Lachlan was a land of proud fishermen, producing generations of the best sailors short of the Obasi Sea’s pirates; seeing it reduced to such dilapidation was a cause for constant madness.
Darius descended into the hull of the ship, squeezing through the narrow hallway to the back cabin. Here he was met with a warm yellow glow cast by a lantern on a table, where an older man sat. His black cap was pressed down over gray, curly hair and a thick beard, his heavy knitted sweater peppered with holes at the shoulders and elbows, while his pale, wind-chapped hands scribbled notes upon a sheet of parchment. A younger man, around Darius’s age, sat beside him; he had brown skin and a clean-shaven face, and his black hair was braided in rows that were gathered into a low knot. He danced a copper coin between his knuckles but, as he caught sight of Darius approaching, swiped it from view.
“I was wondering if you’d show tonight,” the older man said, not looking up from his writing.
“Who’s your guest?” Darius remained in the doorframe.
“Xavier, my nephew. I thought it best to educate someone else in all this.” He waved a hand at their surroundings, at the few bags and boxes that were stacked against the cabin’s walls. “For insurance reasons.”
“That wasn’t necessary, Alastair.”
The fisherman glanced up at Darius then, a tired grin inching across his hardened features. “Of course not. Just as your mask is not necessary.”
The two quietly observed one another until Alastair let out a soft, amused breath and slid the lantern to the side. “Come. Let’s see what you’ve brought us this time.”
Darius dropped his bag onto the table. “I’m afraid it isn’t much.”
“Anything’s more than what we currently have.”
The truth of this hit Darius low in his gut.
“I’ve managed some parcels of food to split among those who need it most.” He pulled out loaves of bread, a side of smoked ham, and an armful of produce.
“Is that cheese?” Xavier picked up the wax-wrapped package, his eyes dilating with hunger. “How’d you manage that?”
Alastair snatched the food from his nephew. “First rule,” he said gruffly. “You don’t be asking questions of how anything got anywhere, you hear?”
The young man shrank back. “Sorry, Uncle.”
“But it is a sight for sore eyes.” Alastair sniffed the cheese longingly before setting it aside.
“He’s planning a dinner,” said Darius as he finished emptying his bag. “Enough is being brought in from other counties that this won’t be missed.”
“A dinner, eh?” Alastair scratched his beard. “How lucky for him and his new guest.”
The mention of Larkyra drew Darius’s attention to the old man’s brown gaze. “What do you know of his guest?”
“Enough to say that she’s used to the better side of life. He’ll need all the nectar he can muster to draw in that pretty bee.”
Darius held in a curse. Damn Henry and small-town gossip.
“Tell me,” said Alistair. “You think we’ll soon be getting a new duchess?”
Darius’s grip tightened around his satchel. “Careful,” he warned, his voice edging a growl. “You should listen to the advice you give your nephew about speaking out of turn.”
Xavier shifted, as if preparing to protect his uncle, while the old man raised his hands, placating. “I mean no disrespect.”
“It seems you do.”
“Never. I, more than most, remember our late duke and duchess and all they did for these lands. I’m merely trying to prepare our people for what our future may bring.”
Though Darius had been no older than a babe at the time, it was never pleasant to think of his father’s fatal riding accident or what Lachlan had been before his mother had eventually remarried. Before he’d been forced to watch, a still-helpless child, as she’d become sick and then sicker, her life seeping away, just as Lachlan’s had upon each of his parents’ deaths.
“Then prepare for the upcoming tax.” Darius threw the last bag onto the table, the coins inside landing with a heavy thunk. “I could only postpone it for so long, but this should help break even.”
Alastair drew up the pouch, the silver inside reflecting the lantern’s light. “Not that we’re not grateful,” he said, “but this will not work forever.”
“I know,” said Darius, slumping onto a nearby barrel. By the lost gods, how I know.
“They say the plans for the mining are to start in the next week. Though Henry says you’re working on pushing those too.”
“Trying,” admitted Darius. “The duke is set on wanting to see profits as soon as the beginning of next season.”
Alistair snorted. “And how does he expect starved men and women to be strong enough to lift an ax? Let alone enough times to break any proper ground?”
“I suspect that he doesn’t care how anything is to get done, so long as it does,” said Darius, well aware of the bitterness in his tone.
“What should I tell our people, then?” asked Alistair. “They fade by the day; I do not know how they will be able to—”
“I’m working on it.” Darius cut the man off, his constant frustration rising. He felt like he was working on everything these days. Helping his people. Hiding his help from the duke. Avoiding Larkyra. Navigating how her presence was a possible future threat. And then his growing feelings . . . No. He stopped the thoughts.
“Aye, we know,” said Alistair, reading the new tension in the room. “But I fear with things continuing as they are, and you keep coming here, he’ll soon find out what—”
“That is for me to worry about.” Darius stood, draping the now-empty bag over his shoulder.
“You needn’t do this alone.”
Alone.
But alone was all he knew.
“Divide what I’ve brought,” instructed Darius. “I will come again soon.”
He strode from the ship’s closely confined quarters, breathing easier once he stepped into the cool night. He wanted to rip his mask off, to feel the air against his skin, but he held steady as he gazed out at the tranquil waters of the lake, working his shoulder muscles loose. An angry flash of lightning cracked across the sky. The castle became illuminated in the distance, the sharp points of the keep silhouetted in the dark, before the flash was followed by a deep rumble of thunder. And then another.
In his next breath, the clouds broke apart and let loose a torrent.
Darius froze, not caring that he was being drenched through every layer, for in that moment his blood ran cold, even as that familiar fury boiled in his chest.
A sudden storm like this meant only one thing.
His stepfather had returned.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The hidden servants’ halls were lit much more brightly than those in the common area of the castle, making sneaking through them rather nerve inducing. The chittering of maids around a near corner echoed toward Larkyra, and heart skipping, she hurried into a new corridor. This one was blessedly darker, and Larkyra kept to the shadows, using her hands along the cool stone walls as her guide forward. She had found this passage behind a painting in a drawing room.
And though she was meant to dine with the duke tonight, as he’d returned in the midnight hours the day before, Larkyra was taking advantage of Clara’s absence as she helped ready the house to continue her hunt.
Almost two weeks in Lachlan, and there was still no sign of a family vault, no lead on who Hayzar’s supplier could be, and Larkyra was growing desperate. Her family was counting on her, and she could not fail this mission. Besides finding the duke’s phorria casings in his bedchamber, the most nefarious thing she had stumbled upon was herself in Boland’s rooms, pocketing that pretty silver rose pin. She’d resisted Hayzar’s jewels but allowed herself this one small token. A reward for my many days of remaining controlled with my magic, she’d thought.
A warm light slipped through a crack at the end of the corridor. Slowly, Larkyra approached it
, peeking through to find a small library. There seemed to be many libraries in the castle, but none looked as used as this one. Books were strewed about, some open on tables, while a fireplace roared with life.
She waited by her hidden entrance, the glow of the room inviting as the smell of leather-bound tomes danced in the air. At the sound of a gentle rustle of pages, her breath held.
Someone was in here.
Peering through the stacks in front of her, Larkyra caught the top of a head. Copper strands.
A smile played on her lips, heart beating fast.
Darius.
Larkyra could have retreated then, as she knew she probably should, but she had not seen the lord in a few days, and standing here, knowing he was so near, made her realize she missed his presence.
Which was all the more unsettling, but Larkyra was tired of doing the things she should, following what was always best, so with a decided push, she entered the library.
“What are you reading?” she asked, finding Darius curled into a large chair, engrossed in a book.
He jumped at her words, spilling a bit of tea from the cup he’d been holding onto the pages.
“By the stars and seas,” he breathed. “How did you—” Darius glanced to the closed door at the far side of the room. “Where did you come from?”
“One of the servants’ entrances.” Larkyra pointed to the bookshelf behind him that remained open from the wall. No need to lie about that, she thought.
“Why were you in there?” said Darius with a frown.
Larkyra shrugged. “I find hidden passageways more interesting than those out in the open.”
“Why does that not surprise me,” he mused, setting his teacup down. Darius’s white shirt was loose around his collar, his jacket thrown over one side of his chair.
“What are you reading?” asked Larkyra again, sitting on a chaise opposite him.
“The Twelve Magic Tales,” he admitted a bit sheepishly, closing the book.
“The children’s stories? I haven’t read those in ages. ‘The Spying Spider Silk’ is one of my favorites.”
Darius appeared to relax, sensing no judgment from her. “Mine is ‘The Sun That Serenaded.’”
Larkyra grinned, rather flattered; her powers, similar to those in the story, fluttered lightly in her chest. “That is my sister Niya’s favorite as well. What had you picking up these stories?” She reached out to take the book from him, running her gloved hand over the gold lettering along the cover.
“I like to read about magic,” said Darius.
Larkyra met his gaze, a new nervous buzz entering her stomach.
“Do you believe it still exists?” he asked. “Magic?”
She should say no, she should move away from this topic, but around him Larkyra no longer wanted to be coiled tight. She had promised him truth, so truth was what she gave him. “I know it does.”
“You do?” Darius’s brows rose.
Larkyra nodded. “Jabari may be a giftless city, but there are a few hidden who still are blessed. Do you believe magic remains?”
“I used to, very much when I was a boy, but as I got older, the idea of it died, with many of my beliefs, I suppose . . .” Darius trailed off. “But now . . .”
“Yes?” encouraged Larkyra, finding herself leaning forward.
“I know it exists too.”
She didn’t know why, but hearing that filled Larkyra with an odd hope.
For what exactly, she could not say.
“My lord.” A nasal voice entered their moment, and they each turned to find Boland in the now-open door to the library. His dark gaze flickered to Larkyra for a moment, back straightening, before he continued to Darius: “I’ve come to fetch you to dress for dinner.”
“Oh yes,” sighed Darius. “I had almost forgotten.”
“As did I,” said Larkyra, standing with him. Disappointment weighed on her; she was curious to have known where their conversation could have led.
Not that Larkyra would have admitted to any real truths in regard to her history with magic, but she would have loved to know what Darius thought of a world she was so closely tied to.
“I shall see you shortly?” asked Darius, giving her a conspiratorial smile.
Friends, thought Larkyra, her mood lifting.
“Yes, we shall be reunited soon.”
Larkyra drew her shawl closer around her shoulders as a seeping cold pushed into her rooms. The wind rattled against her bedchamber windows, the flames in the candelabras shuddering in response. But despite the chill, Larkyra ran warm inside, her mind continuing to play over her and Darius’s earlier meeting.
I like to read about magic.
Darius’s words danced through her mind.
Oh, the magic I could show you, thought Larkyra.
“This is a beautiful piece, my lady.” Clara’s voice entered her quiet moment as her lady’s maid draped a braided black pearl necklace across Larkyra’s skin.
“Thank you.” Larkyra ran her gloved fingers over the beads. “It was my mother’s.”
Larkyra was dressed in one of her best gowns. A seafoam-green number with thin gray lace covering the bodice. Her corset pushed her chest up, perhaps a little too invitingly, while her hair was pinned and twisted into a complicated chignon atop her head. Clara had turned out to be a very talented lady’s maid. When Larkyra returned to Jabari, she would have to tell Charlotte of this new design, for it truly was fetching.
If I ever return, of course, thought Larkyra dolefully. She had to find that vault, and soon, or she feared her father would send her sisters to help. Larkyra could not bear it if she was unable to prove her worth to her family before then. Both of her sisters had succeeded in their first solo missions. She had to as well.
“How kind of your mother to give it to you.” Clara stepped back, surveying the necklace amid her handiwork.
“Actually, my father gave it to me. My mother died at my birth.”
“Forgive me, my lady. I did not know.”
Larkyra stood, smoothing her silk skirts. “It’s of no matter. I never knew her to mourn the loss.”
This was untrue, of course. Larkyra felt her mother’s death every time she glanced in the mirror, knowing that their features were so similar, that Johanna’s smile, which shone from the oil paintings hung around their home, was identical to her own. Her sisters never said if it pained them to see the resemblance, but she caught moments of their father watching her, his blue gaze so concentrated, yet glassy, as if he were convincing himself who was actually before him.
A knock to her door made both Clara and Larkyra glance up.
“My lord.” Clara curtsied, a pretty blush to her cheeks as she revealed Darius on the other side.
“Good evening, Ms. Clara,” he said. “I’m here to escort Lady Larkyra to dinner.”
A tingle rushed along Larkyra’s skin at Darius’s presence as she thought of their recent intimate moment alone in the library. “Not your stepfather?” she asked, walking into his view.
Darius’s green gaze drank in the length of her, and she tried to ignore the effect it had on her.
“He has instructed me to walk you down. I hope that is all right.”
“More than all right.” She smiled, turning into the hall beside him, his now-familiar clove scent caressing her senses. “He must find it important that we get along.”
Darius didn’t respond.
“Shall I take your arm?” she asked.
He gazed down at the hand she offered him—no doubt realizing that it was her left and remembering the secret they both now knew was beneath her green velvet glove.
“Or if you don’t—”
Darius cut her off by guiding her hand into place. Her magic bubbled, excited at the contact, her own smile hard to hide. Darius was adorned in an attractive navy dinner jacket, with matching waistcoat and trousers, his hair parted and swept back. Larkyra felt proud to be the one on his arm.
“I wanted to apologize,
” he said as they strode down the dimly lit corridor.
“For what?”
“That our conversation got interrupted earlier in the library.”
Larkyra glanced up at him, that odd hope stirring again. “Yes, I was rather enjoying it. I also like knowing there are places in the castle that one can go to be alone. That are not drab and dreary, of course,” she finished teasingly.
He rewarded her with a smile. “I admit they are hard to come by here, but they do exist.”
Larkyra’s mind began to whir; perhaps she could use their growing familiarity for another purpose. It would be to help him in the end, after all, so nothing to feel guilty over.
“Oh, please share,” said Larkyra. “I do love hidden sanctuaries. Our own house in Jabari has many, most of which I still have not discovered. I even believe we have one or two vaults unknown in a few dusty corners, as old homes usually do. Tell me, does Lachlan share this as well?”
“There are places around the estate that few know of,” admitted Darius. “But I often find my peace off Castle Island.”
“Really? And where do you go? Please don’t tell me your only peace is cleaning the bottom of villagers’ boats?”
Darius bit back a grin. “If I told you, I fear it would no longer remain peaceful.”
“I beg your pardon,” gasped Larkyra. “I only enhance the harmonious nature of a space. Ask anyone. Well, don’t ask my sisters. They are filled with lies that are never in my favor—” Larkyra cut herself off as she realized Darius was laughing. “And what, pray tell, is so amusing?”
“You,” he replied. “I apologize, but you make me surprise myself.”
“A good surprise, I hope.”
“I have yet to decide.”
Song of the Forever Rains Page 18
