Song of Blood & Stone (Earthsinger Chronicles #1)(73)

Her stay in the palace is said to be ongoing, and while officials are tight-lipped as to her other assigned duties, our eyes and ears remain open.



“The Rosira Daily Witness is not much more than an extended gossip column,” Lizvette was saying, though the oceanic roar of blood rushing through Jasminda’s ears made it difficult to hear. A bubble of despair burst in her chest as she read the headlines and scanned the other articles. She pushed the paper away, not wanting to read any more.

Lizvette’s eyes were glassy, her face sorrowful. “The press has always bothered him. They’ve never cut him any slack. Ever since his mother’s . . . emigration. And now it’s worse than it was then.” She clucked her tongue. “She was too young and possibly too delicate for the demands of palace life. It broke her.”

Lizvette did not mention anything of Prince Edvard’s treatment of her, but maybe that was not common knowledge.

Eyes the color of dying embers singed Jasminda. “He needs to be seen as strong. He needs to fill Alariq’s shoes and be loved by his people and not hated. Do you understand?”

Jasminda nodded, fighting the approaching tears.

“Father says if he marries well, he can put these troubles behind him.”

Cold fingers gripped Jasminda’s heart. Lizvette’s head lowered as she stared at the carpeting. A chilling knowledge bit Jasminda. She reached out for Earthsong again, this time prepared for the woman’s hidden emotions. The longing pervading her Song was not a futile thing as it would be for a departed lover. It was vibrant, vigorous, and full of life.

“Are you in love with him?” Jasminda asked, her whole chest numb.

Lizvette blinked, momentarily taken aback at the question. A crack of vulnerability broke through her poised demeanor. In an instant, it was gone. She rose. “I only offer you advice. Please be careful. It would break him if anything happened to you.”

She left the room in a cloud of soft perfume, completely extinguishing the dying cinders of hope still clinging to life inside Jasminda.




The Council Room emptied, leaving Jack the sole occupant. Staring at the wood grain of the table. Sitting in the chair his brother had occupied. And his father. And his grandfather and great-uncle. A member of the Alliaseen family had been the Prince Regent since the loss of the Queen. The blood in his veins was noble, royal. That was supposed to mean he possessed the best qualities of an Elsiran.

Honor. Loyalty. Dependability.

Calladeen had said that honor was doing the hard thing and letting history determine your legacy.

Jack asked himself what Alariq would have done, what his father would have done. And they would have done exactly as he had.

They would have sent the refugees back.

Back to a life that was not a life. Back to die.

He could not save them, any of them.

His mother, gone without a word. His brother, determined to pilot that wretched airship, no matter how foolish. Jasminda, harassed by a member of his own Council. The press would soon follow.

He was unworthy of the crown, the responsibility, the power.

Even unworthy of the woman he loved.

When she’d walked away from him at the ball, the pain in her face seized him like nothing before. He could not deny he loved her. As Prince Regent, it should have been within his power to give her the world. Instead, she had to remain hidden, denied.

What would his legacy be? Would the pages of the history books be kind? Or would they only remember him for dooming hundreds of innocents? For the loss of an entire nation?

This illusion of peace would be short-lived.

The True Father would destroy the Mantle—if not tomorrow, then next month or next year. And what then? Being right would not save his people.

The knots in the wood of the table kept their silence, though they stared back at him in accusation. He did not blame them.




War.

Silent versus Songbearer.

Blood in the streets.

Silent outnumber Songbearers more than ten to one, and while Eero has not turned them all against us, he has managed to bring many more than I ever imagined over to his side.

I always thought he was able to wrap me around his finger because of my weakness for him, my love. But it is a talent of his. He is charming. When he talks, people listen. They believe and trust him. They follow him, taking up arms against their neighbors, rending our land in two.

Our Songs make us a fearsome foe, though Earthsong cannot be used to kill. Besides, none who have felt the energy of a million lives strumming in his or her veins can rejoice in sending any living creature to the World After.

Early on, we healed any Silent harmed in an attack. The Assembly believed this would bring them to our side. But it did not. I cannot understand if the Silent are jealous of our Songs or fearful of them. The truth likely lies in a combination of the two.

Swords clash. The Silent fight through the rain and ice, the mudslides and fire. They are pelted with rocks, tumbled with earthquakes, but they persist.

It is within the power of the Songbearers to entirely unmake the land from the fabric of its being, in the same way that our grandparents did the reverse, creating a beautiful landscape where once a desert stood. But we think of the future—a future of peace.

Eero knows my weaknesses. He knows me too well. I should never have been made Queen to lead the fight against him. I am the last person that should have been chosen.