“Look out!” called Arabessa from above.
Niya didn’t need to see the fist to sense it swinging toward her. And it wasn’t the usual sort of sensing, either, like the touch of a shadow to a shoulder. No, this was an ability that came with Niya’s particular kind of magic. For though the Mousai were off duty tonight, her and her sisters’ magic never were. While Arabessa was the musician and Larkyra the singer, Niya—she was the dancer. And with her gift came the ability to do a score of beautiful and awful things. In this particular moment, it allowed Niya to tap into the energy an arm gave off right before it swung, the heat of skin nearing. Motion was her study, her obsession, and precisely what had her dropping into a roll, just missing the impact that surely would have broken her jaw, as she slid under a table. Booted feet were all around her, as well as the smell of beer-soaked wood and damp sawdust, as she scurried along the ground through the crowd, thankful for her loose-fitted pants that allowed her better movement.
Reemerging a few tables away, she found herself beside the man with the long-nosed mask from earlier.
“Well, hello there.” She smiled, serpentine.
The rodent jumped, readying to flee, but Niya, always quicker, snagged his collar. As she kept one eye on the bartender, who was busy searching the packed tavern for her, she pulled the man against a wall, determined to teach him a lesson in manners. “I’m going to let you live . . . tonight,” she whispered. The scent of hay and dirt filled her nostrils—a farmer. “But it would be good to remember the old kingdom’s rhyme. Do you know the one of which I speak?”
The man quickly shook his head, eyes widening as he looked past her, to the large form Niya could now sense moving their way. She had been found.
But she still had time for this.
“Those who point and shout,” began Niya, “tattle and tale: in the Fade they’ll sail, but not before their tongues be snatched out.” The man squeaked a whimper as she grinned wider. “So keep silent and pray to the lost gods we never cross paths again.” Niya shoved the small man away, then dropped a sand’s grain before the bartender’s fist could collide with her head. He punched through the wood-slatted wall, the surface splintering with a loud crack.
“Sir, I’m sure we can work this out without becoming violent,” said Niya, spinning into the center of the room, patrons moving to give them a wide berth.
“You are the ones who threw knives at me!”
“Again, to clarify, it was at your apple.”
A growl shook from the bartender’s throat as he snapped off a nearby toppled chair leg, the jagged end no doubt a stake to spit her on. Guests hooted their excitement, free entertainment always a welcome sight, and out of the corner of her eye, Niya saw money exchange palms, bets made on who would be left standing. Her fingers itched to get in on the odds.
But before she could, Niya felt a new form moving quickly toward them.
“No one but I can stab my brother!” yelled a large masked woman, her voice a deep rumble as she rushed Niya.
Stepping sideways, Niya scrunched up her face as the brother, choosing that moment to attack, rammed into his sister. The tavern shook with a boom as they collided.
“It’s good to see siblings so close,” said Niya.
The giants shoved one another, snapping, as each fought to get to her first, the crowd’s encouragement for a fight growing ever louder.
The vibrations in the room spun across Niya’s skin like a caress, her magic purring in delight at the charge of energy. Yes, it crooned, more. Niya could have soaked it all in, moved her body in a way that would paralyze most in the room merely by their watching. But with gritted teeth she restrained the urge to let loose her powers, reminding herself again that the Mousai were off duty tonight.
This evening they were not to be the Maniacal Muses of the Thief King, as some called them here. Sent to trance those who dared disobey their master into the dungeons or, worse, bring them to wait for their fate by the foot of his throne. No, tonight they were meant to be no one—or more accurately, anyone. Indistinguishably distinguished in their random collection of fine-sewn costumes. And while the Thief Kingdom was no stranger to magic, it would be unwise to play all of one’s cards so openly. An individual’s gifts were like a calling card, an identifiable trait, especially for someone as strong as she. If any here witnessed a performance by the dancer of the Mousai, there was a chance they’d find similarities with Niya’s gifts.
So instead, Niya reeled in her magic, which always burned to be set free.
“Playtime’s over,” called Arabessa from her perch on a ceiling beam, where she and Larkyra still waited by the skylight.
“Blasphemy,” shouted Niya as she wove through the pressing crowd. Vaulting over the bar, she dropped into the center. “Playtime has no end.” Gingerly she plucked the gold-dipped hilt of her throwing knife from the wooden column—a small piece of apple clinging to the tip.
“Please don’t tell us you’ve kept us waiting for that,” groaned Larkyra, skipping to a closer beam above.
“I won!” Niya displayed her blade. “And you both know it! I owe you nothing.”
“By the lost gods,” called Larkyra over the raucous cheers erupting as the twin giants detangled themselves enough to come closer to Niya. “I’ll easily give you four silver so long as you get your arse up here.”
“Love.” Arabessa balanced beside Larkyra. “Never reward a rat with food when it’s already made a mess of your kitchen.”
“Rats are resourceful, hardy creatures!” shouted Niya. “And besides, I’d hardly call this a mess—”
The bar exploded, bottles and glasses flying every which way as the giants barreled through the middle. Niya twirled between spraying splinters of wood and bent away from the grasping graze of fingers as she went tumbling back into the tables and chairs. Her back smarted against a corner, but she pushed through the pain, forcing herself to keep moving. She rolled until she was behind a tipped-over stool. Curling into a ball, she felt the warm splashes of liquid soak into her silk shirt as shards of glass impaled the slab of wood she hid behind with a thunk, thunk, thunk.
A breath of quiet fell over the hall. Droplets of spilled spirits hitting the ground before—
Madness.
As if the destruction were the invitation the despicable patrons had been waiting for, a brawl erupted. To Niya’s right, a stocky woman in a parrot mask slammed her chair over a group she had been sitting with. Their playing cards flew up in paper fireworks.
A slim creature covered in chain mail flung their body into the wrestling crowd.
Niya sighed. She was officially the least interesting thing in the room.
How boring, she thought.
Though she might be a fool in wanting to change that, she was no idiot. A Bassette knew when their welcome was up.
Catching the eyes of Larkyra, then Arabessa, and giving a nod, she watched her sisters skip their way across beams, back to the skylight, nimble as the thieves they were, and swing themselves up and out through the narrow opening.
“No!” the barman bellowed at their retreat. He and his sister punched a nearby column, as if they’d gladly have the entire ceiling cave in if that meant they’d get their hands on one of them.
Niya took their moment of distraction to slide to the front of the tavern and slip out of the curtained exit.