The Reluctant Queen

by Sarah Beth Durst

  “I have the False Death.”

  No.

  No, she couldn’t.

  Not Daleina.

  “But you’re so young!”

  “It’s not unheard-of.”

  “It’s rare enough. And we’ve never had a single case of it in our family. It’s inherited, isn’t it? How could you have it? On Daddy’s side, Grandma died of ridiculous old age, and Grandpa fell and broke his neck. On Mother’s . . . I don’t remember, but not the False Death. I think there was some kind of sickness . . . Your healers must be wrong. Besides, you don’t look sick.” In fact, she looked lovely, her gold and red and orange hair shining like a tree in autumn. Gold flecks had been painted around her eyes, which made her eyes pop even more. Daleina had always had intense eyes. She’d always been intense about everything. Dying certainly wasn’t making her any less intense. “They’re wrong.”

  “Hamon is one of the best. The other palace healers are in awe of him.”

  “That’s nice, but he’s wrong.”

  Daleina looked at her, for the first time since Arin had come onto the balcony, and Arin felt the full weight of those very intense eyes. “You are less comforting than you’re supposed to be.”

  “I’m not letting you die.”

  “You don’t exactly get a say in this.”

  “You’re going to fight this.”

  Daleina looked away. “It’s inside me. I can’t throw a knife at it.”

  “He’s looking for a cure, isn’t he? Your healer boyfriend?” She thought of how calm his voice had sounded, urbane, as always, and wasn’t certain if that had been an act or not. Healers were trained to have exquisite bedside manners. She’d corner him later, find out how serious it truly was, though she’d never heard of the False Death not being serious. This can’t be happening. Not to Daleina!

  “He wanted someone I trust here with me while he looks for a cure,” Daleina admitted. “That’s why you were summoned. But I don’t want you in danger—”

  Instantly, Arin said, “Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

  “He wants you to monitor my symptoms when he can’t.”

  Why me? she wanted to ask. Why not one of the palace healers? But she didn’t ask, because she didn’t want to be sent away. Daleina wanted me, whether she remembers that or not. “You’ve had symptoms?”

  “Seven people died.”

  “Oh.”

  Daleina clasped her hands behind her back and stared out at the green as if it held all the answers. The sun still washed over her, bathing her in light, which glistened off the sparkles on her face and in her dress so brightly that it looked as if she were exuding light.

  In as deadpan a voice as she could manage, Arin said, “Most people when they get sick just sneeze a lot. You’re such an overachiever.”

  Daleina snorted, which was almost a laugh, and then she was serious again. “If I black out, you must hide. Promise me that. Every room we go into, scout out where you’ll hide if it happens, and if I collapse, you must go there. And whenever I don’t need you . . . at all other times, I don’t want you anywhere near me.”

  “Daleina, I don’t—”

  “Promise. Or I call the guards and have them send you home.”

  Arin stared at her. She’d never used that tone with her. She sounded . . . well, like a queen. Arin didn’t like it. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “Say it.”

  “I promise.”

  Daleina’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t know what the right thing is to do. Do I warn people, so they can be prepared for the blackouts? Or do I not, so they don’t panic? It would be different if I had an heir. I’d abdicate in an instant.”

  “You can abdicate? I thought queens—” Arin stopped. A queen could abdicate, yes, but she couldn’t abdicate and live—the spirits would hunt her down, and she’d lack the power to defend herself. Even if she had the protection of the new queen, she’d be in constant danger. Eventually, the new queen’s control would slip, or she’d die or become distracted, and the spirits would reach Daleina. It had happened before. There were songs and tales about past queens who had tried to abdicate and live out their lives in peace—all of them had failed. Every single one, dead within a year. It couldn’t be done. She’s serious about this, Arin thought. She truly believes she’s . . . She’s truly sick. Suddenly, Arin felt like hitting something, and she never felt that way. She was kind to small children and irritating animals, as well as irritating children and small animals. She was patient with even the most exacting of customers who came into the bakery, including Mistress Millia, who requested cream-puff pastries without cream and then complained when the fluff collapsed, which of course it did when you bit into one. “You can’t tell them.” There would be panic, especially without an heir. But if there was an heir . . . “He’ll find a cure. You can’t abdicate before Hamon finds a cure.”

  “I’ve told my champions to accelerate the training process. They’ll be presenting their candidates to me soon, and I will choose heirs in a month.”

  “Then Hamon had better work quickly,” Arin said.

  Daleina nodded, but it seemed more of a polite acknowledgment than actual agreement.

  The sun was beginning to shift, and the leaves at the top of the canopy created shadows on the balcony. Side by side with her sister, Arin watched a spirit spiral up toward the sun and then zip along the tops of the trees. Daleina spoke again. “So, Daddy’s building birdhouses?”

  “Fancy ones.”

  “And Mother’s all right with this?”

  “She says there are worse hobbies he could have.”

  Daleina’s lips quirked. “Probably true.”

  “Definitely true. Did I ever tell you about our neighbor, the one who knits sweaters for her pet squirrels?” Arin dove into an elaborate, mostly true account of their neighbor’s antics, growing more animated in her description until at last Daleina let out a faint laugh, and Arin felt as if she’d won a victory.

  For the moment, at least.

  Chapter 13

  Mittriel, the capital city of Aratay, was teeming with people, scurrying everywhere, like squirrels preparing for winter. Navigating a bridge that was wider than the entire market of Everdale, Naelin and her children barely fit between the crowds. If Alet and Ven hadn’t been with them, clearing a path, she was certain they’d be at a standstill. Or cowering in a corner somewhere, she thought. Erian and Llor were on either side of Naelin, clutching her hands, like burrs attached to her skirt. They gawked at everyone and everything.

  “It’s all so . . .” Naelin tried to find a word that would sum it up and failed.

  “Colorful?” Ven offered.

  “Yes.” Every inch of every tree was carved or painted, and every branch was draped in ribbons and signs, pointing to various shops and restaurants. Bridges crisscrossed both above and below and were clogged with men, women, and children who were all as brilliantly decorated as the trees. Out in the villages, everyone wore brown or green to blend into the forest, but here . . . “I didn’t know it was possible to make dyes so very . . .” A woman walked past her with a garish orange bonnet that attached to her sleeves with multicolored beaded strands. The beads jingled together as she walked. “. . . orange.”

  “She’s wearing a pumpkin on her head,” Llor whispered as he stared.

  A few of the people stared back at them. Naelin was aware of how bedraggled they all looked after several days of travel, even though she’d scrubbed all their faces every time she found a stream that wasn’t occupied by a water spirit. Her dress, which she’d sewn herself, felt like rough patchwork, compared to the elaborate outfits worn by the capital citizens.

  “Mama, we aren’t sparkly enough,” Erian said.

  Alet patted Erian on the shoulder. “You’re just fine. They’re the ridiculous ones.”

  Naelin shot her a grateful look. She appreciated Alet’s kindness to all of them, especially when she felt so very small, brown, and drab, like a sparrow who fe
ll in a mud puddle. “It is a bit intimidating,” Naelin admitted. “I feel like I’ve been thrown into a coop of peacocks.”

  “Reasonably accurate,” Ven said, and the smile he threw her felt like a lifeline. “You’ll either get used to it or eternally hate it.” He stopped and pointed. “That, though, is a sight that I’ll never get used to and never hate.” They were approaching from midforest, where the bridges merged together into a wide painted bridge that led into the palace gates.

  “Oh, Mama, it’s beautiful!” Erian gasped.

  She was right: the white trees of the palace shone as delicate and ethereal as the moon. Their branches entwined, creating a lacework of smooth limbs that spread into a thin canopy of golden leaves. Six spires rose above the canopy, capped in arches. One, an observation deck known as the Queen’s Tower, rose highest from the center. Another, which held the famous Chamber of Champions, bowed off to the side. Others were said to hold various throne rooms and bedchambers, each more ornate than the last. Elegant stairs wound around the trunks, and balconies adorned the higher reaches. Naelin wanted to scoop up her children and run home, to their drab, snug hut.

  “Are we going to live there?” Erian asked.

  “What? No. Of course not. That’s the palace.” She’d been foolish to think she’d have an audience with the queen herself, to think Her Majesty would care about one woodswoman’s family.

  “But you said the queen would protect us,” Llor piped up. “I heard you! I listen!”

  Erian’s eyes were round. “Are we going to meet the queen?”

  Before, she would have said yes. She’d had every intention of marching into the palace and demanding . . . Oh, it all sounded so ridiculous now. Who was she to demand anything of the queen? I’m no one, nothing, not even a properly trained hedgewitch. Just a woodswoman whose skills did not apply in a place like this. She was no one, and while her children meant the world to her, the queen was responsible for all the children in all of Aratay. There was no reason for her to take any special interest in Naelin’s. Most likely, Naelin would never see her, even from a distance. And that’s fine. I don’t know what to say to a queen. “You’ll stay with me, wherever I go. If it’s to meet the queen, we meet the queen. If it’s to meet the fourth assistant pig keeper, we meet the fourth assistant pig keeper.”

  “Why do they have four pig keepers?” Llor asked. “Do they have that many pigs?”

  “It’s the palace,” Erian said. “They probably have hundreds of pigs!”

  “Thousands?” Llor asked.

  “Hundreds of thousands,” Erian said, with full confidence, and then she amended, “Or they could, you know, if the queen wanted, which she probably doesn’t, because they’re pigs. And she probably wouldn’t keep them in the palace anyway, because it’s fancy.”

  “Pigs aren’t fancy,” Llor said wisely.

  “Do these kinds of conversations happen often with you?” Ven asked Naelin.

  Naelin smiled, feeling better. “When you have children, you find yourself uttering sentences you’ve never imagined anyone would need to say, such as ‘You can’t go to school naked’ and ‘Please don’t put a chipmunk in your father’s shoes.’” Her smile faded at the memory of that—it had been a funny moment. She and Renet had laughed for a week—Renet kept walking around with one shoe on asking where he could find his other chipmunk. They’d had good moments. Why did he have to ruin it all? She poked at that sadness, wondering if she missed him or just missed what could have been.

  “You won’t be meeting the queen yet,” Ven said, interrupting her thoughts. “She will let us know when she’s ready to approve the candidates.

  Naelin refused to think about the word “yet.” It was far more likely that she’d never be allowed near the queen. The queen of Aratay had far more important people to meet than an ordinary woodswoman.

  “Until then, we’re going to Northeast Academy.”

  “Ooh, Headmistress Hanna?” Erian jumped up and down. Naelin felt the same way—she’d heard stories about the famous headmistress. She expected her to be at least nine feet tall and glowing like the moon.

  “Yes,” he told Erian. “Alet, will you guide them there? I need to go ahead to let the headmistress know to expect you.”

  “Of course,” Alet said.

  Naelin tamped down an impulse to grab his arm and say don’t leave. She wasn’t a child, and she trusted Alet to shepherd them through the city. Still . . . she’d gotten used to traveling with him.

  “She’ll judge if you’re ready,” Ven said to Naelin. Without waiting for a response, he sprinted ahead, weaving through the crowds as if they were obstacles in a race.

  That sounded every bit as stressful as meeting the queen. Watching him leave and wishing he’d stayed, Naelin murmured, “I’m not ready. What do I say to Headmistress Hanna? She faced the spirits at the Massacre of the Oaks. She’s trained two queens.”

  “You managed to charm Champion Ven,” Alet said. “You’ll be fine.”

  Naelin nearly stopped walking. As it was, she caught her foot on Llor’s and stumbled against Erian. Erian squawked, and Naelin had to spend several seconds checking to be sure everyone was all right—they were—before she asked, “Exactly what do you mean by that?” She thought her voice sounded steady, normal, but she couldn’t help the way her heart began to thump harder.

  Erian answered instead of Alet. “He admires you. It’s obvious, Mama. And I like him too. He scowls a lot, but he doesn’t mean it.” For a second, Naelin let herself sink into that thought—her children liked him, and he was kind to them. Gentle, even.

  Naelin glanced at Alet, who nodded, an amused smirk on her face. “He’s not used to people standing up to him.” Alet shrugged. “You’ve impressed him.”

  She hadn’t wanted to impress him, much less charm anyone. Except . . . No. “Right. Well, I’m not looking for admiration, especially if you’re implying the kind of admiration I think you’re implying.” She thought of his pale-blue eyes, always studying her. She’d assumed he was assessing her as a potential heir, not as . . . Never mind. It was ridiculous to be having these thoughts while she was on her way to meet a living legend. Alet was teasing her. And I’m being silly, indulging in fantasies. “Ridiculous.”

  “You left your husband, spoken and witnessed,” Alet pointed out. “Do you plan on returning to him?” Striding purposefully forward, Alet parted the crowd. Naelin, Erian, and Llor scurried behind her.

  “Well, no, but . . .” She’d left him, taken the children, and announced in front of witnesses that she had no intention to return. That severed their vows, by forest law. But she hadn’t paused to think through the implications, that maybe fantasies didn’t have to stay fantasies. Instead she’d been so caught up in reacting, and then the travel . . . “This isn’t the time for talk like that.” She had greater things to worry about than whether Ven was the kindest, most intense, most sincere man she’d ever met . . . It was indulgent to even think like this when she had two children to look after in a strange, overwhelming city. Naelin looked at Erian and Llor and wondered if they’d realized that their family was shattered, permanently. She wondered if they’d ever fully understand. I’ve hurt them, she thought. Whether they knew it yet or not, whether she meant to or not, whether she had a choice or not, whether it was her fault or not, she’d uprooted their lives.

  Guilt is an unavoidable and useless emotion, Headmistress Hanna decided, especially after you’ve committed regicide. Still, Hanna allowed herself to wallow for a few minutes. She’d opened her window and sat on the sill. Ahead was the thick green of the forest. Far below, shrouded in bushes, was the forest floor. Birds called to one another, familiar territorial cries that sounded like beautiful insults.

  She heard her office door swing open behind her. Without turning around, she said, “I don’t require anything.” Except a cure for the queen.

  A familiar voice said, “I trust you don’t intend to fall?” Champion Ven. She hadn’t expected him, yet
was not surprised. Healer Hamon had predicted he’d return from the forest after failing there and choose one of her students.

  It was a shame none of them were ready.

  More than a shame.

  Out loud, she said, “It would be irresponsible of me, as well as create an unseemly pile on the academy entranceway. I couldn’t ask the caretakers to clean such a mess.” She didn’t leave her perch, but she did shift sideways so that he could sit beside her.

  He didn’t sit. “Tell me you don’t do this often.”

  “Only when my thoughts are stifling. I like the fresh air.” Up this high, the wind whipped around the top of the tower. She felt it push against her feet. “We did a terrible thing for a just cause, and now it appears the universe is punishing us.”

  “Daleina told you?”

  “Healer Hamon. He visited this morning.”

  “It’s not a punishment.”

  “Hamon told me that as well, but it does not feel that way. I believe in fate, and I believe fate wants revenge for our hubris in trying to control it.” Hanna sighed heavily. “Instead of protecting innocents, we have condemned them. Without a suitable heir . . . I fear we have done our country a great wrong.”

  He laid his hand on her shoulder. “I am sorry that the guilt is so bad that you want to jump, but I cannot allow you to do it.”

  Glaring at him, Hanna pushed away his hand. “I was not about to kill myself. I told you, I wanted fresh air.” What she contemplated in the solitude of regret was her business, and she did not welcome his bald words.

  “You were feeling melodramatic. But there isn’t time for that. You have a job to do.”

  She bristled more. “I am well aware—”

  “I need your help.”

  She stopped. That was a sentence she hadn’t expected him to ever utter. “You?”

  “I found a woman with more raw power than I’ve ever encountered. Problem is, she has no interest in using her power. She wants to pretend she’s invisible, live someplace unmemorable with her two kids and—”

  “More power than Fara?”