Song of the Forever Rains

by Mellow, E. J.

  Darius scrambled backward on the branch as the largest of all the creatures slithered in his direction, her yellow eyes flashing.

  A man. She spat the words. You will feed my sisters and me well tonight.

  “Um, but I haven’t brought any food.” He hit up against the trunk.

  You are the food, you foul creature.

  “But if I’m so foul,” countered Darius, desperate to buy some time, “why would you want to eat me?”

  Her response was another hiss that sounded inside his head as she snaked quickly forward.

  “Sticks,” cursed Darius, sliding down the winding tree before leaping away from the approaching queen and toward the exit.

  You shan’t live to steal again, another voice from a closer tahopka cried into his mind as she smacked her thick tail into him. Darius jumped, hitting the ground with a roll. She was on him again with another whap, leaving Darius no choice but to dive into one of the illuminated pools.

  The water was warm as he splashed into it, sinking down and blinking his eyes open. The bottom was covered with thousands of twisting, glowing bugs, water worms, as Larkyra had called them, giving this underwater cavern its shining light. Swiveling around, he held his breath. Each of these pools was connected, their circular openings reflecting above.

  Thank the lost gods.

  Pumping his feet and legs as hard as he could, Darius swam toward an open hole in the distance, one he believed to be the closest to the exit.

  A wave of water pushed him forward, and he peered over his shoulder; three tahopka were swimming, wings tucked in, tails propelling them quickly toward him.

  Damn the lost gods.

  With the last of his breath, Darius pushed up and out of the closest pool, hooking his arm over the edge to pull himself up.

  A quick glance revealed most of the creatures flying or slithering toward where he had just been standing, which gave him extra time to run toward the stairs.

  His breathing was a buzz of desperation in his ears as he saw the Mousai backing toward the tunnel from which they’d come.

  Despite Arabessa’s vigorous playing, these ancient creatures seemed permanently broken from their binds. She removed bow from string, yelling something as Larkyra ran toward him.

  “Run!” he bellowed. “Get out!”

  Larkyra said something in return, but with his ears plugged, he could hear nothing.

  A sharp slash fell across his shoulder, claws digging into his skin, right before his body was lifted.

  You will not escape us. The angry hissing of the tahopka who carried him filled his head. She gave a strong flap of her wings, sending them up.

  A wave of energy and wind blasted from below; Larkyra’s mouth hung open on some commanding note as her eyes burned in their direction. In the next moment, he was falling; the snake had lost her hold when broken stalactites had fallen from above to smack into her.

  Darius landed with an oof as the air was knocked from his lungs. Gasping, he found himself on the lip of the cave, with the Mousai only a few paces away by the tunnel.

  Arabessa and Niya were gesturing desperately toward the opening as Larkyra skidded to a stop before him. She pulled at his water-soaked clothes, urging him to his feet just as a brain-stabbing screech of the tahopka queen filled his mind. Darius’s head throbbed at the intrusion, and he dug his hands into his hair, attempting to ease the pressure.

  His next steps forward seemed not his own as a hard grip dragged him into the dark tunnel. It flashed bright when the four of them entered, the midnight orchids awakening to light their escape.

  He was shoved from behind and stumbled as he turned to watch Larkyra open her mouth once more and throw out her arms, sending an unheard spell barreling into the advancing monsters. The tahopka tumbled backward into their bathhouse just as a wall of broken boulders fell, sealing the cavern and blocking any chance of reentry.

  Larkyra was at his side, mouthing Run! before passing him, and with the beasts now banished from his head, he did exactly that.

  Darius ran and ran and ran, the tunnel collapsing in a wave behind him.

  They sprinted through the columned archway to where their rowboat awaited along the small beach in the first cave. Darius fell to his knees. Dust from the collapsing rocks poured out around him, and he coughed and wheezed, attempting to ease his aching lungs.

  Yet his chest remained burning, burning, burning.

  A cool touch pressed against his cheek, and he jumped, but as he found those familiar blue eyes, he relaxed.

  Larkyra.

  She crouched in front of him, strands of her white-blonde hair loose from her tightly spun braid; dust and dirt covered her black gown. Her cheeks were flushed, and perspiration dripped along her temples, exhaustion plain on her features.

  Despite it all, in that moment Darius could only think of how brave she was.

  Larkyra lifted her hand once more, slowly this time, and removed his earplugs.

  The sound of their caved world came crashing back.

  “Darius?” Her brows pinched with worry. “Are you all right?”

  Am I all right?

  Her gaze fell to his shoulder, where his drenched cloak was torn and no doubt blood was seeping through.

  He moved it tentatively—a slash of pain, but otherwise it didn’t seem badly damaged.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “We must get to the ship before it leaves.” She glanced behind her to where Niya and Arabessa waited by their small boat.

  “You saved my life.”

  Larkyra looked back at him. “You saved your own life.”

  “No.” He shook his head, his skin still buzzing. “If you didn’t use your powers on that tahopka . . . and then collapsing the tunnel, they would have—”

  “We must go,” she interrupted. “We can reminisce about the logistics of it all once we are back at sea. Or better yet, when we are back in Lachlan and have stopped the mines from opening after the engagement ball. The most important thing now is that we are safe; you are sa—”

  Darius cut off her words with a kiss. One that he had been resisting for too long now.

  Her lips were stiff at first, her body tense, before she seemed to melt into his fingers, her muscles relaxing as she opened to him.

  He wrapped his arms around her small waist and tugged her closer. He wanted more. Needed more. She was so warm; she tasted like the sunrise, felt like the softest grass beneath his bare feet, and he wanted to stay with her, wrapped in her forever.

  His life had been eternally covered in shadow, and her nearness, her touch, blazed the darkness away.

  Larkyra gave a small moan, a lulling sigh that spun his skin into more of a frenzy, especially when he felt her hands drag into his damp hair. It might have been the pure relief that they were both still alive, but he was desperate to never waste another sand fall with this woman.

  Why had he waited so long to do this?

  A loud cough echoed into their world.

  Larkyra pulled away, her eyes heavy, glossy with emotion.

  Darius wanted to haul her back.

  More. The word kept tumbling in his heart. You make me feel more, want more, dream more. All dangerous, but paths he would gladly walk with her.

  “What was that for?” she whispered.

  “Not to be the annoying interruption,” Niya annoyingly interrupted Darius’s reply. “But we have to leave now to make it to the Crying Queen in time.”

  Reluctantly Darius stood, helping Larkyra up.

  “When we are back in Lachlan,” he promised.

  But what he was promising, he did not know.

  As they climbed into the boat, Arabessa and Niya studied them, or more specifically him. Their attention felt calculating, a surgeon’s clinical eye on a discovered growth. They had yet to decide his risk.

  As they rowed upstream to the cave’s exit, Niya broke the silence. “Well,” she said. “Not that that wasn’t fun, but how are we to move forward now? Shall we sac
rifice another year of one of our lives to ask our mother for a different solution? If so, I think perhaps you, Lord Mekenna, should enter the Fade this time.”

  “I would gladly,” said Darius. “Except I see no reason why we need a different solution.”

  “Maybe because we failed to obtain the oh-so-special, one-of-a-kind, only-grows-in-faraway-treacherous-places-with-man-hating-snake-bird-women flower?”

  “You mean this flower?” Pinching open the satchel strapped around his chest, Darius suppressed a grin as each Bassette’s eyes reflected the blue-white glow emanating out.

  “You got it.” Larkyra smiled, her face alight with pride.

  “I got it.”

  “It’s not the only thing you seem to have got—ouch. Hey.” Niya glared at Arabessa, rubbing her shin. “What was that for?”

  “Sorry. I had a leg cramp.”

  Niya appeared more than skeptical.

  “Well done, Lord Mekenna,” said Arabessa. “Now to get back and use it.”

  As they rowed out of the rocky cove toward the awaiting ship in the distance, Darius’s gaze lingered on the blonde creature across from him. The same one who had entered his life like a gale-force wind and blown his whole world upside down.

  Every time Larkyra’s blue eyes caught his, it felt as if his life were expanding before him.

  This woman, Darius realized, allowed him to hope for a future.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Larkyra hurried behind Darius as they entered the castle through the creaking dungeon door. It was midafternoon by now, and her sisters had set off on the other side of their portal door to seek Achak with the orenda. Though the skies were overcast, anyone glancing out to the grounds would surely have seen her and Darius slipping from the forest. Larkyra prayed to the lost gods that those “anyones” did not exist today.

  “We will have to split up from here,” said Darius as he helped her up the ladder into the dusty storage room. “You remember the way to your wing?”

  “Yes.” She nodded.

  Neither of them moved, and Larkyra realized Darius was still holding her hand. Her heart skipped, her lips tingling, as though her body remembered exactly what had happened the last time they’d been standing like this. Larkyra desperately wanted it to happen again, though she was equally terrified that it would.

  When all this was over, Larkyra knew she would be leaving. As she was meant to, as she needed to. Despite her intentions to help, she was too dangerous for Darius, and not only with her powers. He had nearly died under her care in Esrom. She’d almost lost him to the tahopka. His life had so far only been uncertainty and pain. She could not add her own into the mix. A weary ache filled her heart.

  “Larkyra,” said Darius. “I want you to know—”

  “No.” She cut him off. “Let us not do this.”

  An inquisitive tilt to Darius’s brow. “And what is it we are doing?”

  “I cannot bear a sentimental recap right now. We still have much to accomplish, to prepare, to plan.” She stepped away from him. “What we have left to do is far from over, Darius.”

  He studied her a moment. “I know.”

  “Good.”

  “Larkyra, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You know how I detest lies.” He approached her slowly. “Tell me.”

  “As I said, it’s nothing.” She stared at the ground. “Well, perhaps not nothing. It’s just . . . I’m not leaving yet.”

  “No.” Darius tilted her chin so she would meet his gaze. “You certainly are not.”

  Her breaths came out quick, tiny bursts of impatient longing. His lips were so close to hers. He was so close to her.

  Nearing voices in the hall beyond had them springing apart.

  Chattering servants strode past the open door, Larkyra standing frozen by the wall across from Darius.

  Their eyes locked as all fell quiet.

  “We must go,” she whispered.

  “Yes,” he agreed, though he appeared to not like that he did. “We will finish this conversation later?”

  “Later,” assured Larkyra before they each slipped out and turned their separate ways.

  Larkyra and Darius didn’t find a later.

  That night Hayzar returned to Lachlan, the lands splitting open with a torrent of rain and thunder once more. The ball drew nearer, which only meant so did the duke’s plans to open the mines. “A gift to my future bride,” he had said. But Larkyra knew it would be no gift to his people, more like the last piece of pressure to break them. They needed to stop him before that could happen. The one slip of reprieve came when the duke seemed to have no recollection of forcing his stepson to carve up his own face.

  So filled was he with his new supply of phorria that the high seemed to erase any memory of that particular evening. When Darius emerged for breakfast the following morning, not one scratch across his complexion, Hayzar barely batted an eye. Merely told him that his style of cravat was so out of fashion it was an eyesore and, to Larkyra’s dismay, ordered Darius away with barely a bite.

  Though Hayzar might not have noticed Darius’s rapid recovery, Larkyra caught Boland on more than one occasion staring at the lord. But whatever questions or doubts swirled in his head, like a good butler, he kept quiet on the matter. Perhaps deep down he wants to believe his poultice has better healing capabilities than he’d known, she thought.

  In the following days, Larkyra was forced to act the part of a happy fiancée, planning the engagement ball. Flower arrangements, food tasting, dress fittings, a never-ending guest list, half the names unknown to her. It was utterly dreadful, and Larkyra wondered if any bride truly enjoyed preparing such an event.

  The only relief for Larkyra lay in the fact that while she and Darius were unable to find a true moment alone, they had nonetheless begun seeking each other out, even if those moments were brief. A stolen brush of a finger across a hand as they passed in the halls, a caught glance across the dining table, a secret shared smile. It charged every grain of every sand fall, making innocuous parts of her day exciting treasures to catch and hold in her memory.

  And despite Larkyra’s chest tightening anytime she thought of when she would have to leave, she decided to enjoy what few days left she had in Lachlan and what small grains of time she could share with Darius.

  Yet the one memory Larkyra craved to relive most, consequences be damned, the one that had her lips still tingling, never happened again, and she wasn’t sure why. She found herself lying awake at night, listening to the rumbling storm outside, wondering if any of the claps were covering Darius’s tread as he approached her bedchambers.

  But each night, she fell asleep without a rap to her door and awoke wondering if he regretted what he had done.

  Even if they were not meant to be, she certainly did not regret their kiss.

  Which was why she’d been building up the nerve to slip into Darius’s rooms instead, to find out once and for all what he’d meant by kissing her.

  But then her sisters arrived.

  And well, if one wanted a moment alone, they should not invite more than one Bassette to visit, for every moment from then on was occupied.

  Even the stolen ones.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Larkyra’s rooms were a mess, and it was entirely Niya’s fault—she appeared to have brought half her wardrobe to Lachlan.

  “That one is beautiful,” said Larkyra from where she sat in an armchair by the fire, feet tucked in underneath her.

  “But does it say, ‘My sister may be the almost duchess here, but I am just as, if not more, appropriate for such a high title’?” Niya turned in her ostentatiously designed emerald-green dress.

  “It says that,” replied Arabessa, who rested in the opposite chair, “along with a large sign that reads ‘delusional.’ So all in all, an accurate fashion statement for you.”

  Niya frowned at her reflection in the looking glass. “Yes, I do suppose the skirt is not big enough.”
<
br />   “It has six bustles,” exclaimed Arabessa.

  “Better to have eight.”

  Larkyra and Arabessa shared a glance.

  “You do realize this isn’t a real engagement ball?” said Larkyra.

  “Will guests be attending?” asked Niya.

  “Of course.”

  “And food cooked to impress?”

  “Um, yes.”

  “And an orchestra for dancing?”

  “Okay, I see your point.”

  “And gifts for the bride and groom?”

  “Niya.”

  “Not ending with a wedding does not make an engagement any less real.” Niya stepped out of her green costume to pick up another, her thin white chemise catching the firelight. “In fact, it probably makes it more real.”

  “You have no idea how real these past few days have been,” said Larkyra dryly. “I do not need the reminder.”

  “Has the duke been that terrible?” asked Arabessa.

  “I should show you the dresses that still bear his slimy handprints. His soured magic is an oozing mess these days.”

  “As we saw when we arrived,” said Arabessa, concern in her pinched brow.

  “Enough depressing chatter,” exclaimed Niya. “What I want to know is whether your dress is ready for tomorrow.”

  “Mrs. Everett is steaming it now.”

  “I wish we had more time so Mrs. Everett could make me a dress.” Niya frowned, removing the tenth dress she had tried on. “I really have nothing.”

  “You could wear one of mine,” offered Arabessa.

  Niya blinked. “Have you hit your head today, Ara?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Because, if you think all this”—Niya proudly gestured to her curves—“could fit into a gown sewn for that”—she pointed to Arabessa’s slim form—“then I think you must have suffered an extreme brain injury.”

  “I was merely being nice,” explained Arabessa before taking a sip from the teacup she held. “I’m sure Mrs. Everett could figure out a way for something of mine to fit you. Though how anything could get over that big head of yours—”

  “Funny,” replied Niya dryly. “Especially considering how you always seem to have the problem fitting into your headdresses in the kingdom.”