The Reluctant Queen
Page 30
“But the northeast . . . it will be overrun.”
“Can we protect both?”
Isolek studied the map. “No. You have to choose. If you’re wrong, all of our troops will be out of position, twiddling their thumbs while Queen Merecot’s army bites off the northeast.”
“And if I’m right?”
“All of our troops will be in the right position, fighting spirits, while Queen Merecot’s army still takes the northeast.” Chancellor Isolek slumped back in his chair. “You paint a grim picture, Your Majesty. A choice that is no choice.”
How ambitious was Merecot? Would she really use spirits to attack the capital?
Very. And yes.
There had to be a way to protect all her people. She tapped the table. If she weren’t afraid of another false death, she could use spirits to defend the capital. Except she’d never been as strong as Merecot. Nowhere near.
But Naelin was. Or she would be, if she were queen.
All Daleina had to do was abdicate and let Naelin take the crown. She could then send the troops to the northeast to fight the army, and Naelin could defend Mittriel from Merecot’s spirits.
Question was: was Naelin ready to be queen?
And was Daleina ready to die?
The drums had announced it: the trials would be held at dawn.
Naelin ate dinner with Erian and Llor (without Renet) in their chambers. Or at least she pushed food around her plate with her fork. She couldn’t manage to swallow more than a few bites. While the children were engrossed in their own meals, Naelin sneaked a slab of steak from her plate and fed it to Bayn under the table.
“I beat Erian in miyan today,” Llor announced.
“That’s wonderful,” Naelin told him.
Erian whispered in Naelin’s ear. “I let him win.”
Naelin patted Erian on the shoulder to say that of course she did, it was the right thing, and don’t say that where Llor could overhear.
“You did not let me win,” Llor said.
“You weren’t meant to hear that. I was whispering!”
“I won fair and square, because I’m smart,” Llor said.
Erian scowled at him. “If you’re so smart, how come you dumped your socks into pickle juice? I had to tell the cooks that you’d ruined their batch.”
He shrugged. “I was experimenting. When I grow up, I’m going to be a scientist like Healer Hamon. But not with people, because people’s inside stuff is icky. And you have to work with a lot of poop.”
“Llor!”
“Healer Hamon said so. It was part of his training. He had to learn all about how bodies work, and that includes—”
“Don’t say ‘poop’ again,” Erian warned.
“You just said it.”
Naelin smiled at both of them. It wasn’t even a forced smile. She loved them both so much that she felt as if her heart were going to burst out of her chest. Tears pricked her eyes.
“Mama has a big day tomorrow,” Erian said. “You should be on extra-good behavior.”
“It’s all right.” Reaching across the table, Naelin took both their hands. “Be on whatever behavior you want. Be yourselves. Who you are is wonderful, exactly as you are. Always remember that.” She squeezed their hands.
Now Erian looked on the verge of crying.
“Don’t worry about me,” Naelin told her. “I’ve been trained by the best champion Aratay has ever had and by the queen herself. Everything is going to be fine.” I even almost believe that, she thought.
After dinner, she tucked them in to her bed—after she was done making sure everything was ready, she planned to crawl in with them. But she couldn’t sleep just yet. Her mind was buzzing too loudly to fall asleep. She’d exercise, tire herself out, and then sleep.
Clearing the furniture to the side, she began a few of the stretches that Ven had taught her. She was stronger than she used to be—physically stronger, not just mentally. She had muscles on her arms that hadn’t been there before, and she could fold herself in half to touch her toes without any problem.
Not that the spirits would be impressed by that.
She heard a thump from the balcony. Odd, she thought. Stretching her mind, she felt for nearby spirits. There were a few tree spirits above her, clinging to the outside of the palace tree, and a few fire spirits in the hallway, dancing in the lanterns, but none were on the balcony.
She went to check—and saw her friend. “Captain Alet!”
Captain Alet was crouched on the balcony, as if she’d dropped there from above. As she straightened, she said, “Sorry to drop in on you so literally. Champion Ven wanted me to check on you. Tomorrow’s an important day, and you know how paranoid he is. Since there are already guards in the hallway, I thought I’d secure this exit.”
Going out onto the balcony, Naelin looked down. There were a few flagpoles that jutted out from the outer wall, plus windows, but they were all far apart. The night wind whipped around them, fluttering Naelin’s skirts. “You climbed up?”
“Down, actually.” Alet pointed up toward another balcony.
“You could have broken your legs. Or neck.”
“I’ve had plenty of practice,” Alet said. She shifted, and Naelin thought she seemed nervous . . . Tomorrow is important to everyone in Aratay, Naelin thought. “You’re not the only one who trains all the time. Speaking of which . . . are you ready for tomorrow?”
That was the key question. “I’d like another few days. Or years. Or a lifetime. But yes, I suppose I am ready. Ven thinks I am, or else he’s just saying that to keep me calm.” She didn’t think he could, or would, lie to her, but she also knew he desperately wanted her to be ready. He might be seeing only what he wants to see, she thought.
“You can still refuse,” Alet said. “There’s no dishonor in that. Plenty of the other candidates have already refused. They know they aren’t ready, and Queen Daleina was happy to approve their decision. She wants to have some potential heirs in waiting. You could easily sit out these trials, let someone else be heir, and wait until you’re needed.”
She wished she could. But from what Ven had told her, there was no one else. None of the other candidates were close to ready, though several planned to try. “I’m needed now. Apparently, Renet was right: I’m powerful. You know, Erian told me you were going to come talk to me days ago. I’d expected you before now.”
“I had other things to take care of. And . . . well, I was hoping I wouldn’t have to have this conversation. I was hoping you’d come to the right decision on your own.”
Naelin was confused. “What?”
“Naelin, please walk away from this. You can still have everything you want: your family safe. I can help you. I’ll get you out of the palace. Right now! You can run away, with Erian and Llor. Ven won’t even know. You can go far, far away. Even leave Aratay. You can start a new life, in the mountains of Semo. You’d be safe.”
Naelin shook her head, even more confused. “And what would happen to Aratay if I left?”
“It will fall to Semo. Queen Merecot will take care of the people like they’re her own. You don’t have to do this. It doesn’t need to be your responsibility. There’s another choice.”
Naelin couldn’t believe Alet was saying this—abandon Aratay!
“You think if you refuse, then the spirits will kill everyone, but it won’t happen that way. Merecot won’t let it. She’s poised to save Aratay. As soon as Queen Daleina falls—”
“You mean dies.” She didn’t want to hear this. It was crazy. “How can you say that?”
“She is going to die no matter what I say or what I feel or what I want,” Alet said. “Either she abdicates and the spirits kill her, or she stays queen and the False Death kills her. I’m telling you that the second option won’t be the disaster that you think it will.”
“But . . . You’re talking about a war. An invasion!” She couldn’t believe Alet was saying this. Alet was a royal guardswoman! Sworn to the Crown!
Naelin shook her head. She pictured Ven and the young queen. “If I become queen, I can protect Daleina. I can keep the spirits from hurting her until a cure can be found. She might not have to die. And Ven . . . If I leave and if Semo invades, he’ll fight. You know he will. You’ll have to fight too.” Unless Alet planned to run too. No, she wouldn’t. And I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Naelin turned to go back inside. “I can’t be having this conversation right now.”
From within the chambers, Bayn howled.
She felt Alet grab her arm and spin her—
—and Naelin reacted instinctively, as she’d been trained: she twisted and jabbed upward. Deflected, the knife slid into Naelin’s side, slicing her skin but missing her organs. Even as she did, the wolf leaped through the archway and slammed into Alet.
Stumbling backward and clutching her side, Naelin called for the spirits.
They swarmed the balcony. Tree spirits skittered over the palace wall. Fire spirits burst through the chimney and out. Water spirits swept toward them in a wave of rain. Shrieking, they converged on Alet. The guardswoman screamed.
Stop! Naelin ordered. Hold her!
The tree spirits bound her wrists and her ankles with vines. Bark closed over her stomach, securing her to the balcony. Go, she ordered them. She pushed them back with her mind but kept them close.
She saw Alet’s face. It had been burned, badly. The fire spirits had seared her cheek. One eye was sealed shut. Her hair smoked. Naelin had been slow to stop the spirits—too slow. She smelled the stench of burnt flesh.
“Mama?” she heard behind her. Erian.
“Go back to my room,” she ordered. “Now. Lock the door. Lock the windows.”
Erian hesitated. “Captain—”
“Now!” And Erian retreated. She heard the lock click, and turned her attention back to Alet. Bayn stood over the captain. His teeth were bared. Naelin noticed that Alet was bleeding around the bark that pinned her down. Red leaked onto the balcony, spreading into a pool. She’s hurt beyond the burn, Naelin thought.
Get Hamon, she ordered the air spirits. And bring Ven. Now!
She knelt next to the woman she’d thought was her friend and waited.
Chapter 28
Ven left Daleina’s throne room feeling as if he wanted to punch something. He hated Daleina’s plan and had expressed his views clearly, logically, and with minimal shouting. Her plan might save the northeast and Mittriel, or it might kill both Daleina and Naelin and not save anyone. She was trying to do it all and be the hero, but there was no good option here.
He stalked through the corridors of the palace.
She’d told him she planned to cancel the trials. At dawn, she’d announce that she was declaring Naelin her heir. There were no other candidates who were remotely ready, and Daleina claimed Naelin had been tested enough with what she’d endured already. Instead of facing the trials, Naelin would face the Queen’s Grove and the coronation ceremony, alone.
And Her Royal Majesty had left it to Ven to inform Naelin.
Bad, bad idea.
All of it.
Naelin was going to hate this. He hated this. She should have the trials so she could test herself before she faced the minds of every spirit in Aratay. She shouldn’t have to bear this responsibility so soon. And Daleina shouldn’t give up so fast. Hamon and his mother were still working to find a cure! Investigators were still searching for the poisoner! According to Daleina, Alet hadn’t yet cleared all the champions. In the meantime, three more candidates had died—killed by spirits, they’d told the public, but Hamon and Ven were convinced it was an assassin. They’d had no progress on that investigation front either.
They needed more time!
He heard a whoosh of wind and had a sword out before he was finished turning around. Three air spirits were diving for them. Daleina! She’d lost control! She’d—
But there was no screaming.
He tipped the sword up at the last moment, and the air spirits flew beneath him, sweeping him off his feet. He braced, expecting to feel their teeth and claws . . . but the spirits cradled him, flying him fast—faster than he could run, as fast as the wind, up the stairs, out the window, and then straight up the side of the palace tree. He kept a grip on his sword.
They dumped him onto a balcony.
He absorbed the scene: Naelin, slumped against the balcony railing, holding her side. Blood stained her fingers. Alet, pinned to the ground by roots and vines. Half her face was burnt, and a pool of blood lay beneath her.
He felt his heart lurch. He clamped it down fast.
Sword ready, he scanned the area, looking for their attacker.
A half second later, the air spirits deposited Hamon next to Ven. The healer hurried to Naelin’s side. Naelin—brave, selfless Naelin—shook her head. “No, see to Alet.”
“You’re the one who must live,” Hamon said.
“Deflected it. Just a scratch.”
“I’ll decide that.” Hamon forced her to lift her hand, and he applied pressure. Kneeling beside him, Ven saw she was right: it was a shallow cut. A knife cut. She’ll live, he thought—and the relief hit him like a tidal wave. “Hold the gauze,” Hamon ordered, then turned to Captain Alet.
“What happened?” Ven demanded. He noticed Bayn was standing over Captain Alet, guarding her—no, guarding Naelin, he corrected. “Did you lose control?” He wanted that to be the answer. But she’d sent the air spirits to fetch him and Hamon. That wasn’t the act of someone who had lost control. And the cut was a single slice, straight as if from a blade, not claws . . . All the clues were there in front of him. He didn’t want to add them together.
“Don’t be dense,” Alet croaked. She coughed and blood spattered. “I tried to kill her. But you . . . you trained her well, when I . . . wasn’t looking. You should be . . . proud.”
“Don’t try to talk,” Hamon told her. “You may have a pierced lung. I’ll need these roots cleared so I can see to work.” He glanced at Naelin, who nodded. Tree spirits began to unwrap the wood.
Ven leveled a sword at Alet’s throat. “Move, and you die.”
“Dying anyway,” Alet whispered.
“Why?” Naelin asked. Her voice was so raw that Ven felt her pain like nails against his skin. He wanted to comfort her. Or skewer Alet. Or both. “I thought . . . You’re my friend. I trusted you.”
Ven had trusted her too. He’d trusted her with Daleina’s life, as well as Naelin’s. She’d journeyed with him through the forest, helped him find Naelin, watched Daleina when he couldn’t. He’d thought he knew her! He’d considered himself good at knowing when someone was hiding a secret—he remembered he’d even bragged to her about it once, yet he’d never suspected this.
I should have guessed, somehow, he thought. He was supposed to be observant, alert to all threats. He’d failed, and Naelin had nearly died.
“I’m sorry, Naelin.” Alet tried to turn her head to face Naelin. He saw her wince, and he heard Hamon suck in air as the wood retreated, revealing her wound. It was, to put it bluntly, bad. She’d been torn apart. Those are spirit wounds. Naelin must have called on the spirits to defend herself, after she’d deflected the blade. He wanted to tell her he was proud of her.
“Stop!” Hamon cried. “Put the wood back! It’s holding her together.”
Naelin’s lips moved, and the wood began to reknit itself. The spirits chittered to one another. Bark sealed over Alet’s torso. Alet coughed again. Her breath sounded like a rattle. Ven knew that sound—he’d heard it too many times to mistake. Alet was dying.
Ven placed a hand on Hamon’s shoulder.
Hamon backed away. Sq
uatting by Naelin, he pulled more supplies out of his healer’s robe and began to work on Naelin’s injury.
Naelin batted at his hand. “Healer Hamon, see to Alet. She’s hurt worse . . .”
“Hush,” he told her. “I can’t help her; I can help you.”
Ven knelt beside Alet. “Why did you do it?”
“Because she didn’t walk away,” Alet said. Her voice was a broken whisper. “She could have refused. I thought she’d refuse. I thought I wouldn’t have to . . . but then . . .” To Naelin, she said, “If you had said no, I could have left you alone. But you didn’t, so I couldn’t . . .”
“Ask your questions quickly,” Hamon advised Ven as he worked on Naelin.
“Did you kill the other candidates?” Ven asked. The knife thrust. He remembered the bodies—he’d wondered how the killer could have gotten so close.
“Yes.”
“Why?” He tried to keep his voice even. He would not kill her. She was already dying.
But he sorely wanted to.
He didn’t expect her to answer, but she did. She pushed her cracking voice louder, as if she wanted to be sure he heard her, as if she needed him to understand. “So there would be no one strong left when Queen Daleina dies. Merecot . . . needed it done. It will be a peaceful takeover. She will take care of our people.”
Ven tried to keep his anger in check. He squeezed the hilt of his sword. He hadn’t sheathed it, even though there was no longer any danger. Not from Alet. Never again from her. “Murder is not ‘peaceful.’”
“I killed a few to save the many.” Alet closed her eyes. “Merecot needs Aratay. In Semo . . . there are too many spirits and not enough land. She must . . . Semo needs . . . She has a plan. Good plan. She won’t be stopped. Aratay and Semo, united. There will be peace.”
“There was peace, before you started murdering people,” Ven said. He couldn’t keep the harshness from his voice. Didn’t want to. “You’re a royal guard, Alet! Trusted by your queen!” A dark thought came to him. “Did you try to kill her too? Did you poison Daleina?”
Hamon froze. “Ask her what poison she used. Ask her if she has any left.”