Song of Blood & Stone (Earthsinger Chronicles #1)(63)

The man looked at her sharply, evidently surprised at her command of Elsiran. He glanced at her dress, obviously expensive even in its wet state and so different from the threadbare fabric covering the refugees. She’d not seen this man before, and he probably had no idea as to her identity, but he could plainly see she was different than the rest.

“This witchcraft will not be tolerated,” the captain said.

Jasminda crossed her arms and stood her ground. “Exactly what witchcraft are you referring to?”

The man glowered at her, rain dripping off his nose. Jasminda looked around, searching for what could have angered the soldiers into withholding the rations. Finally, she looked down at her dress, clinging to her wet body. The rain had stopped where she stood, yet it still poured upon the captain standing less than a metre away. She looked to the sky—overcast—and then around at the camp. About a dozen metres of land were dry in the midst of the rain.

The explanation turned out to be simple. Several lines of laundry had been run between the tents near the entrance of the camp. Someone had cast a small spell, most likely to avoid having the clean laundry rained upon.

“It’s just a spell for the laundry, Captain,” she said, pointing to the lines of clothes.

The man’s face hardened. “It’s evil. The whole lot of you grols are evil.” He spat, aiming at Jasminda’s feet on the dry part of the ground. The Sisters raised their voices in protest.

A boy of about twelve or thirteen came to stand next to her. She did a double take, recognizing him as the child who’d aided the settlers in Baalingrove. On her other side, two old men she hadn’t seen before regarded the confrontation warily.

Outrage overcame the pain of the words she’d heard so many times before. “You have no right to withhold the rations, Captain. You have orders to feed these people. Where is your honor?”

The captain’s face contorted. “You’ll not speak to me of honor, witch.”

“Just leave the food here. We’ll carry it in ourselves.” She pointed and moved toward the nearest crate. The boy at her side approached, as well.

“Stay back, witch. Don’t come any closer.” The captain’s hand hovered near the pistol strapped to his waist.

Jasminda stilled, but the boy kept moving, not understanding the captain’s command. In the space of a heartbeat, the captain pulled his sidearm and pointed it at the boy. The entire line of soldiers drew their rifles on the gathered refugees. The Sisters, startled, took several steps back.

“No!” Jasminda screamed. In Lagrimari, she shouted, “Stop!”

The boy looked over at her, brows drawn. His eyes glittered, warm and golden brown, lighter than most Lagrimari’s. His face still held the roundness of youth, but those enchanting eyes were hard.

The boy took another defiant step toward the food. Somewhere close-by, a woman screamed, “Timmyn!” He tensed, hearing his name, then took another step.

Time slowed as Jasminda shook her head and opened herself to Earthsong, struggling to work out the shield technique she'd witnessed Rozyl use during their unexpected link. It worked just enough so that the other energies weren’t screaming in her head, drowning out her thoughts and severing her connection, but she was far from proficient. The soldiers’ emotions were a whirlwind of fear and aggression. Too far gone to be soothed by Earthsong, even if she’d been strong enough to do so.

She reached out to Timmyn and found the well of pain to be deep. He was in a place beyond hearing, yet she still wished she had the power to push a message to him the way Osar could. You don’t have to prove anything, she wanted to tell him. We will not let you starve here. I know the prince, and he would never allow it. Her helplessness crushed her as she felt his hurt.

When the shot rang out, Jasminda lost her connection to Earthsong. She grabbed at the air in front of her, too far away to catch him as Timmyn fell backward onto the ground. A deep-crimson stain ballooned across the fabric of his shirt. Jasminda looked up at the caption in horror. His face was an emotionless mask.

She fell to her knees. Her breath came in short, shallow bursts. Tears blurred her vision. She vaguely registered a group of refugees taking the boy away to be healed. Through the fog she heard Vanesse speaking somewhere close-by. Her words were just a jumble of sounds that didn’t penetrate. Time ceased to exist. All she could hear was the crack of the gun and the thud of Timmyn’s body hitting the earth, over and over again.

Wetness on her shoulder brought back her awareness. Nash stood over her, rain dripping from his jacket. He held out a hand. She took it and struggled to her feet. Her legs were stiff from kneeling for who knows how long.

The soldiers parted for them as Nash led her back to the town car. Jasminda looked over her shoulder. The rest of the crowd had long ago disappeared into their tents; all that remained was a ghost town.





CHAPTER EIGHT


Bedlam Strikes Refugee Camp



(continued from page 1)

An ambassador from the palace to the refugee camp, Ms. ul-Sarifor was a witness to the attack by the refugees on Elsiran military personnel. While she did not take part in the attempted mutiny, a witness reports that her presence may have inflamed tensions and emboldened the Lagrimari to pursue their assault.



According to sources within the palace, Ms. ul-Sarifor is purported to be an Elsiran citizen of mixed heritage and was specifically requested by the Prince Regent to initiate diplomacy with the foreigners on our soil.