she made her way with Clara along a thick, overgrown path that led to the southern cliffs of the island.

While the castle jutted proudly from the island’s rocky peak, it was partially surrounded by a patch of dense forest. The beaten dirt path they traveled cut through the trees and was winding and rough and hardly suitable for one who didn’t enjoy hiking.

Luckily, Larkyra loved it. Her lady’s maid, however . . .

“Must we go this way, my lady?” breathed Clara heavily behind her. “And if so, must we do it so fast?”

Larkyra faced the girl, watching her gray-cloaked form teeter down a particularly muddy turn. “A little exercise and fresh air are good for the spirits, Clara. I bet you have already delayed your visit to the Fade.”

“Only if I survive this current journey, you mean, my lady,” grumbled Clara. But her muttering was cut off when an echoing screech from high above had her slipping. Larkyra grabbed Clara’s elbow to steady her. “By the Obasi Sea.” Clara peered up at the canopy of trees, where a patch of gray sky poked through. “What was that?”

Larkyra kept walking. “It sounded like a hawk.”

“A hawk?” Clara quickened her pace to reach Larkyra. “That sounded larger than a hawk.”

“Perhaps it’s a large hawk,” said Larkyra before all thought was dashed from her mind as they exited the forest and took in the view. A horizon of lakes and islands stretched before her, the blue gray of the waters reflecting the endless clouds above. She’d never seen anything so serene, so covered in nature, and she had seen many wonders in Aadilor.

A few more paces forward, and she hit the lip of the southern peninsula, where the edge dropped dramatically to the waters below. A few boulders peppered the cliffside, beckoning a brave soul to climb her way down to the slip of beach. Beyond the water, to the right, was the sprawling gray town on the mainland, which stretched up from lapping waves before it was cut off by another looming mountain covered in trees and wild brush, soaring up and up to the clouds. Larkyra made out a large stone fortification carved straight from the mountainside, the facade partially overgrown with ivy and moss. Eroding statues stood above the structure’s jutting balcony, but at this distance Larkyra could not make them out. The entire edifice looked like an old watchtower, lording over the boats coming and going from the port.

Larkyra closed her eyes for a moment, digesting the scene.

The fresh air filled her lungs as the wind whipped her cloak around her legs. At the rare sense of freedom, Larkyra’s magic sighed along with her. The only thing that could make this moment more perfect was a bit of sun.

“It can be beautiful,” said Clara, gazing toward the town in the distance, her features soft, wistful.

“Tell me”—Larkyra watched the silver hawk that wove in and out of view through the cloudy sky—“how long is Lachlan’s rainy season?”

Her lady’s maid let out a small snort. “Oh, I do apologize, my lady.” Clara covered her mouth. “It’s just that if this was a season, it would be a terribly long one.”

“What do you mean?”

“It has been raining for over a decade now.”

Larkyra blinked. “You mean to tell me there has been a storm every day for ten years?”

“We may have a handful of days where we experience a reprieve, and even fewer sunny skies, but rain is a constant.”

“How has everything not been washed away? Flooded?”

“You know”—Clara’s brows creased together—“no one has ever asked me that. I suppose the lakes help. No one truly knows their depths. And there are some that believe Lachlan was the lost gods’ watering hole. Waterfall Skies is what travelers have called it.”

“Waterfall Skies,” repeated Larkyra. “That makes it sound . . . less violent than it can be.”

Clara surprised them both with another laugh. “Oh, I do apologize again, my lady! You seem to have caught me in a rare mood.”

“What’s so funny?”

“It’s just that you have not been with us very long and already think it violent. I fear what you’ll say when the real waves crash in.”

“Oh dear.” Larkyra glanced over the waters again. “So do I.”

A wind picked up suddenly, and Larkyra wrapped her cloak more securely around her, letting out a shiver.

“Are you cold, my lady?”

“I am rather.”

“Shall we turn back?”

“Actually, would you be a dear and bring me another shawl?”

“Return to the castle?” Clara’s forehead crinkled. “And leave you here by yourself? I don’t think that wise, my lady. It will take some time for me to make my way to your rooms, and it’s getting late.”

“It is barely past lunch,” said Larkyra. “Surely we still have a few more sand falls of light left.”

Clara glanced behind them to the forest, to the castle’s stone towers that jutted above the canopy.

“I shan’t walk from this spot,” said Larkyra. “I promise. And I really would appreciate a moment.” She played with the clasp on her cloak. “You see, the reality of not being with my family is starting to hit, and I’d like a moment to gather myself, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“I’m sorry, my lady,” said Clara, empathy in her eyes. “It must be hard to travel such a distance from them. Are you close with your family?”

“My sisters are my best friends.”

Clara’s frown deepened. “Then I will leave you be, but as you promised, you will not walk from this spot?”

Larkyra placed a gloved hand to her heart. “Not a step.”

Seemingly satisfied, Clara nodded. “I will return as soon as I can.”

“Thank you.”

Watching Clara backtrack the way they’d come and disappear into the woods, Larkyra allowed a few more grains to fall, ensuring she was well out of viewing distance, before pushing back her hood and searching the overcast sky.

Though it appeared empty, she knew what hid in the clouds. Opening her mouth, she let out a shockingly accurate imitation of a hawk’s screech, her magic warm in her throat as it soared high with her voice.

A beat of only wind and waves.

And then—

Like a needle plunging through silk, a spark of silver pushed out of the mist with an echoing reply.

Kaipo flew toward her. His wingspan stretched four horses in length, his size growing, not only because of the open land but also to accommodate her request.

Lifting her arms on either side to form a T, Larkyra held steady as Kaipo hovered above her, his beating wings stirring wisps of her hair from its braids. Ever so gently, Kaipo’s talons wrapped around her biceps. In the next breath, Larkyra was no longer standing on the cliff’s edge but dangling in midair as she was lifted through the clouds, beyond the castle, which shrank with each flap of her friend’s wings. From this new vantage point, Larkyra could see a few other villages peppered along the surrounding lakes, but none were as large as Imell, the main town that curled around Lachlan Lake. Castle Island loomed from the center like a watchdog, Clara somewhere inside.

While Larkyra might have sworn to not walk from the cliff’s edge, she’d never said anything about flying. With a smile on her lips, Larkyra enjoyed the cool wind against her face as she let out another screech, one that was returned by Kaipo as he banked right, soaring toward her requested destination.

Kaipo dropped Larkyra on a stretch of exposed path on the mainland, one that wound its way down to Imell, and she patted his thick plumes in thanks before he pumped his massive wings, stirring the treetops, and shot up, disappearing once again into the sky.

With her hood pulled up, the deep maroon standing out against the wet greens and browns, Larkyra set off down the muddy road toward town. It had begun to lightly rain, and she wiped at the dew collecting on her cheeks, hoping it would remain just that—light.

Picking her way around the occasional exposed root or fallen pile of rocks, she studied her surroundings. Everything was overgrown. Ivy ran wild up sloping stone along with giant elephant-ear leaves, which acted as a canopy to a variety of other plants and flowers, purple pickerelweeds being one. They lined the road she walked, guiding her forward and bringing a nice spot of color to the two-toned land.

Besides the crunching and slopping of her boots against the ground and the gentle pattering of rain, it was a quiet journey and a rather lonely one.

Where are all the people?

Surely someone was traveling from the castle to town or vice versa.

Just as she was beginning to believe she was the only one left alive this side of the lake, a low rumble of voices flowed toward her. Quickening her pace, Larkyra turned a bend to find two men hovering over a merchant’s carriage on the side of the road. A rather large, gray-bearded bloke with a pasty complexion was holding the top of the iron wheel steady, his clothes damp and brushed with time, while the younger man, who had deep-copper-colored hair, was kneeling in the mud, back muscles straining as he worked a wrench to tighten a bolt.

“There.” The man on the ground sat back on his heels, throwing his tool into a wooden box beside him. “That should keep it together until you get to Imell. You must see Mr. Bergan as soon as you do, though. The lost gods know I’m no chaisemaker.”

“Aye.” The older gentleman nodded, shaking hands with the younger as he stood. “I am forever grateful. I would have been forced to abandon her to fetch my son if you hadn’t come along, my back not being what it was.”

“No need for your thanks, Henry. I’m happy to help.”

“Aye, we know, sir, but we all still be thankful when you give it.”

Larkyra stepped on a fallen twig, and the snap echoed in the cool air; the men glanced her way.

Her breath held. Sticks, she thought as Henry’s bushy brows rose into his hairline, taking her in, while the tall form beside him narrowed his eyes.

“Are you lost, ma’am?” asked Henry.

“Lost her mind, perhaps,” said Lord Mekenna, wiping his dirt-splattered hands on his even-dirtier trousers.

The movement drew Larkyra to study the rest of him. The impeccable outfit he usually wore was clearly gone, as he stood in a simple off-white cotton shirt and brown breeches. The material of his top was so worn that it was practically transparent, while his leather boots were slopped with mud. He looked positively feral.

Oh my.

Despite the cool air, Larkyra grew rather warm and, surprisingly, a bit flustered.

“What are you doing outside the castle, Lady Larkyra?” asked Lord Mekenna, watching her from beside the carriage.

She raised a brow at his tone, her fluster turning annoyed. “I did not realize I was meant to be chained within its walls,” she countered, walking forward before turning to Henry. “I do apologize for the misplaced manners of our common acquaintance. But as he appears incapable of a proper introduction”—she extended her hand—“I am Larkyra Bassette, a guest at the Lachlan estate.”

Henry looked from her gloved hand, the green velvet clean and smooth compared to the state of both men’s, to Lord Mekenna.

“You can shake it,” she encouraged. “I only bite if I’m not served dessert.”

“Henry Alton, my lady.” He took her delicate fingers into his sausage ones.

“Please, call me by my given name, Larkyra. Standing on such formality wastes breath that could be used for better conversational topics; don’t you agree, Henry?”

“I . . .” The old man looked to Lord Mekenna again, who was rubbing his lips together, watching her skeptically.

“Precisely.” She charged on. “Now, I see you were having a problem with your wheel?”

“Uh, yes, my lady—”

“Larkyra.”

The man’s throat bobbed a swallow. “Larkyra.”

“Very good.” She smiled. “It was kind of Lord Mekenna—” She glanced his way. “Or can I now call you Darius since we are throwing away such stuffy convention?”

She didn’t wait for his response. Larkyra’s entire life was about control, remaining steady of heart for the sake of her magic, so when it came to the trivialness of social formalities, she could not bear it. And she had a feeling Darius needed any chance to loosen up as badly as she did.

“Perfect,” she went on. “So while it was kind of Darius to retighten your wheel, what this Mr. Bergan will tell you, or”—she lowered her voice in confidence—“perhaps not, if he’s a swindler type”—she winked at Henry, and he smiled—“is that you need to have all your spokes replaced, not just the one that recently broke.”

“How did you know one recently broke?” asked Henry.

“This one here.” She pointed. “It’s slightly thinner than the rest, not to mention a different type of wood. It’s throwing off the distribution of weight and straining your wheel bearings. It’ll be a pricier fix but an investment in the end, for you won’t get, quite literally, stuck in the mud as often.”

Both men were silent at that before Henry chuckled, the sound warm and well practiced. “Well, I’ll be,” he said, slapping the top of his wheel. “That makes sense. This old girl’s been having one bad turn after another since my son splintered her spoke on his way home from trading. Thank you, Larkyra.”

“You’re very welcome.” She grinned. “If you’d like, I’d be happy to ride into town with you and visit this Mr. Bergan. Make sure he’s giving you the right price.”

“I’m afraid I’ll be requesting your company back to the castle,” said Darius, cutting off Henry’s response, his green eyes holding her still. “And I’m sure Henry has a few other things he must take care of before he makes it to the chaisemaker’s.”

“But you just instructed he go straight there when he returns,” countered Larkyra.

“Aye, you did, sir.”

“Well then, what are you waiting for? Up you go, Henry.” Darius practically lifted the old man onto the driver’s seat, his sudden weight arousing his donkey from munching idly on leaves. “Get that wheel fixed, and I’ll come to check on you during my next visit.” He slapped the donkey on the rear, and with a squeal it pulled the cart forward and away.

“That was awfully rude,” said Larkyra, watching Henry’s silhouette disappear down the sloping road. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

“What are you doing here?” Darius spun her toward him.

Larkyra glanced to his grip on her arm, the warmth of his touch almost instantaneously seeping through her cloak. Her magic fluttered along with her heart.

Darius followed her gaze, and in the next moment his touch was gone.

“I wanted to go for a walk,” explained Larkyra after she’d taken another moment to steady herself.

“A walk?”

“Yes, you know, placing one foot in front of the other at a leisurely pace. Some say it’s good for your health.”

“But how did you find yourself walking here? How did you get off the island?”

That question again,thought Larkyra, drawing her brows together. “Am I not allowed to leave the island?”

“No. I mean, yes, you are. What I mean is—” Darius cut himself off, frowning as he peered up the road behind her. “Where is your chaperone?”

“You have a lot of questions this afternoon, my lord. So different from your muted performance the other day at tea.”

His gaze traveled back to hers. “I thought it was Darius now.”

That made her smile. “Indeed, Darius, it is.”

They held each other’s gazes, the low drumming of rain wrapping them in a quiet bubble. Beneath the wet silver skies, Darius’s hair had faded to a burnt umber, while his freckles stood out starkly, running along his cheeks and nose. A light steam lifted from his skin through his shirt, mixing with the cool air. Larkyra’s hand twitched at her side, wanting to remove her gloves and feel for herself the heat he held within.

“I had nothing of value to add to the conversation that morning,” Darius eventually said.

“Then it is perfect we found each other. For you can prove that you do have things of importance to say as we walk to town.”

“We are not going to town.”

“You may not, but that is precisely my destination.”

“Not anymore.”

“Goodness.” Larkyra drew back. “Are you always so demanding?”

“Only when it rains.” Darius snatched up an empty satchel that lay on the ground, throwing it over his shoulder.

A surprised bubble of elation shot through her. “Did you just make a joke?”

“And if I did?” he asked, making his way up the tree-lined path, in the direction Larkyra had just come.

“Then I’d be delighted,” she said, following. “I was beginning to fear the man I danced with at my Eumar Journé, who laughed and joked, was a figment of my imagination.”

Darius didn’t respond, merely kept walking, his gaze on the road ahead.

But Larkyra was determined. Now seeing a small crack in his austere mask, she had a very strong desire to bring out the man she knew was somewhere underneath, the one she had met on the Jabari streets, the one she had found here with Henry before she had made herself known, the Darius that was gentle and kind and shared smiles.

Why could he be so open and friendly to those below his station, yet wound so tight around his peers? Larkyra kept herself from pausing midstride as the realization hit her. He does not trust us, she thought. Something about us must threaten him.

Lies and I are well acquainted.

Darius’s earlier words flipped over in her memory, the ones he had shared when Larkyra had been nothing but a street urchin.

Lies,she thought again, gaze slipping to Darius. His stepfather had many, and it was obvious he feared him. Is this what caused Darius to close up around others of his station?

“Darius,” she began. “I hope you know we can be friends. I am not here to cause you any annoyances.”

“If that were true,” said Darius, still not looking her way, “then you would not have accepted the invitation to come here to begin with.”

It was as though he had punched her in the gut.

Larkyra stopped walking, and Darius glanced to her over his shoulder. His knitted brow softened at whatever he saw play on her features. A resigned sigh filtered from his lips.

“I apologize,” he said, returning to her side. “I did not mean that—”

“You did.”

He shook his head. “No—”

“Yes,” insisted Larkyra. “You did. And though it hurt, I am at least content that you spoke your truth.”

He frowned. “You are?”

Larkyra nodded. “Yes. Too often people of our station hide what is really on their mind. My family and I are not among them. Life is too short to not say what we mean.”

Darius blinked down at her. “Yes,” he agreed. “I have often thought the same. Though . . . I admit I fail in practicing it myself.”

“I’d be happy to help you exercise the art.” Larkyra smiled hesitantly and was rewarded when Darius returned it with a grin.

“I’d like that.”

Larkyra’s magic preened, encouraged.

“Shall we start now?” she suggested. “Ask me a question, and I will do my best to answer plainly. But you must agree to answer one of mine as well.”

Darius seemed to think on this, running his hands through his hair, wiping away the droplets of water that clung to their red ends. “Very well. How did you know so much about Henry’s wheel?”

“My father has business in many parts of Aadilor,” answered Larkyra. “And instead of leaving his daughters for long periods of time, he would take us with him. A broken carriage wheel is only one of the things we learned to fix on our journeys.”

“But surely your driver would be equipped to mend it?”

“Who do you think taught us?” She laughed. “My father believes a well-educated mind expands beyond things found in tomes or learned from governesses. He has always wanted his daughters to be well prepared for all things the world puts in our path.”

“Like an ambush from bandits?” Darius’s clever eyes met hers once more.

“Men such as those do not only dwell in quiet country lanes.”

“So you have found the need to protect yourself before?”

“Ah, ah.” She smiled. “You’ve asked three questions that I have answered. Now it is my turn.”

Their footsteps slopped on the wet ground as the rain began to pick up.

“Go on then.”

“What were you doing in the village?”

Darius shifted the satchel onto his other shoulder, and Larkyra tried very hard not to notice the way his muscles pressed against his shirt.

“I was helping the tenant fishers clean the underside of their boats.”

“Do you help them with that often?”

“Yes.”

“That is kind of you,” she said, her heart warming. It was more than apparent he cared for his people. It was rare to find those of his and her station that treated the lower classes with any civility, though they most assuredly deserved it.

“It is the least I can do for how much they have given to my family and our land,” said Darius. “I cannot rest easy in my comforts knowing they are not well in theirs.”

“Does the duke know you come to Imell for this purpose? Does he ever help them as well?”

Darius’s posture stiffened, his window of openness suddenly slamming shut at the mention of his stepfather. “He does not,” he said. “And I would appreciate if it were not mentioned to him.”

Larkyra studied him, this lord who dressed as a commoner and hid the charity he bestowed upon his people like a dirty secret. How much the two of them shared, but regarding this topic, Larkyra would never be able to speak of it.

“Of course,” she said. “And I would also appreciate my . . . exploring the larger grounds kept between us.”

Darius slowed his pace as they came to a fork in the lane. “Then let us agree that what happened today will be forgotten.”

Larkyra watched him for a moment, a strange sadness seeping into her heart as he stood so alone and poised even in his dirt-speckled clothes. “As you wish,” she agreed.

With an appreciative nod, Darius stepped past her, drawing back branches to their right, revealing another path. A slippery stairwell carved into the rocky landscape led down through a tangle of greenery.

“Through here,” he said, turning to hold out a steadying hand to help her descend.

She slid her gloved fingers into his, and the contact sent notes of a new song racing through her heart. “Thank you,” she managed to breathe out.

Another nod before he let go.

Descending to the bottom in silence, Larkyra took in the small, pebbled beach and the rowboat that had been pushed ashore. Castle Island loomed across the lake’s waters, while the long, narrow bridge that connected it to the mainland stood in the distance. Mist and clouds blocked sections from view, and a line of black birds flew overhead, the gentle rain falling in an exhausted hum.

“This way,” said Darius as he strode to the small boat, throwing his sack inside.

Gathering up her soggy skirts and cloak, Larkyra situated herself on the far bench as Darius shoved them into the water and jumped inside.

He guided them forward, the lake rippling with each row of the oars. He seemed at ease in this moment, in his body, the wild forest and placid lake as his backdrop. Anyone who cared to notice would see who was the true master of this land.

“Do you get these from cleaning the boats?” She leaned forward to brush a finger along his forearm, tracing a raised slash of a scar that peeked from beneath his shifted shirtsleeve.

Darius drew back, nearly losing his grip on the oars.

“Oh.” Larkyra sat straight. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” he said, jaw tight as he paused his rowing to push his sleeve back down, covering the marking. “I just . . . I don’t like to be touched . . . there.”

Sensing the energy between them shifting, a crackle of discomfort, Larkyra forced down the questions rising in her throat. She was here to play the long game, after all. Whatever secrets were edging free, even she—a Bassette with insatiable curiosity—knew they would only retreat further if pressed upon.

So Larkyra kept silent while Darius rowed them to a tiny dock nestled between two mossy boulders on the shore of Castle Island, where another boat was moored. More winding carved-stone stairs led up and away to the estate.

Holding on to a post, Darius steadied the boat, allowing her to step out.

“Larkyra.”

A shiver ran across her skin as her name rumbled from his lips, and she turned.

He remained sitting in the boat, his red hair bright against the desaturated world, green eyes hooked to hers. “If you ever feel the need to leave without being seen”—he nodded to the secluded path behind her—“this is the way.”

Before she could answer or ask why she might need to know such a route, he pushed off the dock, his boat floating back into the misty waters as he rowed.

Away, away, away.

Fading from view, as if keeping his promise.

That today had never happened.