Dance of a Burning Sea

by Mellow, E. J.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Niya felt like a ghost as she accompanied Alōs back to his private chambers—unfeeling, a specter of motions as they stole quickly away from the princess’s rooms.

  Kintra was already waiting for them by the warmly lit fireplace. She stood as they entered, a question in her gaze as Alōs went straight to a decanter of wine, finishing the glass in one go. He refilled it again.

  “Did you not get it?” asked Kintra.

  “We did,” answered Niya.

  “Then why does it feel like a funeral in here?”

  Niya looked to Alōs, waiting for him to explain, to remove the Prism Stone from his inside pocket and show his quartermaster what was missing, but he remained silent, staring into the jumping flames of the fireplace.

  With a frown, Niya divulged what had happened. With each word, her skin trickled with more fury and frustration. For when she was done, the question that hung silent in the air, that none wanted to ask or mention, was if the part missing was truly only one. The chunk cut from the back was sizable, almost as large as a silver coin. If someone had been willing to cut that out, perhaps they’d then split the third piece a dozen more ways. And was it the work of Cebba or the people of the valley? The endless possibilities were paralyzing.

  “What do you want to do, Captain?” Kintra turned to him, worry etching deeper into her features as Alōs once again remained mute.

  Niya had never seen him like this before. Reserved. Almost . . . defeated.

  It unnerved her.

  He could at least be angry like she was, for anger held energy that could be molded into something useful. Complacency was next to uselessness.

  Niya had no time for inaction. And neither did he. His home was on the line, for the Obasi Sea’s sake. She couldn’t sit idly by while an entire nation was unmoored!

  Niya’s thoughts froze.

  When did I start to care about his problems?

  She swallowed back her unease. It’s because of the people who live in Esrom, she silently reasoned. If Esrom surfaced, a war against the hidden treasure would be imminent. Too much lore surrounded the city, too many whispers about how its people thought themselves better than the rest of Aadilor. Other nations would surely try to claim it. And then there was Ariōn. So young to his new responsibilities as king. Alone in that palace. Hadn’t he experienced enough hardship with his illness before losing his brother and then parents? He did not deserve such a tragedy as this to end his short reign.

  Plus, Niya wasn’t a heartless snake. The Bassettes might have been thieves, her sisters part of the Mousai, but they never stole from the less fortunate, never punished the innocent. They struck and helped where they felt they were most needed.

  Niya was needed here.

  “We’re going to figure out what happened to the rest of the stone,” said Niya to Kintra. “We’ll find where it is, and we’ll get it back.”

  Alōs snorted his disbelief from where he remained by the fire.

  “Do you have something to add?” She turned to him.

  “No, you lie quite beautifully for the both of us.”

  “It is not a lie. It is a plan, which we need, Captain. Or have you forgotten that’s still who you are?”

  Alōs met her gaze, a flickering spark of his old self in his eyes’ depths, before it fell away and he returned to staring at that blasted fire.

  Say something! Niya wanted to scream. But she didn’t. It was apparent he still needed time. She only hoped it wasn’t more than a sand fall, for even that was too much to spare at the moment.

  Niya looked to Kintra. “We should get whatever rest we can before tomorrow’s breakfast. Make sure he sleeps”—she nodded to Alōs—“and if that’s by getting him more drunk, so be it. I’ll figure this out.”

  “How?” Kintra’s brows drew together.

  “I don’t know yet,” admitted Niya, “but . . . I will.”

  With that Niya headed back to her shared rooms to crawl into bed.

  She lay awake for a long while, the rumbling, drunken snores of her lady shipmates a backdrop to her turning thoughts.

  This was all becoming a bloody, muddy mess.

  Her new convictions in caring for Esrom, for the pirates who slept around her; her new truce with Alōs; their recent kiss. Things were changing. She was changing.

  But is it for the best? she wondered as she idly ran a finger over the mark around her wrist.

  All she currently knew was that Alōs needed to snap out of it. He was useless as he had been in his rooms earlier. Licking his wounds like a defeated dog.

  Where was the ice-cold energy he always carried? Where was the impertinent, stubborn beast who welcomed a challenge with a sneering grin? She needed Alōs fighting again. Being ruthless again.

  Niya pushed out of bed. She could sleep when all this was over. Currently she needed to figure out a plan.

  It wasn’t until servants came to wake them that she finally felt one forming.

  The morning spun honey-yellow light over the large terrace where the next day’s breakfast was taking place. Niya stepped onto the balcony, taking in the sandstone buildings of the valley, which rose like proud fingers of giants in the distance. The pleasant aroma of fresh-baked sugar rolls and delicately sliced fruit wafted toward her from a nearby table, but she ignored the rumble in her stomach that begged her to fill a plate. She was on a mission this morning, praying to the lost gods that she would succeed. Food could come later.

  The lively commotion from the night before was reduced to snail movements as she twisted through the guests, glancing to her crew, who nursed hangovers on low sofas placed in the shade of olive trees. Saffi was still dressed in her silk pants and tunic from the past evening, eyes closed with a wet towel over her forehead, while Boman sneaked bites off her plate. The old man seemed spry compared to the rest of the lot, no doubt immune to hangovers by now. His thick gray beard shifted upward as he grinned at her.

  Niya nodded in return but did not stop to talk.

  She approached a tucked-away section of the veranda that was beside a twisting wall of jasmine, the sweet fragrance enveloping the area in a gentle mist. This was where Niya found King Anup sitting beside Achak and an elderly woman who looked like a folded-up napkin.

  The guards blocking them patted Niya down before allowing her entrance to the group.

  “Child,” greeted Achak from where the sister lounged on a low sofa. “It is good to see you have survived the debauchery of last night.” She turned to the king and the elderly woman. “Your Majesties, let me introduce Niya Bassette, second daughter to Count Dolion Bassette of the second house of Jabari. My brother and I are old friends with her family. Niya, you know King Anup, of course, and this is the queen mother, Murilia.”

  Niya bowed. “Your Grace, on behalf of the Crying Queen, I want to express how grateful we are for your generosity these past two days. The lost gods knew we needed rest after sailing through those storms.”

  “I must admit”—the king’s brows rose—“I have never heard of a lady who sails with pirates. Please, join us for some food and tell us how that came to be.”

  Niya bowed again before a plate of dates with a warm roll was handed to her by an awaiting servant. With thanks she took a seat beside the old queen, who merely kept eyes forward, withered hands folded like fragile pieces of paper in her lap.

  “I’m sure it’s a story like any other aboard the Crying Queen, Your Grace,” answered Niya to the king. “I was in the right place at the wrong time.”

  “Aren’t most of us?” He smiled. “Now, tell me more of our western storms; have they truly gotten as bad as they say? It has been some time since I’ve sailed through them myself to know.”

  “It was my first experience, Your Grace, so I have no past to compare, but I can say the waves matched the height of your canyons, and if it wasn’t for the skill of our captain and crew, our ship would be splintered to pieces at the bottom of the sea. The entrance to the Fade would now be very busy w
ith a surly lot of disgruntled pirates.”

  The king laughed, the sound a soft rumbling of boulders. Unlike his wife, King Anup seemed open with his energy, friendly. Which was what allowed Niya to grow her confidence to continue in what she was after.

  “That is a fright to hear,” he said. “I must come to the river and see what damage still lingers on your vessel. Though my wife tells me most of the wreckage has already been repaired with the help of our people.”

  “You and Her Highness have our thanks.”

  “Don’t be too grateful,” tutted King Anup. “Your captain paid handsomely for the assistance.”

  The old queen beside her reached over and grabbed a wrapped date off Niya’s plate.

  “Mama,” admonished the king. “I’m sorry, Lady Niya; I fear my mother is quite fond of that particular snack. She ate every last one from my plate as well.”

  “I eat in her lands,” said Niya. “This food is always hers to take.”

  “Your flattery is wasted on her, child,” Achak explained as Niya held her plate steady so the old queen could eat a few more. “Queen Murilia hasn’t been able to hear in a decade, at least.”

  “But I can still read your lips, ancient one,” croaked Murilia, eyes narrowing.

  “And still keep us on our toes,” said the king with a chuckle, patting his mother’s shoulder.

  “You have a blessed family,” said Niya. “Your daughter will be a great leader with such lineage in her blood.”

  “Yes.” The king’s expression grew warm at the mention of his daughter. “Callista has outwitted us all on many occasions. I’m sure my wife will find herself handing over her crown soon enough and without even realizing she’s doing it.”

  Niya’s nerves buzzed, seeing her opening. “I must say, in all my years gazing upon the splendor of Aadilor, I have never seen crowns as beautiful as you and your family’s. Were they forged here?”

  She could feel Achak’s questioning gaze on her, but Niya kept her attention on the king, her features smooth.

  “They were,” he said. “We have some of the best metalworkers in the west. Each of our crowns has been made by the Dergun family for decades.”

  “How amazing. We Bassettes are no royalty, but I know my father would be flattered if I brought him home a gift made by such hands. Are the Derguns’ services only reserved for the royal family?”

  “They take commission from any who can pay. In fact”—the king glanced beyond their section—“I think the wife and son are here now. I can introduce you to them later, if you’d like.”

  Niya controlled her sweep of joy at finding out this information to a mere smile. “I would be forever grateful.”

  The king nodded. “Of course.”

  “I do love learning about such trade,” continued Niya after a moment, daring to push for more. “Metalworking is an art form, to be sure. How the Derguns can manipulate such strong material to curl so gracefully around jewels is astonishing. I truly could not stop admiring the princess’s. And that red jewel within.” Niya shook her head in awe. “I have never seen its equal in color or size.”

  She was toeing a dangerous line, Niya knew, her magic awakening in her gut at her surge of adrenaline, but the king appeared an oversharer, and she didn’t have time to play a longer game. If there were extra answers to be gained, she needed to acquire them fast.

  “And no matter how many more kingdoms you visit, you will not,” said King Anup proudly. “Such a stone is a rare beauty, like our Callista. And my mother, of course.”

  “Your mother?” Niya tightened her grip around her plate. “Does she have a crown of it as well?” She glanced at the woman, but no such sparkling adornment sat atop her head.

  “A pendant,” the king clarified before sipping from his goblet. “My mother and daughter share the same month of birth. We had the stone split to be made into a gift for each.”

  A ringing filled Niya’s ears then, all her attention zeroing in on the old queen once more, searching through her many drapes of purple and orange clothes. Queen Murilia’s hair matched her son’s; long gray braids draped over her shoulders and lay coiled in her lap. But nowhere could Niya find a necklace made with the Prism Stone. Was it in her rooms like the crown had been in Callista’s? Could it truly be here? Hope began to bubble up in her chest. Please, by the lost gods, for once let everything I seek come easier.

  “Of course, she lost that within a fortnight.” The king sighed.

  Niya blinked over to him, feeling the color drain from her face. She struggled to keep her breathing even. “Lost it?” she asked, forcing as much of a casual tone as she could muster, when what she really wanted to do was scream and shake the old bird beside her. How could you lose it!

  “Can’t recall where she put the necklace,” he explained. “Which is why you might notice she doesn’t wear anything precious now. She’d misplace it as soon as she put it on.” The king put his hand beside his mouth to hide his words. “Her hearing isn’t the only thing that’s gone. Her memory isn’t what it used to be either.”

  Niya vaguely nodded, no longer listening, as her thoughts exploded into a mess of panic, hopelessness, dread.

  Lost. It’s lost. She lost it.

  Was this really how it was to end?

  Coming up short.

  Esrom handed to the wolves. Niya chained to the Crying Queen for another year, at the mercy of a pirate who would no doubt blame her for everything. The fragile peace between them shredded on the spot.

  “I’m often forgetful.” Achak’s voice broke through Niya’s downward spiral. “Which is the only reason I enjoy having my brother around. He can always recall my forgotten memories.”

  Niya met the ancient one’s intent stare.

  “Forgotten memories are inevitable when the fountain of youth fades,” the sister went on. “And though you are still young, Niya, my sweet, you must not take for granted your fountain of youth.”

  “Yes,” said Niya slowly as certain words began to click in place.

  Fountain . . . memories . . .

  A calm settled over her as she held Achak’s knowing purple gaze, a new plan awakening.

  “This all said by a creature who never ages,” said the king. “Not that you’d be any less magnificent if you did.”

  Achak smiled. “My dear Anup, since you were a young boy, you were always an incorrigible charmer.”

  “How do you think I got my wife to marry me?”

  “We presumed it was because of your heavy dowry.”

  The king laughed long and hard. “Yes, well, that certainly helped keep her open minded to a ruffian like me.”

  As the conversation continued, no one noticed Niya’s hand slip behind the old queen’s back. Her heart felt like it was pounding in her throat, her senses on high alert as she twirled her finger once, twice, thrice, before a flame flickered on the tip.

  Her pulse was a stampeding beast in her veins as she smiled and nodded along with Achak’s story, which held the king’s attention, the sister shifting into her brother.

  And well, no one could look away when the twins came out to play.

  With a quick slash, Niya singed off a small piece of the old queen’s braid. The nub fell into her palm, and with a single fluid motion she tucked it safely into her pocket.

  Her eyes darted around the veranda, seeing if any might have noticed such a small movement from her, but the space remained idly lazy. She allowed herself a sigh of relief.

  Niya remained with the group for another half grain’s fall before she made her apologies and stood to leave. Before exiting, she made sure to give Achak a quick kiss of thanks on the cheek.

  “Safe travels,” said Achak, now back in the form of the sister, a twinkle in her violet eyes.

  Niya strode back across the veranda, ignoring the calls from Bree to join her and Green Pea, and waved away Therza asking her to get her more food. Niya felt like a hound in a fox hunt; there was only one person she cared to find.

 
; And find him she did. Alōs stood on the other side of the balcony beside Kintra. They conversed with the queen and the princess. Callista still wore her gifted tiara from Alōs. Still smiled up at him like he was the rarest of gifts.

  Alōs, however, seemed to have forgotten his charms this morning. Though he appeared engaged with the group, his posture was straight, tense. His gaze far away.

  Still moping, thought Niya. Moping while I do all the work.

  Charging past them, she made a point to meet Alōs’s gaze and inclined her head just so.

  We need to talk.

  Niya paced beside the doused fireplace within Alōs’s rooms, her magic churning with impatient energy in her veins. Move, it shouted. Get going!

  She glanced to the sandglass on the mantel. Why wasn’t Alōs here already? Didn’t he know time was not on their side? Didn’t he know—?

  The door to his chambers opened and closed.

  “The old queen had a necklace made with the other part of the Prism Stone,” she blurted, striding toward Alōs.

  He paused, hand still on the doorknob, an array of emotions running through his gaze. “What do you mean, had?”

  “She lost it. Can’t remember where she put it. But—I know how to find where it might be.”

  “How?”

  Niya reached into her pocket and pulled out part of the queen’s braid.

  Alōs scrunched his nose. “Is that . . . hair?”

  “Yes,” said Niya. “But don’t you see? We can use this”—she shook the nub—“to find the answer in the Fountains of Forgotten Memories.”

  “The Fountains of . . .” Alōs’s brows drew together. “In the Thief Kingdom?”

  Niya nodded, a grin edging along her lips. “In the Thief Kingdom.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  No longer by days or grains through a sandglass, time was now measured by destinations.

  After traveling back through the Mocking Mist and surviving the western storms yet again, the Crying Queen sailed endlessly over open waters. And Niya now knew why pirates were a surly lot.

  Each day brought new weather, from ice rain to balmy sun to hailstorms that left dents in the deck the size of peach pits. Being at sea for so long, her sense of reality became reduced to sensations. Hunger, thirst, fatigue, boredom.