Song of Blood & Stone (Earthsinger Chronicles Book 1) (27 page)

“What do you mean?”

For a moment, the hard shell he’s constructed around himself cracks, and I see a glimpse of the man I fell in love with. Yllis moves closer to me, placing his hands on my shoulders. “He wants what he has always wanted: power.”

I shiver. Both from the truth of his words and his close proximity.

“So this spell . . . how does it work?”

“It is a binding spell to prevent connection with Earthsong.”

“And we will need someone’s blood?”

His eyes darken, and he nods. “Let me worry about that. Link with me, and I will teach you the spell.”

His hand is the same as I remember. Warm and big, it swallows mine. I hardly get to relish the feeling of his skin when I’m thrown into his link, and he teaches me the spell. The feel of it sours my tongue, but I commit it to memory.

The young maid
standing in Jack’s office sniffled and wrung her hands. “No, Your Grace. I would never let anyone else in Miss Jasminda’s rooms. Never.” Red-rimmed eyes overflowed with tears. “I always saw to her myself, just as Usher asked.”

Jack sighed and paused his pacing. “And you have no idea how anyone would have gotten hold of this?” He pointed to the low table where the blue gown Jasminda wore to the ball a few nights before lay. It had been found, slashed and partially burned, outside the doors to the Prince Regent’s office suite.

“No, Your Grace.” The girl shook her head violently, took another look at the gown, and burst into a fresh round of sobs.

“All right, all right, Nadal,” Jack said, motioning for Usher to comfort her. “I believe you. But you haven’t heard anything from the other servants?”

She leaned into Usher and quieted a bit. “Some of them have been cool toward me since I wouldn’t gossip about Miss Jasminda with them. I haven’t heard anything.”

Jack dropped roughly onto the couch, nervous energy rattling through him. He answered the question in Usher’s gaze with a nod, and the man led Nadal away, returning a few minutes later alone.

“She’s going to hate me,” Jack said as he rubbed his burning eyes, wishing he could rub away the weariness and the heartache. “She has every right to. But she’s in the safest place in the palace. Almost anyone could have sneaked into her rooms. Any person in this palace could mean her harm.”

Usher clucked his tongue, and Jack looked up. “What?”

“You should go to her, young sir.”

“Was she really leaving?” He sank down, every bone in his body feeling twice its weight.

“It appears so.”

Jack groaned, closing the lid on the emotions that threatened to spill out at the thought of Jasminda’s absence. Then a horrifying thought struck him. “Mother often talked of wanting to leave. I would hear them arguing . . . He would never let her . . .” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m just like him, aren’t I? I will never be able to escape the shadow of his cruelty.”

He stood and walked to the terrace doors, looking out at the city stretching before him and beyond, to the endless blue waves. Usher came to stand by him.

“You are nothing like him.”

Jack rested his forehead against the cool glass. Outside, the perfect serenity of the day was so at odds with the whirlwind inside him.

“Then why do I feel like the villain here?”

The buses with the refugees were well on their way toward the border. By this time tomorrow, they would all be back across the mountain. Only the Queen knew what their fates would be, but Jack could guess. He chuckled mirthlessly.

“What have I done, Usher? The woman I love in the dungeons. Allowing the refugees to be sent back. What does this make me?”

“It makes you a prince.”

“And what is that worth when I can’t save anyone?”

The darkness in his heart was in danger of overtaking him. He rubbed his chest as if he could massage the broken organ from the outside. “You’re right. I should go to her. Either she’ll forgive me or she won’t. Besides, I don’t want her staying in the palace any longer than necessary. You’ve gotten in touch with Benn’s wife?”

“Yes, she’s happy to let Jasminda stay with her down in Portside. The family will keep watch for trouble.”

Jack nodded. “All right. She should be safe there while I ferret out whoever’s responsible.” He cast another glance at the ruined dress, and anger beat a rhythm inside his chest. “I can’t fail her, too,” he rasped, nearly choking on the words.

Usher clapped him on the shoulder and squeezed. Some days the only thing keeping him upright was the man’s presence.

He gave Usher a sidelong glance. “How do you stand me, old man?”

“I don’t really have a choice, now do I?” Usher said with a droll smile.

Jack rushed down
to the dungeon, feeling even more guilty for keeping Jasminda locked away a moment longer than necessary. As he entered the outer chamber, the guards snapped to attention.

“Captain,” Jack said, acknowledging the guard. “It’s time to let her out.”

The captain’s eyes widened. “L-let her out, Your Grace?”

“Yes, open the cell. I’ll take her with me.”

The captain’s gaze darted to his fellow guard, rigid beside him, then back to Jack. “B-begging your pardon, Your Grace, but she’s already been let out.”

Jack stilled, every muscle in his body tensing in alarm. “I gave explicit orders that the young woman was to be held here until I ordered her released.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Then by whose authority was she released?” Jack roared.

“Yours, Your Grace.” The captain held out a folded letter, stamped with the official seal of the Prince Regent. Jack snatched it from his hands and read the contents, instructions to release Jasminda to the custody of the letter’s bearer.

He motioned for the guard to open the door to the cells, and he strode through, needing to see for himself that Jasminda was really gone. A blanket lay neatly folded on the cot inside an empty cell.

He spun back to face the captain. “Who brought this note?”

“A servant, Your Grace. A maid. I didn’t know her.”

“And you thought I’d send a maid to retrieve someone from custody?”

“The letter bears your seal, Your Grace.”

Jack turned away, trying to tamp down the rage boiling in his bloodstream. At its edge was a cold fear he didn’t want to inspect too closely. Whoever had stolen Jasminda’s dress and destroyed it had wanted to send a message to Jack. They must have taken her, as well. Would they really harm her? All to punish him?

Only one person he knew had clashed swords with Jasminda recently. At the very ball where she’d worn that dress.

His breathing came in short spurts as he exploded from the dungeon, racing up the stairs three at a time.

“Where is Minister Calladeen?” he growled to the young man at the main Royal Guard station.

“He’s in his offices, Your Grace.”

A red haze swallowed Jack. His whole body quivered as he stalked down the hall and slammed his way into the offices of the Minister of Foreign Affairs. A startled young secretary yipped in alarm as Jack stormed into the inner office.

Calladeen stood, eyes wide, as Jack exploded into the room.

“What did you do?” Jack demanded.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jack marched across the room until he was nearly nose to nose with the man. “Where is she?” he yelled. Calladeen shrank back, leaning almost comically away.

“Where is who, Your Grace?”

“Don’t play games with me, man. Where is Jasminda?”

Calladeen placed two hands up in a motion of surrender and stepped away from the wall of anger radiating from Jack’s body. Jack clenched and unclenched his fists, waiting for the moment when he could release his frustration in a flurry of violence.

“Your Grace, I swear by our Sovereign, I do not know.”

Jack’s glare was ruthless, and the man seemed genuinely afraid. Jack held up the letter. “You did not forge this message from me ordering her release?”

Calladeen tentatively plucked the letter from Jack’s hand and read it over, a frown pulling down his mouth. “No, I did not. But I do recognize the handwriting.”

Jack had paid little attention to the curling script of the letter. “Whose is it?”

Calladeen’s sharp face grew pensive. “Lizvette’s.”

The caravan of
buses rolled across the country as the sun-kissed day darkened into a tempestuous, thundery night. Rain pelted the metal of the bus’s roof so hard it sounded like hail. Jasminda sat near the front, handcuffed to a bar running under the window.

On the bench across from her sat Osar, squeezed together with a woman and two smaller children. All the mothers held their children close, blanketed in fear and sadness. The refugees had taken a risk in trusting their Elsiran neighbors, and they had lost.

Jasminda felt her own loss acutely, the loss of Jack and now her freedom. The cold metal bit into her skin when she jangled the chain connecting the cuffs. The soldier sitting in front of her craned his neck, glaring at her. She narrowed her eyes at him, hardening her stare until he turned back around.

She’d thought being locked in the dungeon would be the worst this day would hold. She was wrong.

Her hours in the dungeon had been spent mulling over the latest vision from the caldera and counting the stone blocks in the wall, waiting for Jack to appear and explain himself. Then the clank of keys approaching had made her sit upright.

A maid appeared outside her cell with two Guardsmen in tow. The cell door opened, and the maid motioned Jasminda forward. She stood, shocked the Guardsmen allowed the maid to lead her away.

“Did Jack send you?” Jasminda asked as the woman passed her a hooded cloak, large enough to cover Jasminda’s face. “Where are we going?”

“There’s a car waiting for you, miss.”

“To take me where?”

“We must hurry,” she said, leading her through the servants’ passages at a rapid pace. With a sliver of Earthsong, Jasminda tested the woman’s emotions. Uncertainty and caution pulsed powerfully within her. Jasminda couldn’t imagine that Jack would have allowed her to be released to just anyone, though it was odd that he’d sent a servant she didn’t know instead of Nadal or Usher. They soon arrived at an outer door where Lizvette waited with an unfamiliar driver and vehicle.

Jasminda froze. “Jack didn’t send you, did he?”

“It isn’t safe here for you,” Lizvette said, scanning the area as if a ruffian would spring from the bushes at any moment.

“Who wants to hurt me?”

“Please believe me. This is for the best.”

Lizvette wouldn’t meet her eyes but nodded at the driver before stepping back. "Do not harm her."

The driver, a burly man with an icy gaze, approached, and fear spurred Jasminda into action. She spun away and ran, but the man reached out a long arm and grabbed her. She kicked and flailed, but her shout was muffled by his large hand over her mouth. A pair of handcuffs clinked as the metal slid across her skin.

He manhandled her into the backseat where another man, who she hadn’t noticed before, waited. In the brief moment when the driver removed his hand from her mouth, she gasped for air to scream but a gag was stuffed between her lips and tied around the back of her head. She continued thrashing, but the second man held her in a crushing grip. The driver took his seat and slammed the door. Jasminda struggled to look out the window, seeing only Lizvette’s retreating form.

She writhed and twisted, but the fellow holding her had arms of iron. Deciding to save her strength, she relaxed her body and the man’s grip lessened somewhat. Stealthily, she inched her skirt up to reach for the serrated knife strapped to her leg. Removing the blade, she twisted again preparing to slam it into her captor’s thigh. The driver’s gaze flicked to her in the rearview mirror, and he wrenched the steering wheel, swerving the car and knocking the knife from her grip.

Her captor growled and smashed her head against the window, momentarily blacking out her vision. She stilled as her wits returned and rested her head against glass to cool the pounding.

Lizvette’s betrayal shouldn’t have been as shocking as it was. The woman’s coy warnings the day before had been for what? To simply mask her own desire to do Jasminda harm?

As they wound their way through the city, another possibility emerged as to Lizvette’s true intentions. Maybe she simply wanted Jasminda out of the way. Then the auto made a turn onto a dirt road that led only one place.

The camp was in chaos when they arrived, stopping just past a line of waiting buses. The man holding her, whose face she still hadn’t seen, pulled her from the auto. She stumbled before finding her footing. Dismay and anger bubbled within as she was pushed along.

Dozens of Sisters stood before her, arms locked together, attempting to form a human barrier between the soldiers and the refugees. The Sisters repeated a prayer over and over, asking the Queen Who Sleeps for protection.

Starting at the end of the line, the soldiers pried the Sisters’ hands and arms apart as the women’s prayer grew louder. Behind the Sisters, many of the refugees were lining up solemnly in rows, waiting to board the buses, resigned to their fate. But some would not go quietly. As the soldiers broke through the resistance of the Sisters, a handful of refugees screamed and wailed, planting themselves on the ground and refusing to move.

Soldiers handcuffed those who protested and held them under armed guard before forcibly placing them on the buses. The man holding Jasminda transferred her to a young soldier who dragged her over to the group of restrained refugees and pushed her to the ground. Four men trained their rifles on the group.

She angled her head down until she could pull the gag from her mouth, then sucked in deep breaths, surveying the turmoil around her.

A white-haired general barked orders, instructing his men to ensure every Lagrimari made it across the border. No exceptions.

“What if they won’t go?” a lieutenant asked.

“Shoot them.”

Jasminda shivered. Those couldn’t have been Jack’s orders, but it didn’t seem to matter.

Screams and cries filled the air. The protesting Sisters were being gathered, some handcuffed, as well, although they were treated far more gently than the refugees. Among them was Aunt Vanesse, who spotted Jasminda and broke away from the others to rush to her side. She was distraught, her neat topknot had slipped out and her robes were covered in splotches of mud.

“Oy!” Vanesse hailed one of the officers and pointed to Jasminda. “She is not a Lagrimari; she is an Elsiran citizen.”

The lieutenant looked at Jasminda askance and raised his eyebrows. “Do you have proof of that, Sister?”

“You have my word as an Elsiran. This girl’s mother was my sister,” Vanesse pleaded.

The lieutenant shrugged. “Even if that were true, we’re under orders.” He looked Jasminda up and down again. “How Elsiran can she be if she looks that much like a
grol
?” He shrugged and walked away.

Vanesse screamed at the man, and Jasminda reached for her hand, clasping it in her bound ones. Vanesse fell to her knees, sobbing, but a strange calm had fallen over Jasminda. In the midst of all this chaos, one truth was clear.

“We both know I don’t really belong here.”

“No. You’re all I have left of Emi. I will find someone who will listen. You don’t belong over there, either.” Vanesse shuddered. “We can find a place for you. I promise.” She squeezed Jasminda’s hands.

Jasminda smiled through her own welling tears. “Do
you
even have a place here? A way to be who you really are? With the person you love?”

Vanesse reared back as if slapped. Her mouth hung open. “What do you know of that?”

“I know that I love someone I can never be with. Not openly. And I thought stolen moments would be enough, but they’re not. I don’t want to be a secret, hidden away never allowed to see the light of day. I don’t want to be a liability. I want to be a treasure.”

Recognition lit within Vanesse. She nodded slowly and wiped at her eyes. “I’m not giving up, but for now, you should take this.” She pulled a worn envelope from the pocket of her robes. “Emi sent it to me a long time ago, but I think it belongs to you.”

Jasminda recognized her mother’s delicate handwriting. Her fingers shook as she opened it. Inside was a photograph, the same image of her family that had sat atop the mantle at home.

“This burned in the fire,” she whispered in awe, tracing the outlines of her parents and brothers. “I thought I’d never—”

Vanesse placed her palm on Jasminda’s cheek, then leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “You
are
a treasure. I’m sorry that you’ve never felt that way.” She stood, smoothing out her robes, her expression faraway.

“If you can get a message to the prince . . .” Jasminda said. There was little chance that Vanesse could get through to Jack in time. An unknown woman, even one of the Sisterhood, was unlikely to receive an audience with the Prince Regent.

Vanesse’s brow furrowed, but she nodded. “I will pray for us to meet again.” And then she was gone.

Within a half hour, Jasminda was herded toward a bus with the others. A soldier pushed her roughly into a seat and locked her handcuffs around the bar, securing her in place.

Rozyl tripped up the steps, a soldier at her back. The two locked eyes. “I guess you’re one of us now,” the Keeper said, her lip curling up. The soldier shoved her toward the back of the bus.

Jasminda pressed her head against the window and slumped in her seat, her mind racing. She had no intention of being dragged into Lagrimar, especially with the caldera heavy in her pocket. Besides the obvious lack of appeal of living in a land she knew nothing about, she could not allow the stone to fall into the hands of the Lagrimari. Even if she could not figure out all of its secrets, she must keep it concealed. That meant finding a way to escape as soon as she could.

The picture in her hand burned with almost as many memories as the caldera. Seeing the faces of her family again gave her hope. She stared at the picture until the bus pulled forward and the long journey began.

A sudden jerk brought her back to the present. Through the windshield, the headlamps illuminated only a few feet ahead of them. The rest was inky blackness, rain tapping a staccato beat on the roof. The driver took to the radio, inquiring as to whether they would be stopping due to the hazardous conditions. The only response was static.

Flash floods pooled in the dips of the road, and crackles of lightning raced across the sky, illuminating the scenery in quick flashes. Lush, fertile farmland stretched on around them. The driver shouted a curse and twisted the steering wheel violently. Jasminda slid in her seat, banging her shoulder against the window. Headlights flew past the hulking form of a cow in the middle of the road, and the bus careened in an attempt to miss it. Water sloshed around the tires as the massive vehicle tilted, the driver unable to wrestle back control.

They teetered that way for agonizing seconds, everyone frozen in shock. Then the bus was falling, pushed off the road and onto its right side. It slid down the muddy incline and flipped again. Jasminda squeezed her eyes, holding her body rigid as the impact of the crash shook her body.

Lizvette’s only movement
came from the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. She didn’t move so much as an eyelid in order to blink. She sat rigid in the chair, hands clasped neatly in her lap.

Jack, on the other hand, was all motion, pacing the floor of the sitting room in the Niralls’ residence suite. Two Guardsmen stood at the door. Jack did not trust himself to speak yet, so they all waited in silence.

Then a knock sounded and a terrified maid was led in by the same Guardsman from the dungeon.

“Is this the woman who delivered this note, Captain?” Jack asked.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“And you . . .” He rounded on the maid who shrank into the Guard still holding her arm. He gentled his voice and posture; there was no need to give the poor woman a heart attack. “Who gave you this letter?” He held up the forged paper.

The maid’s eyes darted back and forth between Lizvette and Jack.

“It’s all right, Cora,” Lizvette said. “You can tell him.”

“Miss Lizvette gave it to me, Your Grace.”

“Thank you,” said Jack. “You may go back to work. All of you.” He made a motion with his hand and the room cleared, leaving him alone with Lizvette. He did not face her, could hardly bear to look at her.

“Where is she?” he ground out.

“On a bus with the other refugees.”

He dropped his head into his hand. “Why?”

“It was the best place for her.”

Jack spun to look at her. “And that was your decision?” His supposedly healed wound throbbed angrily, as though the grief and pain were trying to claw their way out through his chest. He wrenched open the door and ordered the Guardsman outside to radio the refugee caravan and pull Jasminda off the bus.

“And was it you who destroyed her dress?” he said, resuming his pacing.

Her head shot up, brows furrowed. “Her dress?”

“Her ball gown, ripped and burned and left in front of my office today.”

Lizvette blinked slowly and took a deep breath. “That wasn’t me.”

“Do you know who it was?”

She notched her chin up higher and stared straight ahead.

Jack made an exasperated sound and crouched before her, careful to maintain his distance. “Tell me.”

A single tear trailed down her cheek. Her jaw quivered. “I think it was Father,” she whispered.

“Nirall?” Jack reared back on his heels, almost falling. He braced himself with a hand on the floor and shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

Her hands were squeezed together so hard, the tips of her fingernails had lost all color. She shook her head and another tear escaped her eye. Those were more tears than Jack had ever seen her shed in her entire life. She had always been a stoic child, never screaming or crying, not even when injured. Everything kept bottled up inside, even now.

Her whole body vibrated as if the strength it took her to remain composed had run out and pure chaos reigned underneath her placid exterior. She was at war with herself. Jack could see it plainly. Her distress stole a measure of rancor from his anger.