by L. Penelope
“Well, we can’t all be in two places at once,” she said. “I will go and meet him. The rest of you can stay here and rescue the queen’s family and Kyara.” She sat back a bit too firmly in the hard chair and held in a wince. Neither man could argue with her logic—it was sound.
“You can’t go back to Melbain alone,” Tai said, lowering himself onto the couch.
“Zivel will be there. And his men.”
Tai shook his head. “Not good enough. I’m going with you.”
“But…” She frowned. Tai had only come on this mission to rescue the new queen’s family. Her father was of little concern to him. Apparently, he thought her too incompetent to bring Father in, as earlier he’d acted as though she were unfit to run from danger on her own two legs. Never mind that he’d claimed to approve of her plan with the factory. She had no desire to have him along out of some misplaced sense of duty, or worse, pity.
Darvyn shifted forward. “Roshon and I can free the prisoners, especially since we know we have an ally inside the Academie—perhaps more than one. You two go back for Nirall. You’re right, Lizvette: your mission is no less important than ours.”
She was grateful for Darvyn’s cool head when her own emotions were running so erratically.
“Then it’s settled,” Tai said, leaning back and crossing his arms. He didn’t look very pleased about things, but neither was Lizvette.
She copied his movements, crossing her arms. The last thing she needed was an angry, intemperate Raunian by her side wishing he were somewhere else.
“Fine, then,” she said, petulantly. “We’ll both go.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
The battlefield was bathed in the glow of the setting sun. Ayal rushed to stand between the two forces, willing them to stop.
Man-With-Voice-Like-Nightbirds sang a battle cry. Ayal raised her lion’s paws and breathed fire into the air. The song cut off, both sides gaping in shock.
—THE AYALYA
Jasminda stormed from the assembly hall, fire nipping at her heels. She worked to cool her raging emotions. Royal Guardsmen lined the corridor, faces impassive but noticing every detail. All she wanted was a few moments to herself.
A door marked Library caught her attention.
“Is this room occupied?” she asked the Guardsman standing next to it.
“No, Your Majesty.”
She nodded and ducked inside. It wasn’t a proper library, just a small office lined with bookshelves, most of them only half-full, but the familiar surroundings grounded her.
Only a minute later, the door opened, revealing her husband. He was formally dressed, military medals lined across his chest. As much as she loved seeing him in his uniform, her feelings were just a little too hot. She turned to face a shelf.
“I don’t want to talk to you right now.”
His footsteps approached slowly. “I know you’re angry.”
She spun around so fast, hair hit her cheek. “Angry?” She pointed back in the direction of the auditorium where the Elsiran Council’s public town hall meeting had just adjourned. “Anger doesn’t even begin to describe the utter disgust and complete fury I feel for those people.”
The Council members—the same vile men who had voted unanimously to expel the Lagrimari refugees from the country just before the Mantle fell—were falling firmly on the side of dividing the country. And the Elsiran citizens in attendance were split on the issue.
Jasminda’s heart hurt for the Lagrimari in the audience. She had personally translated much of the meeting so that they could understand. Repeating the hateful words voiced by the Elsirans made her stomach churn violently. Eventually, she’d had to stop, giving the duty over to Jack.
Her husband hung his head. “I did not expect so many to fall on the side of division.”
“And yet you gave them this opportunity to gain support for their cause.”
“You think we shouldn’t have held the meeting?” he asked, incredulous. “This issue won’t go away by ignoring it.”
“No, but aren’t we supposed to lead? Giving everyone who believes their horrid thoughts have some validity a chance to speak isn’t helpful. It legitimizes their views.”
“Jasminda, part of leading is listening to offensive opinions. The people have a right to their beliefs.”
“Even if those beliefs are outrageous?”
“Especially then. If we lead by stifling their ability to speak their minds, how are we different than the True Father?”
Jasminda dropped her head and crossed her arms, squeezing them. She didn’t want to admit his point. Exasperation and dejection rolled through her. “Perhaps they’re right. Who wants to live side by side with people who spew such filth?”
Gingerly, Jack reached out a hand to touch her shoulder. She didn’t brush him away; she needed his comfort.
“In my heart,” he said, “I don’t believe most of the citizenry agrees with the division. We already know the people are being manipulated by the Reapers. The newspaper editorials have stirred up dissent. And given what Benn and Ella discovered, I think that if we cut the strings of the puppet master, some of this will die down.”
Jasminda shook her head. “I’m not so certain.”
A knock rattled the door. Jack crossed the space to open it, revealing two familiar Lagrimari faces: Rozyl and Turwig.
“How did you know we were in here?” Jack asked, eyes wide.
Rozyl thumbed over at Jasminda. “That one’s emotions are a tornado. A Singer could feel them from the other side of the city.”
Fighting for composure, Jasminda greeted the newcomers.
“Uli,” Turwig said, reaching for her hand and squeezing it kindly. He and Rozyl were among the first Lagrimari Jasminda had ever met, aside from her father. For a moment, she wondered what it would be like if Papa were here. Turwig had known him, though he’d been tight-lipped about it. The two didn’t resemble one another, but Turwig’s energy was warm and paternal. It helped her to rein in her feelings.
“What did you think of the meeting?” she asked.
The two Keepers shared a look. Rozyl raised a shoulder. “Went about as well as could be expected. I was hoping for a little more action, truth be told.” She cracked her knuckles.
“Physical violence will never solve this. Centuries of war hasn’t, and the peace may just need a little push in the right direction,” Turwig advised.
“You have an idea?” Jack said, settling next to Jasminda.
“Yes. Something that would do double duty, provide the Lagrimari with much-needed justice and perhaps even soften the Elsirans toward us.” The elder’s eyes sparkled.
“What is it?” Jasminda asked.
“As we understand it, by Elsiran law, a sitting monarch may delegate a special tribunal for crimes committed during wartime.”
“Yes,” Jack said, nodding.
“Since the Council has not yet authorized trials for the members of the True Father’s regime, the leadership of the Keepers of the Promise would like to request such a tribunal. We have already collected a massive amount of evidence against those already in custody and are ready to enact swift justice.”
“How swift?” Jack asked, brow furrowing.
“Immediate.”
The word sent a chill down Jasminda’s spine. “Trials here can take weeks.”
“We don’t need weeks,” Rozyl said. “We’ve endured years of treachery, and have gathered no less than one hundred victim affidavits for each of the accused, as well as those who have yet to be apprehended. The crimes are well documented and detailed.”
“And what of a defense?” Jack asked.
Rozyl shrugged, but Turwig spoke up. “That is the Elsiran way, we understand. In the few cases where we’ve found witnesses willing to speak up for the accused, we’ve obtained affidavits for them, too. But there have not been many.”
Jasminda thought through the implications of what they were proposing. “I know that you all want the Lagrimari to be
responsible for judging the criminals, but the Keepers cannot be both the prosecution and the adjudicators—that doesn’t sound like justice to me. However, if we appoint a tribunal made up of Elsirans and Lagrimari to review the evidence, I think that would be acceptable.”
Jack nodded.
“We think that hearing what the Lagrimari have gone through under the True Father’s rule would help the Elsirans view us in a different light,” Turwig added. “Empathy can work wonders to soften the heart.”
“It is a hopeful sentiment,” Jasminda said, unconvinced.
“I agree such a tribunal would greatly help the Lagrimari face the past and move forward,” Jack said. “And don’t count our people out so quickly. There are plenty who support unification. Their voices just aren’t screaming the loudest.”
As much as she loved Jack, there were simply things he’d never understand. He’d never felt the sting of being called a grol witch, had never been shunned, ostracized, hated. His optimism was both endearing and naive.
“We’ll need to find Lagrimari candidates to make up the judges,” Jack said. “But the tribunal will be our top priority.”
“Thank you, Your Majesties. This will help heal a great wound,” Turwig said.
Jasminda felt Rozyl’s scrutiny. Her shield was up, keeping out intrusions from other Singers, but something in the other woman’s perceptive gaze let Jasminda know she couldn’t hide completely. She gave a weak smile, which was met with a snort.
“This will help, Jasminda,” Rozyl leaned in to whisper before taking her leave. “It must.”
* * *
Lizvette’s hopes of returning to Melbain and telling Vanesse all about the plan were dashed as soon as she and Tai arrived at the hotel suite. As they entered, a bellboy was leaving, bearing the afternoon tea service. Lizvette startled when she recognized him as the same teen who had delivered the amalgamation to her at the air station. His blank expression betrayed nothing, but she held her breath until he’d passed. She entered, looking around the room uneasily.
Could the boy have planted some kind of listening device in the suite? One of Zivel’s men was posted out in the hallway, but she was suddenly too apprehensive to speak of the new developments aloud.
Tai noticed her distress and raised his brows in question. She shook her head slightly and pointed to her ear, hoping he would understand her meaning. His gaze darted around the suite, and she thought he did, for he remained quiet.
“That was a quick jaunt. Where’s Darvyn?” Clove asked from the couch. She did a double take when she saw Tai. “And what happened to your face?” He was still wearing the makeup that hid his tattoos and his black wig. With a grimace, he pulled the thing from his head and flung it across the room.
Clove snorted and returned to flipping through a stack of cards, which Lizvette quickly discerned were congratulatory messages. Vanesse sat beside her, pen and paper in hand, likely making a list of the well-wishers so that thanks could be sent. That was what Lizvette would have done, at any rate.
“Darvyn found something to capture his attention,” Tai said in a light voice. He plucked the pad from Vanesse’s hand and scrawled a message on a new page:
Has Zivel checked for listening devices?
Both women froze. Vanesse looked warily at Clove, who shook her head.
Tai returned the paper and pen to Vanesse and shrugged. “I thought it best not to delve too much further into Darvyn’s affairs. I’m sure we’ll see him back here soon.” He settled in the armchair, appearing relaxed, but Lizvette did not miss the guarded clench of his jaw.
She perched on the edge of the chair opposite him. “Were you all planning on going to tonight’s gala? It’s sure to be … elucidating.”
The entire spectacle of the Yaly Classic Air Race was a week-long affair. The qualifying heats and actual race were only half of it. Following were days of celebrations and parties honoring all the participants. But that night’s event was where Father had insisted she meet him, with Vanesse in tow.
Clove slowly looked from Tai to Lizvette, appearing to catch on that there was something more happening. She grabbed the pad from Vanesse and began scribbling furiously.
What’s going on?
Lizvette took a deep breath before writing her response.
Father plans to kidnap Vanesse and ransom her. He needs my help. It is how we will catch him.
Clove must have been an incredibly fast reader for she tore the sheet off and crushed the paper in her fist almost as soon as it hit her hand. The diminutive woman’s disposition changed rapidly as a storm cloud raged in her eyes. Vanesse plucked the paper from her hand and smoothed it out. She visibly paled as she read it.
Lizvette’s gaze went to Tai, who watched the exchange intently.
Clove held out her hand expectantly, and Lizvette gave her back the pad.
YOU WANT HER TO PLAY ALONG???
When Lizvette nodded, the second page went the way of the first, disappearing into Clove’s taut-knuckled fist.
Vanesse’s expression was pinched, her eyes pained. “I don’t know that I have anything to wear to a gala.”
Clove stood and stalked over to the radiophonic. She clicked it on and chose a station playing bright, syncopated music—the kind favored in Yalyish dance halls.
“I have several gowns that would be appropriate,” Lizvette said, raising her voice to be heard over the music.
Clove leaned over the radiophonic, facing away, tension evident in the hunch of her shoulders. Lizvette felt even worse than she had before. She vehemently wished her father hadn’t brought anyone else into his scheme.
A brittle smile barely graced Vanesse’s face. “Very well, then. It appears as though we’re going.”
Lizvette thought she saw Clove shudder. She expected Vanesse to question her more via written message, but the woman just stared at the congratulatory cards piled on the coffee table, her brow furrowed. Nervous energy clung to her like thin satin. Every so often, her gaze would dart around the room as if expecting someone to pop out from behind the dining table, and when the horns in the song swept into a crescendo, Vanesse jumped.
“Perhaps you’d like to look at my gowns,” Lizvette offered a bit lamely. She could try to assuage the woman’s fears by assuring her that Zivel’s men would be enlisted to ensure her safety, but she suspected that would fall on deaf ears.
When Vanesse looked up, her eyes were a bit vacant. “Yes. I suspect it will take me quite a while to get ready for something as elegant as a gala.” A life in the Sisterhood certainly left little opportunity to acquire clothing. Then Vanesse raised a hand absently to her scarred cheek, revising Lizvette’s assumption of the Sister’s worry.
She wanted to offer to do Vanesse’s makeup, though little could be done to hide the burn marks. “Look through my closet, and choose anything you like.”
Vanesse smiled gratefully and rose to head for the bedroom. Perhaps overpacking for this trip hadn’t been a waste after all.
Tai stood. “Well, now that that’s settled, I’ll go make the arrangements.” They had agreed on the airship back to Melbain that he would inform Zivel of the plan and assist with security.
Lizvette’s ire at Tai had melted away on their journey, too. She didn’t have the energy for it, and she was grateful he was there. Though tension hovered in the air, clashing with the buoyant melody of the music, his presence was oddly calming. She could only hope that Father fell easily into the trap, and she wondered if it was possible for her to be so lucky.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
By the time darkness had fallen, the would-be enemies had laid down their weapons to listen to the seeker’s words of peace. Surprise and wonder wove harmony into years of distrust. When Man-With-Voice-Like-Nightbirds began to sing a new song, Ayal’s two legs remade themselves. Flesh and skin grew feathers and ten toes tipped themselves with talons.
—THE AYALYA
The taxi stopped in front of the Melbain City Children’s Museum. Sergeant
Kendos held the door open as Lizvette, Vanesse, and Clove climbed out into the warm evening. Vanesse had chosen to wear one of Lizvette’s favorite gowns. It was peach silk with a hand-beaded bodice of crystals and sequins. The Sister seemed a bit uncomfortable with the plunging neckline, perhaps because it revealed more burn scars on her neck and chest. Lizvette had given her a cream shawl that she wore like armor, though it was a pity to cover the beautiful beadwork.
Clove looked smart in a fitted tuxedo that was quite flattering. Her short hair was styled in thick finger waves molded to her skull, something Lizvette’s locks would never do. For herself, Lizvette chose a full-length gown that was sheer black over a pale-pink shell. She felt like she was walking into battle, regardless of the finery.
Captain Zivel and his men were around somewhere, hopefully being inconspicuous. Lizvette hadn’t seen Tai since he left earlier that day and found herself wishing for him. His presence would give her a shot of much-needed confidence. Standing on the sidewalk amid the other arriving guests, she looked up at the building that had been one of her favorite places to visit during her childhood trips to Yaly. Tonight it gave her chills.
The museum’s facade was whimsical, painted in bright orange, pink, and purple and constructed in an avant-garde architectural style. Big and blocky, the structure matched neither the steel-and-glass monstrosities of the skyscrapers nor the classic columns and pure white stone adorning the city’s oldest buildings. Rather, it resembled giant wooden children’s blocks stacked on top of one another with a few tossed slightly to the side. Very strange, but she had always loved it.
Inside were story booths, drawing stations, and places where you could construct and engineer buildings and bits of mech from an assortment of parts scattered across enormous tables. Contests and games were held, pitting the children against one another, or forcing them to work in teams to accomplish a goal.