Song of Blood & Stone (Earthsinger Chronicles #1)(36)
Jasminda sucked in a breath when she got her first glimpse of Rosira from the crest of a hill. The city swept up and away from the ocean like a gentle wave. Lights sparkled from thousands upon thousands of houses, which from this distance gave the impression of being stacked on top of one another, but as they drew closer, were really etched in layers going up the steep hillside.
There were no skyscrapers or especially tall buildings like in the pictures she’d seen of the megacities of Yaly and other countries. The main industry here was commerce, and docks stretched the entire length of the coastline with an assortment of vessels anchored there like great beasts asleep in their pens.
Before reaching the city limits, her truck turned onto a rough path cut into the dirt, and they drove another half kilometre or so before stopping. A miniature city lay before them, made up of orderly rows of white tents with oil lanterns strung up on poles to form the perimeter.
Jasminda’s driver parked the truck and got out, but she stayed put, not wanting to be mistaken for a refugee again. There was nothing overtly frightening about the camp; it was quiet and seemed clean. Still, she felt equal parts glad she would not have to stay here and guilty for being glad.
She reached for her connection to Earthsong, then dropped it quickly, immediately overwhelmed by the dense press of so many energies. How could anyone use magic in a place so heavily populated as this? Did Lagrimar have cities, and if so, how were the residents able to cope?
Word of the refugees' arrival must have spread quickly, for soon people emerged from the tents to curiously gape at the caravan. They were almost all women, children, and elderly folk. All with dark hair and dark eyes, sturdily built with skin the hue of her own.
Jasminda loved her skin as much as she hated it. These people were beautiful, and they made her miss Papa even more. But she shrank lower in her seat, not wanting to be singled out. Though she spoke the same language, she could not relate to the bleak hopelessness coming off them in waves. Even from the children. The past two years had been lonely without her family, but she’d been surrounded by memories of them every moment. The house her father built with his own hands, her mother’s quilts, her brothers’ tools. And the poor goats . . . She hoped they were safe and hadn’t scattered too far. She’d had a happy life before the sadness, but these people had a permanent melancholy etched into them.
The bus emptied and the new refugees were swallowed into the crowd. Jasminda spotted the gray heads of Gerda, Turwig, and Lyngar, along with other elders. Only Gerda turned towards her and gave a nod good-bye before being swept away by the others.
Soon after, the driver returned and the vehicles were back on the road, traveling a serpentine path through the city. Jack had assured her he would find lodging for her, though he hadn’t mentioned where. She suspected the Sisterhood had a dormitory of some kind where she could stay. If so, perhaps she could discover more about the woman she suspected was her aunt.
The steep road through the densely packed buildings turned back on itself several times, dizzying Jasminda. After half a dozen twists and turns, the truck approached a gilded gate guarded by soldiers wearing black uniforms with gold trim and fringed epaulets. The gates swung open revealing a brightly lit, curving drive that ascended even higher.
The Royal Palace of Elsira loomed in front of them, white stones gleaming under the illumination of a shocking quantity of electric lights. The pictures in her textbooks did not do it justice. Columned porches ran along the first floor with a seemingly endless number of arched windows just beyond. Carved into the stone above each window were images of the Founders, the magical Lord and Lady in various poses showing how they’d transformed Elsira.
Somewhere within this building lay the sleeping body of their descendent, the Queen herself, protected by the Prince Regent who was to rule in Her stead until She awoke and returned to power. Seeing it in person, Jasminda was transfixed. Though there was no longer any magic in Elsira, the palace seemed to give off its own energy and spoke to her in an unfamiliar way.
Once again, the driver exited the vehicle and Jasminda remained, hoping that whatever business Jack had here would be quick. The trip had been exhausting, and she wanted nothing more than to fall into whatever bed she was assigned. The door she leaned against jerked open and there stood Jack, holding out his hand.
She stared at it uncomprehendingly. “Can I not wait here for you?”
“You would prefer to sleep in the truck?” The corner of his mouth quirked, shattering his grim expression.
She looked from him to the palace and back again. A knowing smile crept up Jack’s face.
“When you said you’d find lodging for me, I didn’t think . . . Jack, I can’t sleep in the palace.”
“Whyever not?” He crossed his arms and leaned against the truck.
“Because I’m a goat farmer. Palaces are for royalty. The Prince Regent cannot possibly allow someone like me here.”
“Trust me, it’s all right. Many officials and dignitaries live in the palace. A whole wing is devoted to ranking officers and their families. Honestly, it’s more like an inn than a proper palace these days.”
“But—”
“I’m well acquainted with whom the Prince Regent allows under his roof.” A flicker of pain crossed his face, and he took a deep breath. “Jasminda—”
“Commander!” an insistent voice bellowed from across the driveway.