Echoes of Silence (16 page)

Sleep stayed far from my thoughts as I began the location chant for Athe. I didn’t know her last name, but I felt I must find out where she’d been sent. I held onto the hope that the rebound from my spell-song would show me a lavish home on the banks of the Burisia River, with Athe taking a midnight stroll before retiring.

I pictured her platinum hair, her dark, exotic eyes. I poured the image into the song, and waited for the rebound. It came quickly, but it didn’t paint a picturesque view of the water.

Athe’s eyes were closed. Her shiny hair lay in straight strands and looked like tarnished gold next to her gray skin. Her lips were blue.

She was dead.

#

Half an hour later, a powerful magic roused me from my state of worry. I sat up in bed, pressing my palm over my pounding heart as I struggled to make sense of the song-magic surrounding me.

I was reminded briefly of Oake, for this magic felt ancient and huge. I knew it was not Oake, for his power didn’t play dangerous games and whisper in tongues I couldn’t comprehend. I felt an urgent need to be in the same room with this newly arrived magician; my magic craved to be near his.

I quickly changed into an aqua gown that had a zipper—no blasted buttons in sight. I sang a silencing spell, grateful beyond words that I could voice my magic without the earth swaying or voices plaguing me. The door closed behind me with a puff of air instead of a click, and I stole down the hall toward the spiraling ramp.

Ten minutes later, I stared at Cris’s door, wondering what age-old spell-song had lured me here.

Gibson emerged from the hall that led to the personal rooms in the Prince’s apartment. I’d been waiting nervously on an elegant leather couch for the past fifteen minutes, not quite sure why I’d come, but knowing I needed to be here. I couldn’t erase Athe’s rebound from my mind.

“His Majesty is sorry this is taking so long,” he said, but he did not sound apologetic. “He has asked me to offer you a drink.”

“Water would be lovely,” I said, dodging the thought of alcohol at this late hour.

“Water,” Gibson grumbled as he disappeared around the corner. When he returned, Bo accompanied him. They leaned against the wall, a barrier between me and Cris.

I sipped the water, not fully committed to drinking it outright. I nearly choked when I thought perhaps Bo or Gibson had poisoned it. I put the glass on the table in front of me and ignored the hostile glares of His Majesty’s personal bodyguards.

In the resulting silence, voices carried from down the hall. Terror struck me full in the chest. Cris wasn’t alone. I couldn’t place the emotion in the voices, and my magical abilities were unlike Matu’s, who could’ve felt if it was a man or a woman.

“I’m interrupting,” I said, pushing myself to standing. “Will you kindly let Cris know that I’ll come by tomorrow morning?”

Bo’s eyes narrowed and a growl rumbled in his throat. “Do I look like your messenger?” He blew out his breath and folded his meaty arms over his chest.

“How dare you call him Cris?” Gibson demanded. Quicker than I thought possible, he crossed the room and shook a finger in my face. “You will show more respect than that.”

I took a step back and met the couch. “I will likely be your queen one day. I would be careful if I were you.” I fell into the sofa as if my words had sapped my strength.

Gibson bent down so he was still level with me. “You are nothing to me, girl. I have been by His Majesty’s side long before you came along, and I shall still be here long after you have gone.”

I focused on his yellow teeth. They foamed with spittle and clacked against his words. I nodded, my breath coming quicker. I wanted to sing one high note and sew his lips shut, but I hadn’t been lured here to reveal myself to Gibson.

A whistle sounded and just as quickly as Gibson had jumped down my throat, he retreated. Bo cut off the sound, made an angry slashing motion with his hand, and glared. Gibson returned the hostility in the form of a hiss and regained his position against the wall as if nothing had happened. I longed to call for Castillo, and together we would unite our voices until Bo and Gibson begged for release.

I lunged for the water and gulped it, suddenly not caring if it was poisoned or not. The coolness slid down my throat, extinguishing the heat of embarrassment flaming in my face. My hand shook as I replaced the glass on the table.

“Echo,” Cris said, and I cried out. He didn’t pay his bodyguards a second glance as he approached. “What is it? Are you all right?” I let him draw me into an embrace. Over his shoulder, Gibson and Bo wore identical looks of hatred, but whether for me, for Cris, or for each other I knew not.

“I’m fine,” I managed to say. “What took you so long?”

He held me at arm’s length, his hands warm on my shoulders. “I’m sorry, Echo. I was not expecting you tonight, and I had another appointment.”

“A woman?” I asked, though I didn’t know why I cared. Perhaps I held onto the hope that he would fall in love with me, that our marriage would be more than a power play for both of us.

At the same time, I toyed with the idea that Cris would choose someone else. That Castillo was wrong about Helena’s prediction, and we could somehow escape this compound and live the rest of our lives getting to know each other, weaving our magic into a bond that could survive the sharp claws of death. I quickly dismissed such ridiculous thoughts. I wasn’t in love with Castillo. Making ice cream and strolling through the streets of Umon as we laid sinister plans didn’t equate to love.

Infatuation
, I thought, even as I gazed upon Cris’s handsome face. I reminded myself that he was touching me and likely influencing me with his magic.

Cris planted a kiss on my temple. “Not a woman,” he said. “Come, I suppose you’ll have to meet him sooner or later.” He slipped one arm around my waist and led me toward the hallway that snaked further into his apartment. “Though I would prefer it be later.” When we passed Bo and Gibson, a subtle growl ground through Bo’s throat.

Every sense sharpened as Cris pushed open a door to reveal a sitting room fit for kings. Black leather couches and chairs sat next to gold-and-glass tables. Crystal dripped from the ceiling, from the sconces on the walls, from the drapery hardware. The curtains were drawn and gas lamps glowed, giving the room a muted feel.

I stopped breathing altogether when a man separated himself from a lounger, and stood. I volleyed my gaze back and forth between him and Cris, placing the long nose, the dark eyes, the square jaw. They were practically mirror copies of each other.

“Your father.” I hoped my voice carried more awe than fear, though both coursed through me. “The High King.”

“You must be Echo,” the High King said. His voice could paint pictures. I lost myself inside the tonalities of it, at once realizing the magical qualities swirling within. No wonder he was disappointed in his son’s limited abilities. My understanding of Cris clicked into clarity. “My son said you were busy this evening.” He pierced Cris with a look that spoke of his extreme displeasure.

“She was,” Cris said feebly. The reason Cris had arranged for Castillo to get me out of the compound tonight made perfect sense—he’d been protecting me.

I squeezed Cris’s arm, crossed the room, and extended my hand to the High King. Anxiety bubbled beneath my skin. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“My son speaks very highly of you.” He spoke with a Nythinian accent, subtle yet pronounced. He took my hand and raised it to his lips. No sizzle accompanied his touch, as had happened when Cris kissed my wrist. Now, only an extreme coldness seeped toward my elbow.

I let my hand drop after he released it. “Cris speaks compliments about you as well.” A lie, but his father need not know that. I smiled like there wasn’t anywhere else I’d rather be than trapped with the High King of Nyth, the man who would steal my magic just as easily as smile at me. I wondered how many hunting parties he’d sent to Iskadar. I wondered if his eyes burned orange in the dark.

“You call my son by his first name.” He said it as a statement of curiosity, not a question. He didn’t look at me but at Cris. The expression on his face spoke of challenge. “Why does she call you by your first name?”

Terror sang through me. I stepped between Cris and his father. “We’re quite friendly,” I said, needing to lessen the tension choking the room. “Your son is quite the champion at cards.” My head felt too light and my limbs too heavy, but I kept talking. “We also share a love of horses, of flowers, and of watching the sun set over the river.” I sounded like an idiot—and Cris and I had never discussed horses or played cards.

The High King yanked his gaze back to me, and I didn’t like him looking at me with such malice any more than I liked him glaring at Cris. I migrated back to Cris’s side, and as I did so, I noticed the supreme surprise in his eyes. They screamed a single question:
Why?

I brushed my fingers across his eyebrows, willing them to lower. Thankfully, he complied, and when I tucked my arm in his and we turned back to his father as a single unit, I was certain we looked every bit the happy couple falling for each other, though I couldn’t help but swallow hard.

“Perhaps you should introduce me properly to your father,” I whispered. I wanted to know the High King’s first name, too.

“Echo,” Cris said, his voice gravelly and strained. “This is my father, High King of Nyth, Javier de la Fuenta. Father, Echo del Toro, of Iskadar village.”

“Iskadar village?” the High King asked, too much interest in his voice to be friendly.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” I buckled my knees into a curtsy.

“The girl is from Iskadar,” the High King said to Cris as if I weren’t present and did not deserve to be called by my name. “Iskadar! Do you know what kind of people hail from Iskadar?” He raised his hand as if he might strike his son, but the High King stopped himself.

I sucked in a breath through my teeth, not sure if my annoyance stemmed from his insults of my village or because he was willing to hit Cris in my presence.

Cris said nothing, though the irritation in his eyes spoke volumes.

“I believe we discussed the proper heritage for your wife,” the High King said, continuing to ignore me. “Though I’m not sure why I believed you’d be able to get it right.” He cast a sour glance in my direction.

I transferred his disdain of Iskadar to all Umonians, and the fact that he’d taken reign of our land angered me. My magic rose within me, a spell-song swelled in my throat. A small voice in my mind whispered,
I will liberate my countrymen.

I suddenly had new purpose in becoming Cris’s wife. I imagined the power I would have to set precedents and establish new laws. I could ensure the outer villages remained free. I could separate Umon from Nythinian rule. Perhaps I could rule Umon.

I would restore beauty to magic, re-establish magicians as valued citizens of a flourishing society, and ensure freedom for everyone now currently under the High King’s reign.

Such thoughts and visions were dangerous to have in the High King’s presence, but in his seething fury he didn’t seem to notice how my shoulders squared and my chin lifted. I quickly forced myself to appear more like Cris—subservient.

“My grandparents aren’t natives of Iskadar,” I blurted in an attempt to appease the High King.

He blinked. “Do you think that improves your station?” He rolled his eyes. “If anything, it stains your heritage further.”

“Father—”

“Our people require a specific type of ruler,” the High King barked. He scanned me from head to toe and definitely found me wanting. “She—”

“My ancestors hail from Relina,” I said.

The silence that followed doubled my anger. How had this man reduced me to a puddle so effectively? I would’ve said anything to please him, and I couldn’t find fault with Cris and his naivety any longer.

The High King stared at me like I should continue the story. I didn’t speak of Grandmother’s travels across the sea when she was a little girl, of the brother she lost in a magical typhoon a wicked sorcerer had conjured. He had been exiled by the ancients for an act Grandmother did not detail. She’d rarely spoken of her immigration, though I remember it being a fantastic tale.

When it was clear that the High King wouldn’t concede, I took a deep breath. “Well, I won’t keep you from your family evening.” I extracted my arm from Cris’s and took a few steps toward the door, thinking I’d go straight to Castillo and tell him of my plans to restore magic and liberate my countrymen.

“I’m the one who’s leaving,” the High King said. “Cris and I are done here.”

I pressed my eyes closed and inhaled deeply. I turned around and pasted on a smile. “Well, once again, it was a pleasure to meet you.”

The High King didn’t spare me a glance. He paused next to his son, leaned in close, and whispered. If Cris wasn’t already standing straight and tall, he did then.

I stepped to the side to let the High King pass and only then did he pin me with his gaze. “You are a beautiful girl.” A dangerous edge sat in his obsidian eyes, and his voice hissed with barely contained venom. “I’m sure you will make a wonderful princess for my son.”

Before I could respond, he pried open the door and left.

#

I sat nursing another drink, this time something much stronger than water. A few sips of thick red wine had soothed my nerves ten minutes ago, but I couldn’t release the crystal goblet. Cris stood at the window, staring into the darkness. Every few minutes he threw back a tumbler full of amber liquid, moved to refill it, and repositioned himself at the glass. We hadn’t spoken.

I worried for Castillo, and if his father would seek him out tonight. I didn’t want the High King anywhere near Castillo without me acting as a buffer between them. I didn’t want Cris to go through that either.

The High King despised anyone who was not Nythinian, that much had become clear. But, oh, how he’d reacted when I’d mentioned Relina . . . The ancients there possessed great magic, even more brilliant and powerful than the High King’s. Surely they knew of his tyranny; surely they had sent a convoy across the seas to let him know the way he’d polluted his magic did not conform to their guidelines.