Song of Blood & Stone (Earthsinger Chronicles #1)(31)

The palmsalt would have completely dispersed within a few days, and the mountain storm was over. It would likely be a three-day journey over the mountain and then she could be home again.

She looked at the forlorn people gathered around her. “What will you do now that you’re here?” she asked Gerda.

“We are here only by Her guidance. There is a plan in place that we must follow.”

Jasminda frowned. She hadn’t known the Lagrimari were religious. “You follow the Queen? Is that . . . allowed in Lagrimar?”

“Oh no. The only religion allowed is reverence of the True Father. But She graces the dreams of some, and there are many who believe in secret.”

Jasminda nodded. “What is the plan?”

Gerda’s gaze was sharp and clear. It felt like the woman was peering deep into her soul. “It unfolds daily.”

Jasminda sat back and exhaled. The woman preferred to speak in riddles. Offering her valley to the refugees had crossed her mind, but she doubted that was a part of the Queen's plan. Jasminda was still an outsider, even among people who looked like her.

She turned again to Jack. He sat in the smaller of the vehicles staring out into space. His face was drawn and troubled. She wanted to go to him, ask what was wrong, offer comfort, but she had no idea if it would be welcome.

Another vehicle rumbled down the road, a sort of motorized covered wagon. Larger than both the auto she’d seen in town and the army vehicle, it pulled to a stop and seven women emerged. Each wore identical blue robes trimmed in gold with her hair tied in a topknot.

“Who are they?” Gerda asked.

“The Sisterhood,” Jasminda said. “Devotees of the Queen. They feed the poor and aid the settlers.”

The Sisters unloaded crates from the back of their wagon. Several soldiers came to assist.

Jasminda was torn. Jack had exited the vehicle and rallied somewhat, his back was straight, shoulders back, but she could still tell something was wrong. She started to reach out to him with Earthsong, but then thought better of it. If she was leaving, best that she break the ties now. Her imagination had run wild before; there had never been any possibility of something between the two of them. Especially not with him an important soldier and her— What was she? Just a goat farmer. An outcast. It would be better if he didn’t know her.

She stood and stretched her legs. Most of the others were now helping in the salvage project. She didn’t want to have to explain herself or say any good-byes. Especially not to Jack. It was cowardly, she knew, but whatever hopes she’d harbored were best buried deep and never acknowledged again. She could slip away and, very soon, no one would remember she’d been there at all.

Jasminda took a few steps back, away from the others. Everyone’s focus was either on the salvage or the newcomers, the Sisters, approaching with crates of food. Turning to head back toward the mountain, she nearly bumped into Osar. He looked up at her with disapproval, his lips pressed tight. She faltered.

Crouching next to him, she took his little hand in hers. “You’ll be all right. Somehow.” He continued to glare at her. “I don’t belong here. I know you can’t understand that, but it’s true.” He shook his head. “It’s not true?” He shook his head again, and Jasminda chuckled. “Why don’t you talk, Osar? You seem to have a lot of opinions.”

The vibration of Earthsong hit her like the clanging of a bell.

Words lie. Songs don’t.

His Song was so sure and strong, she’d nearly forgotten how powerful he was. She could hear his thoughts in her head as clearly as if he’d spoken them aloud.

Look up.

The same words as after the avalanche, when Osar had saved Jack. Again she obeyed, squinting into the sun until it was blocked by a figure standing over them. One of the Sisters held out two paper sacks.

“Food,” the woman said in Elsiran, miming eating with one of her hands.

Jasminda stood and took the offered sack, unable to pull her gaze away. The woman before her was the spitting image of Mama. Golden auburn hair, topaz-colored eyes, a straight nose peppered with freckles. The only thing that kept Jasminda from crying out and running into the woman’s arms were the burn scars across her left cheek and jaw.

At Jasminda’s continued stare, the Sister touched her face briefly and ducked her head. She bowed slightly then hurried away.

“Oh, no, I wasn’t—” Jasminda said to her retreating back. With a glance at Osar, who was excitedly investigating the contents of the bag, Jasminda took off after the Sister. The woman was already retrieving more sacks from a crate and passing them out.

“This one’s empty,” she called out. Her voice was higher than Mama’s, lighter and breathier. Jasminda almost didn’t trust her memories. There was no way two people could look so similar.

“Sister Vanesse, could you lend a hand?” another Sister called from near the vehicles. The scarred Sister hurried off, leaving Jasminda gaping after her.

Vanesse. She knew that name. Her mother had spoken it often enough. Jasminda had even tried addressing her letters to Vanesse Zinadeel when those to her grandmother kept being returned unopened. But her mother’s sister had not responded, either.

Aunt Vanesse.

Her only proof was a first name and a face nearly identical to her mother’s.

“Are you going to eat that?” a young girl asked, looking hungrily at the forgotten lunch in Jasminda’s hand.