Song of Blood & Stone (Earthsinger Chronicles Book 1) (5 page)

He yawned, stretching his shoulders as far as he could with his arms tied. His shirt was still open, and she watched the muscles of his chest bunch and flex. Though he was bruised and scarred, she couldn’t draw her eyes away.

Silence stretched between them, and she realized he hadn’t missed her stare. Her cheeks grew warm and she ducked her head, pushing the bowl of mashed turnips toward him. He picked it up and awkwardly shoveled the food into his mouth with his bound hands, then turned to her with raised eyebrows and a grimace.

“Those are the herbs,” she said. “They’re bitter, but they’ll help you heal.” She would have to wait until later in the afternoon to use any more Earthsong.

A clattering inside drew her attention, and she slipped back through the door.

In the main room, Wargi knelt in front of the large oak cabinet, the contents of which were lined up on the floor. Spread before her were the memories she kept locked away. Her mother’s quilts, toy trucks whittled and painted by her father’s hand, the twins’ hiking boots, their sketch pads, tiny tin soldiers. When they’d first gone, she’d opened the cabinet several times a day to touch something of theirs, to remind herself that though she was alone now, she hadn’t always been.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

The boy turned around, his eyes wide behind his spectacles. “S-sergeant said to make an inventory.”

“An inventory? Of what?”

“Everything, miss.”

“For what purpose?”

Wargi stared at her, one of the seven bottles of gin her father had purchased shortly after her birth shook in his hands.

“Put that down before you drop it,” she snapped. He placed the bottle down next to the others.

She spun on her heel and marched into her parents’ bedroom. Wargi scrambled to follow her. Tensyn lay across the bed, a cloth covering his eyes. He startled when the door crashed against the wall and sat up, moving a hand to the empty holster at his hip. His revolver sat on the dresser, just out of reach.

“Sir, your men have no right to paw through my family’s belongings.”

Tensyn blinked slowly. His normally perfect hair was lopsided from the pillow. His mustache was slightly askew to match.

“Miss Jasminda. It is imperative that we take all the necessary security precautions during our stay here.”

“Including snooping through my things?”

“It is standard procedure and should cause little problem if you have nothing to hide.” He rose, taking a moment to stop in front of the mirror and pat his hair back into place. He smiled that repellant smile, then led them back into the main room.

“Seven bottles of gin?” His eyebrows rose.

“The dowry my father prepared.”

He bent to inspect a bottle. “Where did your father acquire this? I’ve never seen this labeling before.”

The brand was Elsiran. Jasminda’s mind raced to come up with an explanation. How would an Elsiran product be purchased in Lagrimar? “I was an infant when he bought them, so I can’t be sure. Perhaps it was bounty from his time in the Sixth Breach.”

After scrutinizing the bottle for a few more moments, he finally set it down. The tension in her shoulders unwound just a notch. “I’m sure you realize that a dowry is an old-fashioned concept, Miss Jasminda. The True Father frowns upon such indulgences and archaic traditions. All nonessentials must be paid as tribute to the True Father or his representatives. This is a difficult time for my men, and if there’s something here that can make them more comfortable, I’m obliged to provide it. I’m sure you must understand my position.” His voice oozed false sincerity.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “So that gives you license to steal what you wish?”

“As you have not given your tribute yet, this is the least you can do.”

Jasminda froze at the accusation in his voice. He ran a finger across the items on the ground, marking them with his scent like a cat. Anger bubbled up inside her with no outlet. How dare he so much as breathe on her family's belongings? Moreover, her home was no doubt filled with items unavailable in Lagrimar. This ruse of hers was in jeopardy.

Something had to be done about the soldiers, and soon.

She backed away from the men as they conferred about the quality of her brothers’ boots. Praying to the Queen Who Sleeps for the patience she so often lacked, she went out the back door.

Jack was licking the last of his breakfast from the bowl but paused, mid-chew at her appearance. She tried to tamp down her rage, but by the look on his face, she wasn’t doing a very good job. She kneeled next to him, glaring back at the house.

“From now on, eat only food that comes directly from me,” she whispered in Elsiran. “Understand?”

His forehead crinkled in confusion, but he nodded.

“Only from my hands. And be vigilant.”

The morning passed
slowly for a man tied to a porch with nothing to occupy him. Jack invented names for each of the chickens pecking away in the fenced-off yard and developed stories for them. Margritt had spent half an hour bickering with her sister-in-law, Heleneve, over whose eggs were larger. Then he listed all of the presidents of Yaly in descending order, and all of the Elsiran Prince Regents in alphabetical order. Anything to keep his mind from the fears that circled, fears of the deluge of death and destruction that would accompany another war, and his current inability to stop it.

He also strove to bar his thoughts from the other force demanding entry into his mind: Jasminda. The feel of her hand in his, the curve where her neck met her shoulder, the hint of collarbone above the fraying fabric of her dress. Even the scent that filled his nostrils whenever she was near. What was it about her that captivated him so? Less than a month ago, he’d attended an officer’s ball and danced with a dozen pretty socialites. None of them had affected him nearly as much.

Perhaps it was his captivity. Perhaps being close to death made his fingers long to lose themselves in the twisting coils of her hair. But perhaps it was just that she was unlike any woman he’d ever known. The giggling debutantes of the city, cinched and beaded to perfection, were lovely to look at, but Jack sensed a bottomless well inside Jasminda that made him want to know more, to sink into the pools of her eyes and linger.

He let out a breath of frustration. The attraction was inconvenient. So was being tied to the bloody porch. The blade under the floorboard called to him.
Freedom.
He could cut the ropes and head for home. But how long would he last in the storm? It was better to bide his time and trust Jasminda to keep her promise.

Time was precious and steadily running out, though. He had witnessed the Lagrimari brigade gathering a dozen kilometres from the border. Whispers of the True Father’s rapidly increasing strength had spread through the army like a plague. Word was, tributes were being taken from whole towns at a time. Not just adults but children, infants even, were being drained of their Songs to feed the god-king’s unquenchable thirst for power. Darvyn had warned him as much, but Jack hadn’t believed the former POW. How could
he
have known, having been trapped inside Elsira since the last breach?

But Darvyn knew a great deal, including the location of the crack in the Mantle. He’d led Jack through that place where the magic had weakened in order to personally gather the proof his Elsiran government would not accept from a Lagrimari. The two had agreed to meet in a fortnight to return to Elsira, but Darvyn’s spell had worn off early, and Jack had been exposed, shot, and forced on the run before the appointed date. He rubbed his chest wondering, not for the first time, what had happened to the young man.

The open kitchen window carried a low conversation between his captors to his ear.

“How do you not know where she’s gone? Didn’t I tell you to keep closer watch on her?” Sergeant Tensyn said. Jack perked up.

“Y-yes, sir. But you said to be secretive about it; I can’t follow her everywhere without her knowing.” The timid voice must have been from the boy, Wargi. The soldier was only a handful of years younger than himself, but Jack had been in the army since early childhood, training for his role.

“I don’t want excuses, ensign. I want results. There’s something about this place that isn’t quite right. Too many strange objects and labels.”

“We are on the outskirts, sir. People here live differently than in the towns.”

“Nothing in Lagrimar is
that
different. When was the last time you saw real honey?”

“I-I can’t say that I’ve ever seen it, sir.”

“Not since the last breach, that’s for sure.” Tensyn may have been a popinjay, but he was not stupid. Jasminda’s instincts to pretend to be Lagrimari had been good, but Jack sensed the gambit would not last much longer.

“Keep an eye on her,” the sergeant snapped.

“Yes, sir.”

Their footsteps faded into the house, leaving Jack on edge.

Hours later, Jasminda
reappeared through the copse of trees behind the back garden, a full basket on her arm. Her dark eyes flashed as she scanned the area, always alert. The sight of her ignited him as a gentle breeze ruffled through her mass of curls. She would have made an excellent soldier, if such things were possible. Her beauty was raw and pure, and a torrent of desire he had no business feeling rose inside him.

As she passed, he reached out, wanting to warn her of the sergeant’s suspicions, but she shook her head slightly, and the man in question appeared at the doorway. Jack closed his eyes, feigning sleep.

“Pleasant evening, Miss Jasminda. I hope your day was enjoyable.” The sergeant’s obsequious voice made Jack’s skin crawl. Jasminda merely grunted. It didn’t sound unladylike coming from her, though. Jack cracked his eyes to find her trying to get past Tensyn, whose angular form efficiently blocked the doorway.

“And may I ask where you’ve been off to?”

Jack couldn’t see her face, but the tension in her shoulders indicated her displeasure with the inquiry.

“Needed to restock. Eight eat far more than one.”

Tensyn peered into the basket, its top protectively covered by her arm. “And what do you have there?”

After a moment’s pause, in which Jack could feel the waves of irritation pulsing from her, she moved her arm to show him. “Wild greens and herbs. Potatoes and berries. Potatoes aren’t quite ripe. The herbs should cover the bitterness.” She stayed rigid as Tensyn inspected the basket’s contents, poking and prodding at the vegetables.

When the leaves of the greens came into view, he nearly gasped, but caught himself and clamped his jaw shut. The sergeant did not appear to see anything amiss in her haul. Just as Jack was beginning to exhale the long-held breath, Tensyn’s body brushed against Jasminda’s. Jack clenched his hands into fists until she shifted the basket, cutting off any further bodily contact.

“If you’ll excuse me, Sergeant.” She motioned toward the kitchen, and Tensyn finally stepped aside.

Jack snapped his eyes shut when the man’s attention moved to the floor in the corner where he lay. When the footsteps retreated into the house, he sat up, mind racing. He’d only seen the edge of one leaf, but that was enough. Every child in Elsira learned to identify and avoid ruaba leaf. The plant was so poisonous it was illegal, sold only on the black market. A quick killer, it caused a rapid, deadly fever in the victim within fifteen minutes of ingestion. A fever that grew hot and fast, causing death within the hour.

Jasminda’s plan was clear enough, and while Jack admired her strength of spirit and quick mind, he thought it too risky. If any of the men recognized the plant or chose not to eat it for some reason, there would be trouble.

The smells of her cooking soon wafted through the window, causing his stomach to rumble. The other soldiers were arriving back from their missions, and Jack slumped down as one tromped past and slammed himself in the old outhouse. The main cabin had a single washroom that was always in demand.

Pymsyn approached the outhouse next and banged on the door, receiving a grumbled curse from inside. “How long are you going to stay in there, mate?”

Jack couldn’t hear the response, but Pymsyn shrugged and moved to the nearest tree to piss. The stream was seemingly endless; he must have drunk a gallon of water. Just as he finally finished, the outhouse door opened and Unar came out, buckling his belt. The two men shared the thick build the Lagrimari were known for.

“I’m starving, mate. When do you reckon dinner will be?”

Pymsyn shrugged. “Smells good, though. You on first or second round?”

“First.” Unar clapped the other man on the back heartily. “And you?”

“Second,” Pymsyn said, annoyed. “The sergeant’s gone bonkers, hasn’t he? Making us split dinner shifts as if that little chit were putting something in our food.”

“Aye, paranoid as the True Father, he is. But what officer you’ve met ain’t? What with spies and traitors running around willy-nilly? But for a spark the bale wouldn’t burn, you know.”

“Easy for you to say. You get to eat first.”

The men’s voices were lost as they rounded the house again. Jack scrambled to his feet. His ropes were long enough to allow him limited movement on the porch. He crouched under the kitchen window and peered in to find Jasminda chopping and adding vegetables to a boiling pot on the stove. Wargi sat at the table, surveilling her openly. A handful of ruaba disappeared into the bubbling pot. Squatting down again, he ran through the possibilities in his head.

If her plan moved forward, the first wave of soldiers would eat and fall sick, leaving her open to the accusations from the second wave. They would kill her quickly, or worse—the thought hit him like a blow to the gut—kill her slowly.

He had to warn her. But how?

He rose to the window again. A few of the men filed into the kitchen and sat expectantly around the table. Jasminda looked up and met Jack’s eyes but managed to hide her shock at his appearance. He shook his head meaningfully. Unable to raise his hands high enough to point at the pot, he tried using his head to motion downward, but she merely crinkled her forehead in confusion.