Requiem of Silence

by L. Penelope

  Zeli grunted, and he looked down to see her rubbing a shoulder. “You all right?”

  “Fine, I just really hate being jostled.”

  He pulled her closer, releasing her hand to circle an arm around her shoulders. She was very close now, the smell of the oil she used to moisturize her hair filling his nostrils with a light sweetness.

  As they walked, avoiding stray elbows or the whirl of a spontaneous dancer, Varten began to feel lighter. Though he did not enjoy the swarm of bodies, the excitement they exuded was infectious. The music was fast and loud and made him want to spin around himself. And having Zeli tucked under his arm did something strange to his brain.

  She had one arm around him as well, the other placed against his stomach, probably for balance since the street was unevenly paved and the jam of people made her stumble occasionally. When he shifted suddenly to avoid a laughing, twirling woman who’d crossed his path, Zeli pressed against him harder. He was still tender from yesterday’s punch, but that wasn’t what knocked the air from his lungs.

  He focused on keeping his feet under him when a smiling man carrying a tray of wooden cups stopped before him and offered him one. Surprised, Varten reached for it, sniffing a delicious, candied aroma. He took a sip and groaned; whatever this was tasted like melted gold drizzled in honey. He offered it to Zeli, who frowned.

  “What is that?”

  He shrugged. “They’re passing them around.”

  She looked around, somewhat worried. “We don’t know what’s in this or where it came from.” But she reached for it anyway, removing her hand from his belly, and took a measured sip. Then she smiled.

  “This is good.” She drained the rest of the cup. There was no bite of alcohol in the drink but he felt a little slower and looser all the same.

  Someone speaking in Elsiran caught his attention. A young man dressed all in white stood on a platform off to the side of the street. They’d passed others like him shouting, though none in a language they could understand.

  “Visitors, friends—the Rumpus is a time to lay our burdens down!” the man shouted. “As an acolyte of Saint Gilmer, I have dedicated my life to carrying out his mission. During the Rumpus, we celebrate him and all he has provided to strengthen the ties that bind us together.”

  They stopped to listen, though most of the crowd continued walking. Zeli looked up wide-eyed, tilting her head and trying to understand the words.

  “Over the course of a decade of toil and travail, our links weaken,” the acolyte continued, clasping his hands together, then breaking them apart. “But never forget, to celebrate is to live, to love, and to be merry. Rest your weary shoulders and take part, and you will feel the benefit. You will feel the blessing of Saint Gilmer the Searcher. The pursued and pursuer. Whether you seek entertainment, a partner to walk this life with you, or the knowledge to create both, you may find it here. Lay your burdens down, seek and find and rejoice.”

  He held his hands above his head, palms up, then clapped them together and brought them to his lips. He closed his eyes and bowed. When he opened them again, he looked at Varten and smiled.

  Then he looked away and began speaking in another language. Perhaps the same speech repeated? Varten recognized only the words Gilmer and Rumpus.

  “People from around the world come,” Zeli said. “They must translate some things into various languages.”

  Varten nodded and caught sight of a stream of blue-clad people turning up ahead. “Come on!”

  This new side street was narrower and less crowded. As they headed away from the music in the square, a new set of musicians began playing nearby and the dancing changed. Around them, people started singing a Yalyish song. It was bright and folksy, very catchy even though he couldn’t sing along.

  But Zeli was laughing as an older man beside her did a series of spins. He turned to her and motioned for her to spin as well. At first Varten thought she’d be too shy, but then she relented and turned around on her toes once. The man clapped and did another turn, so Zeli did, too.

  Not to be outdone, and caught up in the joy and exuberance and warmth running through his veins, Varten started spinning as well. Zeli’s laugh was even more infectious than the music. He reached out for her, took her hand, and they spun together.

  The entire crowd danced as they moved toward their destination. It was a mobile party parade in the middle of the street. Now dizzy, Varten did not stop dancing. He let his arms and legs glide and move along with the melody of the guitar, drums, and horns he still couldn’t see.

  Beside him, Zeli moved freely as well, graceful and rhythmic and easy. She stumbled on a crack in the street and ended up crashing into him. Instinctively, he tightened his arms around her to keep her from falling. Laughing, her eyes met his. She seemed closer, standing on her toes.

  He couldn’t help himself from leaning forward. When their lips touched it was as if a blanket fell over the world. The music faded, the revelers quieted. Everything stopped, even his heartbeat. Her arms moved around him, bringing him closer. He lifted her to bring her even nearer. Holding her there, something new and indefinable moved through him. Something like music or electricity made his very bones begin to sing.

  When their tongues touched, Zeli startled. He opened his eyes to find her staring at him, breathing heavily. The crowd moved around them, water around a boulder. They gaped at each other for a moment before he put her down.

  She touched her lips, appearing stunned, but didn’t say anything. He held his breath.

  The invisible musicians were closer now, drowning out anything she might have wanted to say. She blinked as if waking from a dream, and looked around. Then she turned and started walking again. Slowly, not leaving him behind, but not touching him anymore.

  The crowd had thinned somewhat. There was enough space for them to walk unmolested, so he didn’t reach for her again. Though his hand itched and felt empty.

  Every now and again she would look over at him furtively, as if trying to solve a riddle he’d presented. He supposed he was the riddle, for he barely knew himself.

  For a brief moment, he’d been just as unencumbered and free as the acolyte had advised. Caught up in a moment of singular joy. But a person can’t just set down their burdens, not when they’re tethered to you. Dragging themselves behind you.

  Not when the weight of them pulls against you with every step. Even the wonder and merriment of the Rumpus couldn’t change everything.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  When you play, do it not with

  people’s minds or hearts or feelings.

  Play to win, or play the drum,

  the horn, the keys.

  Play rousing, soothing, raucous, lilting melodies.

  —THE HARMONY OF BEING

  Jasminda sat stiffly on the ungenerously cushioned chair. She supposed she should call it a throne, but shouldn’t it be more comfortable to achieve such a lofty title? Next to her, Jack’s seat was conspicuously empty.

  She’d spent the past two hours calming the staff to the best of her ability and giving out a dozen reassurances to various supervisors that they would be able to successfully handle an impromptu state visit by one of the most notoriously unpleasant leaders of the continent. That they could do in hours what was usually accomplished in weeks.

  Too bad there was no one to reassure her.

  Guardsmen lined the throne room, standing at attention. The entire Council was here, as well as various aides and a handful of aristocrats. This room seemed like the best place to entertain a royal visitor, though as the bottoms of her thighs lost feeling, she began to rethink the notion. Perhaps something less formal, to create a feeling of congeniality and make King Pia lower her guard somewhat. Then again, such informality may be taken as an insult. Best to lean on decorum and the established protocol for these types of events.

  Jack would know. Calladeen likely would, too, but she was firm in her decision not to enlist his assistance. Who knew what he’d want in
return for helping her? And she couldn’t risk looking weak before him.

  A page ran into view from the back of the room. “She’s on her way, Your Majesty,” the young man said, out of breath.

  Jasminda nodded and he dashed away again. No more time for second-guessing, she would just have to do the best she could. She straightened and lifted her chin, affecting her most regal expression. Usher had told her that it made her look quite formidable—she wasn’t sure if he was just being kind, but she took the words to heart.

  The double doors of the throne room opened, revealing a group of Guardsmen who marched down the center. Behind them came the Raunian entourage.

  The long, narrow space did not allow for a clear view of King Pia for some time. She was shorter than expected, shorter, it appeared, than Ani and probably only rose to the height of Jasminda’s shoulders. Her hair was a cap of pure white, cropped very short without any of the blue or green dye her people were known for. She wore a robe of sapphire and gold with bell sleeves.

  On her face lay an intricate web of tattoos. Ani had explained the meanings of her own markings, rank and taxes and shipping rights and family ties and significant accomplishments. From the amount of ink scored onto her cheeks, forehead, and chin, it was clear that King Pia was quite a force to be reckoned with, even if you didn’t know her title.

  But even more shocking was the retinue she’d brought. At least fifty men and women entered solemnly behind her. As they filtered in, Camm whispered from in back of the throne.

  “She brought a total of one hundred people, Your Majesty.”

  Jasminda kept her shock from her face, but just barely. Quite a large retinue for an impromptu foreign visit from such a small country. The island nation had less than half of Elsira’s population. Jack had only brought a half-dozen to Fremia, including his guards. What was the purpose of this? The throne room had never been quite so full.

  Her staff’s concerns echoed in her mind. Could they accommodate so large a group within the palace?

  “Make sure Usher knows and alerts the staff,” she said, trying not to move her mouth.

  “I’m on it.” Camm’s soft footsteps retreated, and Jasminda swallowed.

  Though petite in size, King Pia had an energy about her that put Jasminda in mind of a thundercloud. Earthsong revealed that the woman exuded confidence, she was calm, and a bit smug. Jasminda bet Pia knew that she’d caught Elsira off-guard and was happy about that.

  Two familiar faces were a part of her entourage: Pia’s son and Ani’s brother, Tai Summerhawk, along with Lizvette Nirall, the current ambassador to Raun. Lizvette’s gaze was contrite and her emotions apologetic and worried, as they should be. She should have given some warning about this visit. Jasminda would be having words with her about this.

  Finally, the king completed her long, slow trek down the center of the room to stand before the dais holding the two thrones. Jasminda inclined her head slightly. “King Pia, we are honored to receive you. We trust that your journey here was safe?”

  “Quite safe, Your Majesty, thank you.” Her voice was velvet and silver. Like the final chime of a bell before time runs out. Time for what, Jasminda did not know, but she felt the ticking down of the clock anyway.

  “And let me congratulate you on both your precipitous rise to power and the return of your lost family members. I know my daughter was greatly gratified by the latter.” Pia’s dark eyes reminded Jasminda of onyx chips, fathomless but with a bright reflection. “Speaking of which, where is my daughter?”

  “Please accept my apology, Your Majesty,” Jasminda said. “Had we more notice of your arrival, I’m certain my brother and your daughter would have been here to greet you. They departed yesterday on her ship, the Rapskala. However, I’ve sent a speedboat after them to request that they return.”

  Some of the smugness faded from Pia’s expression. “Ah, you must forgive me for the unannounced visit. We intended to undergo a sailing tour of only the surrounding territory of our island, a trip of two days. Then, on a whim, I decided we might as well head east so that you and I could discuss things in person. Ambassador Nirall was quite shocked and implored me to send advanced word, so please don’t blame her.”

  Jasminda’s gaze shot to Lizvette, who looked on stoically, but surprise at Pia’s announcement rang through the Earthsong connection.

  Pia continued, looking at Lizvette with kindness. “She fervently appealed for me to evaluate Elsira’s new leadership with fresh eyes, and I found her arguments convincing. The rest of my staff”—she waved at the retainers surrounding her—“are well aware of my eccentricities.”

  That a two-day tour could turn into a nearly two-week journey across the ocean was more than eccentric, but Jasminda merely nodded. She didn’t know what game Pia was playing, but the woman had calculating eyes—the eyes of someone not only older and wiser, but tougher and shrewder than Jasminda could ever hope to be.

  “Well,” she said, rising, and deciding to take another tack. “Let’s not stand on ceremony. You and I have much to discuss regarding the relations that have soured between our two peoples. Let us do so woman to woman, queen to … king.”

  Pia smiled and inclined her head in response. Jasminda descended from the dais and approached the other ruler, holding out her hands in greeting. Pia looked at her outstretched hands and raised a brow. Too late, Jasminda realized she’d given the Elsiran greeting. She had no idea how Raunians greeted one another.

  Pia did not raise her hands to meet Jasminda’s outstretched palms, leaving her standing there, greeting given but not reciprocated. Jack’s advice to learn more about Raunian culture came back to her along with Calladeen’s exhortations. But she had been focused on other areas, domestic rather than foreign.

  Now she stood in her own throne room, embarrassed and shamed. In her peripheral vision, the Council bristled. She could not identify Calladeen and refused to turn her head, but could imagine his expression.

  Slowly, Jasminda lowered her arms, not breaking eye contact with Pia. She clasped her hands in front of her, mimicking the other woman’s stance.

  The grim line of Pia’s mouth curved ever so slightly. “Woman to woman. It is about time this country got some feminine energy in its leadership,” she said. There was no need to give voice to the slight she had effected. Everyone present had seen it.

  Jasminda’s nostrils flared. She couldn’t lift her chin any more and still be able to see, couldn’t mask her expression any more than she already was, but rage and humiliation were an inferno within her. Via Earthsong, she felt the other woman’s satisfaction at landing such a blow.

  Very well then, Jasminda thought. If that’s how you want this to go. She produced a voluminous smile and led the way.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  If you believe,

  convinced,

  convicted,

  holding fast to your vast flaws,

  no court may pardon you.

  —THE HARMONY OF BEING

  Zeli’s heart thundered inside her chest, its pace rapid and concerning. Every few steps she’d think she’d caught her breath and then the memory of the kiss would wash over her, pushing out everything else. The people, the noise, the music and laughter and dancing all disappeared and she would be back in that moment again, holding on for dear life. Unable to get her bearings.

  Even now, with the crowd thinner, down to a normally busy day in Rosira, she would accidentally brush against Varten, jostled by something, and gasp. She nearly tripped three times and he steadied her, but she couldn’t bear to be touched by him because it always ended. And then she’d do nothing but want it again.

  She pushed down the feelings that had so quickly taken over. Where had they come from? She didn’t want to be kissed. Didn’t think she’d even like it after her first time had been so terrifying. But Varten was nothing like that. Nothing like him. And her heart simply refused to obey common sense and get back under control.

  Fortunately, their destinat
ion loomed up ahead. A cluster of people with blue hunas gathered at the base of a huge building in the shape of a pyramid. The building looked like it had been built in layers by different builders with different materials. The bottom was limestone, on top of that gray rock, above that was glass—thick and warped. More layers rose from there, the higher glass layers looking shinier and smoother, and at the peak sat a brilliant, pointed red crystal, reflecting the late afternoon sun.

  A clock chimed somewhere four times. They’d spent the day in the street walking and laughing and dancing. She didn’t feel as if she’d been on her feet all day; she suspected she’d feel it later.

  The pyramid had a pair of enormous double doors at least two stories high, gilded with golden carvings. She couldn’t make out the detail at this distance, but they looked grand. The group gathered here was far smaller than she’d thought it might be. Then again, there were many, many more yellow, gold, and red hunas in the city center—the search for knowledge was just not as popular as the other options. Hopefully that would work to their advantage.

  Anticipation hummed inside her, making her feel nearly as light-headed as the drink had. As the kiss had. She shook her head to clear it—they’d made it this far. They were actually at the Rumpus, about to face the challenge. When they started, she wasn’t certain she’d even believed they’d get here.