Requiem of Silence Page 8

  Jasminda smiled wryly. “Wouldn’t that be nice? But this is an issue that is tearing the people apart. Our constitution has a host of barriers to granting blanket citizenship to the Lagrimari—or any other group. And the Council is as divided as the people. The Goddess is not often helpful, but She does know Her way around the law. This vote is really the only way to answer the question once and for all, and quickly. In instances like this, the will of the people can supersede all else. Whatever the Elsiran citizens and the refugees seeking asylum decide will be the new policy going forward, and I think we need to advocate strongly for unity.”

  She turned to Nadette, who sat frowning, a faraway expression on her face. “I suppose I should ask your politics on this before we go forward. Are you pro- or anti-unification?”

  Nadette focused and blinked rapidly. “Pro-unification, Your Majesty. I think what the Lagrimari people have suffered has been horrific. This land is big enough for us all.”

  Relief flooded Jasminda. “So will you help me?”

  The woman tapped her finger on her lips and then pulled out a small, leather-bound notebook and pencil from her pocket. She began scribbling rapidly. “I’m thinking a multipart series on life under the thumb of the True Father, printed in the largest newspaper with audio clips on the nightly newsreader’s reports. Tear-jerking stuff: mothers and children separated, man’s inhumanity to man, that type of thing.” She stared at her notes, underlining a word. “I’ll contact Hazelle Harimel, she’s an influential reporter.”

  Jasminda groaned internally. “That woman hates me. Every piece she writes is another log on the fire for those who want to burn me in effigy.”

  Nadette nodded absently. “So imagine if we’re able to sway her and turn her to our side? What we really need is to humanize the refugees, draw the people in viscerally to their plight.”

  While Jasminda was glad the woman was on board and seriously contemplating the options, she balked internally at the idea that the refugees weren’t automatically thought of as human in the first place. However, Ilysara tilted her head, considering. “What about photographic essays on the war orphans and those who survived the camps and the mines? I know some refugees who managed to transport a box of photo negatives from Lagrimar. If we can get them developed, I’m certain there will be some engaging photos there.”

  “Yes, that’s excellent,” Nadette replied. The two women continued trading ideas on how best to tug on the heartstrings of the Elsirans, and hopefully push public opinion toward unification.

  The phone on the desk across the office rang, and Camm jumped up to get it. Darvyn leaned over to Jasminda. “How can I help?”

  “I know you’re not a Keeper of the Promise any longer, but you still have friends among them, right?”

  He nodded.

  “We need to take the pulse of the refugees. They will get an equal vote and I know they have not exactly felt welcomed here.”

  “I’ll get some people on it. When do you expect Jack back?”

  Jasminda blinked. “He’ll be in Fremia for two weeks.”

  Darvyn looked stunned. “He’s staying after this morning’s attack?” Her gaze darted to the other two at the table. “They can’t hear us,” he said. He must have sung a spell to dampen the sounds of their conversation.

  “Oola said that we should keep the attack quiet. So as not to cause alarm.”

  “Quiet, yes, from the public but from Jack as well?” He was incredulous and sat back, rubbing the back of his neck. “That is Her playbook, it doesn’t have to be yours. He would want to know.”

  “You’re right, he would. But he would rush back and not be able to do anything. She’s right about that. We need Fremia; the wraith attack this morning is an Earthsinger problem.”

  “If what I saw in Yaly will be repeated here, it will be a problem for everyone soon enough.” He took a deep breath, face still grim. “This is your choice, but for the record, I think you should tell him.”

  Jasminda nodded sadly. He was probably right, but so was Oola.

  Camm approached the table. “The Chief of Constables has arrived.”

  “All right, I’ll see him in Jack’s office. Thank you.” She turned back to Darvyn. “I’ll need to talk to you afterward about the other new development.” He frowned again; she had little desire to tell him of the True Father’s escape, but he needed to know.

  As Camm left the room, she rose, motioning for the others to stay seated. “I’d like regular updates on your progress. Pull in whomever you need that you feel you can trust. We don’t have much time.”

  The women nodded and Darvyn’s expression held both worry and disapproval. She swept out of the room, his doubts following her.

  * * *

  The Chief of Constables, Lennard Floreen, was a man of average height and build. He was clean-shaven with short-cropped hair and a distinct lack of freckles, unusual for an Elsiran. He bowed when Jasminda entered the room and held himself erect with a posture honed in the military.

  “Thank you for coming, Chief Floreen. I know that with all of the unrest in the city, your time is even more valuable than ever.”

  “I am honored, Your Majesty. How can I be of service?”

  She took a seat in an armchair and motioned for him to do the same in the chair next to her. Camm entered with a tray of water and tea and set it on the coffee table between them. He poured Jasminda a cup then retreated to the corner when Floreen declined a refreshment.

  Jasminda cleared her throat. “The monarchy does not generally concern itself with the day-to-day running of the city, however, we are in unprecedented times, are we not?”

  “Certainly, Your Majesty.”

  “As such, I would like to suggest a city-wide curfew, due to the rise in terrorist activity. I know the aldermen are against it, but I believe it’s in the best interest of the citizens and for the safety of all. As your men would be responsible for enforcing and maintaining it, I wanted your input and to see if this is something you would consider influencing the aldermen on.”

  Floreen was a no-nonsense man, it was clear in everything from his posture to his hair to the shine of his boots. He was not an aristocrat, like the group of elected aldermen who ran things in Rosira, but his word held sway with them.

  “It would require significant overtime hours, Your Majesty, and we’ve been advised that the budget would not be able to accommodate such. Curfews are generally unpopular, and the force will encounter resistance. The extra pay is much needed for the additional effort and to uphold morale.”

  “And if the funds could be found?” That was a big “if” considering the state of their coffers, but lives were at stake.

  “Then I would be in favor. It would improve our ability to keep the people safe.”

  Jasminda was formulating a plan that would doubtless decrease her already tenuous popularity. She was certain that some among the elite would call for her head on a pike, but her reputation had never been important to her.

  “Excellent. I’m glad to hear it. These have been difficult times for us all.” She sipped her tea, considering how to broach the next topic delicately. “You are receiving the briefings from the Intelligence Service, I trust?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. Daily.”

  “And so you’re aware that Zann Biddel is a person of extreme interest in the terrorist attacks.”

  He narrowed his eyes slightly and nodded. “I am.”

  “There has been, as of yet, no firm evidence of his involvement, though all signs point to it.” She stirred her tea, though she’d added no sugar or cream, stalling. Politics and gamesmanship were not her forte. Jack may have been able to do this delicately, but of course, he would not approve of this at all. “I should speak plainly,” she finally said.

  “That would be appreciated, Your Majesty.” A hint of a smile graced his lips but was gone almost immediately.

  “The Intelligence Service has not been able to find the evidence we need to get Biddel off the stree
ts. And people continue to die. You and I have not spoken personally before, but as a representative of the law I want to know if there is a way that you could help us find justice for all of the victims.”

  His jaw tensed, and Jasminda stiffened. She called Earthsong to her to reveal his mood and emotions, but he was a brick wall. She got a faint wisp of curiosity and a thread of respect for her boldness, but that was it.

  “You would like me to arrest Zann Biddel?”

  “Yes, I very much would. And I personally don’t care if you have to make up a crime, fabricate a witness, and conjure evidence in a counterfeiter’s laboratory in order to do it, the blood on his hands is thick and flowing. But I would never impugn your integrity with such a suggestion.”

  The faint smile appeared for longer this time before he squashed it.

  “I understand that my candor may not be particularly regal,” Jasminda said.

  “I believe that frankness is much lacking in our society, Your Majesty.” His fingers drummed against the hat that sat on his knee. He looked into the distance for a moment while Jasminda worried if she’d just made a huge error in judgement. She did not dare peek at Camm to see his expression.

  Chief Floreen finally met her gaze, Earthsong still revealing nothing of his emotions. “I lost my niece in the temple bombing,” he said gruffly. “She was just nine years old. Dreamed of joining the Sisterhood.”

  He cleared his throat as grief funneled through a crack in the armored shell he kept around his heart. The intensity of it struck Jasminda like a blow to the chest. She took a deep breath to hide her reaction.

  “I would like to see the bastard responsible drawn and quartered.” He pulled himself together, straightening even more until she thought his spine would crack. “But I won’t break the law to do it.”

  He held Jasminda’s gaze as nerves flittered in her chest. She nodded, respecting his decision and went to set her teacup down.

  “However, our grand land does have a great many laws.” A true smile graced his lips, transforming his face from severe to slightly less severe.

  “Yes, you’re quite right, Chief Floreen. I have become a scholar of our legislation in recent weeks. It is both vast and fascinating.”

  “Indeed.”

  “I’m glad we were able to come to an agreement on this.”

  “It’s been my pleasure, Your Majesty.” He rose and bowed before exiting the room.

  Camm came over to grab the tea tray and she caught his grim expression.

  “You think I went too far?” she asked.

  He paused, considering. “I think it’s a distinct possibility.”

  She nodded and dismissed him, staring around the room, full of Jack’s things, and missing her husband.

  “Sometimes going too far is the only way,” she said to no one in particular.

  CHAPTER TEN

  A corner is a good place for shadows to hide.

  It is also a

  good place

  to shine a light.

  —THE HARMONY OF BEING

  Meet me in my sitting room, immediately!

  The mental message was strong, urgent. It nearly pushed Zeli from the chair where she’d been sitting cloistered in a corner of the busy kitchen. She popped up, slamming the textbook she’d been trying to study shut, and almost crashed into a maid bearing a stack of dirty plates from the ballroom.

  Normally, she found the palace kitchen comforting. It reminded her of the estate where she’d grown up. She understood the workings of kitchens, even one on such a grand scale as this one was largely the same, but there had been no comfort to be found today. The terrifying aftermath of the morning’s attack still reverberated through her limbs. She mumbled an apology to the maid and hustled off toward the western wing of the palace.

  Sounds of revelry from the Winter Ballroom mocked her as she passed. The twins’ birthday party was in full swing. The Goddess had informed her that they were all supposed to go on as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. As if spirits from the World After had not attacked Queen Jasminda and the Goddess Awoken only a few hours ago. No one else knew and that was how it would stay. More secrets. Her life was uncomfortably full of them.

  And how was Varten going to stand in front of all those people coming to wish him well? She wanted to peek in and catch a glimpse of him, but was too afraid. Though he’d invited her to his celebration, she certainly wouldn’t fit in at an aristocratic affair like that.

  Instead, she rushed to follow her summons, heart beating nearly out of her chest with every step. What did the Goddess want at this hour? It couldn’t possibly be anything good.

  She arrived to find the door to the grand office assigned for the Goddess’s use ajar.

  “Come in and shut the door,” an ominous voice echoed. Zeli did as she was bid and stepped a few more paces into the room, trembling.

  The Goddess’s back was to her. She stood beside a wooden desk, inlaid with gold filigree. The designs and swirls always drew Zeli’s eye, but the woman’s rigid posture and stiff shoulders raised pulses of alarm. Slowly She turned. “What do you know of this?”

  Zeli tore her gaze away from the Goddess’s deceptively placid countenance to regard what She held in Her hand. A small, leather-bound book. Zeli frowned. “I have no idea, Your Excellency. What is that?”

  The Goddess eyed her for a long moment, probably peering into her soul. She wouldn’t dare lie, so the woman must be satisfied, but the silence held. Zeli’s palms began to sweat under the intense scrutiny.

  Finally, with what appeared to be reluctance, She beckoned Zeli forward. “I found this on the desk this evening. Is this not where you usually answer my correspondence?”

  One of Zeli’s duties was to pen responses to the many letters that flooded the palace mailroom addressed to the Goddess Awoken. An Elsiran acolyte dealt with the letters in her language, but since Zeli could read and write, she managed quite a large volume of mail. The literate among her people were few, but apparently enough to fill bags daily. The Goddess Herself only answered a small number.

  “Yes, but it wasn’t there earlier when I did the mail, Your Excellency.” She gripped the skirt of her robe to keep her hands from trembling. Stepping closer, she noticed that the little book was thick, with the ragged edges of the pages peeking out. It looked old, well-worn, the cover cracked and paper yellowing. A leather strap was wrapped around it, tied in a neat bow.

  “When was the last time you were in this room?” the Goddess asked.

  “This morning before breakfast. Before the … incident.” She swallowed, her throat thick with dread. All day she’d darted her gaze around, certain that vicious shadows were swirling in the corners of her vision.

  “And you saw nothing amiss then? No one who struck you as odd as you approached or left? No strange feelings?”

  She shook her head silently. She’d noticed nothing. While the Goddess’s face remained undisturbed, the energy swirling around Her was active. Zeli had rarely seen Her take on an expression other than serenity or slight amusement. But now She was shaken. Her hand quavered slightly as She held the book up. She seemed to notice and dropped it onto the desk, then stepped away, as if afraid it would hurt Her.

  That was it! Zeli realized with a start. The Goddess actually seemed afraid. The indications were subtle, but Zeli had spent quite a bit of time with Her over the past months and had never witnessed Her such. Even when She’d stood facing down angry spirits filled with malevolent power, She hadn’t appeared truly afraid.

  A trill of anxiety rocked Zeli. What in that little book could frighten a deity? “Your Excellency, is the book dangerous?”

  The Goddess sighed, a world-weary sound that also surprised Zeli. “It is a journal. A diary, a very old one, its origination—as old as I am. How it came to be here is a mystery, and the knowledge inside…” She closed Her eyes on a long blink. “I have no doubt the pages contain secrets hidden for centuries that are likely best left that way.”
<
br />   She turned, looking to the window and the gardens beyond. Lights had been strung up among the trees, illuminating the paths in the darkness.

  “Place it in the vault with the other thing. Ensure that both are safe. I do not … I do not want it near me.” Her voice almost broke there.

  Zeli’s anxiety ratcheted. Certainly merely holding the book could not be hazardous. The Goddess had said so, but She, as it turned out, was not as infallible as everyone believed. This realization scared Zeli. She edged toward the desk and picked up the journal gingerly. It was just a book. Soft, weathered leather, inlaid with a border of vines. The strap tying it was loose, but she didn’t dare peek inside.

  “Directly to the vault. Lock it away and ensure the caldera there is safe.”

  “Yes, Your Excellency.”

  Though the royal vault was perhaps the safest place in the country, Zeli still had to check on the other powerful object stored inside every few days to ensure it hadn’t been molested or stolen.

  She tucked the journal against her chest and hovered, waiting. “Is that all, Your Excellency?”

  “Yes, uli, that is all.”

  Her voice was strong again, dismissive, as if the last few minutes hadn’t happened.

  But even though it appeared Zeli’s secret thoughts were safe for the moment, a new fear creeped in. If this book was enough to make a goddess afraid, what in seed’s name could be written inside?

  * * *

  The Winter Ballroom had been decorated to live up to its name; Varten stood with a group of young men under a cluster of paper snowflakes hanging from the ceiling next to a pile of what smelled like soap shavings masquerading as snow. He’d been starched and creased into a formal suit, something he hadn’t counted on when the idea of the party was first broached. His hair was flattened with heavy pomade, and he felt entombed in the vest and jacket.

  Every young aristocrat in Rosira had wrangled an invitation. They were gathered in thickets like weeds on the dance floor—not dancing—and snickering smugly at the tables. Lads and girls who didn’t know the twins at all chattered away in their posh accents, cutting their eyes at one another with judgmental glances.