“Kaipo!” Larkyra ran to the creature. The sound of her voice stirred him awake, and he let out an echoing screech. “Have you kept him in here this whole time?” She quickly opened the cage and snapped off his blinders. His violet eyes spun until she laid a gentle hand on his back and cooed to him softly. “It’s me, old friend.”
Kaipo nudged her with his beak, his wings shuddering.
“He was given daily flights in the training dome,” explained her father. “I didn’t trust him out of the house. He would have gone straight to you.”
“As he should.” Larkyra stepped back, allowing the magnificent beast to hop out of his gilded prison to the floor. He stretched his massive silvery wings, sending a small windstorm through the room, rustling papers and stoking the fire in a high burst.
Kaipo adjusted to his new space, to the low ceilings and windowless walls, shrinking in size until he was no bigger than an average red-tailed hawk.
With a click of her tongue, Larkyra called him to perch on her forearm. “No more cages for you, my love,” she whispered. I am the only one who must suffer one, Larkyra finished to herself.
Kaipo was a rare breed, even within the splendor of Aadilor. A mutati hawk, Kaipo had the ability to change size to fit environments and purposes. Larkyra had never known where her father had found him, but as soon as he’d brought him home, Larkyra had felt her magic sing for the creature. And in kind, Kaipo had latched on to her as though he could hear her heart’s silent song. Given her gifts, Larkyra had a strange connection to songbirds, being able to mimic them perfectly. But her love for this hawk ran much deeper, and now Larkyra truly felt at home, reunited once more with Kaipo.
“Are you happy, my songbird?” asked Dolion.
Larkyra smiled as Kaipo nudged her finger to continue to stroke him. “Yes, very.”
“Good. And tonight, are you ready for it?”
Larkyra met her father’s blue gaze. “Which part?”
“All parts.”
“I’m more prepared for the second party than the first,” she admitted.
“You girls always are,” chuckled Dolion as he sat back in his chair, resting his hands atop his stomach. He looked like a grizzly ready to nap.
“Father, I am concerned regarding one detail, however.”
“Mmm, and what is that?”
“Lord Mekenna,” admitted Larkyra, her pulse quickening as her mind filled with images of the tall man. His kind smile. “I was in quite a messy state, but do you think he may recognize me tonight?”
Dolion’s gaze twinkled mischief in the firelight. “I guess we shall have to wait and see.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Lord Darius Mekenna was incredibly bored. But not for any lack of entertainment or splendor. This was the fifth Eumar Journé his stepfather had forced them to attend in the past two months, and the frivolity of young ladies had worn thin. It didn’t take a senseer for Darius to understand Hayzar’s intentions. After spending years as a widower, his stepfather was on the hunt for a new bride. And by the look of the grand estate they’d entered—with its multitude of halls filled with Aadilor’s far-reaching splendor and a ballroom housing highly influential guests—Hayzar wasn’t just looking for any new bride but a filthy-rich one.
The young lady being celebrated tonight certainly appeared to fit the bill.
While no king or queen ruled Jabari, a circle of six elite houses governed the city, and the Bassettes were among them.
If Darius believed such a marriage as this would help his people, he would be the first to champion his stepfather’s matrimonial bliss, but he knew better than most that none of Hazyar’s future bride’s dowry would find its way to Darius’s lands and tenants. No, the duke had a gift for making precious things disappear.
As he curled his gloved hand tighter around his drink, Darius’s chest burned hot as he thought of his people on the brink of starvation, their taxes too high, their produce and wares too low to make ends meet. All for the frivolities of another. Darius glanced across the wide ballroom to his stepfather, keeping a curl of distaste from marring his lips.
Where Darius preferred to blend in, Hayzar Bruin lived to blindingly stand out. Clad in a long-tailed periwinkle coat with black trim and a matching vest over a white starched shirt, his stepfather appeared every inch a well-to-do duke. Even his purple-soled shoes matched.
Appreciating details, he’d often say to Darius, is what separates the few who matter from the many who do not. Such lessons had been rare when Hayzar had first become Darius’s stepfather, but as the years had passed and his mother’s health had declined day by day, they’d become a ritual that she’d begged him to take seriously. In her final days, the only comfort his mother had seemed able to cling to was her belief that she’d leave him with some semblance of a responsible adult.
Darius held in a derisive snort.
Neither of them could have imagined how wicked and depraved that man would turn out to be.
Darius pushed down a new wave of fury mixed with heartache, thinking of his mother.
Why had the duchess bequeathed the estate to Hayzar instead of keeping to the natural bloodline of succession? Why hadn’t she left it to him? Darius often lay awake, staring into the darkness, as the churn of discomfort overtook him, wondering if he had disappointed his mother in some way during her final days. Had he not shown her the responsible man he was capable of becoming?
Surely she did not want our family’s lands to end up as they have, thought Darius.
This belief was what drove Darius to continue attending these affairs, to search for a solution to bring his lands back, restore them to the glory they’d once been when both his parents had been alive. For those were truly the only times Darius could ever recall being happy.
Letting out a deep breath, Darius sipped his wine, tasting nothing of its sweetness. His mind was preoccupied, thinking of the two meetings he had while in town. One Hayzar knew of but would most likely not attend, leaving Darius to secure the dreaded trade agreement with the Jabari Council. The other meeting Hayzar knew nothing about, but it was stars and seas more important than the first.
Darius had worked hard—and nearly gotten robbed in the process—to find a guide who would lead him to the place only spoken of in whispers, to the very man who ruled over the hidden world of magic and sin. That was, if the creature he’d traded with actually showed up tonight to lead him there. By the lost gods, thought Darius, I hope he shows. Otherwise, he’d be putting up with all this—Darius gave the slobbering partygoers a sweeping glance—for naught.
“Darius, you old goat.” A stout young man approached to slap him on the back.
Darius’s body seized at the abrupt contact, his skin leaping with his heart. He did not like to be touched unannounced.
“What a pleasure it is seeing you here,” said his old schoolmate, who was dressed in clothes one size too small.
Frez Chautblach had attended Aadilor’s South Academy with Darius, and while a nice enough fellow, he had the unfortunate gift of making the most interesting stories boring and the most boring stories damn near insufferable to listen to.
“Frez,” greeted Darius after settling his nerves. He had hoped sticking to the back of the room would give him some peace, but Darius was used to disappointments.