The Reluctant Queen

by Sarah Beth Durst

  Intellectually, she’d known that. Queen Daleina had only just recently completed her training at the academy when her predecessor called for the trials. She was, at most, nineteen or twenty years old. Young enough that Naelin could have been her mother, if she’d chosen to have children sooner. Encased in her royal clothes, on the throne . . . the queen looked as if she should be out in a village, starting her own shop, kissing nice young men, or setting out to find her place in the world—not ensconced here with the responsibilities of an entire nation on her lap.

  “I’m sorry,” Naelin said, before she thought about the words.

  An expression flashed across the queen’s face—so fast that Naelin couldn’t tell what it was, only that it was a break in her emotion. “For what, pray tell?”

  She felt Ven’s eyes on her as well as Alet’s, but she couldn’t look away from the young queen. She shouldn’t have said anything, but now that she had, she couldn’t stop. “For this, Your Majesty.” She waved at the throne, at the room, the chandeliers, the murals, the guards, the windowless walls, the gilded cage. “You should have had a childhood. I am sorry that Aratay has asked so much of you.”

  The queen continued to regard her with her deep summer-green eyes. She had intense eyes that felt as if they were staring right into your heart. Eyes that had seen too much. “It may ask this much of you as well.”

  “I’ve told Ven . . . Champion Ven, that is . . . I’ve said no.”

  Queen Daleina blinked. “No?”

  “I don’t want to be heir. I don’t want this power.”

  “She said no,” the queen repeated, to Ven.

  “I’m aware of that,” Ven said, “but she has agreed to be trained, and I believe she will change her mind about becoming heir, once she understands how much she is needed.” The champion and his queen were looking at each other with expressions so fierce that Naelin was certain there was another layer of silent conversation that her ears couldn’t hear. She had the same sense she did when Renet lied to her.

  “A bad queen can be as dangerous as no queen,” Queen Daleina said. “You know that.”

  “She’s what we need,” Ven said, firmly, calmly, and the words sunk into Naelin like a stone into a pond. Oh no, she thought. The incident at the academy hadn’t convinced him she was unsuitable. In fact, the opposite seemed to be true.

  “I’m not,” Naelin tried. She glanced at Alet, who nodded encouragingly. She remembered what Alet had said once, when they were out in the forest, that it was difficult to say no to the queen. But I have to. “I’m a woodswoman, a mother, not a potential heir. I don’t want this. Never wanted this.” She took a deep breath. “Your Majesty, please . . . I want a quiet life, a peaceful life.”

  The queen rolled her eyes up and studied the ceiling. In a mild, too mild voice, she asked, “Champion Ven, did you force this woman to come here?”

  “No!” He hesitated. “Persuaded, perhaps.”

  Little hands balling into fists, Llor shouted, “He promised Mama you’d keep us safe! She said she’d train if the queen keeps us safe! They made a deal!”

  Naelin nudged him. “Shh.” And Erian whispered, “Say ‘Your Majesty’!”

  Shrinking back behind Naelin, Llor added in a mumble, “Your Majesty.”

  “I see.” The queen drummed her fingers on the armrest of her throne. Naelin noticed that her nails had been nibbled down to the nubs. Still a child, Naelin thought. It wasn’t right. “Let me see if I am understanding this correctly: you agreed to be trained, if I would keep your children safe, but you did not agree to become an heir.”

  Naelin bowed again. “And now I don’t even wish to be trained. I wish to be free. Please, Your Majesty, can you use your power to tell the spirits to forget me? Make it so they never noticed my power?”

  Drummed her fingers more.

  Naelin felt Erian’s and Llor’s hand dampen in hers as she sweated. This was it. “We’ll find a quiet home far from anyone.” Naelin was trying not to beg. “I won’t ever use my power again. All I need is for you to command them to ignore me, until they forget about me.”

  “It is not possible to command the spirits to forget,” the queen said. “And at best, a command to leave you alone would only work as long as I am alive. After my death, the spirits would come for you and rend you limb from limb, along with those you seek to protect. If you are as powerful as Ven says and if you refuse to use your power, they will treat you like a queen who lost her throne—they’ll hunt you and destroy you.”

  Erian whimpered and clung closer. Llor began to cry.

  “You’re young and strong,” Naelin said. “You’ll outlive me. You can keep my children safe, even after I’m gone.”

  “You cannot be certain of that,” the queen said.

  “Queen Fara did not live a long life,” Ven added.

  The queen bowed her head.

  “Please, Your Majesty.” Naelin couldn’t seem to make her voice louder than a whisper. Her throat felt tight. “I’m too dangerous.”

  “Untrained, she summoned the earth kraken,” Ven told the queen, “and then banished it.”

  The queen’s fingers halted. She held them motionless above the arm of the throne. Studying Naelin, Erian, and Llor, she didn’t speak. Naelin tried to read her expression, but Queen Daleina may as well have been carved out of wood.

  “It damaged the academy walls,” Naelin said. “People could have been killed, because of me.”

  “Because you were untrained. Trained . . .” Ven turned back to the queen. “Trained, she could protect the palace, when you can’t. She could train here, be here for when she’s needed.”

  The queen’s eyes shifted to bore into Ven’s eyes. Silence weighed heavily on the throne room. Llor fidgeted beside Naelin, but she kept a tight grip on his hand.

  The queen spoke. “If she doesn’t want to be queen . . .”

  Naelin jumped in. “I don’t.”

  “. . . that only proves she’s saner than I. It doesn’t, however, absolve her of her responsibilities to this land. You will train her quickly, Champion Ven?”

  “I will.”

  “But . . .” No, this wasn’t the way the conversation was supposed to go! She’d told the queen no. Surely that had to disqualify her. “Your Majesty, while I’m flattered that Champion Ven believes I’m worth his time, the fact remains that I have prior responsibilities. My children come first, before any ambition—”

  “Do you think I sit here because of ambition?” The queen rose, and her train pooled around her feet. She swept down the stairs, past Naelin, to an archway. After a moment’s hesitation, Naelin joined her, herding Erian and Llor beside her. Ven and her guards, including Alet, followed at a discreet distance.

  The archway opened into a vast curve of windows that overlooked the royal gardens. Roses in a riot of colors filled the garden beneath them, so much rich color that for a moment all Naelin could do was drink in the jeweled rainbow below. Then she noticed a girl, older than Erian, perhaps thirteen or fourteen, walking between the roses, randomly plucking the blossoms and laying them in a basket. Every few feet, she kicked the skirts out of her way, clearly unused to walking in such a long gown.

  “My sister Arin,” the queen said, and Naelin saw the tangle of emotion in her eyes: love, regret, guilt, fear. “You see, we all have someone we want to protect. You will train, Mistress Naelin, and you will train hard and well, for the sake of Aratay, my sister, and your children.

  “You will protect them all.”

  Chapter 16

  Hamon smoothed the wrinkles on his robe and then ran his fingers through his hair. Going to see his mother made him feel as if he were eight years old, with smudges on his cheeks and dirt under his nails. She used to spot every stray mark.

  Now he felt like she could spot even deeper, and that made him nervous.

  Flanking the door, the guards fixed their eyes down the corridor, politely ignoring the way he was fidgeting and delaying. He appreciated that. He made a
mental note to commend them to their superior.

  He schooled his expression into a neutral one, reminded himself to remain calm and professional, and then nodded to the guards. One of them opened the door, and he heard light laughter from inside—the voice of a young woman.

  “You allowed her a guest?” he hissed to the guards.

  The guards exchanged glances. “She insisted.”

  “You spoke with my mother?”

  “Not her. The queen’s sister.”

  Hamon barged into the room. His mother was sprawled on one of the couches, her feet bare and propped on a pillow. Daleina’s sister, Arin, was twirling around the room with scarves draped over her arms. Seeing Hamon, she dropped the scarves.

  “Ah, Hamon, there you are at long last! Come. Sit. Lady Arin and I were just celebrating our success.” She lifted a glass of what looked like sparkling pear wine—if so, it was one of the most expensive drinks in the capital. On the side of the room were the remnants of a several-tier cake, as well as a cascade of grape stems and a half-eaten side of spiced meat. Ants crawled over the cake, and Hamon thought he saw a mouse scoot beneath the tablecloth. Blossoms from the royal gardens—blossoms from rare, specially cultivated flowers—were strewn around Mother’s microscopes, test tubes, and beakers, in a very expensive celebratory wreath.

  Scurrying to the side bar, Arin poured a crystal goblet of pear wine and held it out to Hamon. “Celebrate with us, and drink to your glorious mother’s health!”

  “No,” he said. “No to all of this. Mother, what are you doing? You know I have you here for a serious purpose.”

  Mother waved the glass in the air until the wine spattered on the floor, the couch, and her arm. “And I have fulfilled it! Grandly and magnificently.”

  For a moment, he couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. “A cure?”

  She swigged the pear wine. “Don’t be absurd. I am flattered at your faith in my abilities. Sincerely flattered, actually. To know you think so highly of me . . .”

  “Mother, if you did not find a cure . . .”

  “A cause, my boy,” she said. “I found a cause.”

  That was not an excuse for celebration. That was obvious. “She has the False Death. It’s genetic. The cause is in her ancestry.” Every letter he’d received back from scholars across Renthia agreed with that: she’d been born to this fate. All had expressed condolences for his sick “friend” and wished him luck with his studies.

  “The cause was in her wine,” Mother said. “Or her cake. Or her bread. Or dusted on her pillow. Or poured into a wound.”

  Hamon sighed. “Clearly this was a mista—”

  “She was poisoned, dear Hamon. Very cleverly poisoned.”

  Hamon felt his knees buckle. He thought of Queen Fara and the nightend berries. His head felt as if it were swimming. His Daleina, poisoned? “Impossible. It’s False Death.”

  “Indeed it is. She has been given a poison that causes False Death. Or more accurately, causes symptoms that mimic it. You have done research into other cases, yes?”

  He’d researched many cases—the scientists and healers he’d contacted had sent him reams of research. He hadn’t found any examples of cases with no symptoms other than the blackouts. In that, Daleina was unique. He simply hadn’t known what it meant. Hamon sank onto a chair. “This would explain why she had no other symptoms, if it wasn’t natural. But does such a poison exist? I’ve never heard of one.” And neither had anyone else who had responded to his inquiries. No one had mentioned this as a possibility.

  “Frankly, nor have I. But I tested the blood thoroughly. The sickness was introduced from the outside. You can check my work.” She nodded to a table that ran along the back. It was filled with glass tubes and stacks of parchment.

  Arin hurried over to the table and showed him a dish with a drop of blood. It was under a curved bit of glass. He slid it under the microscope and peered in.

  Coming up behind him, Mother said, “I treated that sample with everberry sap. If the cells had the abnormality that causes False Death . . .”

  Peering at it, he saw the cells tinged with orange dots. “They would have rejected the sap. Of course.” He made a fist, wanting to pound it on the table, but restrained himself so as not to damage any of the equipment. He should have thought to test for this. But why would he have suspected a poison when one like this had never existed? “What else?”

  Setting aside her wine, she led him through the various tests and experiments she’d done. It was, he admitted, impressive—she’d done at least a week’s work in three days, rerunning all the tests he’d done, plus adding many of her own. Several were so clever that he thought he should take notes.

  All of them gave the same clear result: it was the False Death, but it wasn’t natural.

  “How could this happen?” he asked. New poison or not, there were systems in place to prevent any kind of poison from touching the queen. He’d been especially careful, given Queen Fara. “She has tasters, and I am her healer. Only the most trusted people are allowed in her rooms or near her throne.”

  “My boy, you know there are many ways for a poison to be delivered.” She was smiling at Arin as she said it, watching the girl neaten the food display.

  Hamon followed her gaze. “Mother, what did you do?”

  “Do? I solved your problem.”

  “I mean to her.”

  Mother laughed. “You think I would poison my best assistant?”

  Arin laughed too, a merry cascade. “Mistress Garnah would never harm me! She’s the kindest soul that has ever lived. And so very wise.”

  Hamon shook his head. There was something not right here, but he had a more important question: “Do you know how to make the antidote?”

  “Again, you flatter me. I had no idea you thought so highly of me. I admit this is quite gratifying. I am so pleased I came.” She sauntered over to the food table and plucked herself a grape. “The poison dissolved in her system already. I can’t separate it out. But . . . if you find an undiluted sample, I should be able to manufacture a cure.”

  Again, he felt unable to breathe.

  “Ah, that look in your eyes! If I do find a cure . . .” She let the sentence dangle and sashayed across the room.

  He followed her with his eyes, watching her like a hawk watches a squirrel . . . or perhaps more like a squirrel who has seen a hawk. Mother was no one’s prey. “What do you want?”

  “Respect. Yours. The country’s. I want a position in the palace. Master . . . Healer?”

  “You’re no healer.”

  “Master Chemist then?”

  “You’re too dangerous to be allowed access to the kind of power—”

  Arin scowled at him. “Mistress Garnah is not dangerous! She’s enlightened and pure! She wants only what’s best for you, her son. She loves you and has missed you. She told me. You were to be her apprentice—the one she would pass all her knowledge on to—but instead you ran!” Scooping a slice of cake onto a plate, she held it out to him. “Have a piece. You’ll feel better.”

  “Fix her,” Hamon said, pointing at the queen’s sister, “and prepare to create an antidote. You will be well rewarded.” He strode out of the chamber. “I will find the poison.”

  Passing the guards, he said, “Don’t eat the cake.”

  Her borrowed embroidered shoes quiet on the smooth wood, Naelin followed Ven up a staircase into one of the many spires of the palace. He had barely spoken after he’d come to claim her for training. He’d introduced the guards who would be watching her children while they slept, and he waited while she’d grilled them on their qualifications and trustworthiness. But after that, silence.

  It occurred to her that maybe he was afraid of what she was going to say. Or not “afraid,” perhaps. He was a champion. But . . . wary.

  It was almost funny.

  If she had been younger, Naelin might have yelled at him and cursed him out. She might have hated him, blaming him the way she
used to blame her parents—her mother, for being reckless with her power, and her father, for not finding a way to protect them. Or the way she still blamed Renet, who had started all this.

  But she wasn’t interested in lying to herself: She’d been the one to summon the kraken. It was her power, and she’d been foolish to think the queen would help her, or could help her. There was no easy fix.

  “Talk to me about your training plan,” Naelin said.

  He was silent for a moment. She had the sense he hadn’t been thinking about her or her training at all. At last, he said, “With Daleina, she had to learn how to use her power judiciously, favor the techniques that worked for her and abandon those that didn’t. A handful of gravel thrown in the eyes of your enemy can be as effective as a boulder dropped on his head.”

  “And with me?”

  “You have to learn not to drop boulders on everyone’s heads.”

  She snorted. “How exactly do I learn that?”

  “By dropping a few on my head. You draw them, and if you can’t handle them, I’ll stick my sword into them. Fairly straightforward. We don’t have time for nuance.” He was climbing the stairs as if he wanted to pound them flat with his feet. She was struggling to keep pace with him. The stairwell was lit with firemoss, and their glow wavered as she and Ven passed.

  “What if I draw another kraken?”

  “That’s why we’re climbing up instead of staying on the forest floor. Besides, even big spirits don’t like being jabbed with pointy metal sticks. You surprised me back at the academy. I won’t be surprised again.” Reaching a landing, he halted in front of an ornate door, decorated with carvings of vines. He pulled out a key. “No one lives in this tower. Not anymore. You will be able to practice here without endangering anyone.”