Song of the Forever Rains

by Mellow, E. J.

  Unfortunately, when it came to things Darius wanted, he had little say in the matter.

  “Sorry to have kept you waiting!” called an airy voice, drawing Darius’s attention back to the house and to the commotion taking place at the front door.

  Footman after footman was walking out, bearing innumerable trunks, as Lady Larkyra tugged at a pair of brown leather gloves. She looked as bright and fresh as the new day, wearing a navy-blue gown with coral-pink trim, her pale-blonde hair pulled up in an intricate twisting of braids. Lady Arabessa stood beside her, fixing a bit of fabric on her sister’s collar, while Lady Niya spoke softly to each.

  The three broke out in wide smiles from something Lady Niya said, and the sight nearly pushed Darius back a step. They were a force, these Bassette women, and glancing at D’Enieu, who watched them with open affection, Darius didn’t know if he envied or pitied the man for having grown up alongside them.

  “Lark, you’ll run the wheels of your carriage into the ground with all this cargo,” said D’Enieu as the girl made her way up the narrow stone walkway, her skirts swooshing around her as her sisters followed.

  Hearing the use of Lady Larkyra’s nickname sent a spark of something foreign and uneasy through Darius’s gut. What would it be like to be so familiar with someone?

  “Nonsense.” Lady Larkyra waved a hand. “We’ve traveled with at least thrice the amount twice the distance and have been perfectly fine. Our driver is one of the best in Jabari and hasn’t voiced any worries. Isn’t that right, Mr. Colter?” She smiled up at the gray-haired man helping the servants strap down the mountain of cases to the roof of the carriage.

  “Yes, milady,” he grunted as he worked to tie a secure knot around the trunks. “We’ll have no troubles at all.”

  “See.” She beamed over to D’Enieu, who laughed, the sound changing his austere facade completely. He seemed to match this family rather well when he smiled.

  “I placed an extra set of stationery in one of your cases,” explained Lady Arabessa. “I expect a letter before the week is up, or we’ll assume you have perished during the journey.”

  “And that would be absolutely horrid,” added Lady Niya, “considering we haven’t gone through which of your items would be mine if you did.”

  “Everything goes to Charlotte.” Lady Larkyra tugged her gloves more securely into place, seeming to have a bit of trouble with the left one. “I’ve told Father already, so no need to worry your little minds about it.”

  “My mind’s size is obviously well above yours,” began Niya, “if you think Charlotte would find use for any of your things.”

  “She’s a clever woman. I have faith she’d find plenty of purpose for them.”

  “Not to stop what I’m sure is a very important conversation,” interrupted Darius, “but we really must be going if we’re to reach our midpoint before sundown. Will the count be seeing you off?”

  The three ladies looked over at Darius as if they hadn’t realized anyone else stood nearby. With a warming of his skin, he watched Lady Larkyra’s large blue eyes study him, from his brown leather riding boots all the way up to his navy traveling coat and tied cravat, before meeting his gaze.

  “Lord Mekenna,” she said. Her musical voice, when directed at him, always managed to catch him off guard. “How quiet you are, hiding behind your horse. I hadn’t yet realized we were so lucky to have you in our company.”

  “I wasn’t hiding.” Darius straightened, taking a step away from Achala. “And not to be forward, but I gather most would be forced into muteness when you three are around.”

  D’Enieu coughed as if to smother a laugh, while Lady Larkyra raised a manicured brow.

  “Because of your breathtaking beauty, of course,” added Darius with a smile.

  “Well played.” Lady Niya clapped behind her sister. “Oh, won’t you two get along splendidly. The duke will have his work cut out for him with such a rogue about his castle. Tell us, Lord Mekenna, does your stepfather know of your charms?”

  “I’m sure what you deem charming he would define as an annoyance.”

  “I find it hard to believe anything you do would be seen as unwelcome,” replied Lady Niya, swaying her hip to one side.

  The movement was subtle but somehow still managed to distract him thoroughly.

  “Then we really must leave as soon as possible,” he heard himself saying. “For I’d hate to stay and dispel your rather generous opinion of me.”

  Lady Niya chuckled, a throaty, husky sound, and he knew in that instant she would be the ruin of many men, if she was not already.

  “Yes, well.” Lady Larkyra stepped between the two, her features a bit pinched. “Let us set off then, my lord, since you seem so eager to be on the road. Sisters”—she swiveled to face the girls—“I shall try not to enjoy myself too much without you, but as we all know, the most exciting things happen when only I am present, so I cannot make any promises.”

  “We’ll find a way to survive, I’m sure.” Lady Arabessa gave her youngest sibling a hug, Lady Niya quickly following.

  Darius watched the three embrace, the obvious love they felt for one another, and that unwelcome pain hit him in the gut again. To have such a family . . .

  He blinked, dispelling whatever sentiment was creeping in. “Will the count be seeing us off?” asked Darius, repeating his earlier question.

  “He had things to attend to this morning,” explained Lady Larkyra, taking D’Enieu’s offered hand as he helped her inside the black carriage, the interior a rich pearl. “We said our goodbyes before he left. And I have been told your father departed yesterday.”

  “Yes, my stepfather has.”

  Lady Larkyra’s gaze hung on his for a moment, as if searching for a great deal more than what she could presently see. “Splendid.” She nodded. “Then it shall be our merry trio on the journey. And our trusted leader, Mr. Colter, of course.” She poked her head out the carriage window to smile up at the driver.

  “I’ll be sure to make the ride a smooth one, my lady.” Mr. Colter pulled the leather reins into his crooked, calloused fingers.

  “Oh, please don’t,” she said, settling more comfortably against the plush interior. “An easy way forward is never much fun to travel.”

  “Aye, my lady.”

  With a snap, the carriage jerked and began to move, the tower of trunks swaying precariously for a moment before the ropes proved their hold. Darius and D’Enieu mounted their horses, following close behind.

  The first half of their journey proved to be, as Lady Larkyra was wont to point out, “duller than watching cows pasture.”

  This, of course, Darius was more than content with. Dull meant calm, peace, and quiet. All states of being he worked hard to maintain. For the lost gods knew the trials on the other side of that silver coin. For him they were the foggy, painful moments that screamed their reminder every time he dressed, faced the scars marring his skin. It was maddening, being unable to recall exactly how the cuts had gotten there or why they continued to appear, why whole stretches of time were blacked out from Darius’s memory. Though a twisted part of him was also relieved to not hold the vibrant visuals of his skin being sliced open. Darius truly did not know which would be worse, to know or to not.

  All he currently knew for certain was that the episodes had begun after his mother’s death and no medic had ever been sent for. He’s a clumsy boy, Hayzar would explain to the servants when they’d first begun to find young Darius in such a state—dizzy, waking up in all parts of the castle with blood seeping through his shirt from fresh wounds or ripped right through the material, his hand shaking.

  All these years later, and Darius could still remember the very first time it had happened. The very first scar he’d suffered.

  The library was dark, but Darius knew where he woke from the flash of lightning illuminating the books. He jumped at the resounding rumble of thunder that followed.

  Darius was cold, shivering, but at the same time wa
rm. Something wet was on his arm, slippery and—at the next flash of light—red.

  That was when Darius began to feel the pain, the sharp slice along his skin.

  He was bleeding!

  A whimper came from his throat as his back hit against a shelf. Darius’s head ached. He was scared. He had no idea how he had gotten here. The only sliver of memory from before was that he had been with his stepfather, reading beside the fire.

  Hayzar had seemed sad, so Darius had asked him why, and then . . . nothing.

  Just this library and his blood and his hurt.

  “My lord?” A deep voice fell into the room, a dark silhouette by the door.

  Darius shrank back.

  “My lord.” They came closer. “There you are. We have all been looking for you.”

  Boland, Darius’s valet, crouched to where he was curled in the corner, the old man’s eyes wide with concern. “By the lost gods,” said Boland, “what happened? Oh, my lord, let me see. Let me see. There, there. It will be all right. Just a few scratches. You must have fallen, yes, that’s what must have happened. You do love to climb these stacks. Something was bound to snag you on the way down. We will go see Mrs. Pimm. That’s right—let me carry you, sir.”

  Boland scooped Darius up, not seeming to care how his shirt became stained with his tears and splotches of blood as they walked through the halls.

  His valet merely kept muttering to Darius, telling him it would be okay and that this would never happen again.

  But it did.

  It happened for the rest of his life.

  Darius blinked back to the blue sky stretching before him, realizing he had been grasping Achala’s reigns too hard. She was shaking her head, biting at her bit.

  “Sorry, girl.” Darius loosened his grip, petting her neck.

  Though the vision had gone, Darius’s mind still swam with the past. He had wanted his mother desperately after those first incidents, wanted her warm embrace, the way she would stroke his hair and wipe away his tears. But Darius had learned quickly that his life no longer held such comfort. His stepfather’s cold gaze still managed to set his entire body on edge. For while he couldn’t prove it, Darius knew Hayzar was somehow connected to it all. The duke’s demeanor had changed rapidly once his mother was gone. No longer did he smile or utter compliments to Darius, like he’d done when the duchess was alive. There was even a time he remembered laughing with Hayzar as they’d played cards on the floor, his mother watching with a warm grin by the glow of a fire. Instead, after her death, Darius had started to catch his stepfather regarding him with unfocused eyes, as though he were seeing someone else. And after a moment, pain would shine visibly in his pinched brows. This was when Hayzar would lash out at Darius. And after a time, his looks only held contempt when Darius stepped into a room, as if the sight of him was not only hurtful but repugnant. Eventually his only interaction with Hayzar had been reduced to wicked sneers and pointed words, and Darius had spent years doing his best to stay out of the way, out of sight, invisible in all situations. Because how else could a sad, frightened boy survive?

  Darius took a deep breath, pushing away his dark thoughts as he gazed across the open countryside, to the sloping hills covered in wildflowers and tall grass.

  Calm, he thought. All he’d ever wished for was calm, for the luxury of no longer fearing the nights or the following days.

  The sun was high, the sky clear and blue and warm, and Darius reveled in it, for he knew once they reached Lachlan’s border, the shadows and wind would creep in right before the rain. At times he forgot what it felt like to be bathed in the sun and the sweet fragrance of dry foliage, to be surrounded by buzzing insects and singing birds. Darius made a mental note to ride out more often, to remind himself of the life that was possible behind the storm clouds. Not only for him but for his tenants as well.

  Readjusting Achala’s reigns, Darius gazed forward, toward a series of bluffs rising out of the landscape. The rocky hills were painted bright by the day, only interrupted by the thin slash of a shadowed path that cut between them—their route forward.

  Darius was about to spur his horse to trot faster when a screeching far above had him squinting up. A silver hawk soared by, its massive wings extended to perfect knife tips, winking a blinding reflection. Darius had noticed the bird midday yesterday as they’d left Jabari. How could he not? He’d never seen a creature of that coloring, and it seemed to have been following them since they’d set out this morning from the small inn where they’d stopped for sleep. Glancing back at the swaying carriage, he hoped it wasn’t a bad omen for their journey’s final leg.

  With another earsplitting shriek, the hawk swooped low, passing directly in front of Darius, forcing him to steady a spooked Achala.

  “Easy, girl,” murmured Darius, running a calming hand along her neck. “It’s just a pesky bird having a bit of fun.”

  “Everything all right up there?” called Zimri from where he trailed behind the carriage.

  “Yes,” said Darius, watching the hawk make a turn back in their direction. “At least, I think.”

  The silver creature soared straight for Darius again. It hovered in front of him, squawking. Its sharp talons grabbed at the air before it flapped its massive wings and disappeared up and over the bluffs they were about to pass between.

  “By the lost gods, what was that about?” muttered Darius to Achala as they made their way between the ridges, the air growing cool in the tight, shadowy path.

  The horse’s ears rose to attention, her hooves hesitating as the road became narrower, a wall of rocks on either side reaching toward the sky.

  Something set the hairs on the back of Darius’s neck to rise, and before he could turn to tell D’Enieu to stay alert, a wild howl echoed through the narrow canyon, and a group of men jumped from a rocky outcropping, landing before and behind them.

  They looked half-mad with their disheveled hair, brown-stained clothes, and rusted long swords, unsheathed in their hands. Their eyes were glassy and starved, wide with hunger for the riches they guessed he and his companions carried.

  “Hello,” said Darius, his voice even in an attempt to keep Achala stable beneath him as he eyed the three men. “Is there something we can help you with?”

  “Aye,” said the man in the middle, his oily black hair covering half his face. “We be takin’ all ya’ve got.” He pointed his blade at Darius. “An seein’ as ya an’ yer friend will be gettin’ in ours way, we be killin’ ya first.”

  “How inconvenient. I was hoping not to die today.”

  “Hope is for da weak,” spat the man before charging forward with another battle cry.

  The path was so narrow Darius could barely turn Achala as he pulled out his own blade and slashed at one of the attacking bandits. He clipped the man’s arm, which gave him time to jump to the ground and slap his mare on the rear. “Wait for us at the opening,” he yelled as Achala galloped away.

  The varmints were quick to regain their footing, and Darius raised his sword to block their advances while three others rounded on the Bassettes’ carriage, going for the door beyond his sight.

  Darius’s heart leaped in terror as he envisioned these slugs grabbing at Lady Larkyra, who was no doubt a ball of tears and fears on the floor of her plush compartment.

  Mr. Colter had scrambled on top of the trunks, glancing about in chalk-white fright. The old man might have been the best driver in Aadilor, but he apparently was no fighter.

  “D’Enieu!” yelled Darius, his arm vibrating with the clang of his blade against his attacker’s. “The carriage!”

  When no response came, Darius chanced a glance between the rock wall and the carriage, catching a glimpse of D’Enieu fighting the men surrounding him.

  “D’Enieu!” he called again.

  “Worry about what’s in front of you,” shouted the young man as his weapon found purchase in the chest of a highway thief. The man grunted in pain, clutching his blood-soaked shirt, before falli
ng to the ground, dead. D’Enieu disappeared beyond Darius’s sight.

  Cursing, Darius spun away and with a quick crisscross motion made an end to the next poor parasite who lunged toward him.

  He really wasn’t in the mood for this.

  As Darius turned to advance on the last two bandits attacking him, the silver hawk dived from above, its size a good deal larger than he’d remembered—almost half as large as a grown man—to push one of the bandits to the ground. Using its now-massive claws, it tore at the man’s skin, the thief shrieking in agony before being silenced in a gurgle of blood as the bird’s knife-sharp beak plunged into his throat.

  Darius swallowed back bile at the horror even as a sharp sting slashed across his arm. Growling profanities, Darius glanced down and was thankful to see it was merely a flesh wound. The final thief in his path breathed heavily as he advanced again, his next move aimed to be deadly. But while these men might have been ruthless, they were sloppy fighters, with no technique. Technique a young lord, growing up with no one but himself to entertain, had spent many lonely sand falls perfecting. So with a duck, twirl, flick, and jab, the end of Darius’s sword went straight through the thief’s stomach.

  Releasing the pommel, Darius allowed the man to wobble in shock before falling back, conveniently pushing the weapon back up and out of his guts when he hit the ground.

  “What a mess,” said Darius as he snatched up his sword, eyes scanning the fallen bodies—the silver hawk was still picking its grisly prey.

  A chorus of grunts echoed behind him, and Darius spun with a sickening lurch, remembering Lady Larkyra, abandoned inside the carriage. With his heart in his throat, he rushed toward it, preparing for any number of scenes, but nothing could prepare him for the shock of what he found.

  There on the ground by the open carriage door were three thieves piled on top of one another. Red painted the scene as it oozed from deeply carved slashes across each throat.

  Darius took a step back.

  By the lost gods, did the hawk find its way here as well?