Song of Blood & Stone (Earthsinger Chronicles #1)(72)
It was as if history and myth had intertwined somehow, and vital facts had been lost or obscured. And now she was beginning to understand the truth through the visions. She wasn’t sure if she could trust what she saw, but there was nothing in the recorded histories that could disprove what the caldera showed. And the emotions she felt when she was Oola, the Queen, were all too real. Every sorrow, every bit of angst and guilt and fear became hers, and lasted long after she came back to herself.
The time between the visions was shortening, as well. This morning she’d seen a brief vision of Yllis asking Oola to marry him. It was not the first time he’d asked, and she again denied him. Her emotions had been unstable—finding her brother and restoring peace to their land had been all she could think about—but her Song sensed Yllis’s frustration and pain. The vision had ended abruptly, almost in the middle of a thought, and Jasminda hoped she would be strong enough to try the caldera again later that night.
She looked up from her spot on the floor and stifled a gasp to find Lizvette standing before her, willowy and elegant in a cream-colored gown.
“I didn’t mean to shock you. Please forgive me,” Lizvette said.
“No, I’m sorry. You haven’t been standing there long, have you?”
“No.” The generous way she smiled made Jasminda think that wasn’t precisely the case.
Jasminda rose and tiptoed her way out of the prison of books she’d created, motioning to a set of chairs at one of the study tables. Lizvette perched in her seat, back straight, hands folded neatly in her lap. Jasminda copied her pose, but her body didn’t take to it naturally.
“My maid told me you were often found here. I’d meant to visit earlier.”
“Well, I thank you for thinking of me. I don’t get many visitors.”
Lizvette looked around. “I never come in here. It’s so odd that I’ve lived in the palace all my life and rarely take advantage of its resources.”
Jasminda shrugged. “It’s easy to take things for granted. Hard to believe the things that seem permanent can ever be taken away.” She sank in her seat like a deflating balloon.
“You have had a great many losses?” Lizvette’s body was rigid, but her voice kind.
“I’ve lost everything. Everything I’ve ever had.” Jasminda snapped her back straight again and refused to give in to the melancholy. “But I’m sure you don’t want to hear about my sorrows.”
“I cannot imagine what it must be like.”
“You’ve had your share.”
Lizvette’s only response was a thinning of her lips. Jasminda opened herself to a trickle of Earthsong, becoming better at shielding each time she tried. Lizvette’s emotions swirled in a storm of grief and longing. Surprised at their strength and depth, Jasminda lost her hold and the connection slammed shut. The other woman’s placid, controlled face hid a maelstrom of pain.
Jasminda’s heart went out to her. “Would it . . . help to talk about him?”
Lizvette’s eyes widened, and her hands clenched in her lap.
“Prince Alariq?” Jasminda prompted. “It’s said talking about our departed ones keeps them alive in our hearts.”
Lizvette released her hands to the arms of the chair and took a deep breath. “Oh, Alariq. Yes. I mean, no, thank you. I—” She smoothed out the fabric of her pristine dress and smiled. “I came to see you to give you a warning. I’m afraid it might not be safe for you here in the palace. Things are becoming quite strained with public opinion regarding the refugees. Jack is doing his best, but he faces heavy opposition.”
Jasminda’s slippered foot tapped the floor as tension seeped into her limbs. “As long as your father votes against sending the refugees back, Jack will be fine, right?”
Lizvette brushed imaginary lint from her gown. Jasminda counted to three before the other woman met her eye.
“He’s changed his mind?” Jasminda asked. “He cannot believe the True Father will keep his word of peace?”
Lizvette shook her head. “But the business owners, the aristocrats . . . the Council answers to them even more than to the Prince Regent. And they want the refugees gone. They are threatening not to sell food to the Principality if any of it is meant for the refugees.”
“They would starve all the people over this?”
“And blame the prince.”
Jasminda fell back in the chair. Lizvette’s words hammered against the inside of her skull. The intolerance and cruelty of people should not surprise her anymore. She had seen so little of the world but much pain wherever she went. Too much pain.
“And you think someone will harm me?” Calladeen’s vicious face popped into her mind.
Lizvette’s long neck stretched impossibly longer. She stood and crossed to the shelves, holding the most recent newspapers. “Have you seen today’s paper?”
When Jasminda shook her head, Lizvette brought it over, smoothing the pages on the table.
Lagrimari Ambassador Has Prince in a Twist
The royal ambassador to the Lagrimari refugee camp, a Miss Jasminda ul-Sarifor, age and birthplace unknown, is noted for her rare command of Elsiran, as well as the Lagrimari tongue. But apparently His Grace the Prince Regent has tongues around the palace wagging with his reported admiration for the woman. Prince Jaqros has turned down the social invitations of several lovely young women in the Elsiran inner circle, purportedly to further his relationship with the exotic and interbred ul-Sarifor.