Though he had many tasks to accomplish in the next few sand falls, he found himself remaining on the corner of the street, watching the group’s retreating forms, eyes always seeming to fall to the redhead in the center.
With unease, Alōs realized he was beginning to feel a strange kinship with the fire dancer. One that existed beyond attraction or goals but came from an understanding that each had a tether to a duty they’d been born into rather than chosen. A duty to family that, despite the weight it often placed on their shoulders, they could not and would not walk away from. And while he believed this to be a weakness in himself, he found he admired it in Niya. She did not hide what she cared for but burned hot and in the open for her convictions. How freeing that must be.
Something nagged in Alōs’s gut. Careful, it whispered, his magic stirring in agreement.
Careful.
What Alōs wasn’t sure of, however, was if the warning might be too late.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Alōs glided through the halls of the dark palace, senses on high alert at walking in a space where he knew very well he still was not welcome. His banishment might have been lifted, but his presence at court was far from reinstated. He was only allowed entrance tonight through a personal invitation from the Mousai. With attention locked forward, he ignored the red gaze of the stone guardians standing sentry as they turned their heads, following every one of his steps.
The palace was busy tonight. Court members lined the high-ceilinged space, tucked between protruding onyx spikes that rose from the ground or dangled dangerously from above. Their disguises dripped their usual extravagance. Exotic fur-lined coats, suits of scales, and woven silk lace over plush feathered gowns took up all corners.
Yet despite how opulent they appeared, all eyes were on him this night as he strode through the crowd.
Here walked the man who had been hunted by the Thief King and survived.
“Captain Ezra.” A stout bloke in a silver-studded mask slid to his side, hurrying to keep pace with Alōs’s long strides. “We did not think you’d grace these halls again.”
“And why was that?” he asked, not stopping to give this man, or anyone, his full attention.
“Because of the bounty on your head, of course. Are you here to talk with our king?”
Alōs held in a long-suffering sigh. He had no desire for peacocking tonight.
“That depends,” he began. “Are you willing to hear the answer in exchange for your tongue?”
The man laughed as though Alōs had told a great joke. “As always, you surpass your colorful reputation, my lord.”
“And as always,” Alōs replied in kind, “you have no reputation for me to recall at all.”
Alōs left the frowning man behind, staring down any other brave fools who might dare approach.
The cavern where the Mousai usually performed was in the lower bowels of the palace, and Alōs could hear the roar of attendees before he pushed through the doors.
The space was already ripe with a heady mix of debauchery. Overperfumed bodies moved like a school of fish, rhythmically twisting from the tables of steaming food to the chairs and lounges to grope one another as strong spirits were poured in mouths through holes in their disguises. The circular balconies overflowed with a similar scene.
It appeared the rumor of the Mousai performing after so long had spread quickly and was greeted ravenously.
Alōs recognized the disguises of most of his crew amid the crowd, already heavy in their cups. They gorged themselves on plates of decadent treats, sprawled over furniture as companions of every shape and size rubbed up beside them.
He caught a glimpse of Achak on a balcony above. The twins were surrounded by an adoring audience. A young man tipped a goblet to their lips before licking away a bit of wine that spilled at the corner of their mouth.
Alōs pushed through the mass toward where his quartermaster stood, tucked away in a corner. Kintra wore an orange-beaded eye mask and long-sleeved tunic, which covered her markings, but he would know his friend anywhere.
“Tell me good news,” said Kintra as Alōs came to her side. She snatched him a goblet from a passing server.
“The old woman lost the jewel on Hallowed Island.”
Kintra was quiet for a beat. “I suppose that is good news.”
“Giant cannibals are good news now?”
“You could have told me you didn’t find anything in her memory.”
Alōs took a sip of his drink, savoring the sweetness against his tongue. “I never knew you to be such an optimist.”
“A trait that appears to have rubbed off from our redheaded friend. The dedication that one showed in the valley was rather reassuring. I might even be beginning to trust her.”
“A dangerous idea,” muttered Alōs, more to himself than to her.
“Really? And here I thought you’d be pleased to hear it. After all, you seem to put a great deal of trust into her. Where is she anyway? I assumed she would have arrived with you.”
Before Alōs could reply, the lights dimmed and a spotlight lit up the center of the room. Guests began to clear out of the way.
“My cue to leave.” Kintra drained her drink before setting it aside. “I’ll see you later on the Crying Queen?”
“I do not see why not.”
Kintra left him standing among the gifted to take a spot with the giftless, who were strapping themselves to the wall.
Alōs handed his cup to a server as his magic swirled awake in his veins. He had been to many of the Mousai’s performances, but even he was hard pressed to contain his thrill of anticipation.
The trio always had a different spectacle to perform, disguises to astonish. It left so many starved to take in the next overwhelming delight they had in store for the crowd.
His attention held to the center of the room, which now lay empty, as the low hum of male voices filled the cavernous space.
Guests shifted beside him, angling their heads for a better view as a group of large, fur-clad creatures pushed a stage to rest under the spotlight, chanting all the while.
In the middle of the dais stood three forms, dressed head to toe in tassels. Beastly fanged headdresses sat like crowns above their golden masks. They were wild even in their stillness, with a circling of drums around the tallest.
The chanting grew in height, the fur beasts stomping their feet until abruptly stopping.
The cavern rang out with anticipatory silence as the attendants slunk into shadows, leaving only the Mousai in the light.
Alōs watched, vibrating with the same tense energy that filtered across the crowd as the tallest Mousai lifted a hand, angling for the drums before her.
Thump thump.
She began to beat out a rhythm.
Thump thump.
The spotlight shifted from white to orange.
Thump thump.
Orange to red.
Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump.
Her arms floated through the air, moving across the stretched skins, pulsing out a trance.
Slowly a voice entered the rhythm, alto and soprano at once. Larkyra spun a chorus into her sister’s beats.
Then finally, as if everyone had been holding their breath for the final Mousai, Niya began to dance.
Her movements started low, a stomping of feet and quick twisting of hips to catch the heady beat. The tassels lining her costume jumped and spun, her magic spilling like bloody mist into the air to mix with her sisters and cover the crowd. Alōs kept utterly still as he sensed the group’s spell wash over him, the icy barrier of his own magic swimming to the surface of his skin to both shield and moan in delight.
Beautiful, his gifts whispered.
Play with us, the Mousai’s magic crooned.
Steady, Alōs commanded.
The room was slowly being captured. Bodies swayed next to him and voices rose behind, attempting to match the level of euphoria searing the space.
Tonight the trio spun magic so potent he didn’t dare take a breath.
The beat was a trance. The song an overdose. The dance carnality.
The Mousai performed unhinged, angling to take all present as their prisoners.
The only cure was to give in.