Song of the Forever Rains by E.J. Mellow

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Darius watched the group’s collective blank expressions at his words, words that felt like acid passing his lips.

“What do you mean, it’s gone?” repeated Niya. “We gave it to you this morning.”

“Yes, and I placed it safely within my rooms.”

“Apparently not safely enough.”

“Darius.” Larkyra drew his attention to her. “Are you sure it’s not there?”

He nodded, dreading the disappointment that would soon fill her gaze, wishing they were back in her bedchambers, back in that moment when everything had been perfect. “I went to instruct the staff, as planned, that the duke insisted he only drink his best stored brandy, not the punch being served to the guests nor the champagne for the toast before your performance.”

“Then what happened?” asked Larkyra.

“I returned to my rooms to dress. And once I was alone, I went to the loose stone by the fireplace to retrieve it, but the space was empty.”

“Did anyone see you place it there?” asked Zimri.

“Not that I saw, but . . .” Darius drew his brows together.

“But what?”

“This is Castle Island. There are invisible eyes everywhere.”

“That hardly helps matters.” Arabessa frowned. “Let us spread out and search. We have little time to stand here discussing this further. It will not appear by itself.”

As they exited the ballroom, Darius ignored the outstretched hands of guests wishing to greet him. Despite the social drama it would later cause, he knew they had more important fish to catch and cook.

Turning into a quieter hall, the gallery wing where paintings of his ancestors stared down, they hurried along its corridor.

“Where should we split off to?” asked Arabessa.

“Surely we do not have to look everywhere,” pouted Niya. “That would take a week, at least.”

“More,” muttered Larkyra.

“I can return to search my wing,” said Darius. “The rest of you can head to the servants’ quarters. Perhaps someone thought it a special spirit and stole it.”

“Wait—” Larkyra stopped Darius’s retreat with a hand to his arm. “The servants.”

“What about them?”

“Isn’t Boland your valet?”

“He is?” Darius blinked, confused.

“The snooty butler?” asked Niya.

“He doubles as my—”

“Was he there when you instructed the staff?” Larkyra cut him off.

“I cannot be positive, but—”

“What about before you dressed? Could he have seen you with it in your rooms?”

“He helped me dress, yes, but I do not think Boland would have—”

“Where would he be presently?”

“I have no idea.”

“We must find him at once.” Larkyra began to walk quickly.

“Why?” asked Darius.

“A hunch.”

“Oh, well, if it’s a hunch,” began Niya, “let us put all our money on it now.”

“I think you have a gambling problem, dear,” said Arabessa as they turned a corner into another hall, stone carvings of beasts lining the walls.

Darius had always hated this part of the house, but as they hurried past, he noticed each snarling creature either held a bouquet between its claws or wore a woven floral wreath upon its head.

It transformed the terrifying scene into one wholly foolish, and despite their predicament, he found himself inwardly smiling, having no doubt that this was the work of the blonde woman beside him.

“Wait.” Larkyra pointed. “I think that’s him there.”

A thin form in starched black with that telltale hooked nose came into view at the end of the hall, entering one of their smaller libraries.

“Quickly now.” Larkyra set off at a run.

“Doesn’t she know we’re in corsets?” huffed Niya behind them.

“Father had us all train in corsets.” Arabessa kept pace. “This should be no different than sprinting in trousers.”

“Should be,” panted Niya, “is a . . . very . . . different . . . concept . . . than . . . is.”

“Mr. Boland!” Larkyra called as they entered the library, spotting the man on the other side of the low-lit room.

While the estate housed many impressive libraries, the current one was modest, with only two floors of books. Darius had been told it had been the original collection before it had expanded beyond its capacity. Hardly a soul entered this one, but it was always kept clean and tidy, reading tables at the ready, along with some of the best brandy on a cart by the corner window.

This was where the butler spun around to take them in.

“Boland? What are you doing?” Darius glanced from the man’s left hand, which held a glass of amber liquid, to his right, which grasped the elixir’s thin, silver-stemmed bottle.

The man’s eyes were wide as they traveled over the group before landing on Darius, a stern twitch along his jaw muscle. “I know what is happening.”

“I do not think you do,” said Darius, but the man merely shook his head.

“I cannot let this burden weigh on your shoulders, my lord.”

Burden?

Darius’s pulse was a war drum in his veins.

“Boland, where did you get that bottle? It is mine, so if you just give it here, we will forget this whole mess.”

“I thought it might end this way,” continued the butler as if his master had not spoken. “But I cannot let you carry this sin. It is I that should have put a stop to it a long time ago.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh dear,” muttered Larkyra beside him.

Darius frowned down at her. “Do you understand what he’s talking about?”

“I have a hunch.”

“I think that word should be stricken from your vocabulary,” said Niya from behind.

“Mr. Boland,” said Arabessa calmly, stepping toward him. “I do not doubt your intentions here are pure, but there seems to be some confusion about what you hold—”

“Stand back,” spat the butler, and Arabessa paused. “It is you who are confused about what my young master has suffered.” He waved his hand, brandishing the elixir in their direction. “I may not carry the lost gods’ gifts, but that does not keep me from feeling the wrong that entered this house so very long ago. His cruelty has reigned unchecked for too long. I may not remember all the events, just like my poor young master does not, but I have known. I have put the pieces together, and yet all I have done is help clean it up, cover it up. Do you understand? But no more. I have stood by and let you suffer, my lord. Now I will atone for it.”

“Boland.” Darius attempted to recapture the man’s attention. “You have been loyal to me and my family since before I was born. And I appreciate whatever help you think you are giving, but—”

“Which is why I must do this.” The man’s voice cracked. “For you and your parents, I will do this. He must be stopped.” Tipping the elixir bottom up into the brandy, he poured the entire contents inside.

“Boland!”

“No!”

“Stop!”

The room rang with their protests.

But it was too late. The drink flashed bright before fading back to dark amber.

“You rodent,” grumbled Niya. “You have no idea what you have wasted.”

But Boland seemed immune to her words as he sprinted to the nearby corner. Pressing a hidden button, he slipped through a servants’ door that slid open beside a bookcase.

“Where’s he going now?” asked D’Enieu as they gave chase, entering the narrow passageway.

“This is becoming very annoying,” puffed Niya.

They were forced to continue in single file, Darius leading the way through the cramped corridor. As they passed the few torches that lit the space, he caught sight of the butler’s tailcoat whipping around a corner.

“Boland!” called Darius. “Please, will you stop?”

“Yes, perhaps a polite request will work,” said Niya.

“Please shut up,” growled Larkyra as they hurried out of the passage and stepped into a small storage room; linens, discarded chairs, and shelves of unused candelabras filled the space. Darius’s attention went to the slice of light coming from what appeared to be the back of a giant canvas at the other end. A secret door, left ajar. And it was the only way out, which meant it was the only way Boland could have gone.

Pushing it open, he found himself back in the ballroom—the very crowded ballroom.

A handful of guests turned, brows raised at their unconventional arrival through a painting, their heavy breaths. The rest of the group smacked into Darius as he came to an abrupt stop.

“There goes my perfect hairdo.” Niya blew away a loose strand that fell in her face.

“I love your fan,” complimented Arabessa to a nearby glowerer.

The woman harrumphed before turning away.

“Some people cannot take a compliment,” proclaimed Larkyra as they walked forward.

Darius desperately searched the crowd, praying to the lost gods he’d see a familiar hooked nose nearby.

“He’s there.” D’Enieu nodded toward the other side of the room, where Boland calmly approached the duke, brandy poised on a silver tray. Darius’s stepfather was regaling a group of guests with a story that had him sweeping his arms dramatically.

“What do you think he’s doing?” asked Larkyra.

“I’m not sure.” Darius watched the butler wait patiently beside the drink, his spine ramrod straight. The epitome of a perfect servant.

His eyes flashed once in Darius’s direction with a small nod, to which Darius responded with an emphatic shake of his head and a mouthed no.

Boland merely turned away, extending his hand for Hayzar to take the glass.

“This is horrible,” said Larkyra.

“It’s all ruined,” added Arabessa.

“We should leave,” replied Niya.

“What are we looking at?” Dolion appeared at their side.

“The butler.” D’Enieu gestured in the man’s direction as they watched the duke sip the brandy.

“What about him?” asked Dolion.

“He poured the entire elixir into what my stepfather is now drinking.”

“Why would he do that?”

“I think he thought it was poison,” explained Larkyra.

“Keep your voice down.” Arabessa elbowed her sister, smiling tightly at curious guests.

“I think he thought it was poison,”repeated Larkyra in a whisper.

Darius blinked down at her, brows drawn in. “Why would he think that?”

“‘His cruelty has reigned unchecked for too long.’” Larkyra repeated Boland’s words. “He likely believes your wounds have been inflicted by your stepfather. He has surely seen them multiply for years, correct?”

Her meaning sank in. The years of Boland dressing him, his eyes skimming and mouth narrowing at the grisly tapestry of slashes and scars adorning his master . . . standing aside, silent, as Hayzar spat vile insults at Darius until it was an everyday occurrence.

I have stood by and let you suffer, my lord. Now I will atone for it.

Boland had only ever been a comfort to Darius; even if he’d never been able to stop the cuts from appearing, he had helped Darius remain strong, a silent, steady companion in his lonely life. A twist of heartache filled his chest as he realized how this must have pained the old man to witness. Haunted him so much that he felt the need to do this.

“The stupid, loyal idiot,” muttered Darius, glancing toward the butler once more.

“Well . . .” Dolion scratched his beard. “It seems, per usual, much has happened in the half sand fall since I stepped away.”

“He must have seen you with the elixir in your rooms.” Larkyra moved closer to Darius.

“Yes.”

“And after he heard what you told the staff, must have thought—”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.” Her gloved fingers gently brushed his hand.

He pulled away, feeling every bit unworthy of her touch. How could he have botched this so completely? After everything they had done to get here. How much her family had helped him, everything Larkyra had done for him.

“Darius?” Her eyes flashed with hurt.

Another knife in his chest.

“You should listen to Niya and leave while you can,” he said. “I can carry the fall of tonight. Figure out how to—”

“We finish this together.” Larkyra’s gaze grew stern. “We are not going anywhere.”

“But you cannot perform. Hayzar is immune now, while everyone else isn’t. The plan is ruined.”

“An end,” began Dolion to Darius, “can have many different roads leading toward it.”

By the Obasi Sea, didn’t this family give up on anything? If ever there was a hopeless cause, it was Darius and the monster he lived with.

“Don’t you understand?” Darius shook his head. “There is no—”

A howl of pain cut through the party. Darius turned, along with every other guest in the ballroom, to find the duke bent over, his glass falling and shattering against the ground. He moaned, gripping his head, then his stomach, finally hugging his arms around his body, as if an invisible assailant were attacking his whole person.

“Your Grace?” Boland came to his side, ever the loyal, concerned servant. “Are you—?”

“GET AWAY.” The duke shoved the man, sending him sprawling backward onto the marble floor.

Guests gasped; a few women screamed as they drew back.

“GET OFF.” The duke dropped to his knees.

“What is happening?” whispered Larkyra.

“How interesting,” muttered Dolion.

“Do you know what is going on?” Arabessa stepped closer to her father, as did the other Bassettes.

“He drank an entire elixir that was meant to make a large party immune to magic.”

“And?”

“Well”—Dolion kept his gaze trained on the moaning duke across the room—“to be truly immune, would you not then be ridding yourself of your own magic?”

The sisters softly gasped as they turned back to the scene: Hayzar tearing and scratching at his clothes and face.

“Do not leave me!” mewled the duke in pain.

“And he took the entire elixir,” proclaimed Larkyra.

By the lost gods,Darius thought, could it be?

His stepfather’s siphoned magic . . . it was being taken from him, and rapidly. Their plan was working, if a bit backward; anyone suffering addiction—especially one as deeply dependent as they said the duke was—and then being forced sober at an alarming rate would most assuredly appear mad.

As the room watched the man before them suffering a sudden and severe withdrawal, Darius was, despite himself, hit with a wave of guilt. Even though he had planned for such a moment, and though his stepfather had been his worst nightmare since his mother had died, he was a pitiful sight, and Darius found that he couldn’t merely stand there. To see anyone suffer, even the wicked, was apparently a hard thing for him to allow.

“Where are you going?” Larkyra tugged at his sleeve as he stepped forward.

“I need to do something.”

“You cannot reverse—”

“I need to do something,” he repeated before walking away.

Pushing through the crowd and striding into the gap of space the surrounding guests had given the duke, Darius crouched beside him. “Father.” He forced himself to speak the word he’d sworn he never would. “Let me take you from here. You are not well.”

“DO NOT TOUCH ME.” The duke shoved against Darius’s shoulder.

“It will be all right. Just—”

“You petulant child,” spat Hayzar, drool sliding down his lips. His inky hair stood on end from where he had run his fingers through it. “You have never listened.” He swung his arm, as if trying to backhand him.

Darius dipped out of its way, and the crowd let out another gasp.

“Please.” Darius stood, addressing the room. “I apologize, but it seems the duke is not well. I ask that you all—”

“I am the master here!” Hayzar rose unsteadily to his feet, wobbling backward a step.

Guests moved out of his way as he hit up against a set of closed doors that led to a balcony. With a bang they flew open. A freezing rain cut sharply into the ballroom, extinguishing candles and sending screams into the air.

“Look what you have done now!” The duke’s dark gaze pierced into Darius as the storm drenched him, only hatred and fury on his face. “You selfish boy. You are always there to ruin what I care for!”

Something deep inside Darius finally snapped. The years of biting his tongue, of working to please a man who was never satisfied, boiled to the surface.

“I have only ever done what you’ve wished,” ground out Darius.

The duke laughed at that before bending forward with a hiss of pain, a whimper. He began to swipe at the air, at whatever was attacking or perhaps leaving, until his eyes snapped to his left. Hayzar went utterly still. His skin turned an unnatural shade of white.

“Your Grace?” Darius stepped closer, the ice-sharp rain stinging his face.

“We were to be happy,” gasped Hayzar, reaching into the void beside him. “You and I, but you left me. I loved you and you left me. Why did you leave me? Why did you leave me, Josephine?”

Darius halted, hearing his mother’s name.

“Josephine,”the duke called out again, as if the woman were right beside him. Darius was fool enough to search the air where his stepfather reached, aching to see whatever it was his stepfather saw. But there was only darkness, only the storm-drenched balcony.

“How?” continued Hayzar. “How was I to go on after I watched you die?”

It was as if a giant had torn into Darius’s chest and ripped out his heart, hearing his stepfather echo the same thoughts that had plagued him since that horrible night.

How am I to go on after I watched you die?

“Hayzar.” Darius attempted to approach his stepfather again.

The duke blinked toward him, as if he had forgotten where he stood, the crowd who watched on, the rain pelting across his face. His eyes went from glazed to lucid fury within a thunder crash. “GO AWAY.” The duke stumbled toward Darius, pushing against him with his last strength. “Don’t you see?” he panted, backing up. “That’s all you ever truly needed to do. Not exist! Your mother wasted her last breaths on you. On you, while I, the man who had promised to give her everything, who cared for her, stood at her side like a fool. She turned from me to find you. She grasped your hand to whisper her last words, her ‘precious boy.’” Hayzar sneered that final phrase, the same one Darius would remember forever, until he joined his mother in the Fade. “And you merely wept. You never understood how lucky you were to have the love of such a woman, of a mother. And then she was gone, and I was left with you. You who taunted me with your very existence, with your hair and eyes that are so like hers.”

“So you punished me for something I could not control?” Darius was shaking, from fury or from the rain, he did not know. “You were the only sliver of a family I had left.”

Hayzar’s lips curled. “Then let us finally cut that tie. Let me finally mourn in peace! Let me finally be rid of you!”

Though they should not, the words still burned, still hurt the young boy who sat small and alone in Darius’s heart, and they still tore at the man he had grown to become. It was now clear Hayzar’s hatred had spawned from his jealousy the night of his mother’s death. She had chosen him, her son, to look upon for the last time. And while Darius understood why this would break anyone’s heart, he was certainly not to blame. His stepfather’s grief had poisoned him. But others had suffered worse fates and had not resorted to becoming such a monster. Phorria or no, Darius knew it didn’t matter. He had suffered too long at this creature’s hands. And so had his people.

“I gladly grant you your wish,” said Darius, his hands fisted at his sides.

Hayzar seemed not to hear him any longer, though, as his eyes clouded once more and his body folded forward with another bout of pain. “No!” he panted. “Don’t leave me! Please, please, please. I am nothing.” Hayzar lurched farther out onto the balcony. He grabbed at the rain as if pulling whatever laced it back into his body. “I am nothing without you.”

The duke’s skin began to shrivel as he sobbed. A flash of lightning illuminated his quickly aging features, his gaping mouth full of blackened teeth.

By the lost gods . . .

No longer was he a man but truly the thing that hid inside, the thing that must have darkened his very soul with every hit of phorria.

Howls of shock and terror rang from behind Darius.

“Come back!” wheezed Hayzar, throwing his decrepit face up toward the angry clouds. “YOU CANNOT LEAVE.”

Lightning cracked again, the cursed land’s own response to its forced master, before an exploding clap of thunder rocked the keep. Hayzar jumped, spinning and hitting the railing.

Darius unconsciously moved toward him, but a hard grip on his arm kept him still.

Larkyra stood at his side.

No,her eyes silently pleaded.

“My darling!” The duke desperately clawed into the dark, his body teetering over the balcony’s edge.

But this time Hayzar reached too far, for with the next gust of wind, he let out a moan, a lost soul’s lament, and his body fell over and away.

There were screams from the guests, but the world was drowned out as Darius ran forward, breaking out of Larkyra’s grasp and hurrying to the railing, peering over.

The gale whipped against his face as he stared down at the lake. Black waves churned and surged against the rocks far below. Wherever his stepfather had landed, his body was quickly washed away.

Gone.

Gone.

Gone.

The reality of it all pierced through Darius as his hands gripped the wet marble banister. He had yet to know what to feel. There was only gone, over, done.

Darius stared down at his clothes, now soaked through, barely registering the muffled voices and tugs beside him. He felt tired. Far too tired to turn and see the person whispering his name fervently in his ear, the person who had restarted his heart after so many years of living in a silent storm.

Her.

“Darius.”

The world regained focus.

“Darius, come back to me. Look at me.”

Slowly, he did just that.

Larkyra’s drenched skin and gown were pressed up against him as rivulets of water streamed down her cheeks, her lips purple and shaking in the cold.

“He’s gone” was all he could say.

“Yes.” She nodded. “It’s over.”

Over.

“But you’re here.”

“Of course.” Larkyra’s arms tightened around him.

“Thank you.” He leaned into her. “Thank you.”

“I’m here.” She pressed closer, shouldering his weight.

All he seemed able to keep muttering was “Thank you.”

Thank you for existing. Thank you for flying into my heart. Thank you for shining light and singing away the demons.The words spun across his mind, along his skin, as they held one another, Darius never wanting to let go, not even when the forever rains slowly came to a stop.