Larkyra’s mind swam with dark memories of the hard lessons Achak had forced upon her growing up, using Arabessa and Niya as targets.
The library was oppressively bright, every candle and candelabra lit, as if so Larkyra could see every consequence of her actions, every ounce of pain she forced into her sisters’ expressions.
“You must fill your intentions fully with your desire,” instructed Achak, standing behind her. “You must overwhelm your magic’s basic instinct to protect you by inflicting injury onto others.”
“I’m trying,” growled Larkyra, which only let loose a lash of yellow from her lips, striking Arabessa in the face.
Her sister hissed in pain but otherwise did not move from the chair she occupied beside Niya. A red thread of blood ran down her cheek.
Larkyra clamped shut her mouth, guilt overwhelming her as her magic swam hot and frustrated and angry in her throat. Be angry with me! yelled Larkyra silently to her powers. Not them!
“You must find your calm,” said Achak. “You must dig deep to spread it through you. Coax your power gently, as though it is a babe you do not wish to wake.”
Larkyra closed her eyes, trying to find this calm Achak spoke of, but her mind was soaring in every direction, her magic an angry flock of birds. She was meant to merely tie the ribbons on her sisters’ collars with a song, but in her frustration she had only managed to make both bleed.
The vision changed, swam to another, of the same library but a different day.
A scream echoed in the room, Niya gasping as she sat up from where she had been lying on the floor.
In a panic, Larkyra went to run to her, but Achak held her back.
“Again,” they demanded.
Larkyra shook her head. No! she pleaded with her eyes.
“Again,” they said. “Put them to sleep.”
Larkyra looked to her sisters, both panting with the nightmares she had unintentionally spun into their minds.
“If you cannot tame your power even on the ones you love, you have no hope of controlling it on strangers,” explained Achak.
Larkyra cut Achak a glare, very much wanting to set loose her powers on them.
Achak raised a dark brow. “We dare you,” said the sister, seeming to know Larkyra’s thoughts. “But hurting us will not help you hurt them any less.”
Larkyra looked back at her sisters. She was only six, Niya and Arabessa eight and ten, but they kept returning to these horrible sessions, standing stoically in front of her, encouragement and love in their eyes. Larkyra felt like the worst sort of monster. She had to learn control. She had to. It was either that or remain mute forever.
“You should be proud of your accomplishments.” Dolion’s words dashed away the images.
Larkyra sat once more in the firelit room with her father. Nevertheless, her head still swam with the haunting memories, and she took in a few calming breaths, settling her magic. “Achak was a good teacher,” said Larkyra eventually, making sure to keep the bitterness from her tone.
“And they would delight in your humble response.” Dolion’s gaze held to hers. “I’m sure that is a lesson in manners they wished Niya had taken to.”
“We all wish that,” said Larkyra, absently.
Her father laughed, rich and deep. “Yes, quite. But there is one other matter we must discuss.” Dolion sat up. “You used your magic before your Lierenfast was over.”
Larkyra’s attention refocused. “Yes,” she admitted, “but it was to help someone.”
“Were there not others you could have helped with your powers during your weeks spent in the lowers?”
“Perhaps, but—”
“And isn’t the point of your fasting to understand the injustice of those who do not have the lost gods’ gifts? That if you were to fight or to save, it would only be with the tools of your mind or your fists?”
“Yes, Father,” said Larkyra tightly. Being magically perfect was more than beginning to wear on her, but as always, she had to remain calm. “But I was on my way home, you see—my Lierenfast was basically over. And you know I kept my magic in for weeks prior, kept it buried and tamed even when my finger got chopped off. With a dull blade, I might add.” She lifted the object of discussion. “I think my actions did no harm but good. Especially considering the man I helped is a guest for my party tonight, even though I have never heard of such a one as Darius Mekenna of Lachlan.”
To this Dolion remained quiet.
Suspicion crawled over Larkyra. “Father, who is Darius Mekenna of Lachlan?”
“As you just said, a guest.”
“Yes, but why do I have a feeling he’s meant to be more than that?”
“He’s not really my concern, more his stepfather,” admitted Dolion. “Hayzar Bruin, the Duke of Lachlan.”
“Darius is a lord?” Larkyra blinked. That explains his fine clothes, she thought. What it didn’t explain, however, was why a lord had been in the lower quarters—and more so, why he had been so civil toward her, dirty and bleeding as she was, given his high rank. “Are they old acquaintances of the family?” asked Larkyra. “I’ve never heard of this Lachlan.”
“The Lachlan territory is in the southeast of Aadilor, near the rivers that lead into the Obasi Sea. Lord Mekenna wrote to the Council on behalf of his stepfather about a possible trade treaty regarding minerals they are able to mine. The Council has arranged to meet with him and the duke this week, and it happened to fall during your Eumar Journé.”
“So my birthday is to also be a business meeting.”
“Nothing is ever one thing,” Dolion reminded her.
“Indeed,” she agreed. “So what else is this meant to be with the lord and his stepfather?”
Dolion studied her a moment, and Larkyra could tell he was wondering how much to share so soon. “The Thief King has suspicions that the duke may be indulging in illegal drugging. The siphoned-magic variety—phorria.”
“So?” said Larkyra with a frown. “People indulge in that all the time in the Thief Kingdom.”
“Yes, but the Thief King has no records of the duke ever entering the Thief Kingdom,” explained Dolion. “Which begs the question: Who in the kingdom is bringing drugs to him? Dealings such as these are forbidden outside the city.”
“Why?” countered Larkyra. “If it’s allowed to be practiced within, why does it matter if it’s out here as well?”
Dolion let out a sigh, and Larkyra swallowed the sting of seeing that he was disappointed in her.
“There’s a purpose to the Thief Kingdom, my dear,” said Dolion, threading his fingers together across his stomach. “And that’s to contain the chaos as much as possible. If you want to trade stolen goods, fine, but bring them to the Shadow Market. If you want to pump poison into your veins, be our guest, but do it within the walls of a den, where it can be monitored, controlled. Once these things leak outside, that is when true havoc reigns. And more often than not, wars begin. Though he is ruthless, the Thief King is not a fan of war.”
“No,” agreed Larkyra. “That I know he is not. So given this, will the duke be our next mission?”
Dolion waved an unconcerned hand. “All is currently rumor. We will know more when we have more. For now, let us talk of better things. Like your present. Would you like it?” he asked as he stood and walked to a large wooden armoire in the corner. With a lift of a gold latch, her father swung open the doors, revealing a massive ash-gray hawk, easily half Larkyra’s height, perched within a silver cage.