“Uh . . . of course not, my lady.” Charlotte worked her old legs to keep pace with Niya as they exited the shaded servants’ entrance to the back gate.
“Have I not shown I also have redeeming parts to my character?” asked Niya. “I can be warm and calming and kind and charming and—”
“Humble,” added Charlotte.
“Yes, exactly!” agreed Niya. “If any of us were to be criticized for our demeaner, it most certainly should be Ara. I mean, look at the way she organizes the items on her vanity. She uses a measuring stick, Charlotte, a measuring stick.”
“Yes,” said Charlotte. “Who do you think fetched it for her?”
“Pfft, precisely. I’d rather take a hot head over an uptight arse.”
“My child.” Charlotte placed a gentle hand on Niya’s arm, causing her to slow. “I do not know what has gotten you into such a tizzy—”
“I am not in a tizzy,” huffed Niya.
Charlotte’s gray brows lifted.
“Fine, I’m tizzying, but you would be, too, if your character was so hunted down by Arabessa as mine was this morning.”
Her lady’s maid watched her closely as they walked. She had raised the three Bassette girls since infancy and was more of a grandmother than a maid. And like all their staff, she knew the secrets they kept, for the Bassettes in turn kept theirs, their house becoming a sanctuary of sorts for the few gifted in Jabari. “Usually you enjoy sparring with your sisters,” said Charlotte.
“I always enjoy it.”
“You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself now.”
Niya thought on that. “No, I suppose I am not.”
“Why not?”
“I . . . don’t know. I guess, lately . . . it’s just not the same . . .”
“Without Lady Larkyra?”
“I’m being silly,” said Niya, grasping her basket tighter. When had she become so sentimental?
“You girls are many things,” explained Charlotte, “and yes, silly is most assuredly one, but showing your loyalty and love for one another should not be included in that. It’s okay to miss your sister.”
Niya felt a twinge of discomfort at being read so easily. But Charlotte was right, of course. She did miss Larkyra. Not that she would ever tell her sister. By the Obasi Sea, Niya would never hear the end of it!
Still . . . Larkyra was the youngest, recently turned nineteen. How was she married and moved out of the house already?
“If you ask me,” continued Charlotte, “you all have grown much too quick. But it’s to be expected, I suppose. You three are not like most.”
“Thank the lost gods for that,” said Niya. “Being like most is boring.”
Charlotte chuckled as they entered the Trading District, where the marble mansions from the higher ring of Jabari were replaced with brick merchant buildings, the street growing thicker with citizens scurrying to acquire goods. Shouts of prices rang over their heads from various street venders, the smells of smoked fish and roasted nuts mixing in the air.
“So our little bird may have flown the nest,” said Charlotte as she stopped to pick through a stall of mushrooms. “But so will all of you in time. After all, you are one and twenty and Arabessa three and twenty.”
“Charlotte.” Niya raised her brows in mock horror. “Don’t you know it’s rude to discuss one’s age?”
“You mention mine daily.”
“Nonsense. No one knows how truly ancient you are.”
“The point I am trying to make,” continued her lady’s maid, eyes beady as she paid the vendor and they walked on, “is that I have watched you Bassettes adapt to many things, only growing stronger. Though home might appear different now, none of your duties are. You will always have your responsibilities to keep you together. Plus, you have me and the rest of the staff. Most of us are too old to go very far.”
Niya smiled at the wrinkled woman, a bit of her melancholy lifting. “You’re right.”
“Always am,” tutted Charlotte.
Letting out a laugh, Niya continued to follow Charlotte around the market, the ache in her chest easing as she replayed the old woman’s words. She and her sisters would always have their duties to bring them together. In Jabari, but especially in the Thief Kingdom.
The Mousai, after all, were inseparable.
As the morning slipped into afternoon, Niya and Charlotte split up to fetch the final items on the list. And after leaving the seamstress, Niya decided to treat herself to a rice square, which she sat to eat in the Maker’s Courtyard. It was her favorite spot in the Trading District, where she slipped onto a shaded bench facing a large fountain that glistened refreshingly under the heat.
Salty-sweet flavors flowed over her taste buds as she bit into her snack, a grin on her lips as she watched children escape the grasp of nannies and mothers to splash in the cool water. Today is finally starting to turn around, she thought contently, taking another bite.
The sound of more excited hollers brought Niya’s attention to a winding alley to her left. The path appeared empty, but hoots echoed toward her again, and she didn’t need to see it to know exactly what elicited such a mix of reverie and disappointment. A bet.
With her mood lifting further, Niya stood. How delightful would it be if I won back what I spent on this rice square, she thought gleefully as she finished it off in two more bites. Her magic twirled, just as excited, in her veins, for any promise of gambling meant a promise of movement, energy for her gifts to nibble on just as she had nibbled on her snack.
Following the noise down the winding path, she eventually found a group of children hunched over a game by the wall. Two of the older kids traded rolling a pair of eight-sided dice, eliciting more loud shouts.
Match-a-roll, she thought, a popular game she had played often as a young girl. Niya grinned as they rolled again with more hollers of encouragement.
None had taken notice of her at their backs until she said, “I bet you two silver that you cannot roll that same number within two tries.”
Six sets of eyes blinked up at her.
“No, do not go,” said Niya hurriedly as the children scurried to escape. “I swear I’m good on my bet.” She pulled forth two silver from her skirt’s pockets. The kids stopped, eyes widening. These street mice probably had never seen such coin so close. “It can be yours if you are willing to play.”
“We got nothing equal to show for it, missus,” an older girl said.
“Hmm, I see. Well, I’ll take whatever you might have in your pockets that you are willing to lose.”
“Who says we be losin’?”
“Who indeed.” Niya quirked a brow, amused. “Is it a bet, then?”
The two older children exchanged looks.
“Go on, Alba.” Another kid nudged the girl. “You and your brother would be stuffed like pigs if you got hold of dem pretty full moons.”
“All I have is this, missus.” Alba’s brother produced a tiny pouch from his pocket, spilling out a single seed scoopling.
Niya smiled at the small golden ball, ancient etchings over its surface. She had not seen one of these in a turn. When kissed by a flame, seed scooplings would burrow through any surface. She and her sisters had played with them as children, much to their housekeeper’s horror, given she would later have to stop up all the holes made around their Jabari home.
“A fair trade, I would think,” declared Niya. “Can you be our game master?” She turned toward the smallest of the bunch.
The boy enthusiastically nodded, no doubt never having been given such a role before.
“Very good. We are now trusting you with our bets.” She passed the boy her silver, and Alba’s brother handed over his pouch with the seed scoopling.
As the brother and sister each took up a die, the whole raggedy group leaned in, licking their lips in anticipation, eyes wide with excitement.
Niya was well acquainted with the emotions spinning in these children. For her, a gamble was a success from the start. That rac
ing of her heart, the sweet smell of exhilaration as clusters of people watched the flip of a card, the turn of dice, the final energy of motion before lives could change forever with a mere grain’s fall. She and her magic sighed at the prospect of it all.
The first roll resulted in huffs of disappointment from the children as the dice totaled thirteen rather than the betted sixteen.
“We’ll get it on the next one, Alba, I’m sure of it.” Her brother gathered the dice and handed her one.
But before they could throw again, a current of movement flowed toward Niya from the other end of the alley, where another road cut through.
Niya stilled the children’s hands, glancing down their narrow, empty street.
“Hey! What are you—?”
“Shhh,” Niya hushed the girl, tilting her head as the heavy hum of energy hit along her neck once more. “Are you lot expecting company?”
“What?”
“Are more of your friends meant to join you?” She moved to stand in front of the children.
“No,” said Alba, glancing around Niya’s cloak.
Niya’s gaze narrowed as she concentrated on the sensations of footsteps and swinging limbs she now felt flooding their surroundings. The thickness of bodies walking toward them, the energy a group gave off when breathing together, the shifting on feet. It was heavier than that of youth. Weighted. Adult. And then it fell still.
Niya’s pulse quickened.
“You may as well show yourselves,” she called out, her voice echoing down the lane.
Everything remained empty, quiet.
She tried again. “Only cowards and thieves have reason to hide.”
The only motion was the children gathering closer around her.
“Missus, I don’t think there’s anyone—”
The small boy’s words were cut off as three forms turned into their street. All had black cloths wrapped around their noses and mouths, obscuring their identities, and their garb was odd for a summer in Jabari, thick and layered, made for durability rather than show. But what really caught Niya’s attention were the blades in each of their hands and others displayed around their waists.
“Thieves, then,” declared Niya, her stance shifting along with her magic, a promise of a scuffle charged in the air. “Children, I think it’s time you run along.”
“But what of our game?” asked Alba.
“It seems you have won by my forfeit.” Niya didn’t take her eyes from the figures as they slowly stalked closer. This shall be fun, she thought.
“That’s not fair to you—”
“As I’m sure you are well aware, life is not fair. Now please, make haste and leave.”
A tug on her cloak. “Come with us.”
“I would much rather ensure this trio does not follow us first. Now go.” She pushed at the closest child. “And be sure to spend those full moons recklessly. Youth is meant to be spoiled.”
She felt the children’s hesitation, but then they turned and ran. Alba was the last to go, and she pressed something into Niya’s palm.
“A fair trade, I would think,” the young girl said, echoing Niya’s earlier words.
Niya met Alba’s world-wise gaze. An expression too old on one so young.
“We’ll call for help.” And with that, Alba sped down the other end of the alley, leaving her holding the pouch containing the seed scoopling. Despite herself, Niya smiled.
“Now.” She turned back to her guests, pocketing the item. “What is it that I can help you with?”
Sure, they might look all brass and brawn, filled with hard punches, but three thieves Niya could handle. Three were—
Four additional figures, similarly masked, appeared behind the group from the connecting street.
Okay, thought Niya, seven makes it interesting.
Her magic stirred, impatient, but she ignored it. This was not a time to show her gifts. Sliding a hand inside her cloak, she curled her fingers around one of the two daggers tucked away at the back of her skirts. She might be dressed as a lady, but she’d been raised to always be prepared for a fight. The problem lay in what exactly the thieves wanted.
“The most precious thing I have is a child’s toy,” said Niya. “So think wisely if that is worth getting bloody for.”
The group paused but offered no reply.
“I see it is up to me to make conversation, then. How about I introduce you to a friend of mine.” Her grip tightened around her knife’s hilt in the same moment a thief launched a sack into the air, another quickly sending an arrow soaring. Niya twirled back as the two collided above her head. Green smoke exploding from the bag.
“You poxes,” she laughed. “You missed—”
But then she smelled it.
The sweet scent of gaffaw bark—a sleeping vapor—and a lot of it, filled her lungs.
It didn’t matter how powerful one was, how well versed in magic or decorated in fighting—gaffaw bark, once deeply inhaled, got the best of all. Which was why it was illegal in most of Aadilor.
“Sticks,” cursed Niya, right as her knees gave out and she hit the ground. Hot stone smacked against her cheek. The edge of her basket, filled with items for home, now forgotten by her side. As the green smoke dissipated and her vision blurred, boots stepped before her. All of them were dirty. Covered in scuffs and marks, the leather peeling back from soles. And is that a toe peeking out? Niya felt a slip of annoyance that a group that took such poor care of their footwear could best her, and so quickly. But then her annoyance faded to nothing as her eyes rolled back and she tumbled into darkness.
CHAPTER THREE
Niya woke to a gentle rocking. The screech of gulls soaring high above and the rhythmic splashes of oars cutting through waves. Her head throbbed as the residual effects of the gaffaw bark lingered, and she swallowed against the dryness of her throat.
Lying on her side, Niya found her hands were bound at the wrists behind her back, in what she could only assume was the belly of a rowboat. Her view was obscured by a moldy sack smelling of fish, but she caught tiny pinpricks of daylight shining through the stitching of the bag. Her shoulders ached from her unnatural positioning, and her legs felt sticky and heavy beneath her skirts, as if the material were still drying after being soaked by water. A warm breeze filtered across her neck, stirring the silk sleeve of her dress. The cloak she had been wearing appeared to be no longer with her.
At least I’m still clothed, she thought.
Her magic slowly stirred awake in her belly as she grew more conscious.
Burn, it hissed groggily, and then, Killlll, it demanded, hot and impatient as it woke fully.
Yes, yes, thought Niya placatingly. In due time. First she had to figure out where, by the lost gods, she was—and why and thanks to whom. Then she could burn and kill and laugh in the face of whoever would be so idiotic as to kidnap a creature like her.
She had not recognized any of the thieves. Their clothes weren’t identifiable as any Jabari gang she was aware of. Yet their actions had surely been organized by someone. Her capture had been quick, precise, using a substance that left little room for error. But who would want to steal her away? If their intentions had been to rob, they would have merely taken all her possessions and slit her throat or left her to wake long after they’d gone. Was it possible they recognized her as the daughter of the Count of Raveet? Was this to be a kidnapping for ransom?
How boring, thought Niya.
Refocusing on her surroundings, she decided she was definitely surrounded by water, salt water, if the birds and smell were any indication. Which meant she was most likely floating on the Obasi Sea. Given it was the only sea in all of Aadilor.
But the question remained: How far from shore were they? And which shore? And how far from Jabari? Or any recognizable place?
Okay, so there were a few more answers Niya needed.
The first, she decided, was how many occupied their boat. The seven thieves who had started all this?
C
losing her eyes, Niya forced herself to relax, first her muscles, then her mind. She let the rocking of the boat seep into her skin, let the water hitting up against the sides caress her magic, which responded to motion. Her powers flowed, warm and pleased at finally being used, tingling through her entire body as she expanded her senses further, feeling the energy a hand gave off as it wiped sweat from a brow, the strong rowing of arms. She cataloged the inhales and exhales. Four souls sat around her. Two by her head, two by her feet.
Four . . . I can take four.
Subtly pulling against her bound wrists, she tested the ropes’ strength. They were tight, but her fingers were free enough to do damage.
Quietly now, instructed Niya to her magic as she fluttered her fingers. There were slithers of liquid heat in her veins as a small flame awakened at her fingertip. Niya forced her breathing steady, her senses prickled to those around her. She had to do this fast, before they smelled the burning of the rope or saw that she indeed held fire. After all, one’s advantage lay in surprise.
The boat thunked against another object, shifting Niya to roll onto her back. Her flame was snuffed out, her ropes remaining too tight to break.
Sticks, she silently cursed.
Niya felt her companions stir. The heavy footfalls of boots against the boat’s wooden floor, the sound of rope being cinched, and the muttering of voices.
Her pulse continued to thump loud in her ears as rough arms lifted her.
“Oy, she’s a heavy one,” a man grunted by her head.
“Did you think she’d get lighter on the way over?” came a woman’s reply as she grabbed her ankles.
Niya’s annoyance prickled hot.
“Then let me lighten your load,” Niya ground out as she slammed her slippered heel into the girl’s face. There was a satisfying crunch of a nose breaking. The woman cursed as she fell back, dropping Niya’s legs.
All that diligent kidnapping, and the fools didn’t take care to tie her feet together.
With her senses buzzing, Niya backward headbutted the man still gripping her shoulders, her skull smarting with the contact.
Dance of a Burning Sea Page 4
