Said the astronomer to the Mistress of Horses, And what of when the stars fail to shine?
Horse replied, The day the stars forsake the sky is a day not worth contemplating. For it will be our last.
—COLLECTED FOLKTALES
“There is too much interference, sir.” The communications officer flipped a switch, testing yet another connection.
“What kind of interference?” Jack asked, peering over the man’s shoulder.
“It’s very unusual, but we’re not able to contact any unit east of the Old Wall.” Static could be heard through the man’s headset.
“So the entire northeastern sector of the country is radio silent?”
“Yes, sir. No telephone, two-way, or cable communication is operational. They’re all down.”
Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s almost as if this were intentional.”
The officer looked up, startled.
Jack did the math in his head. The caravan was too far along for vehicles to catch up with it, and there was no way for him to contact anyone who could get Jasminda to safety. Panic threatened, but he beat it back through force of will.
He banged his fist on the table, and the young officer jumped. “Blast it! I would need wings to get to her now,” Jack murmured, then stopped short. His gaze rose to the ceiling.
The airship.
Alariq’s pride and joy. And the cause of his death.
It was still there on the roof of the palace. After the crash, technicians from Yaly had come to repair it. Jack had wanted the thing removed, but hadn’t yet gotten around to ordering it.
The idea was risky, too risky to even be contemplating, but what was the alternative? Jasminda trapped in Lagrimar? Forced to work in the mines or the harems or worse. She could be killed. He could not save the hundreds of refugees, much as he wanted to, but one woman, the woman most precious to him, could he not even save her?
The airship was the only way to get to the border fast enough—maybe even beat the caravan that had left hours earlier. However, it was this precise situation, flying in a rainstorm, that had killed his brother. Jack had called Alariq foolish.… Who was the fool now?
He stalked out of the communications room and into the small office the army maintained in the palace.
“I need an airship pilot. Immediately,” he told the soldier on duty.
“Sir, the army doesn’t have any ships or pilots. The airship was a gift to Prince Alariq from—”
“Yes, I know all that. But there must be someone in this city who can pilot a bloody airship. Find the ambassador to Yaly. It’s their invention, he must know someone.”
The sergeant rushed to stand, confused but determined.
“Your Grace.” A Guardsman appeared in the doorway. Jack whirled around to face him. “There’s a woman here from the Sisterhood. She’s been raising quite a ruckus for some time now, saying she needs to speak with you.”
Jack sighed. “Now is not the time.”
“Your Grace, she’s saying it has to do with Miss Jasminda. I thought you might want to speak with her.”
Jack peered more closely at the Guardsman. He was the same fellow who’d escorted Lizvette to questioning. Tension gripped Jack, and he nodded. “Take me to her.”
They’d kept the woman in the main lobby of the palace, and Jack could hear her voice from two corridors away.
“I will not stand down, and you would do well to keep out of my way, sir. I refuse to leave this palace until I have seen Prince Jaqros!”
“Sister,” Jack said as he approached. The woman startled and spun around, gracing him with the tiniest curtsey possible before rushing to his side. A Guardsman reached out to stop her approach, but Jack brushed him off. “What can I do for you?”
“You can stop a great miscarriage of justice, Your Grace. My niece, a citizen of Elsira, despite all appearances to the contrary, was chained and forcibly placed on a bus headed to Lagrimar with the refugees. She does not belong there, and I—”
“You are Aunt Vanesse,” Jack said. The woman stopped, stunned. He should have recognized her at once, but his mind was scattered in a million directions. How many Sisters had burn scars on their faces? “Jasminda told me about you.”
She looked confused, but the determination in her eyes burned bright.
“Please, come with me,” he said, leading her toward his office. “I have been trying to rectify that situation, believe me. But I’ve been stymied at every turn.”
Jack stopped at his secretary’s desk. “Netta, I want you to check in with the palace regiment every five minutes for an update on their search for an airship pilot.”
Netta nodded and picked up the phone.
“An airship pilot?” Vanesse said, squinting at him.
“Yes. I fear that is the only way to get to her before the caravan reaches the border. My brother had the only airship in Rosira, and pilots are in short supply.”
“Your Grace, I have a … a friend, who can drive just about anything. She’s competed in the Yaly Classic Air Race the past two years flying speed crafts. If there’s anyone who can pilot it, she can.”
Jack stared, speechless, before breaking into a grin. He picked up the startled woman and spun her around, only putting her down when her small fist began beating against his back.