Smart move, thought Niya, for Arabessa could be quite the verbal viper, especially when she and Zimri sparred. Niya had her own theories as to why, not that she’d ever share them out loud. She valued her life, after all.
Zimri turned from Arabessa and sipped his tea, gazing out at the city’s red-tiled roofs stretching beyond their balcony. His thick black hair shone under the gentle rays, his purple morning coat vibrant against his black skin and the white flora decorating their veranda. Niya took a moment to study his wide shoulders and strong physique. It felt like only yesterday that their father had brought Zimri home, a skinny and quiet teary-eyed boy. Dolion had been good friends with Zimri’s parents, and upon their tragic death at sea, as Zimri had no other close relatives, their father had taken the lad under his wing and raised him as his own. The Bassette girls knew what it was like to lose a parent and had quickly shepherded the youth into their close circle. It was only natural he’d begun to shadow their father in his duties, growing into the role of the count’s right-hand man with utter seriousness. Sometimes to an annoying degree, thought Niya dryly. She already had an older sibling. She surely didn’t need two.
If only they all could have stayed the carefree children they had once been, running loose in Jabari and beneath the Thief Kingdom’s palace. For Zimri was one of the few who knew the secrets the Bassettes guarded behind spelled walls and within hidden cities.
Niya smiled to herself, quietly reminiscing about the earlier days when it had been all too easy to convince Zimri to sneak off with them, despite the reprimand they might receive if found out. A time before she and her sisters had been forced into other responsibilities regarding their gifts, and Zimri into his duties to help their father. And now this, more change. Niya glanced to the empty chair across from her, where Larkyra usually sat.
“How quiet our mornings now are with Lark gone,” mused Dolion.
A sharp twinge entered Niya’s chest at her father’s words, which were so close to her own thoughts. “She’s not gone, Father. Her room is just as it always is, ready for her to return.”
“You mean visit,” clarified Arabessa. “She does not live here anymore.”
“I know that.” Niya frowned. “But it’s not as though she’s in the Fade with Mother. She still lives.”
Silence filled the veranda along with a blow of guilt as Niya realized what she had said. “Sorry, Father, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine, my flame.” He waved his hand. “I know what you meant. Of course Lark is still with us. It’s merely an adjustment, not seeing all three of you girls together like always.”
“Darius and Lark could have moved in here, you know,” Niya pointed out.
Arabessa snorted into her cup. “Are you mad? Yes, I’m sure every duke who has a large kingdom and multiple castles would much rather abandon his homeland and tenants to take his brand-new bride to move in with his in-laws.”
“Well,” Niya said, tipping up her chin, “when you say it like that—”
“You realize how silly you sound?”
Niya’s magic stirred, hot, along with her temper. “I was only saying—”
“All right, you two,” said Dolion placatingly. “And to think I just admitted how quiet it now was.”
“Even with only one of them,” began Zimri, “it’s never quiet.”
Dolion laughed. “Too true.”
Niya shared a similar scowl toward both men as her sister.
“At least now, with the three of you no longer under one roof,” continued her father, “should I dare hope that there will be less scheming afoot within our halls?”
“You raised us as thieves and mercenaries,” explained Niya. “Scheming is inevitably afoot.”
Dolion’s russet brows rose, his long hair like a mane as it fed into his thick beard. “I would not reduce the role this family takes on for the people of Aadilor to such common titles as those.”
“Yes, yes,” appeased Niya. “We are noble thieves then, executioners with the highest of morals.”
“Indeed. When born with such gifts as you and your sisters are—”
“We must do what we can for those who are born without.” Niya finished her father’s constant rhetoric.
“Precisely.” He nodded, satisfied.
Niya sighed. At times she found her father’s stringent attitude toward their moral responsibilities tiring. Though she understood why he held so tightly to doing good in this world. Why he sent Niya and her sisters on missions to steal from the few wicked wealthy to give back to the many lacking innocents. He was making up for the sins that swam in a darker throne room, offsetting the orders and expectations placed on his children when they were disguised as the Mousai. For while Dolion was a count and doting father, he was also the creature who inspired cautionary tales. He was the Thief King. And for that he seemed to be forever atoning. But Niya understood that the Thief Kingdom existed to contain what would otherwise live chaotically throughout Aadilor. Her father played his parts because he needed to, and he raised his children to understand theirs.
Niya watched her father stroke his slowly graying beard, peering out to the city.
What burdens must weigh heaviest on him? wondered Niya, having a sudden urge to hug the man.
She was about to do just that, until she was seized with a sneeze.
And then another.
“Oh no.” Niya stood, searching the veranda.
“What’s wrong?” asked her father.
“Where is he?” growled Niya, holding a hand to her nose.
“Where’s who, dear?”
“Cook’s darn cat.” Niya glanced under her father’s chair. “Aha—achoo!” The orange beast was curled peacefully behind his feet. “Get out of here,” demanded Niya. “Oh, no you don’t. Don’t you dare rub your fur all over my new skirts, you—ouch!”
A hiss filled the air before a blur of orange streaked from under the table into the house.
“That vermin scratched me!” shouted Niya. “You know I’m allergic to cats, Father. Why did you allow Cook to keep that thing?”
“He was hurt and needed a home.”
“And now I am hurt and need it to leave.”
“He has left,” said Arabessa.
“You know what I mean! Either I stay or it leaves.”
“That’s only one choice,” Zimri pointed out.
“Precisely.”
“You really must calm yourself,” said Arabessa. “You’re making quite a fuss over nothing.”
Calm myself!
Niya crossed her arms, her magic jumping beneath her skin with her prickling irritation. “When you’re as allergic as I am,” she declared, “it is not nothing. So no, I will not calm down.”
“No surprise there,” muttered Arabessa.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing.”
“It didn’t sound like nothing.”
“Then you can add ‘hard of hearing’ to your ailments.”
“You all bore me.” Niya snatched up her shawl from her chair.
“My flame,” said her father, “your sister is obviously trying to rile you up.”
“And it worked.”
“As it usually does.” Arabessa sipped her tea.
“What does that mean?” snapped Niya.
“How do I put this delicately?” mused Arabessa. “You have an anger problem.”
“I do not!”
Neither her father nor Zimri nor Arabessa responded; they merely allowed the echo of her raised voice to bounce around their veranda.
“Okay,” she ground out. “Maybe I do, but what of it?”
“You know,” began her father, “your mother was also known to run hot on occasion.”
Niya blinked, the rising fight in her momentarily collapsing at the mention of her mother. Her father was not one to talk much of Johanna, even more than a decade after losing her following the birth of Larkyra.
“She did?” asked Niya.
“Mmm.” Dolion nodded. “In fact, it’s why she often wore this brooch.” His large fingers absently stroked the accessory adorning his jacket. It was a simple design of a compass, the gold worn as though it had been rubbed similarly for many years. Niya had seen her father wear the brooch before, but she had never given it much thought.