Song of the Forever Rains by E.J. Mellow

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Darius stared at the reflection in his looking glass, at the thin red slash on his cheek.

Below, his bare chest was still smooth save for a few remaining scars, making the new mark stand out in a way he’d never thought a cut on his body could.

Last night had been a disaster.

He’d barely made his drop with Alistair before needing to head back to the castle.

As he’d rowed to the hidden dock and noticed the other boat was missing, he’d glanced up at the looming castle. Darius both dreaded and hoped it still housed their guest. Larkyra would have been smart to pack and leave before first light. That would have put him in quite a bit of trouble, of course, as he’d most likely be blamed for her quick and unannounced departure. But only a brave soul would remain after being caught and then fleeing as she had done.

Darius turned his cheek, peering harder at the slash.

Not all masks are so obvious.

Darius’s memory played over the night’s events again. He thought of her gloved hands, the stuffing she said filled out the remainder of her missing left ring finger. What other masks did Larkyra wear? What were her lies and what were her truths? Was the girl he’d met last night the real Larkyra?

Darius gritted his teeth as he placed an alcohol-soaked cloth against his cheek, wincing at the burn.

Though his reflection remained still, composed, inside he was a mess of nerves. A trick he had long ago perfected.

What would Larkyra do with the information she thought she had gathered? How long had she watched him in the ruins? Had she followed him from the castle? Had she followed him before that night? And those clothes . . . why would a daughter of a count have such things? Be so quiet on her feet? The memory of the silver hawk flashed before him, and he frowned. It had to be the same creature he had seen on the roads home, the one that had attacked and killed the bandit, despite being smaller than he remembered.

Throwing the red-stained cloth into the water basin on his vanity, Darius scrubbed a hand against his forehead.

His headaches were unceasing these days, and though he knew they would only worsen with his next task, he could not ignore what he must do.

Dressing quickly and without another glance in the mirror, he set off to find the lady who might very well be the end of him. He would force her to explain everything, even if it left them both cut open and bleeding.

The maids scurried out of Darius’s way as he pushed toward the main drawing room, where they told him Lady Larkyra would be. Coming to the threshold, the large wooden doors ajar, he paused at the sound of laughter before peering inside.

Lady Larkyra stood on a pedestal in the center of the room. An older woman with dark skin and graying hair crouched by the hem of her skirts, pinning them. Larkyra was wrapped in a deep navy, the gown cinching at her waist and flowing up her chest, with long sleeves covered in detailing. It was one of the finest designs Darius had seen in Lachlan, and he watched, stunned, as the woman stood to fetch more swatches of dark material.

“Oh, those are lovely, Mrs. Everett.” Larkyra bent over, running her hand over the fabric. “I shall have a dress in one of each.”

“Very good, milady.” Mrs. Everett smiled in apparent glee. “If I may be so bold, I think this one”—she held up a swatch of midnight blue—“would be lovely as a cloak as well.”

“How right you are.” Larkyra nodded. “My dear Clara was on the mark about you being a talented designer. I have no doubt my sisters will each want a dress once they catch sight of these works of art.”

“Oh, thank you, milady.” The woman bowed. “You are too kind.”

“Just speaking truths, Mrs. Everett.”

At the mention of truth, Darius blinked back to his position by the door, his hands clenching into fists.

And it’s time you spoke your own, Lady Larkyra.He was poised to knock, but the deep, grating rumble of his stepfather stopped him.

“She does indeed, Mrs. Everett,” said Hayzar, stepping into view beside the two ladies. “For I myself have a keen eye for beauty and know when it is in my presence.”

“What a charmer you are, Your Grace.” Larkyra smiled at the man, and it sent splinters along Darius’s rib cage.

The duke was dressed in another one of his overdesigned three-piece suits. His black hair shone oily in the afternoon light streaming through the rain-splattered windows.

Is this really the life Larkyra wants?wondered Darius. Was she the girl comfortably wrapped in gowns, flirting with his stepfather, or the one who could speak to him of her sleepless nights, the loss of her mother, the girl who could run so swiftly in trousers while fighting dirty?

Masks.The word played over and over in his mind.

“Speaking of your good tastes, Your Grace”—Larkyra played with a bit of cut lace between her black-velvet-gloved fingers as Mrs. Everett returned to taking her measurements—“I was wondering if you would enjoy doing a project together?”

“I would enjoy doing many things with you, Lady Larkyra.”

“Oh.” She blushed. “You are a dangerous man.”

“I would hope so.” The duke moved closer as Mrs. Everett seemed to want to shrink from the room.

“What I had in mind, though,” continued Larkyra, “is perhaps, while Mrs. Everett is under our hire, it would be amusing to design new uniforms for the servants.”

“New uniforms?”

“Yes, I thought it would do well for them to match how handsomely their master dresses. Plus, it would give me an opportunity to get better acquainted with the staff. Something, I would think, a future mistress of the house would need to do.”

She peeked at the duke through her lashes, giving him a coy, innocent smile. Darius wanted to rip the door in front of him off its hinges.

What is happening?The estate couldn’t afford new uniforms, and neither did it need a new mistress.

“It would be a big project.” The duke’s brows puckered. “But it would be nice for them to be well dressed for our engagement ball.”

The house tilted on its side, a chasm opening, as Darius watched Hayzar lift Larkyra’s left hand, displaying a large ruby on her gloved ring finger. One of his mother’s rings.

His vision went red.

Darius pushed into the room.

“My son.” His stepfather pursed his lips as all three looked his way. “How kind of you to join us, for once.”

“My lord.” Mrs. Everett bowed.

Larkyra didn’t say a word, merely tucked her hand behind her skirts.

For some reason the meek movement infuriated Darius more.

“Your Grace, ladies.” He nodded quickly to each. “What’s this I hear of new uniforms and an engagement?” His gaze landed on Larkyra’s, a singeing glare.

“We seem to have an eavesdropper in our midst,” announced Hayzar.

“Not at all. Merely words overheard as I entered.”

“Your father proposed to me this morning, my lord.” Larkyra tipped her chin up in defiance, displaying the ring again. “And I accepted.”

As Darius stared at the shining stone on the covered finger that held more meaning between them than it should, he had to stop himself from tearing off the ring, glove and all. Had she accepted the duke’s offer of marriage so quickly because of what had happened last night? What she thought she would be inheriting? He swallowed a cold laugh. If so, she deserved this new fate.

How could he have been so wrong about this woman?

“Of course you accepted.” The duke took her other hand.

Darius watched Larkyra’s grin falter at the touch, her spine stiffen.

“Congratulations,” Darius managed to grit out. “And the new uniforms?”

“I thought that with the engagement ball, the new uniforms would be a fitting investment,” explained Larkyra.

“Fitting indeed.” He ran a glance over her sweeping white hair and lush gown. The new Duchess of Lachlan. He forced away the disgusted curl inching across his lips. “But with what funds?”

“Darius,”his stepfather cut in.

He wouldn’t be stopped, though. Not now. Not after years of hardship, and especially not after last night. He was sick of it all. Sick of the games, of tiptoeing around, barely able to siphon off crumbs for his people. And now it would all be washed away by a silly girl.

“I apologize, Your Grace,” continued Darius. “But I do not see how it is to be done. Especially now with an engagement ball to pay for.”

“Don’t you want your staff to be properly dressed?” asked Larkyra before the duke could reply. “Be proud of their positions here?”

“Well-sewn threads don’t make a proud person.”

Mrs. Everett squeaked at that.

“I apologize, madame. That was not aimed at you.”

“Of course, sir.”

“I just think”—Darius attempted a calmer tone—“that perhaps such spending would be better used elsewhere.”

“Surely it’s not too much of an expense for this household.”

“Currently, any expense is too much.”

Larkyra’s brows drew together. “If the estate is short on funds,” she began slowly, “my father would be more than happy to outfit the staff—”

“Enough.” Hayzar’s stern command silenced the room.

He stared at Darius with such an outpouring of loathing that he couldn’t help the splinter of fear that slipped into his determined stance. But in the next moment he cursed it away. Let the fog come, Darius silently screamed. He was done caring, for it seemed everything was about to fall to ruin anyway.

“Mrs. Everett,” said the duke, his black eyes boring into Darius. “Would you be so kind as to continue fitting Lady Larkyra another day?”

“Of course, Your Grace.” The old woman hastily packed up her things and, with a curtsy to all, escaped the room.

The energy instantly shifted with her departure, the lighting dimming, and despite Darius’s body telling him to move, he seemed stuck as stone.

Still, his soul remained wild, daring, despite the consequences. For once he would tell his stepfather what he truly thought. Perhaps it was the woman looking on who gave him such bravado, the woman whose spirit seemed to sing for recklessness, for truth—the ring on her finger proof that she acted before thinking.

“How dare you speak of such things in front of outside company.” The duke stepped toward him.

Something slippery moved across Darius’s skin, something caressing and familiar and horrid, yet whatever it was remained invisible. Always invisible.

“I merely have the estate’s best interests at heart.” Darius lifted his chin.

“So you think that I, the master of this land, do not know what is best?” Hayzar crept nearer, stopping beside the writing desk between them.

“Gentlemen, please.” Larkyra lowered herself from the pedestal, her skirts rustling in the tense moment. “Let us forget all this and have some tea. We can discuss it ano—”

“I think it needs to be put to bed now,” said the duke, picking up an object that flashed silver.

From the corner of his eye, Darius could see Larkyra’s complexion pale as she glanced at it, but for whatever reason he could not look away from his stepfather’s gaze to see it for himself.

In a sweeping wave, his mind slid into that familiar fog, complacent, even as he fought against the sensation. His body seemed to recognize the effect, for a cold sweat broke out across his skin.

Move,a voice in the back of his mind screamed. Get away.

But he couldn’t. He never could.

Hayzar spoke, but his words were muffled in the haze. Something about how he was displeased with Darius. How he would be punished for such insolence. But most importantly, how nothing here would be remembered.

Darius nodded.

Nothing to remember.

“What a pretty mark you have on your cheek, son.” Hayzar’s words cut through the murkiness then, his face coming into focus. Something cold pressed into Darius’s hand. “Why don’t we see if we can add some more?”

The last true memory Darius had was of glancing down at what he gripped—a knife-sharp letter opener—before the room darkened into pain-slicing shadows.