Requiem of Silence Page 9

  Varten was doing his best to play his part. To act as though the world was the same place it had been yesterday, before he knew that some unknown enemy was intent on sending wraiths into the palace. But Jasminda had insisted that telling anyone—even Roshon—would only spread panic. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep a secret like this from his brother. As it turned out, he hadn’t even seen his twin until he’d stepped into the ballroom tonight.

  He’d gotten a glimpse of Roshon and Ani earlier, but now a small phalanx of blue bloods had Varten penned in. Sons and grandsons of Council members, governors, aldermen, and anyone considered “old money.”

  “If you ask me,” Hyllard Dursall said around a mouthful of birthday pie, “the umpire should be fired and never allowed to judge a match again if his vision is so poor. My father lost nearly seven hundred pieces on that game and flew into a terrible rage.”

  “I thought your father had sworn off betting on swivet games after the finals last year. Didn’t you have to sell your boat?” the son of some distant cousin of Jack’s asked.

  “We still have the boat.” Hyllard’s already slightly bulging eyes protruded even more at the perceived insult. “We don’t keep the crew on staff, that’s all, but we can go out on it whenever we want. We’re thinking of buying another, if you must know.”

  “From where? Raunians are the best shipbuilders and won’t sell to us now.”

  “They have perfectly good shipbuilders in Fremia.”

  “Well, my father is buying an airship,” Godriq Norilos added. “Same style as the king’s, just a larger model.” Whispers of disbelief filtered through the group. Godriq looked smug, having successfully one-upped the others.

  The mention of airships caught Varten’s attention. “When you get it, maybe I’ll take it up for a turn,” he said easily. “Clove’s been teaching me to fly. You know she came in second in the Yaly Classic. Who’s your flying instructor?”

  Godriq looked peeved. There weren’t many airship pilots in Elsira, as they all well knew. And little chance Clove would want to help any of these snobbish horse’s arses. Varten hadn’t even been trying to play their little competitive game, he’d barely been paying attention, but found he was good at it. His position as “prince” had rocketed him to the top of the hierarchy of this group, and every lad here wanted to be his best mate.

  The group kept getting larger and larger as people wandered over, itching to be in his orbit. Especially since Roshon was nowhere to be found.

  Varten loved a good party, or at least, he had loved the idea of a party—having not been to one in so long. When he was younger, Mama had sometimes taken them to stay with friends on a farm near the town where they bought supplies. The family had four children close in age, and he and Roshon had played with them and celebrated more than one Breach Day at their home. Until the year Jasminda had accompanied them, instead of staying home with Papa, and suddenly none of them were welcome anymore.

  In the valley where he’d grown up, with only books and magazines to teach him about the wider world, he’d imagined a palace party quite differently. In his mind, these beautiful, rich, well-dressed people with access to the best of everything were truly happy. Their smiles were real, rooted in the depths of their joy at being so privileged. But here the laughter and gaiety were brittle porcelain masks barely concealing disdain, posturing, and emptiness. Varten found their concerns petty and meaningless on the best of days. But today, he could barely hold himself back from screaming.

  Godriq, Hyllard, and the others had changed the subject back to the latest swivet match and the terrible umpire. Varten didn’t know anything about the game played almost exclusively by the rich, so his attention wandered again. He took a few steps back to peer around the knot of bodies surrounding him to the doorway for the thousandth time that night. The chances that Zeli would come were slim, but he couldn’t help hoping.

  Was she holding up any better than he was? Was her body on constant alert, searching the darkened corners of the room? The dim lighting in the ballroom could easily hide shadows. Jasminda had claimed Oola believed another attack would take some time, but no one truly knew. He hoped his exterior didn’t betray the anxiety ratcheting inside him.

  A swath of purple silk and beading filled his peripheral vision—a girl, smiling wide with bright teeth, had appeared at his side. “I’m Claudette,” she said, offering a genteel curtsey. “I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday, Your Grace.”

  He nodded politely. “Thank you so much. My brother and I appreciate you coming to our party to help us celebrate.” Even though we have no idea who you are.

  He resisted the urge to loosen the bow tie surrounding his neck. The band started another song, one that seemed to capture the attention of the guests, though he’d never heard it before.

  The girl before him—Cosette? Clavette? He’d already forgotten her name—was looking up at him expectantly. He smiled and raised his eyebrows. Was there something else he was supposed to do?

  “The band is lovely, Your Grace. They’re playing the most popular dances tonight.”

  “You don’t need to call me Your Grace,” he replied hastily.

  “Oh, but I do,” she said, laying a hand on his arm, fluttering her lashes. “You are a prince of Elsira now.”

  The proprietary feel of that hand made him cringe internally. He turned back toward the lads, who were earnestly debating the merits of two famous swivet players; he wished he knew enough to rejoin the conversation. A movement in a gloomy corner of the room caused him to jerk, but it was just a butler emerging with another tray of hors d’oeuvres. His movement dislodged her hand, but she just stepped closer to him.

  He smiled, more forced this time. “Just because my sister was made queen, doesn’t mean that I’m a prince.”

  Godriq paused, mid-rant. “Of course it does. What else would it mean?”

  Varten shrugged and widened his practiced grin. “Don’t you think things mean more when you work for them?”

  Nothing but blank gazes met him. He stifled a laugh. “I mean, inheriting’s nice, too.”

  He jumped when Colette, or whoever, grabbed his elbow. “Are you certain you would not like to ask me to dance, Your Grace?”

  He chuckled to drive away the tension in his jaw and pulled away from her firm grip again. “Sorry, I don’t even know these dances.” The few couples on the dance floor performed elaborate steps to the syncopated music.

  A Lagrimari servant came over with a tray. Varten greeted the man in his native tongue, but the pushy socialite shooed him away, a look of disgust on her face.

  “You don’t like scallops?” Varten asked.

  Her lip curled. “I don’t like the help. Seeing grols in the palace, it’s a disgrace.”

  Varten stuffed his hands in his pockets, his face growing taut. “Grols, you mean like the queen?”

  She paled and clutched the jewels around her neck. Nearby, conversation stopped. He honestly had no idea what he sounded like, but judging by the way everyone had suddenly grown tense, he hadn’t hidden his ire. “No, I … Queen Jasminda isn’t like the rest of them. Neither is the Goddess. You know what I meant.”

  He grew very still, feeling almost as if he was turning to stone. “Because the rest of them are, what? Like my father? I’m not sure how you managed to come here forgetting that my brother and I are half grol, but please allow me to remind you.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I may look like one of you, but I’m not.”

  He hadn’t yelled, but he hadn’t managed to hide the venom pouring out from deep within. The girl reddened and scurried away, teetering on her high-heeled shoes. When he looked up, the lads around him were all gaping at him like he’d grown another head.

  Roshon was suddenly at his side, a hand on his arm, pulling him away. “Your face looks like a tomato. What’d she say?”

  “The same shite everyone here is probably thinking.”

  They escaped the ballroom and went out into the
hallway. Dressed identically, somehow Roshon seemed to appear more comfortable in his formal wear. The music was just a low hum on the other side of the wall and Varten’s emotions began to settle. He ran his hands over his face. “Who thought this party was a good fecking idea?”

  Roshon raised a brow. “As I recall, when Jasminda first brought it up you said, and I quote, ‘That’s a good fecking idea.’”

  Varten shook his head and turned away. That felt like a lifetime ago.

  “You don’t have to go back in, you know.”

  “It’s our party.” Varten crossed his arms.

  “Yeah, so we should be having fun.”

  “Well, you’ve been hiding out somewhere with Ani the whole night, so I have to pick up the slack.” Did he sound bitter? He was having a hard time reining it in right now.

  Roshon sighed and leaned next to him. “You don’t have to do everything everyone asks. Jas meant well with this, Sovereign knows she did it for you. But if it’s not your thing, just tell her.”

  “But she worked hard on it.”

  “Someone worked hard on it, but not her personally. She has people for things like this, you know.”

  “And all the money…”

  “Jack’s rich, remember. Don’t worry about all that.”

  Varten shrugged and slid down to sit on the floor. His brother joined him. They sat in silence for a while until Varten wasn’t vibrating with cold anger. Roshon studied him closely, and Varten worried that his secret was written on his face. But when his brother spoke, it wasn’t what he expected.

  “So have you decided whether or not you’re coming with us? Ani has a shipment she needs to pick up in Fremia next week. We might leave as soon as Firstday.”

  Varten blinked. He got the sense that Roshon truly wouldn’t mind him coming along on Ani’s ship as they sailed the seas smuggling and trading and whatever it was Ani did for a living. The idea of always being the odd man out held no appeal, but that would be true whether he stayed or left.

  “What about the wedding?”

  Roshon let out a groan. “That’s turning out to be a problem. Looks like it might start an international incident. Ani’s mother insists the wedding be in Raun. And Jasminda is equally adamant that it be here.”

  Ani’s mother was the king of Raun, a small island nation to the west. Considering she was also responsible for the trade embargo, this could get dicey. “Do you think Jas really cares, or is this a political thing?” Varten asked.

  “I don’t think Jas does political things, that’s more Jack’s domain. She said that since we’ll be at sea most of the time, the least we could do is have the wedding here with family. If it’s there, she wouldn’t be able to go—at least not while the embargo is happening.”

  “Seems like they could use this as a way to come together.” Varten scratched his chin.

  Roshon shrugged. “If King Pia is anywhere as stubborn as Ani—or Jasminda for that matter—then I doubt things will work out anytime soon. We may have to elope.”

  “That may cause a war.”

  “Don’t think I’ve forgotten you haven’t answered,” Roshon said, nudging him.

  “I’m neutral, like Fremia,” he said, holding his hands up. “But no, I don’t want to be the third wheel as you start a new life.”

  Roshon’s face fell. He began turning the golden cuff link at his wrist. “You’re still thinking of joining the army?”

  “Seems like a good way to be useful.” Varten didn’t have any better ideas. There was always university in Fremia, which would at least allow him to see somewhere new, but he wasn’t as studious as his sister, and didn’t want to be locked away in a classroom for years. The army held some appeal, or maybe the foreign service, so he could travel. With all the recent upheavals, Jack and Jasminda needed folk they could trust abroad, too. Enemies, both magical and not, were all around. Someone was going to be needed to fight them off.

  “I’ll figure something out, don’t worry about me.” He brought a smile to his face; it was almost easy to do.

  “Hmm,” was Roshon’s response.

  The door to the ballroom swung open, releasing a torrent of sound. Ani marched out and spotted the twins. Her short, blue hair was almost in her eyes. The ball gown she wore was in the traditional Raunian style, a thin, sort of wispy material that wrapped around her, leaving a swath of torso bare. Scandalous by Elsiran standards, but Ani didn’t care. She wasn’t wearing her prosthetic hand tonight, and the scar tissue at the bottom of what remained of her arm made Varten hold back a wince. She said she didn’t remember the pain, but he couldn’t help feeling at least a little responsible since she lost her hand the day his family was captured and imprisoned.

  “What’s wrong? Too many spirits?” she asked.

  “Are they serving spirits here?” Roshon’s brows rose.

  “They should be, given how much of a snooze the party is. No offense.” She pulled a silver flask from her bosom and grinned mischievously before settling beside them.

  “None taken,” Varten said. They passed the flask around, but the burning liquid did little to improve Varten’s mood. Fortunately, neither Roshon nor Ani pressed him for conversation. Melancholy swelled within him and he battled it, knowing he really should get back inside the ballroom.

  Something moved in his periphery again and he whipped his head around, half-expecting to see a shadow wriggling its way out of the wall. But it was a person rushing along the intersection between hallways. A familiar, shortish figure in a light blue dress running as if a wild dog was chasing her.

  He leapt to his feet.

  “Where are you going?” Roshon asked.

  “I’ll … I’ll be right back,” he said, already jogging away.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Deny, refuse to comply.

  Close eyes against the tyranny

  you cannot bear to be.

  You will not mirror that which you

  don’t see.

  —THE HARMONY OF BEING

  Varten raced to catch up with the distant figure he was certain was Zeli. Though she had such short legs, she was speedy when she wanted to be. It took him the length of two entire corridors before he reached her as she entered an unfamiliar narrow chamber in a part of the palace not much trafficked.

  The lighting was dimmer here, the walls and decorations older. This place must be deep in the heart of the building where it butted up against the mountain. He reached out to touch her shoulder and she shrieked and spun away, clutching something to her chest.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, holding up his hands. “I didn’t mean to scare you. But you were running so fast.”

  Her normally vivid skin tone was ashen; she looked almost as scared as she had this morning. He had the urge to comfort her and bring her in for a hug, though she was so squirrelly he wasn’t sure she’d appreciate the gesture. As it was, she looked at him with shaking, fear-filled eyes.

  “A-aren’t you supposed to be at your birthday party?”

  “It was a bore. You didn’t show up.” He grinned, but her expression didn’t change.

  “I’m on a mission from the Goddess,” she stammered.

  “A secret mission?”

  She frowned and looked around the empty hallway then down at the bundle in her arms. She seemed … lost, and her expression made him determined to give aid in whatever way he could.

  “You don’t have to tell me. How about I just walk alongside you, like a guard, while you finish your mission.” He lowered his voice. “If a wraith shows up, they can take me and you can run for help.”

  This seemed to startle her. “You think they’ll come back so soon?”

  He shrugged. “Even if they don’t, I’ll need to practice guarding people if I’m to join the army.”

  “You want to join the army?”

  “Well, I need something to do. Papa wants me to finish school first, but he’s not around to teach me anymore and Jasminda has better things to do. I’ve never been
to proper school anyway, and I wouldn’t know how.”

  She considered, then started walking again, a little more slowly. He fell into step beside her. She was still hunched over her bundle, which, now that he was able to get a closer look, was a book.

  “I’ve never been, either,” she said. “To school. Though my mistress taught me to read and write, mostly to amuse herself.”

  “The Goddess taught you?”

  “No, my former mistress. I grew up on the estate of the Magister—he ruled our city and its territories. His daughter and I were the same age, and I was her personal servant.” Pride rang in her voice. Varten wasn’t surprised. She seemed to take her job very seriously.

  “So what is it that you have there?” he asked, motioning to the object she clutched like a safety line.

  “Are you sure no one will miss you at your party?” She eyed his formal suit dubiously.

  Varten shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it over his shoulder. “It’s my party. I should be able to take a break from it if I want to.”

  She looked at him like he had a cat on his head. “This is for the vault.”

  He rubbed his hands together. “Ooh, the vault. I’ve never been to the royal vault before.”

  Zeli shrugged. “It’s not much to see. Metal doors half a pace thick. Lots of locks and combinations.”

  “And She’s entrusted you with all of that?”

  She nodded; Varten grinned, impressed. “Well you must be very special then.” She dipped her head, embarrassed. Varten got closer. “So what’s the book about?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t read it. The Goddess found it and it … It made Her uncomfortable.”

  Varten picked up on her distress and shared her worry. “What kind of thing could do that?” She looked up wide-eyed. That was answer enough.

  He peered closer at the leather-bound book. “She didn’t say what was in it?”