Page 12 of Requiem of Silence

“Um, no, I think he’s originally from Fremia. He’s worked here since before Jack was born. Why?”

Zeli shrugged. “Lagrimar was so isolated. I’m still… learning about the rest of the world.” Her voice was soft and wistful.

This they had in common. The mountain valley home where Varten had grown up had been his entire world. Sure Mama had ensured their education included information about other places, world history and a few phrases in various languages, and they’d had plenty of books that let him travel in his mind, but his actual experience had been very limited. Up until two years ago at any rate. And that wasn’t anything he wanted to repeat.

“So you think you might want to travel?” he asked.

She raised a shoulder. “Not much need for travel in the Sisterhood.”

“But you do get time off. Vacations, right? Aunt Vanesse has been places with her partner, Clove. She told me about visiting Yaly and they’re planning to go to Fremia and some island in the southern continent.”

“Sounds nice,” she breathed, a dreamy look taking over her face. Varten agreed. He had an itch to see the world as well, this time on his own terms.

Ani and Roshon were going to be sailing off soon… He stuffed away the tightness that took over his chest when he thought of it. He and his twin hadn’t spent more than a day apart in theirentire lives. They bickered and fought but were still two halves of a whole. But not for long.

And after Roshon was gone, then what? Varten hated living in the palace. He’d like nothing more than to go back to their mountain cabin, which was still being rebuilt after the fire that had destroyed it. He missed his farm, his goats, his life. He’d lost years in a prison and had come back to a world he didn’t recognize. To a family he didn’t recognize. Jasminda the queen, Roshon leaving, and Papa off trying to solve the world’s problems.

And what did that leave for him?

They arrived outside the Council Room to find it manned by a Guardsman, who nodded at Varten before squinting at Zeli suspiciously. Varten placed his hand on her back both protectively and to assert that she was with him. He stared the Guardsman in the eye until the man’s face blanked.

Beneath his hand, Zeli shivered. Was she cold? These marble hallways held in cooler air, and the heating system had a hard time sufficiently warming many of the rooms. Jasminda usually had a fireplace going wherever she was; hopefully Zeli would warm up soon.

He knocked on the door and pushed it open, finding his sister at the head of the table, several newspapers spread out before her. She looked up and gave a weak smile that barely cut through her obvious misery. He wouldn’t wish the monarchy on anyone, least of all someone he loved.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She ran a hand across her face and visibly tried to rally. “I don’t have much of a choice but to be.” She pointed to the papers. “No one’s admitting to responsibility in the newest terrorist attacks, but editorials are filling the papers supporting them. We don’tknow who’s behind them either—the Hand of the Reaper, the Dominionists, or some other group of disaffected Elsirans.”

The Hand of the Reaper, the secret society that had blown up one of the temples a couple of months before, had gone quiet in recent weeks. But others had taken up their message of “Elsira for Elsirans” and called for the creation of a separate land for the Lagrimari refugees. Not Lagrimar, as it was a barren desert that could barely support life without the help of Earthsong. But not Elsira, either.

And whoever had attempted to assassinate his sister had yet to be found and brought to justice.

“Zann Biddel himself has penned a new piece,” she continued, “which every paper has seen fit to print.”

“He’s the Dominionist leader, right?” Varten was trying to do a better job of keeping up with politics. For while they didn’t interest him in the slightest, they were now quite personal. He leaned over her shoulder and began to read. “‘As our beloved Elsira continues to crumble due to fiscal mismanagement and the diversion of resources to the interlopers who have flooded across our borders, the unfortunate perpetuation of racially charged violence will carry on. Every drop of blood shed onto our parched soil waters the seeds of the future. We are growing a stronger land. And if it must blossom from the pain of those who for so long sought to destroy it, then let that be the price. Nothing good comes for free.’”

He took a step back, shocked. “Zann Biddel wrote that?”

Jasminda nodded and Zeli looked horrified. She might not have gotten all the Elsiran words, but she obviously understood the sentiment.

Jasminda pulled out a pamphlet printed in Lagrimari—the refugee version of a newspaper. “And then we have the Sons ofLagrimar, who claim what they’re doing is self-defense. Of course a lot of the refugees are listening.”

“I can understand why,” Zeli muttered.

“What does the Council say?” Varten asked, looking around the now-empty room that still radiated discomfort from the contentious meetings it usually held.

“‘Instead of constantly visiting these scenes of devastation, you should be working on our foreign affairs as the king is,’” Jasminda said, in a nasally voice mimicking a fancy Elsiran accent. She snorted. “A few weeks ago both Jack and I were interlopers, now he can do no wrong, while I seem to do nothing but…”

She cracked her neck and sucked in a deep breath. “So what do you need, little brother? And your friend?”

“This is Zeli ul-Matigor, House of Bobcats, sender of messages from the Goddess Awoken.”

“Yes, I know,” Jasminda said laughing at him.

Zeli curtsied awkwardly and kept her head down. “The Goddess requests for you to meet Her in the eastern gardens at your earliest convenience.”

“So will She just be there waiting all day or…?”

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