Never give a gift with your eyes closed, said the Master of Sharks to the rich man. For you may part with more than you intend.
—COLLECTED FOLKTALES
Six soldiers crowded around the table, devouring the morning meal Jasminda had set in front of them. Their favorite pastime seemed to be making fun of the youngest and smallest: bespectacled Wargi.
“This one is more coddled than an Elsiran brat,” Pymsyn said through a mouthful of eggs. “Came into the army straight from his mother’s skirts, he did.”
“Thinks he’s better than the rest of us because he’s not harem-born,” said Fahl. “Just because your mam didn’t have to spread her legs for the True Father doesn’t make you top shit.”
“And doesn’t make your mam any less of a whore than ours,” Ginko grunted. The table erupted in laughter.
Jasminda always paid close attention to the men’s taunting and verbal sparring. She didn’t want to make any more mistakes and cast suspicion on her Lagrimari identity. But she knew next to nothing of life in that land. Her father had been tight lipped, and it wasn’t as if any of her books had information on their culture or practices. Aside from the breaches into Elsira over the years and very limited trade with Yaly, their neighbor to the east, Lagrimar was cut off from the rest of the world. Mountains surrounded the country on all sides, with only a small flat area a few thousand paces wide on the Elsiran border, where all the breaches had occurred.
As the men continued to mock Wargi, the young soldier just smiled and laughed, appearing to take it all in stride. But his eyes remained brittle, and Jasminda almost felt sorry for the boy. His round face hadn’t yet lost its baby fat; he couldn’t be older than sixteen.
Soon enough, the sergeant called the table to order, issuing instructions for the men to split into pairs to explore the valley and monitor the progress of the storm. All the soldiers except Wargi and Tensyn himself headed out.
“Is there anything my men can help you with, Miss Jasminda?” Tensyn’s stained smile verged on lecherous. She swallowed the bile that rose and forced herself to smile back.
“No, sir. Dishes are almost done. Once the spy gets his rations, I’ll be back to my chores.”
“Wargi, finish the dishes for the lady, then throw some crusts at that vermin outside,” he barked.
Wargi stood and gently removed the dishrag from her hand.
“Thank you,” she whispered to him. He looked embarrassed and began tackling the pots in the sink.
“Come, rest your feet a moment, dear girl,” Tensyn said.
She could think of no way to refuse, and so took the seat offered, cringing as Tensyn slid uncomfortably close to her.
“Beauty such as yours should never have to look upon that filthy Elsiran. Wargi, find a bag to cover the pig’s head with.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jasminda shot a quick glance toward the porch but couldn’t see Jack from her position. Tensyn launched into a long and meandering tale of his valor during the Seventh Breach, of the vast number of Elsirans he’d killed and the accolades he’d received from the True Father. Every so often, he would twirl the tips of his mustache and pause to check her reaction. She’d never thought herself a good actress, but she strove to appear impressed.
He finished his story, and she bobbed her head enthusiastically, eyes wide as saucers to portray her awe. He then gave a great yawn and announced he was off for a nap. Jasminda slumped in her chair, exhausted, and noticed Wargi had slipped away at some point. She stood to retrieve the extra food she’d set aside for Jack before heading out to the porch.
He sat propped against the railing, looking like a discarded scarecrow with the sack covering his head. She knelt and uncovered him. He blinked at her, then frowned.
“I was rather enjoying the privacy.”
She bounced the bag in her hand. “I can put it back if you like.”
He yawned, stretching his shoulders as far as he could with his arms tied. His shirt remained open, and she watched the muscles of his chest bunch and flex. Though he was bruised and scarred, she couldn’t draw her eyes away.
Silence stretched between them, and she realized he hadn’t missed her stare. Her cheeks grew warm and she ducked her head, pushing the bowl of mashed turnips toward him. He picked it up and awkwardly shoveled the spoon into his mouth with his bound hands, then turned to her with raised eyebrows and a grimace.
“Those are the herbs,” she said, voice apologetic. “They’re bitter, but good for your healing.” Her Song was nearly depleted. She would have to wait until later in the afternoon to be strong enough to help him again.
“I need your help,” he said, only speaking once he’d fully swallowed his food, unlike the Lagrimari soldiers. “With the cornerstone.”
She shook her head, recalling the vile energy coming from the tiny thing he claimed was a map. “I don’t want anything to do with that rock.”
“You don’t have to read the map, that doesn’t require a Song. I can do it. All it takes is a bit of blood.”
Jasminda shivered. “Blood?”
“I tried it before. Just a drop, and you’ll see the path unfold in your mind. Landmarks, trails, the whole journey runs in your head like a photoplay.”
Unease was an army of ants marching across her skin.
“But only an Earthsinger can fortify the cornerstone,” he continued. “And you are the only one available.” His eyes were all earnestness, gently pleading with her.
But the soldiers, her home, the taxes, the constable. Jack didn’t know what he asked of her. In less than a week, she would have to either accept her grandfather’s terms or leave her home. Appealing to the Taxation Bureau in person would require traveling across the entire country, and she had neither the money nor the means to do so in time. There wasn’t really a choice open to her, much as she hated to admit it. She would have to sign and return the papers before the auction and could not both journey through the mountains with Jack and meet the magistrate in five days.
“There has to be someone else. I can’t—I have to…” A pulse of energy stole her breath. She shuddered and squeezed her eyes tight.
“What is it?” Jack asked, leaning toward her.
“I don’t know. Magic, I think.” The faint sensation was not dissimilar to the crawling unease that had overtaken her when she’d touched Jack’s map. But this was different. This felt like it was coming from the house. She sucked in a deep breath, rose, and slipped back through the door.
The kitchen was empty, as was the main room beyond. Both bedroom doors were closed, but as she approached, voices rose from her parents’ room.
“I don’t believe I heard you correctly, mistress. Is that truly what the True Father desires?” Tensyn spoke softly. Jasminda strained to hear. “We have gone through much to recapture the prisoner.”
“Do you question your king’s commands?” A woman’s voice, deadly and elegant, came from behind the door. Jasminda froze and used what was left of her Song to seek out the speaker. But the energy gave no clues. She sensed only one person in the room—Tensyn.
“No, certainly not. I just want to be sure that I understand my orders. I live to obey.”
The woman scoffed. “Then follow my instructions. And when this tantrum he calls a storm clears, you and your men return to Sayya. You will be rewarded for your diligence, Sergeant. I will make sure of it.”
“Th-thank you, mistress.”
Jasminda rushed back to the kitchen, her mind a whirl. The soldiers had claimed their radio equipment was broken. Had that been a lie? But the woman’s voice wasn’t staticky like it was being sent over the airwaves. It had been as clear and crisp as if she’d been standing in front of Mama’s mirror, speaking directly into Tensyn’s ear.
The sensation of bad magic had faded now that the conversation was over. Though the Lagrimari had all lost their Songs, it was obvious that some kind of spell was at work here. The sort that left a bitter taste on Jasminda’s tongue.
What had the mystery woman’s instructions to the sergeant been? The men had wanted to bring Jack back to the capital alive for questioning, but perhaps now that had changed.
Dread danced dangerously down Jasminda’s spine. She needed to come up with a plan to save Jack and remove these men from her home. Before it was too late.