Requiem of Silence Page 3

  Two of the younger children ran up to him. The boy who’d created the cyclones closed his eyes, and within moments, Taron sat up, completely well.

  His friend, the sensible girl, kneeled at his side as well. Her eyes were red-rimmed. “I couldn’t find you in the water. It was so fast and strong.” She shook her head, shivering with disappointment and shame.

  Kyara felt bad for her. Darvyn had told her that manipulating water was difficult for an Earthsinger without a lot of practice. She hoped the girl wouldn’t beat herself up forever for something she had little control over.

  While the attention was on the boy who’d just been saved, and the cluster of Elsirans now being thanked profusely by the Lagrimari women, Kyara rose, preparing to slip away, hopefully unnoticed. But Taron’s voice cut through the chatter.

  “You’re the Poison Flame,” he announced. Everyone grew silent. A cold fear wafted off the Lagrimari—one she didn’t require Earthsong to sense.

  “Yes, yes, I am.”

  She held his gaze for a moment, then scanned the others. Some faces crumpled, others hardened in anger. Mothers grabbed their children tight and nearly everyone took a step back. The Elsirans didn’t understand the words and looked curiously at the reactions.

  No one said anything. The soft patter of worry and care were now silenced. Tears came to one woman’s eyes.

  No, Kyara didn’t know these people, but they certainly knew her.

  She took a deep breath, lungs still stinging, and inclined her head. “May we not greet each other again,” she said, twisting the common saying.

  She turned and headed down the beach, back to her cottage. Back to Darvyn, who should be home soon. Back to hiding, and solitude, and a quiet life by the sea that she did not deserve.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Responsibility is rain for thirsty roots

  deep in the ground.

  But if you are not careful,

  it pours into unwatered mouths

  and dribbles out,

  overflowing

  and wasteful.

  —THE HARMONY OF BEING

  The tray in Zeli ul-Matigor’s hands wobbled as she planted her foot carefully on the uneven step. These rough, old, stone staircases were dangerous; she’d nearly twisted her ankle more than once on her daily trips up and down. Tantalizing aromas from the food under the silver cover made her stomach growl, though she’d already eaten. But she’d never touch a morsel on the tray. For all she knew, it was poisoned by the kitchen staff.

  And with good reason.

  After surviving the staircase, she passed through a dank hallway then entered a somewhat brighter antechamber where a trio of Royal Guardsmen looked up at her entrance. None of them changed expressions, so maybe she imagined their disdain.

  What did they think of the short Lagrimari teenager who came this way every day bearing food for a man who’d harmed so many? If she’d still had her Song, she would know for sure—probably for the best then.

  One of the guards unlocked the main brass gate leading to the dungeon. Zeli kept her head high, not looking into any of the cells she passed. There were truly vile people down here; it was only through weeks of practice that she’d managed to control the shaking in her limbs as she took this journey.

  After deftly negotiating the familiar warren of passageways, she paused at the mouth of a shallow, narrow inner corridor, set deep in the heart of the palace’s dungeon. The door to the only room in this section—a former storage space once used as a cell—was now back on its hinge. Weeks ago, it had been cracked into pieces and hung askew, the splintered wood appearing to have been kicked open from the inside.

  Now the door was fixed, no doubt by the figure standing in front of it, peering inside the empty room. The Goddess Awoken was resplendent as ever in a flowing, white dress. Her hair was blown by an invisible breeze, power that crackled from Her like charged air just before a lightning storm. She was always connected to Earthsong, and Her strength was uncomfortable to be around.

  Zeli approached, used to the faint buzz of magic whispering across her skin. When she’d been appointed the robemistress of the Goddess—a position of high honor—shortly after joining the Sisterhood, Zeli had been overwhelmed by Her power. In awe at the very sight of Her. Now, she squeezed by the woman, set her tray down in front of the door, and slid it through the small hatch. Not a gourmet meal, but a quality one. Such a shame for it to go to waste, when ostensibly free refugees were standing in food lines for rations. The prisoner hadn’t eaten anything even when he’d been here. But she still acted out this farce twice a day at the Goddess’s behest.

  A chill formed over her skin at the thought of the escapee somewhere out there in the world. The True Father, the immortal king who had tyrannically ruled Lagrimar for five hundred years. When the Mantle fell, the Goddess and Queen Jasminda had subdued him, drained him of his stolen Song, and imprisoned him here to await trial. And now he was gone.

  Zeli was disgusted at herself for keeping the secret she’d been ordered to. No one but she and the Goddess knew of the True Father’s escape. No one else knew the danger they were in, not just from the former king, but from whoever had been powerful enough to break him out of the dungeon and disappear without a trace.

  “Did you need anything else, Your Excellency?” Her voice barely wavered.

  When silence greeted her, Zeli turned to find the Goddess’s normally bright eyes dim. She realized she’d never seen Her eat. Did She need food? Could Earthsong alone sustain Her or was it just another trick?

  Zeli tried to rid herself of the traitorous notion, but it wouldn’t leave her mind. She envisioned the Goddess locked away in a hidden chamber somewhere in the palace where no one could see Her stuffing Herself with sweet fruits and tubers and handpies and those Elsiran pastries with the creamy icing on top.

  The Goddess didn’t move to answer, so Zeli shrugged and headed to the exit. She hated these trips to the dungeon. They brought back bad memories.

  Though this place wasn’t nearly as bad as the fetid hole where she’d been held with dozens of other children, lightless and airless and overflowing with waste. That sobered her, causing the mutinous urges to flee. Joining the Sisterhood meant she would not be kidnapped or sold into servitude, she was almost certain of that. And if she wanted to do better than just survive—huddled with the masses awaiting their handouts—if she wanted to thrive here, she had to remember her place. Be grateful for the gifts she’d been given. Serving the Goddess was a great honor. Keeping Her secrets was just part of the job.

  As she stepped through the doorway to the outer hallway, something brushed her mind. The Goddess had not yet spoken, but silently pushed Her will to Zeli, causing her to stop and wait.

  “I need you to deliver a message to the queen.” The Goddess’s lovely voice hummed with a throaty purr.

  Hope stirred. Could this be the day they would inform the queen and king about the missing prisoner? Perhaps a nationwide—no, worldwide—search would be conducted to bring the True Father back into custody, back where he couldn’t hurt anyone else again.

  “Tell Jasminda to meet me in the eastern gardens at her earliest convenience.”

  Zeli swallowed her disappointment. It was unlikely the Goddess would share the news with Queen Jasminda in the gardens where any gardener could overhear. Of course Earthsong could ensure they weren’t spied upon, but the nonchalance with which She’d given the instructions didn’t bode well.

  Zeli squared her shoulders and nodded, then dipped into a wobbly curtsey—an Elsiran custom she still thought was silly. But it was how the Sisters greeted and took their leave of their betters, and Zeli would be a proper Sister if it killed her.

  She spun around and swiftly left the dungeon, desperate for fresh air. Once back into the electrically lit, labyrinthine halls of the palace, where windows allowed sunlight to shine through, she took a deep breath.

  Now all she had to do was find the queen. Being the Goddess’s messenger
was made much more difficult because the majority of the palace staff was Elsiran and as such did not speak Lagrimari. Zeli had been doing her best to learn the language, but with her duties she didn’t have as much time to study or visit the tutors as she’d like. She’d picked up a bit, understood some of the common sayings, but was in no way fluent.

  Her first stop was the queen’s office, not that she necessarily expected the woman to be there—Queen Jasminda spent very little time in a place where she could actually be found—but at least Zeli could ask Ilysara and be sure to be understood.

  The queen’s two secretaries sat at side-by-side desks. The Elsiran man was busy with a phone call, and Ilysara was tapping away swiftly on a typing machine.

  “Pleasant morning. Is the queen in? I have a message from the Goddess.”

  “No, uli,” the Lagrimari woman answered with a crinkle in her brow. “Her Majesty said she was going to the hedge maze to clear her head.”

  Zeli nodded her thanks and then took off in that direction. However, in the hedge maze all she found were the gardeners. Luckily one was Lagrimari—a former settler who spoke Elsiran. He asked his coworkers if they’d seen the queen.

  “She was here earlier, Sister, but left. Not sure where she was headed.”

  Zeli beamed at being called a Sister, though in her light blue novitiate robes and white pinafore, she couldn’t technically claim the name. Not yet.

  She headed next to the dining room, then the music hall, and finally the Blue Library, known to be one of Queen Jasminda’s regular haunts. But the queen was nowhere to be found.

  Frustration bloomed. Zeli was tired and hungry and eager to be done with her errand. She wandered through the residential wing, a bit aimless, hoping to perhaps bump into the queen at random, when raised voices sounded from around a corner.

  “She gave it to me,” a male voice growled.

  “No she didn’t. My hand was closer.”

  Zeli rounded a corner to find two Elsiran boys wrestling for control of an object she couldn’t get a good view of between their sizable forms.

  “Let go! I just wanted a look. You’re going to break it.”

  “I won’t. Get off me!”

  Standing just outside of elbow range, she raised her brows as the two fought. She couldn’t get a good look at their faces, but recognized Sister Vanesse on the other side of them, a horrified expression on the woman’s scarred face.

  Zeli shook her head then placed two fingers into her mouth and gave out a loud wolf whistle. The boys froze; one had the other in a headlock, but they maneuvered enough to look over at her with matching pairs of golden eyes.

  Now it was Zeli’s turn to freeze, facing identical copies of the same person. Dark red hair, freckled noses and cheeks, slightly hooded eyes framed by thick lashes. She nearly stepped back in surprise, then recalled herself.

  The twin with his arm around his brother’s neck released him and they both stood up to their full heights, which was quite tall—at least to Zeli. They were big, but looked to be around her age, eighteen, maybe nineteen. And they held themselves a bit warily, far more cautious than most of the Elsiran elites she’d observed. But for all their size and stubbled jaws, they were still acting like babies—quite unlike reserved Elsirans.

  On the ground between her and them was a small ceramic figure—was this what they’d been fighting over? She bent to retrieve and inspect it. The statuette bore the likeness of two smiling Elsiran children. The paint had dulled with time but the orange hair and eyes were still clear. The two wore old-fashioned overalls and were linked arm in arm. It fit in the palm of her hand and she gripped it, looking up at them.

  The twin on the right looked chagrined. He smiled sheepishly and stuck his hands into a pair of worn trousers. The one on the left, dressed in finer, newer-looking clothes, grimaced and looked away.

  The estate where she’d grown up had employed plenty of boys—pages and stable hands constantly engaged in roughhousing and mischief. Though these two were obviously not servants, they were still just as silly as any uncouth lad she’d ever had to scold for tracking dirt onto a freshly mopped floor or trying to steal an extra dessert. She pinned them with a glare that had caused many a young scamp to quiver.

  The one on the right spoke first. “I apologize for our behavior, miss. My brother and I were just having a friendly debate regarding the possession of that figurine. Would you mind giving it back, please?” He grinned in a way that alarmed her, mostly because he appeared sincere. The other twin scowled, whether at her or his brother, she wasn’t sure.

  Sister Vanesse called out a few words in Elsiran and that’s when Zeli realized that the boy had been speaking in Lagrimari. When they turned to answer the Sister, Zeli peered at their profiles more closely. The only way an Elsiran could speak Lagrimari was if … Well, she’d never heard of anyone except the king being able to do so. But Sister Vanesse was the queen’s aunt and the resemblance between her and the twins made Zeli stumble backward a step.

  These were the queen’s brothers.

  Mortified, Zeli dropped her head and held out her hand, palm open with the figurine presented. She kept her gaze on the ground as shame coated her skin. She would have never whistled at them like that if she’d known that these were the princes.

  She was such an idiot. How could she not have known? She’d never seen them before, but had heard they were twins—there was no excuse. All her dreams of rising through the ranks flashed before her eyes, and she wondered what her punishment would be. Sister Vanesse was well-respected within the Sisterhood and had witnessed the whole thing. Certainly word would get back to the High Priestess about Zeli’s indiscretion.

  “Excuse me, Your Graces, I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice thick.

  “Oh, now, none of that,” the one on the right said as she stared at his boots—which were scuffed and worn. “Maybe you should keep it, after all. Obviously we can’t be entrusted with it.” His hand enfolded her own, closing her fingers over the trinket.

  She looked up, breath stuttering, to find him grinning in that welcoming way he had. Why did she find it so unsettling? The other one was still scowling, but shrugged when she looked his way.

  “I’m Varten ol-Sarifor,” said the cheery twin, “and this is my brother, Roshon.”

  Zeli looked down again to where their hands still touched. “Tarazeli ul-Matigor. Um, Zeli, Your Grace.”

  The scowling one, Roshon, groaned. “Please don’t call us that. Drives me crazy. And sounds strange in Lagrimari.”

  She looked up to find him rolling his eyes. He was sort of rude and brusque, but that made more sense to her than Varten’s kindness. She finally pulled out of his grip, her hand giving off sparks from the connection. The little statuette was warm now, as if it had absorbed the heat from his body.

  “Will you keep it safe for us?” Varten asked.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  “It was our mother’s. Aunt Vanesse was telling us how Mama used to collect these things—it was some sort of fad when she was a teenager. Most of her collection was destroyed.” His face gave the first hint of anger at this. “But our aunt managed to save this one. She said it reminded her of us.” A grin slid across his face. “She failed to understand that you can’t give a pair of twins one of anything.” He chuckled, and to her amazement Roshon snorted in amusement as well.

  Roshon said something rapidly to his aunt, who shook her head fondly. Sister Vanesse hugged both boys then gripped Zeli’s hand and smiled warmly at her.

  Zeli blinked. “I-I won’t get in trouble for being rude to the princes, will I?”

  Varten frowned and translated her question. To which Vanesse frowned—they really looked so much alike—and shook her head.

  “No,” Varten responded. “If anything, we’ll get in trouble when Papa finds out we were fighting in the middle of the hallway.”

  Vanesse squeezed Zeli’s hand again and then was off with a good-bye for them all. Once she was
gone, Varten turned to her; she instinctively stepped back at the mischievous expression on his face. Now the real him would come out, all of that blithe sunniness no doubt hid a character intent on punishing her for interfering.

  She swallowed then nearly choked when he leaned down and hooked an arm around her shoulder, steering her toward a side hallway. “Zeli ul-Matigor, House of Bobcats? Nice.”

  She shrugged against the weight of his arm. “I don’t know much about the old houses.”

  “Neither do I, but it must mean you’ve got some fight in you. We should work out visiting hours for the figurine. Who do you think should get time with it first?”

  Her lips curved into a smile in spite of herself. “Haven’t you two ever shared anything before?”

  Varten tapped his chin and pretended to think it over. His brother loped alongside them and lifted a shoulder. “Only everything we’ve ever had,” Roshon muttered. He looked down at the chrome plated wristwatch on his wrist. Fancy. “I’ve got to go meet Ani now. Let me know what you decide.” With a small salute, he nodded in her direction and then took off at a jog back to the main corridor.

  Something sad flashed on Varten’s face but it was gone almost too fast for her to be sure. His grin turned up a notch. “Now I’m not saying I expect any special treatment, but I would like to plead my case to claim the first time slot.”

  But Zeli was too curious to let the subject change. “Who’s Ani?” she asked, watching him carefully.

  The muscles in his face froze. “My brother’s fiancée. Lovely young lady. Saved our lives once.”

  “Aren’t you all a bit young to get married?”

  He straightened, letting his arm fall away as that position required him to bend over to her diminutive height. Mock affront laced his voice. “We’re eighteen today as a matter of fact.”

  “Oh, then happy birthday.” Zeli was very proud to know that she was nearly a month older, for all that she still looked like a child, nearly two heads shorter than them.