Author's Preface
As my date.
Those three words had played through Jysarra’s head through the rest of the night into the early morning hours. Every time she recalled them a ridiculous smile pulled across her lips despite her every effort to stop it. She was powerless against this girl and she wasn’t even in her presence any longer. Jysarra had never been undone like this in her long life. And she was falling apart at the seams because of a fresh-faced rich girl with eyes that glittered like emeralds in the early morning light. Worse still was the infuriating way she always seemed to look directly through every wall Jysarra tried to build.
And she didn’t want it to stop. That itself was maddening because one thing had been certain all her life.
Jysarra Kil’rahel.
Did.
Not.
Fucking.
Yearn.
Jysarra had remained true to her word after finally parting with Kyra. She had returned to the Dancing Dell and spurred her sisters to action, meeting no resistance, not even from Silmariën. They had unfortunately found no sign of the Faceless or Mairen, but Jysarra did recover her sword and Kyra’s jacket. They had also found Ragnar cowering in a darkened corner begging for a merciful death. His request was not granted.
Now Jysarra found herself back on the Tradeway walking with purpose to the Kiermann manor. She was beyond weary, but she couldn’t bear to leave Kyra wondering what became of the situation. And she had the need to return her jacket.
Yes, that was the only reason to see her again.
The city was already alive with activity even in these early morning hours. The Midsommar festival had swelled the population to the point that temporary shanty towns had sprung up outside the walls. All the inns in town were booked solid and the streets overflowed with all manner of folk eager for tomorrow’s celebration.
Jysarra threaded her way effortlessly through the crowds. She found the closer she got to the manor, the more anxious she became. Or was it anticipation? Excitement? This fucking girl.
The manor was pure pandemonium. As she made for the open gate Jysarra was nearly trampled by a horse drawn cart piled high with casks of wine and ale. Immediately behind it came another wagon laden with fruits, pastries, cakes, breads, cheeses, and smoked meats. She dipped inside the walls quickly before yet another cart rumbled past carrying fresh roses, lilacs, and sunflowers along with garlands of ivy and floral centerpieces. Household staff and guards alike were scurrying across the grounds in a carefully orchestrated chaos.
A commanding voice carried into the courtyard as Jysarra ascended the stairs. An older woman stood at the center of the terrace, directing servants, laborers, and even household knights with an authority that bordered on frightening. Her silver-streaked black hair and almond-shaped eyes marked her as a woman of Xi'An descent, but it was the force of her personality that truly commanded attention. Her gaze landed on Jysarra and a full-body chill ran through her.
“And you are?”
“I am Jysarra Kil’rahel. I am here to see Lady Kyra.”
The woman stopped a servant rushing by with several bouquets of flowers. She tsked as she checked the petals and stems.
“These are wilting already. Cut a fresh batch immediately.”
The young man flinched at her words. “Yes, Madam Lin.”
Without any further pleasantry he turned and hurried off in the direction he came from. Madam Lin turned back to Jysarra with that same imperious sneer.
“Lady Kyra is indisposed. You may return tomorrow in the afternoon.”
“I’ll only be a minute if you–”
Madam Lin held a hand up and Jysarra found herself falling silent.
“I have given you my answer. Now, please, find your way back down the stairs and off the grounds.”
Madam Lin stalked through the double doors into the entrance hall. Jysarra let out a long sigh.
“Wonderful.”
Jysarra dipped her head inside the doors and scanned the hall, the adjacent rooms, and the gallery beyond where voices carried from above a grand butterfly staircase. Jysarra had never let herself be ordered around by nobility or their staff. Today would not be the day she started. Jysarra walked into the entrance hall like she belonged there. Balconies overlooked the hall from the second floor and she spied several servants and guards rushing along the corridors and disappearing into the various rooms above.
A tender melody drifted through the open doorway to her left, carried on the warm, lilting voice of a violin. It pulled at Jysarra like a siren song, stirring an unfamiliar feeling deep in her chest. She took a step in the direction of the melody when a voice broke Jysarra from her thoughts.
“Hello there.”
A gentleman approached, towering over her. He had a tanned complexion, dark brown hair that was swept back, and a well-groomed beard. He wore a tailored waist coat over a deep crimson tunic, dark trousers, and high leather boots. Wealth clung to him almost as strongly as confidence. He gave Jysarra a slow, appreciative, once-over.
“I would not be disappointed if you said you were here for me.”
Jysarra simply stared back at him until he cleared his throat, clearly growing uncomfortable from her stubborn refusal to engage.
“My apologies, that was quite forward, wasn’t it?”
A small smirk formed on Jysarra’s face.
“It was, though still a warmer reception than that of your majordomo.”
He ran a hand nervously through his hair and let out a small laugh.
“Madam Lin? It’s not personal with her. Anyway, how can I help you?”
“I’m hoping to see Kyra. Could you help me with that?”
His demeanor shifted slightly at the mention of Kyra’s name. A glint of something… mischievous flashed across his face.
“Bookworm,” he shouted, “you have a visitor!”
“Bookworm?”
The music died suddenly with a scratch. Footsteps took its place a moment later.
“Jace, how many times must I ask you not to call me that?”
Kyra emerged into the hall. Her hair fell freely past her shoulders in waves of loose curls. She wore a cream high-collared blouse with a deep navy-blue vest over it. The sleeves were gathered loosely beneath the elbow. Charcoal trousers tucked into weathered brown boots gave the otherwise noble outfit a practical edge. The moment she laid eyes on Jysarra, a wide smile pulled across Kyra’s face and she closed the distance with a sprint. Kyra wrapped her arms around Jysarra in a warm embrace.
Jysarra forgot how to breathe for a moment. She leaned into Kyra and took a breath. It was as if she breathed in summer itself. Her fingers threaded through Kyra’s hair and idly played at the ends.
“Did you miss me, sunshine?”
Kyra leaned back just enough to look at her, the wide smile still lingering on her lips alongside a faint blush.
“Would it be terrible if I said yes?”
“I’ll allow it,” Jysarra teased.
Jace coughed into his hand. Both Jysarra and Kyra turned toward him, and he shrank in on himself instantly.
“I’ll… if you’ll excuse me.”
He turned back toward the gallery and ascended the left side of the butterfly staircase. Jysarra felt Kyra’s hand slip into hers and her gaze fell back to her.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
Jysarra let her thumb brush along Kyra’s knuckles. “I wanted to let you know that my sisters and I returned to the Nightingale. Unfortunately we found no trace of the Faceless.”
Kyra’s smile faded and she shuffled on her feet.
“Do not fret. The Darksong Knights have been dispatched below the city to hunt for them. I also…”
Jysarra pulled the jacket from her bag.
“It may need to be cleaned, but I wanted to bring this back to you.”
Kyra’s eyes welled up, though no tears fell. She took the jacket with trembling hands and pulled it tight against her chest.
“Thank you. I can’t begin to tell you how much this means to me.”
The sharp strike of heels broke through the moment. Kyra quickly slipped the jacket behind her back. Then she dabbed at her eyes before pulling herself up just that much straighter.
“Kyra, who’s your guest?”
Jysarra turned in the direction of the voice.
Katarina Kiermann.
Her dark hair fell loosely past her shoulders. She wore a fitted black high-collared blouse, charcoal-black trousers, and tall dark brown riding boots.
“Kat, this is Jysarra.”
Jysarra gave the slightest dip of her chin to Katarina. Jysarra had never been in the habit of bowing before nobility, but it wouldn't do to place Kyra in an awkward position.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Jysarra.”
Kat held her gaze on Jysarra for a long moment, then turned to Kyra.
“Have you finished packing for tonight?”
Kyra suddenly found the floor very interesting.
“I’ll take that as a no. The last of the carts will be leaving soon. Go and finish.”
“But–”
“Now, Kyra.”
Kyra let out a defeated sigh. Her hand found Jysarra’s and gave it a squeeze before she curtsied to Kat. Then she turned, keeping the jacket hidden from Kat's view, and walked back through the doorway she'd come from. Jysarra watched her go and continued to look that way long after she had disappeared from view.
“I know who you are.”
Jysarra turned her attention back to Kat.
“Jysarra Kil’rahel, the Pale Maiden. Figurehead of the Dark Ladies.”
“Congratulations.”
Kat's expression hardened.
“Charming. Kyra tells me she was out late with you last evening.”
Jysarra began a slow lap around the hall. She let her fingers drift along the intricate woodwork and gold filigree worked into the walls. She could feel Katarina’s eyes boring into her as she took her time to regard the painted portraits lining the walls.
“And what of it, your highness?”
Kat’s heels struck hard against the floor as she closed the distance between them. She settled on the same portrait Jysarra was studying, a fleet of ships sailing rough seas that glittered like starlight.
“The Avalonian Migration. My ancestors served as the vanguard across the Sea of Stars.”
Jysarra knew this particular piece of history well. Indeed, when she had officially joined the Dark Ladies after her deception had been revealed, Telperien had required her to learn all about the great houses of Dalmascus and the kingdom’s history. Jysarra had taken to it like a fish to water, hungrily devouring every scrap of information she could about the surface world.
“The migration should have failed. The High King had been slain in battle and it seemed as if the kings of the mark would make war with one another while Archadia waited in the wings to crush those that remained.”
Kat stepped a few paces to the next portrait. Jysarra made a point of slowly walking over to join her.
“It only worked due to the trust between the kings of the four seasons.” She turned toward Jysarra. “Trust that had been earned by being impeccable with their word and actions.”
Jysarra let out a single derisive laugh.
“We are not at court. Be free with your words.”
Kat closed the distance between them. She was one of the few women who could look her in the eye.
“Kyra does not need any distractions. She certainly doesn't need a seductress who'll be gone on the morrow once she's had her fill.”
Heat rose through Jysarra. It took every ounce of willpower in her not to slap Kat.
“Did you believe I wouldn’t know everything there is to know about you? That's my job. Looking after Kyra.” Kat let out a breath. “I can already see that she trusts you, but that doesn’t mean I have to.”
“I don’t particularly give a shit if you do.”
Kat smiled and gave a subtle roll of her eyes.
“No, I expect you wouldn’t.”
Jysarra let herself wander to the east side of the hall. The portraits here were familial, each one a different generation of Kiermann’s. She took a moment to regard each one before stopping in front of the current regime. Tobias and Cassandra stood together, regal as always. Katarina and Kyra were beside them. Kyra was all of thirteen, perhaps fourteen at best. She didn't yet carry the burdens she did now. The grief Jysarra occasionally glimpsed whenever Kyra's composure slipped.
“I know she invited you to tonight’s festivities. I was disinclined to agree to her request, but Kyra can be–”
“Persistent.”
“I was going to say stubborn, but yes.”
Another woman joined them in the hall. She was shorter, around Kyra’s height, though her shoulders were broad and strong. Red hair swept over one side and the other shorn down nearly to the skin. Fine Laurentian knotwork had been inked onto her skin. She took Kat’s hand in hers, the other slipping around her back.
“Everything all right?”
“Yes. I’ll be along momentarily."
Jysarra let her gaze find Kyra within the family portrait again. Not out of some sense of propriety, gods knew she possessed little of that and only for rare moments, but… envy. She listened as the heavy footfalls of the Laurentian woman disappeared back out of the hall. Jysarra let a long moment pass before she looked to Kat again. Her expression had softened, though a hint of something remained in her eyes. Fear, perhaps, or was Jysarra merely projecting that onto her?
“For Kyra’s sake, I do hope you defy my expectations.”
Kat’s eyes found their way back to the portrait, to Kyra. Jysarra wondered to herself if this was the version of Kyra that she still saw. The girl that needed guidance. That needed to be protected from the cruelties of this world.
“Kyra is an adult. A highly capable and intelligent one at that. She can make her own decisions.” Jysarra turned and took a few steps before casting her eye back at Kat. “Perhaps you should allow her the space to do so. She may surprise you.”
She didn’t wait for a response. Anything further was likely to raise her ire and Jysarra could not – would not – let herself lose control here in Kyra’s home. She carried herself through the gate and onto the road before she even realized where her feet had taken her. One step, then the next. Just keep moving.
As my date.
That same stupid grin crept onto her face. She needed a dress. A new dress. Something sure to capture Kyra’s attention. Because… she wanted that.
This fucking girl.
***
Jysarra had rested fitfully for a few meager hours after visiting the Silken Quill to procure a dress sure to turn heads that evening, though she cared about only one pair of eyes in particular. She had drawn herself a bath hot enough to make the devils of Avernus quail, working tension from stiff muscles and washing away the dirt and grime of the evening before.
She sat now in her wicker chair, her reflection staring back at her through the copper mirror on the wall. It was mocking her. No, questioning. Challenging? It was making her angry is what it was doing.
Why are you doing all of this? Why the touch of darkened kohl around her eyes? Why the silver powder on her cheekbones? Why go through all this effort?
Because I want to.
She took a deep breath. Let it out.
The dress hung against the wall. She swept her hair over one side and ran her hand down the hollow of her throat until it found the pendant, a crescent moon, resting against her chest. Jysarra stood, took the dress into her hands, and stepped into it before she could convince herself to run. She pulled her hair free from the fabric, took a few steps, and regarded herself in the mirror.
The woman in the mirror appeared far more confident than she felt.
The dress was once again of Hellásian make. Jysarra had always loved the flowing elegance of their fashion. It was a moonlit blue with silver undertones that caught the light like distant stars. Crafted from the finest silk, the gown moved like water given form. A luminous chiffon shawl rested delicately upon her shoulders, its sheer fabric drifting with even the slightest movement.
The neckline plunged daringly, bold without being vulgar, while the symbol of her faith hung low against her chest. A slender gold filigree belt cinched her waist, secured by a crescent moon centerpiece. From there the skirt flowed gracefully to the floor, widening in soft folds, a high slit granting both freedom of movement and glimpses of long pale legs.
Delicate bands of gold adorned her wrists and upper arms, while a simple yet elegant circlet rested upon her brow. She had chosen a pair of open-toed sandals threaded with golden straps to complete the ensemble.
A soft knock outside her door broke her concentration. She inhaled sharply, unaccustomed to being taken by surprise. Her hand came to rest over her heart for a beat. Two.
“Yes?”
One of the aspirants dipped her head inside.
“Pardon me, my lady, but you have a visitor. A Lady Kyra.”
She’s here.
Jysarra’s tongue darted out to wet her lips. She cast an eye toward the break in the ceiling. She could vault up the wall and over into the alleyway just as she had done so many times before. Just leave.
… she didn’t want to.
“Send her in.”
The door opened fully and what Jysarra beheld told her she had been wrong in that choice. She absolutely should have run. Kyra was breathtaking. Her dress was unmistakably of Xi'An make. Deep emerald silk brocade embroidered with gold thread shimmered softly in the light, subtle floral motifs woven throughout the fabric. A high standing collar framed her neck and jaw, drawing attention to the elegant lines of her face and the slight almond shape of her eyes. For the first time she could clearly see traces of Xi'An in Kyra's features..
The fitted bodice accentuated Kyra's athletic build: strong shoulders, a narrow waist, and the confident posture she carried so naturally. Short sleeves trimmed in gold extended just beyond her shoulders, while a golden armband encircled her upper right arm. A dark sash tied off-center rested at her waist before giving way to a flowing skirt split high along one side, revealing flashes of long pale leg as she stepped through the doorway.
Her hair fell freely down her back like a waterfall of fire. A simple golden hairpin shaped like an arrow rested above her right ear, the only ornament she seemed to need.
“I…”
Jysarra swore she heard her own brain say goodbye, stand up, and walk out a metaphorical door to leave her to sort this out for herself.
Kyra smirked.
“What’s the matter? Finding me distracting?”
Color rose in Jysarra’s cheeks.
Very much so, yes.
She dipped her head low to avoid Kyra’s knowing smile. Her fingers worried the ends of her hair.
“My apologies, I still need to brush my hair before we depart.”
She turned hurriedly and took her seat in front of the mirror once again. It wasn’t Jysarra’s reflection that fixed her this time though, but Kyra’s.
“You’re beautiful,” Jysarra said
A breath.
“The dress, it’s from the west, yes?”
Kyra took the few steps to close the distance between them slowly. She was enjoying this torment she was putting her through. Of that, Jysarra was sure.
“It is, yes. Though with several alterations to make it mine.”
She ran her hand through Jysarra’s silver locks, and she swallowed hard. Kyra stepped around and made to grab the obsidian brush lying on the table.
“Please, allow me.”
Jysarra’s hand darted out and settled over Kyra's, stopping her before she could pick up the brush. She steeled herself from what would surely be an angry response from Kyra, only it never came. Instead, calloused hands came to rest on her own and Kyra knelt down to look Jysarra in the eyes.
“Would you tell me about it? It's all right if you don't want to, but I'd love to know more about you.” Kyra let out a breath. “Even the things that make you feel sad. Or angry. Or anything really.”
Jysarra sat with that for a long moment. Her sisters barely knew the significance of the brush, and she had known many of them for well over a century. Normally she would have replied with a curt answer or charmed her way into another topic of conversation. Now, though, she had the overwhelming need to tell Kyra.
“It's the only thing I have from my childhood.” She held it up. “It was my mother's.”
A tear escaped her. Kyra’s hand came up and brushed it away.
“Thank you. For sharing that with me.”
Her hand drifted across Jysarra's jawline and traced her ear, tucking a silver strand behind it.
“We can skip the party if you're not ready for it. I'd much rather spend time with you doing whatever makes you happy.”
Jysarra leaned into Kyra’s touch.
Fuck. Why is she so nice to me?
“No. No, I wouldn't want to be the reason you miss the party. I want to go.”
A moment passed.
“I want to go with you, Kyra.”
Kyra's smile brightened.
With trembling hands Jysarra handed the brush to Kyra.
Jysarra watched her through the mirror.
The careful way Kyra worked the brush through her hair. The concentration in her expression. The warmth in those emerald eyes.
Kyra caught her looking and smiled.
“Why are you watching me?”
Jysarra’s lips parted. No answer came.
Kyra snickered softly and returned to the brush.
Slow strokes drew through silver hair.
Gradually, the tension left Jysarra’s shoulders.
Her head tilted back slightly, exposing the line of her throat as she relaxed into the touch without meaning to. Her eyes fluttered shut.
Oh, she could stay in this moment forever.
The brush slid gently through another strand.
“Kyra…”
Barely more than a whisper.
Jysarra’s pointed ear twitched. A moment later the ghost of Kyra’s breath prickled the skin at her neck.
“You’re resplendent.”
Jysarra forced herself to open her eyes. Kyra was just over her shoulder looking at her through the mirror. Her hands teased the ends of Jysarra's hair in a way that sent a shiver racing through her.
“Like moonlight on a clear summer evening.”
Jysarra turned. Kyra was just a breath away. She could kiss her. Just lean in and let her lips brush against hers. Jysarra wanted to. Would that be the proper thing to do though? Frustration welled up deep in her chest. How does Kyra keep doing this to her? She has never had this problem before. It had always been so simple. Flirt. Charm. A tuck of her hair behind an ear. Flash a smile. And wake up the next morning satisfied… but still hollow.
Kyra reached over and placed the brush back onto the table with care that bordered on reverence. She stood and offered her hand to Jysarra.
“Come darling.”
Warmth bloomed in her chest. She liked that. A lot. Jysarra placed her hand into Kyra’s and let herself be swept from the seat. She felt like a nervous debutante on the way to her first ball. She reluctantly let her hand slip from Kyra’s and padded over the few steps to her bed. She wrapped her hand around the strap of a leather bag lying there.
“I… I wasn’t sure if we’d be returning this evening or…”
Kyra smiled, a subtle blush working its way onto her cheeks.
“We can. If you want, that is. But–”
She took a step toward Jysarra.
“I’d like you to stay. With me.”
Her brain screamed at her to fire back with a teasing remark. This was too real. Too vulnerable. She didn’t want to. She wouldn’t. Jysarra shouldered the bag and threaded her hand back into Kyra’s.
“I’d like that too.”
Kyra gave her hand a soft squeeze, turned, and began leading Jysarra out of the Dancing Dell. Many of her sisters stopped whatever it was they were currently occupied with to watch the two of them. Jysarra found herself feeling unusually self conscious. She was beginning to realize this evening would bring more firsts than she cared to count. Or rather, that time spent with Kyra brought that on. As they passed by the Garth of Song, Silmariën stood like a silent sentinel just off the path. Jysarra placed a gentle hand on Kyra’s, then separated from her to step over to Silmariën. She gave a slight curtsy, then rose back to her full height, though she kept her gaze down to the ground.
“I Lómelindë Nárëo Lomellindo, I will return on the morrow. As requested, I will share a song at twilight during the Midsommar festival.”
When Silmariën gave no response after several long moments Jysarra risked looking up at her. The hint of a smile was on her face.
“I haven’t seen you this calm in a very long time.”
The words seemed foreign and out of place. Not just because it was Silmariën saying them, but because she felt anything but calm. Silmariën placed her hand on Jysarra’s shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. Then she walked off with no further pleasantries. Jysarra stood there frozen a moment, then the touch of Kyra’s fingers threading back into hers brought warmth back to her.
“Our carriage is waiting.”
Jysarra let herself be led again through the grounds and out onto the street. The sun had already begun its long journey toward the eastern horizon. The carriage sat just outside the entrance to the Dell. A pair of massive black Friesians stood patiently in their harnesses, midnight-blue tack accented with gold fittings. Their coachman sat atop the box seat, reins in hand, while a footman waited beside the door. The coach itself was fashioned from dark oak and painted in Kiermann blue, its edges picked out in gold trim. The House crest, two golden keys crossed over a field of navy, was displayed prominently on the door.
The footman stepped over, pulled the door open, and ushered them inside. Kyra stepped in first, then extended her hand once again to Jysarra. She took it without thought.
“A girl could get used to this, Sunshine.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet.”
Plush velvet cushions lined the interior of the spacious cabin. Jysarra took a seat at the rear. Kyra joined her a moment later. Apprehension and excitement warred within her. The carriage started forward with a sudden lurch before smoothing out. A nervous laugh escaped Jysarra. She watched the city fade away through the glass windows as they passed through the Green Gate and the outer city gave way to rolling grasslands.
“Jessie.”
Jysarra turned back to Kyra. She was chewing at her lip and wringing her hands.
“I debated telling you this, but–”
She placed her own hand over Kyra’s.
“I overheard your conversation with Kat this morning. Or rather, the end of it.”
Those words landed like a punch to the chest that forced the breath from her. Jysarra shook her head and held back a tear.
“My apologies. I didn’t mean to overstep.”
“No. No, that’s not what I’m saying.”
One of Kyra’s hands slipped free and came up to lift Jysarra’s chin.
“Most everyone in my life tells me what’s best for me. Who I should be. It’s exhausting.”
Oh… she feels alone too.
“But you–” her hand moved to cup Jysarra’s cheek. “You stood up for me. Even before she was the Archduchess, few people ever dared to stand their ground against Kat.”
“Kyra, I’m not sure what to say.”
Kyra shook her head.
“You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know how much I appreciated that. It's been a very long time since anyone has done that for me.”
The carriage rolled along the cobblestones, the rumble of wrought-iron wheels and rhythmic hooffalls becoming the symphony of their journey. Kyra nestled in a little closer and laid her head gently on Jysarra’s shoulder.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Kyra.”
And then a sudden thought finally dawned on Jysarra.
Oh no.
I like her.
…
Fuck.