It was a fear that had eaten into her very bones, causing Larkyra’s magic to always be at the ready to jump in her defense, a prickling of retribution up her throat.
Steady, Larkyra thought to her powers. Stay steady.
The words brought forth another phrase Achak had taught Larkyra a long time ago, during one of her many late-night lessons with them.
“Steady hands thread finer needles,” said Achak. “Do you understand? Practice being steady in your head and your heart. When you are surrounded by a storm—”
“Stay steady,” finished Larkyra.
“When you feel the need to scream . . .”
“Stay steady.”
Achak smiled, nodding encouragingly. “If you stay steady, your power will too. Steady head, steady heart.”
Steady head, steady heart, thought Larkyra now, grasping the words, which had eventually helped her become as intentional and controlled as Niya and Arabessa when conducting a spell.
A quick rap at the kitchen window made Larkyra jump in her seat.
Turning, she saw Kaipo perched outside, his silver head twitching this way and that before his beak tapped again.
“And that will be our time,” said Achak just as a small bell chimed on the oven. “Not only for your dessert but for you to return to Jabari.”
“Just a little longer,” pleaded Niya. “Please.”
Kaipo pecked the glass again, and Niya cut him a glare.
“I’m not the one who makes the rules in your household,” explained Achak. “And from Kaipo’s insistence, something tells me your father is calling from Jabari, and I have no desire to upset the king.”
“Really, Achak,” said Niya, “you above all have no need to fear the king.”
Achak’s face drew taut. “My child, it is precisely I more than most who know exactly why all should fear the king.”
A tense silence enveloped the room, only the crackling flames in the hearth filling the void.
“Okay, well.” Larkyra stood, not wanting to ruin the small gift of their mother’s memory with this new energy. “Try to get a few bites of the bread in before your brother eats it all.”
Achak’s violet gaze found hers, warmth seeping in once more. “If it is as good as the last loaf you baked, I will certainly try.”
“Let’s go, princesses.” Larkyra motioned to her sisters. “Or I’ll not hesitate to pinpoint the blame for us being tardy.”
“As if you ever need an excuse to sing like a canary to Father.”
“Only when it comes to the things you do.” Larkyra wrapped an arm around Niya, giving her an affectionate squeeze. “Arabessa could murder, and I’d never tell.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Arabessa stood. “You would never know if I murdered in the first place.”
“I wouldn’t?” asked Larkyra.
“Have you yet?” countered Arabessa, stepping in front of her and Niya to exit the kitchen.
“I wouldn’t put it past her,” whispered Niya. “Did you see the way she used that knife to pick up the cheese? Father always said the calm ones are the craziest.”
Larkyra bit her lip to hold back a laugh.
“We’ll be back soon,” said Niya to Achak, who followed them to the front door.
“I am sure sooner than my brother would desire.”
“Always.” Niya smiled, stepping out of the cottage.
“Bye, Achak.” Larkyra waved.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” asked Achak, leaning against the doorframe.
Larkyra looked down and around her. “I don’t think so.”
“The spoon.” Achak raised her hand, palm up. “That’s in your pocket.”
“Oh.” Larkyra removed a delicate gold teaspoon from her skirts, the end curling around three perfectly formed pearls. It was deliciously darling. “How did that get there?”
“For someone who grew up in the Thief Kingdom, you really are an appalling liar.”
“Only when the lie won’t save me.” Larkyra reluctantly handed over the small treasure.
“They rarely do.”
“Yes, but sometimes . . .”
“They are our only lifeline,” finished Achak.
Standing on her tiptoes, Larkyra kissed the sister on the cheek, breathing in the scent of incense that clung to the ancient one’s skin. Then she turned to follow her sisters down the path, through Yamanu, and back to Jabari, where their father waited, she hoped—if Larkyra could be so optimistic—to give her another pretty present. For there was nothing better than receiving a gift to suppress the desire to steal one.
CHAPTER NINE
Her father was drunk. Or Larkyra was quite convinced he was, though it was barely noon, for he could not have said what he just had if sober.
“Father,” began Larkyra slowly. “Have you gotten into Cook’s special tea again?”
The large hourglass above the mantel trickled loudly as Dolion’s brows rose from where he sat behind his oak desk in the study of their Jabari home. “Will I never live that down?” he asked. “It happened once. And you were each too young to truly remember.”
“Yes.” Niya nodded. “But it’s one of Charlotte’s favorite bedtime stories. It always lulled us right to sleep after our fits of giggles.”
Dolion frowned. “Zimri, remind me to talk to Charlotte when we’re done here.”
Zimri stood behind Dolion, gray suit wrapping his muscular form as he looked out a window to the back gardens, his dark features emotionless as he listened to the conversation.
“It’s noted, sir.” The young man turned to face the girls, his hazel eyes tentatively resting on Arabessa, who remained poised, regarding their father.
“Are we to go with Lark?” asked Arabessa.
“Not right away. You can visit once she’s settled.”
“I’m sorry. Can we back up a moment?” Larkyra’s mind still grappled to understand what had just been laid upon her. “I’m to marry the Duke of Lachlan?”
“I’m hoping we’ll be done before it comes to that.”
“Oh, well, as long as you hope.”
“He’s asked to court you,” explained Dolion. “And for our purposes, it’s the perfect way to get us into his estate.”
“But he’s disgusting,” Larkyra all but whined. “And addicted to phorria. As you well know.”
Dolion leaned back into his chair, its legs groaning under his massive form. He wore one of his favorite brown robes over a loose white shirt—a contradiction to the other man, that other persona, that he slipped in and out of almost nightly. “And as you knew, these findings were to possibly decide our upcoming project. Not only is Hayzar using phorria, by the looks of him, he’s been indulging for quite some time. It’s one of the reasons he’s to be our new mark. We need to find out who his supplier is and how it’s reaching him. As I said before, there are no records of him entering the Thief Kingdom, so someone within must be bringing it out.”
“Stupid kingdom that needs to contain chaos,” muttered Larkyra.
“It’s not only that,” added Arabessa as she picked at a loose thread of her skirts. With a snap she broke it off. “The use of this drug must be kept within the kingdom so it can be taxed for economic gain. Our caved world doesn’t clean itself, after all.”
Dolion glanced at his eldest child, a spark of pride in his eyes. “Precisely.”
“Still,” said Larkyra, a wave of desperation hitting, “there must be other ways to find out who is leaking the drug.”
“There are,” agreed Dolion. “And Zimri, your sisters, and I will be taking care of those while you approach from this angle.”
“As bait,” pouted Larkyra. “So I’m meant to merely be a pretty distraction while you all go on adventures?”
“Never underestimate the tools the lost gods have given you,” said Niya. “Beauty included. Women must use all their advantages to their advantage. You’d be surprised what information can be gained by a simple smile and some exposed décolletage.”<
br />
“If one has a robust amount, perhaps,” countered Larkyra, knowing her chest was pubescent compared to her sister’s.
“Breasts are breasts.” Niya waved an unconcerned hand. “Right, Zimri?”
“As you like to remind me often,” said Zimri, rather bored.
Larkyra wanted to argue further but could find no sound footing for her debate, which made her all the more annoyed. “You said it was one of the reasons.” Larkyra turned to her father. “What is the other?”
“His estate.” Dolion motioned for Zimri, who laid out a map across his desk. “We’re to steal from it.”
This piqued Larkyra’s attention, and from the way her sisters leaned forward to gaze upon the large swath of land designated for the Duke of Lachlan, it caught theirs as well.
“We’ve come to learn that the duke is a hoarder when it comes to any money his land brings in,” said Zimri, bending over the drawing. “And with the multitude and placement of these lakes”—he drew his finger around a cluster of water—“there is no doubt an endless supply of fish and precious minerals to be mined, which should bring in heaps of silver for the estate. But we hear his tenants see very little reward for their work.”
“And what are we to do with this information?” asked Larkyra.
Dolion scratched his thick beard. “Ancient estates such as Lachlan will have a personal safe on premises, where they keep their family’s earnings rather than house it in the public banks. You’re to locate it, figure out how to get in, and then report back to us.”
“Won’t he notice if his safe is suddenly empty?” asked Niya.
“We will be making a tiny hole in his boat, leaking water so slowly he won’t notice himself sinking until we can ensure the people of Lachlan have enough to deal with the situation on their own.”
“And what of Jabari?” Niya sat back. “I know we are in the business of helping those less fortunate, but we’re not complete philanthropists. Our city would not be one of the greatest in Aadilor if so.”
“Along with Lachlan’s people, Jabari will be getting its percentage, per usual.” Dolion rapped his fingers atop his desk. “As you know, anonymous donations happen all the time.”
Yes, Larkyra thought, anonymous donations that are well timed with the end of each of our . . . projects.
“You will be well watched over once Zimri departs,” continued Dolion. “For you’ll have Kaipo, and I will be making a portal token that connects to the kingdom. But you are not to use it unless absolutely necessary. I do not want your absence to be noticed. And no using your powers if you can help it. Though Hayzar’s magic is superficial, by now he’s familiar with a spell’s sensation. If one were used on or near him, he’d know. You must take care to not out our family’s gifts.”
Dolion had been giving his daughters missions since they were of a young age, teaching Larkyra and her sisters to give back what they took in the Thief Kingdom, to use their powers and advantages for good. So long as no one found out. Jabari rulers had to maintain the trust of the people, and magic had a way of making those without it suspicious. Their fears were founded, of course, for though the Bassettes tried hard never to abuse their powers, there were others who were far less scrupulous.
“Any other rules?” Larkyra crossed her arms.
“Not currently.”
“Can I ask a question then?”
He nodded.
“Why me? Surely Niya or Arabessa is more suited for this.”
“Don’t try pawning your disgusting duke off on us,” accused Niya.
“And we all know if it were one of us,” added Arabessa, “you’d complain it wasn’t you.”
Larkyra curled her lip at them, annoyed with how well they knew her.
“First . . .” Dolion interrupted what was surely to be one of the Bassette sisters’ notorious, long-winded standoffs. “The duke has specified you, my darling, as his desired future betrothed. Second, now that you’ve had a successful Lierenfast and Eumar Journé, it is time for your first solo assignment.”
Larkyra’s heart stopped for a moment before it began to beat much too fast. She’d known this was coming, for it was tradition for each daughter to have one after she turned nineteen, but Larkyra didn’t think it would be one day after.
“You should count yourself lucky,” said Niya. “I know how amusing you all thought it was when I was sent to White Wall for my solo mission.”
“It made perfect sense since you run so hot,” explained Arabessa. “There was no chance of you freezing.”
White Wall was a port city on an island at the northernmost point of Aadilor. It was a place of science and study, fortified by rough seas and even rougher icebergs, with only the most resilient of citizens able to survive its winters.
“How quick you are to mock when I specifically remember you begging for my fire when you came to help me carry out all those scrolls.” Niya glared at Arabessa.
“My hands are my life. No offense, Lark.” Arabessa glanced to Larkyra, nodding toward her missing finger. “But think of the consequences if mine got even slightly injured, let alone frostbitten. Besides, you were only there a fortnight, Niya.”
“Your mission lasted only a week more!”
“It’s hardly my fault that I’m efficient at locating moles in governments.”
“You only needed to find one mole. In one government. In a tropical city. Where you lived as a governess on a beautiful estate. Need I go on?”
“For all our sakes,” interjected Zimri, “please do not.”
Niya and Arabessa both shot him a stay out of this look while Larkyra remained silent.
She remembered her older sisters’ missions well. Theirs had been short, with trials and tribulations, to be sure, but neither of them had had to feign interest in a man such as the duke . . . with his blackened mouth and soured, stolen magic. By the Obasi Sea. Was she ready?
Larkyra had always had her sisters with her for support, not only in life but in their past group missions as well. They were a constant steady force beside her, always there to back her when she felt doubtful, confer with when unsure.
With a chilling calm Larkyra realized this was her chance to finally prove her capabilities to her family. Give reason to why so much was sacrificed for her to live. And to do it alone.
Suddenly the disgusting duke with his melting mouth was of little concern.
“All right.” Larkyra turned to her father. “When are we set to leave?”
“The duke has already left to return to Lachlan,” said her father. “But Zimri will accompany you and Lord Mekenna first thing tomorrow.”
If Larkyra’s heart raced before, now it tripped and stumbled.
Lord Mekenna.
Larkyra had almost forgotten he was attached to this. The duke’s stepson.
I can handle him, she thought, squaring her shoulders.
That was, so long as he didn’t get in Larkyra’s way.
CHAPTER TEN
Darius thoroughly regretted his trip to Jabari. If he had somehow dodged his stepfather’s insistence that Darius accompany him, he would have had a few gloriously peaceful days alone at home. Instead he was suffering a headache that would not fade and, with his hopes of getting the Thief King’s help dashed, shouldering a bigger burden than before. And that didn’t include his current predicament: standing outside a monstrously large house in the top section of the city, waiting on a young lady he had hoped to never see again.
Not because he didn’t want to. Quite the opposite, in fact. Darius had thought of her more than he’d have liked in the two days since the ball, but it was safer for both if she remained just that—a distant, dimming image in his thoughts.
But his life had always been one bad-luck token after another. Of course he’d find himself here, now, doing what he unwillingly must. And that was to escort the one girl in whom he’d shown the faintest glimmer of interest to his family’s home so that his stepfather could court her.
Darius would
have laughed if he could remember how.
He had survived much in his four and twenty years; surely he could endure this.
The vile image of Hayzar wooing Lady Larkyra and her no-doubt-encouraging response—for what lady didn’t want to marry a duke?—filled Darius’s mind, and he swallowed against the tightness in his throat.
The only glimmer of reprieve was that this proved a character flaw in her that he could never overlook, and Darius hung on to it like it was a thin towline in a storm. Lady Larkyra might have appeared unique as she’d turned about the room in his arms, but her quickness to accept his stepfather’s offer of courtship meant she was just like every other elitist chit, all about status and silver, looking to fatten her already-overflowing coffers. For he could not believe a man such as Dolion would allow one of his beloved daughters to be courted unless she herself desired it.
Darius had no use for such a person.
A sardonic grin etched itself across his lips. How disappointing that day would be, when Lady Larkyra learned how truly empty Lachlan’s vaults were.
As if sensing her master’s annoyance, Achala—Darius’s horse—gave her own agitated snort beside him, stirring his hair.
“We’ll be leaving soon, old girl.” He ran his hand across the mare’s glossy black coat. “At least, I hope it will be soon.”
“I’d say yes,” replied Zimri D’Enieu as he waited beside Darius, glancing at the whitewashed house lit by the early-morning sun, “but I’d rather not start our first meeting with a lie.”
“How long does it normally take her to get ready?” asked Darius.
“It will help for you to know now that when it comes to Lady Larkyra—and all the Bassette daughters, for that matter—there is no such thing as ‘normal.’”
Darius had no trouble believing that. Never had he met such a band of ladies. Which led him to wonder again about the man standing next to him and how he had fallen in with such a family. Even in the short time he and D’Enieu had been acquainted, Darius had gathered he was a steady sort. Not of the verbose variety and as comfortable in quiet as he. All in all, Darius rather liked him. And if he were able to retain friends, D’Enieu would surely be among his top companions.
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