Song of Blood & Stone (Earthsinger Chronicles Book 1) (24 page)

Calladeen leaned forward, not meeting Jack’s eyes. “But why all of a sudden? Of what military value are they?”

Nirall shook his head. “Women, children, old men. Some of the children may have powerful witchcraft, but would that prompt the offer of permanent peace?”

“It seems the path forward is clear,” Pugeros said. Every head in the room turned toward him. “We must return them,” he said, wilting under the scrutiny.

“Return them?” Nirall asked, aghast.

“What is a handful of savages compared to peace?”

Jack ground his teeth together. “And what makes you think the True Father would keep this promise of peace? What confidence do we have in his word?”

“We have negotiated peace treaties before,” Pugeros said.

“And they have all been broken. Whether in five years, fifty, or one hundred there is always another breach!” Jack slammed a hand on the table for emphasis. “He wants out of that Sovereign-forsaken desert he’s been stuck in. That hasn’t changed. What happens if we return the refugees and the Mantle falls anyway? He will be that much more powerful before he comes to invade us. We have no leverage here.”

“It is a risk,” Stevenot said thoughtfully.

“A great one,” said Nirall, adjusting the spectacles on his face. “We will need time to consider the ramifications. Let us bring this to a vote tomorrow.” He looked to Jack for confirmation. Jack gave his assent but stayed seated as the rest of the men filed out.

He did not move for a long time.

Jasminda jumped at
the knock on the door. Nadal had just taken away her breakfast tray and the drumming did not have the rapid cadence of Jack’s knock. She approached with caution, mindful of Calladeen’s menacing tone the night before.

“Who’s there?”

“Miss Jasminda, it’s Usher.”

She relaxed and opened the door, glad to see him. His gray head and kind face were welcome sights. Over the past week he’d delivered notes from Jack, assisted her in finding the library and helped in other small ways.

“Please, sit,” she said, leading him to her favorite place in front of the fire.

“Thank you, miss.” The smile in his eyes was edged with sorrow. “I overstep my bounds a great deal by coming here.”

“Jack did not send you?” She hadn’t recognized the bubble of hope blossoming within her until it suddenly deflated.

“Not precisely. But I have looked after him since he was born, and I know how his mind works.”

He tapped his fingers on the armrest, clearly choosing his words carefully.

“Prince Edvard, Jack’s father, was not an easy man. Alariq’s mother was his true love and when she died, something in him changed. He remarried, but Jack and his mother were not well treated.”

Usher sat back in his chair, clasping his hands before him. Jasminda hung on his every word and movement, eager for this glimpse into the boy Jack had been.

“It did not help that he was a peculiar child, given to flights of imagination. Did you know he painted? From a very young age he was able to create the most beautiful landscapes you’ve ever seen. It was quite a remarkable gift.”

“Can I see them? Are they hanging in the palace somewhere?” She had been right when she first met Jack and thought him an artist. Something about his soul was far too bright to have been made for the military.

Usher lowered his head. “All of his paintings were destroyed. Burned by his father shortly before Jack was sent away to train. He did not paint again.”

Jasminda sucked in a breath.

“Princess Rienne, his mother, slowly wilted, becoming more and more withdrawn, hiding away from society. When Jack would come home to visit, she would rally a bit, but he did not know how bad it had gotten until after Edvard’s death. Even before then, the rumors and gossip flowed. Her bizarre behavior, skipping important functions, acting oddly when she did appear. By the time of Edvard’s death, she was being openly vilified in the press, some going so far as to blame her for the prince’s heart attack.”

Usher rubbed the bridge of his nose, then locked his gaze on her. “When she left, she took a piece of that boy with her. He was only ten years old and blamed himself for not protecting his mother from his father, and from the rest of the country, as well. The press, the gossipmongers—in her absence, the brunt of their scrutiny fell on him, and it has followed him ever since.”

Jasminda nodded, as the reason for Usher’s visit became clear. “He wants to protect me.”

“As much as he can, yes. He needs it.”

Her throat ached for the boy he had been and the man he had become. She wiped away the single tear that trickled down her face. “Where is he?”

Usher led her
through the bowels of the palace, down many steep staircases, each older than the last. Here, the original stone walls and floors had not been plastered over or carpeted. Kerosene lamps instead of electric shone dimly, lending an acrid tinge to the cool air, though to Jasminda’s mind, torches would not have been out of place.

“This is the oldest part of the palace, Miss Jasminda. It is used exclusively by the Prince Regent, and none but his most trusted are allowed entry.”

Something odd brushed against her senses. The energy of this place was almost overwhelming. She opened herself the tiniest bit to Earthsong, once again testing out the shielding technique. The crush of the city hovered in her periphery, but an even stronger force snapped her connection shut. She gasped and wobbled on her feet. Usher reached out to steady her.

“I’m all right, I just— There’s something odd about this place.”

Usher grew solemn. “Come and see.”

The hallway in which they stood ended with a door. He pushed it open with some difficulty and motioned her through. Giving him a quizzical look, she stepped cautiously and found her feet sliding down almost immediately. The floor was like a bowl; the inside of the room a white sphere with the door hanging in the middle. Candles glowed eerily from little alcoves notched into curved walls made of no material she could fathom. Everything was smooth and white, but the shadows from the candles flickered gloomily.

Jack knelt on one knee at the bottom of the bowl, underneath a long, white capsule floating in midair. The smooth, seamless surface of the capsule was made of the same strange material as the walls. The object resembled an elongated egg, about six feet in length. It hovered courtesy of an ancient, intensely powerful spell that tingled the edges of her senses like static electricity.

Jack rose, facing her as she found her footing and gingerly stepped down the concave floor. Exhaustion wearied his features, but his expression brightened at the sight of her. She slid into his arms, and he held her so tightly she could scarcely breathe. But she did not complain. Finally, he released the embrace, stroked her face, and kissed her.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

“No, don’t be. I should apologize. I cannot change the rules we both agreed upon.” She was instantly lost in the depths of his eyes and wanted to stay there.

“I don’t want there to be any rules for us. I just wish—” He squeezed her tight to his chest again, and she relaxed against him.

“Are we where I think we are?”

Jack lifted his head, looking up at the floating capsule. “The resting place of the Queen Who Sleeps.”

She stared in awe. “But this chamber is sacred. I should not be here.”

“Not even the Sisterhood may come down here—only the Prince Regent and those closest to him.” He took her hand and pulled her directly underneath the Queen’s encased form, then led her to kneel with him. “We come to seek Her counsel and wisdom, to pray for the knowledge and strength to lead in Her stead.”

She wrenched her gaze from the smooth surface of the Queen’s tomb. Not tomb, for She slept only, and if the Promise was true, She would one day awaken. Jasminda looked at Jack, his expression heartbreaking.

She ran her fingers through his somewhat disheveled hair. “What is happening?”

He shook his head and grabbed both of her hands in his. Her heart caught in her chest as he told her of the letter from the True Father and the terrible demands.

“And the Council will take a vote?” she said, incredulous.

“Tomorrow.” His voice was solemn.

Tears stung her eyes at the thought of all it had taken for the refugees to make it to Elsira in the first place. Only to be sent back . . . It was unthinkable, but she knew too well how little value a Lagrimari life held here.

“And there is a chance the Council will vote to send them back?”

“I can only hope that Nirall does not follow suit with the rest of them. As of now, he is the holdout. If all the ministers agree, my options are very limited. The Prince Regent cannot override a unanimous Council vote.”

“There would be nothing you could do?”

He closed his eyes. “Only invoke Prince’s Right.”

“And Prince’s Right would dissolve the Council?” She now wished she’d paid more attention to the Elsiran civics and history lessons her mother had given her.

Jack nodded slowly. “And label me a tyrant. I would be only the second Prince Regent in Elsira’s history to do so.”

“And what happened to the first?”

“He was beheaded in a coup.”

Jasminda took a deep breath, her heart torn over his impossible choice. Deep within her Song, the spell surrounding the Queen’s encasement pulsed. “And has She given any counsel?”

He shook his head. “She has not blessed my dreams. I do not think I hold Her favor. I pray mostly for Her awakening to save this land from me.”

“Jack,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around him and drawing him closer. “You are a good prince. You are selfless and fearless.”

His head dropped. “I am constantly afraid.”

She grabbed his chin and tilted his head up to face her. “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 firm in his grip. Gasping for air, she pulled back and rested her forehead on his. Her fingers found his head again, rubbing his scalp gently until he relaxed a fraction.

“What I can’t figure out is why he wants the refugees back,” he said. “Only a fraction of them have their Songs. Beyond using them to increase his power, of what value are they?”

Jasminda had made a promise, one she’d intended to keep, but this new threat changed the situation. This chamber was the most secure location in all of Rosira. She felt no betrayal when she reached into her pocket and retrieved the bundle.

“He wants this,” she said, unwrapping the cloth, careful not to touch the stone. Jack inspected the caldera without reaching for it, a frown marring his face. “This is the reason the Keepers came. They needed to get this away from the True Father. He knows it’s here, and he wants it.”

“What is it?” His voice was cautious, his brow furrowed. It was as if on some level he could sense the caldera’s power.

She told him of Darvyn’s discovery of the stone and the Keepers’ suspicion that the vision she’d had in the cave and her ability to sing there were linked to her ability to use the caldera and learn to wake the Queen.

“And it’s been giving you visions?”

“Yes, though it’s going more slowly than I'd like since it depletes my Song each time.”

“Jasminda, this could be dangerous! There’s no telling what it could be doing to you. You don’t know anything about this kind of magic and neither does anyone else.”

“But this a chance to get what you want. What the country needs. It’s the only chance we have of awakening Her. If I can figure out a way— If I can help even a little, I must.”

He leaned back, shaking his head. “No, no, you don’t have to. You don’t have to risk yourself. What if it hurts you? What if it kills you?”

She leaned back, gazing at him softly. “Then you are the only one who will miss me.”

He froze.

Her jaw trembled at his stricken expression. “And if I die to awaken Her, then my life will have meant something to someone.”

“You mean something to me already. You mean everything.” He grabbed her free hand in both of his, dragging it onto his lap.

“I can’t mean everything to you, my darling Jack. You should not let me.”

“I cannot help it. It is far too late for that.” He lowered his head, bringing his lips to her hand.

“I must keep trying,” she said. They sat in silence, both staring at the caldera.

He kissed her hand again, then let it go.

The imprint of his lips burned hot against her skin. “Will you catch me if I fall?” Her voice was breathless.

Tear-filled eyes met hers. “You know I will. You never have to ask.”

She swallowed the knot forming in her throat. With a single finger, she stroked the caldera and everything faded to black.

The Assembly Room
grows quiet as all eyes focus on me. Their expectant gazes draw me back to the present. My mind had been aloft, far from this room and out in the early-summer sunshine, feeling the waves gently lapping at my feet. That is how I wanted to spend my birthday, at the sea, as I always have before.

I straighten my shoulders and regard the room. Every face holds a tension it never has held before. And it is all my fault.

“All here are agreed?” I ask, my voice low. I speak out loud as has been the custom during Assembly for the past half a millennia. I will not give in to the paranoia of so many of my cousins gathered here, afraid of eavesdroppers.

We are agreed
, murmur many Songs against my consciousness.

“Today is the first day of my twenty-first summer. I am the youngest Third. Vaaryn, you are two hundred years my elder. Your leadership has been unblemished. I am untested. Is this really wise?”

When Father, the last Second and the youngest son of the Founders, passed into the World After, Vaaryn assumed his responsibilities in the Assembly. The idea of leadership passing to me was unfathomable.

“Yes, dear cousin,” Vaaryn says. “I am not much longer for this world. It is best that the youngest should lead us.”