“But he was banished because of what he did, wiped from the royal line.”
“He must have had a very good reason, then.”
Despite the price, I ensured both of Tallōs and Cordelia’s children lived.
Alōs’s words to his brother surrounded Niya, along with images of the scars of Ariōn’s sickness across his hands and face.
“You know the full history,” Niya challenged. “Why won’t you share it with me?”
Achak rose from the pool, rivulets of water sliding down her sleek body as she reached for her discarded robe, which sat folded on a nearby stone. “Some history is meant to be told by others. During a time when the past fits better with the present.”
Niya huffed, irritated. From the years of growing up around her companion, she knew when they were done revealing knowledge they believed better suited for another to share. “You ancient ones are always filled with useless riddles.”
“Yes, but at least we come bearing gifts.”
Niya perked up at that. “Gifts?”
“We had a feeling we would be crossing paths on one of our journeys. We have been carrying a message for you.” Achak removed a small gray rock from her robe’s pocket. The center pulsed with a faint white glow.
“A memory stone?” asked Niya.
“From your sisters.”
Niya’s throat tightened, and she took the stone. “Thank you.”
“They miss you.”
They miss you.
Three words Niya was starved to hear. Starved to say.
“I miss them,” she said. “Very much.”
“Come to me after you’ve broken it. We can capture one for them in return.”
“Have I mentioned that you ancient ones are my favorite?”
Achak smiled. “Not nearly enough.”
That night, Niya dressed for the feast that was to be held within the palace. In the quarters she shared with the other female crew members, they were brought a rack of clothes to change into. While many grumbled that they were too “delicate” to be useful, Niya’s skin thrummed with excitement at the prospect of wrapping herself in such finely woven garments. It had been far too long since she had been pampered, and her soul hungered for every bit of luxury she could slip between her fingers.
Picking a soft frock that wrapped at the waist and was dyed an ombré of yellow to red, Niya ran her hand down the material as it hugged her form. Her feet were bound in soft leather sandals before young girls came to do her hair and paint her skin, as was customary to celebrations in the valley.
Niya sat, enjoying the tickling of the brushes over her brows and along her arms, the warm glow of nearby fire in brass bowls bathing her in comfort. The room they occupied held no windows, but the ceilings were tall, keeping it from feeling claustrophobic. And drapery hung from corners, creating a tented atmosphere over beds.
“Do you like, miss?” one of the girls asked as they stepped back.
Niya peered at her reflection in the mirror before her.
Her skin looked luminous with the added gold paint swirling over her features, her hair in soft loose waves to her waist. Niya smiled, a flutter of pleasure running through her. She had not felt this beautiful in a very long while.
“I love it,” she said. “Thank you.”
The girls bowed before collecting their items and slipping out of the room.
“You coming, Red?” asked Bree from where she stood by the door with Therza.
It appeared they were the last of their lot still in the room.
“I’ll catch up with you in a bit,” said Niya. “I have a few more details I’d like to add to my outfit.”
“You’re covered in details,” said Therza. “Any more and you’d be hidden away.”
“Nevertheless, I’ll see you there,” she added, patiently waiting for her companions to finally make their exit.
When alone, Niya turned back to her dressing table, where her robe from the bathhouse was folded up on the side. She dug into the pocket, taking out the memory stone.
Her heart leaped as she brushed a thumb over the smooth, glowing surface, and then with a whack, she broke it open on the table.
A cloud of smoke rose from the cracked center, swirling into a tight ball as two figures came into focus as if captured in the fog.
“Niya.” It was Larkyra, her white-blonde hair up in braids as she sat beside Arabessa’s darker form on their veranda in Jabari. “We hope you’re alive to get this.”
“Otherwise it would be a dreadful waste of our time,” added Arabessa.
They were looking straight at her, as if they were in a portal through the mirror in front of her. Niya ached to respond, to reach out and touch their hands folded in their laps.
“Achak thinks they’ll be seeing you soon to give you this,” explained Larkyra.
“And you know if Achak believes something to be true, it must be,” said Arabessa.
“Have you gotten us into more trouble?” asked Larkyra.
“She can’t answer us, dear, remember?” admonished Arabessa. “We just have to talk at her.”
“What a novel idea,” mused Larkyra, thumb to her chin. “Niya unable to talk back?”
“Shall we say words to incite her?”
A spark of mischief lit up in Larkyra’s gaze as she said, “I hope you don’t need us to come save you again.”
“Or pay any more of your debts.”
They each grew quiet then.
“We do hope you are well.” Larkyra leaned forward, brows coming together. “And that you haven’t singed too much of Alōs’s ship with your fire.”
“Or not enough of it.”
“Oh yes,” said Larkyra. “I like that better. Burn it all down and come home! The house is too quiet without you.”
“The kingdom not nearly as dangerous.”
“Father won’t let us perform.”
“Which is best.”
“Yes.” Larkyra nodded dutifully. “It wouldn’t be the same without you.”
“But as soon as you’re home . . . ,” Arabessa added.
“As soon as you’re home,” echoed Larkyra.
Niya swallowed, tears threatening to break free. She wanted to gather her sisters in her arms and never let them go.
“Darlings?” a deep voice called from out of frame.
“We are on the veranda, Father!” Arabessa turned, looking through a faint door behind them. Niya could just make out the manicured bushes that lined their glass doors.
“My songbird, my melody.” Her father walked into view. “I was seeing if you girls wanted to come with me to—oh, Achak, I didn’t realize we—”
“We are making a memory stone for Achak to give to Niya,” explained Larkyra. “Say hello, Father.”
Niya couldn’t stop the tears now. They streamed, unchecked, down her face. She’d known she missed her family, but she hadn’t realized just how badly until she saw them. Saw them, but could not touch, could not hug.
Dolion bent down between the girls, face bulging forward at where Achak must be sitting tranced and listening. “The flame of my heart,” he said. “I hear you have gotten yourself into quite the pickle with a pirate.”
“Father, you needn’t be so close to Achak.” Arabessa tugged the large man back. “Just sit right here, between us, yes, like that. Perfect.”
All three of them peered at Niya then, Dolion squeezed in between her sisters. They looked happy. Niya pushed away the prickle of jealousy. She’d be with them soon enough.
This was the first time Niya had seen her father since her betrayal had been revealed. A wave of shame and longing flowed through her. What did Dolion truly think of his careless daughter who’d broken the only rule they ever were meant to follow?
“I am not angry with you, my flame,” said her father, as if reading her thoughts. “I know any punishment or disappointment would be nothing compared to what you have already put yourself through for all these years. I merely wish you had come to us earlier. I taught you girls to take care of yourselves, but that does not mean you need to do everything alone.”
Alone. But that was how Niya always found herself. Alone in a room. Alone with her mistakes.
“When is your magic most powerful?” he asked the group.