Dance of a Burning Sea (Mousai, #2)

“She never wasted time on adults. Said they were already too stuck in their ways. Kids she could mold. Felix over there is from my village, too, not that he talks enough to show if he remembers.”

Niya glanced at the thin boy standing next to her bunkmate Bree. She was coiling rope into a pile, chatting animatedly while Felix remained silent, his eyes far away as he sat playing his fiddle. Niya realized the melody he preferred was always a bit somber, but it appeared to be how he best expressed whatever it was he could not speak.

It reminded Niya of Arabessa. She often took to her instruments to deal with her thoughts, preferring bow to string or fingers to keys over talking about what was in her heart.

Seeing the familiar behavior in Felix set a heavy ache in her chest. A quick longing for home.

She took in a steadying breath, turning back to Saffi. “But if you were stolen from your village, why stay when you could leave?”

Saffi glanced to the endless blue water surrounding them. “By that time, the only home I had was the sea. What would I have found if I’d gone back?”

“You could have started over.”

“I did.” She met Niya’s gaze once more. “I started over here. At least on the Crying Queen I didn’t have to relearn a skill. I was already useful.”

“So what are you saying?”

“That our captain does not work in blacks and whites, like most in his position. He acts on reason.”

“Yeah, his own,” said Niya, folding her arms over her chest.

“Perhaps, but I still wonder . . .”

“Wonder what?”

“What his reason is with you.”

Niya watched the curious fire grow in Saffi’s gaze, her own frown deepening. She knew such a look—she and her sisters had worn it many times, and it only dimmed when they found what they sought. But Alōs’s reason for Niya’s presence involved nothing more than her skills and magic—and perhaps he liked to see her suffer. “Well, when you find out this reason,” she replied dryly, “please let me know.”

Dimples awoke along Saffi’s cheeks with her smile. “I will.”

“Can I ask you something now?” Niya’s gaze flowed back to Alōs’s distant figure, where he was now in conversation with Kintra. “Do you think he’s a good captain?”

“He’s the best there is.”

Niya shook her head. “You replied too quickly for me to believe you.”

Saffi laughed, the sound husky and warm. It also seemed to catch Alōs’s attention, for he looked up. As his piercing blue eyes met hers across the deck, Niya’s heart quickened, and she turned, gripping the railing.

“Red, you’ve been sailing with us for over a month,” said Saffi. “Can you not see how we feel about our captain?”

“People are capable of all sorts of behavior they do not feel.”

“True . . .” Saffi’s arms bulged in her coat as she crossed them. “But this I say with honesty. He’s the best there is.”

Niya felt hot, despite the chill in the air. She did not like thinking of Alōs as a good anything. Captain, son, brother. She needed him to remain cruel, her enemy. To forever be the man who only promised pain. Otherwise he became a person, someone capable of feelings, of reason, as Saffi said, and that somehow made everything confusing.

I wonder what his reason is with you.

Niya shook off her unease. She didn’t want to think any more about Alōs. All she was ready to admit was that they shared a common goal, and that was to retrieve the other half of this Prism Stone. Then Niya would be free, could leave this for good and be out of Alōs’s control. Finally. She would return home, return to her family and her duties, which were far more important than any she carried out here. She would return to that which she had always been destined to become, part of the Mousai.

The only thought about Alōs that Niya needed to retain was that they were enemies with a momentary truce to be allies. Each was using the other for their own gain, and that was how it would always be between them.

“Let me give you that seaweed oil,” Saffi suggested again, returning Niya’s attention to where they stood along the ship’s railing, the midday sun lighting the waves around them in dancing glimmers.

“I could really use a soak more.” Niya glanced down at her dirt-covered hands.

“You’ll have to wait until we reach the valley for that,” said Saffi. “In the meantime, I’ll be right back with that oil.”

As her master gunner strode away, a shift of energy in the air had Niya squinting into the distant sky. All was as calm as the lost gods napping; not even a cloud graced the blue expanse.

Yet still . . .

There it was: a buzzing of forces churning, gathering. Niya had felt this sort of movement many times before, right before a storm. And from the feel of it, it would be a bad one.

Niya’s magic stirred more awake as she turned to warn Saffi, but the woman was already out of sight.

Niya walked toward Bree and Felix. “I think there’s going to be—”

Her words were cut off as Bree gave her the cold shoulder with a pout, pulling Felix away.

“Real mature!” Niya called out to their retreating forms. “I guess I’ll leave you all to get drenched and thrown overboard,” she mumbled under her breath. If they’re still going to hold grudges, why should I warn them of the storm?

Because I could get thrown overboard, too, Niya silently argued with herself, if the ship isn’t properly prepared.

While she had been on the Crying Queen for weeks now, Niya had yet to sail through rough waters.

If she was being honest, the idea left her a bit on edge, not knowing what to expect. How would her powers respond?

Niya glanced to the horizon again, soaking in the colliding energy lacing the air, which was only growing stronger.

“Sticks,” she muttered.

If the crew wouldn’t listen to her, she’d find someone who might.

Jaw clenched tight, Niya ignored the itching of the scars on her back, ignored the memory of how they’d gotten there, as she went to talk with the captain.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The door to Alōs’s quarters stood open, and Niya hovered at the threshold. She had not found him on deck, but as soon as she’d stepped below, she could feel his chill of energy leading here. Yet as Niya peered into his office, it remained empty.

Still, his magic was far too familiar to her now, too enticing as it caressed her own to mistake when he was present. With her senses buzzing, Niya stepped deeper inside, following the residual shimmer of his movements. Her gaze ran over the crammed bookshelves lining the walls, the scattered maps on his desk, and the trickling sandglass and various closed boxes adorning the room. Her fingers itched to shuffle through it all, her thief’s habit to search a constant tempting whisper.

The sound of water splashing brought her attention to another half-open door in the corner of the room. It had always remained closed when she was here, but she assumed it was where Alōs slept.

A new tension filled Niya’s gut. “Captain?” she called out, drawing closer. “I don’t mean to disturb, but—”

Her words dried on her tongue as she glanced inside, taking in a shirtless man bent over a washbasin in the corner of the room. His muscles rippled as he ran a wet cloth over his stomach, brown skin glistening as the sun streamed through a large window behind a nearby bed.

Alōs turned, penetrating gaze meeting hers.

For a grain’s fall each remained still, looking at the other.

His hair was wet, as if freshly washed, loose and playing around his shoulders.

Shoulders that somehow appeared much larger bare and fed to a tapered waist.

Niya forced her eyes not to dip lower, where leather trousers sat relaxed on his hips.

A prickling of heat overwhelmed her as past visions erupted in her mind: her hands running over his strong chest, Alōs’s lazy smile as he was sprawled across a bed.

Traitor, she silently hissed to her thoughts, blinking back to clarity.

“And once again,” drawled Alōs, draping his towel on his washbasin, “the fire dancer goes wherever she pleases, despite no invitation.”

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