Song of Blood & Stone (Earthsinger Chronicles #1)(81)
“Vette, we have known each other all our lives. You must tell me.”
Her jaw quivered, but she nodded, darting a glance at the closed door. “He wanted me to be the princess. I suppose it would make up somewhat for me being born a girl. Alariq was kind, but he never held my heart.”
She looked at him pointedly, and his stomach sank in understanding. He opened his mouth, unsure of what to say, but she continued. “When Alariq died, Father didn’t miss a beat. He was determined to be the grandfather of the next Prince Regent, no matter what it took. Jasminda was an obstacle, but one that worked in his favor. If you would not choose me of your own free will, then he would give you a push.”
“What kind of push?”
“Feeding information to the press. Giving them fodder for the fire. Presenting me as the solution.”
“And you went along with this, Vette? Why?”
She swallowed and brushed away the wetness from her cheeks. “I never wanted to hurt you, and I certainly never wanted to see her harmed. But Jack, you are the Prince Regent of Elsira. You must marry well. Your wife is not just for you; she will be the princess of the land. Did you really think there was a future with her? It’s for the best that she leave now with the others.”
Jack shot to his feet as the ache in his chest seemed to spread to his whole body. His hands pulled at the short ends of his hair, searching for a release from his frustration. “Lizvette, there is no future for me without her.”
“So she should have stayed here, hidden away for the rest of time so you could sneak into her chambers? And then what? What about when you need an heir? She’s to be content being your mistress while you sire the next prince with someone else?”
“You had no right! Not to decide her fate. Did she get on that bus willingly?”
Lizvette turned her face to the fire. “I gave explicit instructions that she was not to be harmed.”
Jack leaned against his desk, imagining Jasminda fighting tooth and nail against whatever hired thugs Lizvette had acquired.
“Did you think of what it must have been like for her?” Lizvette looked down to her folded hands. “If one day, someone ever loves me, I would hope they would scream it from the rooftops.” Her smile was brittle.
Jack fell onto the couch and slumped down. Lizvette was right. In a perfect world, he would have shouted his love for Jasminda from every window in the palace . . . but the world was far from perfect.
A knock sounded at the door, and a Guardsman entered.
“Your Grace, radio communication with the refugee caravan is down due to the thunderstorm. We’re unable to contact them.”
“Then send a telegram to the Eastern Base and keep trying the caravan. I want to make sure she doesn’t step one foot inside Lagrimar.”
“Yes, sir.” The Guardsman spun on his heel, readying to leave.
“Wait.” Weariness lay over Jack like a blanket. He looked at Lizvette and sighed. “Take her to the Guard’s offices for questioning. The charge is kidnapping. And arrest Minister Nirall, as well.”
Lizvette stood and brushed her dress off, her sad eyes relaying an apology. Jack’s head fell to his hands as the weight of the crown grew even heavier.
The noise of the crash reverberated through the bus, screams and wails, crunching metal and glass. Then all movement ceased, and they were held in a bubble of stillness for a pregnant moment. Jasminda may have lost consciousness, she was not certain, but after a timeless period of insensibility, the world came back piece by piece.
First, the cold rain seeping into her clothing. Burning metal tinged with blood and fuel assaulted her nose. Crying, moaning, agonizing sounds of suffering. The tinny taste of blood on her tongue. Osar’s eyes, inches from her own, peering at her. The warmth of Earthsong cradling her in calm, knitting her wounds.
Jasminda jerked to life, flexing her arms and legs. The bus had landed on its right side. Those in the window seats, like herself, would have sustained the worst injuries. She was sore, but whatever injuries she’d had, Osar had healed. Her hands were now free; the bar she’d been chained to was cracked and the chain broken, leaving only the heavy silver bracelets on her wrists.
She levered herself up and held out her arms for Osar. He fell against her, and she squeezed him close. The uninjured helped the injured from the wreckage. As they clambered out, they found the two buses directly behind them in the caravan had also crashed, unable to avoid the accident.
Chaos reigned on the ground as the last of the refugees were rescued from the wrecked buses. Faces peered out the windows of the other buses farther back in the convoy. On the ground, severe injuries were being tended to by the children, using Earthsong. Soldiers stood grouped together, huddled around maps and radio transmitters or tending their own injured.
Jasminda set a young girl she’d been carrying down on the sodden ground, then straightened. In the east, the muted glow of dawn emerged behind the mountains. Perhaps a two-day’s walk to the southeast lay her mountain. Buried hope bloomed in her heart.
An old barn loomed a hundred metres away. If Jasminda were to go now, during this confusion, she could escape and could keep the caldera safe. She would head to her valley where odds were that no one would find her.
She searched the crowd for Turwig and Gerda but couldn’t find them. Osar was healing a woman she didn’t recognize. Most of the other Earthsingers were resting. Hopefully not many more needed healing, and the healers’ magic would not be exhausted, but there were too many people around—injured and uninjured—for Jasminda to search through. She would have no chance to say her good-byes. This may be her only opportunity to escape.