The Master of Jackals waded into the sea and found a fish floundering in a forgotten net.
When he went to free it, the fish responded, Leave me be.
Said the Jackal, Don’t you want to be free?
The fish replied, I do not trust you not to eat me. I will take my chances with the will of the ocean.
—COLLECTED FOLKTALES
The young maid standing in Jack’s office sniffled and wrung her hands. “No, Your Grace. I would never let anyone else in Miss Jasminda’s rooms. Never.” Red-rimmed eyes overflowed with tears. “I always saw to her myself, just as Usher asked.”
Jack sighed and paused his pacing. “And you have no idea how anyone would have gotten hold of this?” He pointed to the low table where the beautiful, delicate, golden gown Jasminda had worn her first night in the palace lay. It had been found, slashed and partially burned, outside the doors to the Prince Regent’s office suite.
“No, Your Grace.” The girl shook her head violently, took another look at the gown, and burst into a fresh round of sobs.
“All right, all right, Nadal,” Jack said, motioning for Usher to comfort her. “I believe you. But you haven’t heard anything from the other servants?”
She leaned into Usher and quieted. “Some of them have been cool toward me since I wouldn’t gossip about Miss Jasminda with them. I haven’t heard anything.”
Jack dropped roughly onto the couch, nervous energy rattling through him. He answered the question in Usher’s gaze with a nod, and the man led Nadal away, returning alone a few minutes later.
“She’s going to hate me,” Jack said as he rubbed his burning eyes, wishing he could rub away the weariness and the heartache. “She has every right to. But she’s in the safest place in the palace. Almost anyone could have sneaked into her rooms. Any person in this palace could mean her harm.”
Usher clucked his tongue; Jack looked up. “What?”
“You should go to her, young sir.”
“Was she really leaving?” Jack sank down, every bone in his body feeling twice its weight.
“It appears so,” Usher replied, apologetic.
Jack groaned, closing the lid on the emotions that threatened to spill out at the thought of Jasminda’s absence. A horrifying idea struck him. “Mother often talked of wanting to leave. I would hear them arguing.… Father would never let her.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m just like him, aren’t I? I will never be able to escape the shadow of his cruelty.”
He stood and walked to the terrace doors, looking out at the city stretching before him and beyond, to the endless waves of the ocean, turned dark and ominous, churning from the force of the storm.
Usher came to stand by him. “You are nothing like him.”
Jack rested his forehead against the cool glass. The weather outside matched the agitated whirlwind inside him. “Then why do I feel like the villain here?”
The buses with the refugees were now on their way toward the border. By this time tomorrow, they would all be back across the mountain. Only the Queen knew what their fates would be, but Jack could guess. He chuckled mirthlessly.
“What have I done, Usher? Sending the woman I love to the dungeons. Allowing the refugees to be sent back. What does this make me?”
“It makes you a prince.”
“And what is that worth when I can’t save anyone?”
The darkness in his heart was in danger of overtaking him. He rubbed his chest as if he could massage the broken organ from the outside. “I must go to her. Either she’ll forgive me or she won’t. Besides, I don’t want her staying in the palace any longer than necessary. You’ve gotten in touch with Benn’s wife?”
“Yes, she’s happy to let Jasminda stay with her down in Portside. The family will keep watch for trouble.” Usher’s reassuring voice was a balm to Jack’s soul.
“All right. She should be safe there while I ferret out whoever’s responsible.” He cast another glance at the ruined dress; anger beat a rhythm inside his chest. “I can’t fail her, too,” he rasped, nearly choking on the words.
Usher clapped him on the shoulder and squeezed. Some days the only thing keeping Jack upright was the man’s presence.
He gave Usher a sidelong glance. “How do you stand me, old man?”
“I don’t really have a choice, now, do I?” Usher said with a droll smile.
Jack shook his head and left for the dungeon, feeling even more guilty for keeping Jasminda locked away a moment longer than necessary. He had wanted her safe while he questioned the servants, but the task had taken longer than anticipated. As he entered the outer chamber leading to the cells, the guards snapped to attention.
“Captain,” Jack said. “It’s time to let her out.”
The captain’s eyes widened. “L-let her out, Your Grace?”
“Yes, open the cell. I’ll take her with me.”
The captain’s gaze darted to his fellow guard, rigid beside him, then back to Jack. “B-begging your pardon, Your Grace, but she’s already been let out.”
Jack stilled, every muscle in his body tensing in alarm. “I gave explicit orders that the young woman was to be held here until I ordered her released.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Then by whose authority was she released?” Jack roared.
“Yours, Your Grace.” The captain held out a folded letter, stamped with the official seal of the Prince Regent. Jack snatched it from his hands and read the contents, instructions to release Jasminda to the custody of the letter’s bearer.
He motioned for the guard to open the door to the cells and strode through, needing to see for himself that Jasminda was really gone. A blanket lay neatly folded on the cot inside an empty cell.
He spun back to face the captain. “Who brought this note?”
“A servant, Your Grace. A maid. I didn’t know her.”
“And you thought I’d send a maid to retrieve someone from custody?”
“The letter bears your seal, Your Grace.”
Jack turned away, trying to tamp down the rage boiling in his bloodstream. At its edge was a cold fear. Whoever had stolen Jasminda’s dress and destroyed it had wanted to send a message to Jack. They must have taken her as well. Would they really harm her? All to punish him?
One person had clashed swords directly with Jasminda recently. Someone who could gain access to the royal seal. Jack’s breathing came in short spurts as he exploded from the dungeon, racing up the stairs three at a time.
“Where is Minister Calladeen?” he growled to the young man at the main Royal Guard station.
“He’s in his offices, Your Grace.”
A red haze swallowed Jack. His whole body quivered as he stalked down the hall and slammed his way into the offices of the Minister of Foreign Affairs. A startled young secretary yipped in alarm when Jack stormed into the inner office.
Calladeen stood, eyes wide.
“What did you do?” Jack demanded.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Jack marched across the room until he was nearly nose to nose with the man. “Where is she?” he yelled. Calladeen shrank back, leaning almost comically away.
“Where is who, Your Grace?”
“Don’t play games with me, man. Where is Jasminda?”
Calladeen placed two hands up in a motion of surrender and stepped away from the wall of anger radiating from Jack’s body. Jack clenched and unclenched his fists, waiting for the moment when he could release his frustration in a flurry of violence.
“Your Grace, I swear by our Sovereign, I do not know.”
Jack’s glare was ruthless, and the man seemed genuinely afraid. Jack held up the letter. “You did not forge this message from me ordering her release?”
Calladeen plucked the letter from Jack’s hand and read it over, a frown pulling down his mouth. “No, I did not. But I do recognize the handwriting.”
Jack had paid little attention to the curling script of the letter. “Whose is it?”
Calladeen’s sharp face grew pensive. “Lizvette’s.”