Requiem of Silence

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  For Jared, who loves me

  PROLOGUE

  In the end, there will be silence.

  Nothing but the warm embrace of the Flame and then … peace. The old man knows this and has waited for longer than he ever thought possible. He will wait a bit longer, for while he is old now, he was also old centuries ago. He suspects he will be old for centuries more before he can finally meet the Flame and be done with it all.

  But even death cannot come before duty, not for one of his line.

  The prophecy that came to him generations ago has never left the forefront of his mind. It seeped in and spread like a dye, staining everything that it touched: the one who walks in darkness will embrace the Light.

  He stands at the mouth of a cave of his beloved Mountain Mother, staring at the world outside that has claimed so many of his kind. The rays of the sun pepper fevered kisses on his face. A harsh kind of love. He cannot become used to it. Outside is not for him.

  Soon a visitor will arrive, one he has been expecting for a long time.

  He thinks perhaps this visitor is the key to the prophecy. Darkness and Light rolled into one. He waits, and when the visitor arrives, the young man is haggard, but bears it well. His eyes are alight with charm and mischief.

  The prophet has a moment of misgiving; however, this does not stop him from leading the visitor up a barely used trail, to a cave on the outskirts of the city where they won’t be disturbed.

  There he makes the greatest mistake of his life. There he teaches the visitor something that no Outsider should know. Even one with familiar skin.

  Perhaps it was the prophecy that duped him. Or the fact that the visitor is only a generation removed from those who left the caves to live outside.

  Had this seeker’s fore-parent not left, he would have already known this secret. Could have known it, at least.

  No matter now, the deed is done. The knowledge passed from prophet to man.

  As the visitor’s head bobs away down the narrow path, the prophet has another shudder of misgiving.

  But surely the Mother would not have allowed him to do something that would harm his people. All he ever wanted to do was save them.

  He watches the visitor’s retreat and hopes that teaching him the Cavefolk secrets was the right decision.

  He will ask the Mother about it soon.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Where does solace hide when discord

  warbles its tumultuous strains?

  In silence or in sound, Harmony is found.

  —THE HARMONY OF BEING

  Queen Jasminda ul-Sarifor Alliaseen held a maelstrom of Earthsong within her. She found herself connecting to the stream of energy in times of distress, without any real intention of doing something with the power, but holding it inside herself brought comfort. She was on alert at all times now. She’d already been assassinated once, after all.

  The current cause of her anguish was not the terrorists who’d taken her life mere weeks ago, nor the ongoing strife between Elsiran citizen and Lagrimari refugee playing itself out in the streets. These were on her mind at all times, but at this precise moment, it was the undervalets scurrying in and out of the royal suite who had her on edge. Usher, the king’s valet and longtime friend, directed them as they brought in piles of clothing and shoes for inspection.

  “No,” the man said, shaking his gray head. “Not those—in fact, send those to the Sisterhood for charity distribution. He’s nearly worn the soles off them.”

  The servant nodded and rushed off.

  “That trunk is full, young man,” Usher said kindly to another. “No use overstuffing, just place those vests in the other one.”

  Jasminda swallowed, taking in the organized chaos, a pulse of life energy rushing through her veins. “Is he going away for a fortnight or a year?” she muttered.

  Usher led her out of the path of the servants, saving her from a collision with a young woman carrying a stack of shirt boxes that nearly reached her eyes. “His Majesty will require options. Prime Minister Buchanan has not provided us with an itinerary, so we don’t know how many formal and informal dinners there will be, whether he’s organizing a hunting carnival, wilderness explorations, or other entertainments. We must be ready for anything.”

  “Hunting carnival?”

  “The elite of the south are quite fond of reveling after a kill. Rather intensely, as I recall,” a new voice announced. King Jaqros Alliaseen emerged from the adjoining sitting room. “They do not even use the meat for food, they drape it over themselves and parade around taunting the birds of prey.”

  Jasminda shuddered, her face twisting in disgust.

  “I know, I know, it’s barbaric, but it’s part of their culture, and it would be wrong to judge.” Jack pulled her even farther away from the packing action to sit on the settee in front of the fireplace, now burned down to embers. The weather had turned colder with winter nearly upon them, but with all the activity the room had been warm all day and no one had stoked the fire.

  “This is a terrible time for you to go off on vacation, you know,” she said, crossing her arms. She didn’t pout; she was constitutionally unable to do so, or so she’d always thought. But her husband was leaving on this ridiculous trip—where he would apparently be dancing while wearing raw meat and waiting for vultures to attack. And she would be left here for the first time to run the country on her own, stalked by her own birds of prey.

  Jack gently untangled her arms and held her hands. “It’s the worst timing ever, but Buchanan is an idiosyncratic old man. He believes in star alignments and makes decisions according to the phases of the moon. My invitation was not only last minute, it was apparently sparked by some sort of celestial event that we can only hope will induce him to give aid to his needy northern neighbors.” He smiled. “But if not, I’m going to convince him to help.”

  “Maybe he can ask the stars and moon to end our drought.”

  Jack chuckled and brought her hands to his lips. Her shoulders softened. The invitation from Fremia’s Prime Minister couldn’t be ignored, especially when Elsira was in such a difficult situation.

  “Or maybe the celestial beings can intercede with King Pia and ask her to stop this fecking embargo.”

  Jack’s lips quirked. He raised a brow at her language and she rolled her eyes. She didn’t normally curse, but desperate times and all. “I think we’re going to have to handle that one ourselves,” he said. “That last message from Ambassador Nirall was positive, wasn’t it?”

  She nodded. Both Jack and the Council had thought putting the situation with Raun on Jasminda’s plate was a good idea. Not because of any skill she had with foreign relations, but because her younger brother Roshon was engaged to the daughter of the female king of Raun. And their new ambassador, Lizvette Nirall, had instantly created a rapport with the notoriously difficult leader. Jasminda herself was the weak link.

  “Listen, I kn
ow you’ve been busy with the needs of the refugees,” Jack said, “we all have, but if the embargo doesn’t end soon, even Fremia’s aid won’t be enough. We need to get Raun back on our side and you’re the best option for that.”

  “I know, I need to brush up on their history and culture and make some overtures, but honestly, if your brother made a misstep with them that caused this fiasco, there’s little chance that I can fix it.”

  Jack sighed, shaking his head. “My brother was a great Prince Regent, but his people skills left something to be desired. I believe if you prove to Pia you understand and respect Raunian culture, you can smooth over whatever Alariq did to get us in this mess.”

  She nodded, though she wasn’t convinced. Perhaps if Earthsong could create additional hours in the day, she would have time to handle every item on her to-do list. The drought, the embargo, the lines of hungry refugees waiting for food, the protests of Elsiran citizens wanting to push the refugees out of the country. She shivered, recalling the devastation that the fall of the Mantle had wrought when the defeat of the True Father changed their world forever.

  A loud snap brought her attention back to the other side of the room. Usher had just closed the second trunk and the other servants were clearing out. Jasminda took a deep breath and pulled her hands from Jack’s. They immediately felt cold, plus a chilly dread began to spread across her body at the thought of piloting this massive, damaged ship by herself for two weeks. The length of the visit was another thing predestined by astronomical forces.

  She stood and Jack followed, tracking her with his gaze. He was worried and she didn’t want him to be, so she tried to put forth an air of confidence she absolutely did not feel. Of course he saw through her.

  “You can do this, Jasminda. You know how to handle the Council; most of them are afraid of your Song anyway. The Keepers will assist you as well. And if anything happens, maybe the Goddess will even step in to help.”

  She snorted, that wasn’t likely. Goddess Oola had taken Her abdication seriously. As the only other person who’d ever been queen of Elsira, it would have been nice of Her to give some advice every now and then, but so far that hadn’t happened. Jasminda could barely even find Her these days. No, she would have to do this on her own, as she’d done everything else for so long.

  The trunks were carried down to the motorcade, which would transport Jack to the docks and his Fremia-bound ship. Jasminda held his hand as they followed the retinue of servants, winding their way through the palace and out to the vehicle depot.

  A contingent of Royal Guardsmen was assembled outside, ready to accompany their king. Jasminda was glad to see Benn Ravel, Jack’s former assistant and close friend, among them. It was a difficult time for him to leave his young family as well, but Jack had made an impassioned request and the man hadn’t refused.

  As Jack conferred with another Guardsman, Jasminda approached Benn. “This the first time you’ve been away from Ella and the girls?” she asked. He and his wife had recently adopted two Lagrimari orphans.

  His somber amber eyes regarded her as he nodded. “Though I’m sure Ella can withstand anything, and my mother is helping, amazingly enough. But I still have this pain, just here, that won’t let up.” He covered his heart with a palm.

  “I understand. I feel it, too.”

  “But they know what this trip means. What the aid would mean for the country. They’re proud of me, and that helps some.” Benn’s pained smile made Jasminda’s heart clench.

  “Thank you for going with him. I feel much better with you watching his back.”

  Benn sketched a short bow and headed to his vehicle.

  A moment later, Jack was at her side again, wrapping strong arms around her. “I’ll be back in a heartbeat,” he whispered in her ear. “Maybe sooner.” Her eyes began to tear, but she blinked them away. There were so many people watching.

  She kissed Jack quickly, not wanting to linger, then tried to be as stoic as possible as the final checks were made and everyone began piling into the vehicles. Another kiss. A final wave. And then they were off, a caravan of autos heading away from the palace down the twisting streets.

  She used her Song to follow them, sensing his essence, his reticence, and the worry he tried not to let her see. They were the rulers of a divided country that might not have enough food to last the winter, whose coffers were nearly empty and whose citizens were threatening ethnic cleansing. He was off to do his part to fix things and she had to keep the land together in the meantime. She strained to not lose her connection to her husband until he passed out of her range.

  And so she sensed the messenger before the nervous young man arrived, panting from his race across the palace, a hand pressed to his side to try to ease the stitch that had developed. Jasminda healed the exhaustion with a silent spell so she could get the message more quickly.

  “Your Majesty, there’s been another attack.”

  * * *

  Growing up in the isolated mountain valley, Jasminda had never been through one of the hurricanes that regularly assaulted the coast. Storm season was still several months off, but a part of her looked forward to experiencing one of the tempests she’d read so much about. What would it be like to withstand the effects of nature’s fury? The onslaught of rain and wind strong enough to lift a man off his feet and cut a path of destruction through a city? How different would it be from life after the fall of the Mantle?

  This morning, in the aftermath of a different kind of squall, the streets of the city were eerily quiet. The barely there hum of her town car’s tires as they glided down the pavement was the only sound. Tinted windows hid her from view as she peered out to the empty sidewalks beyond. Fear hung thick in the air like smoke as her motorcade rolled along, unhindered by the light traffic.

  She’d read that being inside the eye of a hurricane was similar. The most severe thunderstorms would pass and you would find yourself in the midst of a hushed landscape, with clear skies. Unnatural lighting from the turgid clouds would give a sickly, xanthous hue to the world. It was a false calm, surrounded on all sides by a towering wall of devastation. And it would pass, all too soon, the gale restarting just as intensely as before. No quarter to be found.

  Her motorcade pulled to a stop on a quiet street in Portside, the neighborhood where, until recently, all foreigners had been sequestered. One of her two new assistants, Camm Bosa, stood on the sidewalk waiting for her to alight.

  “Your Majesty,” Camm said, bowing his head. He was an extremely capable young man in his early twenties, with dark reddish-brown freckles covering his face and a mop of unruly russet hair always looking ready to escape his head.

  The street was hushed, with nothing obvious to cause alarm. Just a working-class neighborhood with well-maintained, midsized buildings. Concrete pavement in good repair; no trash littered the street. “Where was the bombing?” she asked, perplexed.

  Camm winced. “This way. And it wasn’t a bombing, not exactly.” He began walking, long legs eating up the sidewalk. Jasminda’s Guard, half a dozen towering men clad in black, fell into formation around them.

  Halfway down the block, Camm stopped and pointed to a building, completely intact. The simple stucco facade painted in a faded coral.

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “Look at the windows, Your Majesty,” Camm said. “The black smudges ringing each of them.”

  Now that he pointed it out, there was a sooty sort of smudging around the windows. Several had flower boxes bordering them, and Jasminda noted that all the flowers were dry and brittle. It was mid-autumn, still several weeks from the first frost, and the resilient jack-a-dandies should be doing well, even with the smallest amount of care.

  Camm cleared his throat. “The Sisterhood bought this building last year, planning to turn it into a dormitory. They’d begun renovations, so the top two floors were vacant when the Mantle fell. Refugees began moving in a couple of weeks ago. According to the local alderman, there had been a few
clashes with Elsirans on the lower levels. The fire inspector just completed his review and says the top two floors were smoke bombed late last night.”

  “Smoke bombed?”

  “The devices are available in Fremia and Yaly. They produce smoke, but no fire. People who are sleeping never know what hit them. They just inhale the smoke until it smothers them.” Camm looked a little green at the thought, and Jasminda could relate.

  “How many dead?”

  “Twelve. At least twenty others had lung injuries, but Keepers arrived to heal them.”

  The street was perfectly deserted, though movement caught her eye in the surrounding windows. Curtains fell back into place when she looked up.

  “Where is everyone?” Her skin had begun to prickle with the feeling of being watched.

  “Those in the building were evacuated just around back.”

  Camm led the way down a narrow alley. They emerged in an open lot that stretched to the next street. A rusted fence divided two properties, but at some point it had been flattened, leaving a tract of cracked asphalt and weeds that was currently full of people. Two Sisterhood ambulances were parked next to a handful of open-topped wagons holding miserable-looking Elsirans. Standing grouped together on the other side of the lot were the Lagrimari residents.

  “That’s not all, Your Majesty,” Camm warned.

  Jasminda had been headed toward the victims but stopped short. “What?”

  “The bottom four floors were not immune.”

  “Do you mean they targeted Elsirans as well?” That hadn’t happened since the initial temple bombing. Since then, the terrorists had been more precise in their execution.

  “Well, the smoke bombing of the Lagrimari was partially thwarted. The constables believe those on the bottom floors were victims of a counterattack an hour or so later.”

  A gust of cold wind blew along with his words. “What kind of counterattack?”