Song of the Forever Rains by E.J. Mellow

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The crickets rattled in the sun-soaked air, and the fields of wildflowers stretched before her as the crisp morning woke with a gentle green yawn. The landscape was filled with healthy yellow buds, specks of lavender and white. With the perpetual rain, Larkyra had never dreamed Lachlan could look like this. It was breathtaking, pulsing with life and virility that had been thoroughly watered and fed for months, years, and now, with this glimmer of a hopeful reprieve, had forced its way up, through dirt and soil, to bloom. She spun in a slow circle as she took it in, filling her lungs with the virgin freshness. Vanilla, sweetgrass, and warmth—a bouquet of nature. It was almost overwhelming, perhaps even more beautiful than the vineyards that surrounded Jabari, and Larkyra’s heart ached at the thought that all this had been covered in storm clouds for so long.

It had been a week since the duke’s death. A week, and the curse his presence had thrown over Lachlan seemed to blow further and further away with each new sunrise. She smiled, strands from her braided hair flowing free in the warm breeze. Looking out from a gazebo atop a hill on the west slope of Castle Island, Larkyra took in the vista of large sparkling lakes and green lands glowing before her. The blue waters crashed rhythmically far below the cliff’s edge, rolling meadowland reaching up to where she stood. Lachlan was truly a wild land. A quickly healing land that now, in the sunlight, had even more secrets to be found, explored. And Larkyra realized she loved every inch of it.

“I had forgotten it could look like this,” said Clara beside her, looking flushed and bright eyed, basking in the new glow of her home.

“It is beautiful,” agreed Larkyra, glancing down at the town on the mainland, the white puff of sailboats soaring across the waters from the port. Everything seemed reborn, strong, even after being tucked away and battered for so long.

The events that had unfolded at the ball were being called the Mad Duke’s Death Dive, a rather catchy and lighthearted title for what had actually occurred, but Larkyra and Darius were more than happy to accept the tale that was being spread across Aadilor. For most importantly, no part of the story placed blame on her or the household. Darius’s reaction especially, how he’d appeared so grief stricken as she’d held him in the storm, had created only heightened sympathy for the stepson. Not that Larkyra thought his response planned, for even she was unsure of her own feelings that night. She’d merely hated to see Darius in any pain or sorrow.

But perhaps the most important day following Hayzar’s death was when Darius had gone to inform his people. The news had been received with a tense, disbelieving silence from the tenants before they’d left to, Larkyra suspected, quietly celebrate within their homes. It would still take time for all to be fixed, for the financial strain placed on Lachlan’s people to completely lift, but the hope was there. It was felt in the blessedly warm air that crept back into the sky, and it was heard in the voice of their new duke and master as he made a point to stand before his people with promises of what he intended to rebuild.

“I truly am sorry for your loss, my lady,” said Clara, bringing Larkyra back to their place atop the sun-soaked hill.

“You have already apologized, Clara. No need to again.”

“Yes, but it is a sad business to lose a fiancé so soon after the engagement.”

“You do know the old duke and I were never a love match?”

Clara blushed at her candor, hands together in front of her brown frock. “Aye, but still—”

“Perhaps I should feel some sadness?” interrupted Larkyra. “But I cannot seem to muster the feeling. Does that make me a terribly bad person?”

“Oh, no,” assured Clara. “You may be many peculiar things, my lady, but I would never say any of them are bad.”

Larkyra laughed at that, turning back to the view before them. “Thank you, Clara.”

As she took a deep breath in, a peace wove around Larkyra. A peace that she had never felt before. The war of this land had dissipated, just as the war within herself seemed to have. That forever guilt that had swum in her gut regarding her mother and her powers was barely a glow these days. And with each new grain fall, it withered more and more. An understanding had finally taken place between herself and her gifts, a trust born from love and forgiveness. She no longer resented her magic for the pain it had caused her and her family, and with that acceptance Larkyra was finally able to become one with it. Her heart’s and mind’s intentions connected, allowing her to relinquish her hard grip and breathe, for the first time in nineteen years, free.

“There you are.”

Larkyra turned at the husky voice that would forever send welcoming shivers across her skin. Darius pushed aside a tangle of hanging vines that blocked the gazebo’s entrance and stepped inside.

“Your Grace.” Clara bowed as he approached, growing a bit flustered in his presence.

I know the feeling,thought Larkyra.

“Hello, Duke,” said Larkyra.

“It sounds odd, does it not?” He came to stand beside her, his height making her squint up into the bright day. The sun painted his locks a warm orange as his green gaze fell to meet hers.

“Which is why we must say it as much as possible. Nothing becomes as monotonous as a word repeated endlessly.”

“I would contradict you on one account.”

“Which would be?”

“Speaking your name.”

It was Larkyra’s turn to blush as Darius smiled playfully.

“Oh, look at that bed of lavender.” Clara pointed enthusiastically at flowers far below on the hill. “I bet those would look splendid in your room, my lady. Excuse me while I go pick a few, and I do apologize if it takes me a very long time to gather the perfect bouquet.”

Larkyra and Darius watched the maid scurry down and away.

“I fear those are buds of some weed,” he said.

“Yes,” agreed Larkyra. “My lady’s maid seems to have loosened the pages of her propriety rule book.”

“I can’t say I am not thankful for that.”

“No?” Larkyra turned to regard Darius. His complexion glowed healthy against the white shirt he wore under a light-blue coat.

“No,” he said, drawing nearer and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

She warmed at his touch, just as a light breeze blew across her bare shoulder.

Larkyra wore one of the gowns that she’d first brought from Jabari, a light-purple frock that felt as airy and free as the new day before them.

“So is it official?” she asked.

“The testators just left with the signed papers.”

“And how does it feel to finally have your lands back? To be the duke?”

“It feels . . .” Darius looked out at the calm waters in the distance, at the boats and town that sat shining under the sun’s rays. “Big.”

“Big?”

A nod. “There is much to do.”

Larkyra smiled. “We will have to work on that.”

“On what?”

“Teaching you how to enjoy a moment before skipping immediately to a new task.”

“I can enjoy moments.”

“Prove it.”

Without another word, Darius pulled Larkyra against him and kissed her.

She gave a squeak of surprise before leaning deeper into his arms.

This kiss felt different from the others. It was slow, a relaxed nap under the shade of a tree where summer was on the horizon. Darius parted her mouth to brush his tongue against hers, and she sighed, running her hands over his collar and into his thick hair. He might not have felt hurried, but she felt as if she could burst. She wanted to jump on him, roll down the hill, and laugh like they were children, wanted to pull him into the lake to swim in its new serenity before lying on the beach to dry in the sun. She never wanted their connection to be broken. She wanted him forever.

Which was exactly the thought that had her backing away, a sharp stab to her chest.

He could not be her forever.

In fact, she was leaving that very day to return to Jabari.

“My sisters are packing my things,” said Larkyra, knowing the words sounded odd and far from the act they’d just shared.

Darius watched her carefully. “Yes. They told me where to find you.”

“I came out here to take in one last view. They are probably complaining that I have left them to do all the hard work. Niya is most likely slipping some of my things into her trunks as payment.”

“What if they could remain here?”

“My sisters?”

“I suppose they could too,” said Darius, suppressing a grin. “But I was speaking of your things.”

“Why would I leave them here?” asked Larkyra, drawing together her brows. “I never refuse a new wardrobe, of course, but seeing as I just commissioned those dresses from Mrs. Everett, that just seems—”

“I love you, Larkyra.”

Everything stopped. The wind. The birds chirping. The tide. “Pardon?”

Darius stepped closer. He grasped her hands and, removing her gloves, laid a gentle kiss on her fingers. “I love you,” he repeated. “Foolishly so. Desperately, even. I do not want you to leave. In fact, I may kidnap you if you try.”

His emerald eyes held her captive, though her whole body felt as if it might float away, her magic heating up.

“I . . .” She worked her mouth. “I do not know what to say.”

“A speechless Bassette? Shall I write this in Lachlan’s history books?”

“Smug is an unbecoming color on you, Your Grace.”

“Darius,” he corrected.

To this she could only grin. “Darius.”

“So?” he asked, his gaze hesitant, perhaps even fearful. “Am I alone in my feelings?”

Call it a bit of retribution for him laughing at her that made her pause, perhaps a torturous beat too long, before she let loose a smile. “Of course I love you, you foolishly desperate man.”

Throwing herself into his arms, she kissed Darius with all the urgency inside her, and he appeared more than willing to comply. He lifted her up, their mouths still locked, as she breathed him in. She couldn’t get enough of his soft lips against hers or of the way he wrapped her protectively within himself.

Did she love him? By the lost gods, what an absurd question.

Larkyra let out a small laugh, still peppering kisses on his mouth. It hadn’t taken him almost dying in Esrom, watching him carve his own skin by the orders of a madman, or catching him helping his people in secret that had made her feelings for him blossom. No, Larkyra had known her heart was not her own much earlier than that, even if she could not admit it to herself until now. She’d seen the good in Darius before he’d even truly seen her, when she’d been nothing but dirt mixed into the roads of lower Jabari.

“I feel endless with you,” she breathed.

“That’s because you are.” Darius gently set her down before weaving his fingers between hers. “When I look at you,” he said, “how I feel when I do, how you make me feel when I do, it doesn’t make sense to me. How can all that you are be so neatly contained in your body?” He removed one hand to brush it lightly across her cheek. “Looking at you is like looking at the sun wrapped in a blanket, and yet it somehow doesn’t burn everything away.”

“Darius.” Larkyra closed her eyes for a moment, her heart and magic a unified pattering mess in her chest.

“And with that settled,” he said, his grin teasing, “I need to ask you something. And I hope you’ll say yes.”

By the Obasi Sea.This couldn’t truly be happening, could it?

“Wait.” She pulled away. “Before you do, I . . . I need to tell you something.”

He waited.

“It’s regarding a day when you were in Jabari.”

“Yes?” Darius tilted his head curiously.

“You were in the lower quarters, surrounded by men meaning to rob you, but a girl intervened. A street urchin. Do you remember?”

His eyes lost focus, as if seeing the memory she spoke of. “I remember,” he said slowly. “But how do you—”

“I was that girl.”

Darius blinked.

“I was that girl who guided you out of the lowers. Who had an injured left hand and who you said you owed a favor to.” Larkyra raised said hand, wiggling her half-missing ring finger, as if calling forth the bandage that had once wrapped around it. “Despite how I looked and can only assume smelled, you spoke to me as though I were an equal. You were kind to me.”

Darius was quiet a moment. He looked beyond them, to his reborn lands, before a laugh bellowed out of him.

He laughed and laughed until a tear rolled from the corner of his eye. He wiped it away.

“Of course it was you,” he said, taking a moment more to collect himself.

“You are not angry?”

“Why would I be angry?”

“Don’t you want to know why I was dressed that way?”

“You’re a Bassette. I’m assuming the two are related?”

She frowned at the accuracy of that statement. “Still, aren’t you curious—”

“I’ll leave the curiosity to you, my love, for you have more than enough to get the both of us into trouble.”

“I’m unsure if that’s a compliment.”

“While you mull it over”—Darius took her hands in his once more—“can I ask you that question now?”

Larkyra swallowed. “If you must.”

“Oh, I must more than any other musts.”

“You are beginning to sound like me.”

“Now that I shall take as a compliment.” He lowered himself to one knee.

Larkyra’s eyes went wide, her pulse breaking free from her skin to flutter and buzz with the surrounding bees.

“Larkyra Bassette,” he began. “Singer of the Mousai, filthy girl of Jabari, and woman of, I’m sure, many more masks, all of whom I love. You do things I don’t even know I need, and you surpass the expectations of the things that I do. As you feel endless with me, I feel endless with you. You make me dream bigger than what lives in this world, and I only want to continue exploring it by your side. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?” From his pocket, Darius pulled out a sky-blue-jeweled ring. “It is the same one my father gave my mother.”

“Oh, Darius.” Larkyra placed her hand to her mouth. “It’s beautiful.”

“Somehow Boland kept it hidden all these years.”

“I always thought he was a good man.”

Darius’s responding smile was dazzling as he slipped the ring onto her shortened finger, and she fluttered her hand so it twinkled in the sunlight.

“It matches your eyes,” he said.

It did indeed, the exact ones that now were filled with tears. “Are you sure about this?” she asked. “The things you’ve seen of the Thief Kingdom, our connection there, those are just surface-level activities. And those masks of mine, there are many. Some even I have yet to discover.”

“I look forward to getting to know them all, so long as each remains in love with me when worn.”

Her heart swelled in her chest, her magic at one with her joy. Yet still, she needed to make sure . . . “It is not only me you are marrying.”

Darius glanced around. “No? I didn’t realize there was more than one woman standing before me.”

“You know that is not what I mean. My family,” she said. “They come as accessories, even though, the lost gods know, I’ve tried my hardest to pawn them over the years.”

Darius grinned. “I know what I am committing myself to, Larkyra. I’ve always wanted a big family.”

“It’s bigger than you think, and my father—”

“Has given his blessing.”

This had her swallowing her next words.

“Yes, I sought his well-wishes before asking you. I am smarter than I look.”

“Darius . . .” She choked on his name, not knowing why that meant more than any other romantic deed he could have done.

“Now will you give me an answer?” He held her gaze. “My knee is starting to bruise on this stone.”

She laughed and pulled him up. “Yes!” she said. “In every world and room hidden within Yamanu, yes.”

“That is a lot of yeses.” He grinned.

“Shall I take some back?”

“Never!” Darius kissed her then, most likely to keep her from doing just that.

Larkyra did not mind this tactic at all.

She would set out to find more ways for Darius to apply the technique. Currently, however, she was happy to savor the Now, under the bright sun of a new home, wrapped in the arms of a man who saw and accepted all of her, even the parts not yet born.

In this moment, Larkyra was not frightened of what might come Next. The idea of her future misted like gold dust along with her laugh. She was now like her magic: present and powerful and deliciously alive.