by L. Penelope
Understanding dawned on his face. “You heard that last night? You know I didn’t mean—”
“Shh. Someone may overhear. Voices carry up here, don’t they?” She motioned along the long, resonating hallway.
Jack took another step toward her, but she motioned him to stop, shaking her head. “Please don’t.”
With a final look in his pleading eyes, she turned and fled. His expression was burned into her memory, but she had to escape. She didn’t want to be near Jack with the storm’s venom running through her veins.
Eventually, a passing servant stopped and, at her request, directed her to the vehicle depot. Lunch could wait. She had to find Nash.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
The Mistress of Serpents came upon a man sleeping by the riverside. In slumber, all are powerful, she thought. But awake, we are trapped by our memories of liberty.
—COLLECTED FOLKTALES
Somber men in dark suits with even darker expressions lined the streets. A few women were scattered among the group, as well, many waving hand-painted picket signs with slogans like WAGES NOT WITCHCRAFT! and FEED THE PEOPLE NOT THE REFUGEES!
Jack’s motorcade wound its way back to the palace. He had spent the afternoon fulfilling a guest appearance Alariq had scheduled at the Export Council. Smiling and touching palms and glad-handing bigwigs and fat cats was not how he’d wanted to spend his day. And now, it seemed, the poor were having their say as well.
He did not begrudge the people their anger, if only they would focus it in the right direction. They needed someone to blame for the misfortunes of late, and the Lagrimari refugees were simply convenient. But the asylum seekers had not caused the poor harvest or the shipping embargo. And their absence could not fix them, either.
A smaller group of refugee supporters standing closer to the palace lifted his spirits somewhat. Not everyone in his land was so callous. Then a woman with a sign reading WHY NOW? rapped on the window as the limo slowed for a sharp turn. Yes, why now?
Back in his office, he’d barely gotten his coat off when his secretary ran up out of breath. “The Council called an emergency meeting an hour ago, Your Grace. They’re voting.”
“Voting on what?”
“I’m not sure, Your Grace. They wouldn’t say.”
“Thank you, Netta.” Jack straightened his suit coat and rushed to the Council Room. He opened the door and six faces regarded him. Some looked shocked, some guilty, and several entirely too smug.
“What is the meaning of this?” he asked, dropping heavily into his seat. The Council could meet as long as a quorum had been reached, but to do so without the Prince Regent present was unheard of.
“Your Grace.” Stevenot’s eyes were wide and round. “The people are demanding action. We could not afford to wait.”
“Action?” Jack’s brows raised.
“Yes, we’ve received a petition with well over two thousand names.”
“And what do all these people want?”
Calladeen leaned forward, hands clasped in front of him. “To eject the refugees from Elsira.”
“We have already voted,” Pugeros added.
Jack held himself very still, reining in his ire. “I see you’ve been most efficient, doing so without the added burden of my presence.”
“It was urgent.” Calladeen’s voice was a rumble.
“The terms the True Father demanded,” Nirall said, looking a bit green. “We’ve agreed to them.”
“You bloody well haven’t!” Jack roared.
“We had to. Public safety is at risk. There was a riot down in Portside this morning.” Nirall’s expression was apologetic.
“You are falling right into his hands! This is what he wants. I will not let you do this. I will veto.”
“And what happens when news of the True Father’s letter gets out and the people learn that we had a chance for peace and did nothing?” Pugeros asked.
“How would word of the letter be made public unless someone in this room does so?” Jack peered at faces gone suddenly blank. “You threaten to reveal classified national secrets to get your way?”
Calladeen spoke. “The Council vote was unanimous, Your Grace. The only way to veto would be to invoke Prince’s Right and dissolve this body.”
A hush fell across the room.
Jack fisted his hands on the armrests. Unanimous? Not even Nirall had seen reason. Jack’s veto would have stood if even one Council member had dissented, but Calladeen was correct. In the history of Elsira, only one other prince had invoked Prince’s Right. That ancestor of his had been branded a tyrant and beheaded in a coup. With the enflamed emotions of the populace being what they were, Jack could not expect his fate to be any different.
The meeting continued around him, wrapping up. The ministers gave him a wide berth. Jack was certain his anger could be felt, radiating off him like waves of heat. He hoped it singed everyone it touched. He had been outmaneuvered, and deftly so. These men wouldn’t have dared do this to his brother, box him into a corner in this way.
The wood grain of the table was smooth against his flattened palms. The voices of the men faded as he studied it.
Here he sat in the chair his brother had occupied. And his father. And his grandfather and great-uncle. A member of the Alliaseen family had been the Prince Regent since the loss of the Queen. The blood in his veins was noble, royal. That was supposed to mean he possessed the best qualities of an Elsiran.
And yet he had lost.
The refugees would be sent back to a life that was not a life. Back to die. He could not save them, any of them.
His mother, gone without a word. His brother, determined to pilot that wretched airship, no matter how foolish. Jasminda, harassed by a member of his own Council, the press nipping at her heels.
He was unworthy of the crown, the responsibility, the power. Even unworthy of the woman he loved.
She had walked away from him in the hallway earlier, as she should have. She’d been in pain—pain he had caused. His heart splintered.
What would his legacy be? Would the pages of the history books be kind? Or would they only remember him for dooming hundreds of innocents? For the loss of an entire nation?
This illusion of peace would be short-lived.
The True Father would destroy the Mantle—perhaps tomorrow or next month or next year. And what then? Being right would not save his people.
The knots in the wood of the table kept their silence, though they stared back at him in accusation. He did not blame them.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
War.
Silent versus Songbearer.
Blood in the streets.
Silent outnumber Songbearers more than ten to one, and while Eero has not turned them all against us, he has managed to bring many more than I ever imagined over to his side.
I always thought he was able to wrap me around his finger because of my weakness for him, my love. But it is a talent of his. He is charming. When he talks, people listen. They believe and trust him. They follow him, taking up arms against their neighbors, rending our land in two.
Our Songs make us fearsome foes, though Earthsong cannot be used to kill. But none who have felt the energy of a million lives strumming in his or her veins can rejoice in sending any living creature to the World After.
Early on, we healed any Silent harmed in an attack. The Assembly believed this would bring them to our side. But it did not. I cannot understand if the Silent are jealous of our Songs or fearful of them. The truth likely lies in a combination of the two.
Swords clash. The Silent fight through the rain and ice, the mudslides and fire. They are pelted with rocks, tumbled by earthquakes, but they persist.
It is within the power of the Songbearers to entirely unmake the land from the fabric of its being, in the same way that we do the reverse, creating a beautiful landscape where once a desert stood. But we think of the future—a future of peace.
Eero knows my weaknesses. He knows
me too well. I should never have been made Queen to lead the fight against him. I am the last person who should have been chosen.
Yllis studies with the Cantors day and night. His guilt is an anchor around his neck. It pulls him away from me. I have not allowed him to answer for his part in the scheme to help Eero sing. And I have not agreed to marry him. How could I with things the way they are? I thought I was protecting him by accepting all the blame, but that and my repeated refusals of his marriage offers have changed things between us.
The hurt in his eyes when he looks upon me cuts deep. So deep I do not believe I have a heart any longer. My heart was never my own. It belonged more to the ones I loved than to me.
War.
It drags us under.
It tears us apart.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
A traveler stood at a crossroads, uncertain of which way to go.
The Mistress of Frogs whispered in his ear, Just as lightning transforms the tree into cinder, so does doubt change progress to stagnation.
—COLLECTED FOLKTALES
Jack padded into Jasminda’s chamber well after midnight, unsure of what his reception would be. His heart was weighed down by heavy chains, and the only thing that could lift his spirits was her—even though she would be well justified in refusing to see him.
She was still awake, sitting by the fire, staring pensively into the dancing flames. He approached with halting steps. She looked up, eyes shining with unshed tears, and Jack dropped to his knees.
“The servants are gossiping something fierce. Is it true? The refugees are being sent back to Lagrimar?”
A great hollow space opened in Jack’s chest. He nodded.
“Oh, Jack.” She collapsed against him. He exhaled the breath he’d been holding since he’d seen her last.
“I have prayed to the Queen, but She has given no counsel. I do not think I hold Her favor.”
“Jack,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around him and drawing him closer. His body relaxed, at home with her in his arms. “You are a good prince. You are selfless and fearless.”
His head dropped. “I am constantly afraid.”
She grabbed his chin and tilted his face up. “But you rise above it.”
He smiled grimly. “Even you are too good for me.”
“Nonsense,” she said, and pressed her lips to his. He kissed her back greedily, holding her head firmly in his grip.
“I’m so sorry about earlier,” she said. “I wasn’t myself.”
“No, I’m sorry.”
She brushed her fingers across his lips. “I have no right to change the rules we both agreed upon.”
He shook his head. “I don’t want there to be any rules for us. I just wish…” He squeezed her tightly to his chest again, not sure even of what to wish for. A different world, a kinder one.
He rose and lifted her so he could sit in the chair with her on his lap. He rubbed circles into her back, noting the tension in her muscles.
“What will happen to me?” Her voice was empty as an echo.
He shifted so he could peer into her eyes. Misery suffused the beauty of her face. “Jasminda—”
“Half-breed. Mongrel. That’s what the papers say, right? I do you no favors by staying here. And didn’t the True Father’s letter say every Lagrimari must be sent back?”
Jack’s lungs compressed as if he were at the peak of a mountain sucking in air too thin to quench his need. “You are not Lagrimari.”
“Am I not?” Her eyes were almost wild. “I may have been born in your land, share half your blood, but I’m not one of you. I’m not one of them, either. I don’t belong anywhere, Jack.”
“No,” he said, voice steely. “No, you belong with me.” He held her tighter, his chest vibrating with the racing of her heart.
“For how long? How long until you must find an acceptable princess? One that you need in order to regain the people’s trust? We were only ever going to be temporary.”
He crushed her to him and stroked her soft, springy hair. “Are you saying you want to leave?”
“No.”
“Then—”
“But I cannot stay.”
He shook his head rapidly, desperate to jostle a solution into his brain. “If being prince is good for anything, then I should get to be with the woman I love.” He pulled away and clutched her hands to his chest. “Do you hear me? I love you.”
Saying it out loud took the edge off the panic building at the thought of her leaving. “You are strong and intelligent and fearless and beautiful. I had never even hoped a woman like you existed. I love you, Jasminda.”
Tears traced her face. “I love you, too. You must know that. You are my whole heart, Jaqros Alliaseen. My whole heart. I never thought I would…”
She looked away, and he wiped her streaming cheeks.
“Do you want to know what I saw, in that awful test to find the cornerstone?” Jack’s voice sounded hollow to his own ears.
Jasminda looked up, eyes wide. They hadn’t spoken of their visions. He had no wish for Jasminda to relive whatever horrors she’d seen, but now he felt the need to tell her.
“I saw my land in flames. My people dying in the streets because of my failure. And I saw you.” His voice cracked. “I saw you being carried away from me. Ripped out of my arms, screaming.”
She cupped his cheeks, tears filling her eyes. She kissed him softly, first on his lips, then his cheeks, eyelids, nose, forehead, before returning to his mouth.
She was so gentle it made him anxious. He did not deserve such tenderness. He deepened the kiss, grabbing hold of her waist and stroking her side. The tightness she’d held melted away as her arms came around his neck.
Jack lifted her and carried her to the bed. She kneeled on the mattress as he stood devouring her mouth with needy kisses. She slid her palms down his chest and began working on the buttons of his shirt. Her expertise at removing men’s clothing had grown, and she had the shirt hanging open and the trousers pushed to his knees in record time.
As he was undoing the ties of her dress and sliding it over her head, a blade of awareness sliced into him. Jasminda was soft and pliable, her body receptive to his touch, but something was different. There was a distance present between them that had never been there before, even as she discarded her slip with a seductive smile and lay back, inviting him between her thighs.
Vowing to make this night more memorable than any other, he set upon her with a fervor, licking and stroking his way up her legs. He reached her core and lapped at her, stroking her entrance teasingly. She panted and cried out his name, begging for more, but he held off giving her what she wanted. He brought her to the brink of climax, then eased her back down, ignoring her protests.
Satisfied when her limbs shook with need, he kissed his way up her belly. One hand glided to her breast, and with the other he plunged two fingers into her center, causing her to buck, her back arching as moans of pleasure escaped her. She was more than ready. All it took was a thumb flicked across the right spot and she went over, cresting the wave.
When her cries gentled, they kissed and she guided him into her. The indefinable sensation of sinking deep inside her was so much more than lust. The gentle rhythm of their lovemaking sped up to a pounding beat as he fought to chase away the nagging worry, guilt, and fear. She loved him. She would stand by him in this dark time.
He drove into her, spurred on by her nails digging into his back and her mewls of pleasure. Losing himself in her skin, her scent, her cries, he could almost outrun the gloom of what was to come.
Afterward, she lay in his arms stroking his skin, not seeming to mind the sweat and stickiness after so much exertion. He held her tightly against him, as tight as he dared without crushing her. For even though she had been right with him the entire evening, a voice in the back of his head told him she was slipping away.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
The Master of Sharks visited a merchant dealing in rare and precious ge
ms. How much of your profit do you give to the poor? he asked.
Why should I share the fruit of my labor? the merchant responded.
Shark replied, The gem that is most valuable, is the one shining upon the most people.
—COLLECTED FOLKTALES
Jasminda awoke alone. It was just as well. She would rather remember Jack as he was last night, holding her close, whispering how much he loved her. The vision he’d spoken of chilled her. She hated that she was going to make a small part of it a reality, but she had no other choice. Her love for him would do him little good in the long run.
She located her dress, the one she was wearing when she arrived. It had been washed and pressed and was the only thing she truly owned here. She also strapped a serrated knife, nicked from her dinner tray, to her thigh using a garter.
Though her heart was fracturing, it was time for her to go back home. She would continue to unlock the secrets of the caldera for as long as it took to gain answers. Once she knew more, she would contact the palace, but in the meantime she needed to find a way back east.
The palace hallways were quiet. Jasminda managed to locate the office nearest the vehicle depot and asked for Nash. Within a few minutes he appeared, a newspaper tucked under his arm. With a nervous glance at the paper, she wondered what today’s story was.
“Is it done?” she asked.
“Yes, miss.” His keen green gaze never strayed from her. “An account has been set up at the Royal Elsiran Bank. I have the deposit slip—”
She waved her hands to stop him. “I don’t want to know how much. It was enough for the taxes and to buy back the land?”
He nodded. “And then some. The dealer’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he caught sight of your Order of the Grainbearer medal. Very rare they are. It brought in a tidy sum.”
“Well, you keep the rest. I—I don’t want it.” Her fingers twitched, remembering the feel of the soft velvet case and cool metal. Jack’s cautious smile as he’d given it to her. It was done. On her terms at least. Her grandfather could take his shame-laden contract and swallow it whole for all she cared.