The Reluctant Queen

by Sarah Beth Durst

  And now they were here . . .

  “They wanted to meet you, Naelin,” Renet said, his voice trembling. “Please, I know you’re angry, but please listen to them, Naelin. They’ve been looking for you.”

  She took a step backward, and the heels of her feet hit the hearth. Oh, no. He’d promised! He’d kissed her and promised, and she’d believed him.

  “According to your husband, you controlled tree spirits and earth spirits yesterday, to protect your family,” the champion said.

  All wonder at their presence drained out of her. It didn’t matter how legendary they were; what mattered was why they were here. “He lied,” Naelin said flatly.

  “I know what I saw!” Renet cried. “You were surrounded, and you sent them away. How, if you didn’t control them? Admit it! You have powers.”

  She shook her head, hard. I have to convince them. “Renet, what have you done? You lied to these good people, these important people, interrupted their day, took their time. I’m sure they have much more important things to be doing than visiting us.”

  “Oh, please stay and visit!” Llor cried. He grabbed on to the wrist of the champion and hung there, dangling his full weight. The champion’s arm muscles tightened, supporting the child’s weight, but he didn’t shake him off or even look at him. The champion’s eyes bored into Naelin, as if he could see all her thoughts and all her secrets. Naelin looked away, at the woman, but the guardswoman’s eyes were no more comforting—in fact, they were almost hostile.

  “I’m a simple woodswoman,” Naelin explained. “I make charms for my family and for sale. Over the years, I’ve gotten adept at it. As soon as the spirits came close enough to sense the charms, they fled. There was no power involved. No commands. I’m afraid my husband, in his enthusiasm, was mistaken.” Please, believe me, she thought.

  The champion continued to study her, and she felt her face flush red. She wished she were a bird and could fly out the window. Her daughter pressed closer to her again, and Naelin put an arm around her, unsure which of them was comforting the other.

  Kneeling in front of Llor, the champion asked, “Did your mother scare away the monsters?”

  Llor shot a glance at her, and Naelin shook her head. “No,” Llor said.

  Good boy, Naelin thought.

  “We hid under there.” Llor pointed at the rug that covered the trap door. “When we came out, the monsters were gone, and Mama yelled at Father for a while. He let the spirits come, because he isn’t very smart.”

  The guardswoman made a noise that nearly sounded like a laugh.

  “Why do you say ‘he let the spirits come’? Why blame him?” The champion’s voice was gentle, and Naelin suddenly wondered if he had children. She’d never thought of champions as good with children.

  “Because he didn’t put the new charms out, on purpose. Mama thought that was mean. And I think it was mean too.”

  Renet’s face flushed red, then purple. “I only wanted to test—”

  The champion held up a hand, cutting him off. “I’m speaking to your son right now. I’ve already talked to you. As I’m hearing it, you intentionally removed protections around your children and didn’t warn your wife.” Deliberately, he turned his back to Renet.

  Renet shrank back, like a little kid who knew he was in trouble but couldn’t imagine what he’d done wrong, and Naelin wanted to shake him for not understanding. She’d explain, again, tonight why she hid her powers, why her parents had warned her about champions, why she’d never gone to any training school. Only the strongest used their powers against the spirits and survived. And she was not the strongest. She wouldn’t survive. No matter how wealthy it would make her family if she went to the capital, she believed her children were better off poor than motherless. It wasn’t such a hard concept to understand.

  “Tell me about your mother,” the champion said to Llor.

  “She smells nice,” Llor said.

  “Good. What else?”

  “She tells me stories at night, so I can sleep,” Llor said. “I have bad dreams sometimes.” Quickly, he added, “But I don’t cry. I’m not a baby.”

  “You’re not,” the champion said seriously.

  “Mama thinks I am. She doesn’t even let me walk to school by myself. All the other kids get to, but Mama—”

  “That’s enough, Llor,” Naelin said crisply. She fixed her gaze on the champion. “I protect my family by being careful. Extra careful, perhaps, but we aren’t like you. People like us can’t afford to be fearless.”

  He rose, and Naelin shrank back, again reminded of how tall he was. He was like a tree, with arm muscles as solid-looking as a trunk. “You think we are fearless?”

  “You can fight spirits,” Naelin said. “We have to make do the best we can.”

  “It sounds like you ‘make do’ well,” the guardswoman said.

  Naelin inclined her head. “Thank you.” She began to hope that meant they believed her. She had practice in lying about her power, but never to people like these. She felt naked in front of them and was aware of every flaw, from her bony elbows to her too-thin eyebrows to her hair that had recently begun to show a few strands of gray. People like this shouldn’t be talking to people like me. They’re like roses, and I’m like . . . like dirt. Practical, ordinary dirt that never does anything extraordinary or even unexpected. She patted her hair, then forced her hand down. “Again, I’m sorry your visit was for nothing, but I’m not anyone the likes of you would ever be interested in.”

  The champion executed a bow—to her, a bow! Flustered, she tried to curtsy and knocked into Erian. The champion seemed not to notice, or pretended not to. “We thank you for your time.” He turned toward the door, and the guardswoman followed him.

  “Naelin!” Renet said, his voice a strangled cry. He hurried across the room, gripped her arm so hard that she flinched, and whispered in her ear. “You can’t just let them leave. This is our chance. Don’t be a coward! You could change our lives, right here and right now. These people have the power to offer us everything we’ve always wanted: safety, security, wealth.”

  She pried his fingers off her arm and pushed his hand away. In a low whisper, barely a breath, she said, “And death.” He flinched.

  She thought she saw the champion pause . . . but no, he was only turning to descend the ladder. Llor and Erian rushed to the door to watch them. Leaning out the door, Erian gasped, and Llor squealed in delight. Leaving Renet, Naelin hurried to join her children. Arm around each of them, she looked outside.

  The champion and the guard had left the ladder and were leaping from tree to tree, higher and higher. In their wake, leaves shook and trembled.

  “They’re leaving!” Renet cried.

  “Good,” Naelin said firmly.

  Naelin and her children watched until they disappeared from view. She told herself she was grateful that was over and glad they were gone, but still she continued to stare out at the trees long after the leaves stilled. It wasn’t every day one met heroes.

  Chapter 7

  High above the tiny house in the woods, Ven perched with Alet. “She’s lying.” He watched the woodswoman emerge from the front, check in all directions, and then climb onto the roof of her house. She had a basket of charms dangling from the crook of her elbow. She began to lace the roof with them.

  “You’d rather believe the idiot husband?”

  “I know when people are hiding secrets.”

  She snorted.

  “I’m not boasting,” he said. “It’s truth. I’ve had to learn.” He thought of Fara—he hadn’t known what the queen was hiding, but he’d known she had secrets. “It’s the palace. You can’t survive there unless you learn to read people. With time, you’ll learn it too.”

  “Right, O wise and experienced one. Explain this secret, then: Why would a woman marry the kind of man who’d deliberately endanger her? If he’d been wrong, she and the children would have died horribly, and he’d be a murderer.”

&nbs
p; “But he wasn’t wrong.”

  “Unless he was,” Alet said. “You saw all the brand-new charms in that house.”

  He’d seen them, but he’d seen something else too, the fear in the woodswoman’s eyes. She’d tried to hide it, but he was used to looking for it—you could learn a lot about an opponent by deducing what they were afraid of. I’m right.

  “Even if it’s true and she’s hiding tremendous secret power, it doesn’t matter. You don’t want an unwilling candidate. You know firsthand how difficult the trials are, and that’s for someone who wants to pass.”

  “She’d want to pass,” Ven said. “She wants to survive. All those charms in the house? She’s desperate to survive. And for her family to survive.”

  “So?” Alet said.

  Ven glanced at his companion. She wasn’t going to like what he was about to propose. Frankly, he didn’t like it much either. “I think her desire to protect herself and the people she loves will outstrip any unwillingness. I think she’d fight for them, if she had to.”

  “If she can,” Alet said. “I still say she may not have any power at all.”

  “Then we need to talk to the villagers, learn more about her, and if she seems suitable, we test her,” Ven said. “Test both her power and her willingness.” Looking down again, he watched the woodswoman venture onto one of the limbs. She was clearly an experienced climber—she’d balanced herself correctly to compensate for the thinness of the branch, which wasn’t an easy or obvious maneuver. Stretching, she affixed a charm to the next tree over. There was determination in her. He could see it even from this distance.

  He felt Alet glaring at him. “You want to do exactly what that husband of hers did,” she accused. He heard the disgust in her voice, but he refused to let it affect him. He didn’t take this job to be nice. “You want to trick her into using her powers, if she has them.”

  “I will get her to tell the truth, no tricks involved,” Ven said. “But yes, I intend to make her use her powers. Unlike her husband, though, we’ll be able to protect her if things go wrong.” And then . . . We’ll see what she’s really made of.

  “Things will go wrong,” Alet predicted.

  Ven shrugged. “They always do.”

  At dawn, Naelin filled her pockets with protective charms, kissed her sleepy children, and informed her husband that if he let them leave the house, she’d let the spirits tear his arms off. He only grunted at her and rolled over in bed, wrapping the blanket around him like a cocoon.

  Hesitating in the doorway, she looked back inside at her comfy, snug home. Toasty warm, it was bathed in amber light from the fireplace. Her favorite chair was by the hearth, piled with quilts. A half-knit sweater lay on the tiny table next to it. Maybe it would be smarter to stay home. Surely she could cobble together a few meals—baked roots, at least. They were out of flour, though, and also eggs and sprouts. Realistically, she couldn’t feed all four of them for more than a day or two without needing more, and it was safer to travel the well-worn bridges to the market than for either her or Renet to venture into the forest to hunt. After a dinner or two of baked roots, Renet would insist on heading out. I don’t want to have that argument. Or any other argument, for that matter.

  She locked the door carefully behind her and checked the ladder—all clear below. The forest felt crisp and awake, sparkling with morning dew and alive with the chirp of cheerful birds. Or territorial, amorous birds.

  She climbed down the ladder and lowered herself onto the forest floor. Hurrying, she stepped over roots and around underbrush, aware of every twig that broke under her feet and every bit of dirt she disturbed, but she didn’t see any spirits. Up ahead was the main road: the rope bridges that spanned the forest between Everdale and the neighboring towns. Quickly, she scurried up the ladder to the relative safety of the familiar path.

  As she continued on, she began to relax. It was nice to be out of the house and away from Renet’s accusations. By the end of the night, “coward” was the kindest thing he’d called her, as he ranted on and on about how she’d ruined her family’s one chance at future happiness.

  She wasn’t a coward; she was practical. Any overlap between the two was coincidental. Renet was delusional if he thought people like the champion and the guard, whose lives were intertwined with royalty, offered safety and security. In fact, the opposite was true. Look at how many had died during the last trials and during the coronation. All but one.

  You could sing all the songs and tell all the stories you wanted about it, but it didn’t change the fact that most people who used their power didn’t become queens. Most died.

  He’d accused her of having no ambition and she wanted to shout right back, You’re right! She was a woodswoman, and she liked being one. She didn’t want to be anything else. She liked her life, except when Renet decided it would be fun to turn it upside down. She liked her home and her family and her neighbors and the forest and everything exactly as it was, thank you very much. She did not need champions and royal guards squeezing into her warm, snug home, making her children starry-eyed, and encouraging her husband’s ridiculous notions.

  Yes, she had power. But she didn’t have enough power. She wouldn’t be one of the few who survived; she’d be one of the many who fell, and what did that gain anyone? Was it worth her death for Renet and the children to live in a bigger house, wear nicer clothes, eat fancier spices, and collect shinier knickknacks? They had everything they needed—a roof over their heads, clothes on their bodies, and food on their table. Why can’t he be content with that? I am!

  Inhaling the fresh forest air, Naelin steadied herself. She was supposed to be calming down, not riling herself back up. The champion and his companion were gone. Renet would reconcile himself to that, eventually, and life would return to normal. She simply had to be diligent with their protections, and everything would be fine.

  Up ahead, she saw the center of Everdale. Colorful tents had been pitched on the platform, and from the sound of it, the spaces between them were already packed with people. She heard voices and laughter overlapping, and she felt safer already. Spirits wouldn’t dare attack a crowded marketplace. Joining the flow of shoppers, Naelin stepped onto the platform.

  Men and women fell silent as she passed. Heads turned, and eyes tracked her. She heard whispers start up in her wake, and she told herself it was her imagination—they weren’t talking about her. She greeted a few neighbors she knew by name as she hurried by, and they warily waved back.

  Trying to ignore the stares and whispers, she chose her supplies, haggling only when the miller tried to inflate his price beyond what was reasonable. She handed him a small pile of coins, the bulk of what she’d earned selling her last batch of charms, and he accepted them with a loud moan that she was bankrupting him. She thanked him as if he weren’t being ridiculous, and she tucked the sack of flour into her larger pack.

  Across the market, the town hedgewitch, Corinda, waved to her. “Naelin!” Corinda hurried through the crowd, jostling people out of the way with her plump elbows. “Oh, Naelin!”

  “Corinda, I’d been thinking that I should bring you more charms to sell—”

  The woman embraced her. “I’ve been so worried for you!”

  Naelin patted Corinda’s back awkwardly. All right, that’s . . . nice? She wasn’t outwardly affectionate with people who weren’t her children very often, and Corinda had never greeted her with a hug before. “You have? That’s . . .” She searched for the right word. Sweet? Odd? Alarming? “I’m fine. We’re all fine. Why would you be worried?”

  Corinda leaned close enough for Naelin to smell the honey-bread on her breath and faintly sour sweat on her skin. “Because of them. You know. I was there when Renet told them about you. I tried to shush him, but you know how he is.” She hugged Naelin again. “Oh, I thought they’d take you for sure!”

  Naelin wished that Corinda wouldn’t talk so loud. She glanced right and left—the other shoppers were listening in, and a few di
dn’t bother to hide it. “There’s no reason for them to take me,” Naelin said in a loud, steady voice. “I have no powers.”

  “But they think you do,” Corinda said. “They’ve been in town, asking about you.”

  Naelin felt herself grow cold. I didn’t fool them, she thought. I should have known. “I thought they’d left.” She pulled away from her friend and glanced through the crowd, half expecting to see the champion and guard watching her. Her skin prickled with goose bumps. “I have to get home.”

  “Of course,” Corinda said. “Go safely. But Naelin, you should know that they’re talking to everyone. And people are mentioning . . . you know.” She nodded significantly northward, toward the school.

  Oh, no, Naelin thought. She’d hoped that everyone had forgotten. It had been years since anyone had mentioned it. Erian had been little, younger than Llor was now, when a rogue wood spirit had split the base of the tree that held the school. The tree had teetered, all the children trapped on the platform high above. Down below, with the other parents, Naelin had seen it all happen. She remembered knowing with absolute clarity that if she didn’t do something, the tree would fall and all the children with it. And she remembered watching, with the other parents, as the spirit was forced to heal the tree, knitting the base together, strengthening the trunk with vines, holding it upright until the children could be rescued—and then Naelin had fainted, which was when the rumors began that she had done it. “No one has any proof.”

  “People don’t need proof to spread rumors,” Corinda said. “You’d better get home and lay low. The queen’s own champion, well, it’s the most exciting thing to happen in Everdale in ages, and everyone wants to talk to him. Pretty soon, they’ll be making up stories about you just for the chance to look at the man who chose the woman who became queen.”