“Sticks,” muttered Niya.
“You,” growled the man.
For being so large, he jumped over the wide bar with surprising nimbleness. Niya’s eyes traveled up as he straightened to his full height. His figure was that of an overstuffed sausage, his arm muscles had forced the sleeves of his tunic to be cut away so they could swing freely, and his leather mask was one with his tough, wrinkled skin.
“I was really hoping we wouldn’t have to fight our way out of this bar tonight from way back here,” sighed Larkyra.
“Doors are merely one way to leave a room,” pointed out Arabessa as she glanced up through the rafters above.
Niya followed her gaze, finding a skylight letting in the glowworm starry night of the Thief Kingdom’s caved ceiling. “One way indeed,” she agreed with a smile.
“Which of you three wants to be sent to the Fade first?” growled the approaching barman, his heavy footsteps shaking the floorboards.
“Just so we’re clear,” said Arabessa as they backed up in unison, “we were not throwing at you but at your apple.”
“Yes, if you were the target,” added Niya, “you’d most certainly be in the Fade long before us.”
“Not helping,” muttered Larkyra as the man gave a roar, charging forward.
“Time for that exit.” Arabessa took a running leap onto a nearby table, her navy suit gleaming like fresh blood in the candlelight. Those seated scampered back before she jumped and swung herself from a beam up into the rafters.
“But our knives,” protested Niya, glancing past the stampeding man to the glint of her blade still impaled in the bar. “I just stole that one.”
“And you’ll steal many more,” said Larkyra, picking up her skirts and, with all the grace of the duchess she now was, copying Arabessa’s retreat.
The crowd gave a hoot of approval, seeing a flash of her white-legged bloomers.
“Look out!” called Arabessa from above.
Niya didn’t need to see the fist to sense it swinging toward her. And it wasn’t the usual sort of sensing, either, like the touch of a shadow to a shoulder. No, this was an ability that came with Niya’s particular kind of magic. For though the Mousai were off duty tonight, her and her sisters’ magic never were. While Arabessa was the musician and Larkyra the singer, Niya—she was the dancer. And with her gift came the ability to do a score of beautiful and awful things. In this particular moment, it allowed Niya to tap into the energy an arm gave off right before it swung, the heat of skin nearing. Motion was her study, her obsession, and precisely what had her dropping into a roll, just missing the impact that surely would have broken her jaw, as she slid under a table. Booted feet were all around her, as well as the smell of beer-soaked wood and damp sawdust, as she scurried along the ground through the crowd, thankful for her loose-fitted pants that allowed her better movement.
Reemerging a few tables away, she found herself beside the man with the long-nosed mask from earlier.
“Well, hello there.” She smiled, serpentine.
The rodent jumped, readying to flee, but Niya, always quicker, snagged his collar. As she kept one eye on the bartender, who was busy searching the packed tavern for her, she pulled the man against a wall, determined to teach him a lesson in manners. “I’m going to let you live . . . tonight,” she whispered. The scent of hay and dirt filled her nostrils—a farmer. “But it would be good to remember the old kingdom’s rhyme. Do you know the one of which I speak?”
The man quickly shook his head, eyes widening as he looked past her, to the large form Niya could now sense moving their way. She had been found.
But she still had time for this.
“Those who point and shout,” began Niya, “tattle and tale: in the Fade they’ll sail, but not before their tongues be snatched out.” The man squeaked a whimper as she grinned wider. “So keep silent and pray to the lost gods we never cross paths again.” Niya shoved the small man away, then dropped a sand’s grain before the bartender’s fist could collide with her head. He punched through the wood-slatted wall, the surface splintering with a loud crack.
“Sir, I’m sure we can work this out without becoming violent,” said Niya, spinning into the center of the room, patrons moving to give them a wide berth.
“You are the ones who threw knives at me!”
“Again, to clarify, it was at your apple.”
A growl shook from the bartender’s throat as he snapped off a nearby toppled chair leg, the jagged end no doubt a stake to spit her on. Guests hooted their excitement, free entertainment always a welcome sight, and out of the corner of her eye, Niya saw money exchange palms, bets made on who would be left standing. Her fingers itched to get in on the odds.
But before she could, Niya felt a new form moving quickly toward them.
“No one but I can stab my brother!” yelled a large masked woman, her voice a deep rumble as she rushed Niya.
Stepping sideways, Niya scrunched up her face as the brother, choosing that moment to attack, rammed into his sister. The tavern shook with a boom as they collided.
“It’s good to see siblings so close,” said Niya.
The giants shoved one another, snapping, as each fought to get to her first, the crowd’s encouragement for a fight growing ever louder.
The vibrations in the room spun across Niya’s skin like a caress, her magic purring in delight at the charge of energy. Yes, it crooned, more. Niya could have soaked it all in, moved her body in a way that would paralyze most in the room merely by their watching. But with gritted teeth she restrained the urge to let loose her powers, reminding herself again that the Mousai were off duty tonight.
This evening they were not to be the Maniacal Muses of the Thief King, as some called them here. Sent to trance those who dared disobey their master into the dungeons or, worse, bring them to wait for their fate by the foot of his throne. No, tonight they were meant to be no one—or more accurately, anyone. Indistinguishably distinguished in their random collection of fine-sewn costumes. And while the Thief Kingdom was no stranger to magic, it would be unwise to play all of one’s cards so openly. An individual’s gifts were like a calling card, an identifiable trait, especially for someone as strong as she. If any here witnessed a performance by the dancer of the Mousai, there was a chance they’d find similarities with Niya’s gifts.
So instead, Niya reeled in her magic, which always burned to be set free.
“Playtime’s over,” called Arabessa from her perch on a ceiling beam, where she and Larkyra still waited by the skylight.
“Blasphemy,” shouted Niya as she wove through the pressing crowd. Vaulting over the bar, she dropped into the center. “Playtime has no end.” Gingerly she plucked the gold-dipped hilt of her throwing knife from the wooden column—a small piece of apple clinging to the tip.
“Please don’t tell us you’ve kept us waiting for that,” groaned Larkyra, skipping to a closer beam above.
“I won!” Niya displayed her blade. “And you both know it! I owe you nothing.”
“By the lost gods,” called Larkyra over the raucous cheers erupting as the twin giants detangled themselves enough to come closer to Niya. “I’ll easily give you four silver so long as you get your arse up here.”
“Love.” Arabessa balanced beside Larkyra. “Never reward a rat with food when it’s already made a mess of your kitchen.”
“Rats are resourceful, hardy creatures!” shouted Niya. “And besides, I’d hardly call this a mess—”
The bar exploded, bottles and glasses flying every which way as the giants barreled through the middle. Niya twirled between spraying splinters of wood and bent away from the grasping graze of fingers as she went tumbling back into the tables and chairs. Her back smarted against a corner, but she pushed through the pain, forcing herself to keep moving. She rolled until she was behind a tipped-over stool. Curling into a ball, she felt the warm splashes of liquid soak into her silk shirt as shards of glass impaled the slab of wood she hid behin
d with a thunk, thunk, thunk.
A breath of quiet fell over the hall. Droplets of spilled spirits hitting the ground before—
Madness.
As if the destruction were the invitation the despicable patrons had been waiting for, a brawl erupted. To Niya’s right, a stocky woman in a parrot mask slammed her chair over a group she had been sitting with. Their playing cards flew up in paper fireworks.
A slim creature covered in chain mail flung their body into the wrestling crowd.
Niya sighed. She was officially the least interesting thing in the room.
How boring, she thought.
Though she might be a fool in wanting to change that, she was no idiot. A Bassette knew when their welcome was up.
Catching the eyes of Larkyra, then Arabessa, and giving a nod, she watched her sisters skip their way across beams, back to the skylight, nimble as the thieves they were, and swing themselves up and out through the narrow opening.
“No!” the barman bellowed at their retreat. He and his sister punched a nearby column, as if they’d gladly have the entire ceiling cave in if that meant they’d get their hands on one of them.
Niya took their moment of distraction to slide to the front of the tavern and slip out of the curtained exit.
The fresh caved night splashed across her skin as she was met with a small crowd gathered along the lantern-lit street. Curious gazes hid behind disguises, whispering to one another as they angled this way and that for a better view, wondering what delight or fright might be inside the Fork’s Tongue tavern, especially one that was causing the sign outside to swing so enthusiastically. They got their answer when a body was thrown through a window into the street.
Letting out a laugh, Niya hurried down a nearby alley, making her final escape. She breathed in the cool air of the Thief Kingdom, glancing through her eye mask to the glowworm-covered ceiling far above. The illuminated creatures twinkled in an array of greens and blues while giant connecting stalactites and stalagmites towered across the city, more pepperings of lights from dwellings carved into their sides. The city’s dark beauty never ceased to astonish Niya, and she let out a contented sigh, keeping to the shadows before turning onto Luck Lane. It was easily accomplished, given that the Betting District held extra-thick lengths of darkness. It concealed the games that didn’t fit inside the gambling halls, the kind that were too messy to clean. The cockfights, iron-knuckle brawls, deplorable dares—all for a slip of silver.
Small fires flickered down alleys, illuminating hunched forms gathered close as the smell of iron and sweat filled the air. As she walked on, she caught sight of a crowd watching two creatures shoveling plates of rocks into their mouths. Drool and snot dripped from their half-obscured masks as the competitors forced more in. The spectators hooted in excitement as a game master quickly made slashes on a board behind them, counting stones. Niya squeezed by the group, passing Macabris, one of the more expensive and exclusive clubs. The pristine black marble facade stood out among the surrounding humble establishments. A bright crystal chandelier hung high in the doorway, shining on four mammoth disguised bodyguards stationed by the door.
“You are full of lies,” laughed a lady in a cat mask to her companions, who stood waiting in line outside the club. “No one has seen the Crying Queen in months.”
Niya stilled beside them, ears prickling at hearing mention of the notorious pirate ship.
“I swear on the lost gods,” answered a form wrapped entirely in velvet. “I am friends with the port master in Jabari, and she told me a few of the crew docked there just last week.”
“So the Crying Queen is in the Jabari harbor?”
“I never said that. Merely some of the crew.”
“Without the ship, how do they know these pirates belong to it?”
The question was met with silence, but Niya remained where she was, heart beating quick as she bent down as though to tie her boot’s laces.
“Exactly,” continued the woman. “You don’t. These sort all look alike. Salt dried and suntanned darker than a belt’s hide.”
“Plus,” added another, “Alōs Ezra might have iron balls, but he’s not a fool who would send his crew out in the open after all this time in hiding. If you had learned this, the Thief King surely would have days prior. And the only news we’d be hearing tonight would be regarding his public disembowelment at court.”
“Well,” harrumphed the velvet companion, “whatever the truth, one thing’s for certain—Lord Ezra can’t hide forever.”
“No,” agreed a fourth. “And let’s hope he does not. That face is meant to be seen.”
“Seen under my skirts,” added the woman.
The group’s snickers were drowned out as they were ushered into the club, the warm light and crowded bodies within disappearing with the closing of the doors.
Niya remained crouched at the edge of the busy sidewalk, hardly feeling the knees and swinging arms knocking into her shoulders. It was as if her entire body had been doused in cold water. The mention of the pirate captain, even after all this time, still had her reacting.
Like a struck match, annoyed flames erupted in Niya’s veins, and she stood.
No, she thought, moving through the thick sea of citizens once more. She was only reacting because he and his crew had been on the run for the past several months. Hiding like cowards from the death sentence on their heads. If they couldn’t take their possible punishment, they never should have stolen phorria from the Thief Kingdom. The potent magical drug was too dangerous uncontrolled, which was why it was only allowed here, in the hidden city that held in chaos. The Thief King kept a very watchful eye over its use and trade within the dens of his kingdom.
Which of course made Alōs getting away with leaking it for so long that much more impressive. From the moment Alōs had won his seat at court, Niya had watched his quick rise to a high-ranking member. He was a viciously ambitious man, more slippery than an eel, but even so, Niya often wondered why he had broken such a treasonous law. Like the group had mentioned, Alōs Ezra was no fool. He would not have risked all that he had worked hard to gain without a good reason. Niya hated that she cared to know what his reason was.
She hated that she thought of him at all.
She hated . . . well, him.
Which is why I must put him out of my mind, she thought decidedly.
After all, the pirates of the Crying Queen could not be in Jabari.
“It would be impossible,” she muttered, skirting a corner. The Thief King had eyes in every port in Aadilor, especially Jabari—the city outside this kingdom where Niya and her own sisters lived.
“It’s only a rumor,” continued Niya as she stepped through an open archway and into a quiet courtyard. Tall brick buildings surrounded her, black shutters closing up every window. “And the lost gods know we’ve gotten plenty of rumors over the months.”
“Rumors of what?” asked Larkyra as she dropped down from a neighboring roof and landed in a crouch.
“Rumors of you losing your edge,” said Niya, not wanting to mention anything about Alōs to her sisters, especially unfounded rumors. Whenever the pirate was brought up in their circle, it only had Niya replaying that summer four years prior, which ultimately had led to a very stupid, dreadful, and horrible night. A night that even Larkyra and Arabessa did not know of. And if Niya had her way, never would. She had hid all notice of her heartache and guilt from her family, turning it over and over until it remolded into a desire for revenge.
“I fear it is your edges that have become soft,” corrected Larkyra while dusting off her skirts. “What with you leaving the tavern without making even one patron bleed.”
“The night’s still young; how about I remedy that with you?”
Larkyra shot her a sharp grin, her pearl eye mask twinkling in the lantern light. “I fear that would only prove my point further when you fail to do so.”
Niya’s annoyance sparked, her hand going to the blade at her hip, until—
>
“Ladies, please,” interrupted Arabessa as she dangled from the ledge of a second-floor balcony. “We wouldn’t want to ruin such a wonderful night with me carrying both your lifeless bodies home, now would we?” She landed delicately on the first floor’s thin railing before hopping to the ground, a graceful cat.
“Yes, wonderful night indeed,” declared Larkyra. “Leave it to you, dear sisters, to show me a grand night out before I leave for my honeymoon.”
“Of course,” said Niya. “Such special treatment is not merely handed out to anyone.”
“Especially not by you,” mused Larkyra ruefully.
“I do wish you would have listened to more of my suggestions for tonight’s events, though,” said Arabessa to Niya.
“Yes, but the last time I did that,” explained Niya, “I distinctly remember two carriages exploding.”
“But were we under attack then too?”
Larkyra nodded. “We were.”
“Oh, well, I must have forgotten that part.”
“The sickness of your old age,” said Niya.
“And the fatigue of mine.” Larkyra stifled a yawn.
“You’re younger than both of us.”
“Which doesn’t change that I’ll be a monster if I don’t get some sleep before Darius and I leave tomorrow.”
While most had honeymoons directly following their weddings, Larkyra and her now husband, Darius Mekenna, the newly anointed duke of Lachlan, had been too busy rebuilding and revitalizing his once-cursed homeland to celebrate. Now, with his people and territory beginning to thrive once more, he and Larkyra were set to go on a holiday to one of their southern estates.
It was only natural they took Larkyra out for a hen night before she left. Still, Niya hadn’t thought it would end this early.
“We’ll all go,” said Arabessa.
“No,” protested Niya. “Let’s have another drink. Macabris is just around the corner.”
“I wish we could, but—”
“But nothing. You’re not even in your cups, little bird! We have both failed miserably if you’re not stumbling home tonight.”
Dance of a Burning Sea Page 2