Echoes of Silence (20 page)

Greta came in at dinnertime, stopping short at the sight of us playing makeover. “Lucia.” She set down the dinner trays and put her hands on her hips.

“Its fine, Greta,” I said, setting aside her makeup pots. “I swear I didn’t ruin your system.” I’d been careful to put each color right back where I’d gotten it.

“Lucia has much work she has neglected,” Greta said.

Lucia stood quickly, brushing her hands on her apron and ducking her head. “Yes, ma’am.”

I stopped Lucia before she could leave. “Have I gotten you in trouble? Who must I speak with to set things right?”

“No trouble, Echo,” she said. “Greta knows I’ll get my work done.”

“Greta.” I rushed toward her. “Please don’t be angry with Lucia. I begged her to stay. She was attending to my childish whims.”

Greta’s stony exterior cracked. I pressed on, sensing victory. “Please, Greta. I’ll help Lucia with her tasks if that means you won’t be cross with her.”

Beside me, Lucia giggled. “It’s more sewing, Echo. You probably
want
to do it.”

“Yes!” We both looked to Greta for forgiveness.

“Oh, go on then,” Greta said. “But not tonight. The dresses can wait until morning.”

Lucia and I cheered, and even Greta grinned—something I’d never seen the elderly woman do.

Later that week, I asked Matu to take me to the gardens. The bushes vibrated in glorious colors of pinks, reds, and yellows. Matu led me down the cobbled paths, pointing to delicate roses, bleeding hearts, and poppies. He let me do most of the talking, his standard method of operations.

After an hour, I dragged him to the bench in the far corner. “Sit and talk to me.”

“What do you wish to know?”

“Everything. What have I missed these past few days?”

“I don’t wish to upset you.”

“Life is upsetting,” I said. “Have you . . . have you any word on Castillo?”

Matu sighed and rubbed his palms along his pants. “Yes
.
His job is taking longer than he anticipated.”

“Where is he? What’s the job?”

“I cannot say. But he hopes to be back by week’s end.”

I breathed in the cloying scent of the wildflowers nearby. “Matu, can you find out if my sister is safe in Iskadar?”

He gazed at me with brotherly love and concern. “You have not had word from her?”

I shook my head, my vocal chords suddenly mute.

“I will find out, Echo.” He placed his hand over mine, and I stole a measure of comfort from his touch.

I took a deep breath. “What of the marriage approval from the High King?” I feared this answer the most, and Matu’s silence confirmed those worries.

“He’s withholding.” I clenched my hands into fists. “Am I correct?”

“We believe he’s searching for Helena, so he’ll know more about you, know everything about who he’s up against.”

I sincerely hoped Helena had found a refuge far from the High King. “Surely he doesn’t think Cris capable of dethroning him,” I said. “Or that I am.”

“He’s careful in all things,” Matu said, twisting toward me. “Please, Echo, don’t upset Cris with this. He must play his part, too.”

“Upset him? He is . . . he is . . . ” I could not find the words to adequately explain. I had received no word from him in the six days since I’d revealed my magic to him, since he kissed me like he truly meant it. “He would never choose me if not for his father.”

Matu’s jaw clenched. “You don’t know that.” He looked out into the foliage. “And that’s precisely why we need you as our queen.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “Why don’t you just make him into the king he should be instead of trying to turn him into a puppet? He’s teachable.” I remembered how I’d lectured him about being stronger. He had said he would try. Of course, Gibson was still his personal guard, so maybe Cris hadn’t tried at all.

Or maybe Castillo and Matu were right. Maybe Cris just wasn’t strong enough.

#

One week bled into two. By then, so filled was my mind with worries over Olive’s continual silence and fears for Castillo and where he might be that I barely had room to fret over why I’d received no invitations from Cris. I wondered if perhaps his messages had gotten intercepted again, but I dared not approach him and ask in case I was wrong.

Lucia and I were sewing in the afternoon when I heard Mariana’s voice, shrill and demanding. “No, I will see if she will see me myself.” The door crashed open, and Mariana clicked on her heels toward us, her face filled with righteous indignation.

“So this is where you have been.” She strode toward me, her red robes flowing behind her like fire. “This is not dignified.” She fingered my limp hair and clucked her tongue. “No, this will not do. Greta!”

“Mari, I—”

Greta stood from a machine in the second row. The look in her eyes scared me into silence. “Yes, my lady?”

“Echo needs a bath.” Mari looked me up and down. “A fresh dress. Makeup. We’re going out.”

“Out?” My hopes rose at the prospect of leaving this wretched compound, abandoning all the cares I’d been carrying these past weeks.

“I have scheduled a meeting with the Prince. He’s expecting us in one hour.”

“One hour?” Greta exclaimed, as if a person could not possibly get ready in such a short time. “I’ll get the water hot.”

#

It took over an hour to get me presentable. Mariana paced as Lucia worked wonders on my hair and Greta painted me into someone with a beautiful face. I modeled a violet gown for Mariana, who finally formed her face into something friendly.

“His Majesty will be most pleased,” she said. “Now, where’s Matu?”

The door opened on cue. “Here, ladies. Are you ready?”

“Yes.” Mariana latched onto me, and I couldn’t squirm away. I went with her into the hall, and then I stepped away and took Matu’s arm. He cast me a sidelong glance but didn’t say anything, for which I was grateful.

Mariana, however, had plenty to say. She filled me in on the happenings of the compound, claiming that she’d been chosen for several individual dinners with Cris. My breath quickened at that news, and I squeezed Matu’s arm a little too tightly. Was that my show of jealousy? Why could I not determine how I felt about Cris?

“Then he told me, ‘Mari, I think you’re one of my favorites.’ Can you believe that?” She sandwiched me between herself and Matu, and kept talking with hardly a breath. “I didn’t know what to say, which apparently he likes, because then he said that he adores girls who use their mouths to smile more than talk, and then.” She paused for dramatic effect. My head spun with the words.

“He kissed me!” She squealed, and all the patience I’d acquired over the past few weeks drained out of me.

I gasped, but not in support of Mari, as I had in the past.
Cris likes girls who only use their mouths to smile? Cris kissed Mari?

This raging feeling slithering through me could only be identified as jealousy. I recalled I had blood inside, and marrow in my bones, and nerves reaching to the end of my fingertips. Oake had taught me about using those very nerves, and to listen to the rhythm of my pulse pushing the blood through my body in order to harness my magic. He’d taught me about my brain and how to block out unnecessary distractions in order to produce the results I wanted.

I didn’t hear another word Mari said. Before I knew it, Matu raised his hand and rapped on a door in that gentle way of his. Gibson opened it and took a step backward when he saw me. He barely paid a glance to Mari or Matu, and instead raked his cold eyes over my body. “Come in.” It sounded like a command.

Mari slinked past him, smiling in an alluring way and trailing two fingers over his bicep while I stared in horror. Matu nudged me forward, and I stumble-stepped after Mari. Cris’s suite looked exactly as it had the last time I’d been here, but now everything felt different. I couldn’t help wondering how many other girls he’d kissed, and what lies he’d told them. Perhaps
I
was the one who heard only lies from his lips.

Gibson ushered us through the foyer and out onto the balcony. Cris already sat at the table, and he put his coffee cup down as we entered. He embraced Mari in a friendly way, but I watched his eyes. They closed for a moment, and then they caught mine. I wasn’t able to tell if he liked Mari more than me or not.

He helped her to the table and encouraged her to try the bagels before he turned to me. He took me in with a mixture of guardedness and joy. “Echo, it’s lovely to see you.”

“Cris,” I said, my voice hoarse from disuse. “May I speak to you privately?”

“Absolutely.” He turned back to Mari. “Dearest, we’ll be just a minute.”

My ears rang with the word
dearest
, loud and heavy. I wanted the stabbing pain in my chest to stop, but it hindered my breathing and continued to hurt me, hurt me, hurt me.

Mari waved us away, all the while slathering jam onto her scone. I retraced my steps into the apartment and waited while Cris followed me. I could feel him very close behind me. He brushed his fingers against mine, and his magic spread through me. The jealousy slipping through me almost disappeared, but I quickly pulled my hand away as I faced him.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered. “Are you well?” His hands hovered inches from touching me. He looked like he wanted to examine me to ensure I was whole under the layers of makeup and silk. I couldn’t tell if his desire came from true concern for my welfare or because he craved my magic.

“I’ve—I have been better,” I admitted.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to see you,” he said. “My schedule’s been overflowing with a fresh round of negotiations with Heona.”

I nodded. I couldn’t fault him for being the acting Lord in Umon. “I’m surprised to hear you’ve been dining privately.” The accusations hid inside the words, but Cris heard them.

He glanced over his shoulder to where Mari waited on the balcony. “Echo,
you
made me promise to make sure none of the girls would be sent home.”

I started nodding and could not stop. “I understand. I understand now.”

“I had to carry on the charade.” Something in his eyes spoke to me, said
Please, Echo, not now.
I blinked, and the conversation ended.

“I’ll leave you to your breakfast.” I headed for the door, and Cris didn’t stop me.

#

That night, an urgent voice shook me from sleep. It was Cris, and he begged me to come with him.

“Can I get dressed first?” I threw the quilts back and slid from bed. I hoped for another flirtatious answer.

“No,” he said, and I noticed the redness in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” I flung my arms into my robe.

He urged me to hurry as he sprinted from my rooms. My maids didn’t wait near the door; Matu didn’t stand at the ready in the hall. I padded after Cris, wondering what time it was and what was going on.

He led me toward his suite. I only needed to take one step through the door before the scent of blood met my nose. I stopped, searching for its cause.

A moan emanated from the couch, where Mari knelt and Bo and Gibson watched with masked faces. I suddenly didn’t want to be in that room, or see who writhed on that couch.

“Echo, I need you to heal him.” The agony in Cris’s voice propelled me into motion. I strode toward the couch, the magic already infiltrating my bloodstream and the lyrics I needed building behind my tongue.

Blood stained Mari’s hands and arms, and she looked at me with pure helplessness on her face and tears streaming down her cheeks. “I cannot—he’s still bleeding.”

I looked down at the man on the couch. My heart stopped at the broken sight of Castillo. “No,” I cried, dropping to my knees. “No!”

Castillo’s eyes were puffy and closed. Blood oozed from his ears, nose, and mouth. He wore very little clothing, and his lean body bore bruises and knife wounds. He struggled to breathe, and his fingers and feet twitched in pain.

I asked Mari to move, and I took a position in front of Castillo. Then I shut out everything and focused on the spells, and songs, and chants I needed to make Castillo whole again. My voice started out soft, but grew in strength and intensity the more I sang. I drew comfort from the words, and I directed the magic to enter Castillo’s body and ease his suffering.

His body quieted, and he reached one hand toward my face. I took his hand in both of mine and concentrated my magic there. The song in my throat changed to a chant, and I felt the breaks in his bones. Four fingers, six ribs, three toes. His pain swept through me, but I shoved it to the back of my mind, the way Oake had taught me.

The chant lasted minutes, but finally, his bones mended. His breathing steadied, and I switched my chant to a lullaby. One that would send him to the confines of sleep so I could continue to assess the damage from the knives.

His face relaxed as he settled into the depths of slumber. I closed my eyes, and called upon the magic to heal his surface wounds. My chant morphed into a song, which flowed from my mouth, accompanied with delicate flicks of my wrist and pressure from my palms over the wounds.

I pushed away the increasing tightness in my stomach. I swallowed back the overwhelming desire to throw up. I focused on saving my bond.

Sometime later—with magic, time held no meaning—I sat back on my heels. The lights in the suite burned too brightly. My head hurt like nothing I’d experienced before. Blood drenched my nightclothes, and my legs had fallen asleep during the healing.

I moaned, the only thing I had energy to do, before I fell back and allowed the pain I’d held at bay to sweep me away.

#

“Long ago,” Grandmother begins. “The ancient magicians of Relina sent kings to take care of the lands and rule the people. They chose leaders who exhibited kindness and weren’t afraid to make hard decisions. They spoke their minds and the magicians listened.”

I hang on every word as Grandmother squeaks forward in her chair, and then splinters back. I’m already seated on the floor, my knees tucked into my chest. I’d been unusually quiet during dinner, because during my lesson, Oake had told me he’d heard concerning tales from the north. He whispered the rumors of wicked magic, of magician hunters, of kings who’d forgotten kindness.