Requiem of Silence Read online

  “Is no one else hungry?” Ani announced just as her stomach growled.

  Roshon snorted. “That reminds me, we’ll need to stock something other than jerky and dried seaweed on the ship.”

  “Picky, picky,” she muttered.

  “Lunch sounds good to me,” Varten offered, nudging Zeli. “Let’s go see what they have ready in the kitchen.” She looked up and nodded quickly, then rose. He knew that she just wanted to learn as much as she could about Saint Gilmer and the Rumpus, but it would have to wait until they were alone again.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The passing days turn tart to sweet.

  But pluck too soon for

  bitter tastes.

  Leave it too long, the fruit will burst

  there on the vine.

  Keep the right time.

  —THE HARMONY OF BEING

  Jasminda pressed her fingers to her temples. She should be able to heal her own headache, but as of yet she had not been able to, not with this one. The voices rising in the auditorium only made it worse. Some part of her wanted to silence them. She could use Earthsong to do that, couldn’t she? Perhaps utilize Darvyn’s trick of solidifying the air around her to block out all sound?

  She opened her eyes a fraction, hoping the harsh overhead lighting didn’t spear her brain. Gripping Earthsong to her like a lifeline, she tried again to ease the pounding in her skull—to no avail. Perhaps her ailment had some other source, maybe it was all in her mind.

  Voices dripping with bitterness rose, buoyed by strong emotion. Their elegant Elsiran speech grated against her skin. What was this force that had entered her body, making the language sound like arrows nocked and ready to be unleashed on an unsuspecting target?

  She opened her eyes fully, ignoring the pain, to survey the packed assembly hall. Three-fourths of those attending the community meeting were Elsiran, many of them well-to-do in starched shirts or fashionable, expensive dresses. Though the rougher clothes and careworn faces of working folk were liberally interspersed.

  The Lagrimari refugees sat on one side, separate from the rest. It made sense for them to be close together for the sake of the translator, but she still hated to see it.

  Jasminda shifted her attention to the stooped and bent old man standing in the aisle. A glittering gold watch chain glinted in the light against his patterned vest. He clutched a gold-tipped cane in his hands. The man droned on and on, but she attempted to tune back in. Fortunately, one of the city aldermen, serving as moderator for this meeting, interrupted. “Master Banios, you have had your say, sir. We have heard your complaints, now it is time to allow someone else a chance to speak.”

  “But you are not listening, and she is not listening.” A gnarled finger pointed in Jasminda’s direction. She coolly raised a brow. “This infernal curfew is making me lose hundreds of pieces a day. My boys can’t make their nighttime deliveries and our business is suffering. Not to mention the hit being taken by the pubs I own. Times are lean enough and it just isn’t right to punish us all.”

  “Thank you. I think there’s time for another comment?” The alderman turned to Jasminda, who nodded for him to continue. She would stay for another citizen’s tongue lashing. She’d only come to this community meeting because it was something that Jack would do. Hearing from the people was exhausting and she wasn’t convinced it was productive. She’d hoped that the discussion would center more on the unification and referendum, but it was the curfew that had people up in arms.

  The Lagrimari who had spoken up hadn’t been bothered by the inconveniences associated with the new restrictions. They at least understood the purpose—to protect the lives of everyone, Elsiran and Lagrimari alike. She held herself back from rubbing her temples again. Seated as she was on the stage of the auditorium in the assembly hall, she did not want to be perceived as weak or in pain. When the next speaker began, a sliver of dread snaked down her spine. She recognized that voice.

  “Your Majesty and honored guests. My name is Marvus Zinadeel, and I am the owner of several businesses in Rosira and throughout Elsira.”

  Her jaw clenched and she focused her bleary eyes on him. Her grandfather was haughtiness personified. His full head of hair was white at the temples, but still reddish-blond everywhere else. His lean form was rod straight, as if he’d never bent an inch in his life. Standing next to him was a woman who must be her grandmother; Jasminda had never laid eyes on her before. Her oval face and prominent chin favored Aunt Vanesse. Silver streaked her auburn hair. Jasminda saw little of her own mother in the woman’s face and was grateful for it.

  After the coronation and wedding, Marvus Zinadeel had made many attempts to contact her, but she’d denied every one. She would never forget their one meeting—before she’d become queen—and the coldness with which he’d treated her. The utter disregard from both of her mother’s parents during the lonely years she’d spent writing for help after the disappearance of her father and brothers.

  There was a standing order to not allow them on the palace grounds but they could not, of course, be kept from a public assembly. Her grandfather eyed her with barely leashed contempt and sketched a shallow bow.

  “We are in a time of civil unrest and economic downturn,” Zinadeel said. “We cannot afford the cost of this curfew. After only a few days it is becoming untenable.”

  Unwilling to hear any more, Jasminda stood suddenly. The alderman stumbled, though he’d been standing still and she was a good ten paces away from him. As she approached his podium on the stage, he stepped to the side, flustered.

  “Master Zinadeel, have there been any attacks in the days since the curfew was enacted?”

  Her grandfather pursed his lips. “No, Your Majesty.” Though he said it with as little reverence as possible, it still cheered her to hear the words pass from his lips.

  “Well then. The cost is minor compared with the human lives that have been saved. Lives on both sides of this conflict. I think that is proof enough of its efficacy. Surely you can spare a few coins for human lives?” She barely avoided adding the word “grandfather” to that. He’d had no desire to claim her, and she would not deign to claim him in public, either. The gossip column writers would have plenty of fodder today.

  His nose flared and his eyes widened. “The cost is high, maybe not in human life, but what good is life without thriving? That is what you are asking the people to do, Your Majesty. Cease their thriving.”

  “Who exactly has been thriving in this land? You, certainly, but who else? The rich and powerful have been doing quite well and a few days or weeks of curfew is unlikely to change that. There are thousands upon thousands of our citizens unable to afford even the goods you carry in your stores. Their lives have value. Do you care so little for them?”

  Anger burned hot within her, feeling like a firestorm waiting for an outlet. The pain in her head was completely consumed by the rage in her heart. Her grandfather appeared taken aback by the venom in her voice.

  Yes, the curfew had unintended consequences, she recognized that, but she also knew that no one else had died senselessly in the days since it was enacted. And it was only a temporary means to an end. The first step in the plan to unify these people and make them one harmonious country.

  She pulled her attention away from her grandfather to survey the gathered audience. Putting her shoulders back, she adopted her most queenly voice. “The curfew stays for as long as the city government deems it necessary. I suggest all of you adversely affected make the necessary adjustments to your schedule. Our focus should remain on the survival—and thriving—of all within our land.” She eyed her grandfather icily and he stared back, indignation in bold relief in his features.

  She left the stage and waited in the back as her Guardsmen gathered. They led her through a side exit of the assembly hall and onto the street. A small crowd had gathered there along with some members of the press. Flashbulbs popped and cries rang out, people calling her name and shouting questions.


  “Your Majesty! Hazelle Harimel, Rosira Daily Witness,” a high-pitched voice called out. She paused and turned. This was the reporter Nadette had planned to contact. The woman’s wide-set face and snub nose lent her a youthful appearance that was belied by a head of graying curls. Something in the glint of her eye put Jasminda in mind of a battle-ax, unyielding and splintery.

  “Do you believe the curfew will help or harm the unification you seek, Your Majesty?” Her voice held an unpleasant tone, obsequious on the surface, but unkind.

  “How would it harm unification, Mistress Harimel?”

  “Without the refugee presence, the curfew wouldn’t be necessary. People are losing money, livelihoods are at stake—how long do you think it will take for Elsirans to connect those dots?”

  Jasminda’s eyes widened. “That’s absurd. The only person connecting those dots is you. Both peoples have had casualties due to the violence.”

  “Violence that would not have occurred had the refugees not been pouring into our land.”

  “Violence that the curfew is aimed at addressing,” she said through clenched teeth. Then she nodded regally and motioned for her guards to continue moving.

  She waved at those gathered as she approached the town car that would bring her back to the palace, but she was not in the mood to talk to any more reporters. Obviously Nadette’s plan to win the woman over was not working.

  “Your Majesty! A word, if you please?” A strident voice cut through the clamor and a hush descended on the crowd. Jasminda turned to find her grandfather standing amidst those exiting the hall, a solid post with a sea of people parting around him.

  Cameras swiveled in his direction as the reporters recognized him. Murmurs reached her ears, whispers of “Zinadeel” and “alderman.” Her grandfather had recently announced his intention to run for an open seat on the city’s ruling body. He was highly favored to win his race in the spring. If the queen snubbed a candidate for public office, it would likely be a top news story. Especially since it was not exactly a secret that he was her grandfather. She had never publicly mentioned their estrangement and while she knew it was an occasional topic of the gossip columns, she was loathe for it to become front-page news. To snub him now with all these witnesses would make that a certainty. So as much as she did not want to speak with him, she resigned herself to the situation.

  Her grandmother peeked around from behind her husband, whose larger form effectively hid her. Jasminda turned to a member of her Guard. “Please let Master and Mistress Zinadeel through. We’ll talk in the car.”

  Jasminda did not generally use the longer limousines when she was alone, but today she wished there was more space between them as her grandparents piled into the vehicle on the bench across from her. Once they were situated and the doors closed, she fixed them with an icy glare. “You had something else you wished to say?”

  Her grandmother stared openly. She was still quite beautiful, but Jasminda would never forgive her not only for what she’d done to her mother—cutting her off without a thought—but to Aunt Vanesse, who bore the burn scars this woman had inflicted upon her.

  And her grandfather had tried to take everything from her: her name, her parentage, her home. There was nothing these people could do to get back into favor with her. They should be ashamed to even step foot inside this car.

  “Your Majesty,” Zinadeel started, somewhat mockingly. “We were dismayed to be denied entry to our grandsons’ birthday celebration.” He paused, apparently expecting some type of answer.

  “I see. Was there anything else you wished to share?”

  He looked aggrieved. His wife appeared crestfallen, but if the woman thought she was getting anywhere near the twins, especially after what she’d done to both of her own daughters … Jasminda fought to wrangle her temper under control and continue to appear regal.

  Zinadeel cleared his throat. “I wanted to reiterate to you the negative effects of the curfew on your family’s business interests. I’m hoping you will intercede with the aldermen.”

  “My family?” She chuckled. “My family has no business interests. My father volunteers with the Sisterhood to aid the refugees. My brothers have taken no trade. My aunt is a Sister. My husband is king, as I’m sure you’re aware. That is all the family I have.”

  She clasped her hands in front of her as he regarded her. “Didn’t you have paperwork to that effect drawn up?”

  A tremor crossed his face, but otherwise he made no visible reaction. His voice was low. “Your brothers are my only heirs. And likely all there will ever be. They will inherit all that I have built. It is in their interests that I bring you my concerns.”

  Her grandmother looked back and forth between them, practically vibrating with nerves. Jasminda breathed deeply, even as steam flowed through her veins. Her brothers would inherit. Her brothers who could meld seamlessly into Elsiran society with their red hair and amber eyes. She loved her brothers dearly and wanted nothing but the best for them, but that did not stop the rage from building.

  “I see.” She was determined to let nothing show, just as he was doing. The idea that they shared any blood was abhorrent to her, but she would not crack. “Well, your message has been received. Loud and clear. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must get back to the palace.”

  She knocked on the glass to alert the Guardsman standing there. He turned to open the door.

  “Jasminda!” her grandmother called out.

  She held a finger up to stop the Guardsman. “Only my family and friends may call me that. To you, I am Your Majesty.”

  “We just want to see our grandchildren.” Tears filled her eyes; her voice was pleading.

  Jasminda’s skin hummed with barely contained fury. “And here is one before you. Do you see me? I think you do and that is the problem, for I don’t look the way you want me to.” She smiled coldly. “I will not subject my brothers to you. And if you try to contact them, you will feel every bit of the wrath and pain that my mother felt, every bit that I felt all those years when you could have helped and didn’t. The fact that you dare to come to me and talk of inheritance.” She scoffed. “Leave your wealth to the Sisterhood if you want, my brothers will be well taken care of. None of us want or need anything from either of you. You will never be our family.”

  She nodded to the Guardsman, who opened the door. She would not meet the gazes of her grandparents, regardless of who else was watching. After a long moment, they exited the vehicle, leaving behind the scent of expensive cologne and disappointment.

  The trip back to the palace seemed longer than usual. Jasminda worked on restoring her equilibrium, dousing her anger, and getting her breathing under control. The old pain from years alone, surviving as best she could, stroked the edges of her awareness. But she could not give in.

  Back at the palace, she exited the town car to find Camm waiting for her.

  “Whatever it is, can it wait?”

  “It’s good news. I think it will cheer you.” He searched her face, no doubt noting the strain evident. She straightened and nodded for him to continue as they entered the palace.

  “Zann Biddel has been arrested.”

  Jasminda stopped in the vestibule and spun to face him. Camm nodded, smiling slightly. “He was caught crossing the street in the middle of the block, outside of the crosswalk.”

  “Jaywalking? Really?”

  “Yes. A bicyclist nearly ran into him. It was extremely dangerous and very illegal.” His eyes danced.

  She sucked in a breath, solemn, though joy began to seep through. Bless Captain Floreen for his attention to legalities. “Well, we certainly can’t have a dangerous jaywalker who may cause all manner of traffic imbroglios out on the streets.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. As I understand it, the paperwork is very involved and could take some time to complete. Floreen has assured me he has a constable with incredible attention to detail handling the forms. They could take days before being sent to the judge.” Where the man would no
doubt be released for such a small crime.

  “I do appreciate someone who takes extreme care with their responsibilities.” Aware that they were blocking the entry, she began walking again. “I want you to know that all I am after is justice. I just want the attacks to stop.”

  “I understand, Your Majesty.” The disapproval he’d felt earlier had lessened, but she could still sense his worry.

  “And you will tell me if you ever think I’m losing sight of it?”

  His expression froze with obvious indecision.

  “Please feel free to tell me. With Jack gone…” She took a deep breath. “It’s good to have pushback. To be challenged. Jack isn’t here, neither is Darvyn. Speak up if you think you must. I do not pretend to be infallible. I’m doing my best, just as we all are. And I feel…” She wasn’t able to put into words the mix of anger, fear, bitterness, and overwhelm she was experiencing. “A good leader has those around her who tell her the truth. We will all be better for it.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” he said, smiling faintly. “I will consider myself free to do so.”

  She nodded once. “And Camm? Thank you. I did need some good news today.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Follow the stars or your art or your heart,

  find answers that speak to your inner spark

  and let them lead the way.

  —THE HARMONY OF BEING

  The caldera Mooriah had left for Kyara was a map—of sorts. When she applied a drop of her blood to the tiny, black stone, she was thrust into a vision. A journey unfolded in her mind like a memory. It was as if she had walked the trails before: a narrow, rocky path leading to an opening in the mountain. And then through the twisting tunnels, deeper and deeper inside until they ended at the cave city.