“Yes!” We both looked to Greta for forgiveness.
“Oh, go on then,” Greta said. “But not tonight. The dresses can wait until morning.”
Lucia and I cheered, and even Greta grinned—something I’d never seen the elderly woman do.
Later that week, I asked Matu to take me to the gardens. The bushes vibrated in glorious colors of pinks, reds, and yellows. Matu led me down the cobbled paths, pointing to delicate roses, bleeding hearts, and poppies. He let me do most of the talking, his standard method of operations.
After an hour, I dragged him to the bench in the far corner. “Sit and talk to me.”
“What do you wish to know?”
“Everything. What have I missed these past few days?”
“I don’t wish to upset you.”
“Life is upsetting,” I said. “Have you . . . have you any word on Castillo?”
Matu sighed and rubbed his palms along his pants. “Yes. His job is taking longer than he anticipated.”
“Where is he? What’s the job?”
“I cannot say. But he hopes to be back by week’s end.”
I breathed in the cloying scent of the wildflowers nearby. “Matu, can you find out if my sister is safe in Iskadar?”
He gazed at me with brotherly love and concern. “You have not had word from her?”
I shook my head, my vocal chords suddenly mute.
“I will find out, Echo.” He placed his hand over mine, and I stole a measure of comfort from his touch.
I took a deep breath. “What of the marriage approval from the High King?” I feared this answer the most, and Matu’s silence confirmed those worries.
“He’s withholding.” I clenched my hands into fists. “Am I correct?”
“We believe he’s searching for Helena, so he’ll know more about you, know everything about who he’s up against.”
I sincerely hoped Helena had found a refuge far from the High King. “Surely he doesn’t think Cris capable of dethroning him,” I said. “Or that I am.”
“He’s careful in all things,” Matu said, twisting toward me. “Please, Echo, don’t upset Cris with this. He must play his part, too.”
“Upset him? He is . . . he is . . . ” I could not find the words to adequately explain. I had received no word from him in the six days since I’d revealed my magic to him, since he kissed me like he truly meant it. “He would never choose me if not for his father.”
Matu’s jaw clenched. “You don’t know that.” He looked out into the foliage. “And that’s precisely why we need you as our queen.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “Why don’t you just make him into the king he should be instead of trying to turn him into a puppet? He’s teachable.” I remembered how I’d lectured him about being stronger. He had said he would try. Of course, Gibson was still his personal guard, so maybe Cris hadn’t tried at all.
Or maybe Castillo and Matu were right. Maybe Cris just wasn’t strong enough.
#
One week bled into two. By then, so filled was my mind with worries over Olive’s continual silence and fears for Castillo and where he might be that I barely had room to fret over why I’d received no invitations from Cris. I wondered if perhaps his messages had gotten intercepted again, but I dared not approach him and ask in case I was wrong.
Lucia and I were sewing in the afternoon when I heard Mariana’s voice, shrill and demanding. “No, I will see if she will see me myself.” The door crashed open, and Mariana clicked on her heels toward us, her face filled with righteous indignation.
“So this is where you have been.” She strode toward me, her red robes flowing behind her like fire. “This is not dignified.” She fingered my limp hair and clucked her tongue. “No, this will not do. Greta!”
“Mari, I—”
Greta stood from a machine in the second row. The look in her eyes scared me into silence. “Yes, my lady?”
“Echo needs a bath.” Mari looked me up and down. “A fresh dress. Makeup. We’re going out.”
“Out?” My hopes rose at the prospect of leaving this wretched compound, abandoning all the cares I’d been carrying these past weeks.
“I have scheduled a meeting with the Prince. He’s expecting us in one hour.”
“One hour?” Greta exclaimed, as if a person could not possibly get ready in such a short time. “I’ll get the water hot.”
#
It took over an hour to get me presentable. Mariana paced as Lucia worked wonders on my hair and Greta painted me into someone with a beautiful face. I modeled a violet gown for Mariana, who finally formed her face into something friendly.
“His Majesty will be most pleased,” she said. “Now, where’s Matu?”
The door opened on cue. “Here, ladies. Are you ready?”
“Yes.” Mariana latched onto me, and I couldn’t squirm away. I went with her into the hall, and then I stepped away and took Matu’s arm. He cast me a sidelong glance but didn’t say anything, for which I was grateful.
Mariana, however, had plenty to say. She filled me in on the happenings of the compound, claiming that she’d been chosen for several individual dinners with Cris. My breath quickened at that news, and I squeezed Matu’s arm a little too tightly. Was that my show of jealousy? Why could I not determine how I felt about Cris?
“Then he told me, ‘Mari, I think you’re one of my favorites.’ Can you believe that?” She sandwiched me between herself and Matu, and kept talking with hardly a breath. “I didn’t know what to say, which apparently he likes, because then he said that he adores girls who use their mouths to smile more than talk, and then.” She paused for dramatic effect. My head spun with the words.
“He kissed me!” She squealed, and all the patience I’d acquired over the past few weeks drained out of me.
I gasped, but not in support of Mari, as I had in the past. Cris likes girls who only use their mouths to smile? Cris kissed Mari?
This raging feeling slithering through me could only be identified as jealousy. I recalled I had blood inside, and marrow in my bones, and nerves reaching to the end of my fingertips. Oake had taught me about using those very nerves, and to listen to the rhythm of my pulse pushing the blood through my body in order to harness my magic. He’d taught me about my brain and how to block out unnecessary distractions in order to produce the results I wanted.
I didn’t hear another word Mari said. Before I knew it, Matu raised his hand and rapped on a door in that gentle way of his. Gibson opened it and took a step backward when he saw me. He barely paid a glance to Mari or Matu, and instead raked his cold eyes over my body. “Come in.” It sounded like a command.
Mari slinked past him, smiling in an alluring way and trailing two fingers over his bicep while I stared in horror. Matu nudged me forward, and I stumble-stepped after Mari. Cris’s suite looked exactly as it had the last time I’d been here, but now everything felt different. I couldn’t help wondering how many other girls he’d kissed, and what lies he’d told them. Perhaps I was the one who heard only lies from his lips.
Gibson ushered us through the foyer and out onto the balcony. Cris already sat at the table, and he put his coffee cup down as we entered. He embraced Mari in a friendly way, but I watched his eyes. They closed for a moment, and then they caught mine. I wasn’t able to tell if he liked Mari more than me or not.
He helped her to the table and encouraged her to try the bagels before he turned to me. He took me in with a mixture of guardedness and joy. “Echo, it’s lovely to see you.”
“Cris,” I said, my voice hoarse from disuse. “May I speak to you privately?”
“Absolutely.” He turned back to Mari. “Dearest, we’ll be just a minute.”
My ears rang with the word dearest, loud and heavy. I wanted the stabbing pain in my chest to stop, but it hindered my breathing and continued to hurt me, hurt me, hurt me.
Mari waved us away, all the while slathering jam onto her scone. I retraced my steps into
the apartment and waited while Cris followed me. I could feel him very close behind me. He brushed his fingers against mine, and his magic spread through me. The jealousy slipping through me almost disappeared, but I quickly pulled my hand away as I faced him.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispered. “Are you well?” His hands hovered inches from touching me. He looked like he wanted to examine me to ensure I was whole under the layers of makeup and silk. I couldn’t tell if his desire came from true concern for my welfare or because he craved my magic.
“I’ve—I have been better,” I admitted.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to see you,” he said. “My schedule’s been overflowing with a fresh round of negotiations with Heona.”
I nodded. I couldn’t fault him for being the acting Lord in Umon. “I’m surprised to hear you’ve been dining privately.” The accusations hid inside the words, but Cris heard them.
He glanced over his shoulder to where Mari waited on the balcony. “Echo, you made me promise to make sure none of the girls would be sent home.”
I started nodding and could not stop. “I understand. I understand now.”
“I had to carry on the charade.” Something in his eyes spoke to me, said Please, Echo, not now. I blinked, and the conversation ended.
“I’ll leave you to your breakfast.” I headed for the door, and Cris didn’t stop me.
#
That night, an urgent voice shook me from sleep. It was Cris, and he begged me to come with him.
“Can I get dressed first?” I threw the quilts back and slid from bed. I hoped for another flirtatious answer.
“No,” he said, and I noticed the redness in his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I flung my arms into my robe.
He urged me to hurry as he sprinted from my rooms. My maids didn’t wait near the door; Matu didn’t stand at the ready in the hall. I padded after Cris, wondering what time it was and what was going on.
He led me toward his suite. I only needed to take one step through the door before the scent of blood met my nose. I stopped, searching for its cause.
A moan emanated from the couch, where Mari knelt and Bo and Gibson watched with masked faces. I suddenly didn’t want to be in that room, or see who writhed on that couch.
“Echo, I need you to heal him.” The agony in Cris’s voice propelled me into motion. I strode toward the couch, the magic already infiltrating my bloodstream and the lyrics I needed building behind my tongue.
Blood stained Mari’s hands and arms, and she looked at me with pure helplessness on her face and tears streaming down her cheeks. “I cannot—he’s still bleeding.”
I looked down at the man on the couch. My heart stopped at the broken sight of Castillo. “No,” I cried, dropping to my knees. “No!”
Twenty-Two
Castillo’s eyes were puffy and closed. Blood oozed from his ears, nose, and mouth. He wore very little clothing, and his lean body bore bruises and knife wounds. He struggled to breathe, and his fingers and feet twitched in pain.
I asked Mari to move, and I took a position in front of Castillo. Then I shut out everything and focused on the spells, and songs, and chants I needed to make Castillo whole again. My voice started out soft, but grew in strength and intensity the more I sang. I drew comfort from the words, and I directed the magic to enter Castillo’s body and ease his suffering.
His body quieted, and he reached one hand toward my face. I took his hand in both of mine and concentrated my magic there. The song in my throat changed to a chant, and I felt the breaks in his bones. Four fingers, six ribs, three toes. His pain swept through me, but I shoved it to the back of my mind, the way Oake had taught me.
The chant lasted minutes, but finally, his bones mended. His breathing steadied, and I switched my chant to a lullaby. One that would send him to the confines of sleep so I could continue to assess the damage from the knives.
His face relaxed as he settled into the depths of slumber. I closed my eyes, and called upon the magic to heal his surface wounds. My chant morphed into a song, which flowed from my mouth, accompanied with delicate flicks of my wrist and pressure from my palms over the wounds.
I pushed away the increasing tightness in my stomach. I swallowed back the overwhelming desire to throw up. I focused on saving my bond.
Sometime later—with magic, time held no meaning—I sat back on my heels. The lights in the suite burned too brightly. My head hurt like nothing I’d experienced before. Blood drenched my nightclothes, and my legs had fallen asleep during the healing.
I moaned, the only thing I had energy to do, before I fell back and allowed the pain I’d held at bay to sweep me away.
#
“Long ago,” Grandmother begins. “The ancient magicians of Relina sent kings to take care of the lands and rule the people. They chose leaders who exhibited kindness and weren’t afraid to make hard decisions. They spoke their minds and the magicians listened.”
I hang on every word as Grandmother squeaks forward in her chair, and then splinters back. I’m already seated on the floor, my knees tucked into my chest. I’d been unusually quiet during dinner, because during my lesson, Oake had told me he’d heard concerning tales from the north. He whispered the rumors of wicked magic, of magician hunters, of kings who’d forgotten kindness.
I hadn’t told Grandmother, knowing she’d simply say to focus on my training and leave politics to the politicians. Yet my mind wanders around Oake’s words, seeking their weight, and how they can impact my life here in Iskadar, which sits so near Nyth.
So today, a Saturday, she’s settled into our normal Sunday routine. I love her for it; for noticing the disquiet in me, and offering me an anchor to hold.
“The magicians divided the lands into kingdoms, and gifted peoples, and acreage, and riches to each king, with the specific instruction to rule them well. Kings are held to a higher standard, the standard of the magicians. But one king, King Gustus, didn’t do as counseled.”
She pauses again and I close my eyes to better imagine what color evil magic would stain the sky. Dark green bleeds over the backs of my eyelids, and I wonder what scent would accompany such sorcery.
I force Oake’s words from my mind and allow myself to get lost in the rhythmic rocking of Grandmother’s chair. The summer breeze moans around the corners of the house, a dry sound to which I am accustomed.
“Throughout the ages, the kings of the world have, for the most part, ruled honorably. In the cases they have not, the ancients have removed them from service. For that’s what a king does: He serves his people. King Gustus forgot this priority and made his people serve him. That was the beginning of his end. For the magicians want people to work in harmony with the lands, and with one another.”
“Did they give King Gustus another chance?” I ask.
“Yes, child. The magicians are the epitome of kindness and longsuffering. They will give a king many chances to rule properly.”
I feel warm at this assurance. The magicians of Relina are kind, and surely my mother has found what she seeks. “Will Mother come home soon, then?”
Grandmother’s chair squeaks to a stop. “Why would you think that?”
I open my eyes to find her studying me. “Well, if the magicians are the epitome of kindness, surely they have granted her wish to be reunited with Father.”
The lines around her eyes tighten. “You’re right, Echo. She probably is with your father again.” The squeaking and splintering picks up again. “But I don’t think either one of them will be returning to us.”
Her words cut deep, reopening an old wound, but I don’t let her see that. I pinch my eyes closed to keep the tears from falling as she continues her story about the ancient magicians, and how they painted the skies violet in their faraway lands, how they bewitched the winds to whisper magical melodies to those who know how to listen.
Though I hunger to know everything about the birthplace of magic—a place from which Grandmother hails but
rarely speaks of—I feel hollow inside, knowing for certain that my parents will not return. It isn’t until I’m lying in bed that night that I realize what Grandmother has told me. The ancients did not bring Father back to Mother.
They took Mother to meet Father.
#
I opened my eyes to sunshine in a blue sky, not purple as Grandmother claimed existed in Relina. I remembered that she spoke of days on a ship, “crossing waters as endless as time,” she said.
Though she’d been only a handful of years old when she left Relina, Grandmother wore the sickness on her face for her homeland. She said the magic didn’t speak nearly as loudly here as it had in Relina, that though people in Iskadar were kind, gracious, and forgiving, they paled in comparison to the order and unity of Relina’s population.
I’d questioned her about returning to the land of her birth, but she claimed such things were not possible. “Those lands are lost. It takes a special ship, with a captain of the proper birthright, to find them.”
“Surely we can simply look to the sky,” I had said, repeating something Grandmother had often told me. Look to the skies, Echo, she would whisper. You’ll find me there.
She shook her head, lost inside her thoughts.
Sighing away the memories, I sat up and found my bedroom empty save for the scent of freshly baked bread. A platter of it sat on the night table next to my bed. I chewed through a piece while I stretched my muscles and exercised my joints.
Satisfied that my body worked the way it always had, I went into the courtyard.
Castillo stood abruptly and eliminated the distance between us. He took me in his arms and breathed in the scent from my hair. My maids had removed all traces of blood from my skin; my nightclothes had been replaced; my hair washed. I wondered what Lucia had done when she saw me. I would weep for her, as she was my closest friend.
I melted into his embrace and clung to him with worry in my grip, my insides suddenly swimming.
“Thank you,” he breathed into my ear.
I pressed my fingertips into his shoulders, then his back, then I explored down his sides, confirming that he was unbroken. “You’re alive,” I whispered.
Echoes of Silence Page 16
