Cry of Metal & Bone

by L. Penelope

  The leers from the passersby broke Tai out of his daze, and he crossed the ship’s deck in three steps and ran down the ramp. Lizvette barreled into his arms, nearly knocking him off-balance. He gripped her tightly, his hands fighting against the slide of her silk gown. Lizvette was out of breath, her chest heaving, but she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. Soon she was planting kisses up his neck to his jaw until she found his mouth.

  He was frozen in shock but thawed quickly under her ministrations and gathered his senses enough to kiss her back.

  “Room for one more?” she asked once she came up for air.

  Tai grinned and hauled her onto his ship before she could change her mind.

  * * *

  “How long do you think it will be until someone tries to kill you again?” Roshon’s voice pierced the haze clouding Jasminda’s mind.

  She turned to her brother. “One would hope for at least a week between assassination attempts.”

  He didn’t smile.

  “Come here,” she said. “Both of you.” Varten appeared from behind the doorway to the sitting room in the royal suite. He looked unsure about stepping on the thick, woven rugs—something Jasminda could relate to.

  “Listen,” she said, “if someone doesn’t try to kill you at least once in your life, then maybe you’re not making a big enough impact in the world.”

  Roshon stared at her for a beat before shaking his head. “It isn’t funny.”

  “No, it’s not, but sometimes you have to laugh anyway. Especially with a world gone mad.”

  Varten stepped up to them, already beginning to gain back the weight he’d lost in captivity. He slung an arm around her and she wrapped her other arm around Roshon, dwarfed by the two of them for the first time. They’d grown so much. They stood before a picture window looking out over the front of the palace, to the city and ocean beyond.

  “What would Mama say about all this?” Varten mused.

  Jasminda tried to come up with something, but couldn’t. “I wish I knew.”

  Varten squeezed her gently. “We can ask Papa.”

  “Where is he anyway?”

  “With Clove and Vanesse,” Roshon responded. “Clove’s teaching him an Elsiran card game with some of the Guardsmen.”

  Jasminda shook her head, smothering a smile. In the distance, storm clouds darkened the horizon. Heavy and full of gloom.

  On the lawn below, protestors took up another chant. Their words were muffled, but the sharpness in their tone still stung.

  They came every day now. Dominionists and sympathizers with their picket signs and tongues full of hate. And Lagrimari, along with a growing number of Elsirans supporting unification. They bore no signs, cried no slogans. They just marched and stood on their side of the field. Existing. Right in front of the faces of their detractors.

  There were skirmishes here and there in the city. Some Lagrimari were not content to silently make their presence and their displeasure known. But more and more, for every street corner filled with separatist demonstrators, there was another on the other side, filled with quiet protestors. Living and breathing. Surviving. Hoping for a chance to thrive.

  Jasminda held her brothers tight as the sound and its answering silence rose to meet them.

  “I heard there was a swimming pool here,” Varten announced, mischief in his voice.

  “I think there are three,” Jasminda answered.

  “Bet I can beat you in a race.”

  Roshon snorted. “Neither of you know how to swim.”

  “It’s not that hard,” Varten scoffed.

  “You’ll drown and Jas will just float herself across the water. What’s the point of that?”

  “Then we’ll make a rule—no Earthsong.”

  “How would you know if she cheated?”

  “I’d know. I’d feel it.”

  The boys bickered on and Jasminda had never heard a more wonderful sound in all her life. The ocean before them was still calm—for a little while longer. For now, she would enjoy the peace and the chaos.

  For as long as she could.

  EPILOGUE

  If you come upon the seeker in a twilight wood, or near a babbling brook, or under the glow of the morning sun and she asks you “What is freely given, but expects a reward?” remember to make no supplication and bend no knee. For the answer is “a prayer.”

  —THE AYALYA

  The endless ocean stretches out before me, blue and serene. I sit on the bench at the edge of the palace gardens, the one that I have come to think of as my own, watching a small ship sail away to the west. Once upon a time, I used to stand here in this spot and dream of visiting the lands across the sea. But that path is closed to me. My home is here. My remaining days on this earth will be spent on this soil.

  I tilt my head up to enjoy the warmth of the sun on my cheeks, to soak in this brief moment without anyone fawning over me or requesting something of me. I tune out the sound of turmoil on the other side of the palace. Now may be the last chance for a moment of solitude before the tempest arrives and the skies open up.

  I feel Tarazeli’s approach several minutes before she appears at my side. Her agitation is palpable. I had thought her knot of trepidation around me had finally loosened after the past weeks of her service.

  “Is it done?” I ask her.

  “Yes, Your Excellency, but—”

  “You delivered the death stone to Kyara exactly as I instructed?”

  Zeli comes into view in my peripheral vision, twisting her hands together. “Yes, Your Excellency. I placed the box holding the stone at her bedside for her to find when she returns to her room. Though anyone could go in and—”

  “No one will disturb the box.”

  Besides, the death stone will drive an Earthsinger mad if they touch it for too long. And if a Silent comes upon it, they will see little more than a red rock.

  “Very well, Your Excellency. But there is something you need to see … in the dungeons.” Her anxiety has grown to such levels that it nettles my skin.

  “Show me.” I rise and follow her back into the palace. She doesn’t make a sound as we walk through the halls, but her disquiet is deafening.

  We descend into the dungeon, each step on the old stone stairway echoing in the dank depths. The barred cells blur as I pass them—nearly all are filled with the victims of my brother’s madness and evil. My beloved twin has committed more atrocities than I can fathom. I observed the effect of his tyranny for centuries, locked in a prison of my own making in the World Between; however, I created his prison, too. Ultimately, I am the reason he is locked away here. The gift of power I gave him was the catalyst that caused him to spiral out of control. I will always bear the brunt of the blame.

  An echoing whisper behind me causes me to turn my head. I almost thought someone was saying my name, but no one calls me Oola anymore, save Darvyn. Even now, he is with his little viper. It is as it should be, but still I feel as though I am being watched. The hairs on the back of my neck rise with the tension. The hallway contains only the Guardsman assigned to this section who would not dare use my name. Even if he knew it. And yet I hear the whisper again, more of a rasp than a true voice.

  Oola. Oola.

  Zeli looks at me curiously to see what has made me stop walking. I turn back around, a shiver running down my spine, and continue to enter the deepest part of the dungeon.

  What she wanted me to see is immediately evident. The wooden door to the old storage room is cracked in two, with one piece hanging at an odd angle as if it was blasted open from within by an incredible force.

  And my brother is gone.

  Zeli’s eyes are wide and round. My Song infuses her with calm, irritated by the chafing of her emotions against me.

  Earthsong could have split the door in this manner. That or an incredibly strong kick. One thing is certain, my frail brother, weakened by depression and despondency, could not have done this.

  At least I do n
ot think he could have.

  “Who else knows?” I whisper.

  “No one, Your Excellency.”

  I remember the boy he was, sweet and kind. How we used to visit the water’s edge and sit by the fire, dreaming of our futures. None of those dreams came true. Instead, the power I gifted him destroyed us both.

  The splintered wood of the door taunts me. I extend my senses to try to locate Eero. The pull of hundreds of thousands of people in the city tugs at me. I swim through an ocean of emotions, searching for one man. I stretch, feeling the surrounding areas, the sea, the mountains, the farms beyond.

  But I do not find him.

  My heart beats faster. For the first time in centuries, I do not know where my twin is.

  Again I hear the murmur of my name. Zeli is glassy-eyed behind me, lips sealed shut, and we are the only two here.

  “Tell no one.”

  She nods absently. I may have softened her emotions a bit too much. I undo the magic, freeing her feelings once again.

  The cold of the stone walls seeps into my skin. I leave the bowels of the palace to seek the last rays of sun. The storm is nearly upon us. I can only hope that I will not come to regret the things I have done.

  Only later will I learn of the snaking column of whispering black smoke that follows me. Only later will I discover what it portends.

  * * *

  Mooriah was drawn to the tall woman gliding down the darkened hall. But as much as she longed to, she could not approach the woman called the Goddess Awoken. Not yet.

  She needed a body first.

  Her spirit floated through corridors of stone, seeking a convenient host. Moving outside of the inmates’ notice, she undulated through the shadows like an airborne snake. But one woman looked up at her, squinting into the darkness. An ancient crone, she looked older than death itself; however, her green eyes sparkled with sharp alertness.

  Mooriah moved swiftly, invading the woman’s body and absorbing her memories. Her name was Ydaris, and after a glimpse into her past, Mooriah felt no remorse for choosing her.

  The body’s long limbs shortened. Wasted muscles swelled and hardened. Sagging skin tightened and bone regenerated until Mooriah flexed her arms and legs, reintroducing herself to a physical form she had not worn in centuries.

  The consciousness known as Ydaris was locked away in a corner of Mooriah’s mind. Unseen, unheard, and unharmed—at least for now.

  The locked cell door, made of ancient iron, was but a small impediment. She scraped her finger on a jagged corner of rock jutting from the wall. The sting was invigorating after so long without senses. After a few muttered words of a blood spell, with her own blood as payment, the lock disengaged.

  The guard standing straight-backed at the end of the corridor startled when she approached. Then he slumped down in a heap as she manipulated his Nethersong.

  She passed cell after cell of Lagrimari criminals, but paid them no mind. The war between Elsira and Lagrimar was over. She was far more concerned with stopping the war to come.

  Unsteady legs carried her out of the dungeon as she slowly became used to the feel of true flesh and skin again. Nethersong invigorated her all the way down to her bones. It was the Light shining in the darkness, illuminating the way.

  The Light Kyara needed to find and master. Embracing the Light, and all that went with it, was the only way forward.

  First she had to find the other Nethersinger. They had much to discuss now that Mooriah could do so freely. Only afterward could she give in to the longing in her heart and finally meet the woman they called a goddess. A woman Mooriah had never gotten the chance to call “mother.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  As always, I owe deep gratitude to those who have helped make this possible:

  A huge thanks to the readers who have taken this journey with me. If you’ve made it this far, you are my people! Some of you have been waiting for this book for a very long time. I did my best to make it worth it.

  To all My Imaginary Friends, both old and new, thanks for being there.

  My editor, Monique Patterson, and the entire team at St. Martin’s, including: Mara Delgado-Sanchez, Meghan Harrington, and Beatrice Jason. It takes a village to put these book-children out into the world. I appreciate everything that you all do.

  My agent, Sara Megibow, an incredible cheerleader, guide, and friend.

  To my writer friends, Nakeesha, Cerece, Cynthia, and Denny, who regularly hold me up, inspire, and challenge me, I don’t know what I’d do without y’all.

  My family, who knew I was a writer before anyone else did, and gave me the tools I needed to grow.

  And to Jared, who is always willing to wrangle dogs and slay trolls so I can live my dream.

  Also by L. Penelope

  Song of Blood & Stone

  Breath of Dust & Dawn

  Whispers of Shadow & Flame

  Hush of Storm & Sorrow

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  L. Penelope has been writing since she could hold a pen and loves getting lost in the worlds in her head. She is an award-winning author of new adult, fantasy, and paranormal romance. She lives in Maryland with her husband and their furry dependents. Her books include the Earthsinger Chronicles (Song of Blood & Stone, Whispers of Shadow & Flame, Cry of Metal & Bone). You can sign up for email updates here.

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  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Map

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Also by L. Penelope

  About the Author

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  First published in the United States by St. Martin’s Griffin, an imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group

  CRY OF METAL & BONE. Copyright © 2020 by L. Penelope. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Publishing Group, 120
Broadway, New York, N.Y. 10271.

  www.stmartins.com

  The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

  ISBN 978-1-250-14811-7 (trade paperback)

  ISBN 978-1-250-14812-4 (ebook)

  eISBN 9781250148124

  Our ebooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by email at MacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com.

  First Edition: 2020