Echoes of Silence (18 page)

She squealed and gripped my forearm. “With whom?”

Everyone special
, I thought, remembering the meals and outings and strolls with Cris, the one with Castillo, even a time or two with Lucia or Matu. “No one special,” I said. “Sometimes the Prince, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Am I that transparent?” She smiled without a trace of malice.

Yes
. “Not at all.” Maybe thinking before I spoke wasn’t as hard as I thought. “We’re all scrounging for time with His Majesty.”

She plucked a flower from behind me and twirled it by its stem. “You don’t seem to have trouble with that.”

“Of course I do.”

“I haven’t seen you at any of the group activities.”

“I have not received an invitation for them.”

“Then you’ve had individual time?”

“Sometimes.” I hedged away from admitting that I could see Cris whenever I wanted, even in the dead of night.

Mariana frowned and glanced around my modest courtyard. “So you’ve just been hanging out here, with your servants?”

“Not entirely,” I said, annoyed. “I’ve been eating lunch with the girls. And my guard and I go walking in the gardens. And . . . ” I couldn’t tell her about the conversations about magic, or the carriage ride out to the wall to subdue the uprising. I couldn’t tell her I’d sewn three dresses, including the one I now wore, or that Lucia and I had already begun designs on a wedding gown.

I couldn’t tell Mari about the hours I spent in this exact location musing on those very things, or worrying that I hadn’t yet received a letter from Olive, or how I was planning something dangerous with Castillo. I couldn’t tell her about making ice cream with him, the kiss in the hall, or the one we’d shared a mere hour ago, before he left, never once looking back.

“Yes, I’ve spent most of that time here with my maids.”

Mariana leaped to her feet. “Well, let’s go then.” She took my hand and pulled me off the wall. “You’re not even dressed!”

“This is my house dress.” It was a striking pattern of gold and black—anything but plain. “And where are we going?”

“I’m assuming you have not been to the pools.”

The excitement on her face made me smile. “Not yet.”

“They’re wonderful. All the girls love them. Ask your clothing matron to get you a bathing suit. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

#

The mere thought of wearing a bathing suit made me cringe but I didn’t want to disappoint Mariana. When I asked Lucia if I had one, she produced seven. I selected a black one-piece that Grandmother would have approved of. I had no need to impress anyone at the pools.

I soon learned that Mariana’s five minutes meant fifteen. She returned with curled hair, rouged cheeks, and a billowing pink cover-up whipping behind her as she strutted down the hall. I stood in my open door, with a modest robe covering my suit and a towel clutched in one hand.

Greta had offered to touch up my makeup, but I’d waved her away. My face would likely get wet, and the artwork would be ruined anyway. But now that I saw Mariana, I wondered if maybe I should’ve taken fifteen minutes to get ready, too.

Mariana took my towel and together with hers, handed them to her escort. “Echo, this is Solis. Sol, this is my friend Echo.”

“One hears great things about you, Miss Echo.” Solis took my towel and allowed me to walk next to Mariana while he trailed behind. My feet slid in the sandals Lucia had provided. I could only imagine the horror of them when wet.

“One does?” I asked, still trying to recover from being introduced as anyone’s friend. I was not sure how I felt about Mariana—were we friends? Yes, I tried to sit next to her at lunch, but only because the other girls speared me with unkind glances and whispered words of hatred. I listened to Mariana’s gossip and gasped in all the right places. Yes, I suppose we were friends.

“Great things,” Solis repeated. I wanted to ask him what exactly, but Mariana clasped my arm and started talking.

“Gazelle doesn’t know what she’s going to do. His Majesty hasn’t invited her to his suite once for individual time. She’s beside herself that she’ll be cut next.”

“She won’t get cut,” I said. “There are no more cuts until the harvest. His Majesty is not eliminating us one by one.” My words held a jovial note, but as soon as I spoke I wondered if I’d revealed too much information.

“I know, I know,” Mariana said, and I breathed a soft sigh of relief. “But poor Gazelle. She’s beautiful, but that’s about all.”

“Mariana,” I admonished. “I’m sure she’s smart enough.”

“No, really, she isn’t. I’m not saying it to be cruel.” She turned down another hallway, and these corridors were long, straight, and made of gray stone. Some had windows and some tapestries. Some bore doors of glass and some had been carved into archways. Some sloped upward, and some down. The one we worked our way along now held a slight downward tilt, but the sliding sandals made it hard to tell for certain.

“I’ve never been here,” I said. “Where are we?”

“We have gone down a level,” Mariana said. “The pools are beneath His Majesty’s suite. They’re fed by the Burisia. Have you seen the river?”

I couldn’t determine how we’d gone down a level. The floor hadn’t seemed that sloped.

“Echo? Have you seen the river?”

“Yes, I’ve seen it.” I remembered last night, the cool summer air, the not-quite there moon, the soft rush of water.

I remembered the nearness of Cris, the steadiness of his breathing, the warmth of his hands. A blush crept into my neck as I listened to Mariana gush about the beauty of the water.

“I love the multi-colored qualities of water,” Mariana said with a happy sigh.

I jerked my attention back to her. My heart simultaneously sank and hammered at this new direction in the conversation. How could she talk about magic so carelessly? I narrowed my eyes, wondering if she was setting a trap for me, trying to get me to reveal my powers. “Multi-colored qualities of water?”

She waved a hand and laughed in a trilling manner. “No one else can see it! But I can. I hope you can too, Echo.”

I suspected I might be able to, but I’d need to pretend as if I didn’t. I’d only heard of one other person who could see multiple colors in water, and she had once been one of Iskadar’s greatest magicians.

My mother.

I hadn’t thought so much of her in a very long time. I frowned as I pushed her into the safe compartment in the back of my brain.

Mariana turned down another hall, and the sun shone hot and bright through a sea of glass. I shielded my eyes with my hand as we drew closer. The heat licked my bare arms, and I drank it in greedily.

“Here,” Mariana said. I followed her a few paces down the hall to the left. I stepped from stone to vegetation and felt the worries of my soul lift away, much the same way they did whenever I left this compound.

A sigh escaped my lips and Mariana giggled. “I knew you’d love it here!” She bounded away from me toward a boulder where she deposited her shoes. She turned back toward me, and even through the blinding sunlight, I saw the wonder etched on her face.

“Wow, Echo,” she called. “You’re glowing.”

At Mariana’s words, a story Grandmother once told sailed to my memory.

“Long ago,” she begins, her rocking chair squeaking forward and splintering back. “The magicians of Relina sent twelve weavers across the lands.”

I hurry to finish drying my hands and then practically sprint to my spot in front of her chair. Her long, white hair sways with the motion of her rocker, and I trace the veins in her arms until they disappear under her sleeves.

“Beautiful women,” Grandmother continues. “Who could repair the wounded heart and weave broken earth back together. They traveled together, righting the wrongs and binding the human race back to their motherlands. Until one day . . . ”

Her voice fades as her eyes drift closed. She hasn’t finished, but I know better than to encourage her to continue. She will, when she’s ready. Or rather, when the story is ready. One of Grandmother’s gifts is language. She can speak seven, and they all roll beautifully off her tongue.

I envy her that. My mouth can barely form words in my native tongue. Even Oake does not have much hope for me in linguistics. Singing is another matter altogether. Oake claims the magic streams from my every pore with a single note, and I just need to “find my voice.” I feel different when working magic through song, so I believe him, though I’m not sure about finding my voice.

“You glow, Echo,” he says to me. “It’s beautiful.” I enjoy feeling like I’m beautiful. As beautiful as the moon that glows on a deep winter night. As beautiful as the fire that dances through the depths of the forest, providing warmth and light to the worn and weary.

“The twelve weavers came upon a group of refugees who had been traveling through the lands for some time,” Grandmother continues. “Many had died and every heart held cracks. The weavers had never known such sadness for they had never encountered the tragedies of war. Their magic could not repair the damage done to the refugees.”

Grandmother’s voice warps together with the wind, with the creaking and splintering, until I cannot separate the sounds.

“The weavers cried to the ancients of Relina for help, but none came. You see, Echo, the magicians had created the weavers for such things. They’d poured all their compassion and healing power into the women. They had nothing left to give.

“The weavers wished for success. They prayed for it. When it didn’t come, they let their frustration poison their hearts. One by one, the weavers left. They set out to travel on their own, healing what little injuries they could. The lands call out for their collective power but do not find respite.”

Grandmother opens her eyes. “Your mother needed one of the old weavers, child. Her hurt could not be healed here in Iskadar. Do not trouble yourself with her absence.”

“Has a weaver been able to help her?”

“I doubt it, child. They have lost their power,” she says. “Given it all up to the lands, though it is still not enough. They wander, lost and forgotten, among men.”

“Is it possible to meet one?” I sit up straighter and decide to discuss weavers with Oake.

“Oh yes, Echo. You can meet one. They seek out the wounded and weary, and offer what little comforts they can.”

“How will I know when I meet one?”

“They glow, child,” Grandmother says. “They glow.”

I recoiled from the pools, bumping into Solis as I did. “Excuse me.” I continued my retreat, but couldn’t escape the direct sunlight. I felt foolish, even as the memory of Grandmother’s story washed through my mind. I couldn’t be a weaver, though I knew the ancients of Relina could transfer their intelligence, so it was possible for my body to house the mind, will, and soul of someone who’d lived centuries before.

Nevertheless, my limited intelligence hadn’t been roaming the earth for hundreds of years. My soul, my mind, wasn’t created from tendrils of magic and remnants of dust by the first magicians of Relina.

I turned and flew on legs of lead down the hall. Behind me, Mariana called, but I pressed on until I gained the corner. Still, the sunlight assaulted me. Why would it not go out? I gulped at the air and couldn’t get enough.

“Echo!” Mariana burst around the corner. “Whatever is the matter?”

I couldn’t order the words for an excuse fast enough. The gray walls pressed in on me.

“Perhaps she isn’t feeling well,” Solis said. “I could escort her back to her suite and return for you, Mari.”

“Echo?” Mariana asked.

“I’m not feeling well.” I seized Solis’s words and used them as my shield.

She smiled then, something I least expected. “Let me heal you.” Before I could stop her, she placed her hand on my cheek.

Magic rushed into my body, mingling with what I possessed. I moaned as though in pain, her magic swirling within me. My power played with Mariana’s, but it remained separate. Not at all like the complete meshing of magic I felt when I joined my voice to Castillo’s. The memory of our bonding should’ve been enough to calm me.

But this magic felt different than any I’d experienced before. One thought invaded my mind:
Mari isn’t from Umon.

I wanted to ask her where she came from, but the raging stream of magic coursing through me ignited a pain so deep, all my muscles spasmed. I would have to release this magic. Soon.

Now, now, now.
My mother’s voice returned, truly driving me toward madness.

Mariana removed her hand, which turned down the lightning skating through my bloodstream and erased my mother’s voice from my mind. I couldn’t see what she was doing, because I’d clenched my eyes shut.

“Solis, wait for me at the end of the hall,” she commanded. The guard moved away on sure feet, leaving us alone in the corridor.

“Come, Echo,” Mariana said. “You will need to release that magic.” I let her take my arm, let her guide me into the glorious sunlight, let her help me into the nearest pool. I let her, because every movement decreased the fire in my veins. I let her, because Castillo had left and I had nowhere else to turn.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered as she cupped water and dripped it over my face. “I didn’t know you were a magician, too.”

Castillo’s face dominated my thoughts as I released my magic into the water. The curve of his cheekbones. The strength in his jaw. The softness in his lips.

Mariana exclaimed at the color staining the water, marveling that she’d never seen such a deep orange before. I did my best to ignore her, though she siphoned off some of the energy leaking from my body. Soon enough, I finished.

In a smooth motion, I released my hair. I hid behind it while Mariana relaxed against the stones. “You must be very powerful to hold so much magic for so long.”

Had she not just witnessed my breakdown? Though it wasn’t nearly as painful or as long as what had happened on my first day here, I’d barely been able to walk. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I have to come here every day to rid myself of the magic. You said you haven’t been here once.” Her tone didn’t sound accusatory, but curious.