Bobcat caught a thorn in his paw and could not remove it. Horse came by and offered to pull the thorn out.
Ow! cried Bobcat. I thought you were going to help me.
I removed the thorn, Horse replied.
But you left two more behind!
You are welcome, Horse said, and trotted off.
—COLLECTED FOLKTALES
The blade hidden under the knotty floorboard called to Jack. Freedom. He could cut his ropes and head west for home. But it was doubtful he’d make it more than a few hundred paces in his current state. His wound was no longer infected—yet it hurt to breathe. A full day of rest had helped, but it had also brought into focus just how severe his injuries still were.
He’d awoken to the healing tingle of Earthsong early that morning. Jasminda was doing all she could, and leaving now would only increase his chance of recapture. He needed to bide his time until he was at least well enough to walk without aid.
But time was steadily running out. Jack had witnessed the Lagrimari army amassing far too close to the border. Whispers of the True Father’s rapidly increasing strength had spread through the countryside like a plague. Word was, tributes were being taken from whole towns at a time. Not just adults but children, infants even, were being drained of their Songs to feed the god-king’s unquenchable thirst for power. Darvyn had warned him as much, but Jack hadn’t believed the former POW. How could he have known, having been trapped inside Elsira since the last breach?
But Darvyn knew a great deal, including the location of a crack in the Mantle. He’d led Jack through that place where the magic had weakened, in order to allow Jack to personally gather the proof his Elsiran government would not accept from a Lagrimari. The two had agreed to meet in a fortnight to return to Elsira, but Darvyn’s spell had worn off early, and Jack had been exposed, shot, and forced to go on the run before the appointed date. He rubbed his chest, wondering, not for the first time, what had happened to the young man.
Jasminda appeared through the copse of trees behind the back garden, a full basket on her arm. Her dark eyes flashed as she scanned the area, always alert. The sight of her ignited him as a gentle breeze ruffled her mass of tight curls. Her beauty was raw and pure, and a torrent of desire he had no business feeling rose inside him.
She reached the porch and paused, cocking her head to listen for the men.
Jack kept his voice low. “They do fitness drills first thing in the morning; they’re all probably in the front yard going through their paces.”
Jasminda tiptoed through the door to the kitchen, but was back in moments with a cup of water in her hands. “You’re right. Their calisthenics are … interesting.” She barely contained a smile.
Jack snorted, recalling the bizarre movements the sergeant insisted they all participate in to stay limber and strong. But when she brought the cool water to his lips, his humor faded as he quenched his thirst.
“Thank you.”
She brushed off his gratitude and fidgeted with the sleeve of her dress, a frayed and faded creation that might once have been blue. “So what will you do? About the Mantle?”
He had been pondering just that while on the run from the soldiers, but perhaps the Queen had sent him the solution. Maybe being shot and captured was just what he’d needed. “There is a way to strengthen the Mantle. Prevent the breaches, prevent it from coming down.”
She leaned in closer, bringing her scent with her. He breathed in her aroma—delicate and woodsy, both refreshing and fragrant—then cleared his throat.
“An old Lagrimari man in one of the villages recognized me, or rather my disguise. The Keepers of the Promise already had a spy embedded in this unit. Darvyn, the Singer who spelled me, simply switched me in for their agent and gave me his face.”
Jasminda’s eyes rounded. “I had no idea such power was possible. To change a person into someone else for—how long? Days?”
“Nearly two weeks.”
“This Darvyn’s Song must be very strong.”
Jack nodded, pushing away the foreboding that built when he thought of his friend. One crisis at a time was all he could manage. He only hoped the young man was still alive.
“The elder passed on something for me to give to the Keepers.” He motioned to his left boot and bent his leg to try to reach it, then hissed as pain arrowed through his limb.
Jasminda stopped him with a hand to his thigh.
“Hidden in the lining of my boot.”
She nodded and unlaced his ties with nimble fingers, then slid the shoe off. From the lining she pulled a small, irregularly shaped shard of black stone, its surface smooth as glass, then promptly dropped it as if the thing had stung her. It skittered across the wooden boards, landing a pace away.
“W-what is that?” Her lips were parted, eyes round. She shook out her hand. Odd. Touching it had not affected Jack in any way, nor had it the old man, though Jack was not a Singer, of course, and the elder had long ago lost his Song.
“He told me it was a map. An ancient one that is supposed to lead to the cornerstone of the Mantle.”
Jasminda leaned down until her nose was only a few breaths away from the rock fragment. “The cornerstone?” she asked.
“The old man said the ancient Singers who built the Mantle reinforced it with a single cornerstone, hidden in the mountains. Over time it must have weakened, and now there are cracks in the magic. But it can be shored up, strengthened with Earthsong.”
Jasminda’s profound reaction puzzled Jack. She seemed horrified by the small stone. Jack grabbed it, feeling nothing but cool, polished hardness. Nothing to match Jasminda’s aversion.
He rubbed his thumb across it. “Fortifying the cornerstone will stop the breaches and keep the True Father on his side of the mountain. I was planning for Darvyn to do it, but now…”
Jasminda met his eyes with skepticism. “And you believed some random old man with a rock? Where did he get it from, and why has no one heard of it before?”
Jack shook his head. “I don’t know. The Keepers have a network of sympathizers hidden across the country. I didn’t have long to speak with him before the others returned.” He motioned to the house, meaning the soldiers. “But I did verify one thing, the stone is magic.”
She wiped her hands on her skirt and swallowed. “Of that I’m sure, but I don’t know that it’s a map.”
“What does it make you feel?”
“Bad. Wrong. It’s bad magic.” She shook her head and rose, backing away from him.
“Jasminda—” he whispered. Footsteps inside the house cut him off. He cursed under his breath, fisted the shard, and closed his eyes to feign sleep.
“Pleasant morning, Miss Jasminda. You certainly rise with the sun, don’t you?” The sergeant’s obsequious voice made Jack’s skin crawl. Jasminda merely grunted. Jack cracked an eyelid to find her trying to get past Tensyn, whose angular form efficiently blocked the doorway.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to get breakfast started.” Her shoulders were as taut as her voice.
The man didn’t move immediately, and a nasty foreboding caused Jack’s fist to tighten until the little shard threatened to slice his skin. Finally the sergeant stepped aside, allowing Jasminda to pass, then followed behind her.
Jack fought to bring his breathing back under control. He did not like the way Tensyn looked at Jasminda. He settled his weight protectively over the floorboard where she had stored the knife and food the night before.
He would find the strength he needed to get out of here. And he would have to take Jasminda with him.