“No, none alive without a direct connection to the Eternal Flame could survive travel via portal.” His gaze shot to Darvyn for a moment, then flitted away.
“But you can’t take us the whole way?” Mooriah asked.
“I cannot come with you to the city. Bringing you down the mountain will tap my energy.”
Mooriah began to protest, but he held up a hand. “Two centuries of captivity weakened me more than I can say. I must return every few days to my world to regain my strength. The power of your Flame is not enough. However, now that war has arrived, I will again appeal to the others to come and help. I must be able to convince someone.” His expression was not as hopeful as his words.
“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” Tana said. Everyone turned to look at her. She wilted a little under the scrutiny, but continued bravely. “We can banish the spirits, but then they can just take over other bodies. How do we get rid of them completely?”
“What did you do to them in Yaly?” Kyara asked Fenix. After the Machine had been stopped and the portal closed, he’d done something to remove all the spirits from all the bodies, almost at once. They’d simply disappeared.
He shook his head, frowning. “It is not something I can teach—not even to an Earthsinger.” He looked again at Darvyn and squinted. “Not even to you, I am sorry.”
Darvyn looked uncomfortable at Fenix’s scrutiny, but Kyara couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or not. She glanced at Mooriah. “There must be some other way. We’ll have to find it.” Mooriah nodded, albeit uneasily. Was there really a way for them to win or had this all just been for naught?
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Is night a consequence of day
or a companion?
The search for meaning can be fraught.
Take care to see only what appears.
—THE HARMONY OF BEING
A hush had fallen over the ballroom. Jasminda stood before a squadron of journalists who wielded notebooks like swords. A half-dozen microphones jutted up before her at odd angles, attached to the podium at which she stood. The devices had just transported her voice to audiences around the land listening on their radiophonics.
The foreign press was here as well. Tales of the mysterious wraiths attacking Elsira had spread far and many were curious, fearful, or both.
Well, now they all knew. Quiet reigned for the seconds it took for her words to settle in. She had given a brief, but thorough, recounting of the events as they’d happened. The True Father had escaped with the aid of foreign mages and now had the means by which to open portals to the World After. The wraiths were under his control and he meant to use them to attack and conquer Elsira.
It was not conjecture or presumption, the former king had sent a message—a very clear one that appeared in Jasminda’s office in the middle of the night. A letter, hovering in midair—a messy scribble on rough paper, but legible enough. She had been there working late, trying to piece together a means by which they could face this new opponent, but the missive was not entirely unexpected.
Eero was vain and petty. He would not do something and not take credit for it. He wanted them to know in no uncertain terms that he was coming for what he thought was his. And that the damage would be less intense if both she and Jack stepped down and handed the country over to him.
She did not mention the letter to the press, there was enough discord and uncertainty already without adding to it. But the unequivocal confirmation that the True Father once again had access to magic, that he could likely steal Songs again and was even now plotting the downfall of her nation, was enough to keep her from sleep for the rest of the night.
The faces staring up at her were raw with shock and just beginning to stir from the staggering blow she’d been forced to deal them.
And then, like a pack of wild dogs, they attacked.
“Your Majesty, will you lift the curfew after this latest attack or will you double down?”
“Are you certain it’s the True Father and not the Lagrimari refugees behind this magical warfare?”
“Who has the True Father allied himself with and why? Are they enemies of Elsira?”
Faces blurred before her and voices mingled unintelligibly as they shouted over one another in effort to get their questions answered. She tried to separate each query in her head so that she could think through them and answer reasonably, but it was overwhelming. Volleys of words were thrown at her like mortar shells. She struggled to keep her composure.
In what space she could find between their shouting, she spoke as carefully as she could, giving what answers she could. And then moved on to the next. To the side of the stage, her assistants Camm and Ilysara stood observing, ready to step in and rescue her when needed.
“Hazelle Harimel,Rosira Daily Witness.”
Jasminda held back a flinch. The woman’s screeds against the curfew in general and Jasminda in particular had only grown in recent days. The chatter hushed as the other reporters quieted to give the woman her turn. A courtesy they’d barely extended to other, younger journalists. Harimel had indeed earned some level of respect.
“Your Majesty,” she said, gray curls crisp and bouncy. “How can you reassure the people that the crown has this situation under control?”
