Song of the Forever Rains

by Mellow, E. J.

  Slowly, he did just that.

  Larkyra’s drenched skin and gown were pressed up against him as rivulets of water streamed down her cheeks, her lips purple and shaking in the cold.

  “He’s gone” was all he could say.

  “Yes.” She nodded. “It’s over.”

  Over.

  “But you’re here.”

  “Of course.” Larkyra’s arms tightened around him.

  “Thank you.” He leaned into her. “Thank you.”

  “I’m here.” She pressed closer, shouldering his weight.

  All he seemed able to keep muttering was “Thank you.”

  Thank you for existing. Thank you for flying into my heart. Thank you for shining light and singing away the demons. The words spun across his mind, along his skin, as they held one another, Darius never wanting to let go, not even when the forever rains slowly came to a stop.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Larkyra stared at the closed double doors, more than prepared to remain studying the patterns curling across the dark wood for another sand fall. But she knew that was not the reason they were there—to stare at doors. “We don’t have to do this today,” she said to Darius, who stood beside her.

  He had been holding the key to Hayzar’s rooms so tightly that part of his hand had turned a scary shade of alabaster.

  Darius blinked, as though her words had broken him from some trance, and he took a calming breath in. “Yes,” he said, “we do. She’s been kept in here too long.”

  Larkyra’s chest twisted at the pain in his voice. The incidents of the ball had only happened last night, but Darius had come to her just as the sun had risen, asking for her help.

  She hadn’t pressed for what, merely crawled from her bed and followed him here.

  “Then let’s set her free.” She placed a reassuring hand on Darius’s back.

  He gave a determined nod, inserting the key and throwing open his stepfather’s chambers.

  A sour, tangy scent wafted out, making Larkyra scrunch up her nose. Phorria, she thought. But she pushed into the shadow-filled rooms, showing Darius nothing in here would hurt them. Not anymore.

  “Let’s get some fresh air in here,” she said, parting drapes to let the gray morning in, followed by a cool breeze as she unclasped windows. That will clear out the stench, she thought. Turning, Larkyra found Darius still standing at the threshold. “Darius?”

  Green eyes met hers. “It’s all rather normal, isn’t it?”

  Larkyra looked about the study. “Yes,” she agreed. “He may have been a monster, but it appears he was just as boring as any man. I mean, look at this wallpaper. Did he even try when picking it out?”

  A soft chuckle came from Darius, his shoulders relaxing subtly.

  Good, thought Larkyra, smiling. “Do you want to help me open the rest of the windows?”

  Darius took his first step in, then hesitated before making the rest of his way to her.

  “Thank you,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. He was in his robe and slippers, as was she, and the intimacy of it had her stomach growing warm as she thought for a flash of the other night they had shared, wearing much less. Despite where they were and why, Larkyra very much wished to continue kissing him.

  But Darius’s mind was obviously in other places this morning, for he turned from her before working diligently to leave no window unopened. Fresh air and light now bathed every room.

  While it certainly brightened up the space, it also highlighted exactly what Darius had referred to when he’d said his mother had been kept in here too long.

  While most couples high in station kept to their own private wings, it appeared the late duchess had shared Hayzar’s up until her death. Larkyra’s own parents had done the same, but while pieces of Johanna were everywhere in their Jabari home, here, particularly in the bedroom, were all the claimed artifacts of Josephine that Hayzar had hoarded.

  “I had wondered what had happened to her gowns,” said Darius as he fingered through the fine dresses. The armoire had been left open, and she wondered how often Hayzar had touched the clothes just as Darius was now—reverently. “This was her favorite one.” He pulled out a rich green silk.

  “It’s beautiful.” She came to his side. “She wears this in the painting downstairs.”

  “Yes.” He nodded as he let the material slip from his fingers, moving to the jewelry. “It’s all here,” he whispered, moving forward to trail over the bristles of a hairbrush. He plucked a red strand from it, twirling the piece delicately. “She’s all here.”

  Larkyra’s throat grew tight as she heard the wonder in his voice. A boy who had found something dear he had lost. “What do you want to do with it all?” she asked.

  Darius’s brows drew together. “I don’t know. Perhaps donate some of her dresses to Mrs. Everett, for those in town to have. The jewels I’ll put in our new safe. Which we’ll have to build, of course. I let Cook use the old one as his pantry after Hayzar had emptied it.”

  “That was nice of you.”

  “It was Cook’s idea.” Darius smiled ruefully.

  “And what of this?” Larkyra turned, regarding the portrait on the far wall.

  Darius followed her gaze, growing silent as he looked upon his mother.

  Josephine was painted sitting on a patch of grass, the sun teasing gold glints in her red hair as the lakes of Lachlan stretched out behind her. She smiled, looking at something out of frame, as though whatever it was held her greatest joy.

  “I remember this day,” said Darius quietly. “I was young, but I remember her telling me my father had this commissioned. I had thought . . . I had thought I had dreamed this memory.”

  Larkyra’s heart ached for him. “What was she looking at?”

  “Me.”

  Oh, Darius. She wanted to pull him into her arms, her whole being longing to ease whatever emotions he now felt. But she didn’t. She remained stoic beside him.

  “It’s yours now, Darius. She’s yours.”

  He shook his head. “She doesn’t belong to anyone.”

  “Yes.” Larkyra corrected herself. “You’re right.”

  “Everyone should be able to be in her presence.”

  “You can hang her in the great hall,” she suggested. “Move both her portraits to where everyone in the castle can walk past and see.”

  A gentle smile touched Darius’s lips as he remained staring at his mother. “Yes,” he said. “She would like that. She always brought such life here.”

  “And she shall again,” assured Larkyra.

  “Yes,” agreed Darius, sliding his fingers between Larkyra’s. His green gaze alive as it met hers. “She shall.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  The crickets rattled in the sun-soaked air, and the fields of wildflowers stretched before her as the crisp morning woke with a gentle green yawn. The landscape was filled with healthy yellow buds, specks of lavender and white. With the perpetual rain, Larkyra had never dreamed Lachlan could look like this. It was breathtaking, pulsing with life and virility that had been thoroughly watered and fed for months, years, and now, with this glimmer of a hopeful reprieve, had forced its way up, through dirt and soil, to bloom. She spun in a slow circle as she took it in, filling her lungs with the virgin freshness. Vanilla, sweetgrass, and warmth—a bouquet of nature. It was almost overwhelming, perhaps even more beautiful than the vineyards that surrounded Jabari, and Larkyra’s heart ached at the thought that all this had been covered in storm clouds for so long.

  It had been a week since the duke’s death. A week, and the curse his presence had thrown over Lachlan seemed to blow further and further away with each new sunrise. She smiled, strands from her braided hair flowing free in the warm breeze. Looking out from a gazebo atop a hill on the west slope of Castle Island, Larkyra took in the vista of large sparkling lakes and green lands glowing before her. The blue waters crashed rhythmically far below the cliff’s edge, rolling meadowland reaching up to where s
he stood. Lachlan was truly a wild land. A quickly healing land that now, in the sunlight, had even more secrets to be found, explored. And Larkyra realized she loved every inch of it.

  “I had forgotten it could look like this,” said Clara beside her, looking flushed and bright eyed, basking in the new glow of her home.

  “It is beautiful,” agreed Larkyra, glancing down at the town on the mainland, the white puff of sailboats soaring across the waters from the port. Everything seemed reborn, strong, even after being tucked away and battered for so long.

  The events that had unfolded at the ball were being called the Mad Duke’s Death Dive, a rather catchy and lighthearted title for what had actually occurred, but Larkyra and Darius were more than happy to accept the tale that was being spread across Aadilor. For most importantly, no part of the story placed blame on her or the household. Darius’s reaction especially, how he’d appeared so grief stricken as she’d held him in the storm, had created only heightened sympathy for the stepson. Not that Larkyra thought his response planned, for even she was unsure of her own feelings that night. She’d merely hated to see Darius in any pain or sorrow.

  But perhaps the most important day following Hayzar’s death was when Darius had gone to inform his people. The news had been received with a tense, disbelieving silence from the tenants before they’d left to, Larkyra suspected, quietly celebrate within their homes. It would still take time for all to be fixed, for the financial strain placed on Lachlan’s people to completely lift, but the hope was there. It was felt in the blessedly warm air that crept back into the sky, and it was heard in the voice of their new duke and master as he made a point to stand before his people with promises of what he intended to rebuild.

  “I truly am sorry for your loss, my lady,” said Clara, bringing Larkyra back to their place atop the sun-soaked hill.

  “You have already apologized, Clara. No need to again.”

  “Yes, but it is a sad business to lose a fiancé so soon after the engagement.”

  “You do know the old duke and I were never a love match?”

  Clara blushed at her candor, hands together in front of her brown frock. “Aye, but still—”

  “Perhaps I should feel some sadness?” interrupted Larkyra. “But I cannot seem to muster the feeling. Does that make me a terribly bad person?”

  “Oh, no,” assured Clara. “You may be many peculiar things, my lady, but I would never say any of them are bad.”

  Larkyra laughed at that, turning back to the view before them. “Thank you, Clara.”

  As she took a deep breath in, a peace wove around Larkyra. A peace that she had never felt before. The war of this land had dissipated, just as the war within herself seemed to have. That forever guilt that had swum in her gut regarding her mother and her powers was barely a glow these days. And with each new grain fall, it withered more and more. An understanding had finally taken place between herself and her gifts, a trust born from love and forgiveness. She no longer resented her magic for the pain it had caused her and her family, and with that acceptance Larkyra was finally able to become one with it. Her heart’s and mind’s intentions connected, allowing her to relinquish her hard grip and breathe, for the first time in nineteen years, free.

  “There you are.”

  Larkyra turned at the husky voice that would forever send welcoming shivers across her skin. Darius pushed aside a tangle of hanging vines that blocked the gazebo’s entrance and stepped inside.

  “Your Grace.” Clara bowed as he approached, growing a bit flustered in his presence.

  I know the feeling, thought Larkyra.

  “Hello, Duke,” said Larkyra.

  “It sounds odd, does it not?” He came to stand beside her, his height making her squint up into the bright day. The sun painted his locks a warm orange as his green gaze fell to meet hers.

  “Which is why we must say it as much as possible. Nothing becomes as monotonous as a word repeated endlessly.”

  “I would contradict you on one account.”

  “Which would be?”

  “Speaking your name.”

  It was Larkyra’s turn to blush as Darius smiled playfully.

  “Oh, look at that bed of lavender.” Clara pointed enthusiastically at flowers far below on the hill. “I bet those would look splendid in your room, my lady. Excuse me while I go pick a few, and I do apologize if it takes me a very long time to gather the perfect bouquet.”

  Larkyra and Darius watched the maid scurry down and away.

  “I fear those are buds of some weed,” he said.

  “Yes,” agreed Larkyra. “My lady’s maid seems to have loosened the pages of her propriety rule book.”

  “I can’t say I am not thankful for that.”

  “No?” Larkyra turned to regard Darius. His complexion glowed healthy against the white shirt he wore under a light-blue coat.

  “No,” he said, drawing nearer and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

  She warmed at his touch, just as a light breeze blew across her bare shoulder.

  Larkyra wore one of the gowns that she’d first brought from Jabari, a light-purple frock that felt as airy and free as the new day before them.

  “So is it official?” she asked.

  “The testators just left with the signed papers.”

  “And how does it feel to finally have your lands back? To be the duke?”

  “It feels . . .” Darius looked out at the calm waters in the distance, at the boats and town that sat shining under the sun’s rays. “Big.”

  “Big?”

  A nod. “There is much to do.”

  Larkyra smiled. “We will have to work on that.”

  “On what?”

  “Teaching you how to enjoy a moment before skipping immediately to a new task.”

  “I can enjoy moments.”

  “Prove it.”

  Without another word, Darius pulled Larkyra against him and kissed her.

  She gave a squeak of surprise before leaning deeper into his arms.

  This kiss felt different from the others. It was slow, a relaxed nap under the shade of a tree where summer was on the horizon. Darius parted her mouth to brush his tongue against hers, and she sighed, running her hands over his collar and into his thick hair. He might not have felt hurried, but she felt as if she could burst. She wanted to jump on him, roll down the hill, and laugh like they were children, wanted to pull him into the lake to swim in its new serenity before lying on the beach to dry in the sun. She never wanted their connection to be broken. She wanted him forever.

  Which was exactly the thought that had her backing away, a sharp stab to her chest.

  He could not be her forever.

  In fact, she was leaving that very day to return to Jabari.

  “My sisters are packing my things,” said Larkyra, knowing the words sounded odd and far from the act they’d just shared.

  Darius watched her carefully. “Yes. They told me where to find you.”

  “I came out here to take in one last view. They are probably complaining that I have left them to do all the hard work. Niya is most likely slipping some of my things into her trunks as payment.”

  “What if they could remain here?”

  “My sisters?”

  “I suppose they could too,” said Darius, suppressing a grin. “But I was speaking of your things.”

  “Why would I leave them here?” asked Larkyra, drawing together her brows. “I never refuse a new wardrobe, of course, but seeing as I just commissioned those dresses from Mrs. Everett, that just seems—”

  “I love you, Larkyra.”

  Everything stopped. The wind. The birds chirping. The tide. “Pardon?”

  Darius stepped closer. He grasped her hands and, removing her gloves, laid a gentle kiss on her fingers. “I love you,” he repeated. “Foolishly so. Desperately, even. I do not want you to leave. In fact, I may kidnap you if you try.”

  His emerald eyes held her captive, thoug
h her whole body felt as if it might float away, her magic heating up.

  “I . . .” She worked her mouth. “I do not know what to say.”

  “A speechless Bassette? Shall I write this in Lachlan’s history books?”

  “Smug is an unbecoming color on you, Your Grace.”

  “Darius,” he corrected.

  To this she could only grin. “Darius.”

  “So?” he asked, his gaze hesitant, perhaps even fearful. “Am I alone in my feelings?”

  Call it a bit of retribution for him laughing at her that made her pause, perhaps a torturous beat too long, before she let loose a smile. “Of course I love you, you foolishly desperate man.”

  Throwing herself into his arms, she kissed Darius with all the urgency inside her, and he appeared more than willing to comply. He lifted her up, their mouths still locked, as she breathed him in. She couldn’t get enough of his soft lips against hers or of the way he wrapped her protectively within himself.

  Did she love him? By the lost gods, what an absurd question.

  Larkyra let out a small laugh, still peppering kisses on his mouth. It hadn’t taken him almost dying in Esrom, watching him carve his own skin by the orders of a madman, or catching him helping his people in secret that had made her feelings for him blossom. No, Larkyra had known her heart was not her own much earlier than that, even if she could not admit it to herself until now. She’d seen the good in Darius before he’d even truly seen her, when she’d been nothing but dirt mixed into the roads of lower Jabari.

  “I feel endless with you,” she breathed.

  “That’s because you are.” Darius gently set her down before weaving his fingers between hers. “When I look at you,” he said, “how I feel when I do, how you make me feel when I do, it doesn’t make sense to me. How can all that you are be so neatly contained in your body?” He removed one hand to brush it lightly across her cheek. “Looking at you is like looking at the sun wrapped in a blanket, and yet it somehow doesn’t burn everything away.”

  “Darius.” Larkyra closed her eyes for a moment, her heart and magic a unified pattering mess in her chest.

  “And with that settled,” he said, his grin teasing, “I need to ask you something. And I hope you’ll say yes.”