“Who is he, Rose? You can trust me. Who? Maybe he can help you get out? There’s safety in numbers.”
Rose shook her head. “He can’t.”
“Why, Rose? Why can’t he?” Who could her daughter possibly have met, locked in her room? Not one of the guards, she hoped.
They both turned their heads as the door pushed open again. It was the Whisperer who brought them breakfast each morning. The one with the kind face.
He startled when he noticed her there and looked to the floor, seeming unsure if he should continue on in or leave.
“You can come in,” said Aurelia. Rose was going to need her breakfast today.
He approached and set the tray down silently on the table.
“Thank you,” said Aurelia. Even though she knew he wasn’t allowed to reply it hadn’t stopped her from thanking him each day.
She looked across at her daughter, wondering if Rose ever thanked him for his trouble.
Rose was looking out the window. Her cheeks were flushed and her breath coming in shallow gasps.
“Are you all right, Rose?” she asked, touching her on the arm.
Rose nodded, glancing at her briefly, then back out the window. “I’m fine thanks, Mother.”
Aurelia looked back at the Whisperer and noticed his hands were shaking. And his legs. He finished with the tray and left as quietly as he’d arrived.
“Oh, Rose.” She reached for her daughter again, forcing her to look at her. “Oh, Rose. It’s him, isn’t it? That’s who you’ve made your promise to.”
Rose shook her head, quickly and firmly. “No, it’s not him.”
Words may hold power in the arena, but right here, right now, they were useless. For Rose’s face spoke far louder than her words were able.
“I won’t tell anybody,” Aurelia said, ignoring the growing pains in her middle. “It’s okay. I’ll look after him when you’re gone. I’ll find a way to get him out. I promise. But first, you must leave. And take your sisters with you.”
“I can’t. I can’t leave without him.” Her daughter crumbled, putting her head in her hands and letting sobs wrack her slender frame.
How could she deny her daughter this love? A love she’d always wanted for herself and never experienced. Except it was hard to be in love when you were dead. And that was most certainly what the King had planned for her.
“Let’s go to your sisters,” she said. “We must ready you for your journey. I’ve organized for your safe travel to Aunt Lily’s. Everything’s going to be okay.”
She stood and pain washed over her, sending her back to the bed, groaning. Her other babies hadn’t come this quickly. She hadn’t counted on this.
“Rose,” she said, clasping her daughter’s hand. “Listen to me. Go to your sisters. Take them to the dungeon and find the guard named Tyron. He’s waiting to take you to Aria Flats. Your Aunty Lily will take care of you.”
Rose shook her head. Stubborn! Just like her father. This was no time for stubbornness.
“Your father is going to kill you,” she choked out, wincing as a strong contraction gripped her.
Rose reeled back, unable to speak as she processed what she’d just been told.
It broke Aurelia’s heart to have to be the one to spell it out to her like this. “He will. He insists his son will be King. You must leave.”
“I’m his daughter,” said Rose, biting her lip.
“Listen to me. He’s going to kill you. And your sisters. You must run.”
“I’m calling for the doctor.” Rose slipped out of bed and left the room.
Aurelia screamed, not from the pain in her belly, but from the pain in her heart. Her son was coming into this world to breathe air that her daughters would be denied. She clenched every muscle in her body trying to hold the baby in. He couldn’t come out. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Gabrielle had promised her that her daughters would be safe.
“Rose!”
Her daughter didn’t answer her call and instead, she was joined by a doctor who told her to push and wiped the sweat from her brow.
The labor was short and intense and as her son slipped from her body, she felt herself go numb, the pain in her heart outweighing the pain she felt anywhere else.
The doctor placed her son in her arms and she looked down at his face, not wanting to love him, yet unable to deny that she did. As much as her daughters were her children, so was this small pink boy.
He let out a cry and she held him immediately to her breast. He wasn’t just precious to the father who was yet to meet him, he was precious to her.
The King burst into the room, just as her son attempted to suckle. He was a hungry baby, almost as if he knew he was going to need sustenance for the life that lay ahead.
“Where is he?” the King asked, rushing to the bed and tearing her son from her arms. His tiny lungs screamed in protest.
The King held him roughly, with no idea how to correctly cradle a newborn, having never held one before.
“Careful!” Aurelia cried without thinking, her concern for her son outweighing her concern for herself. “You must support his head.”
The King looked at her, his eyes flashing with fury, and she flinched. He didn’t like to be told what to do. Please let him show her mercy now. The doctor hadn’t even finished attending to her yet.
But instead of hitting her, as she’d feared he would, he handed the baby back to her. It seemed he cared more for the welfare of his son than he did about his ego right now. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him put anyone else’s needs before his own.
She smiled as she pressed the baby’s tiny lips to her breast once more. Her husband might think he needed this son, but right now their son needed only her.
“I love you, baby,” she whispered, not wanting to use the name she dreaded having to give him. He may be forced to carry his father’s name, but he’d never carry the coldness of his heart. She’d raise him better than that.
She touched his cheek with the tips of her fingers. He was so soft and innocent. That was what she loved most about babies. They were all born without sin. Even her husband had been born this way, as hard as that was to imagine. Had his mother loved him with the same force she loved this small child? She never met his mother. She’d died not long after giving birth to her twins, leaving them to be raised by their father. Aurelia had always wondered if the timing of her death was a coincidence. She hoped so, or her own future didn’t look particularly bright.
“He looks like his father,” the King said, leaning over her, and pushing her hand aside so he could get a better look.
“He does,” she lied, seeing no resemblance whatsoever. He looked exactly like his sisters had at their birth.
Please let Rose be taking her girls to safety. Her heart couldn’t bear to lose them when she’d only just found another piece of it that she hadn’t even known was missing.
Whether or not her son ever ended up being King, he’d already changed the world for everyone in Forte Cadence.
Now it was time to find out exactly how. Whether she wanted to or not.
JEREMIAH
TEN
He spoke to her.
Was he crazy?
No, not crazy. He’d had no choice. He’d had to speak to her. Who else could he talk to, if it wasn’t Rose? Not the Conductor, that was for sure. And none of the other Whisperers would help him save Micah. They wouldn’t know how, even if they wanted to.
When Jeremiah arrived back in the arena, he noticed his mat had been moved to the front row, making him the tenth longest serving Whisperer in the palace. That was how they were ordered for the Whisperings. Rows of ten, with the most experienced at the front and the newer Whisperers at the rear. As one would leave, the ones who came after them would move up a place. On the rare occasion, when a Whisperer was returned from the dungeon, they’d have to take their place at the back of the room as if they’d only just arrived.
He lay down on his mat, feeling str
ange in this new position in the arena. It was hard to tell how the other Whisperers felt about moving up a place, but Jeremiah hated it. The worst times were like today when the new place also moved him up to a new row. Each time that happened, he’d carry the weight of ten departed Whisperers on his back like a sack of stones.
When the first Whisperers were brought to the palace, they’d been arranged in order of age, which placed Jeremiah in the last position in the very back row. So, it was with great dread that Jeremiah took his new place in the front row, knowing that nine hundred and ninety of his peers had fallen before him. He knew he was supposed to be honored to make it there, despite not being allowed to show it. When it was time for the Conductor to step down from his role, whoever was in the first position would take his place. Jeremiah knew that could never be him. He’d sacrifice himself before he ever became the Conductor, hopefully being sent to the dungeon rather than losing his head. It was one thing to do the King’s bidding by whispering his wishes, it was another altogether to punish innocent people, stripping out their insides and leaving empty, obedient shells in their place, much like the walnut he used to wear around his neck. No, he could never be the Conductor.
His time was running out. He was now ten places away from having to act. For five years, he’d passively accepted the rules and kept himself out of trouble. But in ten places … all that must change.
And although the Whisperers in front of him were the hardiest of all and Jeremiah should feel safe for years to come, it weighed heavily on his mind. His time in the palace had taught him that Whisperers could fall faster than expected. He certainly hadn’t thought he’d move from the last row of the arena to the front this quickly.
He closed his eyes, pretending for a moment that he was back in the rear of the arena where he could hide. He felt so exposed in the front row with nobody to stand between him and the Conductor.
Although, now that Micah had appeared, the time for change wasn’t in ten places. It wasn’t even in three. He could no longer wait quietly for change to come to him. He had to go and get it himself. And talking to Rose had seemed his safest choice. Nobody had treated him like she had since he’d arrived here. Her sisters were frightened of him, hiding under their blankets when he set down their breakfast trays each morning. Her mother had the same kindness in her eyes as Rose, and would thank him for his trouble, except never had she asked him a question or tried to get him to speak. Perhaps she understood the consequences better than her eldest daughter.
This was just one of the reasons Jeremiah had fallen in love with Rose. She was so pure of heart that she couldn’t possibly believe he’d be killed for speaking to her. She was reckless too and as much as that had put him in danger, he liked it. She was the only person he’d seen in the palace brave enough to defy her father’s rules. She was also the only person who’d treated him like a human. Without the few minutes he spent with her each day, he wondered if he’d have lost sense of who he was. Those few minutes were what had helped him keep hold of himself. And as much as he hadn’t wanted Rose to guess his name, as she’d tried out each new guess he’d been screaming silently at her, telling her who he was, which of course had reminded himself that he was Jeremiah.
Was that what’d happened to the other Whisperers? Without someone to remind them of who they were, they’d somehow let go of themselves and accepted their lives?
He longed to know what was going on inside their heads. But not one of them—not one!—had ever tried to talk to him. Then again, nor had he tried to speak to them.
He owed Rose his life and for that reason, he’d decided to put it in her hands. If she betrayed him, he was dead. Although wasn’t he as good as dead anyway?
He’d seen the uncertainty in her eyes as she’d promised to help him and that was okay. Because her uncertainty was still far more likely to help him than his certainty that he was unable to help himself.
He pulled his woolen blanket up to his shoulders, nestling down so his face was obscured. Closing his eyes wasn’t enough to block his reality out. When he’d first arrived, he’d thought this blanket was harsh and scratchy. Not now. He loved his blanket and the small amount of privacy it gave him in the monotony of his life.
His days in the palace passed like clockwork, each one the same as the one before and certain to be the same as the one that followed. He’d wake at sunrise and head to the bathroom with the other male Whisperers for hygiene time. At all other times, the Whisperers were treated like name-less, gender-less, everything-less servants, but at hygiene time a distinction was made. Perhaps if they were to see the opposite sex without their robes, they’d be reminded of the differences that existed between them.
They’d shuffle naked in single file through a long passageway, with freezing water pouring over them to wash the stink and disease from their bodies. Palace groomers awaited them at the end to inspect for any illness, sprouting hair or injury, like they were some kind of farm animals, which perhaps they were.
After hygiene time, they set out to do their morning chores. Delivering the royal breakfast trays had to be one of the easiest assignments in the palace, once Jeremiah got used to carrying the trays with a steady enough hand that he wouldn’t make a single noise. Each step was fraught with danger and his stomach would groan at the delicious smells. He’d never get used to that.
After his deliveries, he’d go to the dining hall for his own breakfast, then back to the arena for rest time, as was happening now.
He shifted on his mat, peeking out from his blanket to look at the glass window at the very top of the arena’s domed roof, waiting for the sun to hit the high point in the sky. This would tell them it was time for the female Whisperers to have their hygiene time and for the afternoon chores to begin.
Jeremiah worked in the laundry, which was tiring and lonely and he’d have to drag himself to the dining hall afterward for his watery soup, before collapsing in the arena for his night’s sleep.
At sunrise, the clock would re-set and an identical day would begin. Only today the clock had been broken. By him. He’d broken it and ground the pieces beneath his foot by speaking to Rose. No day was ever going to be the same again.
He tried to stretch out on his mat as much as possible while remaining within its confines. His mat was the one place in the world that was his. A rectangle, five feet by three feet. That was all he had. His one little space on this enormous planet. He envied some of the smaller Whisperers who could stretch out their legs while they slept. That was one bonus of being in the front row at least. If his foot came off his mat at night, it was less likely to poke another Whisperer in the ribs.
The arena was also the one place where there was noise made by Whisperers. Snoring wasn’t technically allowed, of course, however there was little the Conductor could do about it. At first, he’d dragged the offending Whisperer from their mat and beaten them. Or worse. But the Conductor soon realized that although there was a steady supply of replacements as needed, if they were to replace each one who snored, they’d never be able to keep up. So, only the heaviest snorers were punished now. And the sleep talkers, of course. Jeremiah had no idea if he was one of those who quietly snored. He doubted it, certain that he slept in silence. It wasn’t like he could ask Worried One who’d slept beside him for over three years now. So perhaps he’d never know.
Snoring had quickly become Jeremiah’s favorite noise and he’d lie awake at night, wondering what dreams were attached to these slumberous sounds. Did these Whisperers speak in their dreams like he did? Did they visit their families, have long hair and wear clothes without hoods made from fabric that was any other color but gray? He hoped so.
Or did they dream of taking the Conductor’s sword and killing him with one stroke? Because more than once this had been the subject of Jeremiah’s dreams and he’d woken in a sweat, disappointed to realize it was only a dream. He tried to feel bad about this. The Conductor was just as much a prisoner as they were. If he failed to do his job, t
he King would have him killed. There were a thousand Whisperers lined up to take his place. But he just couldn’t feel bad for him. The Conductor was evil, taking pleasure in the punishments he dished out. Jeremiah could never do that. He’d rather die.
Ten places from certain death. That’s all he was.
He’d been right to talk to Rose.
He froze in his thoughts, as he felt a Whisperer walk past his mat. With the absence of the sound of footsteps, as bare feet padded silently through the palace, he’d gotten used to sensing people were near, rather than hearing them.
He was certain it was Micah, yet he didn’t look up. That would only endanger both her and him. He could never risk her safety. Which meant that now he was unable to take risks himself—for her survival depended on him. He must get her out of here.
It was crazy that she was in here anyway. He’d told her about the test, even though he wasn’t meant to. She should’ve known how to answer the questions to keep herself safe.
Feeling certain that Micah had passed by, he peeked out from under his blanket. Almost all the Whisperers had finished their morning chores and were back on their mats by now. From the corner of his eye, he could see Micah making her way to the back of the arena, to the very last row, the one furthest away from him.
He startled to see something white on the edge of his mat. A folded piece of paper. A note from Micah? He hoped not. That would be far too risky. If the Conductor found a note being passed between Whisperers they’d both be killed.
Careful not to react too quickly, he reached out and picked up the paper, taking it under his blanket and clutching it in his palm. If the crinkling of the paper hadn’t been heard, then surely the sound of his heart hammering was echoing around the arena? It sounded like a hundred drums beating in his ears. If the guards suspected something was wrong, he was done for.
The Kingdoms of Evernow Box Set Page 9
