Song of the Forever Rains by E.J. Mellow
CHAPTER TWENTY
Larkyra sat in the library, fuming. And not because for the past three days Clara had refused to take a walk with her, forcing them to remain cooped up indoors. Really, are the reports of ice rain, rockfalls, and mudslides so horrible? Nor was it because she had not seen the now Lord Mekenna since the morning they had gotten into the spat on her balcony. He was doing a fine job keeping to his dusty wing, while she was left to sip tea, eat meals, and continue her charade with the oozing duke. Not that she wanted Darius there, of course. Despite having gotten away with healing the young lord, she thought it in everyone’s best interest if he avoided his stepfather’s company.
No, what truly filled her with anger was the letter she gripped in her hands.
Kaipo had delivered it that morning, his silver wings glistening with beads of rain as he’d shrunk in size, allowing Larkyra to bring him into her chambers to warm himself by the fire as she’d loosened the small leather case around his leg. She had read it immediately, of course, before Clara had come to dress her, and again after breakfast, then two more times as they’d strolled to the circular library, where Larkyra had thrown herself onto a cushioned windowsill to sulk.
“You’ll sprout wrinkles too early with such a frown, my lady.” Clara sat in a nearby armchair, embroidering a handkerchief. “Surely the news can’t be that horrid.”
“It is exactly that horrid.” Larkyra crossed her arms, glaring out the window.
The note wasn’t very long, considering how many pages the last one she’d sent had been.
In fact, her father had written only five lines.
My Dearest Songbird,
That is a dark business regarding Lord M, but I must insist you still refrain from singing. Unless you yourself are harmed, all else must play out. Patience. Continue your search. Z and I are close to finding what we seek. Your sisters and I miss you.
Love, your father
He might as well have written nothing at all. Refrain from singing. Well, that would show him for sending such a sparse letter. She wasn’t sorry in the least for using her magic. Lord Mekenna’s vicious scars still swam before her whenever she lay in bed to sleep, the shadows on her walls seeming to mimic their slashes. Did he still see them? Still fear their presence as he woke each morning?
Maybe her father was right. Maybe she shouldn’t have interfered . . .
But then again, hadn’t she been here to do exactly that?
She glanced at the letter once more.
Continue your search.
Larkyra snorted. Hadn’t Dolion read what all her late-night snooping had brought? Besides a detailed description of the empty canisters of phorria in Hayzar’s bedchamber, she only had news of two servants carrying on an affair, a footman who overindulged in spirits, and someone stealing food from the pantry on the regular—to displeased grunts and moans from the cook.
While her father and Zimri and no doubt her sisters were out having some grand adventure, searching for whomever was brave or stupid enough to leak the drug from the Thief Kingdom, she was stuck running around a castle that housed an abusive lunatic—and nothing more. Sure, there were secret passages here and there, as any old estate would have, but all seemed to be used by servants, helping them move from the bowels of the castle to their positions around the estate. If there was an ancient family vault, it was beyond discovery.
Larkyra stared out the window again, at the rain drumming against the pane.
Or perhaps it isn’t even on this cursed island.
“Oh!” Larkyra sat up.
“What is it, my lady?”
“Perhaps it’s not.”
Clara frowned. “Perhaps what is not, my lady?”
Larkyra pressed closer to the glass, practically smooshing her nose against the surface. “Clara, what are those ruins up there?” She pointed to the large stone facade that sat beyond a veil of mist, carved out of the mountain on the mainland. The forest had crept and grown over most of it, but it still towered proudly over the town and lake below. It was the same fortification she had noticed her first week here, but she had written it off as an old watchtower of sorts, some relic of Lachlan’s forgotten history.
“I believe that was the original home of the founding Mekenna family, before this castle was built and they moved off the mainland.”
“Does anyone live there now?”
“Oh no. It’s been abandoned for centuries.”
“Have you ever been inside?”
Clara guffawed. “Not if I wanted to keep myself on this side of the Fade. Only fools would enter willingly, especially with nothing but ghosts lighting those halls.”
“Ghosts?”
Clara looked about the quiet library before leaning closer to Larkyra. “I’ve heard whispers that on some nights, a torchlight can be seen on the balcony.”
“Maybe it’s someone passing through who’s forced to spend a night there to save themselves from the heavy rain.”
“Maybe, but then why doesn’t anyone eventually see them in town or on the roads? Strangers passing never go unnoticed. Nah.” Clara shook her head, returning to her embroidery. “I believe something else is at work up there, my lady. Lachlan may no longer carry what the lost gods left, but it keeps its own mysteries.”
“And curses?”
Clara caught Larkyra’s gaze. “Aye, those too.”
Larkyra looked out the window, considering the old ruin.
Continue your search,her father had written.
Well,Larkyra thought, continue my search I shall.
Larkyra pulled her shadow-stealing cloak more securely around her. Underneath, her leather tunic sat snug and warm against her skin, and her favorite fitted black trousers gave ease to her strides. They were the same ones that had been given to each of the Bassette daughters when their father had taken them out to teach the art of sleight of hand. Only men were allowed inside the Jabari establishments they’d visited, where chance, luck, and a gamble were one and the same. That night the girls had become boys and quickly learned how different life could be. Larkyra grinned at the memory of their fat pockets as they’d left.
It was a full sand fall past midnight, and Larkyra had once again slipped from her rooms. Her late mornings might come across as a rich girl’s vice, but it was better to be thought of as lazy than to reveal what truly kept her up at night.
The winding stairs that led down to the castle’s side entrance were damp, as most things in Lachlan were. Stalling at the bottom, Larkyra looked down the long stretch of hall before her, the only light coming from a crack of dim moonlight streaming in from a single door sitting ajar at the end. She was on her way to Darius’s hidden dock, and she prayed to the lost gods that a boat would be there.
The air was cool in her lungs as she stepped into the night, the rain a mere misting hiss. She made her way down the rocky descent and grinned upon seeing a small boat tied up, lapping waves pushing it against the dock.
Thunk thunk thunk.
It was a drumbeat, muffling her footsteps.
Settling herself inside, Larkyra untied the rope and set about rowing. She was no sailor, and her strokes were nothing like Lord Mekenna’s strong pulls, but after a few sweeps, she got into a somewhat productive rhythm.
If my sisters could see me now.
Niya would surely be impressed, Arabessa proud.
At the thought of her sisters, a knot formed in Larkyra’s chest. By the lost gods, how I miss them, she thought. The only thing in the way of their reunion was her finding this blasted vault!
Larkyra’s strokes strengthened. She would find it tonight.
She must.
Her boat bumped up against the mainland, and after hopping out, she pulled it ashore with a grunt. The torchlight emanating from Castle Island glowed behind Larkyra like a warning as she made her way down the length of the pebbled beach, not stopping until she came across a large section covered in flat bramble and branches. The wood was charred and black; lightning had struck here, and the air felt alive, energy dancing unseen. It was perfect.
Larkyra let out a hawk’s screech, then another. A thumping gust of wind pushed down from above, and she held out her arms, allowing large talons to wrap around them and carry her up and away with a whoosh.
“Hello, Kaipo,” she called to the bird, his enormous silver wings reflecting the cloudy moonlight.
He shrieked his greeting, and wind whipped her face as she studied the land spread out below. She hadn’t been too far off from her destination, and with another screech, Kaipo banked left, swooping over the sleeping village of Imell.
It would have caused too much of a stir to have the mutati hawk come to her balcony, given that he needed to be a giant tonight. And traipsing through the woods to the bluff at this hour seemed riddled with too many unwanted possibilities. The safest bet, thought Larkyra, had been to first get off Castle Island.
As seemed to be the rule with most things.
Kaipo pumped his massive wings, skimming over the treetops before climbing up, up, and up along the mountain’s edge, bringing Larkyra face to face with the Mekennas’ ancient home.
Even with most of it obscured by the darkness and creeping nature, Larkyra could still make out its once-majestic architecture. Three tall windows stretched down to the balcony. Beautiful rosette etchings and a waved insignia snaked along the border of the broken-tiled terrace floor. Fallen branches and leaves peppered the space. Larkyra looked for a safe spot to land.
“Thank you, old friend,” she whispered to Kaipo as he gently set her down before shrinking to a size where he could rest on her leather-clad shoulder.
Larkyra shook out her cape, wiping the rain from her face and braided hair as she stared into the darkness within the keep. Any wooden door had long since rotted away, leaving only a gaping opening, a portal to another time. Not even a glimmer of a corridor or edge of a hall could be seen from where she stood, and Larkyra wondered how deep this mountainous home ran. How many hidden entrances led inside that did not start here? And who else might know their placement?
Taking out a stone from her pocket, the size fitting perfectly in the palm of her hand, Larkyra whispered a melodic command: “Shine light; give me sight.” The rock flared white, feeling her magic, before settling into a soft glow.
Raising it up, she took in a calming breath. “Remember, Kaipo,” she said, “there are no such things as ghosts. Only spirits, and they all rest in the Fade.”
The hawk snapped his beak in agreement, securing his grip on her shoulder. With a final glance behind them at the view of a thousand lakes lit by a single cloud-covered moon, Larkyra left the Lachlan of the present to enter another, painted in the blackness of an unknown past.