Song of Blood & Stone (Earthsinger Chronicles #1)(79)
She writhed and twisted, but the fellow holding her had arms of iron. Deciding to save her strength, she relaxed her body and the man’s grip lessened somewhat. Stealthily, she inched her skirt up to reach for the serrated knife strapped to her leg. Removing the blade, she twisted again preparing to slam it into her captor’s thigh. The driver’s gaze flicked to her in the rearview mirror, and he wrenched the steering wheel, swerving the car and knocking the knife from her grip.
Her captor growled and smashed her head against the window, momentarily blacking out her vision. She stilled as her wits returned and rested her head against glass to cool the pounding.
Lizvette’s betrayal shouldn’t have been as shocking as it was. The woman’s coy warnings the day before had been for what? To simply mask her own desire to do Jasminda harm?
As they wound their way through the city, another possibility emerged as to Lizvette’s true intentions. Maybe she simply wanted Jasminda out of the way. Then the auto made a turn onto a dirt road that led only one place.
The camp was in chaos when they arrived, stopping just past a line of waiting buses. The man holding her, whose face she still hadn’t seen, pulled her from the auto. She stumbled before finding her footing. Dismay and anger bubbled within as she was pushed along.
Dozens of Sisters stood before her, arms locked together, attempting to form a human barrier between the soldiers and the refugees. The Sisters repeated a prayer over and over, asking the Queen Who Sleeps for protection.
Starting at the end of the line, the soldiers pried the Sisters’ hands and arms apart as the women’s prayer grew louder. Behind the Sisters, many of the refugees were lining up solemnly in rows, waiting to board the buses, resigned to their fate. But some would not go quietly. As the soldiers broke through the resistance of the Sisters, a handful of refugees screamed and wailed, planting themselves on the ground and refusing to move.
Soldiers handcuffed those who protested and held them under armed guard before forcibly placing them on the buses. The man holding Jasminda transferred her to a young soldier who dragged her over to the group of restrained refugees and pushed her to the ground. Four men trained their rifles on the group.
She angled her head down until she could pull the gag from her mouth, then sucked in deep breaths, surveying the turmoil around her.
A white-haired general barked orders, instructing his men to ensure every Lagrimari made it across the border. No exceptions.
“What if they won’t go?” a lieutenant asked.
“Shoot them.”
Jasminda shivered. Those couldn’t have been Jack’s orders, but it didn’t seem to matter.
Screams and cries filled the air. The protesting Sisters were being gathered, some handcuffed, as well, although they were treated far more gently than the refugees. Among them was Aunt Vanesse, who spotted Jasminda and broke away from the others to rush to her side. She was distraught, her neat topknot had slipped out and her robes were covered in splotches of mud.
“Oy!” Vanesse hailed one of the officers and pointed to Jasminda. “She is not a Lagrimari; she is an Elsiran citizen.”
The lieutenant looked at Jasminda askance and raised his eyebrows. “Do you have proof of that, Sister?”
“You have my word as an Elsiran. This girl’s mother was my sister,” Vanesse pleaded.
The lieutenant shrugged. “Even if that were true, we’re under orders.” He looked Jasminda up and down again. “How Elsiran can she be if she looks that much like a grol?” He shrugged and walked away.
Vanesse screamed at the man, and Jasminda reached for her hand, clasping it in her bound ones. Vanesse fell to her knees, sobbing, but a strange calm had fallen over Jasminda. In the midst of all this chaos, one truth was clear.
“We both know I don’t really belong here.”
“No. You’re all I have left of Emi. I will find someone who will listen. You don’t belong over there, either.” Vanesse shuddered. “We can find a place for you. I promise.” She squeezed Jasminda’s hands.
Jasminda smiled through her own welling tears. “Do you even have a place here? A way to be who you really are? With the person you love?”
Vanesse reared back as if slapped. Her mouth hung open. “What do you know of that?”
“I know that I love someone I can never be with. Not openly. And I thought stolen moments would be enough, but they’re not. I don’t want to be a secret, hidden away never allowed to see the light of day. I don’t want to be a liability. I want to be a treasure.”
Recognition lit within Vanesse. She nodded slowly and wiped at her eyes. “I’m not giving up, but for now, you should take this.” She pulled a worn envelope from the pocket of her robes. “Emi sent it to me a long time ago, but I think it belongs to you.”
Jasminda recognized her mother’s delicate handwriting. Her fingers shook as she opened it. Inside was a photograph, the same image of her family that had sat atop the mantle at home.
“This burned in the fire,” she whispered in awe, tracing the outlines of her parents and brothers. “I thought I’d never—”
Vanesse placed her palm on Jasminda’s cheek, then leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “You are a treasure. I’m sorry that you’ve never felt that way.” She stood, smoothing out her robes, her expression faraway.
“If you can get a message to the prince . . .” Jasminda said. There was little chance that Vanesse could get through to Jack in time. An unknown woman, even one of the Sisterhood, was unlikely to receive an audience with the Prince Regent.