Page 125 of Requiem of Silence

The goddess looked uncomfortable. “If I could remove your bitterness, I would,” she said. “For it is corrosive. It was the people who insisted I become queen—you know it was nothing I wanted. Perhaps it was not right of me to accept. Or perhaps the time for kings and queens is coming to an end.” She stared at the newspaper on the table in front of Her. “The people speak in ways that we often do not understand. But you should know why you have the position that you do. It was my legacy, my burden. I felt strongly that my time to bear that particular weight had passed. You will be a better queen than I was—you already are.”

Warmth bloomed inside Jasminda’s belly. It filled a hole she hadn’t even been conscious of before. The doubts and fears were still there, but they were cocooned inside this knowledge. The vague sense of betrayal she felt over Oola’s omissions battled with the comfort of a lineage now known. Of a family discovered.

Oola was flawed, as was Jasminda. But they could both acknowledge their imperfections and work to improve them. She wasn’t sure if Oola had any intention or desire to be better, but Jasminda certainly did.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said, rising. “It is something that I needed to know. Will you find my father? Make your peace with him?”

The Goddess nodded solemnly.

“Good. If you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere I should be.”

The dungeon wasn’t Jasminda’s favorite place. She supposed every sane person would say the same, but she had spent a nervous fewhours here several months ago and hadn’t ever planned to return. Now each step she took brought her closer to a meeting she still didn’t want, but that the country sorely needed. She could never forgive Zann Biddell, but she could work with an enemy toward a common good. She hoped.

Each footfall on the stone floor was like an echo of the screams of some victim of his malice. She girded herself, strengthening her resolve and building her outer shell before she faced him again. The last time they’d met, she’d lost control. She could not afford such a display today.

The cell that Biddell had been given in the solitary confinement wing of the dungeon was large and held more amenities than most. As she approached, he sat on a wooden chair reading a book. More were stacked beside him on the ground. His feet rested on the narrow cot and a wooden table against the wall held the remnants of his lunch.

He turned at the sound of her footsteps and paled when she stepped up to the bars. The book cracked shut, held between his palms like a prayer.

“Master Biddell.” Jasminda stood straight, her face wiped clean of emotion.

“Your Majesty,” he said warily, rising to his feet. He did not bow, and she was almost grateful for the lack of hypocrisy. But just as he would not show her the respect of her position, she would not apologize for her actions the last time she’d seen him. Now was not the time for insincerity.

“You consider yourself a patriot, do you not?”

He kept a safe distance from the bars, eyeing her cautiously. “Yes, I love Elsira.” His voice was low, but threaded with music and energy. “Everything I have ever done has been for her.”

Jasminda’s brow rose. “You murder Elsirans and destabilize the country, yet tout your love for it.”

“You must prune the thorns to love the rose.” His head lowered somewhat, but he maintained the courage of his convictions, such as they were.

She needed to get this over with. “I have a proposal for you. I’m certain you’re acquainted with the latest news. If you are, as you say, a patriot, then you do not want the land to fall into the True Father’s hands. He is close to getting what he’s wanted for five hundred years, control of this land. What would a patriot be willing to do to stop him?”

“What are you suggesting, Your Majesty?” The honorific was stated simply, without any snideness this time.

“Almost every living person in this country is a potential soldier in the True Father’s army.” She held his gaze steadily, even as inwardly she cringed to look at the man. “We need to reduce the number of that army. Weneedthe people to go to the shelters and accept help from the Earthsingers so that they cannot be made into wraiths and fight for our enemy. The people are not listening to our pleas, but they may listen to you.”

Biddell frowned and began to pace his cell. Jasminda gave him a moment to think. “And if I don’t help you?”

She shrugged. “Then you stay here. The wraiths can get to you here, walls don’t stop them. When the palace becomes a target, as it will, you will become one of them and your patriotism will turn against your people the same way you will.”

His pacing stopped. He stared at her, face blank, but a tic in his jaw gave a hint to the dread the idea spawned within. “And if Idohelp?”

“You will be released. Of course, you’ll be monitored, but youmay go free and use your organization and connections to convince as many people as possible that their safety is part of our best defense against the True Father. The choice is yours.”

Biddell stroked his chin, eyes calculating. “Perhaps it’s better if he wins. Maybe this land needs to be purged.”

Jasminda shrugged again. “Maybe so.” She looked away down the darkened hallway. “Maybe this is a country full of small-minded people full of hatred and bigotry and it would be better if nothing of them survived. Maybe they deserve to have the brutality of the True Father’s regime imposed upon them. You make a good point and I find your patriotism impressive. However, I do believe there are good people here. Compassionate citizens with love in their hearts, open to those who are different. More curious about the unfamiliar than they are afraid of it. I have to believe that and remind myself of it every morning, or else I could not rise from my bed.”

The weight of the past weeks settled into her bones, making them feel as though they were filled with lead. She faced him again, not bothering to hide her exhaustion. “I could threaten you. Offer to reveal your heritage publicly. Expose you as a public fraud. Have you photographed with that ghostly pale stubble atop your head, which reveals you cannot possibly be as Elsiran as you claim.”

His smugness dropped away like a discarded mask and he touched his head self-consciously, a week’s worth of hair growth visible.

“But I honestly don’t care what people know about you. You are not all that important any longer and I have many more things to worry about than where your mother was born. If you don’t agree to help, we will move on to our next plan. You will stay hereand maybe the True Father will find you more useful than I have.” She turned to leave. “If you change your mind, this offer is open until I am out of earshot.”

Her steps began to echo in the silence as she walked away. She would not beg. Especially not him.

She was halfway down the hall when his voice called out.

---