Song of the Forever Rains

by Mellow, E. J.

“We must get rid of your stepfather.”

  Darius blinked at her words before he found himself laughing, a deep belly laugh that made tears spring to his eyes.

  “You find this humorous?”

  “Indeed.”

  “And why is that?”

  “This is the very thing I told the Thief King, and his answer was to send you.”

  Larkyra pursed her lips. “My talents lie in many different areas, my lord, besides healing wounds and singing creatures into a tizzy.”

  “This I do not doubt.”

  “Then why do you laugh?”

  “Because,” said Darius, holding her blue gaze as he willed his next words, “when you came here, I believed you to be my ruin, but in fact, it appears you’re to be my salvation.”

  A blush filled Larkyra’s cheeks, and Darius felt a strange pleasure stir alive in his chest again at having rendered her speechless. His own thoughts were muddled in his fight between his desires and his duty and his hurt, but lost gods help him from speaking his mind when this creature was near.

  “Yes, well . . .” Larkyra played with the material on her dress. “While I may be strong, my magic does have limits.”

  “I believe you capable of anything you put your heart into.”

  She glanced up at him, a warmth seeping into her eyes. “Still,” continued Larkyra. “What I thought I could do alone, I cannot. We cannot.”

  That seemed hard to believe, but Darius kept from contradicting her again. “Then what do you suggest be done?”

  “We must take a quick trip.”

  “A trip?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  Larkyra smiled for the first time since he’d awoken. “To see my sisters.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Two more nights passed before Larkyra felt it safe to leave the castle. The duke, as she’d suspected, had run through his supply of phorria faster after his work on Darius and had taken leave, claiming he had business on the border of Lachlan. It couldn’t have come soon enough, given that since their engagement he had begun to take certain liberties regarding Larkyra. Mainly of the groping kind.

  She kept in a shiver at the memories and the methods it took to extricate herself without utilizing her magic. The sooner this mess of an assignment was finished, the sooner she could tear the ring off her finger.

  Though it was a pretty ring.

  Stepping onto her balcony, she walked from under the stone awning to the ledge. The rain had lightened with the duke’s departure, leaving a gentle mist. With the clearing of clouds and fog, Larkyra gazed out at the vista of lakes cut by the towering mountains. Imell sat like a creeping of grays and browns out of the waters to her right, and she tipped her head up, searching the dusk sky.

  She sent a hawk’s cry into the wind, and a silver star pushed into view.

  Kaipo soared down and landed on her balcony’s banister, now the size of a red-tailed hawk.

  “Hello, my dearest.” Larkyra ran a hand down his silken feathers before tying a small leather canister to his leg. “Make sure this gets to my father quickly.”

  With a screech, Kaipo leaped from the ledge and was off.

  She watched him disappear, carrying the letter informing Dolion of the duke’s departure and to check wherever it was Zimri had followed him before. She did not mention what she would be doing next. That could be explained later, though it most likely had already reached his ears the moment Larkyra had thought to do it.

  Pulling up the hood of her shadow-stealing cloak, Larkyra exited her rooms, her boots quiet under her black gown—an early prototype of Mrs. Everett’s designs that had come just in time for this journey. It had long, dramatic sleeves that hung in dripping triangles under her wrists and flowed high over her neck, leaving a diamond cutout pattern of lace to expose the skin above her chest. Her hair was pinned up, tucked into her hood, and a gold mask with black-painted features sat heavy and waiting in the reticule tied to her wrist.

  Striding to the end of the guest wing, Larkyra stole into the servants’ passageways.

  Reaching the ground-floor landing, she followed Darius’s instructions. Once you arrive at the room with stored rugs, go to the trapdoor at its center. Take the ladder to the old dungeon and follow the growing moss until you smell fresh air. I will be waiting beyond the iron gate that appears locked but is always open. It had delighted Larkyra to hear more of the castle’s secrets.

  A home wasn’t a home without hidden entrances and exits.

  As Larkyra walked through the stale air of the underground prison, she glanced into the empty cells, her small glowing stone lighting the way. Hanging shackles and muddy floors filled each of the rooms, and she wondered who, or what, had ever been held here. She frowned, hoping it was never Darius.

  Their conversation in his rooms the other morning had left Larkyra unsettled. She felt horrible realizing her intentions of helping Darius with his wounds had only wounded him further. His words had punched her in the gut, hearing how he had woken believing he was mad. Larkyra was determined to make it up to him, to regain his trust, making her all the more desperate to succeed in their task.

  Rounding a bend in the stone passageway, she felt the cool night air before the gate came into view at the end. A shadowed figure waited on the other side.

  “Were you seen?” Darius pulled open the iron door, the rusty creak sounding like a scream in the silent night.

  “Yes,” said Larkyra, pocketing her stone. “And I brought all of them to sneak out with me.”

  Darius glanced over her shoulder at the dark, empty passage. “Funny,” he said dryly, eyeing the dress that peeked through her cloak. “What are you wearing?”

  “What I should be.”

  “Are we going to a ball?”

  “If we find the time after, perhaps we shall. Now take this.” Larkyra handed him a smooth red leather mask before revealing her gold one.

  “I already have a mask,” explained Darius.

  “You mean that moldy brown thing that you paste to your skin?”

  “It is neither of those things.” He shoved the red one back into her hands.

  “Very well, but do not blame me when you do not hear the end of it.”

  “End of what?”

  “Which is the best way to get to the stone gazebo from here?” Larkyra turned to take in their position on the east side of the castle, the dark forest stretching out below the hill. The full moon that sat high in the sky brushed hazy light across the landscape.

  “The gazebo?”

  “Yes, the one that sits in the middle of the trees down there.”

  “It is not an easy path from here.”

  “Even better.” She set off down the slope, until Darius’s gloved hand hooked around her elbow, pulling her back. Her body stood close to his, and the warmth coming from his dark, caped form was beyond inviting in the cool air. She resisted stepping closer.

  “It is best not to go straight through but enter from the island’s south tip.”

  “All right,” said Larkyra. “Lead the way.”

  They walked in silence, the echo of crashing waves along the island’s far bluff their drumbeat forward.

  “What did you end up telling old man Boland to ensure he kept his sniffing nose to himself during our time away?” asked Larkyra as they wove their way through the forest.

  “That I wanted to remain undisturbed in my rooms until I said otherwise.”

  “Is that all?”

  Darius nodded.

  “Well.” She harrumphed, pushing away a branch in her path. “How nice it must be to command something so easily.”

  “I am the lord here. I should not need to explain my actions to my servants.”

  She raised her brows at that. “No, indeed, Your Highness.”

  Darius frowned. “Especially not when you say he saw the cuts on my face. I made sure to have my back to him when I gave my order. He knows I have a tendency to hide until my wounds heal. It’s
not as though it would be the first time.”

  This shut Larkyra up, shame hitting low in her chest.

  “What did you tell Clara?”

  “That I was in the midst of my monthly bleeding, and if I caught one glimpse of someone coming to tie me in a corset or enter my bedchambers, I would throw burning coals on them.”

  Darius stopped. “I beg your pardon?”

  “My monthly bleeding,” repeated Larkyra. “You know, the thing a woman gets for a good portion of her life once she—”

  “Yes, yes.” He waved a hand. “I understand what it is to . . . that is, when a woman—” He cleared his throat. “I am referring to throwing burning coals at someone.”

  “Ah.” Larkyra walked on, the dark path lit only by the moonlight filtering through the canopy above. “It is a perfectly normal desire for some women during that time.”

  “Would you be in that category of ‘some women’?”

  “Oh yes, I might even be at the top of the list.”

  Darius shot her a wary glance, which made her smile. “Do not worry,” declared Larkyra. “I am not actually on my courses. I have another week at least.”

  “Good to know.” Darius suddenly seemed very interested in the ground.

  “Of course, you wouldn’t understand such subjects, having grown up around no women. But I’d be happy to explain it to you, if you’d like.”

  “Thank you, but I think I am fine remaining in the dark on the matter.”

  “That seems wholly impractical. What about when you have a wife?”

  “A wife?”

  “Yes. Surely you will want to help ease the pain she has during such a time.”

  “What use would that be when I’d be cursing her to suffer in a whole other way, forcing her to live in this place?” Darius gestured to the murky forest that stretched around them. “No, a wife isn’t in my future.”

  Larkyra frowned as they fell quiet.

  A wife isn’t in my future.

  Why did that sting so much to hear?

  “But what if we succeed and Lachlan goes back to being as you remember?” she challenged.

  “If I dare to even hope of such a day,” said Darius, “I still fear I would not return to being as I remember. Who would want such a broken thing as me?”

  “You are not broken, Darius.” Larkyra touched his arm and noted how Darius still flinched.

  She remained steady, however, knowing that reaction alone was why Darius believed himself damaged. But they both suffered scars; both kept themselves tied up tight with the fear of what would happen if they dared unravel. Larkyra would not allow Darius to believe he was alone in such emotion, that he was beyond healing. If Larkyra could find her way through her darkness, so could he.

  “Do you know what I see when I look at you?” she asked. “I see someone brave who has fought to shield his people from the worst sort of monster: the belief that they are unloved.”

  A swallow bobbed his throat at her words.

  “Despite the shadows of Lachlan, you have shown your tenants they are still cared for. That is not the action of someone broken, Darius.”

  His gaze locked with hers, a well of emotion pouring from him as he took a step closer.

  Larkyra’s heart quickened, her hand still on him, never wanting to let go.

  “Larkyra, I . . . ,” he began.

  “Yes?” she practically begged.

  But whatever Darius had been going to say or do left, replaced by a startling shot of cold air as he shook his head and stepped away.

  Larkyra’s hand dropped to her side.

  “The gazebo is just through these brambles,” said Darius, parting the way to reveal a small opening in the tight cluster of trees.

  Larkyra took a shaky breath in, settling her magic, which swirled, disappointed, in her chest. “Thank you,” she said, entering the circular clearing where the gazebo stood, an ancient stone structure with an intricate stained glass dome.

  “Why did we need to come here again?” asked Darius.

  Larkyra turned in the center of the dais. The gazebo was in need of fixing and clearing of the weeds that grew over the columns, but there was no denying its beauty. “When one can help it,” she explained, “it is always best to be outside and in an isolated spot when using a portal token. More directions to run when returning.”

  “You think we will need to run once we return?”

  Larkyra shrugged. “A good option to have rather than not.” Opening her purse, she pulled out a gold-rimmed coin, the center filled with an oil that swirled like trapped stars.

  “That’s a portal token?” asked Darius.

  She nodded. “A special-made one whose door is already marked.”

  “Are there other kinds?”

  “Many other kinds. But only the most powerful can create them. Most you come across are usually stolen from a corpse’s pocket.”

  Darius’s eyes widened.

  “Do not worry,” she continued. “This does not share that history. Now put on your brown bag.”

  “I did not bring a bag.”

  “Certainly you did. It is in your hand there.”

  “This is my mask.”

  “Are you sure? I could have sworn I saw the stable boys lifting horse droppings into something that looked extremely—”

  “If you do not stop with this nonsense,” said Darius, “I shall make you wear it.”

  “An entertaining notion I shall decline.”

  “Larkyra,” grumbled Darius.

  “What? I warned that you wouldn’t hear the end of it.”

  “Fine, give me your blasted new disguise.”

  She beamed at him as she handed over the red leather mask.

  Darius didn’t say a word as he slipped it on, didn’t admit how much better it felt on his skin, as though it were barely there. Features she knew it had, for she had sought it out specifically for that reason.

  No, Darius merely pursed his lips and remained mute.

  But Larkyra was no less satisfied as she pulled on her own mask, which winked gold. Removing a brooch from her gown’s collar, she took off one of her gloves, pricked the top of her finger, and watched a perfect crimson ball form on the tip before dropping it onto the center of the coin. She brought it close to her lips, whispered a quick secret kept deep in her heart, and then grinned as the token came alive with a swirling of yellows, reds, and purples.

  “Where did you say this portal would take us?” asked Darius.

  “I didn’t.” Larkyra flicked the coin up. It turned over once, twice, and then froze in midair on the third turn, a drape of a dark tunnel curling out before them. “Follow close,” she instructed. “And whatever you do, do not take off your mask.”

  Turning from the lord, Larkyra stepped through the portal and entered another world, a world drenched in chaos.

  Home.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The Thief Kingdom stretched out below, a twinkling midnight city. The same stalactites and stalagmites Darius had seen on his first visit reached toward each other, connecting in the center, the lights of a thousand homes carved into their sides. The massive onyx castle jutted proudly in the middle, its pointed black tiers a hint of the sharper intentions within, while the caved world’s floor was covered in a sprawling black thatched-roof city.

  “This way,” said Larkyra as she started down a path that wove along the city’s rocky border.

  It was a hard task to follow as Larkyra’s form flitted in and out of Darius’s vision, her cloak seeming to camouflage her whenever she stepped near shadows. Another mystery to add to the list.

  Adapting quickly was a hard lesson Darius had been forced to learn growing up, which was the only reason he had been able to handle the unfolding of recent events as he had.

  If anyone knew the art of slipping into different forms and varied roles, it was he. And though it was hard for Darius to now accept that he had anything in common with this woman who entered into the bowels of the T
hief Kingdom so confidently, he knew they shared a great deal. Both had experienced the loss of parents, knew what it was to bridge many responsibilities, and, he suspected, carried a weight of guilt and unseen scars from something long ago.

  And though Darius couldn’t hold back the occasional slice of disappointment and hurt when glancing at Larkyra, he understood the reasoning behind her past actions had been good. Plus, she was here to help Lachlan from orders of her king, he had to remind himself.

  Despite not knowing how he’d be able to pay the Thief King for his aid, to have his lands back and his people’s lives restored, Darius would gladly shoulder any debt for eternity.

  “Do not look at the hands that reach toward you.” Larkyra slowed to walk beside him as they reached the city proper and entered a tight, crowded alley. “They spell their wrists with jewels to make empty pockets of the curious.”

  The cobblestone lane was peppered with bodies that slunk against the sides of slatted wooden homes and storefronts. A variety of darkened windows had their shutters thrown open, and sharpened claws, stone pendants, ceremonial feathers, and other knickknacks of the spelling kind dangled from the slats. A masked form waited in each window for any to approach, looking for a trinket to buy.

  “This is Vagabond Row,” whispered Larkyra, pulling her cloak tighter around her, as though to hide what she wore beneath. “If you seek a charm, hex, curse, or wish, you may find it here. Though the price is never worth the short workings of your purchase.”

  Darius kept his gaze trained straight ahead while trying to take in as much as he could. The people surrounding them wore threadbare but elaborate costumes, as if they were the forgotten wardrobe from some grand lord or lady. The rich materials were covered in soot and grime, while holes revealed skin or warts and scabs—areas better off hidden. All wore masks, some sewn from the materials of their outfits, others carved from cruder materials.

  It was a slinking, depraved neighborhood, filled with whispers and dark glances.

  And though it was Darius’s first time here, he knew nothing went unseen.

  “Is this the best route to our destination?” he asked as he followed Larkyra into a stone-paved square, a shiny black fountain spilling from its center.