Page 16 of Requiem of Silence

Oola leaned forward. “His actions are because ofme.” She pointed a finger at Her chest. “Iwill find him.”

Jasminda swallowed. “And we will all deal with the consequences.”

“Such is life.” Once again Oola was calm, poised. Staring out at the sea. “My brother has set his sights on this land and as you say, more trouble is coming. It is far easier to take over a broken, weak nation than a unified, strong one.”

Jasminda leaned back, allowing the cold stone of the bench to seep into her clothes. “The unification is difficult. The people.…” She shook her head.

“The people,” Oola repeated. “Yes. Well, I had hoped for more.”

Jasminda couldn’t help but feel that the censure was personal, that she herself had failed. “I’m sorry, I’ve been trying. We’re all trying. The divisions are deep and being stoked by strong voices.” Zann Biddel and his editorial came to mind.

“You cannot force harmony, people must choose it of their own free will.” Oola’s voice was weighted with hidden emotion. “A referendum must be set to allow the people to choose between unification and separation. All may vote as they see fit—both Elsiran and Lagrimari—and that will put an end to it.”

Jasminda stared, shocked. A vote? “But the Council will never—”

“The Council does not have to approve. The ruling monarch may call for a public referendum of any issue that she sees fit to at any time, Council be damned. That is the law.”

“But I’m not certain—”

Oola waved her off. “Then become certain. Eero will not stop until he is defeated. I sense this attack was a trial run and that he is still gathering his strength. There will be more once he has doneso. If it is possible for us to unite, the time must be now. Call for the referendum. Hold the vote as quickly as possible. Do not give the people time to overthink it.”

She stood suddenly and walked to the cliff’s edge, white gown billowing out behind Her. Jasminda considered Her words. “And what do we do the next time we’re attacked?”

Oola rose into the air on a current and spun toward the ocean. “We fight.” Her voice was just an echo as She swiftly disappeared into the sky.

CHAPTER SIX

A wrong note can be replayed,

an instrument brought into tune.

Dissonance may echo

but not

forever.

—THE HARMONY OF BEING

You wake on a stone floor, colder than you have ever been in your life. The same dirt-encrusted trousers and tunic you’ve been clad in for weeks are stiff, nearly frozen to your skin. Every part of you aches from where it’s been in contact with the unforgiving, icy stone.

Not long ago, you slept in a lush and lavish feather-filled bed fashioned by the finest artisans in all the land. A headboard inlaidwith precious jewels, sheets of the finest silk, a warm body or two on either side. Now you are alone. You know it before you open your eyes.

The constant presence of others nearby was always soothing, and you are decidedly not soothed.

You peel your eyes open to survey the dark room. A barred metal door leads to a dim hallway. Your breath turns to steam, barely visible before you. It’s like your new prison is in the center of a block of ice.

There are no windows, no way to tell the time of day or see where you are. Just an endless box made of stone, a pile of straw that might once have been some sort of mat, and a rusted bucket. The indignities have no end.

But food has been left for you on a tray just inside the door. Simple fare. A thick slice of bread and some sort of stew. You haven’t eaten in so long—a weak protest against the audacity of your imprisonment—and yet you don’t feel hungry. Did they force you to eat at some point? Heal the worst indications of your starvation? They have magic, whoevertheyare, your new captors.

You have your suspicions about their identities. Only so many have access to the type of magic that broke you out of your last prison—a day ago? Longer? You were not unaware of their existence, though they continually disrespected you by not asking permission before invading your land and killing your people with their experiments.

Little went on in your land without your knowledge. But you turned a blind eye because they were powerful—and while you were also powerful, their power was different. Untainted, though in its own way just as insidious.

But now you are weak. Not just of body but of mind. You’ve been stripped of everything, not only your robes and the accoutrementsof power, but the power itself. The Songs. They’d been gained with such difficulty.

You are reminded of the impotence of your youth when you lusted after so much. A woman who wanted nothing to do with you. A magic you were not born to handle. And when you could not have one you stole the other, biting into its sweetness, allowing it to drip from your lips like honey. Like an addiction.

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