“Thank you, Charlotte,” said Arabessa, hooking the knives to the belt around the waist of her skirts. “You may escape now before the storm comes.”
“I’ve weathered worse havoc from you girls,” said Charlotte with a crooked grin.
Their lady’s maid was a tiny woman with vein-riddled hands, and though she was fragile in appearance, if provoked, Larkyra knew Charlotte could bring the burliest of men to their knees. A quality their father had no doubt ensured she had before hiring her to look after his three daughters. In fact, all the Bassette staff had a wide range of talents that some might say went beyond the normal duties of their job description. Each had been born with a level of the lost gods’ gifts and was free to wield their magic openly within these walls, which made Larkyra feel like their home was a bit of a sanctuary, a place where no one needed to hide who they were—a rarity in Jabari. For publicizing one’s magic often meant a life of persecution and displacement due to the perceived threat of having too much power. This created a steadfast loyalty between their staff and Larkyra’s family.
Larkyra’s chest warmed as she watched the small woman beside her sister, for Charlotte had taught the girls young that none were as devoted as those whose secrets you held safe.
“That might be true,” said Arabessa. “But seeing as Lark had a month to think up whatever travesty she’s now set in motion, it’s best we sisters deal with it on our own, in our own way.”
Larkyra watched as Arabessa danced a throwing knife through her fingers. “Maybe you should stay, Charlotte,” she began. “It would be best to have a witness.”
The old woman merely clicked her tongue in silent resignation, and with a wave of her hand, she straightened a crooked dagger on the far wall before taking her leave.
“You’ve cleaned up nicely,” said Arabessa as she walked to a display of thin fencing swords. “Skinnier, which is of course to be expected, but I also see you have returned not entirely intact.”
Larkyra’s injured finger throbbed harder, as if just as offended by her sister’s jab as she.
“All cannot be as perfect as you,” countered Larkyra.
“No,” mused Arabessa as she selected two swords from the rack. “But it’s good you can finally admit to it.” Arabessa lobbed one of the foils to Larkyra, who snatched the hilt from the air. “Hold it in your left hand,” she instructed.
Larkyra narrowed her eyes as she switched her grip, the feeling of it a bit awkward. But she gritted her teeth past the pain, curling her partially missing finger to be on display. As if to say, Yes, I can still hold a sword as well as you, with less than you.
“I’m not dressed to spar,” explained Larkyra.
“We are meant to practice in all sorts of apparel,” said Arabessa, gesturing to her deep-purple day dress with a high collar, her inky-black tresses pinned tightly into a neat, coiled bun. “Now, if you’re done making excuses . . .” Arabessa lunged toward Larkyra, her movements purposeful and fluid, as if the air held her music sheet, guiding each of her next strokes. This innate grace was due to her gifts with music, of course—Arabessa’s ability to expertly play any instrument made by man or creature—which left Larkyra a little annoyed whenever they were together. In comparison, she felt like a floundering, graceless chicken.
Larkyra fumbled back a step at her sister’s attack.
Her magic turned over, frustrated, in her gut, pushing Larkyra to tighten her grasp, using her pinkie and pointer finger to compensate for the loss of her steady hold before making a broad sweep forward.
Arabessa blocked her, feinting forward before stepping back.
As Arabessa’s blade clanked against her own, the vibration traveled all the way to Larkyra’s palm, threatening to loosen her hold. Larkyra set her shoulders and pushed back, willing her other fingers to do more of the work. They spun in a circle, Larkyra answering each of her sister’s advances with her own. She would have to learn to readjust a few things now, to accommodate her missing finger.
“You really know how to welcome a girl back,” said Larkyra. “I’ve missed you too.”
Arabessa quirked a grin before swiping a quick X and, with a flick, ripping Larkyra’s sword from her grip. It clattered to the ground beside them.
“You’re not as bad as I thought you’d be,” said Arabessa.
“Thanks?” Larkyra massaged the tender skin of her injured finger through the bandage. The pulsing ache was now an incessant beast.
“You’ll need to practice more, of course,” explained Arabessa.
“Of course,” replied Larkyra dryly.
“Now, come here.” Arabessa opened her arms, pulling Larkyra into a hug. “Welcome home, little bird.”
Though the youngest, Larkyra was as tall as Arabessa, and as she rested her chin on her sister’s shoulder, she inhaled the rose and vanilla that made up Arabessa’s signature scent.
“And happy birthday,” whispered Arabessa.
“Thank you.” Larkyra stepped back with a grin. “And happy day of birth to you as well.”
Arabessa waved an unconcerned hand. “Three and twenty is hardly anything to celebrate. But nineteen.” She beamed. “I cannot believe today is your Eumar Journé! I feel like it was merely yesterday when you were turning twelve. The house has been in a state for some weeks planning tonight’s party.”
Though Larkyra and her sisters shared the same birthday, on each of their Eumar Journés, as decreed by their father, each daughter would receive her own celebration to usher in her coming of age.
“Yes, Cook practically tackled me to the ground as I walked in the door to taste some of what’s on the menu,” said Larkyra. “But I must admit, I’m more excited for the celebrations after the party.”
“Agreed.” Arabessa nodded. “But enough about what hasn’t yet happened. Tell me everything that has, especially how you came to be sporting this beauty.” She raised Larkyra’s injured hand.
Larkyra quickly told Arabessa the tale of the emerald ring and the pawnshop owner’s wife.
“I’m surprised he didn’t take the whole hand,” declared Arabessa.
“That would not have fit the crime.”
“Punishments in the lower quarters hardly ever do.”
“True,” mused Larkyra. “But I’m not about to return to the man so he can correct himself. It already took too much strength not to scream him to shreds while he severed it.”
Arabessa’s gaze softened. “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.”
Her sisters had each gone through their own Lierenfasts a month before their Eumar Journés. It was a test no other noble family went through or knew the Bassettes practiced, but they had their own reasons for such things. As they often did.
“You sound like Father,” snorted Larkyra.
“Which is the highest of compliments,” said Arabessa. “Speaking of which, have you talked with him?”
A flutter erupted in Larkyra’s belly. “No, he hasn’t called me in yet.”