Gripping.
Teasing.
Tempting.
Devouring.
It was a weaving of powers, meant to bewitch the mind and imprison the body. A spell of madness, it was, and the captive in the center its puppet.
The prisoner howled in agonizing ecstasy, one hand reaching for the dancer as she skimmed teasingly near. His chains clanked against their restraints, keeping him out of reach, and he flopped to the black marble floor in a fit of anguish, wriggling and clawing at his face. His nails cut into rivulets of blood dripping from his nose and ears, mixing with the puddle of urine beneath him.
And the pirate watched.
Never had he witnessed such vicious beauty, but he was learning quickly that in this world, the most dazzling things were fatal.
And these three truly sparkled.
Any with the Sight could see their all-consuming power, for only those with magic could detect the magic in others.
If the pirate were to use his gifts, his would shine green.
The executioners swam in an intoxicating mix of colors, ever expanding from the center of the room where they performed.
The Mousai, a woman had whispered as he’d first entered court.
The king’s deadly muses.
Deadly, indeed, thought the pirate.
His skin beaded with sweat behind his silver mask as his mind spun under the consuming melody echoing in the hall. The dancer pulsed her hips to the beat, sending bursts of her fire-tinged magic into the air, a hand clapping awake a dream. His body shivered in longing.
The singer’s voice split into three, four, five—a soaring soprano of golden threads from her lips that followed the violet chords gliding from the violin.
The pirate had never wanted more. But what, exactly, he could not say. He only felt need. Desire. Desperation. And beneath it all, hollow sorrow. A painful emptiness, for he could never have what his soul yearned for.
Their power.
Miiiine, his magic cooed, reaching out. We want them to be mine.
Yield, he commanded silently, tugging back. I am your master, not they.
Tightening his hands into fists, the pirate tried to keep his wits about him. He could hear the moans of the giftless court members beside him, held by chains as if prisoners themselves. He wondered why any normal mortal would have stayed. With blood so easily manipulated, certainly they knew what would come? But this was the allure of the Thief Kingdom’s court, he supposed. To be close to such power, to experience such deadly euphoria, and live. A tale to boast of later. Listen to what I have been clever enough to survive.
He peered around the crowd, every face disguised, wondering who else were potential court candidates. Which one of them would gain access to the palace, be invited to the most decadent debauchery and all the secrets and connections that came with it? He knew to be asked here of all nights, to witness what was no doubt a mere sliver of the king’s power, was a test. Everything in this world was a test.
He had already lost once.
Now, he would win.
A lick of heat ran down his body, drawing his attention to the dancer as she twisted past, the teasing scent of honeysuckle drifting in her wake.
There was not a sliver of her skin nor lock of hair exposed. Her face was hidden behind beadwork and silks, even her legs to her toes covered, but she moved as if nude, as if looking upon her voluptuous curves was a lewd experience. Yet, her identity remained utterly obscured.
As did her companions’.
Such care to remain hidden while being seen.
As everyone practices here, thought the pirate. Well, except the prisoner.
His mask had been ripped from him as he was dragged into the center of the room. The final debasing of his sentence. He had cried out then, covering his wrinkled features with his hands, shielding the crowd’s eyes from his graying hair. Even with an impending death sentence, it appeared no one wanted their sins committed in the Thief Kingdom to follow them, not even to the Fade.
The tempo picked up, the violinist running bow over strings at a dizzying speed. The singer’s voice soared ever higher, shaking the chandeliers as the dancer twisted again and again and again around the prisoner.
Their powers spun, sending gusts of wind through the hall.
Kneeling, the captive threw his head back as he strained against his chains toward the ceiling. Their magic swarmed high. He let out a final scream, a plea to the Mousai, as their spell, laced purple, honey gold, and crimson, pumped into his body, streaming endlessly until, finally, his ragged form swallowed it whole. He glowed like a star as the pop, pop, pop of his bones breaking echoed in the hall.
The light pulsing beneath his skin extinguished at the final snap of his spine.
The prisoner crumbled to the ground.
Lifeless.
His soul sent to the Fade.
A terrifying beat of quiet settled over the hall, an echoing loss of the Mousai’s magic gone.
A whimper from one of the giftless.
And then—
The chamber erupted in cheers.
The Mousai bowed with regal grace, as though they hadn’t just melted a man from the inside out. In fact, the pirate sensed the energy in the room holding a tinged afterglow of lust.
Even he found himself panting.
At the realization, his intentions sharpened, the fog muddling his mind lifting.
He was not a man prone to wild proclivities. To have nearly forgotten himself sent a wave of uneasiness through him.
Doors at the far end of the hall swung open, and the crowd surged through them, into the postperformance party. But the pirate remained motionless, his gaze on the forgotten body of the prisoner. He studied features that held allusions to high-born society before faceless guards came to carry the corpse away.
It had been known that the prisoner had been a court member. His rank, in the end, seemed to have done little to save him. It appeared the Thief King only accepted thieves who stole for him, not from him.
A good thing in the end, for this meant a seat had opened up tonight.
But was this the world the pirate truly wanted to be a part of?
Yes, his magic purred.
Yes, he agreed.
The question was, how to acquire the necessary power to move more freely within it?
The pirate roamed between the various masks surrounding him, taking in their painted skin and shrouded fashions. The burden of keeping one’s identity hidden here was a chink in one’s armor. There were many secrets locked tight in this palace, in this kingdom, vices not fit for gentle ears and respectable society. But with secrets came the opportunity for leverage. And leverage was what the pirate was determined to gather, for the path to priceless treasure came in many forms.
A reflection caught his eye, the dancer’s swaying hips twinkling her onyx beadwork as she weaved through the guests. He took in her ample silhouette, the fiery mist of magic radiating with her movements, and a plan began to slide into place like an approaching snake.
As if sensing a predator, the dancer turned, horned headdress standing tall in the crowd. And though her features were covered, the pirate knew the moment her eyes met his, for a river of hot current smacked into him.
But then she was moving away, disappearing into the shadowed court.
He started toward her, and as he did his nerves buzzed in anticipation for what he’d do next.
Yesss, his magic cooed in delight at his daring thoughts, we are not cowards like they.
No, he agreed, we are not.
With a sure hand, the pirate removed his mask.
The warmth of the room hugged his already warm skin. He took a deep breath in, the scent of freedom running sweetly along his taste buds. Those he passed stared, shocked whispers as they took in his features, the first of their potential kind to reveal themselves.
He dutifully ignored them.
His identity would not be his weakness here. Not like all these others, who clung to their disguis
es and false securities.
Let them know me, he thought.
Let my sins follow.
He had already been called a monster. Why not live up to the name?
After all, monsters are needed to make heroes.
And Alōs Ezra would become the kind of monster who made heroes of all.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2020 Jacob Glazer
E. J. Mellow is the award-winning author of the contemporary fantasy Dreamland series. The Animal under the Fur is her first stand-alone action romance. She is also the cofounder of She Is Booked, a literary-themed fundraising organization that supports women’s charities. With a bachelor’s degree in fine arts, E. J. splits her time between her two loves—visual design and writing.
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