Song of Blood & Stone (Earthsinger Chronicles #1)(42)

“Your Grace,” she said, curtseying, an amused smile playing upon her lips.

He climbed up to the landing beside her. “You know, you must try to keep a straight face when you say that.”

She nodded, her eyes alight. “I shall keep that in mind.” Her expression sobered, and she laid a hand on his arm. “I haven’t gotten a chance to tell you how sorry I am for the loss of your brother.”

“No, I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you. And for your loss. Not only a husband gone, but you were to be the princess.”

Her lips pressed to a thin line. “Yes, well, Mother and Father are inconsolable.” Her voice was light, but shadows danced in her eyes.

He and Lizvette had raced around the palace as children, under the disapproving eyes of their parents. Her father was a close friend and advisor to his, and still retained a place on the Council. She and his brother had been engaged for two years and were to be married in just a few weeks.

“And you?” Jack asked, craning his neck down to look her in the eye.

“It happened so fast.” She dipped her head and ran her fingers across the mirrors embedded in her gown, avoiding his gaze. “Alariq did love his gadgets, though. He would probably have lived in that airship if he could have.” She managed a weak smile. “I can’t imagine what was going through his mind, piloting through that kind of storm.”

“Nor I. He was always so reasonable. I just hope I’m up to the task of filling his shoes.”

“You are. Of course you are. You will be a wonderful prince.” She finally met his eyes, beaming up at him, though her smile overflowed with sadness. She took hold of his hand and squeezed. He hoped she was holding up well, despite appearing so tired. Dark circles under her eyes were starting to show through her makeup.

“I don’t want to keep you,” he said, pulling away. She held on a moment longer before releasing him.

“Whatever are you doing on this end of the palace?”

He shifted on his feet, his gaze involuntarily drawn toward the hall leading to Jasminda’s room.

Lizvette looked, then frowned slightly. She sighed. “Are you . . . with her?”

“I owe her an apology. One that is overdue.”

Lizvette took a step back. “The whole palace is talking. They’re watching her. Wondering.”

“I don’t have time for Rosiran busybodies.” Indignation shaded his voice.

“Jack, she will be trouble for you.”

His protective instincts kicked in. Jasminda was not anyone else’s concern. She belonged here, had more right than most who called the palace home.

The worry in Lizvette’s face cut through his rising ire. His anger was not for her. “May She bless your dreams, Vette.”

“And yours as well, Your Grace.”

He walked away, his skin prickling with the sensation of being watched until he turned the corner.




He stood outside Jasminda’s door, gathering his courage before knocking rapidly. His breathing grew shallow as the seconds ticked by. Would she not answer? When the door finally opened, he schooled his features, attempting to hide his wonder. She was radiant in the outfit she’d worn at dinner. The gorgeous golden dress highlighted the color of her skin and made him want to feel its softness. Her hair was tamed somewhat, but still wild, gorgeous and free, like her. But her eyes were red-rimmed from crying.

That phantom ache above his heart flared again. He rubbed at it unconsciously. She studied his movement, worry creasing her forehead. He swallowed the lump in his throat and bowed low, causing her to take a step back.

“Excuse me, my lady, but you inquired as to the completeness of my healing. I . . . I fear I may have reinjured myself and wondered if you would be so kind as to inspect it for me.”

She tilted her head up at him, her brow furrowed. He was afraid she would shut the door in his face at so flimsy an excuse. Instead, she took another step back, allowing him entry. She turned on her heel and headed to the fireplace where a chair had been dragged over quite close to the flames.

“Are the palace physicians not up to the task, Your Grace?” She motioned to the chair, and he sank into it.

“They are the best in the land.”

“I cannot sing here. There are too many people. But I can take a look.” The bag she’d brought from home lay on the floor, and she crouched, retrieving her jar of balm. She approached him, her focus solely on the spot beneath his clothes where the wound had been. When her eyes finally met his, something passed between them, but she firmed her mouth into a frown. “That will have to come off,” she said, motioning to his covered chest.

He unbuttoned his coat and laid it aside, then undid his dress shirt and slid out of it. Her focus never left his chest the entire time. When he’d disrobed enough, she knelt down in front of him, one hand resting on his thigh, the other gently prodding the newly healed skin.

“What makes you think you’ve reinjured yourself?” she said, voice full of accusation. “Your Grace,” she added, yanking her fingers away.

“Because it hurts. Just here.” He retrieved her hand, holding it in place against his heart. “And don’t call me that. I’m still Jack.”

Her lips trembled, and the pools of her eyes swam with tears. “No, you’re not just Jack anymore. You never were.”