Requiem of Silence
Page 32
Soft, rasping breaths inflated the chest of the old woman. Stringy, thin hair covered her face. When Kyara brushed it aside, her jaw dropped.
“Ydaris?” This was the former Cantor of Lagrimar, the True Father’s second-in-command. Kyara’s former mistress who had both raised her and terrorized her for half her life. She stood and backed away on shaking legs just before Mooriah re-took the woman’s body.
The transformation from withered, old hag to the healthy, more youthful form of Mooriah was swift. The two women stood staring at each other for a long time.
“You said she terrorized your descendants,” Kyara said, finally.
Mooriah nodded then turned toward Tana. “It is your turn now. Banish me from this body; practice so you will know what to do during the next attack.”
“And once she’s done that,” Fenix added, “try taking over Ella instead.”
Kyara’s head whipped around. He held up a hand to still her protest. “Earthsingers connected to the source energy cannot be taken and transformed. I have shown Darvyn and Ulani how to extend this shield to others.”
Darvyn nodded in confirmation, but Kyara’s heart raced. She wanted to trust Fenix. He had been a prisoner for longer than she could fathom, and he had saved all of them.
“Go on,” Kyara said to Tana. “Mooriah will not hurt your mother.”
The girl still looked worried, but closed her eyes. In moments, Mooriah’s spirit shot once again from the body of the old woman. Darvyn and Ulani had linked their hands, while Ella still held on to her youngest daughter. The column of smoke twirled and darted for Ella, but bounced back, striking an invisible barrier. It darted again, targeting Darvyn, but was repelled. Finally, it returned to Ydaris’s form and transformed again.
Ella was shaken, but holding her composure. “That woman you … are using. Is she harmed?”
“Her body will reflect any damage inflicted upon me. But the process of taking the host is not inherently harmful for short periods.”
“And for long periods?”
“Eventually, the host will die if possessed for long enough. Then I will have to find a new body.” Mooriah’s tone was matter of fact, but Ella shivered at the grisly revelation.
“This woman is not one to be concerned with. She is a murderer of thousands and caused untold suffering.” If she was trying to reassure Ella, it wasn’t working. Kyara made a note to tell the woman more about the Cantor and her crimes, but ultimately suspected Ella was thinking of all the others who would be affected by the wraiths.
“We should head back to Rosira now,” Darvyn said. “It will take some time to get down the mountain and find transportation.”
“I can get you all down the mountain in a moment,” Fenix said.
“Your power will work on Nethersingers?” Kyara asked.
He nodded.
“Will we … go through one of those?” She pointed to the magical mirror still showing scenes from Rosira.
“No, none alive without a direct connection to the Eternal Flame could survive travel via portal.” His gaze shot to Darvyn for a moment, then flitted away.
“But you can’t take us the whole way?” Mooriah asked.
“I cannot come with you to the city. Bringing you down the mountain will tap my energy.”
Mooriah began to protest, but he held up a hand. “Two centuries of captivity weakened me more than I can say. I must return every few days to my world to regain my strength. The power of your Flame is not enough. However, now that war has arrived, I will again appeal to the others to come and help. I must be able to convince someone.” His expression was not as hopeful as his words.
“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” Tana said. Everyone turned to look at her. She wilted a little under the scrutiny, but continued bravely. “We can banish the spirits, but then they can just take over other bodies. How do we get rid of them completely?”
“What did you do to them in Yaly?” Kyara asked Fenix. After the Machine had been stopped and the portal closed, he’d done something to remove all the spirits from all the bodies, almost at once. They’d simply disappeared.
He shook his head, frowning. “It is not something I can teach—not even to an Earthsinger.” He looked again at Darvyn and squinted. “Not even to you, I am sorry.”
Darvyn looked uncomfortable at Fenix’s scrutiny, but Kyara couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or not. She glanced at Mooriah. “There must be some other way. We’ll have to find it.” Mooriah nodded, albeit uneasily. Was there really a way for them to win or had this all just been for naught?
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Is night a consequence of day
or a companion?
The search for meaning can be fraught.
Take care to see only what appears.
—THE HARMONY OF BEING
A hush had fallen over the ballroom. Jasminda stood before a squadron of journalists who wielded notebooks like swords. A half-dozen microphones jutted up before her at odd angles, attached to the podium at which she stood. The devices had just transported her voice to audiences around the land listening on their radiophonics.
The foreign press was here as well. Tales of the mysterious wraiths attacking Elsira had spread far and many were curious, fearful, or both.
Well, now they all knew. Quiet reigned for the seconds it took for her words to settle in. She had given a brief, but thorough, recounting of the events as they’d happened. The True Father had escaped with the aid of foreign mages and now had the means by which to open portals to the World After. The wraiths were under his control and he meant to use them to attack and conquer Elsira.
It was not conjecture or presumption, the former king had sent a message—a very clear one that appeared in Jasminda’s office in the middle of the night. A letter, hovering in midair—a messy scribble on rough paper, but legible enough. She had been there working late, trying to piece together a means by which they could face this new opponent, but the missive was not entirely unexpected.
Eero was vain and petty. He would not do something and not take credit for it. He wanted them to know in no uncertain terms that he was coming for what he thought was his. And that the damage would be less intense if both she and Jack stepped down and handed the country over to him.
She did not mention the letter to the press, there was enough discord and uncertainty already without adding to it. But the unequivocal confirmation that the True Father once again had access to magic, that he could likely steal Songs again and was even now plotting the downfall of her nation, was enough to keep her from sleep for the rest of the night.
The faces staring up at her were raw with shock and just beginning to stir from the staggering blow she’d been forced to deal them.
And then, like a pack of wild dogs, they attacked.
“Your Majesty, will you lift the curfew after this latest attack or will you double down?”
“Are you certain it’s the True Father and not the Lagrimari refugees behind this magical warfare?”
“Who has the True Father allied himself with and why? Are they enemies of Elsira?”
Faces blurred before her and voices mingled unintelligibly as they shouted over one another in effort to get their questions answered. She tried to separate each query in her head so that she could think through them and answer reasonably, but it was overwhelming. Volleys of words were thrown at her like mortar shells. She struggled to keep her composure.
In what space she could find between their shouting, she spoke as carefully as she could, giving what answers she could. And then moved on to the next. To the side of the stage, her assistants Camm and Ilysara stood observing, ready to step in and rescue her when needed.
“Hazelle Harimel, Rosira Daily Witness.”
Jasminda held back a flinch. The woman’s screeds against the curfew in general and Jasminda in particular had only grown in recent days. The chatter hushed as the other reporters quieted to give the woman her turn. A courtesy they’d
barely extended to other, younger journalists. Harimel had indeed earned some level of respect.
“Your Majesty,” she said, gray curls crisp and bouncy. “How can you reassure the people that the crown has this situation under control?”
Jasminda wanted to laugh. Under control? How could that remotely be possible? But no one wanted to hear her frustration, exhaustion, or grief—they didn’t want the truth, they wanted reassurance that the queen could do the impossible and keep them safe.
She cleared her throat. “I have put together an advisory council and we are doing everything possible to safeguard our citizens and our land from the violence we expect. We have never faced quite such a situation before. We will need the assistance of the people. All of the people, staying alert and helping one another. We’re all facing this threat together.”
Others shouted for her attention, but Hazelle Harimel wasn’t done. “Isn’t it true that the Goddess Awoken installed you as queen, abdicating Her throne to you, independently of your marriage to King Jaqros?”
Jasminda narrowed her eyes. “Yes, that is not new information.”
“Why was that, Your Majesty?” The woman tilted her head to the side.
“I fail to see why that is relevant.”
From the corner of her eye, Jasminda saw Camm step forward. Below the podium, out of sight of the crowd, she raised a hand to halt him.
“It’s relevant,” Harimel said, smiling cruelly, “because with this revelation that the Goddess knew about the True Father’s escape and kept it from us, many will question Her loyalty and legitimacy. And if you rule only by Her word, then your legitimacy would logically come into question as well.”
A blanket of silence fell across the room. Jasminda could barely hear her own breaths, though her heart drummed ferociously in her chest. She’d practiced answering hostile questions that morning with her assistants and thought she was at least partially prepared. But this avenue of logic took her quite by surprise.
She cursed her lack of imagination.
The silence dragged on as she could not come up with a single thing to say. Perhaps she should have taken the out that Camm had offered, and now she was stuck.
A low thumping began, vibrating the floor. The doors flew open and half a dozen Royal Guardsmen marched in. Every pair of eyes—except those of Hazelle Harimel’s—moved to the doorway. The canny reporter held Jasminda’s gaze for a long moment before looking away.
For her part, Jasminda turned slowly, feeling as if she were almost not in control of her own body. And then, the tension broke.
“King Jaqros!” The murmur went up and was repeated by a dozen mouths. He stood there, amidst the Guardsmen, looking weary and beautiful. Heavy circles ringed his eyes and while the military uniform he wore was sharp, his hair was a fright. It was as if he’d spent his entire trip running his hands through it.
Jasminda raced off the stage and ran to him, throwing herself into his arms, heedless of the others watching. His embrace was tight and she sank into it for long moments. His coat and skin still bore the chill of the early winter day, but she barely felt it.
He pulled back and looked into her eyes, regret and grief pouring from him. She squeezed his hand and wordlessly they turned to walk back to the podium, to face the microphones and the salivating pack together.
“Good morning everyone,” he said, dredging up a remarkably sincere smile from somewhere. “I’m very sorry to interrupt, but I couldn’t stomach not seeing my wife the instant I returned from abroad.”
Several female reporters beamed, and Jasminda’s own heart melted a bit.
“King Jaqros, has the Prime Minister of Fremia promised aid?” someone shouted.
“Are they responsible for this latest attack?”
“Do you think that the monarch of Raun should have such steady access to the palace?”
Jack held up his hands, chuckling. “My trip was lovely, thank you for asking.” He gripped Jasminda’s shaking hand again and sobered. “I did not come to steal my wife’s thunder, I know she has things well in hand. I was briefed on the attack on my journey home and came merely to lend my support to her actions and decisions. Hard days are ahead for Elsira, but we will band together to rise above it as we always have.”
Though Jasminda stared at Jack, in her periphery she saw Hazelle Harimel fight her way back to the front of the group. “You support all of your wife’s decisions, Your Majesty?”
Jack stiffened and nodded. “As I said.”
“What about the continued incarceration of Zann Biddel on trumped-up charges? Inquiries into his case keep getting handed off with some nonsense about paperwork.”
Dread filled Jasminda’s belly. She squeezed Jack’s hand, hard, as beside her he slowly turned to stone. She had intended to tell him about Biddel, it’s just that communication had been infrequent between them the past few days, what with King Pia’s arrival and the whims of the Fremian leader.
But in truth she hadn’t wanted Jack to know. Hadn’t even had time to consider what to tell him when he returned, busy as she was handling one crisis after the next. To his credit, his outward appearance didn’t change.
“I will repeat it once more in case anyone did not hear me clearly. I support the queen’s decisions.” He took a step away from the microphone, releasing her hand.
Jasminda nodded to Camm, who rushed to the front of the stage. “The king and queen have much to discuss. Thank you all for attending, please direct any further questions to the press office.”
Reporters grumbled and complained, but all the noise was just the roar of the ocean in her ears as the Royal Guardsmen hustled her and Jack out of the ballroom and down the wide palace hallways.
They walked quickly, not speaking. Jasminda glanced at Jack, whose face was impassive. But Earthsong revealed the hurt roiling within. Shame made her face grow hot.
Once they were alone in Jack’s office, she sat on the couch while he paced and removed his coat. He tossed it onto a chair and stopped moving long enough to ruffle his hair again.
“It was a legitimate arrest,” she said.
“What was his crime?” Jack spoke to the floor.
She paused. “Jaywalking.”
A heavy sigh escaped from him. “And he has been in custody for how long?”
“Five days.”
Jack looked at her then, expression bewildered. “Jasminda!”
She clenched her hands together. “It’s all aboveboard. He’s being treated as well as every other prisoner. Better even. There’s no cause for complaint.”
“Jasminda.” His voice was scarily quiet. Jack did not yell often—not at her at any rate—but she’d never felt such frustration and disappointment from him, either.
He sank into the seat beside her. “You know this isn’t right.”
“He’s a terrorist. A murderer. Leader of a dangerous group trying to tear our country apart.”
He shook his head slowly. “Until we have evidence of that we cannot keep him on such a flimsy excuse. Even if the jaywalking had made it to a judge and he’d been convicted, he would have served less time. You have to release him.”
She slid away, guilt beating at her. The man was off the streets and in isolation, unable to contact his network and incite more violence. Between that and the curfew, no one else had died from terrorism.
She tapped her finger against her thigh as her own anger grew. “No,” she whispered.
Jack’s head jerked back.
“What you said to that reporter, was that a lie?” she asked.
“What?”
“When you said you support my decisions? That was all for show? You only support me when I agree with you?”
“I do support you, but I would expect you to tell me when I’ve made a mistake. And this is a mistake.”
She shook her head. “No. It isn’t. There have been no attacks from his group since Biddel’s been in custody. It was the right thing to do.”
“Jas—”
He stared up at her, blinking. She fisted her hands, staring back. The two of them had endured tests together, and had tested one another. Jack had always tried to protect her, and furthermore he had always respected her. Would that change?
He ran his hands across his face then blew out a breath and stood facing her. She let go of Earthsong and focused just on his eyes, his golden eyes, the ones she’d fallen in love with.
“All right,” he said finally. “All right. I still think this is a mistake, but I … I trust you.”
The pain and stress of the past week broke and she collapsed against him. He caught her, as he always did, and she shuddered against him, just shy of sobbing. Jack held her, the way he always had, the way she hoped he always would.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
A tune may be sung with just one note
but add to that a panoply
and get lost in their melody.
For many voices lift and raise a
solo into Harmony.
—THE HARMONY OF BEING
Kyara was used to being feared. Much of the time, she was afraid of herself. She had been born with the power to kill, after all, and it came as easily to her as breathing. Easier now that she could wield it more effectively and precisely than ever before. Even in just the past few days of training, she’d gained a mastery over her Song she’d never before thought possible. So when most of the nearly four dozen people seated before her began to scream, she was not concerned in the least. Nor was she surprised.
The day before, Fenix had spirited them into the foothills of Elsira with a magic that left Kyara tingling and tense. After he’d disappeared back through a golden portal, the rest of them had quickly been picked up by an army transport and returned to the base, where Darvyn had made a phone call and organized their return to Rosira via a military vehicle.