“I’m not stupid,” she said. “I don’t want to die, but the couple who adopted me is in the city, looking for me. I have to get them to safety first.”
Myrmeen felt a heavy weight rise from her heart, lodging deeply in her throat.
“Then I’m going to tell them I want to return to Arabel with Myrmeen,” Krystin said, “if she will have me.”
Staring at the girl in total surprise, Myrmeen whispered, “Of course I will. But I still need to know what happened to my daughter.”
“I understand,” Krystin said, taking the conversation no further. Reisz nodded and walked down the pier.
“Wait,” Myrmeen called, running after him. She stopped before Reisz, her chest heaving. “I just—I don’t know. You’ve been so good to me over the years, Reisz.”
“I know,” he said. “I’m a wonderful man.”
Her shoulders sagged.
“Let’s not beat it into the ground,” he said. “You know how I feel about you. Nothing’s changed.”
Reisz leaned in, kissed her, then turned and walked away. Myrmeen was speechless as she watched his receding form become swallowed by the shadows. Krystin and Ord came to her side.
“Do you think he’ll make it?” Krystin asked.
“I hope so,” Myrmeen said, but she knew why the girl was concerned. The storm promised to be terrible.
Night was almost upon them. Watch fires burned along the dock. Myrmeen was about to leave when she sensed a familiar presence. Someone was watching her. As if answering an unspoken summons, a woman eased from the shadows. It was Tamara. Myrmeen spun, blade in hand, as Ord and Krystin readied themselves for battle. The guardsmen who had been watching them had vanished.
“He seems like a good man,” Tamara said.
Myrmeen’s heart raced, but she could tell from the dark woman’s relaxed manner that no attack was pending. Tamara held out her hands to show that she carried no weapons.
“I thought we should talk,” Tamara said. “You see, the time you thought was yours is gone. The festival will commence tonight.”
“No,” Myrmeen said. She was certain she had a span of days ahead of her, time enough to fulfill Krystin’s mission and send the girl away to safety; time enough to do something for the children who were in danger.
“W; returned much earlier than you,” she said. “Listen. The opening movements of our grand composition have begun.”
From above Myrmeen heard the roll of thunder. Tamara spread her arms wide as she spun like a child, her head thrown back with a rapturous smile as the heavy wind blowing from the coast lifted her hair and ran through it with invisible fingers.
“By night we can ride the shadows, we can navigate the winds of darkness. A hundred strong, a thousand strong, we could breeze past you and steal the flesh from your bones with ease. Without a mage you would never sense us.”
Myrmeen wondered where the other members of the Night Parade were hidden. She had not forgotten that Tamara had tried to kill her; she also had not forgotten that the woman-spider had stepped back, allowing Myrmeen to live. An odd sensation had passed between them, something that Myrmeen desperately had tried to forget.
If Krystin is not my daughter, who is?
Recognition.
Impossible, Myrmeen thought as she stared at the lithe, dark-haired woman with red specks in her eyes. She looks too old to be my daughter. But, then, these creatures’ appearances often are deceiving.
A flash of pure white light shocked Myrmeen from her thoughts and she registered the sizzle of lightning as a bolt reached down from the darkened skies and struck a building a few blocks away. Krystin eased into her arms in a natural embrace. Myrmeen wondered if Tamara had killed the pair of guardsmen assigned to watch them or if the soldiers had run to get help. The latter was unlikely, as Tamara appeared completely human in this form.
“I know you’re thinking about running,” Tamara said as she made her final turn and stopped abruptly, her hair whipping around to obscure one side of her face. “If I meant you harm, you would know by now.”
Myrmeen tensed as thunder rolled again, louder, closer.
“I want to help,” Tamara said. “I was wrong about you. I was wrong about so much I believed about you.”
The fighter could not stop the flood of thoughts that filled her mind and might drown her if she were not carefuclass="underline" The Night Parade took my daughter. Krystin is not that child. Tamara could be. She has more of Dak in her, but she could well be my child.
“How do you expect us to believe you?” Ord said.
Tamara gazed coldly at the man. “What you do is of little consequence to me. My concern is for Myrmeen.”
“Why?” Myrmeen asked, shocked that the words had leapt from her mind to her tongue with so little restraint.
“I have my reasons,” Tamara said. “Do you hear it?”
The first drops of rain began to fall, heavy, violent splatters of liquid.
I’m dripping. Honey, I hate that.
Myrmeen shook the image from her nightmare away. Above, a blanket of storm clouds had covered the city. She thought of Reisz and knew that they had acted too late.
“The children,” she said, hoping there was time enough to find one orphanage and try to save the infants from the Night Parade.
“Yes,” Tamara said darkly, “the children will suffer this night if you do not listen to me.”
From somewhere far off Myrmeen heard the dulcet sounds of a harp intertwined with a sweet, joyous voice that was accompanied by a flute and the delicate reverberations of a triangle. The sounds were carried on the wind, and Myrmeen suddenly felt weak. As her knees turned to liquid and she fell, Myrmeen was vaguely aware of Krystin and Ord also succumbing to the lure of the strangely beautiful music, a lullaby more irresistible than any they had ever heard before.
Tamara snatched up the blade that Myrmeen had dropped. The music was not harming her. She slashed Myrmeen’s palm, then her own. Pressing her wounded hand against Myrmeen’s, Tamara threw her head back and repeated a phrase in an ancient language that humans could never speak. As their blood mixed, Myrmeen’s eyes fluttered and suddenly she pulled away from Tamara, scrambling back in fear and distrust.
“Bellophat’s music cannot harm you now,” Tamara said. “You will not be another human cow to be slaughtered. My blood has touched yours, as yours touched mine, long ago.”
Myrmeen did not have time to ask Tamara to explain her cryptic statement. “Protect the others, too.”
“As you wish,” Tamara said, taking Krystin’s and Ord’s palms and sharing blood with them. As Krystin and the last Harper shook off the sudden, numbing effects of sleep, they dragged themselves to their feet and stood beside Myrmeen, whose hand was outstretched to catch the rain.
Krystin touched Myrmeen’s arm. “The Devlaines.”
“Don’t bother,” Tamara said. “The Devlaines are dead. Doppelgangers have taken their place.”
Somehow, Krystin was not surprised to learn that Lord Sixx had lied and that he had murdered her adopted parents. What shocked her, however, was her own lack of emotion at the news that they were dead. She felt very little for these people, her memories of them hazy and indistinct. It would strike her later, she was certain of that. For now, her mind seemed willing to protect her from the shock.
“Bellophat,” Myrmeen said absently.
Vizier Bellophat promised us sustenance.
She had heard those words on the black ship that had been smuggling inhuman cargo into the city’s port. She remembered the monstrosity that could twist its body into instruments and produce sounds she had never heard before.
“We killed Bellophat,” Myrmeen said, “drowned him.”
“Not all of our kind need air to breathe,” Tamara said. “You inconvenienced us, that’s all.”
“The children,” Krystin said insistently.
“Yes,” Tamara agreed, “they are the most vulnerable. The only chance you have to save them is by killing Bellophat. If you silence his music, the people will wake and take arms against my kind. It is the only chance humans have this night. The festival is overdue, and Calimport will be gutted much worse than during the last storm.”