A wise man asked the Mistress of Eagles, How can I hear the voice of the Divine?
All voices are the Divine, she answered.
But what of those speaking evil?
Eagle replied, Evil is heard with the heart and not with the ears.
—COLLECTED FOLKTALES
Jasminda jumped at the knock on the door. She scrubbed away the stubborn tears that had escaped, despite her best efforts, and approached.
“Who’s there?”
“Miss Jasminda, it’s Usher.”
She relaxed and opened the door, glad to see him. His gray head and kind face were welcome sights. That morning he had led her through the palace to the vehicle depot to meet her driver. Usher held Jack’s trust, and hers by proxy.
“The prince requests your presence.”
Surprised at the summons, she followed. Usher led her through the bowels of the palace and down many steep staircases, each older than the last. Here, the original stone walls and floors had not been plastered over or carpeted. Kerosene lamps instead of electric shone dimly, lending an acrid tinge to the cool air, though to Jasminda’s mind, torches would not have been out of place.
“This is the oldest part of the palace, Miss Jasminda. It is used exclusively by the Prince Regent.”
Something odd brushed against her senses. The energy of this place was overwhelming. The hallway in which they stood ended with a door. Usher pushed it open with some difficulty and motioned her through. Giving him a quizzical look, she stepped cautiously, then gave a yelp when her feet slid down.
The floor was like a bowl, the inside of the room a white sphere with the door hanging in the middle. Candles glowed eerily from little alcoves notched into curved walls made of no material she could fathom. Everything was smooth and white, but the shadows from the candles flickered gloomily.
Jack knelt on one knee at the bottom of the bowl, underneath a long white capsule floating in midair. The smooth, seamless surface of the capsule was made of the same strange material as the walls. The object resembled an elongated egg, about six feet in length. It hovered courtesy of an ancient, intensely powerful spell that tingled against the edges of her senses like static electricity.
Jack rose, facing her as she found her footing and gingerly stepped down the concave floor. Exhaustion wearied his features, but his expression brightened at the sight of her. She slid into his arms, and he held her so tightly she could scarcely breathe. But she did not complain.
“Are we where I think we are?”
Jack lifted his head, looking up at the floating capsule. “The resting place of the Queen Who Sleeps.”
She stared in awe. “But this chamber is sacred. Can I be here?”
“Not even the Sisterhood may come down here—only the Prince Regent and those closest to him.” He took her hand and pulled her directly underneath the Queen’s encased form, then led her to kneel with him. “We come to seek Her counsel and wisdom, to pray for the knowledge and strength to lead in Her stead.”
She wrenched her gaze from the smooth surface of the Queen’s tomb. Not a tomb, for She slept only, and it was promised that She would awaken.
“Being here, does it spark any insights into the visions?” Jack asked.
She stood and walked the length of the Queen’s encasement, staring up at it. A crushing sense of defeat teetered at the edge of her awareness. She shook her head. “This place is full of power, but I don’t know. It’s not like anything I’ve seen.”
Shame for her weakness and the little progress she was making with the caldera filled her. She relayed what she’d seen to Jack—Eero’s trial, his being taken away for treatment. “I wish I could go faster. I’m sorry.” She sank down to the ground, and Jack came to sit next to her.
“I know you’re doing your best. I’m not trying to pressure you, just help.” He grasped her hand, but the worried look never left his face.
She ran her fingers through his somewhat disheveled hair. “Something’s wrong. Something new.”
His shoulders sagged. He told her of the letter from the True Father and the terrible demands.
Tears once again stung her eyes at the thought of all it had taken for the refugees to make it to Elsira in the first place. Only to be sent back … It was unthinkable, but she knew too well how little value a Lagrimari life held here.
“What will happen?”
“I have three days to ensure the Council doesn’t make a grave mistake.”
Jasminda shuddered. If only she could make more progress. She would try again now if her Song weren’t still depleted from this morning’s vision and her trip downtown.
Nothing was going right. The auction was tomorrow, and she was no closer to saving her farm or awakening the Queen. Jack was lost in his duties. She was glad he hadn’t asked about her visit to the Taxation Bureau. She didn’t want him to offer his aid again.
Relying on him and his princely connections would be lovely. But where would she turn when this dream dissolved back into reality? Even now he was not really hers, and if she grew to depend on his care, on his help, then she risked so much more when it was over. More than she could bear.
Lost in thought, Jack’s expression was dark.
“They will come around,” she said, leaning against him. “They have to.”
Jack snorted. “Those old men are so stubborn and callous, and they have little respect for me.” He sighed. “What if I can’t save the refugees?”
Jasminda didn’t know what to say. Odd that they both felt so powerless, she the only one for whom a magical object worked and he the prince of the land. But they battled forces much more powerful than themselves. She could only hope those forces wouldn’t win.