Song of Blood & Stone (Earthsinger Chronicles Book 1) (19 page)

“Would you do something for me? If you’re not too busy?” His teasing voice made her chuckle. He knew she’d spent the last couple of days in the palace’s Blue Library in a heaven of books.

“Certainly, Your Grace. Do you have any rogue goats needing herding?”

He squeezed her shoulder playfully. “None that I know of. However, there is another task for which you are uniquely suited.” His face grew serious, and he sighed. “The refugees . . . There is some debate on how best to handle them. More seem to arrive every day.”

“What is the debate? Is there some other option to caring for them?” Her tone was pitched high with disbelief.

“No.” His voice brooked no argument. “There is not. But there are less than a handful in all of Elsira who speak any Lagrimari whatsoever, and none of them are even remotely proficient.”

“Mother said Lagrimari was so difficult to learn, she thought the language must be spelled against outsiders. You are truly unique for your mastery of it.” A knot of anxiety formed in the pit of her stomach. “You want me to speak with them.”

“Yes. Public opinion is slowly swinging against the refugees, and the Council members are little better. They’ve agreed to help fund the camp and take some of the financial pressure off the Sisterhood, but they’re insisting on having the army provide
security
.” He gave a humorless laugh. “The language barrier is a problem, as well as the general attitude of the soldiers. I’m working on that, and I've ordered an education program for the refugees so they may learn Elsiran, but in the meantime . . .”

Jasminda drew the covers up around her shoulders, suddenly chilly. “What do you want me to say to them?”

“Just . . . talk to them. Learn their stories. Let me know what they need, what they want. Right now, most Elsirans barely view them as human. That has to change if there’s to be any chance of them living happily in our land.”

“Is there a chance of that?”

“Of them living here or living happily?”

“Happily. Ever after,” she said softly. “There are five hundred years of reasons for our people to hate one another.”

Even as she spoke, Jasminda was not certain who she had meant by “our people.” She had not told Jack about meeting Calladeen, convincing herself it was nothing, simply an aristocrat looking down his nose at her. She expected nothing less. But there were other things she didn’t mention. The whispers and glances following her about the palace. The scowls from the Royal Guardsmen, snickers from passing maids. She felt like a monster on display. The gruesome sideshow act everyone stared at. No one had been overtly rude—she had not heard anything specific—but the fear and distrust followed her.

Only with Jack was she comfortable, safe, happy. Could the refugees ever have that sort of security on Elsiran soil?

“Everyone has the right to seek happiness. I wish I could guarantee it, but I am only a prince.”

She traced a pattern across his chest, then placed a kiss over his heart.

“Very well,” she said. “I will go talk to them.”

He took her hands in his and kissed them. “Thank you.”

Jasminda nestled her body even closer to him as he dozed. She stayed awake for the next few hours, enjoying the feeling of their intimacy before duty and responsibility took him away from her.

The first light of dawn glowed pink through the windows. The early-morning sky was so different in her valley. With this new task heavy on her shoulders, she longed even more for the simplicity of the farm. For a Jack who was not a prince and would be happy with a quiet life. She would teach him to herd and plant, and they would spend evenings in front of the fire, reading and talking and making love.

In this imagined life, she would have her own family, a place to belong that could never be taken away. People around her who looked at her only with love. And her parents and brothers would live on in the tales she’d tell her children and then their children.

Jack awakened when the first rays of light hit the bed. She pretended to be asleep as he dressed, kissed her forehead, then slipped out the door. The bubble of Jasminda’s dream popped. She was alone in a strange bed, in a strange city, about to go and meet more strange people.

She rolled into the warm spot Jack had vacated, plunging her nose to the mattress to capture his lingering scent. She stole a few more minutes in bed, grasping the threads of her impossible dream before facing what lay before her.

The camp loomed
larger than it had a few days before. Jasminda was not sure how many refugees were housed here, but little white tents filled her vision. The same driver as the day before pulled up to the entrance and let her out, then returned to the town car to wait out her visit.

She stood wide-eyed, surrounded by rifle-wielding soldiers and unsure where to begin. Tents were organized in wide and narrow lanes alternating in a grid, marked with letters and numbers. She walked along the wide center path, observing the mid-morning camp life. The subdued atmosphere hung thick and heavy. Women huddled in small groups outside their tents, mending clothes or doing laundry in small wash bins. Children sat quietly, often clutching ragged dolls. The raucous laughter and play she’d seen in the tiny mountain town was absent, the light in the children’s eyes dim.

“So you return to us, eh?” a familiar voice said.

Jasminda turned to find Gerda standing behind her, hands on her hips. Jasminda offered a weak smile.

“Come, child,” the old woman said before marching away down one of the narrow alleys. Jasminda followed. They turned corner after corner, passing identical white tents, moving deeper into the camp until she had no hope of finding the entrance again. Finally, Gerda stopped in front of a tent with a strange symbol painted on the outside.

“What does this mean?” Jasminda asked.

Gerda’s eyes narrowed. “Can you not read Lagrimari, child?”

Jasminda’s cheeks grew hot, and she shook her head. “My father had no books with him when he came here. We learned to read only in Elsiran. Is this how Lagrimari looks?”

“She’s not one of us. She shouldn’t be here.” 

Jasminda held back a groan. She spun to face Rozyl, who stood behind her.

“Slumming it, are we?” the woman spat.

Jasminda’s jaw tightened. “No, I was sent here to help. To translate, if needed. There has been some trouble with the soldiers?”

The scarred woman’s face contorted into a sneer. “It doesn’t take a translator to know what these pigs’ sons think of us.”

“Rozyl, hush,” Gerda said, and motioned toward the tent. “Let us go inside, beyond the reach of prying ears.”

Jasminda scanned the area. The soldiers only manned the perimeter of the camp; she had seen none in the interior. What prying ears was Gerda afraid of?

“What is going on?” Jasminda asked.

“A meeting,” Gerda said.

“I don’t want to intrude.”

Rozyl snorted in disbelief, and Jasminda tensed, restraining herself from turning on the woman and letting her temper reign.

“You are needed at this meeting, child,” Gerda said, her gruff voice softening a bit.

When she pulled back the tent flap, Jasminda took a deep breath. Casting a glance at a scowling Rozyl, she ducked into the tent. Gerda, Rozyl, and several others followed her in. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. With their arrival, the small space had grown quite crowded. Over a dozen people sat spiraled around the camp stove in the center. She took a place at the outside of the spiral, near the door.

Turwig, Lyngar, and the guards from the cave were among the cautious faces looking back at her. Gerda cleared her throat. “We are all here. Let us begin.”

“I want to be sure that my objections are noted,” Rozyl said. A few murmurs of assent rose in the close space. “I don’t trust her—”

“We’ve taken your concerns under consideration, thank you,” Turwig said, cutting her off. She pursed her lips and sat back. “But the decision has been made.”

“What is this about?” Jasminda asked. Her question was lost amid the rising voices, some echoing Rozyl’s concerns, others supporting Turwig. Each gibe and sentiment of distrust sliced into Jasminda like a knife. She stood, and silence descended.

“What is this about?” she repeated, forcing her voice to be strong when it threatened to quiver.

“Sit, please,” Turwig said. He watched her closely, and she did as he’d asked, glad that the exit was so close. The desire to bolt, to get away from all the suspicion was strong, but curiosity begged she hear the old man out.

Turwig shared a glance with Gerda, then reached into the inner pocket of his threadbare jacket and pulled out a small bundle wrapped in cloth. He touched the bundle reverently then reached for Jasminda’s hand and placed it in her grasp.

A deep, pulsing energy came from within the bundle. She nearly dropped it. Every person in the tent grew tense. “What is this?” she whispered.

“Open it,” Turwig said.

Jasminda shook her head as her hand trembled. “I can barely stand to hold it. What is it?” Her stomach lurched as her breakfast threatened to come up. Whatever was inside this cloth was
wrong
somehow. Too powerful. It was like Earthsong had been trapped within a package that fit in her palm. “Take it back.”

“Open it,” Gerda repeated gently. Jasminda didn’t think the elders would give her something dangerous. On the contrary, every face staring back at her seemed expectant, almost hopeful. Even Rozyl’s. That cemented her decision. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes, and she blinked rapidly to stay them. With a deep breath, she peeled away the layers of cloth.

Nestled inside was a stone, deep red in color and small enough that she could wrap her entire hand around it. It was smooth, though oddly shaped, like a gemstone had been sanded down to remove all its jagged edges. She held it up to her face, keeping the cloth between her skin and the stone, peering at the thing. Nearby, someone lit a lamp, bringing the stone into clearer view. Embedded within it were dark, swirling lines. Perhaps this was the fossil of an insect. She’d read about such things, though had never seen one before, but as the light brightened, it illuminated lines trapped inside which were too organized for a skeleton. A symbol was embedded beneath the surface. Recognition dawned, and she nearly dropped the stone a second time.

“It’s the sigil of the Queen,” she said. Everyone in the tent took a collective breath. With her other hand, she reached out a finger to trace the surface. A ripple of power went through her as her skin met the stone. It knocked her backward as blackness stole her vision.

We run through
the woods laughing. Yllis’s fingers are intertwined with mine, and when he looks over, the love in his eyes makes my breath catch. My heart is so full.

Eero is behind us, thundering through the underbrush. I don’t have to turn to sense my brother tripping over a root that Yllis and I had jumped over. It would be funny to let him fall, but it’s not his fault he has no Song and cannot feel the forest around him the way we do. In the blink of an eye, I sing a spell to lift him back upright and set him on his feet. He stumbles a bit but rights himself, his emotions confused for a moment, before refocusing on the competition.

We clear the tree line, and Eero races ahead, beating us to the water’s edge. He dives underneath and swims out a little ways, shouting, berating us for our slowness. Yllis and I splash into the waves, soaking each other, and I think this is the happiest I’ve ever been. The two people I care most for in this world are here, and it is the most beautiful day I could have dreamed.

Yllis said he would not let it rain on Eero’s and my birthday, and he did not. I shall bring the clouds back myself tomorrow to keep things in balance, but for today, watching the smiles on his and Eero’s faces as the sun shines down on us is the best present ever.

I wish . . .

Jasminda opened her
eyes and winced at the burning sensation in her palm. Her empty palm. She sat up, and the people who had been leaning over her prone form quickly moved out of the way.

Clarity came back quickly. The tent, the elders, the stone . . . which had disappeared from her hand. She looked over quickly to see Turwig wrapping it up again. She rubbed her face as the chatter of a dozen voices quieted.

“It happened again,” she said. There was no surprise on Turwig’s and Gerda’s faces. “You knew that would happen.”

“We suspected, but were not sure,” Gerda said.

“It was like in the cave.”

Gerda nodded. “But not the Cavefolk this time.” It wasn’t a question. “Can you tell us what you saw?”

Jasminda related the brief vision she’d had. Once again she’d been someone else. Someone deliriously in love. She hadn’t gotten a clear view of the brother, but she’d stared into the eyes her lover, a man who was both a stranger and the object of all her adoration. The visions were all encompassing, and it took a moment to adjust to being torn away and inhabiting her own body again. Whoever that girl was had been lucky.

She flexed her arms and legs, bringing feeling back into them. “What is that stone, and why does it cause visions?”

Everyone settled back down, and Turwig sat next to her, holding the wrapped stone. Her fingers itched to snatch it from him. She couldn’t explain the strange possessive instinct that had arisen within her toward the thing, but she wanted it back.

“You must understand that this is our most precious treasure.” He held up the wrapped stone. “It may be our last hope.”

“You are all Keepers of the Promise?” Jasminda said, motioning toward the others present.

He nodded. “Throughout the war, the Keepers have fought against the True Father’s tyranny, searching for a way to overcome his great power in order to awaken
Her
. We have always believed that killing the True Father was the only way to awaken the Queen. But the masked fiend is hard to kill.”