by Penelope, L.
“May I be of assistance?” a deep voice purred behind her.
Jasminda turned to find the unpleasant man who’d practically dragged Lizvette away from her the night before watching her from a doorway. Tall and broad shouldered, he had unusually dark hair and a precise goatee. But he stared at her as if she were an item in the display case of the butcher’s shop.
She squared her shoulders and refused to be intimidated. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I am Jasminda ul-Sarifor.” She held out her hands, challenging him to greet her properly.
“Zavros Calladeen, Minister of Foreign Affairs.” He ignored her outstretched palms but bowed deeply. The bow was more formal than the pressing of hands and indicated a higher level of respect, but she got the sense he found it distasteful to touch her.
“I was searching for the kitchens,” she said.
“Are your servants inadequate?”
“No, no, my . . . the servants are fine. But I’m capable of feeding myself.” Her chin shot up, daring him to contradict her.
“Well then allow me to escort you,” he said, offering his elbow, though his expression made her think he meant to jab her with it.
“Oh, that’s not necessary.” She had no desire to spend another moment in his company.
“I must insist. It seems my cousin has taken quite a liking to you,” he said, motioning to the hallway on the left with a sweep of his arm. “As, of course, has our prince.” His long legs set a quick pace, and Jasminda hurried to catch up. “I would guess the palace is different than what you’re used to.”
“Yes, quite,” she said, nearly out of breath.
“And what is it you’re used to?”
“A small cabin. My family are goat farmers. Or, rather, we were. I was . . . am.” She nearly jogged alongside him to keep up.
“I see,” he said, raising an eyebrow. He led her down a flight of steps to a wide hallway. Even without Earthsong, she could sense an intense energy swirling around him like a cloud of dust. If she dared use her magic, she suspected she would find something dark lurking within him.
“And how do you find the royal palace?”
“Overwhelming.”
“And our Prince . . . How do you find him?” Zavros stopped so suddenly, Jasminda just narrowly avoided bumping into him.
His pointed gaze indicated that he knew why Jasminda was in the palace and considered her little more than Jack’s whore. Drawing herself up to her full height, she refused to look away, unwilling to be cowed by such a dreadful man.
“Prince Jaqros is everything honorable. We owe one another a life debt, you understand.”
“Yes, I have heard.” Zavros continued walking. “We Elsirans take our life debts seriously.”
“Yes, I am an Elsiran.”
“Half? Am I correct?”
“Excuse me?”
“You are half-Elsiran, are you not?”
“I was born in Elsira, as was my mother. My father was born in Lagrimar.”
“And he managed to seduce and impregnate one of our Elsiran maids.”
They were on yet another staircase, and Jasminda missed a step tripping on her long skirt. Zavros’s hand shot out to steady her. His grip was firm, not painful, but not gentle, either.
“They fell in love.”
“Interesting. Well, here we are,” he said, pointing to the swinging doors of the kitchens at the foot of the stairs. “Please do help yourself to whatever you’d like. You are a guest of the Prince Regent, after all, and must be treated accordingly.” His voice oozed like poisoned honey.
“Thank you, sir,” she said through clenched teeth.
“It has been a pleasure, my lady. May She bless your dreams,” he said with a sweeping bow, then turned and disappeared down the hallway.
Jasminda stood outside the kitchen, suddenly not hungry anymore.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to find a way to even inconvenience her just a little? I’m sure the tax collectors could come up with something. If not them then the housing patrol. Apparently roof-color violations are on the rise.”
Jasminda smiled. “No, not even so much as a parking violation. You promised.”
Jack grumbled an unintelligible reply. For the past two days he’d been trying to convince her to allow him to retaliate against her grandmother in some way. His response had siphoned away some of the sting of the meeting. She had no doubt if she’d wanted the woman locked in a dungeon for hurting her feelings, Jack would have made it happen.
She hadn’t mentioned Aunt Vanesse. That wasn’t her secret to tell.
Her head lay on his chest, dipping and rising with his breath. She ran her hand across the ridges of his stomach. Regardless of when this ended, she was grateful for every stolen moment, every kiss and touch. Each time they made love, her heart expanded just a little more.
That he kept returning was a continual surprise. She kept at bay the dribble of dread seeping into the back of her mind, fear for the night he didn’t show up. The time would come soon enough, and though she longed to prepare for it, to protect her heart from the inevitable pain, she could no more stop herself from falling for Jack than stop breathing on command.
She placed a kiss on his chest. He tilted her head back until he could reach her lips and kiss her passionately. She delighted in the taste of him, in his tongue seeking hers and warming her entire body.
“How much longer can you stay?”
His expression darkened for a moment, and he drew her even closer. “A little while. I should go before the morning servants start their rounds.”
She understood his desire for discretion, agreed with it even, but her heart sank a bit each time it was confirmed. There were those who knew—Nadal for one. The girl had obtained the sylfimweed necessary to prevent pregnancy, though she had not yet seen the prince in Jasminda’s chamber. Jack had mentioned that his valet, Usher, knew, and one other person who he didn’t identify but said would keep the secret. Though after the confrontation with Calladeen, Jasminda didn’t know how much of a secret it really was.
“I am sure that people suspect. Would it be better if I were somewhere else? I don’t want to make things difficult for you.”
“Jasminda, my darling, you make everything immeasurably better. The thought of being with you at night pulls me through my days.”
She returned his smile, hiding her apprehension, not saying the one thing on her mind—for how long? When would their inevitable ending be?
“Would you do something for me? If you’re not too busy?” His teasing voice made her chuckle. He knew she’d spent the last couple of days in the palace’s Blue Library in a heaven of books.
“Certainly, Your Grace. Do you have any rogue goats needing herding?”
He squeezed her shoulder playfully. “None that I know of. However, there is another task for which you are uniquely suited.” His face grew serious, and he sighed. “The refugees . . . There is some debate on how best to handle them. More seem to arrive every day.”
“What is the debate? Is there some other option to caring for them?” Her tone was pitched high with disbelief.
“No.” His voice brooked no argument. “There is not. But there are less than a handful in all of Elsira who speak any Lagrimari whatsoever, and none of them are even remotely proficient.”
“Mother said Lagrimari was so difficult to learn, she thought the language must be spelled against outsiders. You are truly unique for your mastery of it.” A knot of anxiety formed in the pit of her stomach. “You want me to speak with them.”
“Yes. Public opinion is slowly swinging against the refugees, and the Council members are little better. They’ve agreed to help fund the camp and take some of the financial pressure off the Sisterhood, but they’re insisting on having the army provide security.” He gave a humorless laugh. “The language barrier is a problem, as well as the general attitude of the soldiers. I’m working on that, and I've ordered an education program for the refugees so
they may learn Elsiran, but in the meantime . . .”
Jasminda drew the covers up around her shoulders, suddenly chilly. “What do you want me to say to them?”
“Just . . . talk to them. Learn their stories. Let me know what they need, what they want. Right now, most Elsirans barely view them as human. That has to change if there’s to be any chance of them living happily in our land.”
“Is there a chance of that?”
“Of them living here or living happily?”
“Happily. Ever after,” she said softly. “There are five hundred years of reasons for our people to hate one another.”
Even as she spoke, Jasminda was not certain who she had meant by “our people.” She had not told Jack about meeting Calladeen, convincing herself it was nothing, simply an aristocrat looking down his nose at her. She expected nothing less. But there were other things she didn’t mention. The whispers and glances following her about the palace. The scowls from the Royal Guardsmen, snickers from passing maids. She felt like a monster on display. The gruesome sideshow act everyone stared at. No one had been overtly rude—she had not heard anything specific—but the fear and distrust followed her.
Only with Jack was she comfortable, safe, happy. Could the refugees ever have that sort of security on Elsiran soil?
“Everyone has the right to seek happiness. I wish I could guarantee it, but I am only a prince.”
She traced a pattern across his chest, then placed a kiss over his heart.
“Very well,” she said. “I will go talk to them.”
He took her hands in his and kissed them. “Thank you.”
Jasminda nestled her body even closer to him as he dozed. She stayed awake for the next few hours, enjoying the feeling of their intimacy before duty and responsibility took him away from her.
The first light of dawn glowed pink through the windows. The early-morning sky was so different in her valley. With this new task heavy on her shoulders, she longed even more for the simplicity of the farm. For a Jack who was not a prince and would be happy with a quiet life. She would teach him to herd and plant, and they would spend evenings in front of the fire, reading and talking and making love.
In this imagined life, she would have her own family, a place to belong that could never be taken away. People around her who looked at her only with love. And her parents and brothers would live on in the tales she’d tell her children and then their children.
Jack awakened when the first rays of light hit the bed. She pretended to be asleep as he dressed, kissed her forehead, then slipped out the door. The bubble of Jasminda’s dream popped. She was alone in a strange bed, in a strange city, about to go and meet more strange people.
She rolled into the warm spot Jack had vacated, plunging her nose to the mattress to capture his lingering scent. She stole a few more minutes in bed, grasping the threads of her impossible dream before facing what lay before her.
The camp loomed larger than it had a few days before. Jasminda was not sure how many refugees were housed here, but little white tents filled her vision. The same driver as the day before pulled up to the entrance and let her out, then returned to the town car to wait out her visit.
She stood wide-eyed, surrounded by rifle-wielding soldiers and unsure where to begin. Tents were organized in wide and narrow lanes alternating in a grid, marked with letters and numbers. She walked along the wide center path, observing the mid-morning camp life. The subdued atmosphere hung thick and heavy. Women huddled in small groups outside their tents, mending clothes or doing laundry in small wash bins. Children sat quietly, often clutching ragged dolls. The raucous laughter and play she’d seen in the tiny mountain town was absent, the light in the children’s eyes dim.
“So you return to us, eh?” a familiar voice said.
Jasminda turned to find Gerda standing behind her, hands on her hips. Jasminda offered a weak smile.
“Come, child,” the old woman said before marching away down one of the narrow alleys. Jasminda followed. They turned corner after corner, passing identical white tents, moving deeper into the camp until she had no hope of finding the entrance again. Finally, Gerda stopped in front of a tent with a strange symbol painted on the outside.
“What does this mean?” Jasminda asked.
Gerda’s eyes narrowed. “Can you not read Lagrimari, child?”
Jasminda’s cheeks grew hot, and she shook her head. “My father had no books with him when he came here. We learned to read only in Elsiran. Is this how Lagrimari looks?”
“She’s not one of us. She shouldn’t be here.”
Jasminda held back a groan. She spun to face Rozyl, who stood behind her.
“Slumming it, are we?” the woman spat.
Jasminda’s jaw tightened. “No, I was sent here to help. To translate, if needed. There has been some trouble with the soldiers?”
The scarred woman’s face contorted into a sneer. “It doesn’t take a translator to know what these pigs’ sons think of us.”
“Rozyl, hush,” Gerda said, and motioned toward the tent. “Let us go inside, beyond the reach of prying ears.”
Jasminda scanned the area. The soldiers only manned the perimeter of the camp; she had seen none in the interior. What prying ears was Gerda afraid of?
“What is going on?” Jasminda asked.
“A meeting,” Gerda said.
“I don’t want to intrude.”
Rozyl snorted in disbelief, and Jasminda tensed, restraining herself from turning on the woman and letting her temper reign.
“You are needed at this meeting, child,” Gerda said, her gruff voice softening a bit.
When she pulled back the tent flap, Jasminda took a deep breath. Casting a glance at a scowling Rozyl, she ducked into the tent. Gerda, Rozyl, and several others followed her in. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. With their arrival, the small space had grown quite crowded. Over a dozen people sat spiraled around the camp stove in the center. She took a place at the outside of the spiral, near the door.
Turwig, Lyngar, and the guards from the cave were among the cautious faces looking back at her. Gerda cleared her throat. “We are all here. Let us begin.”
“I want to be sure that my objections are noted,” Rozyl said. A few murmurs of assent rose in the close space. “I don’t trust her—”
“We’ve taken your concerns under consideration, thank you,” Turwig said, cutting her off. She pursed her lips and sat back. “But the decision has been made.”
“What is this about?” Jasminda asked. Her question was lost amid the rising voices, some echoing Rozyl’s concerns, others supporting Turwig. Each gibe and sentiment of distrust sliced into Jasminda like a knife. She stood, and silence descended.
“What is this about?” she repeated, forcing her voice to be strong when it threatened to quiver.
“Sit, please,” Turwig said. He watched her closely, and she did as he’d asked, glad that the exit was so close. The desire to bolt, to get away from all the suspicion was strong, but curiosity begged she hear the old man out.
Turwig shared a glance with Gerda, then reached into the inner pocket of his threadbare jacket and pulled out a small bundle wrapped in cloth. He touched the bundle reverently then reached for Jasminda’s hand and placed it in her grasp.
A deep, pulsing energy came from within the bundle. She nearly dropped it. Every person in the tent grew tense. “What is this?” she whispered.
“Open it,” Turwig said.
Jasminda shook her head as her hand trembled. “I can barely stand to hold it. What is it?” Her stomach lurched as her breakfast threatened to come up. Whatever was inside this cloth was wrong somehow. Too powerful. It was like Earthsong had been trapped within a package that fit in her palm. “Take it back.”
“Open it,” Gerda repeated gently. Jasminda didn’t think the elders would give her something dangerous. On the contrary, every face staring back at her seemed expectant, almost hopeful. Even Ro
zyl’s. That cemented her decision. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes, and she blinked rapidly to stay them. With a deep breath, she peeled away the layers of cloth.
Nestled inside was a stone, deep red in color and small enough that she could wrap her entire hand around it. It was smooth, though oddly shaped, like a gemstone had been sanded down to remove all its jagged edges. She held it up to her face, keeping the cloth between her skin and the stone, peering at the thing. Nearby, someone lit a lamp, bringing the stone into clearer view. Embedded within it were dark, swirling lines. Perhaps this was the fossil of an insect. She’d read about such things, though had never seen one before, but as the light brightened, it illuminated lines trapped inside which were too organized for a skeleton. A symbol was embedded beneath the surface. Recognition dawned, and she nearly dropped the stone a second time.
“It’s the sigil of the Queen,” she said. Everyone in the tent took a collective breath. With her other hand, she reached out a finger to trace the surface. A ripple of power went through her as her skin met the stone. It knocked her backward as blackness stole her vision.
We run through the woods laughing. Yllis’s fingers are intertwined with mine, and when he looks over, the love in his eyes makes my breath catch. My heart is so full.
Eero is behind us, thundering through the underbrush. I don’t have to turn to sense my brother tripping over a root that Yllis and I had jumped over. It would be funny to let him fall, but it’s not his fault he has no Song and cannot feel the forest around him the way we do. In the blink of an eye, I sing a spell to lift him back upright and set him on his feet. He stumbles a bit but rights himself, his emotions confused for a moment, before refocusing on the competition.
We clear the tree line, and Eero races ahead, beating us to the water’s edge. He dives underneath and swims out a little ways, shouting, berating us for our slowness. Yllis and I splash into the waves, soaking each other, and I think this is the happiest I’ve ever been. The two people I care most for in this world are here, and it is the most beautiful day I could have dreamed.