by Penelope, L.
“Are you all right?”
“What did you do?”
She shrugged. “A distraction. Have they . . . harmed you?” She grimaced at the foolishness of her question. “Further, I mean.”
He shook his head, his face a mask. Warrior Jack was back.
“But they will . . . when they can,” she admitted aloud, the braying cries still echoing in the distance.
She gathered up the hem of her robe and nightgown, and reached for the band holding the knife in place around her thigh. His eyes widened, and her face grew hot as she hurried to remove the blade and put her gown back in place. After prying open the same loose floorboard as before, she hid the knife beside the tin of food.
As she laid the board back in place, his hand covered hers. “Thank you.”
She flexed her fingers under his palm, ignoring the tingles sparking on her skin again. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you yesterday.”
“You thought I was mad.” His mouth quirked. He must have been in a great deal of pain, but it hardly showed. Perhaps he was a warrior jester—fierce one moment, jovial the next.
“I still might.”
He snorted a laugh, then winced.
Guilt tightened her chest. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t laugh.”
“I’d rather laugh than cry. Wouldn’t you?”
She couldn’t even remember the last time she had something to laugh about.
Jasminda sat back on her heels. “Is this a new breach?”
He sobered. “Not yet, but soon. There are cracks in the Mantle. Places where people can slip through, either knowingly or accidentally. But a breach is coming. The Lagrimari think they’ve found a way to tear it down permanently.”
“Permanently?”
He nodded. “The True Father has never been able to cross during a breach, not while any part of the Mantle is intact. But without it . . .”
“Without it, he could cross. What would that mean?”
His grip on her hand tightened. “The end of Elsira.”
The True Father was the most powerful Earthsinger alive. He had ruled Lagrimar for five hundred years, stealing more and more of his peoples’ magic through the “tributes” to keep him alive and in power. But it had never been enough. Each breach had been an attempt for him to expand his influence.
Though her relationship with the land and its people was tenuous at best, Elsira was her home. She had no connection to its government; the Prince Regent, his laws, and the structures of society had never applied to her. But she couldn’t believe her isolated home would be forever immune to the fall of the country. “Could nothing stop it?”
“Are you a follower of the Queen?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“If She were awoken, they say Her power is great enough to stop the True Father.”
“Do you believe that?”
His expression turned guarded. “I don’t know. She has never visited my dreams. I’ve prayed to Her many times without response.”
“Papa dreamed of Her when he was younger,” she admitted. Both of her parents had been devout followers of the Queen Who Sleeps, the long-absent ruler of Elsira. A visit from Her was a blessing, as She dispensed Her wisdom through dreams. But those dreams were exceedingly rare; few people ever received them.
“Is there no hope then? She has slept for hundreds of years; there’s little chance She will awaken now.”
Jack shrugged. “We can fight. We can prepare. There is always hope.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “But I must get back to alert the others. Lagrimar is already amassing their forces; the breach is likely only days away.”
A cloud passed over the moon darkening the porch.
“You can’t cross the mountain before the storm dies.” She released his hand and laid it down gently. So much of his body was still cracked and bruised. “It is too dangerous, and your wounds must heal more. I will do what I can to help you. I promise.” She rose and moved to the door. “Now get some sleep.”
She started to go inside, then turned back for one last look and found his gaze on her. The two sides she’d seen before—soulful Jack and warrior Jack—merged before her, giving a complete picture for the first time. She took in a jagged breath as a renewed surge of longing crashed into her.
I promise, she mouthed, and closed the door behind her.
Sleep was impossible, so Jasminda had spent the quiet, predawn hours in the garden picking herbs by lamplight. Her morning chores went by quickly. The goats, safely back where they belonged, had been milked and were now grazing, and the eggs were collected before even one of the soldiers awoke. She made a modest breakfast—so many mouths were taking a toll on her food stores—but she was sure to set aside a bowl for Jack.
The six soldiers crowded around the table, devouring what she put in front of them. Their favorite pastime seemed to be making fun of the youngest and smallest: bespectacled Wargi.
“This one is more coddled than an Elsiran brat,” Pymsyn said through a mouthful of eggs. “Came into the army straight from his mother’s skirts, he did.”
“Thinks he’s better than the rest of us because he’s not harem-born,” said Fahl. “Just because your mam didn’t have to spread her legs for the True Father doesn’t make you top shit.”
“And doesn’t make your mam any less of a whore than ours,” Ginko grunted. The table erupted in laughter.
Jasminda paid close attention to the men as she washed the dishes, not wanting to make any mistakes to cast suspicion on her Lagrimari identity. But she knew next to nothing of life in that land. Her father had been tight-lipped, and it wasn’t as if any of her books had information on their culture or practices. Aside from the breaches into Elsira over the years and very limited trade with Yaly, their neighbor to the east, Lagrimar was cut off from the rest of the world. Mountains surrounded the country on all sides, with only a small flat area a few hundred metres wide on the Elsiran border, where all the breaches had occurred.
As the men continued to mock Wargi, the young soldier just smiled and laughed, appearing to take it all in stride. But his eyes remained tense, and Jasminda almost felt sorry for the boy. His round face hadn’t yet lost its baby fat; he couldn’t be older than sixteen.
Soon enough, the sergeant called the table to order, issuing instructions for the men to split into pairs to explore the valley and monitor the progress of the storm. All the soldiers except Wargi and Tensyn himself headed out.
The sergeant turned his attention to Jasminda. “Is there anything my men can help you with, Miss Jasminda?” His stained smile verged on lecherous. She swallowed the bile that rose and forced herself to smile back.
“No, sir. Dishes are almost done. Once the spy gets his rations, I’ll be back to my chores.”
“Wargi, finish the dishes for the lady, then throw some crusts at that vermin outside,” he barked as he walked away.
Wargi stood and gently removed the dishrag from her hand.
“Thank you,” she whispered to him. He looked embarrassed and began tackling the pots in the sink.
“Come, rest your feet a moment, dear girl,” Tensyn said.
She could think of no way to refuse and keep her cover, and so took the seat offered, cringing as Tensyn slid uncomfortably close to her.
“Beauty such as yours should never have to look upon that filthy Elsiran. Wargi, find a bag to cover the pig’s head with.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jasminda shot a quick glance toward the porch but couldn’t see Jack from her position. Tensyn launched into a long and meandering tale of his valor during the Seventh Breach, of the vast number of Elsirans he’d killed and the accolades he’d received from the True Father. Every so often, he would twirl the tips of his mustache and pause to check her reaction. She’d never thought herself a good actress, but she strove to appear impressed.
He finished his story, and she bobbed her head enthusiastically, eyes wide as saucers to portray her awe. He then gave a great yaw
n and announced he was off for a nap. Jasminda slumped in her chair, exhausted, and noticed Wargi had slipped away at some point. She stood to retrieve the extra food she’d set aside for Jack before heading out to the porch.
He sat propped against the railing, looking like a discarded scarecrow with the sack covering his head. She knelt before him and removed the bag. He blinked at her, then frowned.
“I was rather enjoying the privacy.”
She bounced the sack in her hand. “I can put it back if you like.”
He yawned, stretching his shoulders as far as he could with his arms tied. His shirt was still open, and she watched the muscles of his chest bunch and flex. Though he was bruised and scarred, she couldn’t draw her eyes away.
Silence stretched between them, and she realized he hadn’t missed her stare. Her cheeks grew warm and she ducked her head, pushing the bowl of mashed turnips toward him. He picked it up and awkwardly shoveled the food into his mouth with his bound hands, then turned to her with raised eyebrows and a grimace.
“Those are the herbs,” she said. “They’re bitter, but they’ll help you heal.” She would have to wait until later in the afternoon to use any more Earthsong.
A clattering inside drew her attention, and she slipped back through the door.
In the main room, Wargi knelt in front of the large oak cabinet, the contents of which were lined up on the floor. Spread before her were the memories she kept locked away. Her mother’s quilts, toy trucks whittled and painted by her father’s hand, the twins’ hiking boots, their sketch pads, tiny tin soldiers. When they’d first gone, she’d opened the cabinet several times a day to touch something of theirs, to remind herself that though she was alone now, she hadn’t always been.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
The boy turned around, his eyes wide behind his spectacles. “S-sergeant said to make an inventory.”
“An inventory? Of what?”
“Everything, miss.”
“For what purpose?”
Wargi stared at her, one of the seven bottles of gin her father had purchased shortly after her birth shook in his hands.
“Put that down before you drop it,” she snapped. He placed the bottle down next to the others.
She spun on her heel and marched into her parents’ bedroom. Wargi scrambled to follow her. Tensyn lay across the bed, a cloth covering his eyes. He startled when the door crashed against the wall and sat up, moving a hand to the empty holster at his hip. His revolver sat on the dresser, just out of reach.
“Sir, your men have no right to paw through my family’s belongings.”
Tensyn blinked slowly. His normally perfect hair was lopsided from the pillow. His mustache was slightly askew to match.
“Miss Jasminda. It is imperative that we take all the necessary security precautions during our stay here.”
“Including snooping through my things?”
“It is standard procedure and should cause little problem if you have nothing to hide.” He rose, taking a moment to stop in front of the mirror and pat his hair back into place. He smiled that repellant smile, then led them back into the main room.
“Seven bottles of gin?” His eyebrows rose.
“The dowry my father prepared.”
He bent to inspect a bottle. “Where did your father acquire this? I’ve never seen this labeling before.”
The brand was Elsiran. Jasminda’s mind raced to come up with an explanation. How would an Elsiran product be purchased in Lagrimar? “I was an infant when he bought them, so I can’t be sure. Perhaps it was bounty from his time in the Sixth Breach.”
After scrutinizing the bottle for a few more moments, he finally set it down. The tension in her shoulders unwound just a notch. “I’m sure you realize that a dowry is an old-fashioned concept, Miss Jasminda. The True Father frowns upon such indulgences and archaic traditions. All nonessentials must be paid as tribute to the True Father or his representatives. This is a difficult time for my men, and if there’s something here that can make them more comfortable, I’m obliged to provide it. I’m sure you must understand my position.” His voice oozed false sincerity.
She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “So that gives you license to steal what you wish?”
“As you have not given your tribute yet, this is the least you can do.”
Jasminda froze at the accusation in his voice. He ran a finger across the items on the ground, marking them with his scent like a cat. Anger bubbled up inside her with no outlet. How dare he so much as breathe on her family's belongings? Moreover, her home was no doubt filled with items unavailable in Lagrimar. This ruse of hers was in jeopardy.
Something had to be done about the soldiers, and soon.
She backed away from the men as they conferred about the quality of her brothers’ boots. Praying to the Queen Who Sleeps for the patience she so often lacked, she went out the back door.
Jack was licking the last of his breakfast from the bowl but paused, mid-chew at her appearance. She tried to tamp down her rage, but by the look on his face, she wasn’t doing a very good job. She kneeled next to him, glaring back at the house.
“From now on, eat only food that comes directly from me,” she whispered in Elsiran. “Understand?”
His forehead crinkled in confusion, but he nodded.
“Only from my hands. And be vigilant.”
The morning passed slowly for a man tied to a porch with nothing to occupy him. Jack invented names for each of the chickens pecking away in the fenced-off yard and developed stories for them. Margritt had spent half an hour bickering with her sister-in-law, Heleneve, over whose eggs were larger. Then he listed all of the presidents of Yaly in descending order, and all of the Elsiran Prince Regents in alphabetical order. Anything to keep his mind from the fears that circled, fears of the deluge of death and destruction that would accompany another war, and his current inability to stop it.
He also strove to bar his thoughts from the other force demanding entry into his mind: Jasminda. The feel of her hand in his, the curve where her neck met her shoulder, the hint of collarbone above the fraying fabric of her dress. Even the scent that filled his nostrils whenever she was near. What was it about her that captivated him so? Less than a month ago, he’d attended an officer’s ball and danced with a dozen pretty socialites. None of them had affected him nearly as much.
Perhaps it was his captivity. Perhaps being close to death made his fingers long to lose themselves in the twisting coils of her hair. But perhaps it was just that she was unlike any woman he’d ever known. The giggling debutantes of the city, cinched and beaded to perfection, were lovely to look at, but Jack sensed a bottomless well inside Jasminda that made him want to know more, to sink into the pools of her eyes and linger.
He let out a breath of frustration. The attraction was inconvenient. So was being tied to the bloody porch. The blade under the floorboard called to him. Freedom. He could cut the ropes and head for home. But how long would he last in the storm? It was better to bide his time and trust Jasminda to keep her promise.
Time was precious and steadily running out, though. He had witnessed the Lagrimari brigade gathering a dozen kilometres from the border. Whispers of the True Father’s rapidly increasing strength had spread through the army like a plague. Word was, tributes were being taken from whole towns at a time. Not just adults but children, infants even, were being drained of their Songs to feed the god-king’s unquenchable thirst for power. Darvyn had warned him as much, but Jack hadn’t believed the former POW. How could he have known, having been trapped inside Elsira since the last breach?
But Darvyn knew a great deal, including the location of the crack in the Mantle. He’d led Jack through that place where the magic had weakened in order to personally gather the proof his Elsiran government would not accept from a Lagrimari. The two had agreed to meet in a fortnight to return to Elsira, but Darvyn’s spell had worn off early, and Jack had been exposed, shot, and force
d on the run before the appointed date. He rubbed his chest wondering, not for the first time, what had happened to the young man.
The open kitchen window carried a low conversation between his captors to his ear.
“How do you not know where she’s gone? Didn’t I tell you to keep closer watch on her?” Sergeant Tensyn said. Jack perked up.
“Y-yes, sir. But you said to be secretive about it; I can’t follow her everywhere without her knowing.” The timid voice must have been from the boy, Wargi. The soldier was only a handful of years younger than himself, but Jack had been in the army since early childhood, training for his role.
“I don’t want excuses, ensign. I want results. There’s something about this place that isn’t quite right. Too many strange objects and labels.”
“We are on the outskirts, sir. People here live differently than in the towns.”
“Nothing in Lagrimar is that different. When was the last time you saw real honey?”
“I-I can’t say that I’ve ever seen it, sir.”
“Not since the last breach, that’s for sure.” Tensyn may have been a popinjay, but he was not stupid. Jasminda’s instincts to pretend to be Lagrimari had been good, but Jack sensed the gambit would not last much longer.
“Keep an eye on her,” the sergeant snapped.
“Yes, sir.”
Their footsteps faded into the house, leaving Jack on edge.
Hours later, Jasminda reappeared through the copse of trees behind the back garden, a full basket on her arm. Her dark eyes flashed as she scanned the area, always alert. The sight of her ignited him as a gentle breeze ruffled through her mass of curls. She would have made an excellent soldier, if such things were possible. Her beauty was raw and pure, and a torrent of desire he had no business feeling rose inside him.
As she passed, he reached out, wanting to warn her of the sergeant’s suspicions, but she shook her head slightly, and the man in question appeared at the doorway. Jack closed his eyes, feigning sleep.