“Come here, my pet,” cooed the red figure. “Nothing else will satisfy the debt.”
“And ya wonder why I stay away for so long.”
“Oh, posh.” His admirer waved an amused hand. “You were too ready to ask what you owed.” Dropping to their knees, they caressed the senseer’s cloth-covered cheek before parting a bit of fabric to reveal charred black lips. “Beautiful,” they whispered before pressing their mouth to the guide’s.
It was over in the quickest grain’s fall, but Darius couldn’t help noticing how his guide swayed forward, as if wishing it to last much longer.
The red figure stood with a smile, fixing the senseer’s gauze back in place. “Do not hesitate to refill your plate.” They spoke to Darius while still looking at his companion. “I will be here all night to collect.”
And with that, the red figure turned to address the new line of hungry guests.
“Are you two—?”
“I have not pried into yer life.” The senseer cut Darius off as they squeezed their way to an empty spot along a far wall. “I expect the favor to be returned.”
“Fair enough.” Darius shifted his mask so he could take a bite of food. He all but groaned. It could have been discarded slop, and it still would have satisfied.
“Eat fast, boy,” instructed his guide. “They will be here soon.”
“Who?”
“The Mousai.”
What is so special about these Mousai? thought Darius, annoyed.
“Can you not eat while they are in the room?” asked Darius.
A soft chuckle came from the man. “You can certainly try, but it will be difficult with your hands in chains.”
“I beg your pardon?” Darius frowned down at the man.
Just then a hush fell over the room as the candelabras that lined the vaulted cave dimmed, and a spotlight shone on a figure five balconies up.
She was beautiful, a tall statue of a creature, her skin as dark as a moonless night, with a shaved head and long, graceful neck. A light-gray dress wrapped the expanse of her lithe body, while silver bands snaked up her delicate arms to a face she left uncovered. Clever violet eyes raked over the audience below. She might have looked no older than four and twenty, but even Darius could tell that years were not how she measured her time. Her overwhelming pulse of energy seemed to stretch out, like heat from the sun, warming all below despite the distance. But the sensation held a tingling warning to keep one’s distance, for the sun also had the power to burn. Darius shivered through the sensation, knowing this meant one thing—she was a creature not of this world, and an ancient one at that.
“Welcome, my sweets.” Her sultry voice carried through the cave. “Our king has been generous to us this evening, has he not?”
A quick burst of cheers filled the cavern.
“And his gifts continue,” the woman went on. “But before we can share them, we ask you to take the usual precautions.”
“Precautions?” whispered Darius to his guide, unease seeping through him.
The senseer merely shushed him as the woman’s purple eyes danced over the crowd as she continued. “Those gifted with what the lost gods left can stay where they are, but those that do not possess any drops of magic are invited to take leave now or, if bold enough to stay, will find a bench with restraints toward the back. None shall bear witness to the Mousai’s performance without these measures. Now come, my darlings.” She raised her hands wide. “Find your places, for the creatures you’ve come to see are here!”
The room exploded with chatter, a moving wave as the crowd split into those who had the gifts and those who did not. Darius was swept to the side by a mass of guards, his plate of food clattering to the ground. He yelled out for them to stop, his heartbeat like bombs going off in his chest as unknown hands roughly pushed him onto a bench. But in the next blink he was seated and chained to the wall with a dozen more men and women. His breathing came out in gasps as he searched the room for his guide. But there was no creature Darius recognized. He peered at others beside him. The only slip of reprieve was to find none as panicked as he. In fact, what mouths were uncovered, smiled wide in anticipation. How did the guards know they all were without magic? That he didn’t want to leave, like the woman had suggested some do? But before Darius could question any further or fight the restraints, darkness descended upon the chamber.
And not just any darkness—a consuming void, as if Darius’s eyes had been plucked from his head.
Panic flooded his veins moments before a beam of light shone on the room’s cavernous entrance, the audience now gathered around in a crowded semicircle. Darius squinted into the inky black just as a group of shadowy figures appeared. A new hush settled over the room, one charged with impatient hope, and Darius leaned forward, his chains rattling, as he watched three crouched assistants in beastly costumes of braided fur pull a platform forward. Atop were three statue-like figures draped, cinched, and sewn into the most elaborate costumes Darius had ever seen.
The tallest, in the center, wore a massive headdress made of spread raven wings. A black shawl covered her face, and onyx gems were sewn over her eyes and cheeks, leaving bare her full, purple lips and ash-white painted chin. Her gown was like liquid ink with swatches of deep violet woven into the material. She stood poised with her hands covered in black skintight gloves, bound together in more dark silk, leaving her incapable of moving the smallest finger.
The second was the shortest of the trio, her costume like a fiery rose before bloom, the soft material pooling around her ankles before spilling over the podium. Shaded swaths of orange and black gracefully wrapped the entirety of her hourglass body, keeping her tied in place, limbs contained. Her face was covered in intricate creamy lace patterned with feathers, while her hair was tucked into the shroud, leaving a long veil of more pearly plumage draped down her back.
The last was the most shocking; her face was completely covered by a studded mask of black pearls. A giant bow made of obsidian and deep-blue feathers rested atop her head, while her thin figure was draped from head to toe in a sheer ebony gauze, the most desirable parts hidden by onyx plumes that spiraled around her form.
Any other skin exposed on the trio was decorated in intricate swirls of black-and-white paint, leaving their true skin tones a mystery.
They looked like frozen birds spun of nightmares and paradise.
While the women remained perfectly still, the same three assistants stepped forward to unclip the tall one’s hands, laying an elegant violin in her arms. For the girl wrapped in orange, they loosened her silk shackles from the podium, and for the third, they unlatched the bottom part of her pearl mask, revealing full lips, painted black and set against more patterns painted along her chin. Her eyes remained covered.
Darius’s heart leaped in his chest. Never before had he witnessed such art, such dark beauty, and he was both terrified of and desperate for whatever was to happen next.
Slowly, like a gentle wind lifting a petal, the woman with the violin moved it into position; the room’s occupants took in a collective breath right before she dragged her bow over the strings.
The world collapsed around Darius as the haunting tune flowed over his body. So simple, that one chord, but it seeped into his mind and consumed all thought but the trio in front of him. Clamping his teeth to hold back a moan, Darius listened helplessly as she pulled out another chord and then another until he was dizzy with the sounds she created. Her graceful arms moved as if not bound by gravity, her fingers fluttering over the neck of her child.
For that was how this creature held the instrument, as though it were her most precious possession, the love of her life, and it responded in kind.
Darius wanted to cry out to the enchantress, to beg her to stop while pleading for her never to cease, but before he could utter a word, the second woman, wrapped in orange, began to move. Her gown blossomed as she fell into the rhythm the other created. She danced a trance around the violinist as the train of
her gown fluttered like wings while her hips seemed to catch the notes and send them spinning. The material of her dress floated up, twirling and swirling around her, a tornado of beauty and passion.
Darius’s skin burned at the sight, at this spell of pure, pulsing energy, and he wasn’t the only one suffering, for a whimper came from his left, then his right. He was about to check on his neighbors but stopped when the third performer, her eyes still covered, opened her mouth and—
By the Obasi Sea.
Devastation eternal.
Darius’s soul was snatched from his body and shredded to ribbons. A single note, just one, was enough to ruin him. His eyes, ears, nose, mouth—all of him was flooded with the melody she poured from her soul, and right when Darius was convinced he would drown in it, she split the note in two, then three, as if she held a dozen voices inside. She filled the chamber with her destructive harmony, allowing it to soar up and out of the opening in the ceiling.
He was reduced to pinpricks of energy that circled greedily, needing, wanting, searching for the space where he could become one with that voice. It was a song that held no language but still spoke of desires deeply hidden, of yearnings and births and deaths. The three picked up their pace, seeming to know exactly what each needed to carry her to the next note, turn, and chord.
It was too much.
Too everything.
They were sirens on a rocky island, surrounded by crashing waves, daring all to join them, and Darius would have willingly, just as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. His last memories were of a dark cavern filled with a rush of pressing bodies and hedonistic dancing.
“Boy.” A stinging slap fell across Darius’s cheek. “Boy, open yer eyes. That’s it. Keep ’em open now.”
Blinking back to life, Darius found the gauze-covered senseer hovering in front of him.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Ya passed out.”
“Passed out . . .” Darius’s mouth felt like dust as he peered around the space, taking in a scene that looked very similar to when he’d first entered the domed cave. Except now he was slouched against the bench he’d been forced onto, skin burning. With a wince, he sat up, looking down at the red flesh where his wrists had been rubbed raw from the chains, the cuffs at his legs digging into his leather trousers; he must have pulled viciously against his restraints. His breath puffed quickly, but not fast enough to ease his burning lungs, as the room continued to spin. What had happened to the music? The singing?
An aching loss filled Darius’s chest.
He needed it. Needed to hear, see, feel it all again, or he surely would die. Only that voice, that music, and the sway of those hips could ever cure him of this feeling. Darius was desperate for them, mad for them. He needed—
“Drink this.”
A cup was forced against his lips, and cool, sweet liquid ran down his throat.
Darius’s muscles relaxed with each swallow until the fire inside him had dulled to a flicker and his head had cleared.
Heaving a relieved sigh, Darius peered into the violet eyes of the woman who had spoken earlier, from the balcony. She crouched before him now, goblet in hand, and if he’d thought her beautiful from afar, she was overwhelmingly opulent up close. Skin as smooth and glossy as black marble, sharp cheekbones, and white teeth that appeared to glow with her clever grin. The irises of her eyes pulsed as if they held tiny stars; Darius could have sworn she peered through him, as if she could see more than just what lay behind his mask.
“What are you?” he found himself asking.
“Here they call us Achak,” she said as her voice dropped and her features swam from a woman’s into a man’s.
Darius blinked.
By the lost gods. What was in that drink?
A new face looked at him now, just as dark and alluring, but with a thick beard and wider nose and mouth, those same violet eyes still swirling.
He winked at Darius before remolding back into the woman.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” muttered Darius, leaning forward, annoyed to see he was still chained down.
“My brother usually does that to people,” said Achak before giving Darius’s restraints a tap, making them fall open. “He’s always been the ugly one.”
“I’d back up, love.” The senseer spoke beside them. “He looks a bit pasty. I wouldn’t want yer dress to get splotched on.”
“He’ll be fine,” she said, placing a calming hand to Darius’s knee. “Won’t you?”
“I . . . yes, I will.” Darius moved his mask from his face just enough to wipe away the sweat sliding down his cheeks. He wanted to tear the blasted thing off.
“I think it’s time you took our friend home.” Achak spoke to the guide, standing to her full height.
Home.
“No, not yet.” Darius stood, too, testing his balance. For as horrid as he’d felt a moment ago, he was quickly recovering. His eyes scanned the pulsing cave, passing over creature after creature in the hopes of glimpsing just one. Though three made up the Mousai, he couldn’t help how his soul had split and welded back together on hearing that voice. He would never actually approach her. No, he merely needed reassurance that she was real, alive, adding to the splendor that was Aadilor.
“What you seek you will not find tonight.”
Achak’s layered voice twisted in Darius’s ear, and he started, finding the ancient one had moved closer.
“Are you a senseer too?” asked Darius, a sharp edge to his tone. Were his thoughts ever again to be his own?
“Follow your guide home, my child.” Achak placed the cup she held onto a passing tray. “Rest. You’ve learned and seen much tonight.”
“I may have learned and seen much,” said Darius. “But none of it was what I came to find.”
“Are you sure?” asked Achak, her features shifting from woman to man again. “Answers come in many forms,” said the new sibling in a heavy voice. He smiled gently, almost with pity, before he and his sister, as one, melted into the chaotic crowd.
Darius frowned. Yes, he thought, more than sure. For though this trip might have enlightened him to many things, none had given him the answer he desired most.
How to get rid of his stepfather.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Larkyra took a deep breath, savoring the fresh forest air as she stepped through the portal door. There were many roads that led to Achak’s home but none as easy as the path through Yamanu. That was, so long as one found the right stone to turn over, the right portal. Larkyra always said it looked like a diamond. Niya argued it appeared more like a squashed square, and Arabessa insisted they simply needed to find the one painted white amid the pile of gray.
Arabessa never is any fun, thought Larkyra as she and her sisters left Yamanu to make their way down a bright forest path. It had become a tradition following their performance in the Thief Kingdom to chance an audience with the ancient creature. Most were too terrified to look Achak in the eye, let alone knock on their door, but for Larkyra and her sisters, no person or thing could keep them at bay if they wanted it in unison. So Larkyra sang a silent melody in her head as she walked, unconcerned at the possibility she might be turned into a reptile if she annoyed one of the twins—or worse yet, finger-snapped into produce that would later be cooked into a pie. It was a constant threat from Achak, one that had started the very day they, as young girls, had begun as their pupils for magic lessons. But so far, Larkyra had only been turned into a slithering creature once. And after a reproachful sigh from their father, she’d been changed right back. At this point it was an annoyance rather than a deterrent.
“And then he ate the whole thing, bones and all.” Niya did a twirl in front of them, her peach skirts spinning about her legs.
“We were all there last night,” said Arabessa, snatching a rogue leaf that floated down from the forest canopy. It matched her seafoam-green frock perfectly. “No need to repeat what we all saw.”
“Did you see it?
” asked Niya with a raised brow, her red hair shimmering golden in the daylight. “Your attention seemed pinned to the other side of the room for most of the night.”
Arabessa flicked the leaf from her hand. “Was it?”
“Mmm.” Niya nodded with a sly grin. “Tell us, Ara. What could have been more fascinating than a man eating to save his life?”
“Was it the five-headed cat that was set loose?” asked Larkyra.
“Or perhaps the Bear Clan fighting over who wore their fur best?” added Niya.
“No.” Larkyra shook her head. “Surely it was the fish that could swim through air.”
“Silly, those got eaten before the first sand fall,” said Niya, tutting. “Oh! I know. Isn’t that where Zimri—”
“I’m rather surprised you had time to notice where my attentions were,” interrupted Arabessa. “Given that you appeared to be dragging us from corner to corner, following a certain pirate from Esrom.”
Niya stopped prancing, her blue eyes narrowing at Arabessa. “If we did happen to follow him,” she began, “it was purely in the interest of obtaining information to later use against him and his crew.”
“In the hopes of gaining what?” asked Arabessa.
“Leverage.”
“Yes, dear. You made that quite clear, but for what purpose? For someone who does quite a lot of squawking in regard to the man, you like to keep him and his whereabouts rather close.”
“Squawking?”
“Yes, just like that. Thank you for demonstrating.”
Niya all but growled.
“Sisters, please,” said Larkyra, biting back a smile. “You’ll prune your skin blowing all that hot air. And anyway, you’re upsetting Kaipo.” The hawk swooped low between the two girls and flapped his massive wings, sending their hair flying.
Larkyra giggled, and Kaipo gave a responding shriek of delight as he soared back toward the treetops.
“I’ll have him for dinner one day.” Niya fixed her red mane.
“Not if I eat him for breakfast first.” Arabessa pinned back the few dark curls that had fallen loose from her tight updo.
Song of the Forever Rains Page 9
