Echoes of Silence (10 page)

I needed that magician, and I vaguely recognized his voice. I prayed he didn’t already have a bond. I heard the swishing of expensive fabrics as the others left their balconies and the call of a nightingale in the distance.

So I wouldn’t have to look at the bodies of my people any longer, I searched for the magician who’d saved them. He stood to my right. He wore the black pants of a soldier but the tunic of someone who could weave magic with life.

While I watched, he removed his shirt and replaced it with a soldier’s jacket. “Stay there, Echo,” he called. “I’ll be just another moment.”

That speaking voice belonged to Castillo.

“Hold on,” he said, but I no longer had an anchor, and every handhold had vanished.

“The point was to make the girl sing,” Gibson growled when Castillo stepped onto the veranda. I stayed on my knees, still in shock, but with my ears wide open.

“Perhaps the girl does not know any songs,” Castillo replied in a cool tone. “I cannot stomach your magic-seeking experiments.”

“Cris approves.”

“Cris doesn’t always know what he approves of.” Castillo cast a glance at me. “This discussion is over. No more of these experiments, Gibson. I said I’d find what you wished to know, and I will.” He reached for me, took my elbow, and helped me to my feet.

“Come, Echo. I’m sure you didn’t have time to eat much.” Castillo held my arm tightly as we walked down the hall. He checked behind him several times and hesitated at more than one corner. The further we moved from the balcony, the more settled he became. My knees ached, right along with my heart. Those people—

His voice—

My magic—had responded to his in a way it had only done for Grandmother.

I focused on the turns Castillo took in an attempt to stall my circular thoughts. I didn’t recognize the corridors, and the air held a heavy chill in these passages. Finally, Castillo opened a door and stepped through it, ducking slightly to accommodate his height.

I followed him to find a narrow bed against one wall, a desk, a rocking chair, and a basin. The rocking chair brought instant memories of Grandmother.
Creak forward, splinter back
. I wondered if Castillo sat there in the evenings, reading or polishing his boots.

He used two fingers to pull me further into the room so he could close the door. I moved numbly, letting him guide me to his bed. “Sit,” he said. “I’ll get you something to drink.”

I accepted the glass of water and drank it greedily. The coldness of it jolted me back to life. Castillo sat next to me, close enough to be friendly and far enough away to be proper. I itched to move away from him, yet I felt desperate to remain close. The rational part of my brain knew I shouldn’t be found in his intimate quarters without an escort, knew that him bringing me here put us both in further danger.

“Your voice is beautiful,” I said, hoping I hadn’t given away too many of the raging emotions I felt inside. “Your magic wonderfully obedient.”

I couldn’t remember bonding with Grandmother. It had happened at such a young age that it seemed that it was always so. My insides felt shaky with fear and anticipation of what bonding might feel like. “Are you bonded?”

He looked away, his jaw tight. “I have never wished for such a thing.”

“Why not?”

“In Nyth, using magic comes at too high a price.”

I studied him, wondering where his loyalty resided. He didn’t speak fondly of Nyth, and the guarded tone in his voice testified to the cruelty of Nythinian magicians. Perhaps Castillo had witnessed horrific things like that scene on the veranda, where magicians showed their superiority by withholding their help.

He faced me again before dropping to his knees in front of me so that we were the same height. “I would let you look.”

I swallowed, tracing the contours of his face with my eyes. I nodded and reached for him, feeling the warmth of his skin, the scratchiness of his facial hair, against my palm just moments before singing the intrusion melody. Because of his willingness to let me inside his mind, the images came after only the second note.

The High King stood before me, with orange eyes and fisted hands. His mouth opened in a soundless wail, and magic flew through the dark sky toward an approaching army. Bodies flew. Horses reared. Lightning flashed.

That image flipped to another.

Castillo as a child cowering before the High King.

Another.

Cris and Castillo running through the fields surrounding a magnificent castle. Cris—the taller of the two boys—looked over his shoulder and said something that was only silence.

Castillo ran faster, but he couldn’t catch his brother.

The image blinked to the two boys sprinting again, this time years had passed, and Castillo was as quick as Cris. This time, they didn’t frolic in meadows, but ran with grim faces. This time, Castillo took the lead, singing his way free of a pair of giant golden gates while Cris stood back and watched.

The rebound ended, but energy zipped through me, alive and free. I couldn’t remember the bonding with Grandmother, but this magic felt like falling feathers. A soft touch along my neck, a whisper of movement against my side. My entire being swelled with magic, Castillo’s and mine. It danced together, twirled and united. He breathed and began to sing the opening notes of the bonding ceremony.

I twined my voice with his, and without gaps in the melody, the result became a rich duet that filled the rafters with beauty and gold light. The magic lilted upward, rocking me as if on soft seas. I cradled my head against Castillo’s shoulder, and sang until I thought I’d burst.

This magical release didn’t hurt, and it didn’t disable me, or bring hallucinations, or introduce voices of those long dead. It quickened my soul, and I finally understood why Mother would abandon her newborn child to follow her bondsmate to the edge of death.

The song ended, and I opened my eyes to look straight into Castillo’s. Instead of comparing them to murky water, as I had previously, they shone like copper.

“I did not realize you and Cris were brothers,” I whispered.

“Half brothers,” he said, and I focused on the movement of his mouth. Kissing him right now felt like it might be natural, but it might also prove disastrous. “My mother was the High King’s mistress.”

“Your father is not a nice man.”

“That’s putting it mildly.” Castillo stood and moved away from where I sat on the bed. “You see why I didn’t wish to bond in Nyth.”

I nodded, replaying the rebounded images. The High King would have used Castillo up, tossed him aside, and still not been satisfied.

“What does he want?” I asked, sure it had something to do with my magical abilities.

“There’s only power for my father. He fears any who possess magic. That’s why he cages magicians.”

“So they don’t become his competition.” Perhaps the High King viewed his sons as competition and had thus sent them here. “Did he send you and Cris here?”

“Cris is in desperate need of help,” Castillo said, his voice soft as melting butter yet filled with urgency. I remembered the rich quality it held as he entwined it with magic.

“My father only recognizes one heir, and he’s determined that Cris—” Castillo cleared his throat and paced away from me. I frowned, riddling through his statement. If the High King only recognized one heir, where did that leave Castillo?

In Umon,
I thought, and the idea rang true in my heart.

“We must know if you can wield magic, and how much and how well, because my father insists Cris’s wife be a magician,” Castillo continued. “That’s why you were brought to the verandas.”

Though I had suspected as much, his words struck fear in my chest, right where my heart struggled to beat against it.

“Though, you should know,” Castillo said. “That Gibson conceals the magic-seeking experiments from Cris. He knows nothing of captives and dungeons, of soldiers and weapons.” He sighed as he kneaded the back of his neck. “Certain unpleasantries are rarely discussed.”

“How much does the Prince suspect about me?”

“Enough,” Castillo answered. “Echo, I fear he has already chosen you for his bride. He’ll likely go through the courting charade, but his mind is made up.”

“Because of my power.”

“I’ve never met a first-class magician as powerful as you. Besides my father.” He examined me, like he might find my magic on the outside. “And your heritage certainly helps.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re from the village of Iskadar, yes?” he asked, but he didn’t pause for my answer. “The outer villages are in open revolt against the High King and the Prince. Where do you think Gibson got those prisoners?”

I stood and refilled my glass from the basin. I drank the water to buy myself time to think through Castillo’s words. I didn’t doubt that the outer villages had rebelled. Oake had spoken of such things for months before I’d left. But I’d heard nothing of a village revolution here inside the city, not even in the dark corners of the marketplace.

“So he thinks if we are to wed, my being from Iskadar will pacify the outer villages.” When I turned, our eyes met. A stirring in my stomach spoke of his attractiveness and kindness, and something beyond our bond. I tried to stifle the feelings, because if Cris chose me as his wife, I would be leaving Umon—and Castillo. Still, I couldn’t choose to bond with someone more convenient, and the peace and comfort of a bond outweighed the possibility that Castillo and I would be separated in the future.

Castillo nodded. “At least enough for the negotiations to resume.”

“He wants to use me.” My voice came out wispy, but my fists clenched in anger.

“You saw the image of us running as men?”

“Yes,” I said. “You opened the gates . . . ” Castillo had sung because Cris could not. Cris didn’t have the magical means to accomplish much of anything. I remembered the spell-song I’d cast to find out his motivations.

“Cris is desperate to please the High King,” I said, defeat in every syllable.

Something like a smile graced Castillo’s lips for the briefest of moments. “Our father is a tyrant of the worst kind, and yet Cris seeks only his approval.”

Suddenly, I had another person to blame for the deaths that had happened so senselessly in the courtyard. The High King of Nyth.

“Have there been other princesses?” I asked. “Other bride-choosing ceremonies?”

“No,” Castillo said. “Cris has been instructed to choose well, and he’s determined to do so only once. But the High King has surrounded his son with personal guards who are only interested in helping Cris if it helps themselves.”

I thought of the greed and excitement on Gibson’s face as he gazed upon the carnage in the courtyard. My fingers shook, and I clasped my hands together to contain the tremor. I thought of Cris being herded away from the verandas, sequestered somewhere he couldn’t hear the gunshots. I thought of Castillo and his spell-song that wrapped around me, and the way he stood up to Gibson. Surely the High King would hear of that, too. I narrowed my eyes, hoping to see Castillo as the bastard son of an evil tyrant, but he remained as steady as ever.

“Be mindful of Gibson,” Castillo warned. “He does not know kindness.” He seemed finished, and my stomach simultaneously rumbled with hunger and tightened in fear.

I placed my glass in the basin, my mind churning. I wanted to test this new bond I had formed, but I also desired to remain protected. “Will anyone discover our bond? Gibson or Bo? They’re bonded magicians.”

“How do you know Gibson and Bo are bonds? Can you detect magicians?” He took a step closer, his eyes sharpening.

I thought of him striding toward me just days ago, his eyes narrowed. He’d known magic had been sung at the aristocrat’s house. “No, but you can.”

Resignation flashed across his face. “Not quite,” he said. “But I can force them to reveal themselves.”

“Interesting,” I said, though I found it more disturbing than anything else.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

I raised my chin, as if daring him to challenge me further. “I surmised that Bo and Gibson were bonds.”

“Interesting,” he said, cocking one eyebrow. “I think if we’re careful, no one will discover our bond.”

If we’re careful
. I heard the words he didn’t say. He must not become anything more than the guard assigned to escort me in the compound.

“Maybe you can bewitch your suite,” he suggested. “Sing to the moon, perhaps.”

The image of the round harvest moon carved into my outer door sprang into my mind. He’d probably already begun a protection song, and I merely needed to finish it. I studied him while he watched me unflinchingly.

“Can you get into my courtyard?” I asked.

“Your courtyard?”

“Tonight, after midnight.” I shrugged as if I didn’t care if he came or not, but I desperately hoped he would.

“Whatever for?” He took a step closer.

“If we work together, we can investigate a bit.”

“Investigate?” He folded his arms. “What might you be looking for?”

“Everything,” I said. “If I’m to be the Princess, I need to know everything.”

As I walked beside Castillo on the way back to my suite, I told myself to simply put one foot in front of the other, as Grandmother had counseled so many years before. I thought of my mother and wondered how many steps she’d taken over the course of the last twenty-four years, looking for Father.

I couldn’t imagine loving someone with the fierceness that drove my mother to abandon me and Olive, to wander the earth in search of someone she might never find. I wondered if she had traveled to the ancients in Relina, begged for their assistance, cried for their immortality. The lore Oake had divulged during one of my lessons said that while our fragile bodies age, wither, and die, the intelligence of the ancients in Relina could be transferred to a new host—a new body. One with the complete logic, wisdom, and knowledge of its previous host.

He said that was how the magicians of Relina remained alive to this day, though they should have died long ago. They still governed and watched the lands as the people worked with song-magic, fell in love, and endured life.