Page 43 of Requiem of Silence

The Lagrimari who had spoken up hadn’t been bothered by the inconveniences associated with the new restrictions. They at least understood the purpose—to protect the lives of everyone, Elsiran and Lagrimari alike. She held herself back from rubbing her temples again. Seated as she was on the stage of the auditorium in the assembly hall, she did not want to be perceived as weak or in pain. When the next speaker began, a sliver of dread snaked down her spine. She recognized that voice.

“Your Majesty and honored guests. My name is Marvus Zinadeel, and I am the owner of several businesses in Rosira and throughout Elsira.”

Her jaw clenched and she focused her bleary eyes on him. Her grandfather was haughtiness personified. His full head of hair was white at the temples, but still reddish-blond everywhere else. His lean form was rod straight, as if he’d never bent an inch in his life. Standing next to him was a woman who must be her grandmother; Jasminda had never laid eyes on her before. Her oval face and prominent chin favored Aunt Vanesse. Silver streaked her auburn hair. Jasminda saw little of her own mother in the woman’s face and was grateful for it.

After the coronation and wedding, Marvus Zinadeel had made many attempts to contact her, but she’d denied every one. She would never forget their one meeting—before she’d becomequeen—and the coldness with which he’d treated her. The utter disregard from both of her mother’s parents during the lonely years she’d spent writing for help after the disappearance of her father and brothers.

There was a standing order to not allow them on the palace grounds but they could not, of course, be kept from a public assembly. Her grandfather eyed her with barely leashed contempt and sketched a shallow bow.

“We are in a time of civil unrest and economic downturn,” Zinadeel said. “We cannot afford the cost of this curfew. After only a few days it is becoming untenable.”

Unwilling to hear any more, Jasminda stood suddenly. The alderman stumbled, though he’d been standing still and she was a good ten paces away from him. As she approached his podium on the stage, he stepped to the side, flustered.

“Master Zinadeel, have there been any attacks in the days since the curfew was enacted?”

Her grandfather pursed his lips. “No, Your Majesty.” Though he said it with as little reverence as possible, it still cheered her to hear the words pass from his lips.

“Well then. The cost is minor compared with the human lives that have been saved. Lives on both sides of this conflict. I think that is proof enough of its efficacy. Surely you can spare a few coins for human lives?” She barely avoided adding the word “grandfather” to that. He’d had no desire to claim her, and she would not deign to claim him in public, either. The gossip column writers would have plenty of fodder today.

His nose flared and his eyes widened. “The cost is high, maybe not in human life, but what good is life without thriving? That is what you are asking the people to do, Your Majesty. Cease their thriving.”

“Who exactly has been thriving in this land? You, certainly, but who else? The rich and powerful have been doing quite well and a few days or weeks of curfew is unlikely to change that. There are thousands upon thousands of our citizens unable to afford even the goods you carry in your stores. Their lives have value. Do you care so little for them?”

Anger burned hot within her, feeling like a firestorm waiting for an outlet. The pain in her head was completely consumed by the rage in her heart. Her grandfather appeared taken aback by the venom in her voice.

Yes, the curfew had unintended consequences, she recognized that, but she also knew that no one else had died senselessly in the days since it was enacted. And it was only a temporary means to an end. The first step in the plan to unify these people and make them one harmonious country.

She pulled her attention away from her grandfather to survey the gathered audience. Putting her shoulders back, she adopted her most queenly voice. “The curfew stays for as long as the city government deems it necessary. I suggest all of you adversely affected make the necessary adjustments to your schedule. Our focus should remain on the survival—and thriving—ofallwithin our land.” She eyed her grandfather icily and he stared back, indignation in bold relief in his features.

She left the stage and waited in the back as her Guardsmen gathered. They led her through a side exit of the assembly hall and onto the street. A small crowd had gathered there along with some members of the press. Flashbulbs popped and cries rang out, people calling her name and shouting questions.

“Your Majesty! Hazelle Harimel,Rosira Daily Witness,” a high-pitched voice called out. She paused and turned. This wasthe reporter Nadette had planned to contact. The woman’s wide-set face and snub nose lent her a youthful appearance that was belied by a head of graying curls. Something in the glint of her eye put Jasminda in mind of a battle-ax, unyielding and splintery.

“Do you believe the curfew will help or harm the unification you seek, Your Majesty?” Her voice held an unpleasant tone, obsequious on the surface, but unkind.

“How would it harm unification, Mistress Harimel?”

“Without the refugee presence, the curfew wouldn’t be necessary. People are losing money, livelihoods are at stake—how long do you think it will take for Elsirans to connect those dots?”

Jasminda’s eyes widened. “That’s absurd. The only person connecting those dots is you. Both peoples have had casualties due to the violence.”

“Violence that would not have occurred had the refugees not been pouring into our land.”

“Violence that the curfew is aimed at addressing,” she said through clenched teeth. Then she nodded regally and motioned for her guards to continue moving.

She waved at those gathered as she approached the town car that would bring her back to the palace, but she was not in the mood to talk to any more reporters. Obviously Nadette’s plan to win the woman over was not working.

“Your Majesty! A word, if you please?” A strident voice cut through the clamor and a hush descended on the crowd. Jasminda turned to find her grandfather standing amidst those exiting the hall, a solid post with a sea of people parting around him.

Cameras swiveled in his direction as the reporters recognized him. Murmurs reached her ears, whispers of “Zinadeel” and “alderman.” Her grandfather had recently announced his intentionto run for an open seat on the city’s ruling body. He was highly favored to win his race in the spring. If the queen snubbed a candidate for public office, it would likely be a top news story. Especially since it was not exactly a secret that he was her grandfather. She had never publicly mentioned their estrangement and while she knew it was an occasional topic of the gossip columns, she was loathe for it to become front-page news. To snub him now with all these witnesses would make that a certainty. So as much as she did not want to speak with him, she resigned herself to the situation.

Her grandmother peeked around from behind her husband, whose larger form effectively hid her. Jasminda turned to a member of her Guard. “Please let Master and Mistress Zinadeel through. We’ll talk in the car.”

Jasminda did not generally use the longer limousines when she was alone, but today she wished there was more space between them as her grandparents piled into the vehicle on the bench across from her. Once they were situated and the doors closed, she fixed them with an icy glare. “You had something else you wished to say?”

Her grandmother stared openly. She was still quite beautiful, but Jasminda would never forgive her not only for what she’d done to her mother—cutting her off without a thought—but to Aunt Vanesse, who bore the burn scars this woman had inflicted upon her.

And her grandfather had tried to take everything from her: her name, her parentage, her home. There was nothing these people could do to get back into favor with her. They should be ashamed to even step foot inside this car.

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