Page 61 of Requiem of Silence

“It’s a lot of responsibility,” his sister called out. “I’m just taking it seriously.”

Eskar smiled and shook his head. Watching the recently reunited siblings caused a pang to ricochet through Varten’s chest. He hoped Jasminda did not find out he was gone before he returned. Hoped this trip wouldn’t leave him with regrets or any more scars than the ones he already bore. Varten’s last sea voyage hadn’t ended well, and he fought off a heavy foreboding.

Instead, he took a look around the ship. The bridge was enclosed in glass. Steps led to a cabin below. There looked to be enough room for the five of them to sit comfortably down there, but the accommodations were sparse. Zeli settled in next to Yalisa, talking and reminiscing happily, while Lanar paced the deck, inspecting the ship with an air of deep suspicion.

Varten stood, determined to offer Eskar his help. He’d learned some about sailing from Ani’s brother, Tai, and would rather put that knowledge to good use than worry about what was to come.

In a matter of minutes, they were on their way. Rosira’s port shrank in the distance as they raced toward the unknown.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

With even steps and temper

shall we lay our burdens

on the scales.

—THE HARMONY OF BEING

Jasminda arrived at the small, dingy building in the Northside neighborhood in a nondescript vehicle, a jalopy that bore no resemblance to the pristine, shining town cars generally utilized by the palace. A gray overcoat covered her from neck to ankles and a matching floppy rain hat hid her hair and face.

She’d altered the shade of her skin so that anyone getting a glimpse of her beneath the disguise would not be able to identify her as appearing Lagrimari. She wished she’d had time to master the shifting of features that Darvyn could accomplish that could turn her into another person entirely, but it was one of themost complicated uses of Earthsong, and though she now had the power to accomplish it, she still lacked the skill.

However, she was only visible on the street for a few brief moments before being ensconced in the building’s darkened entryway. The driver who accompanied her, dressed in a plain workingman’s shirt and trousers, opened the interior door and led her into an office full of men and women at desks cluttered with an excess of typewriters and telephones. Even inside there was no indication that this was one of the satellite offices of the nation’s Intelligence Service.

Her assistant Camm was already inside, talking with an older woman who sat at a desk with no less than seven telephones. He straightened and strode to her as Jasminda entered and let her meager disguise fall away.

“Your Majesty,” he said quietly, “he’s on the lower level in the interrogation room.”

The new acting director of the Intelligence Service had believed that Zann Biddell would be more malleable to questioning now that he was officially under arrest—albeit for another crime. Of course these were the same agents who hadn’t managed to gather enough evidence to arrest him for his actual offenses, so she wasn’t hopeful.

Two Intelligence Agents appeared and led her and Camm to a stairwell in the corner. They descended into a dimly lit concrete box leading to an equally dim hallway lined with doors. One of the agents opened a door in the middle of the hall and ushered them through with a short bow.

Inside, a bare bulb in the ceiling created harsh shadows. A small metal table and chair were pushed against a wall directly under a window looking on to another room. With the exception of a few chairs scattered around the space, it was otherwise devoid of furniture.

A secretary sat at the table, headphones affixed to her ears, scribbling on a pad in shorthand as she stared through the window into the other room. Jasminda stepped up behind her, peered through the tinted glass, and froze.

“Is that him?”

Camm came to her side. “Zann Biddell in the flesh.”

“And he can’t see us?”

“No, this is a transparent mirror, Your Majesty,” one of the agents said. “Inside of the interrogation room, it looks like a regular mirror. He can only see himself.”

And himself wasn’t much to look at. There was nothing visually that marked him as evil. He was small and plain, with a forgettable face. His head was shaved, with nothing of the oddly pale stubble that would mark him as half-foreign. She’d never been face-to-face with Biddell and found him disappointing in person. Wouldn’t it be easier if his villainy were painted across his skin or marked with something terrifying like horns or red, blazing eyes?

An interrogator was in the room with him, seated with his back to the mirror. Biddell looked unperturbed, hands bound with metal cuffs and placed on the table in front of him. He had been held already for two days while his paperwork was sorted, but he didn’t look worried in the least.

“Is there a way for us to hear what’s being said?” Jasminda asked.

The agent nodded and moved to a speaker on the wall she hadn’t noticed before. He turned the dial and Biddell’s silvery voice filled the room.

“I don’t know where you’re getting your information from, Agent Verall. But I will repeat it as often as I must until it penetrates. I had nothing to do with the smoke bombing, or any of the other attacks.” His gaze was wide open, unblinking. But Jasminda’s Song clearly sensed the lie.

Hundreds of years ago, that would have been enough to convict a murderer in the halls of justice. But now, since Earthsong had been absent from Elsira in any real way for generations, she could know the truth and not be able to do anything about it. Not via the legal system at any rate.

“But you admit,” the agent was saying, “that you do not find the attacks to be tragedies.”

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