Helena groaned, a displeased, sad sound. “Tell me he didn’t touch her. Surely she would not let him within—”
“He held her hand. She was captivated instantly.”
Anger flooded my veins. So His Majesty had bewitched me through his touch. I remembered wishing to follow him anywhere he went, simply to be near him. The thought infuriated me, and a thread of foolishness wound its way through my system.
“It’s not because she’s childish or stupid,” Castillo said. “It’s because she’s desperately lonely.”
I flinched from the truthfulness in his words, wanting to dispute them, to tell him that I had Olive. But I spent so much time trying to keep my voice hidden, trying to ensure we had enough to eat and a stable roof over our heads. Olive and I didn’t speak about anything of consequence; all of our conversations revolved around our work, our duties, our fears for the other.
“She has us now,” Helena said, a dose of self-importance in her voice. “Greta, Lucia, and I will make sure she wants for nothing. Is everything in place otherwise?”
“As soon as he chooses, our artillery stands at the ready. You’re absolutely sure he will select Echo?”
A long silence followed. I peeked around the corner and glimpsed a twisting, rising hand movement. I recognized those perfect fingernails. Helena could cast spells without a voice—a skill all third-class magicians learned. Oake had never instructed me in such things, claiming my power exceeded the hand gestures lesser-talented magicians used.
I sucked in a breath and dipped back into hiding. I prayed that Helena would be wrong. That her spell would tell her that someone—anyone—but me would be chosen as the future queen.
“I’m sure,” Helena said then, and my heart dropped into my toes even as the promise of never being lonely again stole through my mind. I wondered which was worse: Living and dying alone, or living and dying at the side of someone who loved me only for my magic. I didn’t know, but as I leaned against the wall with a galloping heart, a new prospect tiptoed through my mind.
If I became queen, I could introduce light back into magic. I would have legions of magicians at my command, and I could free them, making magic lovely and respected, as it once was. A smile stole across my face, though my bones felt hollow with terror. I didn’t truly know the High King, only what I’d heard through rumors, but something told me he wouldn’t simply step aside and let me purge his country of the magical hatred he’d so tirelessly built.
Each beat of my heart testified that I had to try. Perhaps I could grow to love Cris, or at least appreciate him for what he was—a prince.
Faintly, and from far away, another door opened and closed. I eased the adjoining door back into position and scampered to bed.
Sleep would not come. Castillo had an artillery at the ready. His Majesty could bewitch people through his touch, and Helena prophesied my marriage to the Prince. Why me? Would I impress his father? Or was he aiming to prove something to someone else?
Everything swirled inside me, causing my head to pound. I wondered if I could truly be his queen, someone who others listened to, someone who issued orders and had them followed.
The rest of the night passed with impossible fantasies running through my head.
#
“Princess.”
The word lodged in my head. I wanted Castillo to repeat it endlessly in his smooth voice; the one that calmed the ache in my soul, something that hadn’t happened since Grandmother died.
I kept my eyes closed and breathed in deeply. The scent of fresh air and wet stone came with the oxygen. I committed it to memory, identifying it as uniquely Castillo. I wondered if the soothing quality of his voice settled me, or if it was his magic.
“Princess, we’ll be late,” he urged, a vein of amusement snaking through the annoyance in his voice.
“I don’t care,” I mumbled into my pillow.
“His Majesty will notice if you’re absent.” Castillo’s persistent voice wouldn’t be denied. I rolled over to find bleak sunlight streaming through the open drapes.
“What time is it?”
“Nearly noon, princess. Your presence is required at lunch.” Castillo stood straight and tall, his hands fisted into his pockets.
“Lunch?” With the question, my stomach roared with hunger.
“The others have had their second appointment,” he continued. “But we begged his forgiveness, due to illness.”
I shot into a sitting position, stricken. “He must not think I’m ill,” I said, remembering my new plan to play the right part so Cris would choose me as his bride. If only he knew the plots I kept in my pockets, the one to join Umon and Nyth under an umbrella of cleansed magic. “Why did someone not wake me?”
“We tried, princess.”
I threw back the covers before I realized I had no idea how to ready myself—and that it was highly improper for Castillo to be in my bedroom alone. I yanked at the blankets to cover myself.
I didn’t even know where Lucia found the dresses she held up for my examination. I stared at Castillo with wide eyes and a throbbing pulse in my throat.
“I’ll send in Helena,” Castillo said, a small smile on his lips.
#
I arrived last to lunch to find one empty chair, eleven radiant girls, and His Majesty sitting at a large, round table.
I slipped into my seat while the Prince—Cris—slid his eyes over my hair to my scarlet dress. He smiled, seemingly pleased to see me, and stood. “Welcome, ladies.” His voice oozed with warmth. A few girls wilted before him, and I had to look away for fear of laughing, whether from their reaction or my sudden hysteria, I wasn’t sure.
“You have been selected from hundreds,” he said. “Over the course of the next several weeks, we’ll get to know one another. There will be group outings and personal appointments.” A wide smile graced his lips. “At the next harvest, I’ll select my bride from this group.”
Two girls across from me turned to each other with giddy grins. From my position three seats away from the Prince, I did nothing. When I looked at the girl next to me, my breath rushed out in a sigh of relief. “Hello, Mariana.”
“Echo, right?”
When I nodded, she smiled. She leaned toward me as if we could be conspirators. “He’s handsome, do you not think?” She kept her voice low, a glimmer of excitement riding in the whisper.
I studied the Prince, who now wore a suit of the deepest purple. Silver thread stretched up his arms, clearly the work of a master tailor, and a stiff white collar encircled his throat. When he looked at me and lowered his head slightly in acknowledgement, heat rushed through my stomach.
He hadn’t touched me, so it couldn’t be some sort of trickery. I ducked my head after holding his gaze for only a moment. I leaned toward Mariana. “He’s handsome.”
“I think he likes you,” she whispered.
I shook my head. “No more than you.”
She sipped her water and cast me a sideways glance. “He refused to allow lunch to begin until you arrived.”
I swallowed quickly and met her eyes. I knew apprehension lived in mine, but in Mariana’s I found friendship mixed with anticipation. “What should I do?”
She gave a half shrug. “He is handsome.”
All the side conversations ceased when Gibson muscled his way through the door. He bent low to the Prince, whispered something, and gestured to the door, as if the Prince should come with him. A frown creased the Prince’s eyebrows, and he whispered furiously back. But Gibson would not be swayed.
The Prince wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood. The fluidity with which he moved surely required hours of practice. I wondered how many etiquette lessons he had endured. “Ladies, I hate to cut this wonderful occasion short, but I must take my leave.”
Some girls smiled, some moaned. I shoved a piece of bread into my mouth, afraid I might not be able to finish eating if the Prince left.
I’d just speared a broccoli floret when he exited, taking
his sophistication and all propriety with him. The girls around me visibly relaxed, and I did, too. At least until Gibson’s heavy, callused hand landed on my bare shoulder. “Come with me,” he hissed, and a spike of terror shot through me.
Ten
I choked on the food I hadn’t quite swallowed yet. The other girls at the table shifted, casting their eyes between me and Gibson. I gulped from my goblet to clear my airway, wishing his touch did not make me feel so nauseated. By the time I swallowed, Gibson’s glare could have burned holes in my face.
“Me?” I asked.
“Why her?” Athe asked, her eyes narrowed.
Gibson didn’t look away from me. “Yes, you.”
I glanced at Mariana, who wore her fear in the lines around her eyes. The Prince had gone, and everyone left had fallen silent or found something else to look at. Even Athe. I mourned the loss of another meal as I stood and smoothed the lap wrinkles from my dress. “Very well.”
Gibson held his hand out to keep me from crowding him in the doorway. He glanced left, then right before waving me forward. “Let’s go.”
Thankfully, my legs bore my weight as I squeezed past him and into the hall. Everything about the man sent creepers across my skin, and he certainly was not treating me like his future queen. Perhaps he had been through this process before and knew nothing would come of it.
I shot him a glare as I turned to find the hallway empty. I’d half expected the Prince to be there, waiting to comfort me. I felt abandoned as Gibson took the lead, which suited me, because I had no idea where to go and didn’t wish to smell his meat-scented breath wafting behind me.
Uneasiness skimmed beneath my skin at the possibilities for our destination. My fingers ached from the way I held them in fists. My lungs wouldn’t expand properly, and I wanted to send a discovery spell down the corridor.
We turned down this hall and that one until we arrived at a corridor filled with natural light. We passed several glass doors before Gibson stopped in front of one. He gestured for me to step onto the veranda first, and then he followed me.
I stood on a balcony without a railing, scanning to take in my surroundings as fast as possible. The southern hills rose in the distance, and I thought of Queen Bargout of Heona. If the whispered rumors in the marketplace were to be believed, she hadn’t taken kindly to the Nythinian invasion of Umon. Surely she’d sent ambassadors to assess the situation, possibly discover if Nyth planned to steal her country in the dead of night with song-magic and another prince.
Forest and meadow alike filled the space from the rolling hills to the city proper. The brilliant blueness of the sky dazzled me.
Instinctively, I stepped back, but in the small space, bumped into Gibson. I recoiled, noticing the courtyard below. It might have been a cheerful place to waste an afternoon, what with the potted ferns and palm fronds decorating the low, cobbled walls. However, the people clustered in the center ruined the quaint atmosphere.
Three men and two women huddled together, their legs bound and their arms securely roped to their sides. No less than a dozen soldiers surrounded them, with their weapons aimed at the captives.
I sucked in a breath. My heart raced as fast as my mind as I tried to figure out what was going on, why I’d been brought here, why Cris had been forced to leave lunch prematurely. My throat tightened when I thought, Perhaps he knows of your magical abilities.
I was just about to look away from the prisoners when I recognized one of them. The baker’s wife. Even after a year away from Iskadar, I knew her face. She’d been badly burned as a child and mottled, purple skin ran the length of her face on the left side. Her name was Basil, and I’d purchased many a sweet bun from her on Sunday mornings.
I stepped forward again, searching each face and finding them all familiar. Every person tied in the courtyard hailed from Iskadar. The terror tearing through me couldn’t alleviate the weight of Gibson’s eyes on me, and I suspected these people I knew and loved being here, now, was no coincidence. My vision tunneled, and everything felt too far away.
I forced my eyes to roam the circular courtyard to find Umon’s finest in attendance. I surmised that each glass door I’d passed led to a veranda identical to the one I stood on, and each held people dressed in their royal best. One woman fanned herself with an intricate jeweled lattice, as if she were attending the theater. The little I’d eaten churned in my stomach, though I hadn’t seen Cris anywhere.
“These people are innocent.” The bellow echoed through the sky, filled with remorse.
I located the man who had spoken with little difficulty. Bo stood on a balcony about halfway around the circle from me.
“One of you has the power to save them.” He spoke as if he truly wanted one of us to help them as he waved toward the captives. I glanced at the other verandas, finding the nobles utterly bored. Some of them didn’t even seem to notice the people in the courtyard.
Suddenly I knew why Gibson had brought me here, why he’d sent Cris somewhere else. He wanted me to save these people—my countrymen. He wanted to see what my voice could do, which meant he knew it could do something.
I cast a frantic glance at him as if I could find answers on his face. He glowered at the small crowd in the courtyard, and I followed his gaze, feeling a similar anger, but tinged with more horror and frustration. One soldier swiveled his head toward us, as if he too knew why I’d been summoned from lunch. Every eye followed. I squirmed in my skin, realizing they’d gotten dressed up to see me perform.
I took quick pants of air to quiet my mind. “Gibson,” I pleaded, not sure what to say next to save the people in the courtyard.
A muscle in Gibson’s jaw worked against itself. He squeezed his fingers so tightly, they turned white. All at once, he relaxed and met my gaze. A lazy smile crossed his face, but his eyes remained hard as coal, dark as midnight, the magical power therein glittering and cruel.
Time slowed as he raised his hand and snapped his fingers.
A gunshot rocked the courtyard.
I yelped, the cracking sound ringing and cascading through my ears, my head, my soul. I didn’t want to look into the courtyard, but I couldn’t stop my head from turning. The brick mason lay on the cobbles, his blood seeping into the stones. I thought of his children at home in Iskadar, probably crying for his return.
A sob started in my stomach and inched up through my throat. These people—my people—were innocent! And Gibson had killed one of them with a single snap. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I wished to let them fall. I wished to leave this place and never return.
Most of all, I wished to open my mouth and make everyone standing on every veranda pay. Sing them into such pain they would never stand by and watch as weapons were aimed at innocent people, never snap their fingers and achieve such terrible things.
I stood there, my heart banging against my bones, looking at Gibson, seeing him as if for the first time. I turned away, my stomach rioting against my muscles, screaming at them to move.
“Will no one save them?” Bo wailed, snapping me back to reality.
Only silence responded. I could save them. The song that would still those soldier’s hearts throbbed beneath my vocal chords. The chant that would release the bindings on Basil’s legs came unbidden to my mind.
I could save them, I could save them, I could save them. But then everyone would know. I took one step—
Another gunshot blasted me back to my spot of safety. A woman screamed, and I couldn’t be sure the sound didn’t rip from my own throat.
Before I registered who’d fallen this time, Gibson stepped next to me, right into my line of sight. “Stop this.” The challenge only held hunger and greed. He watched the scene in the courtyard with eagerness. My heart twisted, especially when I saw the fallen woman was Basil, her eyes still open, staring blankly at that azure sky.
“How many innocents must die today?” Bo pleaded.
I blinked back tears. I’d failed to save two people. Two of my own people.
Two people I knew from my childhood. I would not fail again. I would use my magic. Everyone would know, but I couldn’t stand by and do nothing. Not again.
I opened my mouth to sing,
To reveal myself,
To seal my fate.
Before I could voice a note, a rich baritone filled the air, plowing through the tension in the courtyard. Magic lilted and swirled with the words, looped and cascaded upon me, filling me with the sweetest assurances. My magic leaped, the way it had for many years in Iskadar. The way it did whenever Grandmother began a spell-song. The way it did when I was bonded.
In time with the music, the bloody ropes from the two fallen bodies flew up and wound themselves around the soldiers’ arms until they couldn’t use their weapons. The song ended just as a fresh set of guards entered the courtyard and ushered the three remaining prisoners away.
I fell to my knees in relief, shocked. My body trembled with unshed sobs, both in gratitude that I hadn’t had to sing, and with hope that finding a bond here in the compound was possible. I hadn’t experienced magic that intimately since Grandmother. I’d forgotten how perfect it felt, how secure in both myself and my power being bonded made me.
I needed that magician, and I vaguely recognized his voice. I prayed he didn’t already have a bond. I heard the swishing of expensive fabrics as the others left their balconies and the call of a nightingale in the distance.
So I wouldn’t have to look at the bodies of my people any longer, I searched for the magician who’d saved them. He stood to my right. He wore the black pants of a soldier but the tunic of someone who could weave magic with life.
While I watched, he removed his shirt and replaced it with a soldier’s jacket. “Stay there, Echo,” he called. “I’ll be just another moment.”
That speaking voice belonged to Castillo.
“Hold on,” he said, but I no longer had an anchor, and every handhold had vanished.
Echoes of Silence Page 7