Song of the Forever Rains by E.J. Mellow

CHAPTER THIRTY

Larkyra hurried behind Darius as they entered the castle through the creaking dungeon door. It was midafternoon by now, and her sisters had set off on the other side of their portal door to seek Achak with the orenda. Though the skies were overcast, anyone glancing out to the grounds would surely have seen her and Darius slipping from the forest. Larkyra prayed to the lost gods that those “anyones” did not exist today.

“We will have to split up from here,” said Darius as he helped her up the ladder into the dusty storage room. “You remember the way to your wing?”

“Yes.” She nodded.

Neither of them moved, and Larkyra realized Darius was still holding her hand. Her heart skipped, her lips tingling, as though her body remembered exactly what had happened the last time they’d been standing like this. Larkyra desperately wanted it to happen again, though she was equally terrified that it would.

When all this was over, Larkyra knew she would be leaving. As she was meant to, as she needed to. Despite her intentions to help, she was too dangerous for Darius, and not only with her powers. He had nearly died under her care in Esrom. She’d almost lost him to the tahopka. His life had so far only been uncertainty and pain. She could not add her own into the mix. A weary ache filled her heart.

“Larkyra,” said Darius. “I want you to know—”

“No.” She cut him off. “Let us not do this.”

An inquisitive tilt to Darius’s brow. “And what is it we are doing?”

“I cannot bear a sentimental recap right now. We still have much to accomplish, to prepare, to plan.” She stepped away from him. “What we have left to do is far from over, Darius.”

He studied her a moment. “I know.”

“Good.”

“Larkyra, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You know how I detest lies.” He approached her slowly. “Tell me.”

“As I said, it’s nothing.” She stared at the ground. “Well, perhaps not nothing. It’s just . . . I’m not leaving yet.”

“No.” Darius tilted her chin so she would meet his gaze. “You certainly are not.”

Her breaths came out quick, tiny bursts of impatient longing. His lips were so close to hers. He was so close to her.

Nearing voices in the hall beyond had them springing apart.

Chattering servants strode past the open door, Larkyra standing frozen by the wall across from Darius.

Their eyes locked as all fell quiet.

“We must go,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he agreed, though he appeared to not like that he did. “We will finish this conversation later?”

“Later,” assured Larkyra before they each slipped out and turned their separate ways.

Larkyra and Darius didn’t find a later.

That night Hayzar returned to Lachlan, the lands splitting open with a torrent of rain and thunder once more. The ball drew nearer, which only meant so did the duke’s plans to open the mines. “A gift to my future bride,” he had said. But Larkyra knew it would be no gift to his people, more like the last piece of pressure to break them. They needed to stop him before that could happen. The one slip of reprieve came when the duke seemed to have no recollection of forcing his stepson to carve up his own face.

So filled was he with his new supply of phorria that the high seemed to erase any memory of that particular evening. When Darius emerged for breakfast the following morning, not one scratch across his complexion, Hayzar barely batted an eye. Merely told him that his style of cravat was so out of fashion it was an eyesore and, to Larkyra’s dismay, ordered Darius away with barely a bite.

Though Hayzar might not have noticed Darius’s rapid recovery, Larkyra caught Boland on more than one occasion staring at the lord. But whatever questions or doubts swirled in his head, like a good butler, he kept quiet on the matter. Perhaps deep down he wants to believe his poultice has better healing capabilities than he’d known, she thought.

In the following days, Larkyra was forced to act the part of a happy fiancée, planning the engagement ball. Flower arrangements, food tasting, dress fittings, a never-ending guest list, half the names unknown to her. It was utterly dreadful, and Larkyra wondered if any bride truly enjoyed preparing such an event.

The only relief for Larkyra lay in the fact that while she and Darius were unable to find a true moment alone, they had nonetheless begun seeking each other out, even if those moments were brief. A stolen brush of a finger across a hand as they passed in the halls, a caught glance across the dining table, a secret shared smile. It charged every grain of every sand fall, making innocuous parts of her day exciting treasures to catch and hold in her memory.

And despite Larkyra’s chest tightening anytime she thought of when she would have to leave, she decided to enjoy what few days left she had in Lachlan and what small grains of time she could share with Darius.

Yet the one memory Larkyra craved to relive most, consequences be damned, the one that had her lips still tingling, never happened again, and she wasn’t sure why. She found herself lying awake at night, listening to the rumbling storm outside, wondering if any of the claps were covering Darius’s tread as he approached her bedchambers.

But each night, she fell asleep without a rap to her door and awoke wondering if he regretted what he had done.

Even if they were not meant to be, she certainly did not regret their kiss.

Which was why she’d been building up the nerve to slip into Darius’s rooms instead, to find out once and for all what he’d meant by kissing her.

But then her sisters arrived.

And well, if one wanted a moment alone, they should not invite more than one Bassette to visit, for every moment from then on was occupied.

Even the stolen ones.