by L. Penelope
Rebuilding the cabin on her own would be slow, but she would manage it. What did she have if not time? A wave of dizziness swept over her at the thought. “I need to get out of here.”
Nash’s face softened. “Of course.” He led her to the door, picking up a large, black umbrella from a stand full of them, and protected her from the driving rain as they stepped outside. Though there was a steady torrent, Jasminda was calm. The storm’s power over her had always required a catalyst—her anger. When she was collected and even, she could stay in control. So leaving now was doubly necessary, before something else sparked her rage.
Just as she and Nash reached the row of town cars, rapidly approaching footsteps caused her to turn. Four Royal Guardsmen marched up, splashing across the pavement, stiff and imposing.
“Miss,” one of the Guardsmen called as she backed toward the auto, “I need you to come with us.”
She had never before been summoned by the Royal Guard. Usher had brought messages from Jack, but he’d never sent anyone else. She cast a glance at Nash, whose brow was furrowed, before turning and following the Guardsmen back into the palace.
Despite the large umbrella, her dress was soaked from her few minutes outside. She shivered, following the men through the halls to a wide doorway. They descended a staircase, wet steps squishing on the stones, then followed a hall leading to another staircase. At the end of a sparse hallway, a fifth Royal Guardsman stood before an elaborate brass gate that he unlocked as they approached, before ushering them through. Jasminda froze when the iron bars of the dungeon cells came into view.
“What is this about?” she asked, whirling around.
The door to a cell hung open, and the Guardsmen all stopped walking, blocking every direction except into the cell.
“I’m being arrested?” Her gaze darted around the small space, sparse but clean. “By whose order?”
The young, bland Guardsman did not look at her as he spoke. “Miss, by order of Prince Jaqros you are remanded here for your own protection.”
“My protection? From what?”
“Please, miss,” he said, pointing to the cell.
“Why am I here? Why won’t you tell me?”
“Miss Jasminda,” a familiar voice said. Usher stepped out from behind the row of Guardsmen. “There has been a threat made against you. He doesn’t know who to trust. He’s trying to protect you.”
Fear stole the strength out of her budding anger. Lizvette had hinted as much the day before, but an actual threat turned her blood cold. “Then perhaps I would be safer elsewhere. He should just let me go.”
With no other options, she stepped inside the cell and shuddered as the door clanked shut behind her.
“He is not strong enough to do that.” Usher stepped to the bars and slipped a thick, warm blanket through a gap. Jasminda accepted it, lay down on the thin cot, and cried.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
That is impossible, Vaaryn says through his Song.
Then how would you explain it? Deela, Yllis’s mother, replies. She, Vaaryn, and I sit in the Great Hall. There are still loyal Silent working as servants here, but there are no doubt also spies for the other side, as well. No important conversation is held out loud any longer.
No Songbearer would gift Eero their Song. There are only two who even know the spell. Deela looks at me, and I shrink a bit more inside.
So you believe he has actually learned to steal a Song from a bearer? Vaaryn’s forehead wrinkles in disbelief. That would be …
A disaster, I finish. But it must be true. Eero is singing again. Through the window, the battle for the skies is clear. Only hours ago, the placid, clear day was interrupted by sudden, unnatural clouds. Songbearers on the front lines have had to fend off tornadoes, hurricanes, snow, and ice all afternoon.
Who has he stolen from? Deela says.
I shake my head. We are still accounting for all of the Songbearers in the city.
Will all the Silent want Songs now? Vaaryn wonders.
I frown, considering. I do not think he will want to share. My brother was never generous.
How do they still follow him? Do they not find him a hypocrite? Especially when his demands are for a separate land for the Silent. Deela’s face is so like Yllis’s, even more so when working out a difficult problem. He has split us apart and wants to make it official, by creating a land just for them, yet he steals the Song of a Songbearer.
His gift is winning the hearts and minds of others, I say. Logic is not always required for that. And as for his demands, perhaps we should give him what he wants.
Vaaryn’s rheumy eyes go wide.
Hear me out. If we take the abandoned land east of the mountains, we could reform it and rebuild, just as we did this land, I say. We could leave the west to the Silent and rebuild to the east.
I let them mull over my suggestion for a while. The thought of leaving my home sickens me, but this war must end.
We must bring this to the Assembly, Deela says.
I nod, certain I can convince them.
At least once he is separated from the Songbearers, he will not be able to steal what the Silent do not possess. Deela seems reassured by this.
Eero has already stolen so much from the Silent—their peace, their stability, their future—but I keep these thoughts to myself as we take our leave.
Yllis finds me before sunset as I pace the floors of the Great Hall, awaiting updates from those on the front lines. He is rumpled and creased, his hair is lopsided, but he is as beautiful to me as ever.
“You must come with me,” he says. I startle at hearing his voice aloud, but I am so grateful he has spoken. He leads me to his office in the laboratory of the Cantors.
“I think I have found a way.”
“Do you think it wise to speak?” Though I love to hear his voice, I, too, have been seized by the paranoia affecting the other Songbearers.
“You, too, Oola?” He pins me with a withering glare, one I must grow used to seeing from him. What once was soft and cherished between us is now all hard edges. “No Silent are allowed within the walls of the Cantors.”
“Very well. You think you have found a way to do what?”
He points down to his leather-bound notebook. Tight handwriting fills every page, obscuring the color of the original paper.
“I have studied everything we have on the ancient ways of the Cavefolk. They are Silent but manage to harness a vast power different than Earthsong—from a different source. Just as powerful but not as limited. Cantors have long used the Cavefolk techniques, but only with Earthsong. They have never attempted any of the more robust spells because they all require one key ingredient.” His finger stops below one word, written boldly, traced over and over.
Blood.
I meet Yllis’s eyes, which gleam in the lamplight.
“With blood magic, we can create a spell to silence any Song,” he says.
“Blood magic?” I shake my head and step away. “We cannot.”
He steps toward me, his eyes on fire. “We must.”
“No, there is another way.” I tell him of the plan I shared with the others. “What he wants is his own land. The war will end once we give him this.”
Yllis stares at me for a long while, and shivers run up my spine. “You were always blind when it came to him.”
“What do you mean?”
For a moment, the hard shell he’s constructed around himself cracks, and I see a glimpse of the man I fell in love with. Yllis moves closer to me, placing his hands on my shoulders. “He wants what he has always wanted: power.”
I shiver. Both from the truth of his words and his close proximity.
“So this spell … how does it work?”
“It is a binding spell to prevent connection with Earthsong.”
“And we will need someone’s blood?”
His eyes darken, and he nods. “Let me worry about that. Link with me, and I will teach you the spell.”
His
hand is the same as I remember. Warm and big, it swallows mine. I hardly get to relish the feeling of his skin when I’m thrown into his link. The feel of the spell sours my tongue, but I commit it to memory.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
The Master of Jackals waded into the sea and found a fish floundering in a forgotten net.
When he went to free it, the fish responded, Leave me be.
Said the Jackal, Don’t you want to be free?
The fish replied, I do not trust you not to eat me. I will take my chances with the will of the ocean.
—COLLECTED FOLKTALES
The young maid standing in Jack’s office sniffled and wrung her hands. “No, Your Grace. I would never let anyone else in Miss Jasminda’s rooms. Never.” Red-rimmed eyes overflowed with tears. “I always saw to her myself, just as Usher asked.”
Jack sighed and paused his pacing. “And you have no idea how anyone would have gotten hold of this?” He pointed to the low table where the beautiful, delicate, golden gown Jasminda had worn her first night in the palace lay. It had been found, slashed and partially burned, outside the doors to the Prince Regent’s office suite.
“No, Your Grace.” The girl shook her head violently, took another look at the gown, and burst into a fresh round of sobs.
“All right, all right, Nadal,” Jack said, motioning for Usher to comfort her. “I believe you. But you haven’t heard anything from the other servants?”
She leaned into Usher and quieted. “Some of them have been cool toward me since I wouldn’t gossip about Miss Jasminda with them. I haven’t heard anything.”
Jack dropped roughly onto the couch, nervous energy rattling through him. He answered the question in Usher’s gaze with a nod, and the man led Nadal away, returning alone a few minutes later.
“She’s going to hate me,” Jack said as he rubbed his burning eyes, wishing he could rub away the weariness and the heartache. “She has every right to. But she’s in the safest place in the palace. Almost anyone could have sneaked into her rooms. Any person in this palace could mean her harm.”
Usher clucked his tongue; Jack looked up. “What?”
“You should go to her, young sir.”
“Was she really leaving?” Jack sank down, every bone in his body feeling twice its weight.
“It appears so,” Usher replied, apologetic.
Jack groaned, closing the lid on the emotions that threatened to spill out at the thought of Jasminda’s absence. A horrifying idea struck him. “Mother often talked of wanting to leave. I would hear them arguing.… Father would never let her.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m just like him, aren’t I? I will never be able to escape the shadow of his cruelty.”
He stood and walked to the terrace doors, looking out at the city stretching before him and beyond, to the endless waves of the ocean, turned dark and ominous, churning from the force of the storm.
Usher came to stand by him. “You are nothing like him.”
Jack rested his forehead against the cool glass. The weather outside matched the agitated whirlwind inside him. “Then why do I feel like the villain here?”
The buses with the refugees were now on their way toward the border. By this time tomorrow, they would all be back across the mountain. Only the Queen knew what their fates would be, but Jack could guess. He chuckled mirthlessly.
“What have I done, Usher? Sending the woman I love to the dungeons. Allowing the refugees to be sent back. What does this make me?”
“It makes you a prince.”
“And what is that worth when I can’t save anyone?”
The darkness in his heart was in danger of overtaking him. He rubbed his chest as if he could massage the broken organ from the outside. “I must go to her. Either she’ll forgive me or she won’t. Besides, I don’t want her staying in the palace any longer than necessary. You’ve gotten in touch with Benn’s wife?”
“Yes, she’s happy to let Jasminda stay with her down in Portside. The family will keep watch for trouble.” Usher’s reassuring voice was a balm to Jack’s soul.
“All right. She should be safe there while I ferret out whoever’s responsible.” He cast another glance at the ruined dress; anger beat a rhythm inside his chest. “I can’t fail her, too,” he rasped, nearly choking on the words.
Usher clapped him on the shoulder and squeezed. Some days the only thing keeping Jack upright was the man’s presence.
He gave Usher a sidelong glance. “How do you stand me, old man?”
“I don’t really have a choice, now, do I?” Usher said with a droll smile.
Jack shook his head and left for the dungeon, feeling even more guilty for keeping Jasminda locked away a moment longer than necessary. He had wanted her safe while he questioned the servants, but the task had taken longer than anticipated. As he entered the outer chamber leading to the cells, the guards snapped to attention.
“Captain,” Jack said. “It’s time to let her out.”
The captain’s eyes widened. “L-let her out, Your Grace?”
“Yes, open the cell. I’ll take her with me.”
The captain’s gaze darted to his fellow guard, rigid beside him, then back to Jack. “B-begging your pardon, Your Grace, but she’s already been let out.”
Jack stilled, every muscle in his body tensing in alarm. “I gave explicit orders that the young woman was to be held here until I ordered her released.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Then by whose authority was she released?” Jack roared.
“Yours, Your Grace.” The captain held out a folded letter, stamped with the official seal of the Prince Regent. Jack snatched it from his hands and read the contents, instructions to release Jasminda to the custody of the letter’s bearer.
He motioned for the guard to open the door to the cells and strode through, needing to see for himself that Jasminda was really gone. A blanket lay neatly folded on the cot inside an empty cell.
He spun back to face the captain. “Who brought this note?”
“A servant, Your Grace. A maid. I didn’t know her.”
“And you thought I’d send a maid to retrieve someone from custody?”
“The letter bears your seal, Your Grace.”
Jack turned away, trying to tamp down the rage boiling in his bloodstream. At its edge was a cold fear. Whoever had stolen Jasminda’s dress and destroyed it had wanted to send a message to Jack. They must have taken her as well. Would they really harm her? All to punish him?
One person had clashed swords directly with Jasminda recently. Someone who could gain access to the royal seal. Jack’s breathing came in short spurts as he exploded from the dungeon, racing up the stairs three at a time.
“Where is Minister Calladeen?” he growled to the young man at the main Royal Guard station.
“He’s in his offices, Your Grace.”
A red haze swallowed Jack. His whole body quivered as he stalked down the hall and slammed his way into the offices of the Minister of Foreign Affairs. A startled young secretary yipped in alarm when Jack stormed into the inner office.
Calladeen stood, eyes wide.
“What did you do?” Jack demanded.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Jack marched across the room until he was nearly nose to nose with the man. “Where is she?” he yelled. Calladeen shrank back, leaning almost comically away.
“Where is who, Your Grace?”
“Don’t play games with me, man. Where is Jasminda?”
Calladeen placed two hands up in a motion of surrender and stepped away from the wall of anger radiating from Jack’s body. Jack clenched and unclenched his fists, waiting for the moment when he could release his frustration in a flurry of violence.
“Your Grace, I swear by our Sovereign, I do not know.”
Jack’s glare was ruthless, and the man seemed genuinely afraid. Jack held up the letter. “You did not forge this message from me ordering her release?”
<
br /> Calladeen plucked the letter from Jack’s hand and read it over, a frown pulling down his mouth. “No, I did not. But I do recognize the handwriting.”
Jack had paid little attention to the curling script of the letter. “Whose is it?”
Calladeen’s sharp face grew pensive. “Lizvette’s.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
The Master of Monkeys was lost in his own maze for several evenings. He would follow the moon thinking the light would show him the way but found the moon to be an inconstant navigator.
—COLLECTED FOLKTALES
The caravan of buses rolled across the country as the wet day darkened into a tempestuous, thundery night. Rain pelted the metal of the bus’s roof so hard it sounded like hail. Jasminda sat near the front, handcuffed to a bar running under the window.
On the bench across from her sat Osar, squeezed together with a woman and two smaller children. All the mothers held their children close, blanketed in fear and sadness. The refugees had taken a risk in trusting their Elsiran neighbors, and they had lost.
Jasminda felt her own loss acutely, the loss of Jack and now her freedom. The cold metal bit into her skin when she jangled the chain connecting the cuffs. The soldier sitting in front of her craned his neck, glaring at her. She narrowed her eyes at him, hardening her stare until he turned around.
She’d thought being locked in the dungeon would be the worst this day would hold. She’d been wrong.
While imprisoned, she had mulled over the latest vision from the caldera while waiting for Jack to appear and explain himself. Then the clank of keys approaching had made her sit upright.
A young maid appeared outside her cell with two Guardsmen in tow. The door opened, and the girl motioned Jasminda forward. She stood, shocked the Guardsmen allowed the maid to lead her away.
“Did Jack send you?” Jasminda asked as she was passed a hooded cloak, large enough to cover her face. “Where are we going?”
“There’s a car waiting for you, miss.”
