Song of Blood & Stone (Earthsinger Chronicles #1)(50)

The great balloon portion that when filled with gas, lifted the machine into the air lay on its side. Heavy, reinforced cables attached it to the carriage. The inside offered seating for four, plus the pilot’s chair behind a great steering wheel.

Jack reached out for the polished wood of the carriage but drew his fingers away before they made contact. The windows sparkled deviously. Even the propeller attached to the front had been buffed to gleaming. From the outside, it was remarkable. It did not look like a coffin.

“What in all that is sacred possessed him to pilot this monstrosity?” A cold fear pummeled his gut.

“Alariq did not share your aversion to heights. He enjoyed every moment he spent in the air.”

“I am not averse to heights. Are we not standing on the roof?”

Usher’s eyebrows rose. “Yes, the roof of a building that is only three-stories high. Would you care to go to the clock tower and have this conversation?” He pointed to the tower below in the town square.

Jack’s eyes widened, but he swatted away the fear. “I’ll have you know I climbed a mountain three times, old man. Once with a bullet in me. Though I did manage to be pushed off a cliff by an avalanche for my trouble.” He shivered at the memory. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to stay on solid ground. If men had been intended to fly we would come with wings. Have someone take this thing away from here. It won’t see any use from me.”

Usher nodded, holding his peace for once. Jack stalked down the stairs and back into the thick of his life.





Jasminda stood at the intersection of two hallways. How was it possible that every corridor in the entire palace looked exactly alike? After her disastrous attempt to visit her family, she’d returned to the palace where the driver had dropped her off at the side entrance next to the vehicle depot. She’d hoped to be able navigate back to her rooms, but before she’d made it very far, her stomach had rumbled. With no intention of attending any more official dinners and unsure of the meal schedule here, she’d changed course for the kitchens. However, her confidence in her ability to manage the often crisscrossing, often dead-end passageways of the palace had been optimistic at best. Swiveling her head back and forth at the T-shaped intersection, she searched for a clue.

“May I be of assistance?” a deep voice purred behind her.

Jasminda turned to find the unpleasant man who’d practically dragged Lizvette away from her the night before watching her from a doorway. Tall and broad shouldered, he had unusually dark hair and a precise goatee. But he stared at her as if she were an item in the display case of the butcher’s shop.

She squared her shoulders and refused to be intimidated. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I am Jasminda ul-Sarifor.” She held out her hands, challenging him to greet her properly.

“Zavros Calladeen, Minister of Foreign Affairs.” He ignored her outstretched palms but bowed deeply. The bow was more formal than the pressing of hands and indicated a higher level of respect, but she got the sense he found it distasteful to touch her.

“I was searching for the kitchens,” she said.

“Are your servants inadequate?”

“No, no, my . . . the servants are fine. But I’m capable of feeding myself.” Her chin shot up, daring him to contradict her.

“Well then allow me to escort you,” he said, offering his elbow, though his expression made her think he meant to jab her with it.

“Oh, that’s not necessary.” She had no desire to spend another moment in his company.

“I must insist. It seems my cousin has taken quite a liking to you,” he said, motioning to the hallway on the left with a sweep of his arm. “As, of course, has our prince.” His long legs set a quick pace, and Jasminda hurried to catch up. “I would guess the palace is different than what you’re used to.”

“Yes, quite,” she said, nearly out of breath.

“And what is it you’re used to?”

“A small cabin. My family are goat farmers. Or, rather, we were. I was . . . am.” She nearly jogged alongside him to keep up.

“I see,” he said, raising an eyebrow. He led her down a flight of steps to a wide hallway. Even without Earthsong, she could sense an intense energy swirling around him like a cloud of dust. If she dared use her magic, she suspected she would find something dark lurking within him.

“And how do you find the royal palace?”

“Overwhelming.”

“And our Prince . . . How do you find him?” Zavros stopped so suddenly, Jasminda just narrowly avoided bumping into him.

His pointed gaze indicated that he knew why Jasminda was in the palace and considered her little more than Jack’s whore. Drawing herself up to her full height, she refused to look away, unwilling to be cowed by such a dreadful man.

“Prince Jaqros is everything honorable. We owe one another a life debt, you understand.”

“Yes, I have heard.” Zavros continued walking. “We Elsirans take our life debts seriously.”

“Yes, I am an Elsiran.”

“Half? Am I correct?”

“Excuse me?”

“You are half-Elsiran, are you not?”

“I was born in Elsira, as was my mother. My father was born in Lagrimar.”

“And he managed to seduce and impregnate one of our Elsiran maids.”