She didn’t wait for his response. Larkyra’s entire life was about control, remaining steady of heart for the sake of her magic, so when it came to the trivialness of social formalities, she could not bear it. And she had a feeling Darius needed any chance to loosen up as badly as she did.
“Perfect,” she went on. “So while it was kind of Darius to retighten your wheel, what this Mr. Bergan will tell you, or”—she lowered her voice in confidence—“perhaps not, if he’s a swindler type”—she winked at Henry, and he smiled—“is that you need to have all your spokes replaced, not just the one that recently broke.”
“How did you know one recently broke?” asked Henry.
“This one here.” She pointed. “It’s slightly thinner than the rest, not to mention a different type of wood. It’s throwing off the distribution of weight and straining your wheel bearings. It’ll be a pricier fix but an investment in the end, for you won’t get, quite literally, stuck in the mud as often.”
Both men were silent at that before Henry chuckled, the sound warm and well practiced. “Well, I’ll be,” he said, slapping the top of his wheel. “That makes sense. This old girl’s been having one bad turn after another since my son splintered her spoke on his way home from trading. Thank you, Larkyra.”
“You’re very welcome.” She grinned. “If you’d like, I’d be happy to ride into town with you and visit this Mr. Bergan. Make sure he’s giving you the right price.”
“I’m afraid I’ll be requesting your company back to the castle,” said Darius, cutting off Henry’s response, his green eyes holding her still. “And I’m sure Henry has a few other things he must take care of before he makes it to the chaisemaker’s.”
“But you just instructed he go straight there when he returns,” countered Larkyra.
“Aye, you did, sir.”
“Well then, what are you waiting for? Up you go, Henry.” Darius practically lifted the old man onto the driver’s seat, his sudden weight arousing his donkey from munching idly on leaves. “Get that wheel fixed, and I’ll come to check on you during my next visit.” He slapped the donkey on the rear, and with a squeal it pulled the cart forward and away.
“That was awfully rude,” said Larkyra, watching Henry’s silhouette disappear down the sloping road. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”
“What are you doing here?” Darius spun her toward him.
Larkyra glanced to his grip on her arm, the warmth of his touch almost instantaneously seeping through her cloak. Her magic fluttered along with her heart.
Darius followed her gaze, and in the next moment his touch was gone.
“I wanted to go for a walk,” explained Larkyra after she’d taken another moment to steady herself.
“A walk?”
“Yes, you know, placing one foot in front of the other at a leisurely pace. Some say it’s good for your health.”
“But how did you find yourself walking here? How did you get off the island?”
That question again, thought Larkyra, drawing her brows together. “Am I not allowed to leave the island?”
“No. I mean, yes, you are. What I mean is—” Darius cut himself off, frowning as he peered up the road behind her. “Where is your chaperone?”
“You have a lot of questions this afternoon, my lord. So different from your muted performance the other day at tea.”
His gaze traveled back to hers. “I thought it was Darius now.”
That made her smile. “Indeed, Darius, it is.”
They held each other’s gazes, the low drumming of rain wrapping them in a quiet bubble. Beneath the wet silver skies, Darius’s hair had faded to a burnt umber, while his freckles stood out starkly, running along his cheeks and nose. A light steam lifted from his skin through his shirt, mixing with the cool air. Larkyra’s hand twitched at her side, wanting to remove her gloves and feel for herself the heat he held within.
“I had nothing of value to add to the conversation that morning,” Darius eventually said.
“Then it is perfect we found each other. For you can prove that you do have things of importance to say as we walk to town.”
“We are not going to town.”
“You may not, but that is precisely my destination.”
“Not anymore.”
“Goodness.” Larkyra drew back. “Are you always so demanding?”
“Only when it rains.” Darius snatched up an empty satchel that lay on the ground, throwing it over his shoulder.
A surprised bubble of elation shot through her. “Did you just make a joke?”
“And if I did?” he asked, making his way up the tree-lined path, in the direction Larkyra had just come.
“Then I’d be delighted,” she said, following. “I was beginning to fear the man I danced with at my Eumar Journé, who laughed and joked, was a figment of my imagination.”
Darius didn’t respond, merely kept walking, his gaze on the road ahead.
But Larkyra was determined. Now seeing a small crack in his austere mask, she had a very strong desire to bring out the man she knew was somewhere underneath, the one she had met on the Jabari streets, the one she had found here with Henry before she had made herself known, the Darius that was gentle and kind and shared smiles.
Why could he be so open and friendly to those below his station, yet wound so tight around his peers? Larkyra kept herself from pausing midstride as the realization hit her. He does not trust us, she thought. Something about us must threaten him.
Lies and I are well acquainted.
Darius’s earlier words flipped over in her memory, the ones he had shared when Larkyra had been nothing but a street urchin.
Lies, she thought again, gaze slipping to Darius. His stepfather had many, and it was obvious he feared him. Is this what caused Darius to close up around others of his station?
“Darius,” she began. “I hope you know we can be friends. I am not here to cause you any annoyances.”
“If that were true,” said Darius, still not looking her way, “then you would not have accepted the invitation to come here to begin with.”
It was as though he had punched her in the gut.
Larkyra stopped walking, and Darius glanced to her over his shoulder. His knitted brow softened at whatever he saw play on her features. A resigned sigh filtered from his lips.
“I apologize,” he said, returning to her side. “I did not mean that—”
“You did.”
He shook his head. “No—”
“Yes,” insisted Larkyra. “You did. And though it hurt, I am at least content that you spoke your truth.”
He frowned. “You are?”
Larkyra nodded. “Yes. Too often people of our station hide what is really on their mind. My family and I are not among them. Life is too short to not say what we mean.”
Darius blinked down at her. “Yes,” he agreed. “I have often thought the same. Though . . . I admit I fail in practicing it myself.”
“I’d be happy to help you exercise the art.” Larkyra smiled hesitantly and was rewarded when Darius returned it with a grin.
“I’d like that.”
Larkyra’s magic preened, encouraged.
“Shall we start now?” she suggested. “Ask me a question, and I will do my best to answer plainly. But you must agree to answer one of mine as well.”
Darius seemed to think on this, running his hands through his hair, wiping away the droplets of water that clung to their red ends. “Very well. How did you know so much about Henry’s wheel?”
“My father has business in many parts of Aadilor,” answered Larkyra. “And instead of leaving his daughters for long periods of time, he would take us with him. A broken carriage wheel is only one of the things we learned to fix on our journeys.”
“But surely your driver would be equipped to mend it?”
“Who do you think taught us?” She laughed. “My father believes a well-educated mind expands beyond things found in tomes or learned from governesses. He has
always wanted his daughters to be well prepared for all things the world puts in our path.”
“Like an ambush from bandits?” Darius’s clever eyes met hers once more.
“Men such as those do not only dwell in quiet country lanes.”
“So you have found the need to protect yourself before?”
“Ah, ah.” She smiled. “You’ve asked three questions that I have answered. Now it is my turn.”
Their footsteps slopped on the wet ground as the rain began to pick up.
“Go on then.”
“What were you doing in the village?”
Darius shifted the satchel onto his other shoulder, and Larkyra tried very hard not to notice the way his muscles pressed against his shirt.
“I was helping the tenant fishers clean the underside of their boats.”
“Do you help them with that often?”
“Yes.”
“That is kind of you,” she said, her heart warming. It was more than apparent he cared for his people. It was rare to find those of his and her station that treated the lower classes with any civility, though they most assuredly deserved it.
“It is the least I can do for how much they have given to my family and our land,” said Darius. “I cannot rest easy in my comforts knowing they are not well in theirs.”
“Does the duke know you come to Imell for this purpose? Does he ever help them as well?”
Darius’s posture stiffened, his window of openness suddenly slamming shut at the mention of his stepfather. “He does not,” he said. “And I would appreciate if it were not mentioned to him.”
Larkyra studied him, this lord who dressed as a commoner and hid the charity he bestowed upon his people like a dirty secret. How much the two of them shared, but regarding this topic, Larkyra would never be able to speak of it.
“Of course,” she said. “And I would also appreciate my . . . exploring the larger grounds kept between us.”
Darius slowed his pace as they came to a fork in the lane. “Then let us agree that what happened today will be forgotten.”
Larkyra watched him for a moment, a strange sadness seeping into her heart as he stood so alone and poised even in his dirt-speckled clothes. “As you wish,” she agreed.
With an appreciative nod, Darius stepped past her, drawing back branches to their right, revealing another path. A slippery stairwell carved into the rocky landscape led down through a tangle of greenery.
“Through here,” he said, turning to hold out a steadying hand to help her descend.
She slid her gloved fingers into his, and the contact sent notes of a new song racing through her heart. “Thank you,” she managed to breathe out.
Another nod before he let go.
Descending to the bottom in silence, Larkyra took in the small, pebbled beach and the rowboat that had been pushed ashore. Castle Island loomed across the lake’s waters, while the long, narrow bridge that connected it to the mainland stood in the distance. Mist and clouds blocked sections from view, and a line of black birds flew overhead, the gentle rain falling in an exhausted hum.
“This way,” said Darius as he strode to the small boat, throwing his sack inside.
Gathering up her soggy skirts and cloak, Larkyra situated herself on the far bench as Darius shoved them into the water and jumped inside.
He guided them forward, the lake rippling with each row of the oars. He seemed at ease in this moment, in his body, the wild forest and placid lake as his backdrop. Anyone who cared to notice would see who was the true master of this land.
“Do you get these from cleaning the boats?” She leaned forward to brush a finger along his forearm, tracing a raised slash of a scar that peeked from beneath his shifted shirtsleeve.
Darius drew back, nearly losing his grip on the oars.
“Oh.” Larkyra sat straight. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine,” he said, jaw tight as he paused his rowing to push his sleeve back down, covering the marking. “I just . . . I don’t like to be touched . . . there.”
Sensing the energy between them shifting, a crackle of discomfort, Larkyra forced down the questions rising in her throat. She was here to play the long game, after all. Whatever secrets were edging free, even she—a Bassette with insatiable curiosity—knew they would only retreat further if pressed upon.
So Larkyra kept silent while Darius rowed them to a tiny dock nestled between two mossy boulders on the shore of Castle Island, where another boat was moored. More winding carved-stone stairs led up and away to the estate.
Holding on to a post, Darius steadied the boat, allowing her to step out.
“Larkyra.”
A shiver ran across her skin as her name rumbled from his lips, and she turned.
He remained sitting in the boat, his red hair bright against the desaturated world, green eyes hooked to hers. “If you ever feel the need to leave without being seen”—he nodded to the secluded path behind her—“this is the way.”
Before she could answer or ask why she might need to know such a route, he pushed off the dock, his boat floating back into the misty waters as he rowed.
Away, away, away.
Fading from view, as if keeping his promise.
That today had never happened.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Larkyra hadn’t sneaked around this much since the time she had broken Niya’s favorite brooch. She wondered if it would end similarly: caught and strung upside down outside, only to be found by a passing gardener. For her sake, she hoped the incident wouldn’t be repeated.
With the rest of the house asleep, given that it was close to midnight, Larkyra stole into the quiet halls yet again, determined to continue her search. She had exhausted all corners in the north and east parts of the castle, so with Hayzar still away, it was time to take another chance in the south wing.
Wearing a thick robe over her nightgown and thin slippers, she met not a soul as she silently approached the large stone stairs that led up to the multitude of floors. Only a few candelabras were lit in this part of the castle, the servants no doubt finding little need to light the rest with the master gone. Which, for Larkyra, was all the better. More shadows to dance between.
Stroking a gargoyle’s head that sat proudly menacing at the top of the third floor’s landing, Larkyra decided to inspect Hayzar’s rooms first. She had seen him up here the night of his drunken spectacle, remembered the sound of him slamming a door as he retreated into a room.
She trod softly over a plush maroon rug, no storm this night to mask her movements. In fact, the weather had cleared over the past few days, leaving only howling wind and a light mist of rain. When she came to the first door, she slipped in. Using the moon’s faint glow streaming in through the glass, she allowed her eyes time to adjust to the dark room while listening to the rattle of wind beyond the windowpanes. After a moment, Larkyra realized she was standing in a study. A beautifully decorated one, with heavy drapes hanging from the high ceilings, a large wall of books, opulent furnishings with plush silk coverings, and a dark, leather-topped desk in the center. Here were the riches she had expected to see in the rest of the castle. It appeared the duke was more than content keeping them strictly to his wing.
The duke is a hoarder when it comes to any money his land brings in.
Zimri’s words echoed in her mind, strengthening her resolve to find something this night.
Moving quickly around the room, Larkyra ran her fingers under every table and chair, pushing and pulling out books, tugging on unlit candelabras, feeling across the walls, looking for anything that could be a trick latch leading to something more. But in the end, all she learned was that while the room was beautiful, it was obviously never used. What duke doesn’t use his private office? she thought.
A lazy one, she imagined Niya answering.
Walking to a connecting door, Larkyra found it unlocked and slid into the next room.
The sickly-sweet smell of sour fruit hit
her hard, and she fought the urge to retreat. Instead she lit a nearby oil lamp with a box of matches she found on a side table. Shining an orange light over a massive room, Larkyra forced herself forward, walking the edge of what was no doubt Hayzar Bruin’s bedchamber. The dark canopy bed in the center took up the majority of the space, while long tables, dressers, and a sitting area filled the rest. The rancid air was so similar to that of the phorria dens in the Thief Kingdom that, for a moment, Larkyra saw the phantoms of numb figures lying across the duke’s opulent chaise longue, leaning against a corner chair, veins being pumped with the soured magic as their mouths hung open, eyelids fluttering in ecstasy. Larkyra blinked and the vision was gone, leaving her alone in the room.
She approached one of the tall armoires and peered inside, holding up her lamp to reveal rows of beautiful gowns. The stitching on each was impeccable, with velvet and silk lining even the simplest of designs. To the left were shelves of sparkling jewelry. A floral brooch with yellow diamonds, teardrop emerald earrings, and thin-banded rings, the precious metal circling large stones, all resting on plush velvet.
Who owned these? thought Larkyra as she fingered through the bounty. Placing a rather fetching purple amethyst on her left ring finger, she smiled at how the massive stone hid the chopped nub.
Would the duke miss this? she mused.
Yes, and you’d be found out in an instant. Arabessa’s voice filled her head. If you’re going to steal trinkets, steal them the day you leave.
With a frown, Larkyra slipped the ring off. Unfortunately, her eldest sister always gave sound advice.
Closing the closet, she turned to the bed, approaching one of its side tables. Rummaging in the bottom cabinet, Larkyra picked through a bowl full of empty glass orbs. Black stains spotted their surfaces, while a thick needle protruded from each of their tops. She picked one up and, after a quick sniff, recoiled, knowing exactly what they were.
Casings for phorria.
“Ick.” Larkyra returned the one she held, wiping the sticky residue from her hands on the duke’s bedsheets. He’ll be used to the mess, she thought.
As she looked through the rest of the items, she was surprised that she couldn’t find any rubber hoses or an ice bag, which Achak had once explained were used to cut the drug’s potency.
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