Dance of a Burning Sea

by Mellow, E. J.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Niya was late to meet her sisters.

  The reason for which still tingled along her body and burned in her magic as she swept through the dark halls of the palace.

  I am yours to command.

  Alōs’s words caressed her memory like melting sugar, a sweet temptation. The image of the pirate lord, submissive and wanting, strong and thrusting, sent a bolt of heat through her core.

  She had slept with Alōs.

  Again.

  Had let him touch her, everywhere.

  Again.

  But this time, Niya had awoken not regretting a single grain fall.

  Something had shifted tonight, a changing of power.

  Niya finally felt in control.

  And not just of herself.

  In a heady, drunk way, she truly believed she had been in control of Alōs.

  I am yours to command.

  How dangerous those words were to her.

  How tempting.

  If she was not careful, she’d actually find herself thinking she could trust him.

  “There you are.” Arabessa’s voice cut through Niya’s thoughts, refocusing her attention to the end of the hall that she approached. “We were about to go in without you.”

  Her sisters waited outside the Thief King’s private chambers. Their disguises matched hers: the black hooded robes and gold masks of the Mousai. It had felt like loosening corset strings when Niya had slipped on the familiar mask, feeling it hug her skin like an old friend.

  “Sorry,” said Niya. “I fell asleep and forgot to ask a maid to wake me.”

  “Has something happened?” Larkyra tilted her head beneath her mask. “Your energy . . . it feels—”

  “Let’s not have our king wait any longer.” Niya waved a hand as she pushed past them, grappling to control her gifts, which jumped along with her nerves. The last thing she needed was for her sisters to suspect what had just happened between her and the pirate lord. Especially when she was still sifting through her own feelings on the matter.

  The Mousai stepped over the threshold of the Thief King’s chambers, and the door behind them closed with a sealing click, a dozen locks bolting and shifting back in place. A veil of impenetrable magic.

  The Thief King’s identity was the most sacred secret in any kingdom, in any realm, in fact. Which was why his personal chambers were buried deep within the center of the palace, behind walls of guards and spelled doors. Even Niya and her sisters, his own daughters, had agreed to a Secret Sealer regarding his identity. Larkyra’s husband, Darius, did not even know what other role his father-in-law slipped in and out of.

  Yet though he was the King of Thieves, Dolion’s private chambers were rather modest, especially compared to his soaring throne room. The receiving hall was small, followed by a long hallway that led to a sitting room, the space made up for comfort rather than spectacle. Sturdy furniture to support a sturdy man and soft, worn rugs to ease feet carrying the weight of endless responsibility. A large fireplace and pockets of standing candelabras lit the room warmly.

  “You three are late.” Zimri stood in an archway that led to a dining room.

  Niya’s chest lightened at seeing him, a smile forming. “What a delightful greeting to a sister you have not seen in months,” she said as she approached, removing her mask before planting a kiss on his cheek.

  Zimri had always been the definition of impeccable, from his combed-back hair to the shine on his onyx alligator shoes. The only thing that put him off this evening was the bit of scruff on his usually smooth black chin.

  “Zimri is not our brother,” countered Arabessa from behind them as she folded herself into a chair by the fire, removing her own mask in a flourish.

  “And thank the lost gods for that,” said Zimri as he followed Niya to sit among her sisters. “I feel enough responsibility for you lot as it is. The weight of being an older brother would drive me to madness.”

  “You and Arabessa are the same age,” Larkyra pointed out, placing her disguise on a low table that sat between them. “So you’d only be the older brother to Niya and me. That should lighten the cause for insanity.”

  “On the contrary,” said Zimri, brows raised. “I am exactly two months older than Arabessa. Which is a blessing—I could not order her about as easily without the advantage of age.”

  “There are no advantages in the world that would allow you to order me about,” said Arabessa as she glanced at her nails in boredom.

  “I could think of one.” Zimri’s grin taunted.

  Arabessa’s eyes whipped to his, a pinch to her brows. “And I could think of one which would permanently remove that smile from your face.”

  “Oh, please, do not do that,” said Larkyra. “I am rather fond of Zimri’s smiles.”

  “As am I,” added Niya. “You would be ridding the world of one of its beauties.”

  “If that insufferable grin is considered beautiful”—Arabessa crossed her arms tightly—“then I have a very different definition of what pleases the eye.”

  “Really?” Zimri leaned back in his seat, hands clasped over his chest. “Then I must ask. Do you consider yourself beautiful?”

  “Excuse me?” She frowned.

  “When you look in the glass, do you see beauty? No, Niya and Lark, I do not care for either of your opinions on the matter.” He raised a hand to stop them from interrupting. “I’m asking Ara. Do you find yourself beautiful?”

  “What a foolish question.”

  “That you seem scared to answer.”

  “I am hardly scared.” Her gaze narrowed on him. “Only if I answer one way, I will seem self-loathing, which I am not. And if I answer the other, I will appear vain, which, again, I am not.”

  “You aren’t vain?” Niya raised her brows.

  “No, I am not.” Arabessa cut her a glance. “But I am growing tired of this line of questioning. I do not see the point in it.”

  “The point,” said Zimri, “is that I see beauty. When I look at you.”

  Niya watched as Arabessa blinked over to him, a tense silence filling the room as they regarded one another.

  Niya found Larkyra’s twinkling gaze, suppressing a grin as her sister wiggled her eyebrows up and down.

  “So?” Arabessa eventually asked, the annoyance in her voice faltering.

  “So,” Zimri continued, “if you do, too, then our definition of what pleases the eye is not so very different. Which would mean you do find my smile to be beautiful, because I find my smile quite beautiful too.”

  Niya bit back a laugh as she watched her older sister struggle in her response. But whatever the red-faced Arabessa was poised to say—or do—next was interrupted by the entrance of their father.

  All stood.

  Well, except Niya. She ran straight toward the man.

  Despite him being in the midst of shrugging out of the ornate alabaster uniform of the Thief King, still permeated with the ancient magic he forced into his role when on the throne, Niya could not stand on decorum in this moment. He was unmasked, his blue eyes shining bright beneath their rim of black soot.

  “Father.” She threw her arms around him, savoring his mixed scent of sun-soaked hay and smoke. His braided beard tickled her cheek as she rested her head on his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

  Dolion did not respond right away; he merely held her tighter. “I know, my flame. Now come”—he pried her loose—“let us sit and hear of what has transpired.”

  Niya felt as though she was finally able to breathe. Now in the privacy of her father’s contained quarters, her family all around, she unloaded everything: her visit to Barter Bay, the journey through the Mocking Mist, the storms that protected the far-west lands, and the beauty of the Valley of Giants. Finally she shared the purpose of the Crying Queen’s travels, the item Alōs searched for: the Prism Stone. Why he had taken it in the first place: to save his younger brother’s life. She shared all this in the hopes that they could help in some
way. A lesson learned from when she had failed to ask for their help in the past.

  “My, that is a tale,” breathed Larkyra once Niya had finished. “I hadn’t realized Alōs had a brother. Who knew I could actually feel pity for the pirate?”

  “Are we sure all of this is true?” asked Arabessa, brows pinched in with suspicion.

  “I had my own doubts at first,” admitted Niya, “but all the pieces seem to fit. Alōs most certainly was born to be the king of Esrom. And I overheard their holy order speak of the stone and the magic leaving the kingdom. As far as King Ariōn, I have seen the markings of his illness for myself and watched him with Alōs. There is no denying the affection between the two. Alōs still very much feels duty bound to help Esrom.”

  “Still,” began Arabessa, “I—”

  “What Niya says is true.”

  All eyes turned to Dolion. He sat closest to the fire in his high-backed leather chair, the white disguise of the Thief King now hanging at his side, leaving him in a plain tunic and trousers, though he still filled the space like a commanding force.

  “You knew?” Niya blinked, a wave of shock going through her.

  “The Thief King knows the history of all who become part of his court,” Zimri answered for her father.

  “You knew too?” She swiveled around to meet his brown gaze.

  “Who do you think gathers the information?”

  “But why—?” she spluttered.

  “Why didn’t we tell you?” said Dolion. “Because, my child, the identities and pasts of our court members are for the king to hoard, not those who serve him.”

  “Yet Zimri knows.” Arabessa’s glare was a prick of ice.

  “And I have been bound by a Secret Sealer to only discuss the specifics with the Thief King,” Zimri countered.

  Dolion affirmed this with a nod. “But who Alōs Ezra once was had no standing in our lives. As far as I was concerned, any interaction with the man was with him as he is now, the pirate captain of the Crying Queen. I hadn’t realized there were any intimate . . . connections until his ransom with you, Niya.”

  Niya felt her cheeks redden, the familiar shame for giving away their identities resurfacing.

  “Now, regarding this issue with the Prism Stone,” Dolion continued. “This is a new development to me. While I was aware of the stories of Alōs taking it, I hadn’t realized how truly important this stone was, nor that the pirate lord would care enough about the kingdom which banished him to want to get it back.” Her father met her gaze. “But it appears he cares a great deal.”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “It’s all he cares for, really.”

  “Which is why you must continue to be careful with him,” said her father. “Despite Alōs’s selflessness in the past, we all know the man he has grown to be. He has acquired the title of notorious pirate lord for a reason. And as the sands fall, he will only grow more desperate to find the stone. And desperate men are dangerous.”

  Niya swallowed. Her father’s words landed like blows, even though they were the same convictions she had reminded herself of earlier tonight. Earlier, before she had slept with Alōs, again. Before she had watched him submit to her, worship her; before she’d lain in his arms and listened to his breaths as he fell asleep.

  Tonight he had been different; she had felt different with him. Powerful. In control.

  Could she believe in these new feelings?

  Niya’s thoughts were momentarily distracted by a reflection on her father’s shirt. There was pinned the compass brooch of her mother’s.

  She said when she touched it, it helped ground her. It allowed her to find her way.

  Niya swallowed. I must find my way, she thought as she stared at the weaving gold that made up four different points. Four different directions to take, but in the center rested a shining sun. Her focus.

  You must continue to be careful with him. Her father’s words echoed in her mind. Desperate men are dangerous.

  With a heaviness to her chest, Niya knew her father was right; she could not yet trust Alōs.

  Not until all of this was said and done. How Alōs acted after he got what he wanted would be the real test. Whether his words to her tonight would remain sound. It saddened her to realize this, but it did not stop her from knowing she must keep him at arm’s length until then. Keep her walls high.

  “Yes, Father.” Niya tore her gaze from the compass to meet his gaze. “I understand.”

  Dolion’s expression softened, as though he knew where her attention had just been—on the pin that sat above his heart. “Yes, by now I’m sure you do. Yet . . .”

  “What?”

  “Tell me, how is it the mark of your binding bet is already half-filled when your time on the Crying Queen is not nearly half up?”

  Niya looked down, realizing she had taken off her long black gloves and had been twisting them in her lap. The mark on her wrist sat exposed. “I have struck a new agreement with the pirate lord.”

  “Here we go again,” groaned Arabessa.

  “I have a new bargain to obtain my freedom quicker.” Niya shot her sister a scathing glare.

  “And what is this new bargain?” asked Zimri, leaning forward.

  “As soon as I help find the final piece of the Prism Stone and it is returned safely to Esrom, I can return home.”

  “But that could take longer than your year sentence,” Larkyra pointed out.

  “It can’t.”

  “But it could.”

  “It cannot.”

  “Why not?”

  “Esrom doesn’t have that long.”

  Silence.

  “All right,” said Arabessa slowly, “and what happens if you don’t return the stone in time, for you, I mean?”

  “Why are you so pessimistic?” Niya frowned.

  “I’m a realist.”

  “A real pessimist.”

  “Niya,” interjected Zimri. “What would that mean for you?”

  She was hesitant to meet any of their gazes. “Another year aboard the Crying Queen.”

  “Another year!” exclaimed her sisters.

  “But it won’t come to that,” Niya added quickly. “We know where the final piece resides. You heard Alōs say it himself.” She turned to Larkyra and Arabessa. “It’s on Hallowed Island. He thinks the chief there might have it.”

  “By the lost gods.” Zimri sat back in his chair. “Are you certain?”

  “Quite,” said Niya, glancing at the concerned expressions around the room. “I know they are giants, but they can’t be as bad as all that . . . can they?”

  “What do you know of giants?” asked Zimri.

  “They are slow and dumb.”

  “Storybook nonsense,” replied her father. “They are giants; one of their steps is ten of ours.”

  “And dumb?” Niya dared to ask.

  “They are about as clever as they come, especially with their food. Like a cat with a mouse. They play before they eat.”

  “Wonderful.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Let me guess: they are also gifted.”

  “No, giants do not hold magic,” said her father.

  A wash of relief flowed over her.

  “But that hardly matters when not even your own powers will do much against them,” he added.

  “How is that possible?” Niya drew her brows together. “I’m part of the Mousai.”

  “Yes, and they are giants, my dear,” said Dolion. “The larger the creature, the more gifts needed to control them. And they are very large indeed. You would need a handful of gifted souls to go up against one; otherwise it’s like a fly trying to fell a human with the wind from its wings—useless.”

  Cold dread settled in her chest. “Well, sticks.”

  “Zimri, can you retrieve one of our maps of Hallowed Island?” Dolion sat forward, clearing the low table between them. “If you’re going into a den of giants—”

  “Giant cannibals,” corrected Larkyra brightly.

  “Smart, fa
st, immune-to-the-gifts, giant cannibals,” added Arabessa.

  “Yes, thank you,” grumbled Niya.

  “You should be as prepared as you can,” Dolion went on. “I think one of our maps has the location of their village.”

  Zimri stretched out a chart of the Obasi Sea. A small island rested in the center. Scratches of information marked over its land.

  “Yes, here.” Her father pointed to a cluster of buildings right in the middle of the island. “Now”—he breathed—“let’s figure out the best way for you to get in and out without being eaten.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Alōs stood at the banister of his quarterdeck, looking through his spotting scope at Hallowed Island—a thick, tangled mass of green on the horizon. Clouds of smoke drifted from a volcano at its center. This unpredictable beast was what made the spit of land so precious. The soil on Hallowed Island was rich from centuries of eruptions, causing an overwhelming abundance of rare foliage. The plants found here were rumored to be powerfully healing or fatal with one twist of a petal. A combination that made courageous fools of many, for to steal even a small sprig of the right specimen could fetch heavy coin in any kingdom’s underground market.

  This very fact created the perfect excuse for sailing these waters. Alōs had hoped that giving his crew a task that promised riches would have them cooperating without question. He knew he had been pushing them these past few months, but there was no way around it.

  Time was falling too quickly, and he was growing desperate to catch up.

  Alōs collapsed his scope with a snap and tapped it on his palm, thinking.

  He had ordered the Crying Queen to anchor a good deal away from Hallowed Island, so the ship would appear no bigger than a speck to any who might look out from its shores. Though giants were not known for keen eyesight, the sun was high, and Alōs would not chance being seen. They needed to breach the island safely and quietly. Alōs planned for them to approach by nightfall.