CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

The table legs must each bear their weight

evenly.

Their sturdy feet well-grounded,

flat and strong.

Like roots, they plant themselves and face the

consequence

of being what keeps its restless form

held down.

—THE HARMONY OF BEING

Darvyn stared out of the window of the town car up at the majestic house they’d pulled in front of. Heavy clouds had gathered overhead promising rain. The temperature was cold enough that it might even be snow.

“Are you certain this is the place?” he asked his driver, Erryl.

“Yes.” The man punctuated the statement with a big nod. “Got the info off a new palace maid whose brother is a Keeper. The Keepers have taken over this house all right, unlikely as it seems.”

While apparently in Elsira this was just a mere house, to Darvyn it was a mansion. Pale stucco the color of sandstone was topped with a dark, clay-tiled roof. The home had no front yard to speak of, just a strip of grass with large, verdant shrubbery separating the building from the iron fence protecting it from the street.

With his Song, he sensed the property’s inhabitants. Nearly two dozen were inside the house, along with a handful of guards hidden along the perimeter. He wiped a hand down his face and turned to Zeli. “Are you ready?”

She nodded resolutely. The girl had changed from the frightened mouse he’d first met weeks ago, bathing in the pride of serving Oola. Now she was stoic as a hardened soldier. Serious and driven, but without losing the innocence of youth or the spark of optimism that had also marked her.

Darvyn could not imagine what it must be like to lose your Song, and then to have it restored again … He deeply admired the young woman’s strength and fortitude. They exited the vehicle and stood on the narrow walkway.

“What did it feel like?” he asked. She turned to him, expression open and questioning. “Giving up your fear.”

She appeared pensive as she searched for the right words. “Like setting down a satchel filled with rocks that I’d carried my whole life. It’s not permanent, Gilmer said it will come back, but now I will know how to deal with it better.”

Darvyn nodded, envying her suddenly. “All right, you asked for help in using your Song. Tell me, how many people do you sense inside the building?”

She closed her eyes, concentrating. “Twenty, I think.”

“Twenty-two,” he said. “There are two elderly people on the main level. Their Earthsong is reduced due to their age.”

She scrunched her eyes shut and nodded. “Yes, I can feel that.”

“The ability to know what you’re facing is important. But don’t rely only on Earthsong. Use it in combination with your other senses.” He took a deep breath and exited the vehicle, waiting for her.

Rozyl had requested Darvyn come to speak to the Keepers. At first he’d balked. Given his history with the group, he wasn’t certain he was the right person. But Rozyl had said that she was having a tough time persuading them to help convince their Singers to man the emergency shelters. Most Keepers still held the Shadowfox in high esteem and his word would go far. They also did not believe that Songs could be restored, and Zeli had volunteered to accompany him and prove it.

“Do you know how to open locks?” he asked, trying to extend the teachable moment as well as offset his own discomfort. Zeli shook her head, but appeared eager.

“Heat can melt the lock. That’s the method I prefer. Though you can also manipulate the air to turn the latch, depending on the type of locking mechanism. I suppose you could freeze the metal and break it off, too. There are options.” He shrugged.

“Or you could just ring the bell,” a voice said from the other side of the fence, its owner hidden by a prickly bush.

Turwig appeared, his grandfatherly quality making Darvyn homesick for a moment. Though he’d grown up on the run and never had a permanent place to call home, the old man was the closest thing he had to a father.

“Darvyn,” Turwig said, inclining his head.

“This is Zeli,” Darvyn said, motioning to the young woman beside him. The old man’s eyes brightened, but Darvyn noted he hadn’t yet opened the gate. “I’m here to speak with you and the other elders about our strategy for the next attack.”

Turwig nodded and stepped backward. Darvyn used Earthsong to push open the gate, a waste of power really, but he rationalized that it would be instructive for Zeli.

They followed Turwig into the house, where the front door was opened by a waiting guard. Security here was high, but with such tension against Lagrimari among the Elsiran populace, that was understandable.

“How did you all acquire this house?” Darvyn asked as they stepped into a large foyer.

“It was vacant. The former owner passed away during the summer. We are technically squatting here. Does the queen wish to remove us?” Turwig raised a brow.

Darvyn rolled his eyes. They walked across the tiled floor, passing rooms furnished in what he recognized as an old-fashioned Elsiran style replete with dark wood and lush, thick fabrics. A group of young men and women in a sitting room looked up, shock and awe rippling from them through his Song.

The Shadowfox’s appearance here was unexpected. His split with the Keepers was not widely known, but rumors had filtered down to him, questions about his low profile in recent weeks while the rest of the group had been so visible and vocal. A frisson of guilt speared him—he could be doing a lot of good here, if only he could still trust them.

Zeli followed silently behind him, even her footsteps were quiet on the ornate tile. Turwig led them to a bright room in the back of the house, an entire wall of windows displaying an overgrown garden, graying and shriveled in preparation for the cold season.

Overstuffed couches and armchairs were grouped into clusters around the large space. Most of the leadership of the Keepers were gathered. Rozyl looked up at Darvyn’s entrance, a sense of relief from her hitting his Song. Aggar and Talida stared coldly from the corner. Four men he didn’t recognize sat with Hanko and Lyngar, speaking earnestly around a low table.

A graying woman shot from her seat to approach. “Tarazeli?” she called out, eyes wide.

“Gladda!” Zeli exclaimed, rushing over to be enveloped in the woman’s embrace.

“I’m so glad to see you doing well, child. What brings you here, and with the Shadowfox, no less?” The woman beamed over at him.

Darvyn recalled meeting her many years ago and was glad for the reminder of her name. He cleared his throat to address the suddenly quiet room. “I’ve been charged to relay a message from Queen Jasminda. She humbly requests the assistance of the Keepers in protecting the populace.”

The gazes of the others unnerved him somewhat, public speaking had not often been required of him, but he pressed on. “The True Father will attack again. He could strike at any moment—all of you either witnessed the wraiths or saw the aftermath of their assault. This plan that the queen and king are putting forth requires the assistance of every Singer we can get.”

“You expect us to believe that this child’s Song was restored?” Aggar scoffed, shifting his bulk in his seat.

“I’m not a child.” Zeli spoke gently but firmly. “And if I had no Song, how could I do this?” The wide armchair in which Aggar sat rose into the air. The man gripped the armrests and sputtered, kicking his legs out in panic. Darvyn couldn’t hide his smirk, though he managed not to laugh as the man and the chair lowered gently back to the floor.

“How do we even know your Song was taken, girl?” Lyngar grumbled, his well-lined face sagging further.

“I was there when she was sent to Sayya,” Gladda said. “I’ve know her since she was a child. Her parents were Keepers and friends of mine. She was shipped off for tribute far too young, and I comforted her when she returned, empty and broken.” She looked at Zeli with great fondness. “This is truly a miracle.”

Zeli shook her head. “Not a miracle. All who have lost their Songs can have them restored. Not just me.”

A chorus of disbelief rose as people broke into side conversations. There were questions, many questions, about the manner in which the Songs had been restored and what type of sacrifice would be necessary to ensure all Lagrimari would be affected. Few could wrap their minds around the idea of giving up fear.

Darvyn marveled at how calm Zeli remained, barraged by the group, and not everyone polite. She explained the concepts over and over again with a gentle patience Darvyn could never hope to master.

“We don’t know exactly what the sacrifice should be or if it is individual or collective,” she was saying, perhaps for the third time. “Should everyone make the same sacrifice or can they be different? None of us know yet. It is something we need to find out.”

“Why don’t we know?” someone asked.

Zeli pursed her lips. “When the Godd—when Oola and Queen Jasminda created the caldera, the king stone, they did not do so with any intent for the Songs to be released. In the heat of the moment, with the True Father ready to steal Oola’s Song again, they acted only to remove the stolen Songs from him and render him powerless. Usually, calderas are created with a method for unlocking them. As this one was not, the task is harder. But the presence of my Song restored is proof that it is not impossible. We need your help to spread the word. The more who know about the sacrifice, the better it will be when I find the obelisk. Then I’ll be able to do the spell, but it will only be successful with the aid and cooperation of the people.”

Darvyn nodded. “And we will also need your help with the existing Singers, convincing them to go to the storm shelters around the city and help the non-Singers and the Elsirans during the next attack.”

Mutters of discontent were a soft roar around the room.

“Our Singers are happy to help those who have lost their Songs,” Talida said, “but why should any of us give aid to the Elsirans?”

“And who says the Elsirans even want the help?” Lyngar snarled.

“There will be those who won’t accept our offer,” Darvyn admitted. “But protecting them is good for us all. If there are fewer wraiths attacking, then all of us are safer.”

Reluctant noises of agreement sounded. Darvyn slowly met the gazes of everyone present. “We’ve been fighting the True Father for hundreds of years. This could well be the final battle. We have tools and the beginning of a plan, but we need your assistance to put it all into practice.”

A lump rose in his throat as quiet descended. He and Zeli had made their case, now it was up to the Keepers. One of the few men unfamiliar to Darvyn stood, drawing his attention. He, like the three others with him, looked to be in his early thirties and was unshaven with unruly hair. “I have no qualms protecting Lagrimari from the True Father and his unholy army. But I’ll not waste my Song on any Elsiran pigs.”

Darvyn’s jaw clenched. “And who are you?”

The man narrowed his eyes. Aggar rushed to stand. “It doesn’t matter. Our Singers will decide if they want to help or not. We will not make them if they choose no.”

“Many of our Singers are children,” Darvyn said. “They’ll need guidance on what to do. They look up to the Keepers, the ones who have been instrumental in feeding and clothing and educating them both here and in Lagrimar. You all can make a strong case if you choose to. The people will listen.”

Aggar crossed his arms combatively and Talida turned away, dismissing him. Darvyn’s blood began to steam and he tried to take solace from Zeli’s calm energy.

“We will discuss this further,” Turwig said, coming up behind Darvyn with Rozyl on his heels.

With a motion of his head, Darvyn pulled them both aside. “Who are they?” he asked, jerking his head toward the four rough-looking men he couldn’t recall ever meeting before.

Rozyl gritted her teeth. “Let’s go outside.” The four of them stepped into the weedy garden, and Rozyl waited until the glass door was completely shut before answering.

“Those four are emissaries of the Sons of Lagrimar.”

Darvyn reared back as if struck. “The terrorists? What? Why?”

“They used to be Keepers in the eastern mountains helping the miners. We’d lost track of them,” Turwig said ruefully. “It’s been over a year since any have checked in. We thought they might have been discovered working against the True Father and killed, but then after the Mantle fell they reappeared. And as you know, they were not pleased by our reception in Elsira.”

He took a deep breath. “They came to us a few days ago, requesting a meeting. The elders voted to grant it to them.”

Darvyn shook his head and Rozyl shrugged. “There’s … guilt among the Keepers,” she said, “where they’re concerned. Someone should have been sent after them to check on them. No one ever was.”

Turwig’s gaze went to the ground. “Things sometimes slipped through the cracks,” he said softly.

“Do the elders approve of their tactics? The attacks against Elsirans aren’t ingratiating us here,” Darvyn said.

Rozyl raised a brow. “Neither did being good, polite little refugees.”

Darvyn stared at her incredulously. She raised a hand. “I don’t approve of their tactics, either, but don’t act like they turned a receptive country against us. At a certain point, we do have to defend ourselves.”

“They used to be one of us. So did you.” While Turwig’s gaze couldn’t be considered accusatory, it was piercing nonetheless.

“Yes, and there’s many reasons I’m not anymore,” Darvyn said. “This type of thing is one of them. The very act of hearing them out is a betrayal.”

“There are some who would say that suggesting we put ourselves at risk to help Elsirans is one as well,” Rozyl hissed. “We’re in uncharted territory and we need to consider every option. We’re desperate. You know how that feels.”

Zeli shifted, catching his eye with her steady gaze. It was almost as if she’d used Earthsong on him, the building rage that felt like a brewing storm inside him subsided. He took a deep breath. “What do they want?”

“A seat at the table,” Turwig said. “They feel they’ve proven their loyalty to our people with their attacks. They want a voice in leadership.”

Darvyn ran his hands through his hair and looked at the gray sky, muttering a string of curses.

Rozyl sighed heavily. “There are many sympathetic ears among the elders. We think we’ll be outvoted and they’ll be given what they want.” She and Turwig shared a significant glance.

Through the glass wall, the others in the sitting room were engaged in vigorous debate. Darvyn wished he’d never come. Should he tell Jasminda and Jack of this new development? Did they need one more thing to worry about on top of everything else?

He blew out a breath.

“They’ll be gone by the time you get back to the palace,” Rozyl said. “I thought about telling her, too, but…”

“But what?”

“But after the vote tomorrow, we might not even be under her rule anymore.”

Darvyn shook his head. “You think the referendum will pass? You really think the Elsirans will eject us from the country?”

Rozyl’s dark gaze bored into him. “It’s not just the Elsirans who are voting for separation.”

The first drops of rain fell then, splashing onto Darvyn’s face—tears from the sky in place of his own.