Symphony for a Deadly Throne (Mousai, #3)

by E.J. Mellow

But the best part is that with a switch of a disguise, we can be reborn. Tomorrow you could be someone else entirely than who you are tonight.

And never would be. The Fade was selfish and would not easily part with the dead.

Many stories surrounded the king, most ruthless, terrifying aplenty, but his origin was lost to the No More. Swallowed up by the abyss that collected stories no longer told.

It appeared the only concern the citizens of his kingdom had was that it remained as it always was: welcoming of every creature, depravity, desire, sin, and lost gods’ gift Aadilor had to offer.

He rules over a world too wild for the rest of Aadilor to appreciate.

Despite her heavy costume, a cold mist had fallen upon her skin as she stared up at the new bright stars, her sisters by her sides in the palace gardens. Her magic had purred in welcome delight as it soaked in the dusting. Home, it had whispered. Our creators. A bit of the lost gods turning over.

Arabessa was late. She was also flustered. Two states of being she abhorred.

The problem with being an empath was that you couldn’t ignore what you caused others to feel.

Her baby sister, Niya, was a handful at one, leaving their nurse preoccupied with controlling a soul set on being uncontrollable. A perfect time, of course, for Arabessa to slip away to where she should not.

Nothing made a soul hungrier for riches than the taste of starvation still lingering on its tongue.

“My life is mine and mine alone. It’s not as though I am hurting anyone. Well, unless they ask to be,” she finished with a distracted grin.

Thank the lost gods for fickle sisters, she thought.

Her violet eyes spun with worlds not found in Aadilor. “You will be magnificent,” she said. “You are magnificent.”

“We may be your sisters,” explained Niya. “But do not forget, we are also thieves. Breaking into a hidden safe is too tempting to deny.”

Trust reveals. The secret to learning another’s truth. “You will be a great Thief King,” proclaimed Larkyra.

Arabessa was not killing the Mousai; she was freeing them. At this realization, a wave of peace settled over her, exhausted relief.

Arabessa had given up one of her greatest gifts instead of robbing him of his choice in loving her.

Our king, the voices proclaimed once again before diving into Arabessa’s chest.

The closest this world would ever come to experiencing daylight. The residual dusting of fresh magic glittered through the streets and mixed with the drunken revelry.

Her soul was made from the rock and dirt of this kingdom, a thief to items no one thought could be stolen: desires.

Arabessa’s magic crooning in similar sorrow. How shall we make music now? How shall we soar?

She had stopped wearing a disguise within the kingdom, and her white skin shone luminescent in the candlelight, the scar along her cheekbone only enhancing everything interesting about her.

“You’re idiotic,” stated Larkyra as she sipped her tea. “I agree,” added Arabessa. “Especially since Lark and I are more than capable of causing injury to you now.” She flashed her teeth with her smile.

She was ruler to this kingdom, savior to her people, and historic myth who dwelled within a hidden caved world.