Page 5 of Requiem of Silence

The strange bird—they had no such creatures in Lagrimar, andshe didn’t know its Elsiran name—dropped into the water with a splash, then rose again on beating wings, a wriggling fish in its mouth.

She gave a wry smile, silent kudos for the talented predator, and rose to her feet, dusting off her bottom to little avail. Elsiran sand was much the same as the sand back home; it might sparkle subtly and be a bit softer to the touch, but it still crept into every crevice imaginable and held on for dear life. Her trousers and skin were not immune.

The sun was beginning to lower and she contemplated turning back toward the little cottage she’d been living in for the past few weeks. She wasn’t exactly sure how Darvyn had found the place an hour’s drive outside the city—his friend, the king, had likely helped—but she’d grown to love the small space they shared. It sat mere steps from the ocean, on the outskirts of a tiny town of artisans and tourists.

She and Darvyn had retreated there a few days after her execution had been interrupted. The house’s sparse white walls and simple, comfortable furniture had brought her a peace she wasn’t sure she deserved. Especially when she’d expected her last home to be a dungeon. But as lovely as it was, today she wanted to walk a bit farther, explore a little more, especially since the beach was deserted now that the weather had chilled.

Though she hadn’t ventured into the town, Darvyn reported that his presence had not caused a riot or even elicited much comment. These folk, used to foreign tourists, seemed not to mind the presence of two Lagrimari among them. Still, Kyara had no desire to push her luck, and when the sound of voices rose just beyond the dunes to her right, she froze.

She would have turned around and retreated, had she not recognized the language as Lagrimari. Female voices chattered, tooquiet to make out more than a few words. Children’s laughter rang out as well. Now, curiosity won out over Kyara’s desire for solitude.

She crouched and climbed up the small hill, hoping to remain hidden among the waist-high, wispy grass as she peered beyond. A small group of Lagrimari were seated about fifty paces away, the wind bringing their voices closer. Instead of facing the ocean, they sat looking toward a three-story building, teeming with construction workers.

Darvyn had mentioned this place to her the other day, a seaside inn, vacant for at least a year after the owner died. The Sisterhood was restoring it for use by the refugees.

The presence of the women and children made Kyara suspect that at least part of the building was inhabitable. The camps were being emptied as quickly as alternate housing could be found. A half dozen small children chased one another, squealing and laughing, remaining a safe distance from the construction and under the watchful eyes of the mothers. Just beyond them, a group of older children played carryball. Kyara flattened herself against the ground, observing, an ache of longing pulsing within her.

Near the women, a tiny boy began to spin, laughing riotously at his own antics. As other children egged him on, cyclones of sand started to twist and turn around him. Earthsong. A young woman who might have been his mother gasped when she saw it, her gaze darting toward the building and the workers, mostly Elsiran from what Kyara could see. The woman hurried to the boy and snatched his arm.

“No! No singing, not where they can see you.”

Chastened, the boy nodded, and the small tornadoes died. The children all quieted, and the woman pulled him into her arms and squeezed, relief making her face go slack.

Kyara crawled back down the hill, oblivious to the sand abradingher skin. Part of her wanted to be able to walk up to them, introduce herself, and sit for a chat. The thought made her snort. She hadn’t had a friend since she was eleven years old—and look how that turned out. She’d accidentally killed her.

One look at the Poison Flame, so recently liberated from the hangman’s noose, and the children’s easy laughter would turn to screams. She started back toward the cottage, heart heavy, when shouts behind her caused her to turn.

The ball the older children had been playing with flew in a wide arc over the small dunes, all the way to the water, where it splashed as it fell with a thud. At this time of day, the waves beating at the sand were frothy and white, rippling angrily as they came ashore. The ball disappeared into the jaws of the water, swallowed whole.

Kyara blinked, and in that time the body of a preteen boy came barreling across the sand. He raced through the wispy grass and down the incline, accompanied by the calls of his friends who trailed behind him.

“Taron, no!” a girl shouted. “Just leave it.”

“But it’s our only ball,” another boy said.

“We’re not supposed to go near the water. It’s dangerous.”

The commotion had brought the women to the hilltop as well, and Kyara stood frozen, not wanting to draw attention to herself. Taron raced across the beach on bare feet, but stopped short at the water’s edge. The ball was nowhere in sight.

The boy’s breath heaved in his chest as he scanned the water, panic in his eyes. His friends caught up to him, staring longingly at the rowdy waves.

“Leave it, Taron,” the girl’s voice came again, sounding sensible.

“We won’t get another,” a boy spoke up from the middle of the pack.

By the time Kyara had been this age, she was already in service to the True Father, quickly becoming his favorite assassin. Killing his enemies, and even his friends, when the mood suited him. She’d never actually played carryball, barely knew the rules, and so didn’t understand the group’s fascination with something so trivial as a leather bag filled with stuffing. But they all looked at the sea as if it had stolen their closest friend.

Taron was nearest to the water; he stood, hands on his hips, without taking his eyes from the writhing waves. “I can get it back,” he said, and the determination in his voice caused the hairs on Kyara’s neck to rise.

Without any further hesitation, he marched into the water, cursing at the cold as it swallowed his feet and legs. The women’s voices raised in alarm, and several of them descended the hill in a panic.

Kyara stood locked in place. She should really go home to her cottage before she was recognized. She didn’t know these people, had no connection to them. Then again, maybe she did… Maybe she’d killed one of their loved ones. Maybe they’d been there that day when the noose had been prepared for her and she’d been led over to it, ready to lay down her life in payment for her crimes. She had no way of knowing.

A surge knocked Taron off balance and his body disappeared beneath the frothy waters of the Delaveen Ocean. Screams rose up from the gathered audience and several women grabbed at the children rushing forward to go after him.

Kyara sank into her other sight, into her ability to view the Nethersong around her. The energy of death glowed in the adults, less so in the children. In the water, the glow of fish and sea creatures peppered the darkness of the waves. The largest form she sensed was about thirty paces away and sinking quickly, glowing brighter as death energy filled the young boy’s body.

She couldn’t reach him, not with her physical self. Like most Lagrimari, she couldn’t swim and had never gotten more than her feet wet in the ocean. Diving in after him would be folly; however, standing by while he drowned was not an option, either. She was done with death—both causing it and witnessing it.

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