Page 62 of Requiem of Silence

Biddell raised his shackled hands as if to motion with them, forgetting he could not, and sighed. “Whoever is responsible for the unrest is a patriot, I’ll grant you. They are doing what must be done to save our land and our way of life.”

Jasminda felt like a hot knife was being run underneath her skin, attempting to flay it from her flesh. She fisted her hands and breathed deeply, forcing herself to stay where she was and keep listening.

“I will not apologize for being a separationist. No good can come of trying to blend oil and water together. They will never mix. Elsira is our land, as it should be. Let thegrolspractice their witchcraft somewhere else.”

“You realize that statements such as this along with your recent editorials in the same vein are quite damning.” Agent Verall’s voice was even, conversational. No hint of the anger racing through Jasminda’s veins.

“Having an opinion is not a crime in this land. Unless the new queen has managed to change our laws.” Biddell shifted in his chair, rattling at the chains on his ankles and wrists. “She is innovative, I’ll grant her that, but I am confident that there is no evidence of the crimes you accuse me of.”

“I’m sure you’ve made certain of that,” Verall said, wryly. Biddell chuckled and the bastard interrogator laughed with him.

“I’ve heard enough,” Jasminda said, fury heating her. “How do I get in there?”

“Your Majesty?” The agent next to her looked aghast. Camm’s lips were pursed; he shook his head silently.

“I would like to question the prisoner.” She spoke slowly and clearly.

“I’m—I’m sorry, Your Majesty, that would be highly irregular, it’s—”

“Do I need to go above your head for this, Agent?”

The man paled and looked to the transparent mirror and then back to his queen. “Of course not. Please follow me.”

Camm trailed her silently as she followed the flustered agent down the hall and around the corner. Two more suited men, pistols holstered at their sides, stood on either side of the door to the room that must hold Biddell. They recognized the queen and straightened, then sketched perfunctory bows. She stood before the door, icily staring until one of them opened it.

Agent Verall looked up, startled, and Jasminda met Zann Biddell’s gaze in the mirror. He hid his surprise well with a mask of implacability, but Jasminda felt the truth with her Song. The last person he’d expected was the new queen.

“I’d like to speak with Master Biddell, and then I’d like you to organize his transfer to the palace dungeon.” She did not look at Verall directly, but caught him blinking at her as he rose slowly.

When he went to speak, she raised a hand. “Now, please.”

The room cleared quickly. She gave a final look to her assistant as the door closed and found him frowning at her.

Shaking off Camm’s concern, she paced to the chair Verall had vacated, removing her gloves. This was a dreary room, bare bulb and cinder blocks, gray on gray, lifeless. If there was a psychological advantage they were trying to achieve, she wondered if that might be done better through other means.

She sat and faced the figure who had caused so much destruction. He was feeling smug, though his face was expressionless. The only outward hint he gave of any emotion was a small narrowing of his eyes.

“Your Majesty,” he finally said, inclining his head slightly.

“Master Biddell. Honestly, I’d expected more. You are a remarkably average man to have created such terror in our land.”

“I’m a simple fisherman. The only ones who should fear me are the fish.” He sat back trying to give an air of casual aplomb.

Jasminda clasped her hands before her. “You talk a lot about witchcraft and its dangers. Do you really believe that Earthsong is not real?”

Biddell looked rueful. “Magic exists. I know this. But I also know that with such power comes inevitable tyranny. Hasn’t the True Father shown us this? Hasn’t the Goddess?”

“What of compassion?” Jasminda tilted her head, diving deep into his emotions, trying to determine if there was any shred of pathos within him. “Many of the Lagrimari who managed to keep their Songs have emptied out hospitals around the country, healing those who allowed it. Boosting the paltry harvest as much as they could. Helping the land. You conveniently forget the benefits of Earthsong.”

“I forget nothing. Not the stories of the veterans of the Breach Wars. The terror in their eyes and voices as they recount the horrors of hailstorms and mudslides killing their friends, ripping our country apart.” His light-colored eyes held only the merest hint of gold. His gaze was flinty and never left her face.

“You should also recall that an Earthsinger can sense lies. Can feel emotion. So tell me again how you had nothing to do with the smoke attack this week on the apartment building, the templebombing, the hospital fire last month, or the hotel sabotage? Please, tell me these lies to my face.”

His jaw tightened and he looked away for the first time. Not with anything close to guilt but with anger. Scorching flames rose higher within Jasminda, his anger only stoked her own.

“Tell me how you and the Dominionists or the Reapers or whatever you want to call yourselves are not responsible for nearly a hundred dead since the fall of the Mantle. Do you know how many Elsirans are among that number? Do you care?”

His jaw worked from side to side. A hint of something close to remorse was a tiny ember within. “There is always collateral damage in wartime. The veterans I spoke to told me that as well.”

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