Song of Blood & Stone (Earthsinger Chronicles Book 1) (18 page)

“Surely, you do not suppose that those miserable creatures could be spies? I’m told they practically kiss Elsiran soil when they arrive,” Nirall replied.

“Never forget their witchcraft,” said Calladeen. “This Earthsong they possess is dangerous. What is to stop them from bringing down a violent storm or a rockslide or a fire? We cannot afford to let our guard down.”

Jack simmered just below a full boil. He’d never understood what Alariq saw in Calladeen. “Earthsong also healed me. On more than one occasion. And the number of refugees who even have their Songs is small. The True Father has drained many of his populace of their power. Is there a chance that there are spies among them? Yes. But does that mean we turn our backs on those seeking aid?” Jack shook his head. “A Lagrimari man is the only reason the coming attack is not a surprise. Instead of treating the refugees as enemy agents, we should be trying to learn from them, gaining additional intelligence, and working together to find a way to stop the True Father.”

“That is a naive way of looking at things, Your Grace,” Calladeen said haughtily. “The Lagrimari are not tacticians. Additional intelligence has never defeated them. Superior force, training, and discipline have done that for nearly five hundred years.”

“Things are changing, Minister Calladeen. My time embedded with the enemy showed me that. We are on the cusp of something different.”

“Perhaps your time with the enemy has changed
you
, Your Grace,” Pugeros said. Every head turned to him. “The Lagrimari girl staying in the palace?”

Heads swiveled back to Jack, who gritted his teeth. “She is Elsiran-born. She has Elsiran kin, and in this city.”

“Perhaps it would be better for her to reside with them instead of here. She may be as you say, but the appearance of the situation is less than ideal,” said Pugeros.

“The
situation
is not up for discussion.” Jack shot to his feet. “Order the voluntary evacuation of the borderlands. Stevenot, review my request for wartime funds and find the money. Both for the army
and
the refugees. No excuses. Minister Nirall, as there are many children in the camps, begin plans for educating them and teaching them our language. Gentleman, these are war refugees fleeing the most brutal dictator our world has ever seen. We are honorable Elsirans. Let’s start behaving as such.”

He slammed out of the room amidst a chorus of grumbles and stalked down the hall.

Jack slipped into
the side corridor and over to the unused back passageways. A steep staircase, coated in dust, took him up to the roof of the palace. He’d come here often as a child to escape the tense misery unfolding between his parents and to take in the spectacular view.

The palace sat at Rosira’s highest point, backing up to the steep rise of jagged mountains separating the capital from the rest of the country. In the distance, the ocean sparkled in the afternoon light. Beyond the endless waves lay worlds he couldn’t fathom. Then again, he was having enough trouble understanding his home country.

The formal jacket he’d worn to the Council meeting chafed at his neck; he pulled on the collar. How was he going to do this for the rest of his life?

He stood there regarding the city for so long that the sun began its evening journey home. A hand on his shoulder pulled him from his musings.

“Found my hiding place, did you, old man?” he said, turning around.

Usher smiled. “Not very difficult since it hasn’t changed in fifteen years.”

“What can I say, I’m a man of habit.” Jack shrugged then sighed, leaning back against the railing. “Why am I called a prince if I can make no moves without the assent of the Council? And why do they oppose me at every turn?” He dropped his head into his hand.

“They will come around,” Usher said, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

Jack snorted. “They treat me like a child. I’m four years older than Alariq was when he took office.”

“And I’m sure they treated him the same.”

“I doubt it. I’m almost certain he never had to threaten to use Prince’s Right to get the Council to take action. Those old men are so stubborn and callous—”

Usher straightened. “I don’t recall Alariq doing quite this much whining.”

Jack frowned.

“If you’re quite done with your tantrum, young sir, you have dinner with General Verados in an hour.”

He had neither been whining nor having a tantrum, but the old man was right: he’d never seen Alariq moping about. Duty was duty, and there was little he could do now but square his shoulders and steel himself to step back into his role. Perhaps he could get some advice from the retired general on his strategy for dealing with Lagrimar.

He followed Usher to the far side of the roof, where the proper entrance was, though he missed a step, stumbling when he saw a massive shape covered in a tarp.

Usher followed his line of sight and sighed.

“I thought it was destroyed,” Jack said through gritted teeth.

“Only the front of the craft sustained any damage. The day after the crash, technicians arrived from Yaly to repair it.”

Jack approached the contraption and began pulling the tarp down.

“It’s been fully inspected. You don’t have to—”

“I just want to see it.” With a final tug, the tarp fell away, revealing the airship his brother had died in.

The great balloon portion that when filled with gas, lifted the machine into the air lay on its side. Heavy, reinforced cables attached it to the carriage. The inside offered seating for four, plus the pilot’s chair behind a great steering wheel.

Jack reached out for the polished wood of the carriage but drew his fingers away before they made contact. The windows sparkled deviously. Even the propeller attached to the front had been buffed to gleaming. From the outside, it was remarkable. It did not look like a coffin.

“What in all that is sacred possessed him to pilot this monstrosity?” A cold fear pummeled his gut.

“Alariq did not share your aversion to heights. He enjoyed every moment he spent in the air.”

“I am not averse to heights. Are we not standing on the roof?”

Usher’s eyebrows rose. “Yes, the roof of a building that is only three-stories high. Would you care to go to the clock tower and have this conversation?” He pointed to the tower below in the town square.

Jack’s eyes widened, but he swatted away the fear. “I’ll have you know I climbed a mountain three times, old man. Once with a bullet in me. Though I did manage to be pushed off a cliff by an avalanche for my trouble.” He shivered at the memory. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to stay on solid ground. If men had been intended to fly we would come with wings. Have someone take this thing away from here. It won’t see any use from me.”

Usher nodded, holding his peace for once. Jack stalked down the stairs and back into the thick of his life.

Jasminda stood at
the intersection of two hallways. How was it possible that every corridor in the entire palace looked exactly alike? After her disastrous attempt to visit her family, she’d returned to the palace where the driver had dropped her off at the side entrance next to the vehicle depot. She’d hoped to be able navigate back to her rooms, but before she’d made it very far, her stomach had rumbled. With no intention of attending any more official dinners and unsure of the meal schedule here, she’d changed course for the kitchens. However, her confidence in her ability to manage the often crisscrossing, often dead-end passageways of the palace had been optimistic at best. Swiveling her head back and forth at the T-shaped intersection, she searched for a clue.

“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?