Page 37 of Requiem of Silence

The bundle had been left in her bedroom in the palace before she’d left, with no note or instruction, though as soon as she’d approached and felt the Nethersong pulsing within, she’d known it must have come from the Goddess Awoken.

When she’d dared to look inside, she’d found a caldera. Embedded within the red, gemlike stone was a small object, though she couldn’t identify what it was. Calderas could be created from anything: a lock of hair, a bit of jewelry, a broken shard of pottery—she’d once witnessed the Cantor create one from a discarded shoe. She’d guessed at the purpose of this one, given the large quantity of Nethersong it held. In all likelihood, this was what the Cavefolk had called the death stone.

The Physicks had been searching for the death stone, wanting to harness its power, and now she had it, but did not know what to do with it. Shaking off the strange feelings it evoked, she buried the bundle under her clothing. The thing was too dangerous to remain here, so she’d keep it with her until she knew more.

Her packing complete, she sat at the rolltop desk situated next to the picture window and pulled out a sheet of paper. She was going to embrace her cowardice and write Darvyn a note to let him know where she’d gone. Certainly he’d be upset when he returned home that evening to find her explanation, but there would be nothing he could do. He could not track her with his Song and even if he did come to the mountain, he couldn’t sing inside thecaves. When she returned, he would either forgive her or not—she just hoped he would be able to.

Now she just had to figure out what to say.

She’d never been a wordsmith; though she loved to read, she had very little experience writing down her own thoughts. The pencil in her hand shook, causing the letters to waver as she tried to compose words that matched her feelings. She was on her second attempt when the front door opened, taking her by surprise. Darvyn was back far too soon.

Guilt squeezed her chest. She didn’t have time to hide the note and so merely turned the page she’d been working on facedown.

“How was the party?” she asked, trying not to appear guilty.

Darvyn looked exhausted. “I don’t think the twins enjoyed it very much. They were both absent for large portions of the evening. I had a long chat with Clove and Vanesse, though. They’re talking of traveling, heading down to the southern continent for a while, once things settle a bit more. Whenever that is. Sounds nice though.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’m surprised you’re still up.”

He pushed off the door and crossed the room to her. She stood to greet him properly with a hug and kiss. She scented something perfumed and vaguely soapy on his clothes, but underneath, the familiar smell of his skin grounded her. Home. This felt like home, like something she didn’t want to leave. But she had committed to this trip and must see it through, for Tana’s sake if nothing else.

“There’s more, of course.” He led her to the couch and relayed what had happened during his two meetings with Queen Jasminda. “The last thing she told me, what she hadn’t wanted to say over the telephone…” He paused, looking pained, then took a deep breath. “The True Father has escaped.”

A vast hollow space opened up within her chest. She blinked,unseeing for a long moment before focusing back on Darvyn. “It really is beginning, then,” she finally said.

“What?”

“The war. Murmur said that the living, the dead, and those in between will battle. He saw the vision centuries ago and has been waiting for this day. The dead have returned and our great enemy is somewhere out there. Those two things cannot be unconnected.”

“No, I suppose you’re right. The True Father must be involved somehow.”

The cavity in her chest yawned wider. Bottomless. A great weariness overtook her at the thought of the journey before her. But with the True Father out in the world once again, it was more important than ever that she hone her skills. She hated to admit that Mooriah had been right.

Darvyn squeezed her hand, bringing her back to the present. “We should go to bed,” he said. “Let’s hope the war does not begin before morning.”

Kyara nodded and allowed him to pull her to her feet. He entered the bedroom ahead of her and stopped short. She murmured a curse when she saw what had caught his attention. She’d left the lamp on low and the carpetbag still sat on the bed. Having been so concerned with the note, she’d lost track of time.

He turned slowly and fixed her with a stare full of hurt that melted her insides. “Are you leaving?”

Oh, she was so stupid. What must this look like? “I’m coming back,” she rushed to say, moving to him and grabbing his arm. “I—I just—”

“You’ve decided to go with Mooriah.”

She swallowed. “Yes.”

His shoulders loosened. “Why didn’t you just tell me?” Helooked back toward the desk. “Were you… Were you going to leave anote?”

Kyara didn’t answer; her mouth hung open wordlessly. “I don’t like good-byes,” she finally whispered.

Darvyn scrubbed a hand down his face again, groaning softly. “What makes you think a good-bye is necessary? We’re leaving in the morning, I take it? I’ll just make some calls before we go to alert the others that I’ll be away. It’s too late to do so now.”

She tightened her grip on his arm. “You can’t come.”

His muscles turned to stone.

“Darvyn, we’re going inside the mountain. Mooriah is determined for Murmur to train us. You can’t sing there; remember what happened last time?”

A vision of Murmur’s power pushing Darvyn out of a cliff opening, his fall to the toxic waters of the Poison River below. Carcasses and mummified creatures along its banks telling of its deadliness. Darvyn’s labored breathing as he pulled himself to the shore and then stopped breathing altogether. She shivered.

“Mooriah may trust the Cavefolk, but I don’t. And I don’t want you anywhere near them again.” She shook her head and took a step back.

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