Dance of a Burning Sea (Mousai, #2)
E.J. Mellow
She was second born out of fire and rose, Gifted with beautiful twisting and twirling, But careful, my darlings, when reaching too closely, For you’ll be cursed with more than a yearning
If you dance with the daughter of flame
If you dance with the daughter of flame
She may flicker like honey and sunshine,
She may be as light as the day,
But easy, my dearest, for a sharp tip be hiding in her softly curving sway
If you dance with the daughter of flame
If you dance with the daughter of flame
So look lively, my sweet, my innocent pet, If you get caught in one of her turns;
Her touch may start soft, start silky, start soothing, But it will always end in a burn
When you dance with the daughter of flame When you dance with the daughter of flame
—A verse from Achak’s Mousai song
PROLOGUE
A pirate stood watching a man die.
It was not an unusual occurrence given such a profession as his, yet this time he had nothing to do with the matter.
One might wonder what sort of macabre court invited guests to watch someone be tortured. The answer was quite simple: the Thief Kingdom’s. The crowd surrounding the pirate pushed closer, their ornate disguises poking into his worn leather coat, hungry for a better glimpse of the madness taking place in the center of the room. The smell of overperfumed bodies, sweat, and desperation crept under his mask, invading his nose. And not for the first time this evening, he was reminded of where he stood: in the most ruthless and debasing kingdom in all of Aadilor, whose lenient laws invited large purses and larger fools, trading secrets and heavy coin for nights of folly and sin.
The pirate had attended tonight not only out of curiosity but also for his own ambition. He had fought hard to build a new life after abandoning the old. And while his current existence mirrored little of what he’d left behind, that was rather the point. Now his decisions were entirely his own, no longer weighed down by history or expectations.
At least these were the things he told himself.
While he had not set out to become a pirate, he certainly didn’t see reason in fighting the delinquent those in his past thought him to be.
After all, he had not been born a man to act in half measures.
And so he had commandeered a ship and recruited a crew to serve him. Now this, he thought: an opportunity to be the first pirate captain in the Thief King’s court.
That constant ambitious hunger clawed like a greedy beast in his chest, for he knew he would do everything in his power to secure a seat at court. Even if a small part of him regretted entering the opulent black palace.
His attention slid away from the cloaked and covered figures around him and back to the performance.
The pirate had seen many die, but never in so beautiful a way as this.
In the center of the onyx hall performed three women: singer, dancer, and violinist.
Their liquid-hot song and intoxicating rhythm expanded from them in a rainbow of colors, their threads of power hitting unceasingly against a prisoner chained in the middle, a whipping of notes punishing skin, but instead of screams of pain, the man moaned his pleasure.
Here were goddesses incarnate, brought from the Fade to lure the living to the dead, for their powers spoke of old magic. A time when the gods had not been lost, when Aadilor had been washed in their gifts.
Their costumes were lavish, spools of inky hues, beads braided into silks that dripped into feathers and embroidered lace. Ornate horned masks covered the trio’s identities. And though their performance was not directed at him, the pirate was still washed with a cold dew of desperation, felt the strong pull of their magic.
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 dragged through 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 upon him first entering 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 wanted 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.
Ouuurs, his magic cooed, reaching out. We want them to be ours.
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’d known 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 or 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 debasement of his sentence. He had cried out then, covering his wrinkled features with his hands, shielding his graying hair from eyes. Even with an impending death sentence, it appeared no one wanted their sins of 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.