Dance of a Burning Sea

by Mellow, E. J.

  She was Niya Bassette, dancer of the Mousai, for the lost gods’ sake. If she was going into battle, she would meet her enemy on even footing. And that meant escaping from this prison and showing Alōs all the talents she brought to his arsenal.

  You have overestimated my need for you by coming here.

  Well, Niya would see about that.

  Alōs needed more help than he let on, and Niya was going to use that for all it was worth.

  Niya’s thoughts froze as she brushed a finger over a bump in her pocket.

  Oh! Her heart picked up its pace as she removed a small pouch. She tipped out a tiny gold ball into her palm. Niya had forgotten she had stuck this into her pocket, so long ago it had been since she had changed from the soiled dress she had worn in Jabari to her current pirate’s garb.

  A grin curved along her mouth as she took in her seed scoopling. Thank the lost gods!

  Making her way back to the door to her cell, she crouched in front of the lock.

  “No use, I tell ya,” said her prison mate, inching closer to his bars but not touching them. “Might as well sit back and share our life stories to pass the grains falling. They like to make you wait before you learn your sentencing.”

  Niya ignored him. She had only one shot at this.

  Delicately, she placed the seed scoopling against the door’s latch, holding her breath as the ice quickly crept around it. Right before it closed over the shell, she flicked out a flame from her finger and lit the scoopling on fire.

  It gave a little puff of smoke as it caught before it grew in size, oozing black and fighting against the frost attempting to cover it. The seed scoopling won, eating right through the icy lock. A giant dripping hole sat where the latch used to be. The seed scoopling fell to the ground with a slap and began to burrow through the stone floor.

  Nothing could stop a seed scoopling once activated. Not even magic.

  Niya gave a testing nudge to the cell door with her boot.

  It creaked open.

  She smiled.

  “Perhaps we can tell our stories another time,” said Niya to the old man as she gingerly stepped through. “That little guy is going to drop into the next floor soon, and who knows what, or who, might be in its path.”

  “Wait!” the man called out as she walked by. “Help me. Do the same trick for me!”

  But even if Niya wanted to, she couldn’t, for she only had that one. The man’s shouts faded to echoes of distress as she hurried down the hall, a distant zapping and flashes of light behind her before all fell quiet.

  Niya made her way from the top floor, where her cell seemed to be, to the one beneath.

  Here she passed more cells, simpler than hers, with only plain benches lining walls. All were crammed with multiple prisoners. They were an odd bunch, wearing varying degrees of expensive-looking clothes. Coats, capes, tunics, and dresses in impeccable shape. The only thing amiss was the strong odor of alcohol.

  Well-bred drunks, thought Niya. How interesting.

  Esrom’s main offenses seemed to fall with overindulgence.

  And though she felt their gazes on her, a few calling out, she ignored them, senses instead prickling for any nearing guards.

  But oddly for a prison, it was so far void of soldiers or watchful eyes.

  Niya descended to another floor with little trouble. There, however, she was hit with the sensation of a figure shifting at the bottom of the stairs.

  As she crept down, she caught the edge of a guard’s uniform, his hand grasping his pointed staff, fingers thrumming along it in apparent boredom.

  I’ll give you a task to distract you, she thought as she curled her wrists around, gathering her magic. With a flick, she flew out her gifts like an orange fishing line, severing the thin veil of the guard’s own powers.

  Her thread of magic wound around his head, latching on to his eyes and his mind.

  Mine. Her gifts tugged.

  Niya sensed the guard grow slack, and as she took the last steps to stand in front of him, she peered into his glassy eyes. “Follow,” she whispered, and follow he did.

  Niya would be less conspicuous with a guard escorting her.

  “Show me the way out,” she quietly commanded. The man complied, maneuvering them this way and that through the prison.

  Niya’s heartbeat grew quick as open windows eventually appeared in a new hall. Early dawn streamed in to paint the white brick around her a soft yellow.

  Niya glanced out the glass, glimpsing an empty stone courtyard fortified by a tall wall. There was no splendor here like in the palace, only a platform in the center. An execution block.

  Niya did not linger on the scene, instead twisted around a new bend, only to come to a halt as a cool current hit her like a kick in the chest.

  Her magic buzzed through her veins, warning bells going off.

  She knew this energy all too well.

  Alōs was near.

  Niya rubbed her lips together, holding steady to the spell that leashed the guard at her side.

  She knew she would have to face Alōs eventually, and it appeared eventually was now.

  Squaring her shoulders, Niya followed his trail of green energy, which eventually disappeared into a storage room.

  She waited by the threshold, peering over the piled boxes that rested inside. The space was full of shadows, save for a sliver of daylight that crept in through a high-cut window.

  Though she couldn’t see him, Alōs was most certainly there. Somewhere.

  Come play, his energy seemed to whisper. If you dare.

  With her guard in tow, Niya walked in.

  Alōs appeared from a darkened corner at the far end like black smoke. His coat swayed by his feet, ebony hair loosely pulled back to make way for the severe angles of his face. His glowing blue eyes were reduced to slits as he took her in. He did not seem surprised to see her outside her cell but rather was thrumming with the same rage as earlier. Alōs stopped at the edge of where the sun ran along the floor, his dark boots toeing the light.

  With barely a flick of his hand, the door behind her closed, his magic a cold gust blowing her hair back.

  “New pet of yours?” Alōs nodded to Niya’s spelled guard.

  “If he behaves.”

  Alōs’s response was perhaps more dangerous than his glare. He grinned.

  “I wondered how long that cell would contain you,” he said, the air tensing between them as he began to circle her in the small space. He was a coiled snake looking for the right time to strike.

  “How did you know I would pass here?” asked Niya, remaining still, the guard standing close by her back.

  “It’s the only way out,” he explained. “Plus,” he added, bending to whisper in her ear, “you and I know that I can always find the places you roam, fire dancer.”

  Niya’s skin was dusted with bumps as she felt his hot breath along her neck.

  “Then why didn’t you know I had followed you from the ship?” she challenged.

  “I didn’t think you were foolish enough to try for me to check. You were ordered to stay on board.”

  “And you’re used to everyone following your orders?” She tracked his every step as he came to stop in front of her.

  “You know, I kept the skull of the last of my crew who disobeyed in Esrom,” said Alōs, head tilting. “I wonder what I’ll do with yours?”

  “From what I hear, it is not only your crew with rules to follow when in Esrom.”

  A flash of something sharp passed through Alōs’s gaze. “Careful, fire dancer. You do not want to upset me further, or I won’t be responsible for what I do next.”

  Niya folded her arms over her chest, feigning disinterest, all while her heart beat in anticipation of a fight. “What amusing bedtime stories you must weave for yourself to think your threats would have any effect on me.”

  “No story will be as amusing as the one I will tell of your death. There will be an encore, to be sure. Pirates of the Crying Queen are
not keen on being spelled by one of their own.”

  “How do you know I spelled them?”

  “It’s the only reason they would allow you to disobey me.”

  She lifted a brow. “And how do they deal with captains who lie to them? How many know of the prince who poses as a pirate? Or ex-prince, rather. Treason, was it?”

  Alōs took a step closer, his energy like ice claws digging into her own as his presence consumed her. “You know nothing of my past.”

  “I know enough.”

  “Enough to get you killed.”

  “Not that I don’t find your continued threats entertaining, Prince”—Niya shoved her power against his, a red wave of heat hitting a wall of cool green—“but neither of us shall die this day.”

  “Are you sure? Because you seem like you really want to enter the Fade.”

  “We both know you cannot kill me while I hold this mark.”

  “That does not mean I cannot get another to—”

  “Wha—? Where am I?”

  The guard’s voice sounded at Niya’s back, and she turned to find her spell on him had unhooked when she had momentarily redirected her magic to Alōs. The young man blinked, confused, as he gazed about his surroundings. When he took in Alōs, his eyes widened. “You . . . you’re . . . by the lost go—”

  He was cut off as Niya threw out a punch of her gifts to smack against his head. The guard fell to the ground, unconscious.

  Niya turned back to Alōs, smugness in her features. “It is good to remember that I am more useful than most of your pirates, or did you forget how I helped you locate the other piece to your precious Prism Stone?”

  He eyed her for a long moment, no doubt taking in what she now might know. “Yes, you are useful on those rare occasions when you follow orders,” he began slowly. “Which are few and far between. Your liability has grown tiresome, and tiresome creatures don’t stay long alive on my ship.”

  His words echoed Saffi’s.

  “You need my help, Alōs.”

  His brows rose at that. “Your help has been mine to command this past month.”

  “Yes, but as you have just pointed out, you may order me to complete a task, but the result will be very different if I do it willingly.”

  A mocking grin grew. “Oh, I know all about your willing acts, fire dancer.”

  Niya clenched her hands into fists, her magic hissing for her to move, to maim, to burn the man who could so quickly and easily ignite her rage. But that would have been the old Niya, the reactionary Niya, not the one who now waited, planned, thought. It took all her self-control to remain still.

  “I am part of the Mousai,” said Niya, steering the conversation back to where she needed it to go, “part of the Thief King’s favorite executioners. There are advantages I hold in Aadilor that not even a nefarious pirate, or disgraced prince, has. Obtaining my willing help is tapping into all my resources and powers. My sisters’ included.”

  Alōs remained silent, which Niya took as encouraging.

  “You are right that I don’t know much of your past or your history with this Prism Stone, but I do know you need it. Esrom needs it. And I can help you get it quicker than any other soul aboard your ship. But while you may command me to do something, even our binding bet cannot force me to tell you all I know or use all of the magic at my disposal. That can change, however. I will give you my full, willing aid to find what you seek, so long as my debt to you is completed upon its safe return.”

  Niya’s plan tumbled from her on the spot. It might have been decent, but she knew it wasn’t the strongest hand. She hoped Alōs’s desperation to help his brother and save his homeland would outweigh this fact—and would outweigh his current desire to have her killed.

  Niya needed to remind him she was worth much more alive than as a skull on his desk.

  Alōs studied her a long while, calculation apparent in his glowing eyes. “It might take longer than a year,” he said eventually, “which would make your sentence longer.”

  Niya’s heart jumped in relief; this might actually work.

  “We both know you do not have longer than a year.”

  The Room of Wells is nearly dry. The High Surbs believe we have a year at most.

  Ariōn’s words seemed to fill the silence.

  “And if you fail at helping me in time?” asked Alōs, brows drawing together.

  “As I remember hearing it, Esrom will then be exposed to all of Aadilor to pick over. Will you really care about anything at that point?”

  “Yes.”

  She weighed her options. “Then if I fail, I will serve a year more.”

  “You want to make another binding bet?” he asked, disbelieving. “After everything?”

  “My odds are all I have at this point.”

  He watched her closely but did not respond.

  “Do we have a deal?” she pushed.

  “That depends,” said Alōs slowly. “While my crew knows of my old connection with this place—”

  “They know you’re a prince?”

  “They do not know what I seek,” he continued past her. “The lost gods know I’m facing enough obstacles in hunting down the other part to this stone. I do not need those aboard the Crying Queen getting any ideas regarding trying to take it for themselves.”

  “While they are pirates, I do not think any of your crew are so idiotic as to steal from you. They all heard what happened to Prik.”

  “Some treasures breed treason.”

  True, thought Niya.

  “But what of Kintra?” she asked.

  “What of her?”

  “Is even your quartermaster not to be trusted?”

  Alōs glanced away. “Kintra is the exception.”

  Such an answer shocked Niya, and it took her a moment to soak this in. Kintra is the exception. Why did that sting to hear?

  Because you weren’t, a slithering voice said in her ear.

  Niya frowned, shaking off the strange emotion clawing hot in her chest. “I did not realize you and she were . . .”

  Alōs lifted an amused brow at that. “Were what?”

  “Nothing, never mind. I will not tell your crew what we seek.”

  “Give me your word,” he commanded.

  Niya frowned but replied, “I give you my word as the dancer of the Mousai, loyal subject to the Thief King, to not tell any pirates of the Crying Queen about your hunt for the Prism Stone.” She held out her hand. “So do we now have a deal?”

  Alōs pressed his lips together, thinking. “Very well,” he agreed, though he didn’t seem pleased about it. “You will give me all your aid in getting back the Prism Stone, and in trade, I will set your binding bet free upon its safe return to Esrom. If not, you shall serve another year aboard the Crying Queen.”

  Niya’s pulse quickened in silent victory as they each called up their magic then, winding it around their hands. Alōs unsheathed his dagger and pricked each of their palms. Niya’s stomach twisted with anticipation. She had found a way out. She was that much closer to being free. Free of this man. Free of paying for her past sins. Free to finally move on with her life.

  Niya gripped Alōs’s palm, his touch cold against her heat, their blood mixing as their powers twisted around one another, a fight for dominance.

  “Vexturi,” they said in unison, and Niya watched their magic spin faster and faster before snapping into their skin.

  She pulled her hand free, studying the black mark on her wrist, which was changing along with her new binding bet. Half of it began to fade, lines of her future not yet permanent.

  Niya might have made a bigger gamble, but for the first time since meeting Alōs all those years ago, she felt like she had an upper hand. She could not help the triumphant smile edging her lips.

  “Let’s see how long that grin stays after we return to the ship,” said Alōs, opening the door to their closet. “You still must answer for disobeying me, fire dancer, and for spelling my crew. But do not worry. I’ll p
romise to make your punishment quick.” His gaze was sharp as he turned, leaving her standing in the dark space.

  Niya’s feeling of triumph was short lived.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The sound reverberated in Niya’s skull before the pain. The whip cracked across her skin, hot flames against her back. She was being torn in two. But she did not call out, did not give the pirates who watched, their shouts of glee filling the air, the satisfaction of hearing her agony. Especially the man who held the whip.

  Alōs stood behind her, cold determination in his eyes to fulfill the sentence his crew had demanded. Have Red spill red with lashes, they had called. As Alōs pulled back the leather rope, readying to strike again, Niya turned forward. She squeezed her eyes shut as she dug her fingers into the straps where she was tied to the mainmast. Energy raced toward her, followed by cool air a grain fall before the sharp slice of retribution cut against her spine once more. Her jaw clamped so tight she feared her teeth would crack and shatter to the floor.

  Her magic churned up fire in her gut. It screamed to be freed, to lash back. We can slice him down, it sang in her blood. Nothing will be left but ash. We will not even save his bones. By some miracle, she kept her power contained. Because even in her silent terror, in her desperation to burn each and every person who stood near, she knew she had brought this upon herself. She might be foolish, but she was not dumb. Despite originally believing she had a chance of making it back to the ship with none the wiser, she had sneaked off to Esrom knowing the possible repercussions.

  Now here she knelt, before the bloodthirsty pirates.

  Saffi had been the one to position her against the mast, her artillery boss’s features holding nothing but hurt and rage. Whatever trust the woman might have begun to extend to Niya, she had quickly severed it by spelling her.

  Niya had made each of them look weak, helpless. And to a lot like this, that was worse than death.

  Still, Niya would not have changed what she had done.

  She looked up to her binding bet, which peeked from beneath the ropes around her wrists. Half of it now erased, the other half soon to disappear when she found the other piece of the Prism Stone. Her sentence to this ship would be gone. No more.