The Reluctant Queen

by Sarah Beth Durst

  So long as her husband promised not to tell.

  Calmly, or as calmly as she could, she asked, “Renet, do you love me?”

  “Of course! But—”

  “If you love me—if you ever loved me—then promise me when the champion comes to Everdale, do not tell him. Do not tell anyone.

  “Ever.”

  Chapter 6

  For four days, Ven and Alet traveled the outer forests: racing along the wire paths through the canopy, then descending to the comfortable towns that sprawled through midforest, and then ferreting out the tucked-away towns on the forest floor, where people lived between the roots of great trees behind barriers of stone and wood. Every town and village had its own hedgewitch, and Ven insisted they see them all. He judged them abruptly and, he knew, unfairly, but he was looking for something very specific: potential. Not undeveloped potential. There was plenty of that at the training schools. What he wanted was something else entirely. Missed potential.

  So far, he hadn’t found it.

  Alet pointed to a squirrel that was racing up a nearby tree. “There’s dinner.”

  Smoothly, Ven drew an arrow, fit it into his bow, and aimed. The squirrel scampered down a narrowing branch. He’d reach the end in three . . . two . . . one . . . As the squirrel leaped, Ven shot. The arrow pierced the squirrel cleanly through the eye, and the squirrel plummeted. Alet raced to catch it, diving from branch to branch, and then snatching it out of the air by its tail before it hit the dirt.

  By the time he met her on the forest floor, she had already started a small cooking fire between two rocks. “Getting slow, old man.”

  He was forty-one, not decrepit. “I’m neither old nor slow.”

  Laying the squirrel on a rock, she began to skin it. “Everything’s relative.”

  “You may be half my age, but I have twice your skill.”

  Pausing, she arched her eyebrows at him.

  “Quarter more your skill,” he amended.

  She said nothing.

  “Would you settle for ‘more experience and wisdom’?” Ven laid the protective charms in a circle around them. He was sure Alet had been careful to pick only dead wood for the fire, but there was no sense in risking angering any spirits.

  “They say the mind decays rapidly as one’s age advances.” She skewered the squirrel with a stick and then wiped her hands on a fallen leaf. “Did you hear what they were saying at that last town? You started a trend. A few other champions are searching the villages too, even ones who already have a candidate.”

  He hadn’t heard, but he was pleased. It can’t be that stupid an idea if others are imitating me. “There are many women who don’t appreciate their own power or recognize their importance.” Taking the stick with the squirrel meat, he held it over the flame. “Not every gifted child is sent to a training school.”

  “Only the good ones.”

  “Or the ones whose parents notice their powers.”

  “Everyone who has powers knows it,” Alet objected.

  He twisted the stick. “But not everyone who has power wants to be queen.”

  Alet fed more sticks to the fire, and the flames shot up, dancing with the smoke. “Why would you want anyone who didn’t want to be queen?”

  He didn’t have an answer to that so he changed the subject. “We’ll visit Everdale next. You spread word of our search, and I’ll talk to the local hedgewitch.”

  “Word has already spread. I swear village gossip spreads faster than the wind.”

  “This time, stress that we’re not looking for children. We’re looking for women who missed their chance. We’re looking for the overlooked.”

  “Maybe they were overlooked for a reason.” Flames licked the squirrel meat, singeing it. “Remember the one in North Blye? She could talk to spirits all right, but she also talked to dead twigs, empty puddles, and random piles of dirt. And how about the one you were so enthused about in Cohn? She fainted at the sight of a spirit, not-so-conveniently after she’d summoned a boatload of them. You were lucky you weren’t eaten alive.”

  “You were lucky too,” he pointed out.

  “That was skill.” Alet shrugged. “Point is, everyone with significant enough power is at an academy already, so that’s where we should be. This is a fool’s quest.”

  She wasn’t wrong, especially about that woman from Cohn. But he was also convinced of the futility of choosing a too-young student. The conventional route wasn’t going to work with their time limit.

  Daleina’s time limit, he amended.

  He wondered how she was. She’d had four days now with the diagnosis. He was certain that Hamon would be with her, ensuring she was comfortable, and he was equally certain she was ignoring all the healer’s good advice and pushing herself as hard as she could for as long as she could—that’s what he would do, and he’d trained her.

  After they ate, Ven and Alet took turns sleeping until the shadows in the forest lightened to pale gray and the birds began to chirp. It wasn’t dawn yet, but it was close enough to navigate and that was all they needed. Ten days left—no time to waste. They packed their camp fast, rolling their bedrolls and stomping out the fire. Scooping up his charms, Ven climbed up into the trees. Alet was close behind him.

  In the predawn light, the journey to Everdale was swift, and they swung into the heart of town as morning light filtered through the leaves. The center of Everdale was a large platform suspended between several tree trunks. Shops were built against the trunks, and merchants were scurrying around, setting up stands and tents for the day’s market.

  Sighing, Alet trudged toward the market. “I’ll spread the word that we’re here.”

  Adjusting the quiver on his back, Ven headed for a shop with a sign boasting of the best protective charms north of the river. He tried the door, expecting it to be locked, but it swung open easily. In some towns, he’d had to nearly batter down the door in order to talk to the hedgewitch this early. He didn’t have time to wait for niceties like market hours. “Good morning?”

  “We’re not open yet, but come in and welcome!” He heard a woman’s voice, but he didn’t see anyone. The shop was dim and cluttered, with displays of candles on barrels and shelves stuffed with herbs and charms. Wind chimes hung from the ceiling, and he ducked under them—they jingled as he passed. A middle-aged woman with uncombed hair and a stained apron bustled in through a back door. She was carrying a lantern, which she hung on a hook to brighten the room. The shop didn’t look any less cluttered in the light. Layers of dust lay over the charms, and cobwebs filled the rafters. Seeing him, she gasped, and then plastered a smile on her face. “What can I interest you in, good sir? Charms, I presume? We have a wide variety, suitable for every kind of spirit. Even one known to ward off an earth kraken.”

  He suppressed a sigh. He could tell already that this woman was more shopkeeper than candidate. He guessed her power was mild, perhaps only extending to skill with crafting charms. “Which spirits do you have mastery over?”

  “Wood, though I’d call it more affinity than mastery.” She gave a high-pitched, self-conscious laugh. He wondered what was making her nervous. Him? That had happened before. He was oversized for these tiny shops. He felt like if he breathed too heavily, all the pottery would shatter and the rafters would shake. “You look like a well-traveled woodsman. Let me see what I have that will suit you for journeying . . .” She bustled toward the overladen shelves.

  He stopped her. “I am looking for a woman with mastery over more than one kind of spirit, a woman that the recruiters overlooked.”

  The hedgewitch froze like a deer in range of his bow. “No one like that here,” she said hurriedly. “I’m the only one with any spirit affinity nearby.”

  Ven frowned. “Are you certain—”

  The front door swung open, and a man poked his head inside. “Corinda, word is that the champion— He’s here! You’re him! You must be!” Trembling, the man stepped into the shop. He looked like a typical woodsman
: a serviceable ax was strapped to his back and charms hung from his belt. His beard was unevenly trimmed, and he was clutching his hat so tightly that the brim curled. “Corinda, you said you’d tell me when he came.”

  The hedgewitch pivoted to face the man. “First off, he just got here. Second off, I lied, Renet, to protect you from making the worst mistake of your life. Go home, apologize to your wife, and hope she doesn’t throw you out on your sorry behind.”

  “It’s not a mistake! It’s an opportunity—”

  The woman took a step toward him. “Renet, one more word, and she will never, ever forgive you. And you will regret it for always.”

  He shrank back. “But she doesn’t understand—”

  “She knows full well what’s best, and she won’t want you blabbing—”

  Ven interrupted. “Am I right in assuming we’re talking about a woman with powers?”

  The man Renet bobbed his head so hard that it looked as if it was about to fall off. “My wife, great sir! She pretends she’s an ordinary woodswoman, just good with charms, but she’s more! I’ve seen proof with my own eyes. When I heard you were coming to Everdale—”

  The shopkeeper plopped herself between Ven and Renet. “Stop there, Renet.” To Ven, she said, “Sir, this man likes to exaggerate. He’s always looking for a way to get rich quick. He wants the easy way out, instead of working hard for his family and himself. This is just his newest scheme, trying to sell off his wife to the capital—”

  “It’s no scheme!” Renet said. “She commanded wood spirits and earth spirits only yesterday. Saved my children from them!”

  “He’s wasting your time, great sir,” the shopkeeper said.

  “It’s my time to waste,” Ven said, though it wasn’t true. It was Queen Daleina’s time. But he kept his voice placid and firm. It wasn’t so much the man’s insistence that caught Ven’s attention; it was the hedgewitch’s resistance. She was too nervous, too vehement. He focused on her. “Why are you protecting her?”

  “Because he isn’t!” She flapped her arms as if she wanted to whale on him but didn’t dare with Ven present—and it was pretty clear from the way the man flinched, she would have. “You’re supposed to be her husband! You’re supposed to care about her, what she needs and wants. Instead, all you think about is you, you, you. You want to be rich. You want to be safe. But at what cost? What happens to Naelin? What happens to your children if this man takes Naelin away? You think about that? Well, you best think about it and shut your trap. Those children need their mother, not their feckless father.”

  Ven held up his hand before the man could reply. “I’d like to meet your wife.”

  Renet exhaled in a puff, and his face broke into a wide grin. “Of course, great sir!”

  Naelin pounded the herbs with the pestle. She tried not to imagine the herbs were Renet’s face. She told herself she didn’t actually wish him harm. He was more like a puppy, exuberant and irresponsible . . . and needing to be on a leash.

  “Mama, are you and Father going to fight again tonight?” Llor asked.

  She sighed. Their home was too tiny to hide things, and she’d been yelling too loudly. “No, sweetheart, he’ll come home with fresh flowers as he always does, and everything will be all right.”

  “Until you need to yell at him again,” Erian pointed out. She carried a pitcher of water to the table. To Llor, she said, “Sometimes Father needs yelling at.”

  Naelin’s mouth quirked into a smile. It was true. But she wished she didn’t feel like yelling at him so often. He meant well, usually, and he certainly hadn’t meant for any harm to come to Erian and Llor. It could have, though, she thought. They could have been killed. Her smile faded, and shivers ran up and down her spine again. She redoubled her efforts in mashing the herbs. Extra protection charms. That would help. And she’d string up garlic and onion, make the place smell so noxious that no spirit would want to come near it.

  She heard the ladder creak outside.

  “Father’s home!” Llor cried. He ran to the window and threw open the shutters.

  Dropping the pestle, Naelin rushed to the window and pulled her son back. “Ask first.” She tried not to let fear into her voice. Windows weren’t safe right now, not until she was sure the spirits had lost interest in her. She closed the shutters and latched them.

  “He’s early,” Erian observed. “Do you think something’s wrong?”

  With Renet, it could be anything: a spirit attack, a forgotten lunch, or he simply didn’t feel like working today. That had happened before. Sometimes it was nice, like when he’d sweep the whole family away on an impromptu picnic, and sometimes it wasn’t, like when he’d come home furious about some imaginary slight that was obviously her fault. Regardless, she wasn’t in the mood for his whims today. “Renet, is that you?” she called.

  “Yes!” he called back. He sounded cheerful.

  She wasn’t certain if that made her relieved or annoyed. Both, she decided.

  “I’ve brought guests!”

  This time, she was the one to open the shutters and lean out the window. Looking down, she saw only her husband on the ladder. And then she felt eyes on her. Skin prickling, she looked up sharply, expecting to see more spirits, but instead two people, a man and a woman, were perched on branches directly opposite their house.

  These were not her husband’s usual friends. Not only had she never seen them before, but they didn’t look like anyone she’d ever seen. The man was tall, very tall, with a salt-and-pepper beard, hard blue eyes, and an old scar on his forehead. He had a bow and quiver on his back, as well as a travel sack, and wore green leathers that looked as if they’d seen a lot of tree bark. He was the kind of dangerous handsome that the women from town liked to whisper about. Staring at him, Naelin had to force herself to tear her eyes away in order to examine his companion, a lithe woman with bare, muscled arms, curls pinned back from her face, and knives strapped to her calves. She was watching Naelin as if Naelin were a squirrel, a tasty, plump squirrel that the woman was considering for dinner. Naelin wanted to close the shutters and tell Renet to take his “friends” back where they came from. But these didn’t look like the kind of people you were rude to, at least not safely.

  Champions, her mind whispered, but then she pushed that thought away. It couldn’t be. Renet had promised. Besides, wouldn’t champions look more regal? These two looked like wild hunters, the kind of people who roamed the forest without a permanent home.

  Before she could decide what to do, Llor was tugging at the door, and Erian was undoing the locks. Llor tumbled backward as the door swung open. Reversing direction, he launched himself forward and hugged Renet’s leg. “Father! Don’t worry. Mother’s not still mad. She said she wouldn’t yell at you anymore.”

  Renet glanced at her, his expression like a toddler with chocolate on his face who expects to be smacked but doesn’t regret the chocolate. Please, she thought. Please, tell me these aren’t champions. Please say you didn’t do it. He’d done something, though—that much was clear.

  When had their marriage become like this? At the start, they’d been so happy. He’d made her laugh like no one else ever could. He’d taught her to dance, and she’d taught him to read, at least a little—he hadn’t been a very good student, and she hadn’t been a strict teacher. They used to spend moonlit nights on the roof, catching glimpses of the stars through the leaves. They used to skinny-dip in the forest pools. But that was years ago. Now she couldn’t remember the last time they’d laughed together, or even seemed to be having the same conversation. Somewhere along the way, they stopped being able to talk without shouting, and their easy friendship had slipped away, argument by argument. “Who are your friends?” she asked as the man and woman came through the door.

  He turned to them and bowed slightly. “May I present my wife, Naelin.”

  “And me!” Llor tugged on his father’s shirt. “Present me next.” He said the word “present” carefully, copying his father.
>
  Renet ruffled his hair. “This is my son, Llor, and my daughter, Erian.”

  Erian curtseyed and then drifted closer to Naelin. Automatically, Naelin put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders. She didn’t blame Erian for being wary of these newcomers. She certainly was. They seemed to fill the house just with their presence.

  Llor hopped over to the man. “Is that a longbow? Can I see it? Is it hard to pull?”

  “Llor, don’t pester him,” Erian said.

  Naelin squeezed Erian’s shoulders before letting her go and stepping forward. “Welcome to our home. I’m sorry, but Renet didn’t say your names. . . .”

  The man ducked to fit under one of the rafters. Drying herbs brushed his hair. “I am Ven, Queen’s Champion. And my companion is Captain Alet, a member of the royal guard.”

  She felt as if all the air had been siphoned out of the room. It was harder to breathe. She sucked in more air, aware she was gasping, unable to stop. This was at the same time the worst and most wonderful thing she could have imagined. A champion, here. Queen Daleina’s own champion, in her home!

  “Wow,” Llor said, his eyes as wide as an owl’s, “you’re a hero.”

  “What’s the queen like?” Erian asked breathlessly at the same time. To the woman, she asked, “Are you her personal guard? Do you know her? Is she as beautiful as they say?”

  “More beautiful,” the guardswoman said gravely.

  “Did she really defeat a hundred spirits by herself?” Erian asked.

  “I heard they flee when they see her!” Llor jumped in. “She just has to look at them, and they run. I heard she tore one apart with just a word! And she destroys them too and sets their trees on fire from miles and miles and miles away!”

  “She can do all that,” the royal guard said.

  Llor’s mouth opened in a silent “wow.” He was staring at the champion and the guard as if they’d descended from the sky above the forest. Naelin understood—she’d told tales about Queen Daleina and her champion to Llor (and Erian, who claimed she was too old for bedtime stories, but always listened in). Queen Daleina was the one who kept them all safe. She was Aratay’s protective charm, the woman who battled fear and won. And this was the man who’d taught her.