Song of Blood & Stone (Earthsinger Chronicles #1)(9)

“The only way to the other side is through it,” he said. She blinked, staring at him blankly before the corners of her mouth rose a tiny fraction. He hadn’t seen her smile yet, and even this hint of one lightened him. She closed her eyes, and soon the warm buzz of Earthsong poured into him like a fizzy cola. He opened the largest box he could to tuck away the pain and imagined Jasminda’s smile.




Jasminda lay awake in bed, straining to hear any movement in the house. Had she slept at all? She couldn’t be sure. Dull moonlight filtered in through Mama’s frilly curtains. It was several hours to dawn, so she must have dozed a little. Her last full night of sleep had been days ago, before she left for town and this nightmare began. Exhaustion hollowed her bones. Her Earthsong had been depleted again by helping Jack. She’d wanted to keep some in reserve to better monitor the soldiers, but the Elsiran’s wounds were severe. Though her Song was too weak to effect a complete healing, the infected flesh was gone, and he would live another day.

Her muscles tensed and she held her breath, listening. Was that the creak of a floorboard? Gripping the shotgun she’d taken to bed in one hand, she reached under her pillow for her father’s hunting knife. Another, smaller blade was already strapped to her thigh.

She rose, seized with the desire to check on Jack. The men had left him tied to the porch, saying even the barn was too good for the likes of him. She wrapped herself in a robe, hiding the shotgun in its folds, and slipped down the stairs. Snores rumbled from behind the doors of both bedrooms. Pushing down the anger at having strangers around her parents’ and brothers’ possessions, she crept through the kitchen to peer out the window.

Jack lay on his back shivering, hands bound in front of him, feet tied to the porch railing. She doubled back to the main room to grab a quilt, then went out and draped his shuddering body. He didn’t appear conscious, but when she began to move away, he grabbed her hand through the blanket.

“Thank you,” he said in Elsiran. She cast a glance into the quiet shadows hugging the porch.

“They didn’t feed you, did they? You must be hungry,” she whispered, drawing the quilt closer around his neck.

“Mmm,” he groaned, leaning his cheek against her hand. His skin was cold and clammy, face drawn and gaunt, and yet she could not pull away. She brushed his forehead and ran her fingers through his short hair. He did not flinch from her touch, but sank into it. His hair was like the soft bristles of a brush, his expression serene as she stroked his head. The fierceness in his face had once again been replaced by a soulful calm.

Such a contradiction, this Elsiran. Neither her skin nor her magic frightened him, yet he had more reason than most to hate Lagrimari. Of course, she wasn’t Lagrimari, but she wasn’t truly Elsiran, either. She forced herself to pull away.

“I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be here,” he said, a small smile playing on his lips.

She rooted around the dark pantry to produce a tin of jerky and some dried fruit. She returned to give him a few strips of jerky, then pulled up a loose board in the floor where she could hide the food.

“You can get to this when no one’s looking. You’ll need to build up your strength.”

“We are truly in Elsira?” His accent was lilting and formal, and it put her in mind of her mama’s, a good deal more refined than those of the townsfolk.

“We are.”

His forehead crinkled in confusion. “But you are Lagrimari?”

“My papa was a settler; Mama was Elsiran. She was in the Sisterhood. That’s how they met.”

“I’ve never heard of such a pairing.”

Jasminda shook her head, expression grim. “She fell pregnant, and her family disowned her. Papa found this place and built a home for them.”

She stroked the board beneath her feet, cut and nailed with her father’s two hands, a structure that proclaimed a love that never should have been. That even now, twenty years later, was not accepted.

“We’re so far out, the Prince Regent doesn’t even send tax collectors. He must not know we exist.” She ducked her head, unable to stop thinking of her family in the plural. Their lives were etched into the walls and the floors; even the smell of the air brought them back to her. She clenched her jaw to keep the emotion at bay.

Jack laid his hand on hers, and her skin tingled at the contact. The intensity in his expression dissolved her creeping sorrow, bringing instead a pang of yearning. She did not touch people. She barely even spoke to people. She was either here alone with no one but the animals as audience, or in town armoring herself against the cutting stares. The tingle in her hand turned into a warm heat that threatened to spread. With great effort, she pulled away from the impossible temptation of his body.

“How far is it to—”

He paused as a floorboard inside the house groaned under the weight of heavy footsteps. Jasminda froze as another floorboard creaked. She grabbed her shotgun, scooted away, and crept down the steps into the yard. The moonlight cast heavy shadows on the yard and she crouched beside a cherry tree, holding her breath.

Two soldiers darkened the doorway. They stepped onto the porch. One nudged Jack with his foot, and Jack moaned, pretending to be asleep. The men chuckled to themselves and leaned over him.

“You’re sure the sergeant is out?” one of the men said. Ginko, she thought his name was.