The Queen of Blood

by Sarah Beth Durst

  Throughout the forest, she saw evidence of the spirits’ wildness, the damage they’d done in the moments without a queen. Rocks had been split by overzealous water spirits who had cracked the land to make new springs and streams. She encountered a new lake full of half-drowned trees. Other trees had grown in twisted puzzles, curling in on themselves and wrapping together. Still other trees bore the scorch marks of lightning, but the patterns were strange, as if stray lightning had streaked horizontally through the forest. One bridge had been ripped apart. Another was coated in moss and flowers. She had to be careful of deep chasms that gaped like fresh wounds between the roots.

  At last, she reached her family’s village and, after explaining to Bayn where she’d be, she climbed the ladder up to the bridge that led to the center platform. The triple trees still stood, but the market had been destroyed, and no attempt had been made to fix it. Red and blue awnings hung, torn, from poles. Crates were upended and broken. All the produce was gone, and as she peered in the bakery window, she saw it was empty. Everyone had stored up everything that the village had, and now it was eerily empty. Daleina poked her head inside the hedgewitch’s shop. “Mistress Baria?” It was dark inside.

  Going in, Daleina pushed open the shades so that the pale light could filter through the dirty windows. She sucked in air as she surveyed the disaster—every bin, every barrel, every basket had been torn apart. Charms were strewn on the floor. Herbs had been spilled. Jars broken.

  She went farther inside. “Mistress Baria?”

  From the doorway, she heard a voice. “She’s dead, miss.”

  Daleina turned to see a man she didn’t recognize, a woodsman with a rough beard. “You’re certain?”

  He nodded. “Spirits came for her right away. Didn’t like her charms. It was quick, if that helps. Did you know her?”

  Daleina nodded. “My family—Eaden, Ingara, my sister Arin. Do you know them? Are they all right?” She felt her legs moving, out of the shop. She knew she should mourn her old teacher, but right now her thoughts were only for her family.

  The man moved aside. He was holding his hat, twisting it in his hand. “The spirits came quick. No warning. And now . . . Do you come from the capital? Is it true? Is Queen Fara . . .”

  “Yes.” It was the only word she could manage.

  He began to cry like a child, snot from his nose, shoulders heaving, great sobs as if the world had ended. She walked away from him and then ran toward her family’s house. She noted each broken shop, each smashed window or door, each torn ladder. She ran faster down the bridge until she saw their house: the garish green house.

  The pottery shingles on the roof were shattered, and the flowers in the window box had wilted. The wall had dents, as if a fist had rammed into it. “Mother? Daddy?” Daleina ran for the door, and the door was flung open. “Arin!”

  Her mother ran out, followed by her father.

  They threw their arms around her, surrounding her, embracing her, holding her. She held them tightly. “Arin? Where’s Arin? Is she all right?” She pictured her sister, her leg still injured. If she’d been outside when the spirits struck . . . she wouldn’t have been able to escape. She’d have been run down. She—

  Her sister appeared in the doorway, hobbling forward on crutches. A half cry, half shout burbled up from Daleina’s throat, and she stumbled forward, pulling her parents with her, and then pulled her sister into her embrace. “I could have lost you,” Daleina whispered. And the truth of it hit her. “I could have lost you all.” She’d done nothing to keep them safe. When the spirits attacked, she hadn’t been here. She’d thought she’d have time! A month, before the queen met with the owl spirit again. “You survived. How did you survive?”

  Arin pulled away and disappeared back into the house.

  “Not everyone did,” Mother said gently. “She lost Josei.” Her voice was quiet so that it wouldn’t carry into the house.

  Daleina knew she shouldn’t have to ask—the way Mother said the name, it was someone important to Arin. Her voice had dropped on the name. Yet, as softly as she could, Daleina asked, “Who’s Josei?”

  “The baker’s boy.”

  Oh. Daleina felt her heart lurch. “Is Arin . . .” She trailed off. Of course Arin wasn’t all right.

  Mother put her arm around Daleina. “We were inside when it happened. The charms kept us safe. But anyone who wasn’t, like Josei . . . Many died.”

  Inside, Arin was huddled in the corner by the unlit hearth. The shutters were still closed tight, and the house was filled with shadows. A pile of broken pots had been swept to one corner. At least they’d begun to clean up. Shedding her pack, Daleina crossed to Arin and crouched beside her. “Arin, I . . .” Like with Caretaker Undu, she had no words. She laid her hand on Arin’s shoulder. “I am sorry for your loss.” The words felt stilted and insufficient.

  “You weren’t here.” Her face buried in her arms, her voice was muffled.

  Daleina’s throat felt clogged. “I know.”

  “It was all right when you left, because you were doing it for us, to protect us, you said. It was all right that you weren’t here for the everyday things—breakfast together, gathering wood, making charms, falling asleep. It was all right that I couldn’t stay up late talking to you, that I couldn’t tell you about my first kiss, that I didn’t have you to walk me to school. It was all right that you missed the important moments—birthdays, when Mother was sick, my leg. It was all right that every time you came home you were more and more a stranger, that you know nothing about me or my life, that you didn’t even know Josei’s name! Because you were doing it for us. But that was a lie, wasn’t it? It was for you. Because you were afraid. Because you wanted to be the hero. Because it matched how you saw yourself. It was your dream, your goal, your . . .” She sucked in air. Arin was shaking, and Daleina wanted to reach out to her, but every word felt like a knife strike. “You weren’t here when we needed you!”

  “I . . .” She’d done it for them, hadn’t she? “I thought about you every day.” The words sounded weak in her ears. How often had she come back? And when she was here, how much had she tried to learn about Arin and her world? On her visits, her parents had fluttered over her. Made her favorite soup. Listened to her stories about the academy. Arin too had pestered her for more and more stories. But she’d never really asked about them. Not really.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Go back to the academy, Daleina,” Arin said. “You’re home too late.”

  Daleina retreated and would have gone straight for the door, but her parents blocked the way. Side by side, they filled the kitchen. She noticed for the first time that there was a scrape down her father’s neck and that her mother’s left wrist was bandaged.

  “Can’t you stay?” Daddy asked. “There are still a few days until the coronation ceremony. Spend them here, with us.”

  “But Arin doesn’t want . . .”

  “She’s hurting,” Mother said. “She needs her sister around, whether she admits it or not.” All of them looked at Arin, who was curled motionless. “Stay, please.”

  Daleina stayed.

  CHAPTER 28

  Everything felt so quiet as everyone picked up the broken pieces of their lives and began the process of sticking them back together. Word spread of the queen’s funeral: in Heroes Grove, the champions each took turns digging her a grave by hand. There were no spirits to swallow her into the soil. There was only a shovel, a simple shovel, very old, that was used for this one purpose: burying the queen. Daleina heard the singing—all of the canopy singers sang the same song at the same time, and it spread like a birdcall through the forest. She climbed to the top of her family’s village to listen to it.

  In the stillness of the forest, there was a kind of beautiful simplicity. You could be alone without fear, and so Daleina was. She seized excuses to be out in the forest, gathering the last of the berries and nuts for her family, walking the forest paths with Bayn, climbing up to the canop
y. Arin spent her days inside the house, sometimes asleep, sometimes awake and crying, sometimes just sitting by the cold hearth. Mother cajoled her into eating, but she didn’t eat much. She wouldn’t talk to or even look at Daleina. But Daleina didn’t leave, not for more than an hour or farther than a few miles. She spent time with Bayn, running between the trees, not for any real reason but just because it felt right to run. And she spent time on the roof of the house, with her father, repairing the broken shingles. He’d had to teach her how, but once she had the trick of it, she worked in silence beside him as the sun shed dappled light onto their village trees.

  She was becoming used to the eerie serenity of a forest without wind. No leaves rustled. No breeze carried the scent of ripening berries or pine needles.

  “Out of nails,” her father said.

  “I’ll get more,” Daleina offered. She began to climb down.

  “No, you stay. I should check on your mother and Arin.” He climbed off the roof, grunting as he did. She wondered when he’d gotten older. He winced sometimes when he stood up, she’d noticed. She’d noticed many things about her family that she’d never taken the time to see: her mother’s habit of humming while she whittled new spoons to sell, her sister’s snore that sounded like a cat purr, her father’s habit of smiling whenever he was uncomfortable with the conversation, the way they all converged on the kitchen at breakfast time as if it were a choreographed dance. Her parents were trying so hard. Hammering in the last nail, Daleina leaned back on the tiles in a patch of sunlight and closed her eyes.

  She felt the roof tremble—her father was back—but she didn’t sit up yet. This patch of sun was nice. She couldn’t remember the last time she just sat. She wondered if this was what ordinary people did: little tasks to keep their lives moving forward, filling the day with words and silences that were sometimes louder than words, tiptoeing around emotions.

  “You didn’t come to the funeral.”

  Her eyes shot open. Not her father. Champion Ven. Daleina sat up. “You’re here!” For the first day, she had expected him to come—she’d left word. But when he hadn’t, she had stopped thinking about him, about the academy, about being an heir. She had tried to think about as little as possible.

  He sat on the roof beside her. “It was a lovely funeral. She would have liked it. She was immortalized in song, the way she would have liked, all her miracles listed out. None of her flaws.

  “None of the singers really knew her.”

  Daleina studied his face, trying to read him. “Hamon told you? About what we did.”

  “Headmistress Hanna told me. Hamon has been in the capital. He joined the medical crew in the city. Hasn’t stopped working since her death. He didn’t come to the funeral either. There was a child who needed a healer . . . He’s been trying to save as many as he can.” He spread his hands and studied them, flexing his fingers. “I chose the wrong profession for saving people.”

  Daleina thought of Josei, the baker’s boy, and of Andare. “Why are you here? I don’t need training anymore, and there’s nothing to protect me from.” She wondered if he was angry at her. He sounded more tired than angry, but it was difficult to read his expression.

  “I came to escort you to the coronation ceremony. My duties haven’t ended. Not until a queen walks out of the glade, crowned.”

  Daleina lay back on the roof, the tiles digging into her back. “It won’t be me. I won’t be there.” Staring up at the sliver of sky, she realized as she said the words that it was true. It felt right. She let the decision settle around her, sink into her bones.

  “Don’t be foolish. This isn’t time for emotions.”

  “It’s time for choices. Years ago, I made the choice to protect my family by leaving it. Now I’m making the choice to protect them by staying. This village lost its hedgewitch. I’ll be its new one.”

  “Like hell you will. You’re an heir!”

  “Ranked last. I won’t be chosen. You know that. And if I were to go . . . it would cheapen what we did. I didn’t do it for the crown. I did it for Aratay. To go to the coronation ceremony . . . I can’t do it, Ven. I won’t.”

  “Aratay still needs you. You can’t run and hide now.”

  “My family needs me. My sister . . . I didn’t see it. All those years. I didn’t know what I missed, what I wasn’t choosing when I was choosing my path. I simply walked forward without looking back, and now . . . I don’t want to keep making the same mistake anymore.”

  “It wasn’t a mistake. You have the affinity. You have the skill. You have the determination.” His hands were curled into fists, and she could hear the near shout in his voice. He was controlling it, but only barely.

  “Others have more. Let one of them be queen. They deserve it.”

  “No one deserves it. It’s a burden. Fara knew that better than anyone.” His voice broke when he said her name, but he gained control again.

  “It’s a burden I don’t want. Not anymore.” Sitting up, she pulled his sheathed knife out of her waistband. “This is yours. I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to have.”

  He refused to touch it. “It’s a gift. And I’m still your champion. You’re my heir.”

  She didn’t want to hear that word anymore. She was pretty sure she didn’t want to hear any more of his words. Tucking the knife back in her waistband, Daleina climbed down from the roof. “My father should be back with the nails. Come and have dinner with us. It’s not much, without fire, but there’s enough to share.”

  He followed her off the roof and into the house. Slowly, they’d been fixing it, repairing everything that had broken in the moments after the queen’s death. But not everything could be repaired. Arin stood beside the sink, her crutches leaning against the table. She held a broken cup in her hands, and tears were streaming down her cheeks. Daddy was standing beside her, arm around her shoulders, whispering into her hair. When Daleina and Ven appeared in the doorway, Mother crossed to them. To Daleina’s surprise, Mother embraced Ven. She pulled him in. “Thank you for taking care of our little girl.” She shepherded him to the table and began pulling out bowls and plates and food to offer him. “I’m afraid we don’t have any baked bread to offer you. Or anything warm. But we have fresh water, and we have greens and nuts, as well as salted fish. Come, let us feed you.”

  “You’ve very kind, but I cannot stay long.” His eyes slid to Daleina. “The coronation ceremony will be taking place soon, and I’ve come to escort Daleina.”

  Her mother nodded as if yes, of course, this was expected, which Daleina supposed it was. “It has been a treat to have our Daleina back, even if it was just for a little while. Made us feel like a full family again.”

  Daleina met Arin’s eyes. Arin’s lips pressed into a line, but she said nothing. She was clutching the broken cup so hard that a line of blood had appeared on her hand where the shard had cut her. Daleina crossed the kitchen and gently took the shards out of her hands. She placed them in the sink, ran water over her sister’s hand, and then wrapped it in a clean white dish towel. Arin let her, and there was silence in the kitchen while all watched the two sisters.

  “You come, and you leave,” Arin said.

  “Not this time. I told Champion Ven: this time, I’m staying here.”

  “You can’t,” Mother said. “The ceremony—”

  “Will happen without me,” Daleina said. “Someone more deserving will be queen—”

  Immediately, both her mother and father protested, saying at the same time that of course she was deserving! Of course she was powerful and good and strong and would be a wonderful queen! Softly, Arin said, “I wish we didn’t need a queen.”

  “Me too,” Daleina said, just as softly.

  “It’s been nice”—Arin stumbled over the word—“without the fear. I don’t mind only eating berries and nuts. It won’t get cold, without the ice spirits. I wish it could be like this, peaceful, always.”

  Daleina felt a tear prick the corner of her eye.

>   “You know it can’t,” Mother said briskly. “When the plants die and no more grow, when no berries ripen, when the animals starve, when our homes crumble and no more can be made, what will become of us? The forest needs the spirits. Be practical, Arin. And Daleina, don’t talk nonsense. You’ve trained for this. You’ve devoted your life to preparing for this moment. It’s your moment! Seize it!”

  That was exactly it: she’d devoted her life to becoming queen, and she knew now that it wasn’t hers to seize. She wasn’t powerful enough, and she wasn’t good enough, in every sense of the word. “I’m ranked last. I won’t be chosen.” The spirits would choose that heir who was so good with air spirits, the one named Berra. Or Linna, who had manipulated the fire spirits so beautifully at Greytree. Or Zie or Evvlyn. Or one of the older heirs. There were many to choose from.

  “The odds were always against you,” Ven said. “I’ve seen your records. You shouldn’t have made it through the entrance exam, but you did. You shouldn’t have passed your classes, but you did. You shouldn’t have made it through the trials, but you did. You are constantly underestimated, Daleina. You can’t begin underestimating yourself.”

  “He’s right, you know,” Arin said, as if the words hurt her throat. “If someone has to be queen, it should be you. You’re a good person.”

  She wasn’t. She’d let Josei die. She’d killed the queen.

  She wondered if Queen Fara had once been a good person. She must have been, for the headmistress to have admired her, for Ven to have . . . Daleina looked at Ven. She hadn’t thought about how he must feel, his former lover. When his eyes locked on hers, she had to look away. Her stomach twisted, and she sucked in air to steady it.

  “Are you all right, Daleina?” Arin asked. “You look like you’re going to faint.”

  “Sit!” Mother commanded. She scooted Daleina into a seat. Daleina sank into it. “Are you sick?” She felt Daleina’s forehead and then her neck, squeezing. “Not warm. Not swollen.”