Maybe the Conductor was right. A chance had to be better than no chance at all. Didn’t it?
JEREMIAH
THE AFTER
“Thank you, Whisperer,” said the Princess.
Jeremiah nodded. So slight was the movement, it was barely there at all. Long ago, the impulse to speak had gone. Many days had passed since he’d had to bite his tongue to stop the words from escaping his lips.
His words belonged to King Virtus now, purchased for a fee far less than he now knew they were worth. Although, how could he put a price on his family’s lives? That fee had guaranteed food in their stomachs for as long as they lived. It would see Micah grow into the woman she was born to be—wild, free, beautiful and brave. He’d had five summers stolen from him since arriving at the palace, which meant his mother’s baby would not only have been born, it would no longer be a baby. He wondered if he had the brother he’d sometimes imagined? Or another sister to compete with Micah? It was hard to imagine a small child that he’d never met, living in his house. Did he or she sleep in his bed and sit at his place at the table? It felt strange to think of being replaced like that.
Although, more than he wondered about this mysterious sibling, he wondered if the medicine had cured his father? Da had been sick for so long. It didn’t seem fair for a man who was still so far from being old. Hopefully, he’d been cured and was now able to live life as he was supposed to. That alone would make Jeremiah’s decision worthwhile.
Whatever had happened to his family since he’d been gone, he’d never know. Not with his body locked inside the palace and his words locked inside his head.
He set down the Princess’s breakfast tray, avoiding her eye, despite feeling her gaze upon him. She was watching him closely, as was her habit. He longed to be able to stare back at her and take in the full force of her beauty, rather than the glimpses he caught as he avoided looking at her. The Princess had taken after her mother in looks, which was lucky for her. King Virtus had a face as ugly as his heart. The Queen, on the other hand, was widely known as the most beautiful woman in the kingdom. Although that was only because most people in the kingdom had never seen her daughter.
The Princess wasn’t much older than Micah, or perhaps the same age—it was hard to think of Micah as a teenager now—yet life had dealt two very different hands. He wondered how this was decided and by whom. Two females born at roughly the same time, and one gets to wear silk slippers and comb her golden hair like a mane down her back, and the other has to wear the dirt of the village on the soles of her feet and cut her hair for fear of lice. Not that this was the Princess’s fault of course. She was no more responsible for the life she’d been born into than Micah was.
“I said, thank you, Whisperer,” the Princess repeated. Her voice was gentle, yet insistent, as she tried her best to draw some words out of him.
Jeremiah nodded once more, looking out the window to her left as he waited for her to empty her tray. If the Conductor or one of his guards caught him looking at the Princess, her face would be the last thing he ever saw. Even the small nods he’d begun to give her, were a risk. It just felt so wrong to give her nothing when she insisted on giving him so much.
“Do you like orange juice?” she asked, taking her glass from the tray. He hated oranges and anything to do with them ever since that day. But the Princess didn’t know that. She seemed to love them almost as much as Micah had.
“It really is delicious.” She took a long sip of her juice. “Would you like some?”
She held out the glass to him and he took a step away, wishing she wouldn’t do that. His hand went to his throat, as it sometimes did, looking for his lucky walnut shell, even though he hadn’t worn it for years.
The Princess wasn’t allowed to speak to him, however, that didn’t stop her. It never had. She’d been speaking to him for years now, trying to get him to say something back. He wondered if she played this game with the other Whisperers. He’d never seen her try it with any of them. For some reason, he seemed to be her favorite. An unenviable position when he was supposed to have no name.
“I think your name might be Thomas.” Once again, he could feel her eyes upon him.
Each day she tried to guess his name, searching for the smallest reaction. He was preparing himself for the day she got it right. For if she learned his name, he’d certainly face the sword. Surely, she must know the danger her games put him in? She just didn’t seem to be able to resist talking to him, even if she knew he’d never be able to speak back. Perhaps she was just as frustrated and bored with the monotony of her existence as he was.
Whatever Micah was doing right at that moment, he’d bet anything she wasn’t bored. Not that he owned anything to bet. He’d given all of that up the day the Conductor had knocked on his door, asking if he’d reconsidered the King’s offer. He’d even given up his lucky walnut shell, looping it around Micah’s neck and telling her it was her turn to bring the family good fortune. The Conductor had sniggered from the door and smiled with his lips, his eyes remaining cold and distant.
To think it was the Angel of Death his mother had been worried might pay their family a visit. The Conductor was like the devil himself. You sold him your soul, only instead of sending you to the depths of hell, he took you to a place far worse… the King’s palace.
Jeremiah moved the rest of the breakfast items from the tray, careful that they didn’t make the smallest noise as they touched the table.
“I won’t tell anyone if you talk to me, Thomas.” She brushed her hand against his own, the sudden warmth causing him to withdraw from her abruptly. Human touch was even rarer for a Whisperer than speaking. “You can trust me.”
This was something else the Princess did each day. She begged him to speak, promising he could trust her. And he did trust her, which was yet another reason he couldn’t speak to her. For if he did and someone were to overhear, then she could be punished as well, and that wasn’t something he could live with. He wasn’t able to protect Micah anymore, but he could do his best to protect Princess Rose.
He’d known her name was Rose long before he met her. Everyone did. It was the right name for her. He thought he’d guess it straight away if he hadn’t already known it. She was beautiful and delicate. And also very sharp. Nothing got past her. Just like a real rose, you’d be a fool to admire her for her looks and forget about the sting that could be left if you didn’t pay attention. Not that her stings were intentional of course, for her heart was as soft as the center of the sweetest smelling rose. It was her position in the palace that was dangerous, not the person herself.
“My mother’s pregnant,” she said. “It will be the boy you whispered for.”
Jeremiah tried not to listen, not wanting to know any more secrets than he already did. Although as much as he tried, the Princess seemed to want to tell him everything that happened in her life, filling his ears each day with information as if he were some sort of diary. Perhaps it unburdened her to do this. Maybe she assumed his ears were deaf to her words, just as his tongue was mute when not whispering for her father. No, he was certain she knew he was listening.
“I’ve told you before how surprised I was that Father took so long to whisper for a boy.” He heard her set down her glass and he knew she’d be looking at him.
She had told him this before. And Jeremiah had been surprised about it as well. The Queen had given the King four daughters, including Rose. Why not whisper for a boy and be done with it? It was widely known that was what the King wanted. There’d been a line of kings named Virtus, stretching back in history as far as anyone could remember. Forte Cadence had never been without one. This was a problem for the current King, given that as the law stood, the throne would be passed to his children in birth order, which made Princess Rose his heir, whether he had a son or not. His son would be fifth in line, no matter what anatomy sat between his legs. Although this didn’t seem to stop the King wanting a son.
“I did hear Mother begging
him once to let nature take its course,” the Princess said to his back. “Not that Father ever pays attention to begging, so I don’t know why he listened to her that time.”
Jeremiah wanted to point out that he hadn’t listened. He’d obviously had enough of waiting and had decided to take matters into his own hands when he’d had them whisper for his precious son.
“My mother’s frightened, Thomas,” the Princess continued. “I asked her if she’s scared she’ll have another girl and she said she’s scared of having a boy. Honestly, does that make any sense to you?”
It did make sense to him and the sense weighed heavily on his mind. He may not be allowed to speak, but he could see plenty of things the Princess was blind to. Without a change in the current law—which must be impossible or surely the King would already have changed it—there was only one way this baby boy could end up as heir to the throne. Was King Virtus brutal enough to dispense of his own daughters? Jeremiah hoped with all his heart that he wasn’t.
The idea of Rose as Queen one day was the only thing that gave him hope. He was certain she’d change the way they lived. Although even if she managed to stay alive, what hope did she have of ever becoming Queen, with a father who could whisper for life until the end of time?
He turned to leave, unable to delay his departure any longer and needing some space from his depressing thoughts.
“Thank you, Thomas.” The Princess leaped from her chair and stood behind him. If he were to turn around, he’d feel her soft breath on his face. “I think you have very kind eyes. Next time maybe you’ll look at me.”
He was glad he’d already turned away, for his face held the reaction she’d been searching for.
The Princess’s words made him feel like a person, not a Whisperer. And more than he missed speaking, more than he missed Micah or Tallis or his mother or father, he really did miss being a person. It was for this reason that as much as he wished the Princess wouldn’t endanger him by speaking to him, he was so very glad she did. If he hadn’t had her words to look forward to each day, he’d have lost his mind long ago. She was the one thing that kept him sane in all this madness. His Rose in a garden of thorns.
“Goodbye Thomas,” she called in a hush, as he closed the door behind him.
He paused for a moment, silently calling goodbye to her in return, despondent that it would be another full day before he saw her again, which meant another full day of not being spoken to by another living soul. Unless the Conductor chose to speak to him, of course, and that was never a good thing. Did he count as a living soul? Perhaps not. His soul was far too cold to be considered living.
Jeremiah made his way down one of the many corridors, his bare feet padding silently on the carpet.
A female Whisperer approached from the other direction. They both looked the other way as they passed. With a thousand Whisperers in the palace, dressed in the same gray robes, all with cleanly shaven heads and not one of them with a name, it was hard to keep track of who was who. But Jeremiah made a point of it, giving them all names inside his head.
The one who passed him just now, was Mean Mouth, who wore a permanent scowl on her face. She looked very similar to Long Nose and a little like Dancing Feet, except he knew the difference. This was his private gift to the Whisperers. They may have let go of who they were themselves, but he refused to let this happen. There was more about them that was different than the same. You just had to try a little harder to see it.
He wound his way through the passageways to the dining hall. Whisperers sat in lines, carefully holding their wooden spoons so as not to make a noise, as they scooped their porridge from their bowls.
Taking his place in the queue behind Sharp Teeth, he waited his turn, willing the groans in his stomach to keep silent. When the Princess had asked him if he liked orange juice, he couldn’t have answered her even if he’d been allowed. He didn’t know. Whisperers weren’t fed such luxuries, and on the rare occasion his family had chanced upon a piece of fruit, they’d eat it, skin and all, just as they’d done that day. Juicing was an extravagance out of reach to people like him. It seemed like such a waste.
Sharp Teeth shuffled forward, head bent, hands clasped in front of him and no sign of anything going on inside his mind, other than patiently waiting for breakfast. Just the way the Conductor had trained them. A model Whisperer.
To the rest of them, Jeremiah must also seem a model Whisperer. From the outside, he did everything he was supposed to. Thankfully the Conductor couldn’t see inside his head or it would no longer be attached to his neck. Did the others dream of a life that held more than this, yearn for their families, and name each other so they could tell them apart? What name had they given him? Tall Guy? Blue Eyes? Sleeps-a-lot? It wouldn’t be Curly Hair as none of them would know that’s how his hair chose to sprout. And it wouldn’t be Hungry One as they couldn’t know how much his stomach ached for food day and night.
When he’d first come to the palace, Darting Eyes had still been a Whisperer. His body had done everything the Conductor had taught him, but his eyes had betrayed him. He’d watched every movement, caught too many glances and ultimately suffered the fate of the sword. People with darting eyes can’t be trusted with the King’s secrets.
Jeremiah had learned from that, determined not to suffer the same demise. His family would only continue to be fed if he remained a faithful Whisperer. If he were to lose his head, then the Conductor may as well take the heads of his family too. They were as good as dead without the food they received from the King in exchange for his Whispers.
The line moved forward and Sharp Teeth was handed a bowl of porridge. Jeremiah could see black dots in the bowl from where he stood and hoped they were raisins. He knew better than to seem interested, keeping his gaze to the floor. Occasionally, when the King was feeling generous, they’d get a small treat, like raisins in their porridge. Either that or the King had noticed their pale complexions and threw in some raisins to ward off disease. He wouldn’t want anything to happen to his precious army.
Most of the real soldiers had left the palace when the Whisperers arrived. Only a few remained behind as guards. Jeremiah wondered where they’d all gone. Hopefully, back to the families they’d left behind. The thought of that gave him hope that maybe one day he’d be able to do the same.
The Princess had told him once in her morning chatter that the soldiers had been bartered to other kingdoms in exchange for Whisperers. One Whisperer for ten soldiers. The other Kings and Queens had laughed at her father, more than happy to hand over what appeared to be ordinary, useless citizens for skilled fighters.
Jeremiah wondered if this could be true. Had King Virtus really sent out his workers with their paintings and their oranges, visiting kingdom upon kingdom until he had one thousand Whisperers in his command? It seemed like quite a process.
The Princess had been worried about this at first. Who bartered away their army like that? What would happen if they were attacked, with no army to protect them? Jeremiah had been worried too, not for himself, but for his family. With no army, what hope did they have if they were invaded? Thankfully there’d been no attacks since the Whisperers had arrived.
The other Kings and Queens would certainly not be laughing now. King Virtus was untouchable. Attempted invasions of Forte Cadence mysteriously failed each and every time. The Princess told him stories of hailstorms blinding their enemies’ armies as they crossed the border, or hideous diseases that ran rife among their soldiers as they prepared for battle, or fires that ravaged their villages, forcing their attention elsewhere. Forte Cadence had never been safer since the Whisperers moved into the palace.
Jeremiah had no idea how King Virtus had known to set up the strange army that they formed. Either someone was advising him or he had special powers far greater than the world had ever seen. He shuddered at the thought of that. If the universe had to give one man such power, why did it have to be someone so vile and selfish?
Sharp Teeth st
epped aside and Jeremiah took his place at the servery to fill his bowl. There were definitely raisins in the porridge. Loads of them! He could almost taste their sweetness already. He fought the urge to smile, before remembering the last time they were served a treat like this. It was the day before a Whispering had taken place. Did that mean another was imminent? He looked toward the door to see if the Whispering flags had been raised, and saw they were absent. There was no Whispering planned just yet.
He despised Whisperings, not for the act itself, as that was quite a pleasant change to the monotony of his daily life, but because granting the King’s wishes was the last thing he wanted to do. He wasn’t a man who deserved his wishes granted.
It wouldn’t be so bad if all the wishes were to keep the kingdom safe. There were those Whisperings, of course, and at those particular ones Jeremiah was certain the Whisperings took on a new energy, for they were whispering words from their hearts as well as their fear of the sword.
It was the Whisperings for the King’s foolish desires that bothered Jeremiah. Whisperings for a trimmer royal waistline, Whisperings for a new golden carriage, Whisperings for a fresh strawberry pie when there was snow on the hills.
Or more recently, the Whispering for the Queen to birth a son. A son that was certain to bring about the death of the one good thing in this whole palace.
Jeremiah took his place at the table next to Short Man, careful to set down his bowl gently and not scrape the leg of the chair on the floor.
The first spoonful of porridge was so sweet it made his eyes water. He blinked and cast down his gaze, hoping nobody had noticed. It was incredible how much pleasure one small change could bring. Would it be too much to hope these raisins would become a regular treat? Most definitely.
There were no regular treats in his life. Except for Princess Rose. He sometimes wondered if his task of bringing her breakfast each day was a test. Had the Princess been challenged to get him to speak so the Conductor could draw his sword across his neck? Or was the palace waiting for his admiration for her to reach such a point that they could take away his job and injure his heart even more than they already had? No matter how likely either of these options were, he couldn’t help dismissing them each time they entered his mind. The Princess wasn’t testing him. She wouldn’t know how. She was too innocent. Too pure. And if the palace was waiting for his admiration to grow, then they need not wait any longer. He loved her, in a way that was neither innocent nor pure. She’d become his everything, in place of all the things in his life that’d been taken away. She filled the empty spaces in his heart with golden light.
The Kingdoms of Evernow Box Set Page 3
