Song of the Forever Rains

by Mellow, E. J.

  “Yes, I agree.” Niya nodded. “But more importantly, you’re engaged!”

  “Really?” Arabessa frowned.

  “What? Being engaged is exciting, especially when it’s your first one.”

  “None of your engagements count. You spelled the first into asking, threatened the second, and the third was too lovesick to realize how truly horrible a future with you would be.”

  “Green is a terrible color on you, Ara.” Niya smoothed a small wrinkle in her gown. “Besides, I didn’t stay engaged to any of them.”

  “Which makes it so much better.”

  “Precisely. Now gimme.” Niya leaned over to Larkyra. “Let me see that ring.”

  The sourness in Darius’s stomach rose once more, creeping up his throat as Larkyra’s glove was whipped off to display the red ruby on her half finger. Even though she’d said it was a farce, seeing her still wearing it sent a shiver through him.

  “Oh, it’s beautiful,” breathed Niya.

  “Yes.” Larkyra seemed hesitant to admit it. “It is rather.”

  “Where did the duke get such a thing?”

  “It was my mother’s.”

  Silence.

  “Darius.” Larkyra lowered her hand from Niya’s. “I did not know.”

  At the casual use of his given name, Darius caught her two sisters glancing at one another.

  “How would you?” he said, trying his best to seem unaffected.

  “I should have.” She worked to get the ring off, but he stilled her.

  “No.” Their gazes held.

  “But . . . it’s your mother’s. It’s not right.”

  “The only thing not right is the man who gave it to you.” The words were out of his mouth before he knew what he was saying.

  Larkyra’s blue eyes widened as a light blush crept across her cheeks, and she looked away.

  Darius hated that their audience kept him from tilting her chin back in his direction and brushing his fingers across her skin to feel if the coloring was matched in warmth.

  “Well.” Arabessa’s voice pierced through the moment. “It seems much has happened since your arrival in Lachlan.” Her clever eyes danced between him and Larkyra. “And I would agree the only way forward is to remove Hayzar from his position as duke, phorria be damned. I actually do not understand how he retained the title upon your mother’s passing. You would have been the natural successor, my lord, given you are a blood relation.”

  “Yes,” said Darius, pulling away from Larkyra. A difficult task. “I always thought so, too, but it seems my mother wrote very specifically in her will that the title would pass to my stepfather and any of his natural-born heirs before it would pass to me.” His chest burned as he spoke, the words feeling as wrong coming from his lips as they had sounded coming from the testator all those years ago.

  “How odd.” Achak rhythmically ran fingers over the silver bands along her forearm. “Were you not in good standing with Josephine?”

  Darius’s head snapped back at hearing his mother’s name, a name that always felt private to his small world. But of course Achak would know it, this being who appeared to see more than this world revealed. “She used her last breaths to say she loved me.” His tone was defensive; he remembered his mother’s weak whisper as she faded from him, the feather-light touch of her hand over his until it was nothing. “So yes, it was a shock for me as well. When I came of age to receive the title and my stepfather declared he was to remain duke, I went to the testator, demanding he show me my mother’s will. And there it was, written out plainly. I do not know what I did to make her think I would be unfit for the position.”

  “I do not think you did anything.” Larkyra moved to place a hand on his shoulder before she appeared to think better of it and pulled back. “Many things smell foul in your household.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just that much seemed to change when Hayzar Bruin began to use phorria.”

  A prickling of unease bloomed in Darius’s gut. “Are you saying you think my stepfather had something to do with what was in her will?”

  Larkyra ran a nervous finger over her ring. “I think it would not be out of character for him to make others do things unwillingly.”

  Darius’s thoughts fell inward, a storm cloud of dread and a sharp knife at his throat if what she said could be true. Was part of his mother’s will forged? All of it? How had he never thought of this? Pieced it together?

  Because he’d been a boy drowning in grief. Nothing had been clear to him after that day.

  Unwanted memories invaded Darius’s mind then, pulling him into the past until he was sitting vigil beside his mother’s bed, the room smelling of the bitter herbs the doctors burned, insisting it eased her breathing. The duke was there as well. In fact, Hayzar had refused to leave his mother’s side during those final weeks; his eyes were rimmed red and puffy, evidence of the tears shed in private. Neither of them spoke, but they didn’t need to; every thought was on the woman before them as they watched doctor after healer after medic, all of whom Hayzar had summoned from every corner of Aadilor. All in vain. All leaving without curing her.

  How could a man such as this, who had tirelessly searched for a way to heal his wife, who’d shown so much devotion to his mother, become what he was now? Selfish and savage. An unchained monster who had broken Darius further when he had thought there would be nothing worse than watching his mother die.

  “By the lost gods.” Darius slumped forward, placing his head in his hands.

  He felt like a fool.

  “I’m sorry.” Larkyra’s voice was a soothing hush as she finally touched his shoulder. This time he did not flinch. “It may not be true. Just things that have been—”

  “How do we get rid of him?” said Darius, looking up, his voice a rumble of revenge. “Tell me what must be done, and I will do it.”

  All in the grotto watched him, most likely cataloging the burning in his green gaze and wondering the true distance he would soar or sink for his wish to be granted.

  Anything, he wanted to scream. I will become anything. Even if it was the beast Hayzar had been carving into him for so long. Darius might have started on this mission to help free his people, but now, now, he knew he needed to get rid of Hayzar to free himself.

  “I think I have a way for things to be righted,” said Achak, the sister shifting to the brother like a rippling of water, their voice deepening. “But it requires a steep climb to be reached.” Achak now sat wider on the bench beside Zimri, his red shirt molding to his muscular chest. “A climb that will need one of you to enter the Fade.”

  “The Fade?” Darius frowned at the brother. “But that’s where the dead go.”

  “Yes, my child.” Achak’s violet gaze met his. “It is.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Larkyra anxiously peered into the opening to the Fade at the far end of the Leaching Bridge, the fog swirling within the stone archway. Reaching her arm out, Larkyra watched the color of her skin drip away to desaturated grays as it got closer to the door.

  The plan that Achak had laid out was in fact difficult. It needed the Thief King’s blessing before details could be added to paint their path forward. So Zimri and Achak had set out from the grotto to confer with him, while she, her sisters, and Darius had traveled to wait by the archway that held their answers.

  “That’s where Achak lives?” asked Darius to Niya as he gazed up at the floating island.

  “As far as we know.”

  “But it’s so . . .”

  “Small?” suggested Niya.

  “Cute,” finished Darius.

  Niya laughed. “Yes, but don’t tell Achak that. I’m sure it was all very modern and sleek at the time of its creation.”

  Larkyra found it strange to watch Darius with her sisters, to see how comfortable he was around them. His smiles came easier in their presence, especially toward her, and she tried to ignore how they set her heart alight. His curiosity, quick mind
, and calming presence seemed a natural addition to her family—and a desired one, if she were to be honest with herself.

  Larkyra bit her lower lip, glancing back to the door of the Fade. No, she thought, best to never be honest about that. For what could ever come of such feelings?

  Her life was a cacophony of complications and deception, while Darius needed calm, needed truths.

  And anyway, they had more important tasks ahead than her and her fancies.

  “Lark?” Niya called over to her. “Is this true what Lord Mekenna says about you throwing dust in his face?”

  “Uh, yes?”

  “How spectacular.” She beamed, turning back to Darius. “Were you very livid?”

  “Extremely livid.” He stole a glance at Larkyra, keeping a small smile at bay.

  Larkyra ignored the buzz in her chest from such a look.

  “They are back,” said Arabessa, watching Zimri and Achak stride toward them from the forest path on the other side of the bridge. “Well?” she asked as they approached. “What did he say?”

  “The Thief King gives his blessing for the Mousai to help Lord Darius,” announced Zimri.

  “Really?” asked Larkyra, rather surprised. She had been sure of a refusal. Perhaps even banishment, as she had heard the king was fond of doing when those under his command disobeyed. And by altering their mission’s plans without counsel and allowing Darius to figure out her and her sisters’ identities, well, that was a very bad form of disobedience indeed.

  “Help for what price?” asked Darius.

  “Nothing you won’t be able to pay,” said Zimri. “For if this goes successfully, you’ll be helping the king as well.”

  “I will?”

  “Yes.” Zimri nodded. “He feels shutting off the buying of phorria from Hayzar’s end would eventually draw out the dealer, force them to come looking for their devoted client.”

  “So our plans to perform at the engagement ball . . . ?” asked Arabessa.

  “Encouraged,” said Zimri. “But he agrees that none of it can happen until we find the solution to performing around those without the gifts, which most of the guests will be. Your concert must be heard and seen as though without magic for Hayzar’s madness to appear isolated when you cast your spell.”

  “Even if you concentrated your performance to just him”—Darius looked at the trio—“those without would still be affected?”

  “I concentrated my singing when I healed my palm,” said Larkyra. “And that was just one of us. Did it affect you then?”

  Darius swallowed. “What do you suggest we do?”

  “That is what will be found in there.” Achak pointed to the Fade. “Johanna was a powerful sorceress and would know the answers we seek.”

  The sisters stared at the gray swirling archway, beyond which they could find their mother.

  But at what cost?

  “You know what would make all of this a lot simpler,” said Niya, turning to Darius. “To just kill Hayzar.”

  “Niya,” chided Arabessa.

  “What? You know it’s true.”

  “Yes, but it is not our decision to make.”

  Larkyra had found it strange as well that Darius did not ultimately want Hayzar dead, after everything he’d suffered. But it seemed the lord could not stoop to his stepfather’s level, no matter how angry he was toward the man.

  Something about Darius’s ability to rise above the darkness that had been inflicted upon him put a weight on Larkyra’s shoulders, made her want to be better herself.

  “I know it must seem odd to you,” admitted Darius. “But I’d rather not be haunted by that spirit. I merely want my lands to prosper again, my people to be as happy as I remember them when my mother was still alive. And death seems too easy an end for my stepfather. If I’m right about what one of your performances is like when specifically intended to drive one crazy, well, he will suffer what he deserves for however long he can stomach it.”

  Perhaps he has a bit of a retributive streak after all, thought Larkyra, somewhat pleased.

  “If he reacts like those in the Thief Kingdom have done in front of all his guests,” said Arabessa, “he will be brought straight to a madhouse. The pain collected there would be unending.”

  A spark lit Darius’s gaze, but he remained silent.

  There was no amount of phorria that could match the power of the Mousai when together, so Achak’s plan for the sisters to spell Hayzar into madness at Larkyra’s engagement ball was rather genius. They needed many things for the duke to be properly declared an unfit master of Lachlan, witnesses being one of them. The other: assurance that the blame could never be traced back to either Darius or Larkyra.

  The trick was how it was to be done.

  “Okay, then.” Larkyra straightened. “It’s settled. And since this was my assignment, I will go into the Fade.”

  “No,” Darius was quick to reply. “It is my burden. I will—”

  “She is my mother.” Larkyra cut him off.

  “As she is ours.” Arabessa’s gaze was gentle.

  “Yes,” said Larkyra, her stomach twisting in that forever guilt, “but it is because of me she is in there.”

  “Larkyra,” said Niya and Arabessa at once.

  “You cannot think such a thing.” Her eldest sister reached out to squeeze her hand in earnest.

  “But I do.” The words came out tired as Larkyra’s familiar guilt twisted like a dagger in her chest. “And I will have no peace until I can apologize.”

  “Darling.” Niya pulled her into a hug. “We did not know you felt this way.”

  Arabessa’s added embrace pulled them tighter. “No one blames you for what happened.”

  “I do.” Larkyra stepped back, forcing away the tears that wanted to fall free. “I blame me. It was my scream that took her breaths away. My birth. Tell me how that is not truth?”

  Neither sister responded, their gazes pained.

  “So you see . . .” She swallowed, glancing at the group, at Darius, whose wide eyes told her he understood her suffering completely. “It is exactly I who must do this.”

  Without another word, Larkyra strode toward the doorway that sat like the end of all living things, for that was exactly what it was.

  She hesitated at the opening, wondering if any would try stopping her again, part of her wanting them to.

  But none did.

  She was both hurt and relieved at once.

  Until she felt a presence by her side.

  “Let me ease your burden, my songbird.” Her father’s voice swam around her.

  Larkyra looked up to find the large man now beside her, pocketing a portal token.

  “Oh, Father.” She threw herself into his arms, unable to contain her weeping any longer as he wrapped her in a hug. “I am so sorry,” she mumbled into his chest, breathing in the scent of home—honeysuckles under the sun. “I have failed you. I have—”

  “Hush.” He stroked her back. “You have failed no one.”

  She tilted her head up, taking in his warm eyes. “But I have revealed the Mousai to Lord Mekenna.”

  “As I have heard it”—Dolion wiped a stray tear from Larkyra’s cheek—“there were no other choices if you were to help those in need. And the lord and his people, they need our help very much.”

  “They do.”

  “Then let us give it.” He held her shoulders. “Our secrets are safe once more within the Secret Sealer, so there is no need to worry.”

  “But what about—”

  “My darling.” Dolion cut her off gently. “I am extremely proud of you.”

  Larkyra bit her lower lip against the threat of more tears. She clung to her father’s words, desperately, as though they hadn’t been real and she needed to hear them again.

  I am extremely proud of you.

  All the worry she had held tight since the beginning of her mission, the pressure to succeed to her family’s expectations, loosened ever so gently.

  “Your
mother and I knew what fate we might bring before your birth, and though I miss her with every sand fall, you are one of the best gifts the lost gods gave us.”

  “Father,” Larkyra choked out as he kissed her forehead.

  “Understand that guilt mustn’t carry your decision forward.”

  Larkyra glanced beyond him to where her sisters, Darius, Zimri, and Achak watched from the center of the bridge. “Even so,” she said, stepping back, wiping away her tears. “I must go in. This walk is meant for me.”

  Dolion watched her for a long while, his eyes seeming to play through many thoughts before they stopped on one that had him smiling. “You are very much like her.”

  Larkyra held her breath, her heart swelling. It was the first time she’d heard her father admit what she’d always assumed.

  “She will be glad to see you.” He removed something tucked inside his robes and held it out. “Your mother’s favorite. It will help you find her.”

  Larkyra took the small bundle of wildflowers from her father, the specks of yellow on their petals holding out against the Fade’s hungry, desaturated pull. “How will I know where to go?”

  “Merely keep walking until she arrives. And my songbird”—Dolion tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear—“remember to be quick. Time does not pass on a straight line in the Fade. More years will be taken than you realize if you are not aware of your stay.”

  Larkyra nodded, taking one last glance at her family, her father, and finally Darius.

  The lord’s gaze was searing, as if he wished to tell her many things, but before she gave in to her urge to go to him, Larkyra turned and on her last breath stepped through the fog and into the Fade.

  There was nothing.

  Forever.

  Larkyra didn’t even know if where she stepped was ground, only that her feet were moving.

  There was no light or darkness, only a colorless cloud of existence, and her ears rang in the silence. If she was still breathing, she could not tell, for the sensation of air moving through her lungs seemed to not matter here.