Song of the Forever Rains by E.J. Mellow
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The moon was a knife-thin slice of white in the night sky as Darius silently maneuvered the small boat under a hanging canopy of branches. The rain had let up again, as it always did with Hayzar’s departures, allowing the buzz of insects to awaken, serenading the lake as its waters lapped back and forth along the bank of the mainland. The brown leather mask Darius wore was hot against his skin, but it was a welcome embrace against the chilled air.
Two days had passed since Larkyra had come upon him in his stepfather’s wing, and in that time, he’d managed to avoid her completely.
I’d like to be your friend, Darius.
Her words floated around him again, along with his memory of her. She had looked like one of the lost gods returned, softly coming into focus as she’d walked down the shadowed hall, traces of her thin nightgown floating under her robe and her white hair shining in the candlelight. Even then, he’d felt her vibration of energy, of sun-soaked life, that contrasted with her dark surroundings. He had thought he might have dreamed her up, until she’d spoken again.
Darius had hated how quickly his heart had beaten in that moment, seeing her there. How it had turned to an aching twist when she’d said his name, the sound like a soft song from her lips.
I’d like to be your friend, Darius.
What had he been thinking, confiding in her about his parents, his mother?
But then he thought about her finger and how much Larkyra had revealed in turn. They had more in common than he would like to admit. Both motherless, with scars hidden beneath their fine clothes. He had wanted to pull up his shirtsleeves then, erase her blush of embarrassment by showing that she was not alone in her painful secrets.
And meanwhile, Larkyra, the spoiled, shallow girl . . . well, that version of her was quickly falling to ash at his feet.
Which was dangerous.
It was leading to other feelings he dared not explore.
The only way he could survive this ridiculous courtship between her and his stepfather was to be around as little as possible. Once they married, if they did, there would be more than enough to take him from the island. Things far more important than his own desires or suffering.
But by the Obasi Sea, Larkyra as his stepmother? Insanity.
After gliding soundlessly into Imell’s harbor, Darius knotted his boat to his usual peg, which was bolted into the back of a shop standing just at the lake’s rocky edge. With a low grunt, he lifted the heavy sack onto his shoulder. The parcels inside thudded and clanked as he climbed the ladder attached to the small dock. It was at the end of an alley nestled between two buildings. This late at night Imell was subdued, its streets empty, save for a few stray dogs and a beggar sleeping by empty fishing crates. Digging into his satchel, Darius placed a wrapped slice of bread by the rag-wrapped man before following the darker shadows to his destination.
He did his best to keep out of the flickering lamps that lit the cobbled streets. The lake was visible from the square, where all merchant booths were locked until the morrow; the few items they’d managed to obtain would remain another day unsold, as travelers with heavy purses were growing rarer by the weeks.
After cutting through the market, Darius stepped back into the open, passing through the harbor, where the boats along the docks swayed rhythmically, their sails lowered and tied down like children put to bed.
A few men and women stood watch over the pier, smoking pipes that flashed orange in the night as they huddled together, low voices murmuring over a bin of dying coals. If any saw him, they did not make it known, for he might appear a bandit in the night, with his mask and black hooded cloak pulled up, but his presence here was a familiar one. He made his way toward a small ship at the end of the farthest dock; the warped wooden slats groaned beneath his boots. An older woman sat by the plank leading to the boat. She watched him approach, her form lost in a thick wrapping of threadbare coats. They nodded at one another, no words needed, as he made his way aboard. The ship appeared abandoned, much of it in disrepair, the rigging of the mast frayed, the mainsail down as if in the midst of mending, and Darius gritted his teeth against the frustration that rose in his throat at the sight.
Lachlan was a land of proud fishermen, producing generations of the best sailors short of the Obasi Sea’s pirates; seeing it reduced to such dilapidation was a cause for constant madness.
Darius descended into the hull of the ship, squeezing through the narrow hallway to the back cabin. Here he was met with a warm yellow glow cast by a lantern on a table, where an older man sat. His black cap was pressed down over gray, curly hair and a thick beard, his heavy knitted sweater peppered with holes at the shoulders and elbows, while his pale, wind-chapped hands scribbled notes upon a sheet of parchment. A younger man, around Darius’s age, sat beside him; he had brown skin and a clean-shaven face, and his black hair was braided in rows that were gathered into a low knot. He danced a copper coin between his knuckles but, as he caught sight of Darius approaching, swiped it from view.
“I was wondering if you’d show tonight,” the older man said, not looking up from his writing.
“Who’s your guest?” Darius remained in the doorframe.
“Xavier, my nephew. I thought it best to educate someone else in all this.” He waved a hand at their surroundings, at the few bags and boxes that were stacked against the cabin’s walls. “For insurance reasons.”
“That wasn’t necessary, Alastair.”
The fisherman glanced up at Darius then, a tired grin inching across his hardened features. “Of course not. Just as your mask is not necessary.”
The two quietly observed one another until Alastair let out a soft, amused breath and slid the lantern to the side. “Come. Let’s see what you’ve brought us this time.”
Darius dropped his bag onto the table. “I’m afraid it isn’t much.”
“Anything’s more than what we currently have.”
The truth of this hit Darius low in his gut.
“I’ve managed some parcels of food to split among those who need it most.” He pulled out loaves of bread, a side of smoked ham, and an armful of produce.
“Is that cheese?” Xavier picked up the wax-wrapped package, his eyes dilating with hunger. “How’d you manage that?”
Alastair snatched the food from his nephew. “First rule,” he said gruffly. “You don’t be asking questions of how anything got anywhere, you hear?”
The young man shrank back. “Sorry, Uncle.”
“But it is a sight for sore eyes.” Alastair sniffed the cheese longingly before setting it aside.
“He’s planning a dinner,” said Darius as he finished emptying his bag. “Enough is being brought in from other counties that this won’t be missed.”
“A dinner, eh?” Alastair scratched his beard. “How lucky for him and his new guest.”
The mention of Larkyra drew Darius’s attention to the old man’s brown gaze. “What do you know of his guest?”
“Enough to say that she’s used to the better side of life. He’ll need all the nectar he can muster to draw in that pretty bee.”
Darius held in a curse. Damn Henry and small-town gossip.
“Tell me,” said Alistair. “You think we’ll soon be getting a new duchess?”
Darius’s grip tightened around his satchel. “Careful,” he warned, his voice edging a growl. “You should listen to the advice you give your nephew about speaking out of turn.”
Xavier shifted, as if preparing to protect his uncle, while the old man raised his hands, placating. “I mean no disrespect.”
“It seems you do.”
“Never. I, more than most, remember our late duke and duchess and all they did for these lands. I’m merely trying to prepare our people for what our future may bring.”
Though Darius had been no older than a babe at the time, it was never pleasant to think of his father’s fatal riding accident or what Lachlan had been before his mother had eventually remarried. Before he’d been forced to watch, a still-helpless child, as she’d become sick and then sicker, her life seeping away, just as Lachlan’s had upon each of his parents’ deaths.
“Then prepare for the upcoming tax.” Darius threw the last bag onto the table, the coins inside landing with a heavy thunk. “I could only postpone it for so long, but this should help break even.”
Alastair drew up the pouch, the silver inside reflecting the lantern’s light. “Not that we’re not grateful,” he said, “but this will not work forever.”
“I know,” said Darius, slumping onto a nearby barrel. By the lost gods, how I know.
“They say the plans for the mining are to start in the next week. Though Henry says you’re working on pushing those too.”
“Trying,” admitted Darius. “The duke is set on wanting to see profits as soon as the beginning of next season.”
Alistair snorted. “And how does he expect starved men and women to be strong enough to lift an ax? Let alone enough times to break any proper ground?”
“I suspect that he doesn’t care how anything is to get done, so long as it does,” said Darius, well aware of the bitterness in his tone.
“What should I tell our people, then?” asked Alistair. “They fade by the day; I do not know how they will be able to—”
“I’m working on it.” Darius cut the man off, his constant frustration rising. He felt like he was working on everything these days. Helping his people. Hiding his help from the duke. Avoiding Larkyra. Navigating how her presence was a possible future threat. And then his growing feelings . . . No. He stopped the thoughts.
“Aye, we know,” said Alistair, reading the new tension in the room. “But I fear with things continuing as they are, and you keep coming here, he’ll soon find out what—”
“That is for me to worry about.” Darius stood, draping the now-empty bag over his shoulder.
“You needn’t do this alone.”
Alone.
But alone was all he knew.
“Divide what I’ve brought,” instructed Darius. “I will come again soon.”
He strode from the ship’s closely confined quarters, breathing easier once he stepped into the cool night. He wanted to rip his mask off, to feel the air against his skin, but he held steady as he gazed out at the tranquil waters of the lake, working his shoulder muscles loose. An angry flash of lightning cracked across the sky. The castle became illuminated in the distance, the sharp points of the keep silhouetted in the dark, before the flash was followed by a deep rumble of thunder. And then another.
In his next breath, the clouds broke apart and let loose a torrent.
Darius froze, not caring that he was being drenched through every layer, for in that moment his blood ran cold, even as that familiar fury boiled in his chest.
A sudden storm like this meant only one thing.
His stepfather had returned.