Song of Blood & Stone (Earthsinger Chronicles #1)(60)

Jack backed away. “The title Minister of Innovation fits you too well. But this is outlandish. I could never do such a thing to the memory of my brother, nor to Lizvette.”

“You could honor him by maintaining his legacy. He chose my daughter for a reason, and you and she have always been friends. I do not believe the idea would be as unappealing to her as you think.”

Jack held up a hand. “Please stop. I do not want to hear any more of this. I cannot.”

“Forgive me, Your Grace. I won’t speak of it again.” Nirall bowed formally and took his leave.

Usher shut the door and came to stand by Jack’s side.

“Has everyone gone mad, Usher?” When he did not respond, Jack looked over. “What? You can’t think that lunacy makes sense?”

“Alariq was popular with the people. He had the luxury of waiting to marry. An unpopular man is aided by a well-loved wife.”

“Don’t spit platitudes at me, old man. How could she be well loved, jumping from one brother to the next?”

“Your grandmother did the very same thing to much regard when her first husband died. The people like continuity.”

“The people are idiots.”

Usher set a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I’m sure the feeling is mutual.”

Jack scowled and shrugged off the contact. “I do not love her.”

“Many things will be required of you in your new position, young sir. Unfortunately, falling in love is not one of them.”

Jack’s gaze fell upon the newspaper. He stormed over to the bureau, snatched up the offending sheets, and threw them into the fire.




That afternoon a different driver met Jasminda at the outer doors of the palace. He looked to be in his early thirties and greeted her with an affable smile. As she settled in her seat, instead of the stony silence she’d received from the first driver, this one asked about her day and commented on the probability of rain.

“What’s your name?” she asked, leaning forward in her seat. In the rearview mirror she noticed his eyes were a sparkling shade of green. She’d never seen eyes that color.

“I’m Nash, miss. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Have you lived in Rosira all your life?”

He chuckled. “Oh no, miss. I’m Fremian. I’ve been here . . . going on three years now. I reached master level in the Hospitality Guild, and when I passed my Level Ones—that’s the exam—I had my pick of positions. Most go to Yaly, but I’ve always liked living by the sea. I started in the resorts up north and let me tell you . . .”

Nash certainly wasn’t short on conversation. He regaled her with stories during the trip and told how he came to Rosira following a young lady who had eventually relented and agreed to marry him. Nothing in his manner indicated any suspicion or distaste for Jasminda.

“Nash, I’m sorry to interrupt, but are there many Fremians in Elsira?”

“Not so many, miss. A few servants in the palace and at the premiere vacation spots, some professors at the university, too, but the immigration laws are strict. Down in Portside, you’ll see folk from every corner of the globe working the ships, but they’re prohibited from entering other parts of the city.”

Nash’s native Fremia was a land that valued knowledge and excellence above all else. They had the best schools and universities and offered elite training in everything from art, to science, to warfare and hospitality. Around the world, no one was better at what they did—no matter what it was—than a Fremian.

“And do your people have any . . . opinions on the Lagrimari?”

He gave her a knowing smile. “Fremia has always been neutral, miss. We stay out of the conflicts of other lands.”

They reached the camp, and the town car slowed to a stop. Nash turned in his seat to face her. “It isn’t like here. So many people from all over the world come to study back home, we’re used to differences of all kinds. It must be hard living in a land with so much sameness that any deviation at all stands out.”

She nodded but couldn’t find her voice to respond. Nash sobered, then straightened his hat and exited to help her out of the vehicle.

“I shouldn’t be too long,” she said.

He tipped his hat to her. “Take as long as you like, miss.”

The warm feeling she had from her conversation with Nash faded as she approached the camp. Apprehension about the minuscule progress she’d made with the caldera made her steps heavy.

She paused, noticing activity at the entrance. A familiar-looking boxy vehicle was parked right next to the tents. When a woman in blue robes emerged from the back, Jasminda’s heart nearly stopped. Two Sisters wrestled with boxes at the back of the wagon, but she could not see their faces. The Sisters wrangled their load to the ground while soldiers stood several feet away, watching, not offering assistance of any kind. As much as Jasminda wanted to stay rooted to the spot, she could not.

“Do you need help?” she called out.

The women turned, startled. One was middle-aged with an austere face. The other was Aunt Vanesse. Jasminda’s throat closed up to be once again face-to-face with her, but no recognition sparked in her aunt’s eyes.

“That would be lovely,” the older woman said, her musical voice at odds with her strict appearance. “You speak Elsiran quite well.”