Song of Blood & Stone (Earthsinger Chronicles #1)(64)
Jack crumpled the thin newsprint in his fist. He knew very well there had been no attempted mutiny. The evening papers had gone from printing gossip and long-ago scandals to outright lies. He regretted more than ever not being able to make it to Jasminda’s rooms the night before. Palace business had kept him up late into the night, and he’d fallen sleep at his desk, surrounded by paperwork. He hadn’t realized she’d been so close to the child’s shooting.
News of the incident had enraged Jack the moment he’d heard. The captain had been arrested immediately, and while the boy had made a full recovery due to the camp’s Earthsingers, Jack was resolved to court martial the offending officer. A decision that would no doubt be met with opposition.
The door to his office opened, and Usher stepped in. Faint music filtered in through the open door.
“You will have to at least make an appearance, young sir.” Usher stood looking reprovingly at him.
“I don’t know why they didn’t cancel the bloody thing. Now is no time for a ball.”
“Third Breach Day falls on the same day every year. They cannot cancel an entire ball because the Prince Regent is in a foul temper.”
Jack stood, rolling down his shirtsleeves and buttoning them. “Don’t I have the right to be in a temper when unarmed children are being shot? When this entire country seems to have fallen victim to lunacy? At what point, I ask you, am I permitted to be upset?”
Usher picked up Jack’s discarded formal dinner jacket and held it out for him. He slipped his arms through and focused on working up some joviality for the ball he was being forced to attend. It wouldn’t do for him to scowl his way through, giving more fodder for the papers. Only one thing would truly make him smile, though.
“Is she coming?” he asked, unable to keep the hope from his voice.
“Would it be wise for her to?”
Jack’s shoulders slumped.
“She would prefer not to be at the center of any undue attention. Isn’t that what you agreed to?”
“I know, I know. It’s just . . .” He sighed and checked his appearance in the mirror. He looked tired, older than he had even a week ago. For a moment, he had an inkling of how this position could have turned his father into a brute. Jack could feel his edges hardening. The bit of himself that he’d always held back when he’d been in the army, that person he would have been if he’d been born to a baker or a farmer had always remained inside him, catching the odd glimpse of sunlight in stolen moments when he hadn’t had to flex his muscles as the High Commander. But that hidden self was now being choked. The only times he could seem to breathe anymore were when he was with Jasminda, and even then they had to remain hidden, secret. He couldn’t acknowledge anything true about himself, and he was afraid it was changing him.
He stalked down the hallways toward the cacophony of the ball. The ballroom had been decorated, somewhat garishly, in orange, the color of Third Breach Day. Each of the seven breaches had a holiday attached to them, initially as a memorial for all that had been lost in the wars, but more recently it was just an excuse for a celebration. None were as lavish as the yearly Festival of the Founders where all work ceased for three days, but each Breach Day was commemorated by excessive decorations in the color of the holiday and a palace ball for the aristocracy.
Jack entered the corridor outside the rear of the ballroom where a dozen butlers were organizing trays of appetizers. The lead butler did a double take and rushed over, admonishing him, in the most respectful way, for being in the servants’ hall. Jack brushed off the man’s request to stop the band and make a formal announcement of the Prince Regent’s arrival.
“I just want to watch for a bit,” Jack said. “I promise you can announce me once this dance is finished. I’d hate to interrupt.” The butler’s obsequious expression barely hid his displeasure at this interruption to the normal order of things, but he backed off, allowing Jack to peek through the curtains separating the hall from the ballroom.
This was the vantage from where he’d watched these events when he was too young to attend and still longed to. The elegance, the glamor—long ago he’d found them fascinating. Now all he wanted to do was escape.
The band played one of the up-tempo, syncopated melodies that had become popular of late. Couples on the dance floor marched back and forth to the beat of the music. He wasn’t the best at these modern dances but enjoyed them more than the tamer, boring classic steps.
A delicate fragrance reached his nostrils, and for a moment, his heart rose in his chest. But the light feminine scent wasn’t Jasminda. He turned to find Lizvette standing next to him.
“How did I know I’d find you hiding back here?” she said, a smile on her lips. There was still tension around her eyes, but Jack knew that would take time to fade.
“What can I say? I’m terribly predictable.”
She stepped to him, linking an arm through his and peering out at the crowded dance floor. “Perhaps consistent is a better word.”
“Yes, I far prefer that. And I’m not hiding. I’m biding my time.”
She chuckled and pulled him toward the doorway. “Come, Your Grace. There is no time like the present. And yes, I would love to dance.”
He barely masked his grimace and followed her out past the bewildered lead butler just as the band finished the current song. The man scampered up to the microphone on the bandstand and rushed through the recitation of Jack’s titles at top speed as all present bowed.