Requiem of Silence Page 4

  “You know … our sister is throwing us a party tonight—you should come.”

  Her mouth gaped. “Oh, I … couldn’t. I’m not…”

  “You are the custodian of one of our dear, departed mother’s prize valuables. You’re practically family now.”

  She shook her head, smothering a grin. She had no idea if the figurine she carried had any value other than the sentimental, and she had no desire for the job of custodian. Attending the birthday party of the queen’s brothers was also not high on her list of things to do.

  “Well, I’m very busy, I’ll have to see if I can fit it into my calendar,” she said, not looking at him.

  “Of course, I know there must be a great many demands on your time, Zeli ul-Matigor, House of Bobcats.”

  Was he making fun of her? But a look up revealed a solemn expression. Still, she narrowed her eyes. “For instance,” she said, stopping in the hallway. “Even now I’m on an errand for the Goddess Awoken. I need to find Queen Jasminda and deliver an important message. I’ve been looking for her for close to an hour.”

  His brow descended. “No one will tell you where she is?”

  “Not exactly. My Elsiran isn’t very good yet. There are some Lagrimari staff who’ve been helpful, but they’re few and far between.” And she hated having stilted, mimed conversations with Elsirans who already looked at her like she was an orphan dragged in off the streets. Which she was.

  “Well, I can help you find her.” He waited until she looked at him again. “I can help you with your Elsiran, too, if you’d like. Papa, Roshon, and I have been working at the Sisterhood schools in town, but I could give you lessons … if you want.”

  “You will help me learn?” she said in self-consciously stilted Elsiran.

  His face lit up like a sunrise. “Absolutely. I’ll have you fluent in no time.” He rubbed his hands together in a way that alarmed Zeli further. He seemed entirely too happy about this.

  “Why?”

  “What?”

  “Why help me? Tutor me? It will take quite a lot of time. Aren’t there balls or garden parties or underground cockfights or something you should be attending with the rest of the Elsiran aristocracy?”

  He blinked, his face dimming. Several moments passed before he spoke. “I grew up on a farm in the middle of nowhere. I watched my father and sister be mistreated or ignored by nearly everyone we came in contact with because of their skin and their magic. I spent two years locked in a cell smaller than my closet here, with two other people. I’m not an aristocrat.”

  His words weren’t accusatory, they were just a simple statement of facts, but Zeli’s heart sped with shame all the same. She began to sputter an apology, when he stuck out his hand toward her, thumb up.

  “We should shake on it.”

  She raised her brows in question.

  “Our deal. I’ll help you find my sister, and work on your Elsiran with you.”

  “How is that a deal? What do you get in return?”

  He grinned. “I get to spend time with a pretty girl.”

  She rolled her eyes so hard she almost got a headache. If she thought he was actually serious she would have walked away—she was not interested in the flirtations of an insouciant Elsiran boy—but the glint in his eye made her stay. Coming from anyone else, she’d feel like she was the butt of some joke, but from him the compliment seemed offhand, like the effervescence of his frothy personality. And since the statement was patently ridiculous, she dismissed it, staring at his outstretched hand.

  “What is ‘shake on it’?”

  “It’s how they seal a deal in Yaly. They grab hands and shake them.”

  Why he would want to mimic the habits of the place where he’d been held captive, she had no idea. Yet she tentatively extended her arm in a similar manner. Varten’s warm, dry hand enveloped hers and squeezed, pumping it up and down.

  “Excellent. Now let’s go find my sister.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Foundation stones do not bear

  more weight than they can handle.

  If you have neither cracked nor crumbled,

  then you are strong enough.

  —THE HARMONY OF BEING

  Varten ol-Sarifor snuck another look over at the girl walking beside him then snapped his head forward when she caught him. His cheeks heated; he hoped he wasn’t blushing.

  “What?” Zeli bit out. He shook his head and stuck his hands in his pockets—otherwise the traitorous things would probably try to reach for her again, and she wouldn’t like it.

  Funny, since he’d gotten back home and people started calling him and Roshon princes—he suppressed a shudder—folk were falling all over themselves to talk to him. Lads and girls who would have never looked twice at a farm boy from the Borderlands with a grol father were now fawning and sucking up and seeking to curry favor. Another shudder threatened to roll through him at the thought.

  But Zeli ul-Matigor, House of Bobcats, was different. Maybe because she was Lagrimari and obviously viewed him as just another Elsiran boor, puffed up with money and privilege … But there was no light in her eyes when she looked up at him. In fact, what he saw now was more like suspicion, with her brow and nose wrinkled.

  Shite. He was staring again.

  “So the party starts at seven in the Winter Ballroom,” he said, trying to reroute her attention, and refocus himself. “Food, dancing, the whole thing. It will be a great time.”

  She pursed her lips, then twisted them. Based on her expression, he shouldn’t hold his breath waiting for her to come, though he wanted her to—right now, more than just about anyone else he’d met since coming home. He wouldn’t stop to look into that too much, though.

  “I-I’ll think about it.” She frowned, and he began preparing himself for disappointment. He was getting to be a pro at that.

  They approached one of the supply rooms peppered around the palace. After days of exploring, he and Roshon had discovered the places where the servants stored things like towels, cleaning supplies, matches, oil, and more. There was generally one in each hallway, often attended by a staff person cataloging the inventory to keep thieving at a minimum.

  “Let’s stop in here,” Varten said, opening an otherwise nondescript door.

  A smiling young maid greeted him with a furious blush. “Pleasant afternoon, Your Grace.”

  “Pleasant afternoon. Have you by any chance seen Usher?”

  “No, but I can ring ’round.” She picked up the phone and spoke to the palace operator, asking about the king’s valet. After a few moments’ consultation she hung up. “He’s headed this way, Your Grace. You should be able to catch him in the gilded mirror hallway.”

  “Is that the one with the blue wallpaper?”

  “No, Your Grace, that’s the looking glass hall. The gilded mirror one has white wallpaper.”

  “Ah, of course. Thank you,” he said with a small bow. He was learning his way around the palace, but the bloody place must have been designed by a cross-eyed architect. The maid erupted into giggles, her blush deepening to a level that looked uncomfortable.

  Startled, and not wanting to cause her to suffer an apoplexy, he backed out of the room and closed the door to find Zeli scowling up at him. “What is it now?”

  “Were you trying to give the girl a heart attack?”

  “I didn’t do anything. She must have some sort of medical condition,” he said, leading them toward the proper corridor where, sure enough, Usher was ambling their way, his black suit crisp and perfect.

  Zeli snorted in response, but Varten had no time to question her when the older man stopped, inclining his head at them.

  “Hello Usher, we need to find my sister. Urgent Sisterhood business.”

  Usher’s dark brown eyes took in Zeli’s light blue robe and pinafore, then crinkled at the sides. “Her Majesty is in the Council Room.”

  “Oh, there’s a Council meeting today?”

  “An emergency one was called and jus
t ended. She may be in there for a while … gathering her thoughts.” His bushy brows descended and he looked like he may say something more, but thought better of it.

  Varten thanked him, then headed off toward the Council Room. “That’s Usher,” he told Zeli. “He’s the king’s personal valet and very close with my sister.”

  “He’s not Elsiran is he?”

  “Um, no, I think he’s originally from Fremia. He’s worked here since before Jack was born. Why?”

  Zeli shrugged. “Lagrimar was so isolated. I’m still … learning about the rest of the world.” Her voice was soft and wistful.

  This they had in common. The mountain valley home where Varten had grown up had been his entire world. Sure Mama had ensured their education included information about other places, world history and a few phrases in various languages, and they’d had plenty of books that let him travel in his mind, but his actual experience had been very limited. Up until two years ago at any rate. And that wasn’t anything he wanted to repeat.

  “So you think you might want to travel?” he asked.

  She raised a shoulder. “Not much need for travel in the Sisterhood.”

  “But you do get time off. Vacations, right? Aunt Vanesse has been places with her partner, Clove. She told me about visiting Yaly and they’re planning to go to Fremia and some island in the southern continent.”

  “Sounds nice,” she breathed, a dreamy look taking over her face. Varten agreed. He had an itch to see the world as well, this time on his own terms.

  Ani and Roshon were going to be sailing off soon … He stuffed away the tightness that took over his chest when he thought of it. He and his twin hadn’t spent more than a day apart in their entire lives. They bickered and fought but were still two halves of a whole. But not for long.

  And after Roshon was gone, then what? Varten hated living in the palace. He’d like nothing more than to go back to their mountain cabin, which was still being rebuilt after the fire that had destroyed it. He missed his farm, his goats, his life. He’d lost years in a prison and had come back to a world he didn’t recognize. To a family he didn’t recognize. Jasminda the queen, Roshon leaving, and Papa off trying to solve the world’s problems.

  And what did that leave for him?

  They arrived outside the Council Room to find it manned by a Guardsman, who nodded at Varten before squinting at Zeli suspiciously. Varten placed his hand on her back both protectively and to assert that she was with him. He stared the Guardsman in the eye until the man’s face blanked.

  Beneath his hand, Zeli shivered. Was she cold? These marble hallways held in cooler air, and the heating system had a hard time sufficiently warming many of the rooms. Jasminda usually had a fireplace going wherever she was; hopefully Zeli would warm up soon.

  He knocked on the door and pushed it open, finding his sister at the head of the table, several newspapers spread out before her. She looked up and gave a weak smile that barely cut through her obvious misery. He wouldn’t wish the monarchy on anyone, least of all someone he loved.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She ran a hand across her face and visibly tried to rally. “I don’t have much of a choice but to be.” She pointed to the papers. “No one’s admitting to responsibility in the newest terrorist attacks, but editorials are filling the papers supporting them. We don’t know who’s behind them either—the Hand of the Reaper, the Dominionists, or some other group of disaffected Elsirans.”

  The Hand of the Reaper, the secret society that had blown up one of the temples a couple of months before, had gone quiet in recent weeks. But others had taken up their message of “Elsira for Elsirans” and called for the creation of a separate land for the Lagrimari refugees. Not Lagrimar, as it was a barren desert that could barely support life without the help of Earthsong. But not Elsira, either.

  And whoever had attempted to assassinate his sister had yet to be found and brought to justice.

  “Zann Biddel himself has penned a new piece,” she continued, “which every paper has seen fit to print.”

  “He’s the Dominionist leader, right?” Varten was trying to do a better job of keeping up with politics. For while they didn’t interest him in the slightest, they were now quite personal. He leaned over her shoulder and began to read. “‘As our beloved Elsira continues to crumble due to fiscal mismanagement and the diversion of resources to the interlopers who have flooded across our borders, the unfortunate perpetuation of racially charged violence will carry on. Every drop of blood shed onto our parched soil waters the seeds of the future. We are growing a stronger land. And if it must blossom from the pain of those who for so long sought to destroy it, then let that be the price. Nothing good comes for free.’”

  He took a step back, shocked. “Zann Biddel wrote that?”

  Jasminda nodded and Zeli looked horrified. She might not have gotten all the Elsiran words, but she obviously understood the sentiment.

  Jasminda pulled out a pamphlet printed in Lagrimari—the refugee version of a newspaper. “And then we have the Sons of Lagrimar, who claim what they’re doing is self-defense. Of course a lot of the refugees are listening.”

  “I can understand why,” Zeli muttered.

  “What does the Council say?” Varten asked, looking around the now-empty room that still radiated discomfort from the contentious meetings it usually held.

  “‘Instead of constantly visiting these scenes of devastation, you should be working on our foreign affairs as the king is,’” Jasminda said, in a nasally voice mimicking a fancy Elsiran accent. She snorted. “A few weeks ago both Jack and I were interlopers, now he can do no wrong, while I seem to do nothing but…”

  She cracked her neck and sucked in a deep breath. “So what do you need, little brother? And your friend?”

  “This is Zeli ul-Matigor, House of Bobcats, sender of messages from the Goddess Awoken.”

  “Yes, I know,” Jasminda said laughing at him.

  Zeli curtsied awkwardly and kept her head down. “The Goddess requests for you to meet Her in the eastern gardens at your earliest convenience.”

  “So will She just be there waiting all day or…?”

  Zeli spread her hands, eyes wide. “It’s very possible, Your Majesty.” Perhaps she was nervous in the presence of the queen because her arms shook slightly though the room was as warm as summer.

  Jas sighed. “All right then. Why not? Perhaps She’ll finally give me some advice I can use.” She began gathering up the newspapers and stacking them into a pile. “Where’s your other half anyway?” This to Varten.

  “With his other half.” He tried to keep his voice light, but didn’t think he did a terribly good job. To sell his nonchalance, he pretended great interest in the contents of one of the other newspapers.

  “I see.” Jasminda’s tone didn’t change, but he could tell she was unconvinced. He wracked his brain for something that would forestall a follow-up question. “I’m going to help Zeli with her Elsiran,” he blurted out. “Tutor her, you know.”

  His sister’s gaze was shrewd. She peered at him, certainly unfooled by his subject change. But she let him get away with it and leaned around him to speak to Zeli. “Do me a favor, try and keep this one out of trouble.”

  Zeli’s brows rose. “That might be a tall order.”

  They shared a smile and Varten felt both put out and gratified. Smiling meant less misery—at least it should. He was convinced that if you smiled enough it must chip away at some of the pain.

  When Jasminda rose and stretched, Zeli spoke up. “Um, Your Majesty, might I ask you a question before you go?”

  “Certainly.”

  “In Elsiran law, can you be … punished for following the orders of your superior? For instance, in the military, if a commander instructs his subordinate to do something … wrong, would that person face reprisal?”

  Varten’s attention narrowed on Zeli. Jasminda hugged the papers to her chest and looked into the distance, thinking
. “Military law differs from civilian law. As far as I can tell, there are very few circumstances in which a subordinate would get into trouble for following orders.”

  Zeli’s gaze flicked back and forth between them. “But civilians could?”

  “Well, yes, the law is the law and short of royal decree, if one doesn’t follow it, they are responsible for the consequences.”

  Zeli seemed to fold in on herself in a way that poked at Varten’s innate protective instinct. But before he could ask her what she was so concerned about, a bell began to chime. All three of them looked up toward the ceiling of the Council Room—it sounded like the bell was directly above them, but of course, there was nothing there but the ornate decorative carvings filled with swirls and flowers.

  A reflection glimmered in the corner of his eye. Varten turned to find something like a heat shimmer rippling the air in the center of the room. Everyone else’s gaze was locked overhead to the same location. The undulating air took on a golden gleam that brightened until it shone like a precious gem. The ringing continued as the mirror-like apparition solidified then shattered, revealing a dark hole.

  A shadow slid through, separating itself from the pit of inky blackness to fly into the room. Fear dried Varten’s eyes out; he blinked a dozen times, not believing what he was seeing. This couldn’t be happening again. Not here.

  Two more shadows wriggled out of the hole—a darkness that could only be a portal to the World After. Roshon, Darvyn, and Kyara had witnessed a similar attack back in Yaly by angry wraiths intent on seeking revenge and destruction.

  Zeli’s screams unlocked his rigid muscles. He nudged her and they backed out of the room. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the shadow creatures and reached behind him for the doorknob, missing it twice before grabbing on and wrenching open the door. Jasminda was still motionless, staring at the nightmares flying around the high ceilings. Varten pushed Zeli out, then followed her into the hallway.

  “Jasminda!” he yelled, and his sister darted out after them and slammed the door shut.

  The two Guardsmen posted on either side of the door stood at attention, their pistols at the ready. Varten and Zeli backed down the hall, away from the Council Room, gazes glued to the door.