Song of the Forever Rains by E.J. Mellow
CHAPTER THREE
All was fine.
Or at least, it appeared to be fine, which of course meant it could very well be all wrong.
Larkyra had learned the hard way that calm often camouflaged the most vicious of intent.
The air grew warmer as she approached the orange light at the end of the passage, making her corset ties that much more oppressive. Larkyra’s throat also began to grow tight, like the very air was laced with an allergen, but perhaps all this was in anticipation of what would greet her when she stepped through.
A large figure draped in a fine leather tunic dominated the center of what appeared to be a winter cabin, fitted with fur rugs, low wooden rafters, and a large blazing fire.
Larkyra’s heart beat rapidly in her ears as she waited, with no real patience, for Dolion Bassette, Count of Raveet, of the second house of Jabari, to acknowledge her from where he sat behind a large oak desk, reading over a mountain of parchments. Dolion’s light complexion glowed with a healthy tan, matching his honey-rusted hair, which was long and thick and fed into his beard so seamlessly it very well could have been a lion’s mane. And though he was seated, his formidable size was apparent—he was a hulking muscle of a man who led many to wonder how much he spent on his tailor.
Larkyra gently cleared her throat. Dolion looked up, glancing around as if seeing his surroundings for the first time. But whether he was happy or annoyed to find himself in this room, Larkyra could not tell.
Presently, all she could concentrate on was her magic not flying straight from her chest. The love she had for the man before her was so consuming she truly felt she might burst into flames if no one spoke this very moment.
“Larkyra.” His voice was a deep rumble of stampeding beasts. “My darling girl.” Pushing away from his desk, he opened his arms, allowing her to run into them.
Ensconced in his massive embrace, Larkyra cherished the smell of home on her father, of honeysuckles in sunshine.
“How are you this evening?” He smoothed a comforting hand up and down her back.
Larkyra could have answered in many different ways—tired, overwhelmed, excited to be here with him, anxious to be here with him—but she knew she was meant to say, “Wonderful.”
“And why are you wonderful?”
“Because I’m blessed with my family, my health, and a roof over my head.”
“That you are,” said Dolion, a smile in his voice. “And from your answer, I take it your Lierenfast was successful.”
“Yes, Father.”
“My reports read that you only suffered a mild injury after an incident involving a pawnshop owner, his wife, and an emerald ring?”
Larkyra would not exactly describe her injury as mild, but she wasn’t about to contradict him. She knew Dolion would have intervened if he’d thought the threat deadly. At least . . . she believed that he would have.
“Yes, Father,” she replied again.
“But you got through it.” He raised her bandaged hand, displaying the severed finger. “And I must say, it is very becoming on you.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
“Tell me”—Dolion shifted, gesturing for Larkyra to take a seat in a chair opposite his desk—“what are three things of importance that you learned?”
Larkyra’s magic swam, unsettled, as it sensed the buzz of nerves in her belly. This was what she had been both dreading and anticipating, this final part to her Lierenfast. Larkyra took an extra few grain falls to fix her skirts as she planned her next words. She had gathered and noted everything she had experienced to later recall, and now, she struggled to only pick three.
Which was probably the point. There weren’t only three. All of it was important. Every sand fall of each day. Which was what led her to say, “My three are just one.”
Dolion was quiet as he leaned into his high-backed chair, waiting.
“Life favors no one,” said Larkyra.
“Elaborate.”
Larkyra ran a gentle touch over her injured finger. “One may be beautiful,” she began, “rich, poor, young, blessed with magic or not, a sinner or virtuous, and the gift of life is still given to us all, just as death comes for us all.”
Dolion watched her carefully. “Which means what?”
Which means what, indeed,thought Larkyra as images of all those she’d lived beside in the lowers flashed before her: the lady who’d helped clean her wound, the people she’d watched slit a sleeping throat just to acquire a slice of moldy bread, the more established families and shop owners who lived so close to the destitute.
“That no one is worthier of being given life than any other,” said Larkyra eventually.
“Not even the generous over the horrible?” asked Dolion.
“Not even them.” She nodded. “You or I may feel differently, but life certainly doesn’t care enough to change. A hero may die in squalor, a villain in wealth.”
Dolion tapped a pensive finger on his desk. “So with your belief that life is a freely given energy, what keeps everyone from practicing only gluttony and sin? From abusing gifts given?”
“Our souls.”
Dolion’s gaze sparked. “Our souls,” he repeated.
“Yes. Life is made to move in one direction—forward,” continued Larkyra. “It is our souls that act as the winds guiding its course. Life can be given to all, but only our souls decide how we want to live.”
The room fell silent, the crackle and snap of flames beside them the only sign of time passing.
Larkyra waited for her father to speak. And as she sat there staring at the man, she noticed something she hadn’t upon first entering. He had more gray running through his hair and beard than when she’d left. More than would naturally creep through in the weeks that had passed, which meant only one thing—he had gone to see her mother.
Larkyra’s chest tightened, a million questions bursting on her tongue, as they often did when it came to the woman she had met only once, the woman who had slipped away into the Fade the same day Larkyra had come into this world.
She opened her mouth, ready to ask something, anything, but her father sat forward first and said, “You have earned your Eumar Journé, my songbird.”
It was as if the room flooded with sunshine. His words were everything sweet and lovely. Larkyra couldn’t keep the grin from splitting her features, her magic crooning in kind. Her father’s approval, her family’s, was what kept Larkyra holding her powers in check, despite how suffocating it was at times. Every day of her life, she sought to prove why her life was worthy, of value, just as valued as she knew her mother’s had been.
“Thank you, Father.” Her voice came out breathless.
“I’m not surprised, given that you’ve had to learn from a young age what it means to practice restraint, especially with your gifts.”
At the mention of the very subject she had just been thinking about, Larkyra swallowed.
“Yes,” she replied, her throat growing tight once more.
Her magic had always been the most difficult to control among the Bassette sisters’. For how was a child to contain a wail when she skinned a knee or an unconscious hum as she picked flowers? How was a girl to keep her magic in, separate, when it was attached to such natural behavior?
Larkyra’s mind swam with dark memories of the hard lessons Achak had forced upon her growing up, using Arabessa and Niya as targets.
The library was oppressively bright, every candle and candelabra lit, as if so Larkyra could see every consequence of her actions, every ounce of pain she forced into her sisters’ expressions.
“You must fill your intentions fully with your desire,” instructed Achak, standing behind her. “You must overwhelm your magic’s basic instinct to protect you by inflicting injury onto others.”
“I’m trying,” growled Larkyra, which only let loose a lash of yellow from her lips, striking Arabessa in the face.
Her sister hissed in pain but otherwise did not move from the chair she occupied beside Niya. A red thread of blood ran down her cheek.
Larkyra clamped shut her mouth, guilt overwhelming her as her magic swam hot and frustrated and angry in her throat.Be angry with me! yelled Larkyra silently to her powers. Not them!
“You must find your calm,” said Achak. “You must dig deep to spread it through you. Coax your power gently, as though it is a babe you do not wish to wake.”
Larkyra closed her eyes, trying to find this calm Achak spoke of, but her mind was soaring in every direction, her magic an angry flock of birds. Shewas meant to merely tie the ribbons on her sisters’ collars with a song, but in her frustration she had only managed to make both bleed.
The vision changed, swam to another, of the same library but a different day.
A scream echoed in the room, Niya gasping as she sat up from where she had been lying on the floor.
In a panic, Larkyra went to run to her, but Achak held her back.
“Again,” they demanded.
Larkyra shook her head.No! she pleaded with her eyes.
“Again,” they said. “Put them to sleep.”
Larkyra looked to her sisters, both panting with the nightmares she had unintentionally spun into their minds.
“If you cannot tame your power even on the ones you love, you have no hope of controlling it on strangers,” explained Achak.
Larkyra cut Achak a glare, very much wanting to set loose her powers on them.
Achak raised a dark brow. “We dare you,” said the sister, seeming to know Larkyra’s thoughts. “But hurting us will not help you hurt them any less.”
Larkyra looked back at her sisters. She was only six, Niya and Arabessa eight and ten, but they kept returning to these horrible sessions, standing stoically in front of her, encouragement and love in their eyes. Larkyra felt like the worst sort of monster. She had to learn control. She had to. It was either that or remain mute forever.
“You should be proud of your accomplishments.” Dolion’s words dashed away the images.
Larkyra sat once more in the firelit room with her father. Nevertheless, her head still swam with the haunting memories, and she took in a few calming breaths, settling her magic. “Achak was a good teacher,” said Larkyra eventually, making sure to keep the bitterness from her tone.
“And they would delight in your humble response.” Dolion’s gaze held to hers. “I’m sure that is a lesson in manners they wished Niya had taken to.”
“We all wish that,” said Larkyra, absently.
Her father laughed, rich and deep. “Yes, quite. But there is one other matter we must discuss.” Dolion sat up. “You used your magic before your Lierenfast was over.”
Larkyra’s attention refocused. “Yes,” she admitted, “but it was to help someone.”
“Were there not others you could have helped with your powers during your weeks spent in the lowers?”
“Perhaps, but—”
“And isn’t the point of your fasting to understand the injustice of those who do not have the lost gods’ gifts? That if you were to fight or to save, it would only be with the tools of your mind or your fists?”
“Yes, Father,” said Larkyra tightly. Being magically perfect was more than beginning to wear on her, but as always, she had to remain calm. “But I was on my way home, you see—my Lierenfast was basically over. And you know I kept my magic in for weeks prior, kept it buried and tamed even when my finger got chopped off. With a dull blade, I might add.” She lifted the object of discussion. “I think my actions did no harm but good. Especially considering the man I helped is a guest for my party tonight, even though I have never heard of such a one as Darius Mekenna of Lachlan.”
To this Dolion remained quiet.
Suspicion crawled over Larkyra. “Father, who is Darius Mekenna of Lachlan?”
“As you just said, a guest.”
“Yes, but why do I have a feeling he’s meant to be more than that?”
“He’s not really my concern, more his stepfather,” admitted Dolion. “Hayzar Bruin, the Duke of Lachlan.”
“Darius is a lord?” Larkyra blinked. That explains his fine clothes, she thought. What it didn’t explain, however, was why a lord had been in the lower quarters—and more so, why he had been so civil toward her, dirty and bleeding as she was, given his high rank. “Are they old acquaintances of the family?” asked Larkyra. “I’ve never heard of this Lachlan.”
“The Lachlan territory is in the southeast of Aadilor, near the rivers that lead into the Obasi Sea. Lord Mekenna wrote to the Council on behalf of his stepfather about a possible trade treaty regarding minerals they are able to mine. The Council has arranged to meet with him and the duke this week, and it happened to fall during your Eumar Journé.”
“So my birthday is to also be a business meeting.”
“Nothing is ever one thing,” Dolion reminded her.
“Indeed,” she agreed. “So what else is this meant to be with the lord and his stepfather?”
Dolion studied her a moment, and Larkyra could tell he was wondering how much to share so soon. “The Thief King has suspicions that the duke may be indulging in illegal drugging. The siphoned-magic variety—phorria.”
“So?” said Larkyra with a frown. “People indulge in that all the time in the Thief Kingdom.”
“Yes, but the Thief King has no records of the duke ever entering the Thief Kingdom,” explained Dolion. “Which begs the question: Who in the kingdom is bringing drugs to him? Dealings such as these are forbidden outside the city.”
“Why?” countered Larkyra. “If it’s allowed to be practiced within, why does it matter if it’s out here as well?”
Dolion let out a sigh, and Larkyra swallowed the sting of seeing that he was disappointed in her.
“There’s a purpose to the Thief Kingdom, my dear,” said Dolion, threading his fingers together across his stomach. “And that’s to contain the chaos as much as possible. If you want to trade stolen goods, fine, but bring them to the Shadow Market. If you want to pump poison into your veins, be our guest, but do it within the walls of a den, where it can be monitored, controlled. Once these things leak outside, that is when true havoc reigns. And more often than not, wars begin. Though he is ruthless, the Thief King is not a fan of war.”
“No,” agreed Larkyra. “That I know he is not. So given this, will the duke be our next mission?”
Dolion waved an unconcerned hand. “All is currently rumor. We will know more when we have more. For now, let us talk of better things. Like your present. Would you like it?” he asked as he stood and walked to a large wooden armoire in the corner. With a lift of a gold latch, her father swung open the doors, revealing a massive ash-gray hawk, easily half Larkyra’s height, perched within a silver cage.
“Kaipo!” Larkyra ran to the creature. The sound of her voice stirred him awake, and he let out an echoing screech. “Have you kept him in here this whole time?” She quickly opened the cage and snapped off his blinders. His violet eyes spun until she laid a gentle hand on his back and cooed to him softly. “It’s me, old friend.”
Kaipo nudged her with his beak, his wings shuddering.
“He was given daily flights in the training dome,” explained her father. “I didn’t trust him out of the house. He would have gone straight to you.”
“As he should.” Larkyra stepped back, allowing the magnificent beast to hop out of his gilded prison to the floor. He stretched his massive silvery wings, sending a small windstorm through the room, rustling papers and stoking the fire in a high burst.
Kaipo adjusted to his new space, to the low ceilings and windowless walls, shrinking in size until he was no bigger than an average red-tailed hawk.
With a click of her tongue, Larkyra called him to perch on her forearm. “No more cages for you, my love,” she whispered. I am the only one who must suffer one, Larkyra finished to herself.
Kaipo was a rare breed, even within the splendor of Aadilor. A mutati hawk, Kaipo had the ability to change size to fit environments and purposes. Larkyra had never known where her father had found him, but as soon as he’d brought him home, Larkyra had felt her magic sing for the creature. And in kind, Kaipo had latched on to her as though he could hear her heart’s silent song. Given her gifts, Larkyra had a strange connection to songbirds, being able to mimic them perfectly. But her love for this hawk ran much deeper, and now Larkyra truly felt at home, reunited once more with Kaipo.
“Are you happy, my songbird?” asked Dolion.
Larkyra smiled as Kaipo nudged her finger to continue to stroke him. “Yes, very.”
“Good. And tonight, are you ready for it?”
Larkyra met her father’s blue gaze. “Which part?”
“All parts.”
“I’m more prepared for the second party than the first,” she admitted.
“You girls always are,” chuckled Dolion as he sat back in his chair, resting his hands atop his stomach. He looked like a grizzly ready to nap.
“Father, I am concerned regarding one detail, however.”
“Mmm, and what is that?”
“Lord Mekenna,” admitted Larkyra, her pulse quickening as her mind filled with images of the tall man. His kind smile. “I was in quite a messy state, but do you think he may recognize me tonight?”
Dolion’s gaze twinkled mischief in the firelight. “I guess we shall have to wait and see.”