Dance of a Burning Sea

by Mellow, E. J.

  “Darling, I cannot be sporting a headache and nausea in the morning. Darius’s and my carriage ride is long, and it will grow even longer if I’m forcing us to stop every few turns to empty my stomach.”

  “When did you become so boring?” grumbled Niya.

  “You mean responsible?”

  “Same thing.”

  “You know,” said Arabessa, “you and I have to be up early as well, for Father has invited the Lox family to breakfast.”

  “By the Obasi Sea,” groaned Niya. “Talk about boring. And whatever happened to luncheons? Breakfast is entirely too early to receive guests. What will the neighbors think?”

  “I’m sure Father would rather they gossip about our odd hours of entertainment than our . . . other oddities.”

  “You mean like how odd looking his eldest daughter is?” challenged Niya.

  “More like how his second child can’t sit still for more than a single grain fall in public.”

  “It is not my fault Father’s guests are always so dull. I have to move around in fear of falling asleep from boredom.”

  “While listening to your gripes is always riveting,” said Larkyra, fishing a portal token from the pocket of her skirts, “I suggest you save a few for conversation tomorrow.”

  With the tip of her blade, Larkyra pricked her finger, letting a drop of crimson hit the center of the gold coin. Bringing it close to her lips, she whispered a secret—one that Niya, despite her best efforts, always failed to hear. The token flashed as Larkyra flicked it into the air. Before it fell to the cobblestones, a glowing doorway shot up from its center, revealing another city’s dark alley stretching out on the other side.

  There were a handful of ways to get to and from the Thief Kingdom, but surely the simplest was with a portal token. The problem lay in acquiring the right one, for portal tokens were sparse, with only the most powerful able to create them. Luckily, the Mousai had a direct connection to a creature capable of making the coins with a snap of their fingers. Of course, Niya knew, convincing them to do the snapping was the hard part.

  Without another word, Larkyra hiked up her skirts and slipped through the portal’s door, quickly followed by Arabessa.

  Niya paused at the glowing entrance, a heaviness weighing on her chest. Nights like these, with them all out together free to play, were growing sparse now with Larkyra settled down with Darius. If she had known their evening was to end so soon, she would have . . . well, Niya didn’t know what she would have done differently. Except perhaps teased Larkyra more.

  “You coming?” asked her youngest sister, standing close to Arabessa on the other side of the portal door.

  Shaking off her nostalgia, Niya stepped through, immediately becoming enveloped in the new city’s dry heat. While the Thief Kingdom smelled of wet dirt, fires, and incense, here fresh jasmine floated through the air. And beyond their narrow alley, the sun was rising.

  Niya breathed in the city of her birth: Jabari. The jewel of Aadilor, it was called, for it housed the most diverse trade in the southern lands. Its richly built buildings on the northern peak gathered like a shining diamond toward the sun.

  Behind Niya, the way back to the Thief Kingdom snapped shut as Larkyra returned the portal token to her pocket.

  In its absence, the alley somehow now felt . . . less.

  “Ready, sisters?” asked Arabessa, prompting them to remove their masks.

  Niya waved a hand over her face, a mist of her orange magic seeping from her palm. Release, she silently instructed. There was a tingling of her disguise unsticking before it dropped into her fingers.

  Niya rubbed her eyes. Her masks always felt more natural in place then off.

  Yet here, in Jabari, their disguises were of a different nature.

  In Jabari they were the daughters of Dolion Bassette, the Count of Raveet of the second house. An esteemed family who, to any casual observer, held no gifts or connection to a deplorable city cloaked deep inside a mountain. And for good reason. While this city held many splendors, magic was not one of them. Here citizens eyed such powers with distrust, ostracizing those with magic from the community. Niya could not blame them. Aadilor’s history was fraught with the gifted taking advantage of the giftless. Best if each kind stuck to their own lands.

  But secrets needed places to hide, and for creatures as powerful as Niya and her sisters were, it was best to hide in plain sight.

  Tucking her mask into the reticule looped around her waist, Niya followed her sisters out of the alley.

  The wide streets of Jabari’s upper ring were quiet, aristocrats having no need to wake before sunrise. The sisters turned onto a street lined with large marble homes, their wrought iron gates holding back pristine green lawns where morning lilies and roses readied to bloom.

  Despite the peaceful hour, Niya couldn’t shake a cool touch along her neck as they turned a corner. A sensation detectable through her gifts. She glanced over her shoulder but saw only empty road.

  She waited to feel the energy again, a sign that someone might be mirroring their steps, but none came.

  It was probably a rat, she thought as she hurried to catch up with her sisters, the moment quickly forgotten.

  What Niya did not take into account, however, as she entered the gate to her own home, was that sometimes the magic tingling of being followed was instead the basic human instinct of being watched.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Hot tea splashed across Niya’s hand as she filled her cup until it overflowed, arousing her from the belief she had just entered the Fade from boredom.

  “Really, my flame, the Loxes were not as dull as all that,” her father, Dolion Bassette, said from his usual spot on their veranda, where he lounged like a lion beneath the soft morning sun, his white cheeks growing rosy.

  “You’re right, they were far worse,” grumbled Niya. If it hadn’t been for their lighter prepared breakfast, she was convinced the Loxes’ visit would have yawned into lunch.

  “The younger daughter, Miss Priscilla, was not so awful,” said Zimri as he leaned into his chair.

  “You would say such a thing,” replied Arabessa. “She all but spoon-fed you your food, the poor lovesick child.”

  “I cannot help how my charms affect those around me.”

  “Is that what you call them? Charms? I always thought they were better described as annoyances.”

  Zimri cut Arabessa a look, staving off whatever retort he wished to speak.

  Smart move, thought Niya, for Arabessa could be quite the verbal viper, especially when she and Zimri sparred. Niya had her own theories as to why, not that she’d ever share them out loud. She valued her life, after all.

  Zimri turned from Arabessa and sipped his tea, gazing out at the city’s red-tiled roofs stretching beyond their balcony. His thick black hair shone under the gentle rays, his purple morning coat vibrant against his black skin and the white flora decorating their veranda. Niya took a moment to study his wide shoulders and strong physique. It felt like only yesterday that their father had brought Zimri home, a skinny and quiet teary-eyed boy. Dolion had been good friends with Zimri’s parents, and upon their tragic death at sea, as Zimri had no other close relatives, their father had taken the lad under his wing and raised him as his own. The Bassette girls knew what it was like to lose a parent and had quickly shepherded the youth into their close circle. It was only natural he’d begun to shadow their father in his duties, growing into the role of the count’s right-hand man with utter seriousness. Sometimes to an annoying degree, thought Niya dryly. She already had an older sibling. She surely didn’t need two.

  If only they all could have stayed the carefree children they had once been, running loose in Jabari and beneath the Thief Kingdom’s palace. For Zimri was one of the few who knew the secrets the Bassettes guarded behind spelled walls and within hidden cities.

  Niya smiled to herself, quietly reminiscing about the earlier days when it had been all too easy to convince Zimri to sneak off with
them, despite the reprimand they might receive if found out. A time before she and her sisters had been forced into other responsibilities regarding their gifts, and Zimri into his duties to help their father. And now this, more change. Niya glanced to the empty chair across from her, where Larkyra usually sat.

  “How quiet our mornings now are with Lark gone,” mused Dolion.

  A sharp twinge entered Niya’s chest at her father’s words, which were so close to her own thoughts. “She’s not gone, Father. Her room is just as it always is, ready for her to return.”

  “You mean visit,” clarified Arabessa. “She does not live here anymore.”

  “I know that.” Niya frowned. “But it’s not as though she’s in the Fade with Mother. She still lives.”

  Silence filled the veranda along with a blow of guilt as Niya realized what she had said. “Sorry, Father, I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s fine, my flame.” He waved his hand. “I know what you meant. Of course Lark is still with us. It’s merely an adjustment, not seeing all three of you girls together like always.”

  “Darius and Lark could have moved in here, you know,” Niya pointed out.

  Arabessa snorted into her cup. “Are you mad? Yes, I’m sure every duke who has a large kingdom and multiple castles would much rather abandon his homeland and tenants to take his brand-new bride to move in with his in-laws.”

  “Well,” Niya said, tipping up her chin, “when you say it like that—”

  “You realize how silly you sound?”

  Niya’s magic stirred, hot, along with her temper. “I was only saying—”

  “All right, you two,” said Dolion placatingly. “And to think I just admitted how quiet it now was.”

  “Even with only one of them,” began Zimri, “it’s never quiet.”

  Dolion laughed. “Too true.”

  Niya shared a similar scowl toward both men as her sister.

  “At least now, with the three of you no longer under one roof,” continued her father, “should I dare hope that there will be less scheming afoot within our halls?”

  “You raised us as thieves and mercenaries,” explained Niya. “Scheming is inevitably afoot.”

  Dolion’s russet brows rose, his long hair like a mane as it fed into his thick beard. “I would not reduce the role this family takes on for the people of Aadilor to such common titles as those.”

  “Yes, yes,” appeased Niya. “We are noble thieves then, executioners with the highest of morals.”

  “Indeed. When born with such gifts as you and your sisters are—”

  “We must do what we can for those who are born without.” Niya finished her father’s constant rhetoric.

  “Precisely.” He nodded, satisfied.

  Niya sighed. At times she found her father’s stringent attitude toward their moral responsibilities tiring. Though she understood why he held so tightly to doing good in this world. Why he sent Niya and her sisters on missions to steal from the few wicked wealthy to give back to the many lacking innocents. He was making up for the sins that swam in a darker throne room, offsetting the orders and expectations placed on his children when they were disguised as the Mousai. For while Dolion was a count and doting father, he was also the creature who inspired cautionary tales. He was the Thief King. And for that he seemed to be forever atoning. But Niya understood that the Thief Kingdom existed to contain what would otherwise live chaotically throughout Aadilor. Her father played his parts because he needed to, and he raised his children to understand theirs.

  Niya watched her father stroke his slowly graying beard, peering out to the city.

  What burdens must weigh heaviest on him? wondered Niya, having a sudden urge to hug the man.

  She was about to do just that, until she was seized with a sneeze.

  And then another.

  “Oh no.” Niya stood, searching the veranda.

  “What’s wrong?” asked her father.

  “Where is he?” growled Niya, holding a hand to her nose.

  “Where’s who, dear?”

  “Cook’s darn cat.” Niya glanced under her father’s chair. “Aha—achoo!” The orange beast was curled peacefully behind his feet. “Get out of here,” demanded Niya. “Oh, no you don’t. Don’t you dare rub your fur all over my new skirts, you—ouch!”

  A hiss filled the air before a blur of orange streaked from under the table into the house.

  “That vermin scratched me!” shouted Niya. “You know I’m allergic to cats, Father. Why did you allow Cook to keep that thing?”

  “He was hurt and needed a home.”

  “And now I am hurt and need it to leave.”

  “He has left,” said Arabessa.

  “You know what I mean! Either I stay or it leaves.”

  “That’s only one choice,” Zimri pointed out.

  “Precisely.”

  “You really must calm yourself,” said Arabessa. “You’re making quite a fuss over nothing.”

  Calm myself!

  Niya crossed her arms, her magic jumping beneath her skin with her prickling irritation. “When you’re as allergic as I am,” she declared, “it is not nothing. So no, I will not calm down.”

  “No surprise there,” muttered Arabessa.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing.”

  “It didn’t sound like nothing.”

  “Then you can add ‘hard of hearing’ to your ailments.”

  “You all bore me.” Niya snatched up her shawl from her chair.

  “My flame,” said her father, “your sister is obviously trying to rile you up.”

  “And it worked.”

  “As it usually does.” Arabessa sipped her tea.

  “What does that mean?” snapped Niya.

  “How do I put this delicately?” mused Arabessa. “You have an anger problem.”

  “I do not!”

  Neither her father nor Zimri nor Arabessa responded; they merely allowed the echo of her raised voice to bounce around their veranda.

  “Okay,” she ground out. “Maybe I do, but what of it?”

  “You know,” began her father, “your mother was also known to run hot on occasion.”

  Niya blinked, the rising fight in her momentarily collapsing at the mention of her mother. Her father was not one to talk much of Johanna, even more than a decade after losing her following the birth of Larkyra.

  “She did?” asked Niya.

  “Mmm.” Dolion nodded. “In fact, it’s why she often wore this brooch.” His large fingers absently stroked the accessory adorning his jacket. It was a simple design of a compass, the gold worn as though it had been rubbed similarly for many years. Niya had seen her father wear the brooch before, but she had never given it much thought.

  It was her mother’s? A pang of hungry longing entered Niya’s chest then, as it did anytime she learned another piece of the puzzle that was her mother.

  “She said when she touched it,” continued her father, “it helped ground her. Helped give her pause when she felt lost in her emotions or thoughts. ‘It allows me to find my way,’ she would say.” He smiled softly. “It was also a good tell for when she was growing angry with me. I knew when to back off if her fingers gripped this.”

  “Perhaps you could find a similar talisman, Niya?” suggested Arabessa. “It would have to be larger than a mere pin, however. Maybe a thick bracelet? Or three?” She grinned. “Mother may have had a temper, but I doubt it rivaled the volcano you house within.”

  Niya’s gaze snapped to Arabessa’s, her powers once again wriggling hot in her veins.

  “Well,” said Zimri to Dolion, “there went that nice moment.”

  “You cannot say I didn’t try.” Her father shrugged.

  “You know,” began Niya, “Larkyra never complained of my temper.”

  “Not to your face,” quipped Arabessa.

  Niya’s hands grew warm as her magic surged to her palms. Burn, it whispered.

  Arabessa must have noticed N
iya’s sudden shaking control, for she lifted a manicured brow as if to say, See, volcano.

  Niya bit back a growl.

  “Fine,” she said, forcing a lightness into her tone. “As it appears we are handing out observations of others, then, my dear Ara, here is some sisterly advice: if you like someone”—Niya pointedly glanced between her and Zimri—“try not to insult them.”

  Arabessa’s eyes widened and her cheeks reddened as Niya turned from the group.

  She strode quickly through the high-ceilinged halls, to the lower levels of their home, thoughts fuming.

  How dare Arabessa, she thought. I may have certain . . . quirks, but so does she! Plus, perfection was not something they’d been raised to admire. Scars, struggles, and flaws made one interesting. Niya was how she had always been, and now it was an issue? “No,” she grumbled, “I will not change, not for anyone.” There was too much of that happening these days anyway.

  And as her father had pointed out, her mother had held passion too. If anything, she was proud to share a trait with a woman who had been so well respected as Johanna Bassette.

  If she could live with such fire, so can I.

  Taking a deep breath in, Niya’s coiled muscles eased slightly as she found her way down to the kitchens and caught sight of a familiar form by the back door.

  “Charlotte,” called Niya, hurrying over to her childhood lady’s maid as she was clasping on a cloak. “If you are going out, I’d like to join you. I’m in need of fresh air.”

  The stout woman eyed her uneasily. “I’m not going for a stroll, my lady, but to the market.”

  “Perfect. I love the market.”

  “Then you agree to carry a basket?”

  “Of course.”

  “That will grow heavy as the day goes on?”

  “I’m strong.”

  “Which you’ll eventually have to lug back from the Trading District. Uphill.”

  “By the lost gods,” exclaimed Niya. “Am I considered both hotheaded and lazy?”

  Charlotte dutifully remained mute, which ultimately served as Niya’s answer.

  “This entire household is tiring!” Niya swung on a thin cloak that hung by the door before snatching up an extra basket. “So I lose my temper on occasion. That hardly makes me a monster.”