Song of Blood & Stone (Earthsinger Chronicles #1)(56)
He leans his forehead to mine, his Song dancing at the edge of my perception, offering solace and comfort. I do not reach for it, but I am glad it is there.
“A way for what?” he says.
“To share my Song with him?”
A thoughtful look crosses his face. His studies with the Cantors are progressing; he is learning much about new spells, new ways to funnel and control the massive energy of Earthsong. “If there is a way, we will find it. I promise.”
His lips slide to mine, the kiss is not all-consuming, it is simply a reminder that he is here for me and that any problem I face, he faces, as well. My worries flee. I would do anything for my twin, and if it is a Song he desires, I will do all I can to give it to him.
Jasminda pressed her face to the glass of the auto as it drove through the city and back up the winding roads leading to the palace. The caldera pulsed in her pocket, making her always aware of it.
When she’d awoken from the last vision, she’d tried to touch the caldera again. With the Mantle coming down soon, she wanted to learn as much as she could as quickly as possible, but there had been no effect. Unlike whatever had happened in the mountain cave, this caldera used the strength of her own Song, and after two visions, she was depleted.
She’d held back when telling the Keepers of the last vision. She would reveal everything eventually, but she needed time to wrap her mind around what she’d seen. The girl she’d been, Oola, was an Earthsinger with skin the color of Jasminda’s own, and the girl had been born a twin to Eero, a Silent—as Oola called him—who resembled an Elsiran. These visions were windows into a world where Singers and Silents wed and apparently lived in peace with their children, normal and accepted. There had been no feeling of isolation in Oola’s thoughts, no sense of being always mistrusted or feared for her magic. On the contrary, her brother was jealous of her power.
As soon as Jasminda’s Song was restored she would try again. Unlocking the caldera’s secrets was now her only goal.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The newspaper cartoon displayed a baby with a shotgun in one hand and a scepter in the other, a crown of bullets sitting askew on his head. On one side, grotesque caricatures of Lagrimari refugees gobbled food from huge bowls, while on the other, waifish Elsiran farmers split a single loaf of bread.
An editorial on the same page detailed Prince Jaqros’s plan to starve his own people in favor of the refugees. It dredged up the swirling chaos surrounding his mother’s emigration after his father’s death. Those days had been dark ones. Jack’s hands curled into fists at the memory.
The country had mourned their beloved prince, but for ten-year-old Jack, a sense of hope had finally begun to creep into his life. The man who had terrorized both him and his mother couldn’t hurt them anymore. He’d thought his mother would feel the same relief he felt, but she slipped further and further away, becoming withdrawn and silent. One day she’d announced she was leaving. Not just on holiday, which would have been scandal enough during a time of mourning, but renouncing her citizenship and moving to Fremia.
She hadn’t even sought him out to say good-bye. Had merely left him a letter of apology, saying if she had to see his picture again in the papers or hear all the gushing praise for a man who’d been the source of their own private misery, she would take her own life. So she’d fled, leaving Jack alone to withstand the national animosity left in her wake.
Today’s newspaper article reported “no confidence that the offspring of a woman who many consider a traitor to her country could effectively rule.” Tales of Jack’s early missteps and indiscretions were laid out. Drunken brawls as a teenager. Being caught “cavorting” with the daughter of a Fremian official and almost inciting an international incident. His recent reckless undercover mission and subsequent disappearance. He was young and headstrong and prone to rash behavior.
Though the article did not specifically mention Jack’s, mostly empty, threat of Prince’s Right, it summarized constitutional law on the circumstances under which he could dissolve the Council and act alone. The article also took note that he had not yet relinquished his title of High Commander, strongly inferring that he had too much power.
Jack slammed the paper shut and tossed it to the ground. Usher stooped to pick it up, smoothing the folds and placing it neatly on the bureau.
“What happens if I abdicate?” he said, seriously considering the idea.
Usher sat next to Jack in the armchair in front of the fireplace, a finger to his lips in thought. “Your cousin Frederiq is a lovely boy, but a twelve-year-old Prince Regent would fare little better in the press, I’m afraid.”
Jack groaned. “The Council would run that child ragged and rule unchecked. Sovereign only knows what manner of damage they’d cause if left entirely to their own devices.” He rose and leaned against the mantelpiece. “I don’t know what to—”
Before he even finished his sentence, his secretary burst into his office. “The Council has called an emergency meeting, Your Grace. They’re threatening to vote without you.”
“Vote on what?”
“I’m not sure, sir. They said it was urgent.”
“Thank you, Netta.” He straightened his suit coat and headed for the Council Room.
All of the men were already there, and expectant faces regarded him, some far too smug for his liking.