Song of the Forever Rains (Mousai, #1)

by E.J. Mellow

But when one grew to be as old as them, such emotions held space and time less and less, and soon the melancholy was dashed away, a slip of a grain through a sandglass.

“Most things in this world are obtainable, my sweets,” said Achak, turning to place a hand against the onyx wall beside them, Larkyra perched on his hip. “And those that aren’t . . . need only to be found through a door that will take you to another.”

“Yes, I’m sure. But remember, to appreciate what we have, be reminded why we do what we do, we must experience the alternative. It is important to practice restraint in our gifts, for most are not as lucky as we.”

“One may be beautiful,” she began, “rich, poor, young, blessed with magic or not, a sinner or virtuous, and the gift of life is still given to us all, just as death comes for us all.”

“That no one is worthier of being given life than any other,” said Larkyra eventually. “Not even the generous over the horrible?” asked Dolion. “Not even them.” She nodded. “You or I may feel differently, but life certainly doesn’t care enough to change. A hero may die in squalor, a villain in wealth.”

“Yes, dear. You made that quite clear, but for what purpose? For someone who does quite a lot of squawking in regard to the man, you like to keep him and his whereabouts rather close.” “Squawking?” “Yes, just like that. Thank you for demonstrating.” Niya all but growled.

When enough of something is lost in a society’s collective memory, the energy holding it in existence falls away, like water through a sieve, simply causing it to become No More. It’s pulled into a hole that swallows any realm, place, or thing that has been forgotten.”

“It’s in the past now.” Achak leaned into her chair. “Only there to learn from, not dwell.”

‘Why must I only like a thing that looks good on me? Can I not love it for being beautiful on the rest of the world?’”

The material of his top was so worn that it was practically transparent, while his leather boots were slopped with mud. He looked positively feral. Oh my. Despite the cool air, Larkyra grew rather warm and, surprisingly, a bit flustered.

He does not trust us, she thought. Something about us must threaten him. Lies and I are well acquainted.

Larkyra blinked. She wanted to yell, You just tortured your stepson, in front of a room full of people. With soup.

“She is my mother.” Larkyra cut him off. “As she is ours.” Arabessa’s gaze was gentle. “Yes,” said Larkyra, her stomach twisting in that forever guilt, “but it is because of me she is in there.” “Larkyra,” said Niya and Arabessa at once. “You cannot think such a thing.” Her eldest sister reached out to squeeze her hand in earnest. “But I do.” The words came out tired as Larkyra’s familiar guilt twisted like a dagger in her chest. “And I will have no peace until I can apologize.” “Darling.” Niya pulled her into a hug. “We did not know you felt this way.” Arabessa’s added embrace pulled them tighter. “No one blames you for what happened.” “I do.” Larkyra stepped back, forcing away the tears that wanted to fall free. “I blame me. It was my scream that took her breaths away. My birth. Tell me how that is not truth?”

“Your mother and I knew what fate we might bring before your birth, and though I miss her with every sand fall, you are one of the best gifts the lost gods gave us.”

“I had gone to visit friends in the north, where the weather turned unseasonably cold, and I fell into a severe fever. By the time I returned home, there was a great possibility I might lose you. Achak helped me make a tonic to quicken your arrival, though we both knew it put me at risk. Childbirth is a difficult thing, Larkyra. And while your first screams were filled with much untamed magic, the only thing they did was help ease my pain as I held you in my arms before the Fade took me.”

“The road to anything truly worth having is often steep, but think of the view when you get there.”

How could the simple act of stringing certain words together change the very shape of a soul?

“Oh, please,” scoffed Niya. “You wouldn’t know the first thing about what to do with someone like me.” “On the contrary.” Alōs’s glowing stare grew dark. “I could think of too many things to do with you, my fire dancer. Especially regarding my crew.” The room grew incredibly hot incredibly fast. “Not if there is no longer a ship to keep them.” Orange sparks jumped between Niya’s bound fingers, and the pirate chuckled a dark laugh of delight. Do your worst, he seemed to say.

Darius cut off her words with a kiss. One that he had been resisting for too long now.

This woman, Darius realized, allowed him to hope for a future.

“You have been my first thought every morning since the day I saw you out on that road in the rain, standing like some resurrected lost god,” he said, a new fire lighting his features. “You have been the first to show me the beautiful magic that still lives in our world. You have been the first to give me hope since my parents’ death. And you, my darling, are the first to have started my heart beating again.”

“I love you, Larkyra.” Everything stopped. The wind. The birds chirping. The tide. “Pardon?” Darius stepped closer. He grasped her hands and, removing her gloves, laid a gentle kiss on her fingers. “I love you,” he repeated. “Foolishly so. Desperately, even. I do not want you to leave. In fact, I may kidnap you if you try.”

“Of course I love you, you foolishly desperate man.”