Larkyra moved closer, her voice dripping with warning. “Be on your way, or you will have more than blood to pay.”
If any passersby possessed the Sight, as all who held the lost gods’ gifts did, they would have seen warm honey-colored mist pouring from each of Larkyra’s words, clouding the heads of her victims. But no one here held such gifts, so no one here saw a thing.
With glazed eyes the men blinked before they each turned and left.
The alley sat quiet as her magic retreated.
“Well,” said a deep voice from behind her. “That was rather . . . odd. But I thank you.”
Larkyra found the genteel man sheathing his sword, while his curious gaze lingered on her.
Now alone, Larkyra had a chance to get a good look at him as well.
She instantly knew one thing; he was beautiful.
Annoyingly so.
His deep-copper hair sang with a glint of light that cut through the alley and contrasted nicely against his pale skin and dark attire. His crisp, clear features shone with youth, yet his green eyes held walls, calculated distrust. Larkyra wondered if this young man always wore this look, or only now because of what he gazed upon: another street urchin after his fine things.
“You’re a fool for coming here dressed like that,” said Larkyra.
The man glanced down. “Yes, perhaps I should have done better. But these were the plainest clothes I had near.”
“You’re twinkling like a shiny copper coin in a pile of dirt,” scoffed Larkyra. “Anyone passing will want to snatch you.”
“Is that what you’re doing now? Snatching me?”
Larkyra raised her brows. “I thought it was clear. I was saving you.”
“Yes,” mused the man. “That was impressive. How did you get them to listen to you like that?”
Larkyra pushed down her twinge of annoyance. “You stand here, still with your pouch of coin and cape and sword and shiny boots. What does it matter how anything came to be? Now, hurry back to where you came. I don’t know if I’d be inclined to save you again today.”
She set off toward the main street.
The man followed. “That’s just the thing. I was trying to go back to where I ‘came,’ as you put it. But you see, I seem to have . . . well . . .”
“You’re lost,” said Larkyra.
“Yes,” said the man.
She let out a sigh, catching the strange glances from those around them. They no doubt assumed she was a girl trying to turn tricks, standing and conversing with such a well-bred man.
“Follow me,” said Larkyra.
“Where are we going?”
“You aren’t very quick, are you?”
“So you’ll take me back?”
“I’m taking you out of here. Wherever your ‘back’ is, you’ll need to find it once we reach the middle ring.”
“I can do that.”
One would hope, thought Larkyra as they turned and twisted through the maze that was the lowers.
Larkyra’s gaze kept creeping to the man beside her. He was rather tall, she noted, and thin but not scrawny. She could tell his strength lay in quickness rather than brute force. “Why are you here anyway?” she asked after a moment.
Green eyes slid toward her. “I’m in Jabari for a Eumar Journé.”
Larkyra knew he knew she was asking why he was in the lower quarters, but the man obviously didn’t want whatever business he was attending to here be known. Larkyra appreciated a good secret, so she let it slide.
“That’s a birthday celebration for a girl who has come of age,” explained the man as they walked over a crowded bridge. “Who has turned nineteen—”
“I know what a Eumar Journé is,” cut in Larkyra. “Who is the family?”
“I’m sure you do not know them.”
“And why are you sure of that?”
“Well . . . I, that is . . .”
Larkyra bit back a grin at his flushed features. Despite the delay this caused in reaching her destination, Larkyra decided she was rather enjoying his strange company.
“They are the Bassettes,” he admitted eventually.
“Ah,” said Larkyra, a flutter filling her belly at the name. “A Council family. That will be a grand party, indeed.”
“Yes,” said the man, studying her, and then, “you said it is your day of birth as well?”
“It is.” Larkyra grinned.
“Happy day,” said the man. “I hope you spend it as you desire.”
“Once I leave you, I’m sure I will.”
He smiled at her jab, and for a moment a street urchin and a gentleman walked side by side with shared expressions.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, his gaze going to what she cradled to her chest. “Your hand?”
Larkyra’s cheeks warmed as she realized she had been holding the dirty bandages for some time. Which made her remember she was rather dirty all over and no doubt smelled, given the manure on her shoes.
She hid her injury at her side. “Not nearly as bad as it did.”
“What happened?”
“I decided I no longer liked a few fingers, so I bit them off.”
“You do not have to lie,” said the man.
“How do you know I lie?” countered Larkyra.
“Because lies and I are well acquainted.”
She met his gaze, saw a flicker of frustration pass. Not toward her, however, but to whatever he referred.
“Here we are,” said Larkyra, pushing past the subject. “Can you get to your destination from here?”
The man looked to their surroundings. They stood in the middle ring’s market. The sound of vendors yelling prices to passing buyers twirled with the salty scent of street food being grilled over open flames.
“Yes,” said the man. “I can find my way.”
“Good.” Larkyra nodded.
“Thank you again,” said the man as he extended a gloved hand. “It seems I owe you a great deal for today.”
Larkyra stared at the offered palm, at how clean the leather was compared to her own dirt-stained skin. Even though she’d saved his life, he was being very kind to a creature such as her. A street vermin. A nobody compared to the likes of him.
Tentatively, she placed her good hand in his. It was warm and firm as he gave it a shake.
“My name is Darius, by the way,” he said. “Darius Mekenna of Lachlan.”
“It was interesting to meet you, Darius Mekenna of Lachlan,” said Larkyra before she turned.
“Wait!” he called.
She glanced at him over her shoulder.
“I could repay you a portion of what I owe now,” offered Darius. “Are you hungry?”
A part of Larkyra wished very much to say yes, because in truth she was. Plus, she was growing quite curious to find out more about this man whose smile brought forth a lightness in her chest. But alas . . . “Afraid not,” she said. “You’ll have to repay me another time.”
Darius frowned. “But what if we don’t meet again?”
To this Larkyra grinned. “The lost gods work in wondrous ways,” she began. “Who knows? We just might.”
Larkyra walked on then, darting into the mass before her, making sure to not glance back.
Soon she found herself in the wealthiest part of the city, the center ring, where her appearance stood out like a festering cut on ebony skin. While all of Jabari had its pockets of beauty, here at the highest point, the buildings literally sparkled with gold, ivory, and silver.
This was where Larkyra found herself admiring the city of her birth. As tall as it was wide and as deep as it was narrow, Jabari’s epicenter gathered upward from the coastal edge over a mountain’s crest, the finely stretched architecture searching for the lost gods in the clouds. Larkyra’s heart warmed as she stopped to take in the sea of buildings stretching out below.
Though the lost gods had abandoned Aadilor many generations ago, the trail of their magic still lingered in pockets, in faraway isles and jungle-c
overed cities. Jabari was deemed to be a place without their magical gifts, yet it held no less splendor. And there were still the bedtime stories: Parents gently whispering to their wide-eyed children that a blessed few could still be found among them. Usually hiding in plain sight. Like me, thought Larkyra.
Approaching a grand estate that dominated the end of the street, Larkyra paused at the gate. Its large, spiraling columns ran the height of several floors and took up an entire three blocks. Beautiful framed windows jutted forward, and though it was unseen from the street, Larkyra knew an immense, domed glass hall cut through the middle. Exotic purple, red, and blue flowers lined a stone path leading to the front door.
Larkyra took a deep breath in, savoring the rich fragrance. She knew the servants’ entrance was to the side, a small path that could be taken unseen, and with a quick whistle from her lips, the locked gate clicked open. Stepping through, Larkyra did not turn left, to the back of the building, but instead crossed through an invisible veil of magic, a thickness in the air that caressed her skin and, finding her familiar, allowed her through. She strode straight up the front walk and stopped before an intricately carved gold door.
As Larkyra pulled the rope, ringing for entry, she studied the story expertly fashioned on the surface, the tale of three girls and their magical gifts.
The figures were in half relief, as if trapped between two worlds, each with one foot stretched out toward the sun while the other disappeared behind a flat surface to an unseen beyond. Higher, Larkyra’s gaze rested on an older woman in flowing robes. The elegant lady sat smiling beside a large bearded man, his attention solely on her as she gazed down at their children. Larkyra’s throat tightened as she stared into the woman’s empty eyes, the smile that looked so much like hers, before turning away as the heavy entrance opened.
A skinny, parrot-faced man dressed in a butler’s uniform peered down at Larkyra. He did not blink at her appearance, recoil, or show any signs of shock at finding a wounded Jabari urchin on his doorstep.
He merely bowed his head in greeting and stepped aside. “Lady Bassette, welcome home.”
CHAPTER TWO
Larkyra’s lungs were being crushed. But she supposed corsets were not designed for comfort while running. Still, after wearing practically a smock for the better part of a month, Larkyra felt rather confined in her finely sewn clothes.
Not that she couldn’t adapt. If there was one thing a Bassette excelled at, it was adapting.
Another scream rang through the south wing, much closer this time, and Larkyra picked up her skirts. Wincing through the throb in her injured finger, she did not look behind her as she ran faster.
Panting, she swung the massive doors to the weapons room closed and slumped against them, ears prickling for the stomping of approaching feet.
“She’ll check here eventually,” said Arabessa from where she stood at the far target range. She let loose two throwing knives, a blur of movement before they stuck in the center bull’s-eye.
Larkyra’s magic swam anxiously in her throat for a moment before she swallowed it down. “Yes,” she said, her blue skirts rustling as she approached her sister. “But by then I’m hoping the walk will cool her off.”
“If anything, having to travel for her revenge will only incite her further.”
“Sticks.” Larkyra darted her gaze to the closed door. “I didn’t think about that.”
“You never do, dear,” said Arabessa, taking the new daggers that Charlotte, their shared lady’s maid, held for her.
Their weapons room was large with high ceilings, and the musk of wood and tang of metal filled Larkyra’s lungs with many memories of working long nights in this space. The ache of muscles and dripping of sweat.
“Thank you, Charlotte,” said Arabessa, hooking the knives to the belt around the waist of her skirts. “You may escape now before the storm comes.”
“I’ve weathered worse havoc from you girls,” said Charlotte with a crooked grin.
Their lady’s maid was a tiny woman with vein-riddled hands, and though she was fragile in appearance, if provoked, Larkyra knew Charlotte could bring the burliest of men to their knees. A quality their father had no doubt ensured she had before hiring her to look after his three daughters. In fact, all the Bassette staff had a wide range of talents that some might say went beyond the normal duties of their job description. Each had been born with a level of the lost gods’ gifts and was free to wield their magic openly within these walls, which made Larkyra feel like their home was a bit of a sanctuary, a place where no one needed to hide who they were—a rarity in Jabari. For publicizing one’s magic often meant a life of persecution and displacement due to the perceived threat of having too much power. This created a steadfast loyalty between their staff and Larkyra’s family.
Larkyra’s chest warmed as she watched the small woman beside her sister, for Charlotte had taught the girls young that none were as devoted as those whose secrets you held safe.
“That might be true,” said Arabessa. “But seeing as Lark had a month to think up whatever travesty she’s now set in motion, it’s best we sisters deal with it on our own, in our own way.”
Larkyra watched as Arabessa danced a throwing knife through her fingers. “Maybe you should stay, Charlotte,” she began. “It would be best to have a witness.”
The old woman merely clicked her tongue in silent resignation, and with a wave of her hand, she straightened a crooked dagger on the far wall before taking her leave.
“You’ve cleaned up nicely,” said Arabessa as she walked to a display of thin fencing swords. “Skinnier, which is of course to be expected, but I also see you have returned not entirely intact.”
Larkyra’s injured finger throbbed harder, as if just as offended by her sister’s jab as she.
“All cannot be as perfect as you,” countered Larkyra.
“No,” mused Arabessa as she selected two swords from the rack. “But it’s good you can finally admit to it.” Arabessa lobbed one of the foils to Larkyra, who snatched the hilt from the air. “Hold it in your left hand,” she instructed.
Larkyra narrowed her eyes as she switched her grip, the feeling of it a bit awkward. But she gritted her teeth past the pain, curling her partially missing finger to be on display. As if to say, Yes, I can still hold a sword as well as you, with less than you.
“I’m not dressed to spar,” explained Larkyra.
“We are meant to practice in all sorts of apparel,” said Arabessa, gesturing to her deep-purple day dress with a high collar, her inky-black tresses pinned tightly into a neat, coiled bun. “Now, if you’re done making excuses . . .” Arabessa lunged toward Larkyra, her movements purposeful and fluid, as if the air held her music sheet, guiding each of her next strokes. This innate grace was due to her gifts with music, of course—Arabessa’s ability to expertly play any instrument made by man or creature—which left Larkyra a little annoyed whenever they were together. In comparison, she felt like a floundering, graceless chicken.
Larkyra fumbled back a step at her sister’s attack.
Her magic turned over, frustrated, in her gut, pushing Larkyra to tighten her grasp, using her pinkie and pointer finger to compensate for the loss of her steady hold before making a broad sweep forward.
Arabessa blocked her, feinting forward before stepping back.
As Arabessa’s blade clanked against her own, the vibration traveled all the way to Larkyra’s palm, threatening to loosen her hold. Larkyra set her shoulders and pushed back, willing her other fingers to do more of the work. They spun in a circle, Larkyra answering each of her sister’s advances with her own. She would have to learn to readjust a few things now, to accommodate her missing finger.
“You really know how to welcome a girl back,” said Larkyra. “I’ve missed you too.”
Arabessa quirked a grin before swiping a quick X and, with a flick, ripping Larkyra’s sword from her grip. It clattered to the ground beside them.
“You’re
not as bad as I thought you’d be,” said Arabessa.
“Thanks?” Larkyra massaged the tender skin of her injured finger through the bandage. The pulsing ache was now an incessant beast.
“You’ll need to practice more, of course,” explained Arabessa.
“Of course,” replied Larkyra dryly.
“Now, come here.” Arabessa opened her arms, pulling Larkyra into a hug. “Welcome home, little bird.”
Though the youngest, Larkyra was as tall as Arabessa, and as she rested her chin on her sister’s shoulder, she inhaled the rose and vanilla that made up Arabessa’s signature scent.
“And happy birthday,” whispered Arabessa.
“Thank you.” Larkyra stepped back with a grin. “And happy day of birth to you as well.”
Arabessa waved an unconcerned hand. “Three and twenty is hardly anything to celebrate. But nineteen.” She beamed. “I cannot believe today is your Eumar Journé! I feel like it was merely yesterday when you were turning twelve. The house has been in a state for some weeks planning tonight’s party.”
Though Larkyra and her sisters shared the same birthday, on each of their Eumar Journés, as decreed by their father, each daughter would receive her own celebration to usher in her coming of age.
“Yes, Cook practically tackled me to the ground as I walked in the door to taste some of what’s on the menu,” said Larkyra. “But I must admit, I’m more excited for the celebrations after the party.”
“Agreed.” Arabessa nodded. “But enough about what hasn’t yet happened. Tell me everything that has, especially how you came to be sporting this beauty.” She raised Larkyra’s injured hand.
Larkyra quickly told Arabessa the tale of the emerald ring and the pawnshop owner’s wife.
“I’m surprised he didn’t take the whole hand,” declared Arabessa.
“That would not have fit the crime.”
“Punishments in the lower quarters hardly ever do.”
“True,” mused Larkyra. “But I’m not about to return to the man so he can correct himself. It already took too much strength not to scream him to shreds while he severed it.”
Song of the Forever Rains Page 3