It was her mother’s? A pang of hungry longing entered Niya’s chest then, as it did anytime she learned another piece of the puzzle that was her mother.
“She said when she touched it,” continued her father, “it helped ground her. Helped give her pause when she felt lost in her emotions or thoughts. ‘It allows me to find my way,’ she would say.” He smiled softly. “It was also a good tell for when she was growing angry with me. I knew when to back off if her fingers gripped this.”
“Perhaps you could find a similar talisman, Niya?” suggested Arabessa. “It would have to be larger than a mere pin, however. Maybe a thick bracelet? Or three?” She grinned. “Mother may have had a temper, but I doubt it rivaled the volcano you house within.”
Niya’s gaze snapped to Arabessa’s, her powers once again wriggling hot in her veins.
“Well,” said Zimri to Dolion, “there went that nice moment.”
“You cannot say I didn’t try.” Her father shrugged.
“You know,” began Niya, “Larkyra never complained of my temper.”
“Not to your face,” quipped Arabessa.
Niya’s hands grew warm as her magic surged to her palms. Burn, it whispered.
Arabessa must have noticed Niya’s sudden shaking control, for she lifted a manicured brow as if to say, See, volcano.
Niya bit back a growl.
“Fine,” she said, forcing a lightness into her tone. “As it appears we are handing out observations of others, then, my dear Ara, here is some sisterly advice: if you like someone”—Niya pointedly glanced between her and Zimri—“try not to insult them.”
Arabessa’s eyes widened and her cheeks reddened as Niya turned from the group.
She strode quickly through the high-ceilinged halls, to the lower levels of their home, thoughts fuming.
How dare Arabessa, she thought. I may have certain . . . quirks, but so does she! Plus, perfection was not something they’d been raised to admire. Scars, struggles, and flaws made one interesting. Niya was how she had always been, and now it was an issue? “No,” she grumbled, “I will not change, not for anyone.” There was too much of that happening these days anyway.
And as her father had pointed out, her mother had held passion too. If anything, she was proud to share a trait with a woman who had been so well respected as Johanna Bassette.
If she could live with such fire, so can I.
Taking a deep breath in, Niya’s coiled muscles eased slightly as she found her way down to the kitchens and caught sight of a familiar form by the back door.
“Charlotte,” called Niya, hurrying over to her childhood lady’s maid as she was clasping on a cloak. “If you are going out, I’d like to join you. I’m in need of fresh air.”
The stout woman eyed her uneasily. “I’m not going for a stroll, my lady, but to the market.”
“Perfect. I love the market.”
“Then you agree to carry a basket?”
“Of course.”
“That will grow heavy as the day goes on?”
“I’m strong.”
“Which you’ll eventually have to lug back from the Trading District. Uphill.”
“By the lost gods,” exclaimed Niya. “Am I considered both hotheaded and lazy?”
Charlotte dutifully remained mute, which ultimately served as Niya’s answer.
“This entire household is tiring!” Niya swung on a thin cloak that hung by the door before snatching up an extra basket. “So I lose my temper on occasion. That hardly makes me a monster.”
“Uh . . . of course not, my lady.” Charlotte worked her old legs to keep pace with Niya as they exited the shaded servants’ entrance to the back gate.
“Have I not shown I also have redeeming parts to my character?” asked Niya. “I can be warm and calming and kind and charming and—”
“Humble,” added Charlotte.
“Yes, exactly!” agreed Niya. “If any of us were to be criticized for our demeaner, it most certainly should be Ara. I mean, look at the way she organizes the items on her vanity. She uses a measuring stick, Charlotte, a measuring stick.”
“Yes,” said Charlotte. “Who do you think fetched it for her?”
“Pfft, precisely. I’d rather take a hot head over an uptight arse.”
“My child.” Charlotte placed a gentle hand on Niya’s arm, causing her to slow. “I do not know what has gotten you into such a tizzy—”
“I am not in a tizzy,” huffed Niya.
Charlotte’s gray brows lifted.
“Fine, I’m tizzying, but you would be, too, if your character was so hunted down by Arabessa as mine was this morning.”
Her lady’s maid watched her closely as they walked. She had raised the three Bassette girls since infancy and was more of a grandmother than a maid. And like all their staff, she knew the secrets they kept, for the Bassettes in turn kept theirs, their house becoming a sanctuary of sorts for the few gifted in Jabari. “Usually you enjoy sparring with your sisters,” said Charlotte.
“I always enjoy it.”
“You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself now.”
Niya thought on that. “No, I suppose I am not.”
“Why not?”
“I . . . don’t know. I guess, lately . . . it’s just not the same . . .”
“Without Lady Larkyra?”
“I’m being silly,” said Niya, grasping her basket tighter. When had she become so sentimental?
“You girls are many things,” explained Charlotte, “and yes, silly is most assuredly one, but showing your loyalty and love for one another should not be included in that. It’s okay to miss your sister.”
Niya felt a twinge of discomfort at being read so easily. But Charlotte was right, of course. She did miss Larkyra. Not that she would ever tell her sister. By the Obasi Sea, Niya would never hear the end of it!
Still . . . Larkyra was the youngest, recently turned nineteen. How was she married and moved out of the house already?
“If you ask me,” continued Charlotte, “you all have grown much too quick. But it’s to be expected, I suppose. You three are not like most.”
“Thank the lost gods for that,” said Niya. “Being like most is boring.”
Charlotte chuckled as they entered the Trading District, where the marble mansions from the higher ring of Jabari were replaced with brick merchant buildings, the street growing thicker with citizens scurrying to acquire goods. Shouts of prices rang over their heads from various street venders, the smells of smoked fish and roasted nuts mixing in the air.
“So our little bird may have flown the nest,” said Charlotte as she stopped to pick through a stall of mushrooms. “But so will all of you in time. After all, you are one and twenty and Arabessa three and twenty.”
“Charlotte.” Niya raised her brows in mock horror. “Don’t you know it’s rude to discuss one’s age?”
“You mention mine daily.”
“Nonsense. No one knows how truly ancient you are.”
“The point I am trying to make,” continued her lady’s maid, eyes beady as she paid the vendor and they walked on, “is that I have watched you Bassettes adapt to many things, only growing stronger. Though home might appear different now, none of your duties are. You will always have your responsibilities to keep you together. Plus, you have me and the rest of the staff. Most of us are too old to go very far.”
Niya smiled at the wrinkled woman, a bit of her melancholy lifting. “You’re right.”
“Always am,” tutted Charlotte.
Letting out a laugh, Niya continued to follow Charlotte around the market, the ache in her chest easing as she replayed the old woman’s words. She and her sisters would always have their duties to bring them together. In Jabari, but especially in the Thief Kingdom.
The Mousai, after all, were inseparable.
As the morning slipped into afternoon, Niya and Charlotte split up to fetch the final items on the list. And after leaving the seamstress, Niya decided to treat herself to a rice square, which she sat to eat in the Maker’s Courtyard. It was her favorite spot in the Trading District, where she slipped onto a shaded bench facing a large fountain that glistened refreshingly under the heat.