Leaning against a lamppost, she watched the stream of citizens strolling by. The docks were filled with the sweet fragrance of honey pies and coffee from a nearby vender. Niya’s stomach grumbled loudly.
“This is maddening,” she mumbled, marching away and straight up to the nearest masked merchant. “I’ll take three pies, and don’t even bother wrapping one of them up.”
She paid with what little silver she had acquired as part of the Crying Queen’s crew and hardly took a breath as she devoured the crumbly delight. “By the lost gods,” she moaned, savory flavors exploding across her taste buds. Niya was about to open her bag for the next pie when the tingle of familiar energies played over her skin.
Swiveling around, Niya searched the crowd, her heart picking up speed.
The world seemed to stop as she saw them. Two figures walked toward her. One wore an immaculate purple three-piece pantsuit with a black cloak and top hat, while the other was wrapped in a pale-green dress that flared dramatically at the waist, a matching veil covering her hair. Each had on a marble black eye mask, and together, arm in arm, they appeared like a genteel couple out for a stroll.
Despite their disguises, Niya would know them anywhere, for their energy was her own.
Niya ran toward them, her food forgotten on the street as the three collided with squeals of delight. Well, Arabessa didn’t quite squeal as much as Larkyra and Niya.
“Achak got word to you?” Niya hugged them close, inhaling each of their scents. Lavender and rose.
Home.
She was home.
They were her home.
“Achak did,” said Larkyra, pulling back to look at Niya. Her blue eyes shimmered behind her mask. “And we’ve been strolling the docks every day since, waiting for the Crying Queen to come to port. Oh, sister, look how much of a pirate you’ve become! You’re practically freckled all over.”
Niya’s heart was overflowing, almost painfully, at finally being reunited with her sisters. She hardly knew what to say, do. “New shoes?” she deflected, glancing down at Larkyra’s silver-heeled boots.
“A gift from the duke.” Larkyra pointed her toe out. “Do you like?”
“He spoils you.”
“As he should.”
“I miss new shoes.” Niya sighed. “And being spoiled.”
“I’m glad your vanity has survived your sentencing,” said Arabessa.
Niya shot her eldest sister a grin. “All my glowing personal attributes are still much alive. It’s my physical ones that I’m afraid have been threatened.”
“Yes.” Larkyra flapped her hand under her masked nose. “You smell rather . . . fragrant now.”
“And my hair is a rat’s nest.”
“Well, it has always been in the mornings.”
“And my hands are dry and scabbed.”
“At least they now match your feet.”
Niya swatted Larkyra on the arm, but despite the insults, Niya laughed. The sensation was freeing as it burst from her lungs. It had been far too long since she’d laughed like this.
“I think the real difference is in your energy,” Arabessa mused, her blue eyes assessing beneath her mask. “You now seem . . .”
“Tired?” Niya suggested.
“More mature,” finished Arabessa. “You’ve seen much in these few months.”
Niya waved away the seriousness in her sister’s voice. She did not want to go there. Not yet. “Few months? It has been at least three hundred years since I’ve last seen you,” she corrected. “I mean, look”—Niya pointed toward Arabessa’s coiled black locks—“is that gray starting to sprout at your temples?”
“Nice try,” said Arabessa haughtily, smoothing back her perfectly tucked-up raven locks. “Whatever has happened,” she continued, “I’m glad your travels have led you here, my love. We were sure it would be a full year until we saw you again.”
“With the way things are going, it might have been two,” she found herself admitting.
“Two?” Larkyra’s gaze widened behind her disguise. “You must tell us everything. Achak was rather vague in their information.”
“Lord Ezra,” Arabessa announced, the group turning to find the pirate approaching.
“Ladies.” Alōs inclined his head. “It is good to see you both looking so well.”
“And it is good to find our sister still in one piece.”
“With her aboard, I fear it is my crew you should have been more worried for.”
“Indeed,” agreed Arabessa, assessing the pirate. “I can hardly believe your boat does not display a single singe mark.”
“It seems your sister chose to leave her mark by relieving me of a few of my crew instead.”
“Truly?” Arabessa glanced to Niya. “I guess she always has fancied herself as valuable as three or four men combined. She probably did not see them as a loss to lose.”
“Yes,” said Alōs with a grin. “On that we can agree. She does think rather highly of herself, doesn’t she?”
“I thought we were in a hurry.” Niya glared between her eldest sister and the pirate. “Or would you like to stand around all day sharing more of my faults?”
“If that is an actual option . . . ?” asked Larkyra with a smile.
The sound of Alōs’s husky laugh did nothing to improve Niya’s suddenly declining mood. It was one thing for each party to poke at her from their separate corners; it was another entirely to find the odd pairing commiserating together.
“I leave you three to it, then.” Niya turned, heading up the cobble road to town.
Alōs was by her side in two long strides. “I thought you were more cooperative when you had food. Or do you still need to eat the other pies you bought? Though I fear they aren’t as good now on the ground.”
She chanced a glance, catching his amused grin.
It only made her frown more.
“And I thought we were to go to the fountains immediately.”
“We will accompany you there as well,” said Arabessa as she and Larkyra caught up to them. “And you will not argue, Lord Ezra.” She raised her hand, stopping his interjection. “It is the least you can do after taking away our dear sister.”
“As much as I wish to argue against your point,” he began, “it has been a very long voyage, and I don’t desire this day to be wrought with any more difficulties.”
“Wise man.” Arabessa nodded. “Now let us hurry. It is midday, which means there is bound to be a line forming.”
The Fountains of Forgotten Memories were at the center of the Gazing District, where an array of beautiful temples lined the streets. The fountains were the most ornate, however, in an exposed marble pavilion with dozens of columns holding up a stained glass dome. The scenes above were said to have been childhood memories of the architect. It was a mixture of serene blue skies with blooming flowers and dark stretching forms looming over the fields as if soon to cover them completely in shadows. A multitude of glowing pools lined the rotunda, where indeed queues, four to be exact, curled around the space. Keepers stood at the helm of each pool, attending customers one by one.
It took a full sand fall for them to finally reach a Keeper of the Cup. Theirs was a round figure whose identity was hidden beneath drapes of white robes, their hands wrapped in gauze. They sat on a cushioned pillow before their small glowing basin of water. Alōs stepped forward and placed two silver coins into the jar by their feet, which was already brimming with past payments.
“Who will be drinking?” asked a raspy voice.
“I will,” answered Alōs.
“You have skin, bone, nail, or hair?”
“Hair.” Niya pulled forth Queen Murilia’s small gray braid, handing it to Alōs.
The Keeper dipped a ladle into the glowing blue water, sending ripples across the surface, and poured the liquid into a large goblet resting on a side table. They took the braid from Alōs, lit it on fire, and dumped the ash in the drink, swirling as they did. “Drink.” They extended the chalice to Alōs. “All of it,” they urged as he pulled away, choking on the flavor.
Niya had visited the fountains once before, when she and her sisters had been gifted a lock of their mother’s hair by their father for one of their birthdays.