CHAPTER TWELVE
Accepting the course which lay ahead, Ayal was finally ready to embark. “But how can I bring the people together? What do I seek?” she asked. “And when will I know I have found it?”
The Mystery radiated an eternal glow, lighting the way and creating harsh shadows.
You are now on your way.
—THE AYALYA
Darvyn made his way through streets clogged with celebrants waving flags, tossing flowers, toasting one another with the cups of ale being given out liberally at every tavern. The joy in the air was infectious as both Elsiran and Lagrimari stood side by side raising cheers to the wedding of Jack and Jasminda. A glimpse of a true unification that was still a long way off.
The wedding was supposed to have taken place at the Southern temple. However, after the bombing, the event was moved to the Eastern temple, a much smaller space. Few places would have been large enough to hold all who had wanted to attend. Security had been an intense challenge, but every Earthsinger the Keepers had was on hand monitoring the crowd for any hint of wrongdoing.
The unfamiliar Elsiran marriage ceremony had been short, especially when compared to the three-day ritual the Lagrimari practiced. The spectators were a mix of aristocracy in their finely wrought clothing, working-class folk dressed in their best, and the Lagrimari refugees, cleaned and pressed as best they could manage.
Jasminda’s green silk dress was embroidered in gold. It was done in the Lagrimari style and made her skin glow. Jack’s medals shone on his military uniform and Darvyn’s heart swelled with affection for both of them. The queen was a symbol of hope to his people—a Singer who looked like them, leading this land that they were meant to share. And a king, honorable and just, who only wanted the best for his people.
Oola officiated the ceremony, held in both languages so that all could understand. Jack and Jasminda had transferred the contents of tiny glass bowls filled with various materials to a larger bowl. The bowl of brown earth symbolized the foundation of their union, water was for the fluidity required to shift and change to face new challenges together, oil to fuel their bond, and finally, fire to light their way until they left this world.
Then they had blown out the flame and Oola had bound their hands in multicolored ribbon. The crowd thundered their approval as the bride and groom retreated to the waiting town car and the procession that was now taking them through the city.
Before Darvyn had left the temple, a familiar voice pierced his mind.
Meet me at the palace. I have need of you.
He’d groaned internally and searched for the speaker, finally spotting Oola amidst a swarm of worshippers. Her dark eyes flashed at him before returning to Her disciples.
He wanted to refuse Her command, though he knew it was useless. The Goddess Awoken was not easily ignored.
When the deluge of wedding guests in the temple had thinned to a trickle, Oola had flown off on an air current. Now, Darvyn fought against the throngs as he made his own way back to the palace, ever vigilant for signs of a threat. Drunken revelers and pockets of people singing and dancing in the middle of the roads as they followed the processional of the royal motorcade hampered him at every turn.
What did Oola want now? What task had She cooked up for him and what would be its cost? He was sorely tired of Her manipulations, they had been going on his whole life.
Two hours later, he finally arrived at the palace. Battling the carousing hordes had shrunken his patience to almost nothing. As soon as he entered through the opulent doors, he found a girl waiting for him. Tarazeli, a Lagrimari teen who’d joined the Sisterhood immediately after the fall of the Mantle. Many orphaned Lagrimari girls had apparently done so, likely in awe of Oola’s magnificence.
“You seek the Goddess?” Zeli asked. Irritated, Darvyn nodded and followed her when she began to move.
“Are you Her personal servant?” he asked.
The girl brightened with pride, misinterpreting his question as praise. “I’m Her robe mistress. I’m still learning my duties, but it’s a great honor to be chosen.”
“To be sure,” Darvyn said, trying to hide his exasperation with Oola. He had no idea if the girl was an Earthsinger or merely perceptive, for she frowned at him.
“I have dreamed of Her my whole life,” he said by way of explanation. “She has often required things of me. Far more often than I would have liked. Our relationship is … complicated.”
She nodded, but it was clear she didn’t understand. No one did. Following Oola’s directions had gotten people killed. Her plans may have helped bring the Lagrimari freedom, but at a very dear price.
They stopped before a door guarded by two Royal Guardsmen. It opened by itself, and Zeli motioned him forward.
The room was a parlor of some kind, filled with polished furniture inlayed with gold. A collection of porcelain vases rested on the mantel, and Darvyn kept a wide berth of the delicate display. Oola stood at the window with Her back to him. The terrace faced the grand gardens of the palace, beautiful and green even though winter’s chill was nearly upon them.
He stalked forward to question her. “What do you want?”
Oola did not turn around. “Always to the point, Darvyn. So refreshing. I shall be direct as well. The time has come. You are needed to guide the others to rescue Jasminda’s family.”
His anger and frustration abruptly fled. On the day the Mantle fell, Oola had come to him. He had been outside the city of Sayya, waiting for Kyara, who, of course, had never arrived. When he wanted to search for her, Oola had prevented it, saying that he was needed by Jack and Jasminda. That it was time for Jasminda’s family to come home.
He had put it off as long as he could, stubbornly staying to search for Kyara. But there had been no trace of her. And so he’d finally gone to Elsira and met Queen Jasminda, then quickly decided to help her and Jack achieve unification. Oola’s cryptic words had faded from his mind.
He’d known that Jasminda’s mother died many years earlier and her father and twin brothers disappeared two years ago and were presumed dead. As a fellow orphan, he felt for her—before becoming the queen, she had lived alone as an outcast until meeting Jack and setting off a course of events that led to Oola’s awakening.
Darvyn stared at his hands, the weight of this new task settling onto him.
“This journey,” She said, finally turning to face him. “It is one I sense that will lead you to whom you seek.”
His head shot up, and his breathing stuttered. “You know where Kyara is?” His emotions tangled into a knot of hope, joy, betrayal, and rage. “You knew and prevented me from searching for her all this time? Now you dangle her like a carrot before me to get me to repay a debt that you owe to Jasminda.”
He was shouting and inhaled deeply to calm himself. “I will run your errand because if our new queen’s family is alive and can be brought home, it would be a blessing. Why do you feel you have to bargain with me so cruelly?”
Oola blinked, slowly. Her impassive expression was impossible to read. “You so seldom ask anything of me, Darvyn. You are a rare one, indeed. Everyone else only wants. They wish to take and not give. You are right to be angry, as I have slighted you. For this, I apologize.”
Darvyn’s mouth hung open. He could not recall Her apologizing to him before. “Th-thank you.”
“Kyara lives, of that I am certain, but since awakening, I can no longer see what I once could. And even I cannot sense the life force of a Nethersinger.” Her voice almost held a trace of emotion. Was it regret?
Darvyn blinked, all his anger fading away at her admission.
“However, I know that Jasminda’s family is being held in Yaly by the Physicks.”
His nostrils flared at the mention. A Physick named Raal had been responsible for his mother’s death, purposely infecting her with the plague as part of some sick experiment his people did on those they considered expendable. The same Physick was one he suspected of being involved in Kyara’s disappearance. Raal had met with Kyara shortly before the Mantle fell, offering her some kind of deal to take away her power. If she was in Lagrimar or Elsira, Darvyn knew she would have found her way to him by now. But if she was in Yaly, perhaps against her will …
“You think they have Kyara, as well,” he thought aloud.
She spread Her arms and gave an almost imperceptible shrug. “I do not want Jasminda to be given false hope, in case your task fails. She is to know nothing of her family until they are found. As a cover, you are to join another mission in Yaly. Only you and the Raunian know of this additional plot. Once you are there, I am sure you will find a way to save the day. It is what you do, is it not?” She raised Her eyebrows.
He wasn’t sure if that was a jab or not. He’d always tried to use his strength for the good of others. “Do we not have a responsibility to serve and help those weaker than we are? Isn’t that why we have this power?”
She turned away again, Her voice growing oddly hollow as She spoke. “My power was not unusual in my time. I was as everyone else was. It is only now that it sets me apart.”
“But you were queen of your people. Of all the people,” he said, not understanding Her sudden change of mood.
She straightened Her shoulders. “Go now. The king and queen are expecting you in the throne room. You will gain more information there.”
The dismissal was complete, but for the first time, Darvyn saw the Goddess as She really was, all the honorifics stripped away. She was a woman out of time. The only one of Her kind left in the world. Her power so immense as to be unfathomable, even for him.
He left the room, leaving Her to Her solitude. Perhaps he had judged Her too harshly all this time.
Lizvette suppressed the anxiety rising within her as the Guardsmen led her into the royal throne room. She’d been summoned from her apartment with no warning and no explanation. The room was empty, and she was left alone when the guards retreated. She stood for several minutes, staring at the dual thrones carved out of mahogany and embroidered in blue and gold. The second throne was a new addition. It was identical to the first, but brighter, its wood glossier in its newness. Perhaps it had been in storage for use as a backup if something ever happened to the primary throne.
Until the Goddess awoke from her centuries of slumber, the country had been ruled by a series of Prince Regents. This was the first time since the Goddess Herself was crowned queen five hundred years ago that the land was ruled by a full monarch, much less two.
The door behind Lizvette opened, and two Elsiran women were ushered in. A Sister in a blue gown, red-gold hair in the customary topknot, entered alongside a shorter woman whose hair was cut into a brutal bob. Lizvette averted her eyes quickly so as not to stare at the burn scars crawling down the Sister’s cheek to meet her jaw. Her companion was dressed in trousers and a leather jacket, and grinned broadly at Lizvette, who nodded back with less enthusiasm.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been in the throne room before,” the second woman gushed, rubbing her hands together like she thought she might settle in and stay awhile. “What do you think this is all about?”
The Sister shrugged, and Lizvette couldn’t find her voice to respond that she had no earthly idea, either.
Moments later, a young Lagrimari man entered, his face locked in a frown. He was lean with striking cheekbones, and he bowed politely to them before going to stand off to the side of the room. Tension radiated from him as he scanned the room, taking in every detail. Every so often he would pull at the collar of his button-up shirt, appearing uncomfortable in it.
Aside from Jasminda, Lizvette had never been in the company of a Lagrimari before. His constant vigilance and the way he stood with his back ramrod straight put her in mind of a soldier. But the idea of a Lagrimari soldier in their midst was disturbing. For all that she supported the unification, the history between the two nations was bloody. Certainly this man was too young to have committed any atrocities in war. She looked away, feeling a bit guilty at her gut reaction to the newcomer.
Her discomfort only grew when an even stranger man was led into the room. His shockingly blue hair and bronzed skin marked him as a Raunian. Tattoos decorated his forehead and chin, and two parallel lines graced his cheekbones. She recognized him as the man she’d seen a few days prior, the last time she’d been summoned. His presence in the palace had astonished her then.
For a moment, when their paths had crossed in the palace corridor, Lizvette had hoped the man was an emissary from his people, sent to negotiate an end to the crippling embargo Raun had placed on Elsira. But it had been late at night and he had not been flanked by dignitaries or guards, only by a single novice to the Sisterhood. He’d sparked a jolt of fear in her. Raunians were notorious the world over for their barbaric traditions and uncivilized society. Known as a nation of pirates, they were led by a king selected by some sort of game of strategy, one who could be male or female … something about their language having no grammatical genders. They ruthlessly ruled the seas, as well as a good portion of the international shipping market, and were said to be hotheaded and belligerent. Even their women learned hand-to-hand combat, if the stories were to be believed.
Now, when the Raunian’s gaze slid over her body for quite a bit longer than was decent, Lizvette shifted closer to the two Elsiran women. Her cheeks flamed and she turned away, determined to ignore such behavior. Whatever the king and queen had gathered them here for, she hoped it would be over quickly. As much as she appreciated a reprieve from the boredom of her rooms, this was all a little too bizarre.
The door behind the two thrones opened, and Lizvette dropped into a deep curtsey, a pang going through her heart as Jack and Jasminda strolled into the room, hand in hand, still dressed formally in their wedding attire.
Jack was arresting in his black coat fringed with gold epaulets, his military decorations and medals gleaming in the soft light. His face was sharp, just this side of severe, but today it was lit from within with joy as he beamed at his new wife. Jasminda’s green gown was gorgeous—exotic and beautiful, just as she was. Together they were an odd sight, but somehow a perfect one.
Lizvette pushed down the jealousy that sparked. Earlier, she’d listened to the ceremony on the radio with her mother and been grateful her house arrest had prevented her from attending.
She rose from her curtsey with the others and held herself so tightly she feared her bones might break, but she refused to allow even a sliver of emotion to show. She’d hidden her feelings for Jack all her life, had planned to hide them forever when she married his brother. It would not be so hard to continue to do so.
For the briefest of moments, she considered if exile to Fremia would be such a bad thing. At least there she would be spared the sight of him—that striking jaw, those lips that constantly threatened a smile. She would not have to watch his happiness grow with another. But no, Elsira was her home, and if a lifetime of heartbreak was part of her punishment, she would bear it.
Between one blink and the next, the Goddess Awoken appeared. Lizvette wasn’t sure if She’d come through the door behind the thrones or emerged from thin air, but Her presence thickened the atmosphere in the room. Lizvette had not seen Her in person before and found herself enthralled by the deity she’d worshipped her whole life. Power seemed to radiate from Her pores.
As the king and queen sat, the Goddess stood next to them, peering at those gathered. Lizvette held her breath when Her gaze grazed her, and her eyes darted to the ground, staying firmly locked on the tiles until she felt the Goddess’s attention pass.
Jasminda did not look in Lizvette’s direction, but Jack glanced at her quickly, no emotion in his eyes. She stiffened as another piece of her heart disintegrated into ash.
Queen Jasminda gestured them all forward before speaking. “We have taken a break from our celebration and asked you all to come here for a very important purpose. The need is immediate and could not wait another day. Lizvette Nirall”—Jasminda motioned in her direction but still did not look her way—“believes she has information that will assist us in finding the perpetrators of the temple bombing.”
Lizvette’s face heated, her blush riding high in her cheeks as the attentions of the others scoured her. So the queen had decided to accept Lizvette’s offer. A tiny flicker of hope lit within her.
“We have reason to suspect that her father, Meeqal Nirall, is working with the Hand of the Reaper. Since more attacks have been threatened, time is of the essence. I ask that you all accompany her to Yaly to investigate and, hopefully, bring Nirall back here for interrogation and to stand trial for treason.”
The Raunian man sucked in a breath. Lizvette darted a glance at him, surprised to find pity in his eyes. Unlike the rest of him, which appeared alien and fierce, his eyes held a warmth she did not expect.
Jack spoke up, his voice resonating in the marble room. “The Intelligence Service has had no luck locating Nirall. For those who do not know, he was a former member of the Council of Regents, a trusted advisor who actively worked against me in secret and threatened Jasminda’s life. If he has any connection to the Hand of the Reaper, then it is likely that he’s being apprised of the ongoing investigation.”
“That is why this cannot be considered an official mission,” Jasminda added. “Aunt Vanesse, you and Clove are traveling to the Yaly Classic Air Race, which takes place in a few days. I would ask you to transport the others. Their cover will be as race attendees.”
The Sister nodded, her scarred face beatific when she smiled. This was Jasminda’s aunt. Lizvette recalled that the queen’s mother had been from a prominent Rosiran family. “Of course,” the woman said.
The shorter woman, Clove, also grinned infectiously. “Sounds exciting.”
Lizvette smothered a small smile. Their unquestioning enthusiasm was refreshing, and neither had looked upon her with scorn for her father’s actions—or her own, which had been publicly detailed in the press.
The queen continued. “Darvyn ol-Tahlyro is a trusted friend of my husband’s and of the crown.” She motioned to the Lagrimari man who seemed uncomfortable with the praise. “And the Goddess has recommended Tai Summerhawk to accompany you, as well.” Jasminda’s voice held no uncertainty, though she didn’t elaborate as to what the Raunian’s skills were or how he was to assist. “We are in your debt, Master Summerhawk.”
The Raunian tried to hide the look of surprise on his face and bowed deeply. He hadn’t spoken yet, and Lizvette wondered what his voice sounded like. Deep and gravelly, she guessed, as that would best match his build. Taller than she was by at least two heads, he was larger and broader than most Elsiran men. The loose collar of his linen shirt revealed a well-muscled chest, and thick, woven breeches covered strong legs.
He caught her appraisal of him and raised his eyebrows as if to ask, Do you like what you see? Lizvette snapped her head forward, embarrassed by her lack of propriety and irritated with his impertinence.
“There is a contingent of Foreign Service agents stationed in Yaly,” Jack said. “They have just been deployed in the past two weeks, chosen from men I trust in the army; however, they don’t know the particulars of this mission. The fewer who know the better. If an arrest or additional security is necessary, call on them. They understand that this is classified.”
A heavy solemnity hung in the room, and Lizvette felt the weight of what was being asked of her. She hoped she was up to the task.
The Goddess stepped forward, capturing everyone’s attention. “All know the part they are to play,” She said. Lizvette scanned the faces around her, which all held some level of confusion. It appeared the Goddess was overestimating the knowledge of those present. “You must leave immediately and work diligently to accomplish your tasks.”
Lizvette bowed her head in deference. If their Sovereign believed they could do this, then they must be able to. After answering a few questions about logistics, the king, queen, and Goddess exited through the same door behind the thrones, leaving the rest alone.
“Clove Liddelot. Nice to meet you,” the shorter woman announced, holding her palms out in greeting. Lizvette pressed her palms to Clove’s.
“Vanesse Zinadeel,” the Sister said, and Lizvette repeated the greeting. While not aristocrats, the Zinadeels were wealthy merchants. Both daughters had chosen to join the Sisterhood, but it was not widely known that the family had cut off the eldest after she had left the order to marry a former Lagrimari prisoner of war.
Lizvette wondered as to the story behind the burn scars on Vanesse’s face but would never pry. Then she startled somewhat to notice that Clove and Vanesse held hands after they’d made their introductions. Their body language and constant eye contact seemed rather intimate, but before she could decide if she was reading too much into things, Darvyn approached.
“We are to travel by airship?” he asked in heavily accented Elsiran. She was glad he spoke the language. She hadn’t even considered the communication barrier.
“Aye,” Clove said. “The king has lent me the royal airship for the Yaly Classic.”
“Clove is a pilot. She’s come in the top ten for the past three years,” Vanesse said proudly, squeezing her hand.
There was definitely more than friendship between the two women. Such pairings were seen with regularity in Fremia, where Lizvette had attended university, but Elsira was a far more conservative country. Then again, much was changing. Only weeks ago an Elsiran and a Lagrimari would not have been in the same room together. She shook her head slightly in wonder at it all.
Only then did Clove’s words hit her. “Alariq’s airship?” Lizvette said with a gasp. Clove’s enthusiasm paled a bit. “The one that killed him?”
Clove and Vanesse shot one another wary glances. Vanesse came forward, placing a hand on Lizvette’s arm. Instinctively, Lizvette wanted to brush off the contact, unused to such familiarity, but she held herself still so as not to offend.
“It’s been fixed and fully inspected. Clove has flown it several times since then and will go over the mechanics again before we take to the air. She’s made sure it’s safe.”
“And we won’t be flying into any thunderstorms, either, be sure of it,” Clove added.
Alariq had died in such a storm …
Lizvette knew their words were meant to calm her fear, but her chest tightened anyway. She had lost her fiancé and her future in one of those contraptions. Alariq had never shared the common Elsiran view regarding foreign technology. He had been forward-thinking, excited about new advancements, and look where it had gotten him.
Lizvette nodded and smiled in an effort to put the others at ease. Vanesse and Clove mimicked her actions, appearing relieved, though Darvyn peered at her closely. She suspected he was an Earthsinger and, as such, would be able to see through her lies, but she couldn’t worry about it. She would have to steel herself against her fears and rise above them. It was necessary to complete this mission, return some honor to herself, and avoid exile.
Darvyn and the women talked among themselves, discussing what needed to be done before they could take flight. The Raunian, Tai, who had stood somewhat apart from them until now, sauntered over to Lizvette. A smattering of dark hair dusted the visible skin on his chest. She tore her gaze away only to be drawn in by his hands, which were palms out, ready to greet her in the Elsiran way. His fingers were thick and calloused, likely from years of labor. She hesitated before raising her own hands and touching his palms as lightly as possible. A strange sensation—something like static electricity—greeted her, and she jerked back.
Tai chuckled at her skittishness, but a shadow seemed to cross his eyes. His reaction was curious, but the expression dissolved into a smirk before she had decided what it meant.
“Well, duchess, it looks like we’ll be spending some time together.”
“We don’t have duchies any longer in Elsira,” she snapped, more forcefully than she had intended, annoyed by his smug tone. “‘Duke’ is a ceremonial title reserved for the king. And of what use will you be on this mission? How is this any of your concern? We are currently at odds with Raun.”
“I’m not here in any official capacity,” he said with a grin. “Think of my participation as more intimate in nature.” He swaggered deeply into her personal space.
She leaned back, torn between stubbornly standing her ground and maintaining a respectable distance. Raunians didn’t acknowledge the rules of polite society. She hadn’t thought the Lagrimari did, either, but Darvyn had been nothing but respectful and polite so far. Quite unlike this coarse pirate.
“I’m good at finding things, duchess. Maybe I’ll get the chance to show you sometime.” He winked, and heat trailed down her body followed by a spike of anger. How dare he? She was far too well bred to slip down to his level, however. She spun away and stood closer to Clove, listening in on the conversation she and Darvyn were having about travel times.
Lizvette’s skin prickled at the thought of the Raunian who remained behind her. It would be quite a long mission with him around.