His power touched her next, a cool caress of green expanding from his body. And just like his physique, his gifts were strong, born from a long lineage, Niya knew, for her own gifts were the same.
Arabessa and Larkyra sat on either side of her in their costumed splendor, resting amid the debauchery taking place after one of their performances in the palace. Disguised court members crowded the shadowed room. Bodies were pressed up against one another as spirits were poured into mouths, dripping down hints of exposed skin before being licked clean. Hands roamed inside garments as a steady tempo of music made by a quartet of musicians in one corner twisted about the sweat-and incense-filled air. The evening had started like all the others, and Niya had assumed it would end similarly—a rather monotonous bore.
But the presence of this man, with his glowing turquoise eyes, which remained on her rather than on either of her slender sisters, and his exposed features, cut of beauty and dark allure: it awoke a swirling sensation in her gut. An anticipation. A much-needed excitement.
“Good evening,” said the man, his voice a deep rumble as he stopped before them.
Niya said nothing, only watched him curiously from behind her headdress, as she knew both her sisters did. The Mousai were meant to be seen as a fearful tool in the Thief Kingdom, pretty creatures with a lethal touch. To retain their mystery, they had to remain just that, mysterious.
“My name is Alōs Ezra,” said he, black coat swirling with his flourished bow. “The lord and captain of the Crying Queen.”
Ah, thought Niya, a pirate. She had heard whisperings about this Crying Queen, the ruthlessness of her growing crew, but she did not know a captain such as he claimed her.
Niya’s magic swam awake, warm and bubbling, feeling her interest peak.
“I must compliment you on your performance,” continued Lord Ezra. “It was quite extraordinary. If a touch dramatic.”
To this Niya grinned behind her disguise. Normally those who approached them only pandered and preened. “One might say that by definition most performances,” began Niya, unable to help herself, “are meant to touch on the theatrical.”
“Well volleyed,” said Lord Ezra, his eyes seeming to burn brighter at hearing her reply. “If ever we were to play chess, remind me to cheat, for I fear that may be the only way to win against you.”
“Who said I would not be cheating as well?”
“Who indeed?” The pirate grinned, a flash of white against his brown skin.
Niya wanted to say more, play more with this tempting man, but a jab from Arabessa’s gifts stopped her.
Careful, her sister’s magic seemed to say.
Niya prickled but obediently remained mute.
Lord Ezra seemed to read the shift, for he bowed again, but not before meeting her gaze one last time. “I look forward to our games,” he said. “Especially the cheating kind.”
Not until the pirate strode away from them, disappearing into the cloaked crowd, did Niya realize he had only addressed her the entire time, never once glancing at either of her sisters.
A new smile curled onto her lips. Games, she thought. Niya was very fond of games.
The room in the palace shifted and changed as splotches of new visions appeared before Niya. They came and went as though she were looking up at the dancing surface of a dark sea, moonlight reflecting down, fragmented.
Niya now slipped into a shadowed corner, unseen by her sisters amid the tangling crowd of creatures in the palace, knowing he’d be waiting, his energy calling to her. Turquoise eyes glowed as he stepped forward from the darkness. Her heart beat quickly as he tenderly grazed a finger down her costumed form. The scent of sea clinging to his clothes invaded her headdress, the scent of midnight orchids in the crook of his neck, pulling her closer. His ever-present power, a refreshing tingling enveloping her heat, shielding them during all those soirees in the kingdom. The deep coo of his compliments and clever replies each night, his desperation for her as his burning gaze bored into her disguise.
“I love you, fire dancer,” he rumbled while running a finger along her covered neck, down, down, daringly close to her breasts.
Niya’s magic erupted in her chest at hearing his words, her body, for the first time, not knowing what to do, how to react. She breathed heavily, her skin aching in a way she had never known. “Alōs,” she whispered.
“Yes,” he purred. “That is my name, but what is yours? Let me know you, fire dancer. Or is that what I am to forever call you?”
He only needed a first name, a tiny glimpse of skin to go with her tempting curves, the color of her hair so he could hold the shade close to his heart. He had shown himself so freely to her, after all, his sinner’s smiles, his unwavering attention. It was for her, only for her; could she not do the same?
“Alōs,” she could only respond in agony. “Alōs.”
“Alōs.” Niya bolted upright, a cold sweat blanketing her as his name disappeared on her lips. She blinked to pure black.
Heart racing, she snapped her fingers, bringing alive a tiny flame to burst from her palm.
The windowless cabin stretched out before her. Niya was still aboard the Crying Queen.
The lantern beside her cot must have snuffed out while she slept. When she threw her flame inside, the wick lit with a hiss, bringing more light to her room, before Niya collapsed back into her hammock, gripping her hands into fists.
Her body felt hot and frigid at once. Her magic swam inside her veins in confusion along with her thoughts. Was she upset? Angry? Pleased? Happy? Experiencing pleasure or pain?
By the lost gods. She dared not close her eyes again.
It appeared even in sleep she would be haunted. Memories she had believed she had pushed desperately from her mind roared to life like some resurrected beast.
It’s Alōs’s magic, thought Niya grumpily. Being around it for so long has set loose the visions.
Visions of when she might have been clever but had ultimately been naive. Though a part of her of course had known of Alōs’s danger then, felt it in each of his words, temptation was sweet for a reason: it masked the bitterness of poison underneath. Camouflaged the destruction lurking below the surface, waiting to take hold once you gave in. And after months of courtship, give in Niya finally did. A moment of ecstasy for a lifetime of regret. A young girl’s fantasy: that she was the one exception to a monster’s loveless heart.
As it turned out, her life was to be not a love story but a cautionary tale.
Look here, children; here is a story of how not to be.
Niya grunted, pushing away her self-deprecating ghosts as she stood.
“Today I will leave all this behind,” Niya said to the empty room, straightening her shoulders. Today was the third day. The final day. But all is well, thought Niya as she pushed away that ever-creeping fear. Today my sisters will come, and I will never have to think of that man and that stupid night again. Today I will be set free.
Niya felt trapped. For this morning, more than any of the others, the pirate lord’s cool energy was a consistent needling along her back.
She might have been standing the farthest she could from him, gripping the railing along the bow of the ship while he stood at the other end, beside the Crying Queen’s wheel, but she knew his gaze was upon her.
She always knew.
The flutter of her magic seemed to pick up speed, her heat responding to his touch of cold.
In fact, she felt him everywhere she walked. His presence was spread across every board on this ship, a slip of icy-green haze that whispered, Mine. All of this is mine. Including you.
Niya hated it. Just as she now hated the sea.
The open fresh air: too windy.
The peaceful waters: monotonous.
The constant sun against her skin: a recipe for sweat, wrinkles, and sunburn.
Her magic buzzed impatiently in her veins as she stared at the ever-empty horizon. She half believed she could will a portal door into existence, one that would reveal a ship with two figures in black robes and gold masks sailing toward her.