The Queen of Sorrow

by Sarah Beth Durst

  “You aren’t going to leave it there as we sleep, are you?” Renet asked.

  “It won’t dare harm you,” Naelin said. She climbed into her hammock. The ropes folded around her. Sleep hard, she ordered herself. Please, no dreams.

  “But if you’re asleep . . .”

  “Scream if it bites you. I’ll wake.” Closing her eyes, she tried to will herself to sleep. Nearby, she heard Renet and Ven climbing into their hammocks.

  She heard Renet whisper, “I can’t tell if she’s serious or joking.”

  “Unclear,” Ven said.

  “Whatever you do, don’t ask her,” Renet said.

  “You do realize she can hear you, right?” Ven asked. Naelin heard him shift and a branch creaked. She heard all the noises in the night forest: the wind rustling the leaves, the owls hooting to one another, the croak of the frogs far below. The forest was unbearably loud.

  “Sorry, Naelin,” Renet said. “It’s just . . . This isn’t like you. Keeping a spirit so close.”

  I’ll never be “like me” again. She could see that, objectively, like a healer viewing a broken body. I failed the only task that ever mattered: keeping my children safe. I’m broken. “It will keep us warm tonight, and no one will have to feed the fire.”

  “Not such a big deal to toss in another stick,” Renet said. “Couldn’t you just—”

  “Fine.” Using her mind, Naelin shoved the fire spirit away from the camp. It squawked, then unfurled blackened wings from its lizardlike back, and flew in a streak up toward the sky to vanish amid the clouds and stars. The embers sputtered in its wake. Clambering out of his hammock, Renet coaxed the fire back to life.

  She tried to force her body to relax, compelling it to obey her as if it were a recalcitrant spirit. Each body part she ordered to calm, tensing then releasing each muscle. She’d done this before, when she was a child, after spirits had murdered her family. She remembered lying alone at night, with the forest sounds all around her, and coaxing first her legs then her arms to lie limp until at last she succumbed to sleep. She hadn’t thought about that in a long time—those first few nights, when she was so afraid she’d see and hear them again in her nightmares.

  She hadn’t thought she’d ever have to do this again.

  “I don’t want to not talk about them,” Renet said out of nowhere. “That feels wrong.”

  Far below, the frogs were calling to one another. Llor had always like the sound of them. Like an orchestra. But one that hasn’t practiced, he’d say. Like at school. They’re terrible. “Everything about this feels wrong,” Naelin said. “Please, let me sleep. Talk tomorrow.” Or after I save them. She didn’t let herself hear his reply—she sent her mind out, mixing with the spirits, submerging herself in the comforting maelstrom of their anger and hate.

  She slept at some point, linked to the spirits, and when she woke, she felt as if she were seeing the forest through a thousand eyes all at once. Her head spun. Lying still, Naelin focused, drawing her mind back bit by bit into her body, feeling her legs, arms, back, face. Ven and Renet were already awake, wrapping up their hammocks and putting out the fire, leaving only a bowl-like divot of char in the crook of the tree. She lay there, not wanting to move, not wanting to think, not wanting to face the world, and then she propelled herself out of the hammock. She wrapped up her ropes and secured them onto her pack.

  “Llor used to like to surprise me awake,” Renet said, his voice warm with the memory.

  She flinched as if smacked across the knuckles.

  “He had a feather that he’d stick in my ear and wiggle, but long before he struck, I’d hear him cross the boards—they creaked. I kept promising you I’d fix that. Should have done it. But it wasn’t the creaking that woke me, it was the giggling.”

  She remembered. Llor couldn’t help laughing in anticipation. When he was even younger, he’d do that if someone tried to tickle him too—just the sight of his sister wiggling her fingers would send him into a fit of giggles. His laughter had been the brightest, best sound in the world. “Still not ready to talk,” Naelin said. She felt a lump in her throat, thick and heavy, hard to swallow around. “But do what you need to do.” It was his pain too. She couldn’t deny him that. She could, though, not listen.

  And not think.

  I won’t reminisce about them as if they’re gone for good.

  They’re still alive. They have to be.

  Reaching out, she summoned three more air spirits—one was a wispy swirl of feathers and the other two had human bodies, swan wings, and smooth, featureless faces. She climbed on one, and so did Ven and Renet.

  As she flew, Naelin plunged her mind into the spirits of Aratay, preparing them for battle. She pulled tree spirits from their homes and sent them northward, toward the border with Semo. She guided air spirits high above the canopy and had spun them until she had whirlwinds. The earth spirits she fed, drawing them through the soil and rocks, until they grew stronger, full of their connection to the earth. They sucked in her rage, like water into a sponge, but she didn’t feel it diminish—instead it grew, spreading and expanding through all the spirits of Aratay, until Naelin felt them like fire inside her veins. It hurt as it burned, but it was a good hurt.

  Today they’d reach the capital, and then she’d release all that fire at Semo.

  Across the forest, Ven saw Mittriel rising gloriously above the forest. Its trees were white spires piercing the green of the pines and the gold of the autumn leaves. Waterfalls crashed between the trees, and bridges, teeming with people, spanned between the massive trunks.

  We can’t fly there, he thought. Not without being seen.

  Right now, that was the last thing they wanted. If there were even the faintest chance Erian and Llor were still alive, as Naelin believed . . . and he wanted to believe they were . . . then drawing attention could endanger them. Until we know who took them and why, we have to be careful.

  He urged the spirit forward as if it were a horse, trying to get close enough to Naelin to shout to her. His spirit flattened its wings and shot forward, knocking him back. Gripping the rope that held him on, he stayed mounted, and his spirit mount finally pulled alongside Naelin.

  Focused on the city ahead, she didn’t look at him.

  “Naelin! We have to land! You can’t come into the capital like this—you’ll terrify everyone if we come racing in on the backs of spirits. We’ll start a panic!”

  She frowned at him. Her mouth opened as if she were saying, “What?”

  He pointed exaggeratedly to the forest underneath them. “Land! Now!”

  That she seemed to understand. His spirit did as well, and dove, and it was all he could do to cling to its neck as it bashed into the trees below. He saw in a flash the tangle of bridges before the spirit plummeted between them. “Land!” he shouted at it. He thumped its neck. “Land, you stupid thing!”

  He saw the forest floor below—closer, closer, closer . . . The spirit shot upward and then glided onto an empty bridge. Quickly he untangled the rope and jumped off. He glared at it. Given that it was eyeless, he didn’t know if the spirit could appreciate the balefulness of his full glare. “You realize I have a sword,” Ven told the monster, just in case.

  Beside him, Renet got shakily off his spirit. “It realized if you struck it, you’d fall.” He untied his safety rope and stepped back from his spirit. “Ugh, I hate these things.”

  A few yards away, Naelin dismounted, patted the feathery neck of her spirit, and then raised her hands. At her unspoken command, all three spirits flew off into the trees.

  “Good riddance,” Renet said, and Ven was inclined to agree with him. He’d far rather trust to his own skill and luck when he traveled than to be so dependent on a being that hated him. The only thing that kept the spirit from dumping him a mile up was Naelin’s control, and while Ven trusted her, he still didn’t like it.

  An entire life with spirits as your enemy didn’t just go away because the damn things were convenient.
>
  He watched as Naelin frowned at the trees, calculating the distance to the palace, and he wasn’t surprised when she turned to him and demanded, “Why stop here?”

  “I was trying to tell you in the air, but there are two reasons: one, the people are already on edge. If they saw their queen racing to the palace weeks sooner than expected, they’d think another battle was imminent. We’d panic them. At worst, cause a riot. At best, scare people who have already been scared enough.” He scanned the nearby area. They were on the outskirts of the city, a quiet neighborhood. Given the time of day, it was mostly empty—the children were in school, and the adults were working, in one of the shops or in the palace or elsewhere, keeping the city functioning. The key was that no one was around. Good. When he turned back to look at Naelin, though, any relief he felt washed away. There was something about her eyes. Then it hit him.

  They reminded him too much of a spirit’s.

  “Second reason,” he continued, slightly rattled, “we don’t know who took Erian and Llor and what they want. If the children are still alive, we don’t know what actions will help and what will endanger them further.” He thought of Bayn. At least he could hope that Bayn could take care of himself. He didn’t have that kind of confidence about the children, especially in the clutches of spirits.

  “They are alive, we do know what will help, and another battle is imminent,” Naelin said flatly. “As soon as I inform Queen Daleina, I am going after Queen Merecot of Semo and saving my children.”

  And that was precisely what he was afraid of. Oh, he hadn’t known exactly what she was thinking, but he’d recognized that focused, battle-ready air. So she blames Merecot . . . He couldn’t blame her, given their history, but there was no proof. “Naelin . . .” he began.

  “She did this?” Renet cut in. “Are you sure?”

  “I am. The spirits weren’t from Aratay.”

  “Naelin—” Ven tried again.

  “Don’t tell me I can’t or I shouldn’t. I won’t hear it. I showed her mercy! And this is how she repays me?” Her face was flushed, and her fists were balled. He shot a glance at the nearby houses and wished they’d had this conversation farther from the capital. One saving grace was that in their traveling clothes, they didn’t look like a queen and champion. Just ordinary travelers in a heated discussion, Ven thought. Nothing to see here.

  “I’m not telling you no or yes or anything, my queen,” Ven said, keeping his voice calm and soothing. Inside, though, he wanted to shout, No! There was no proof they’d been kidnapped by the queen of Semo. Renthia had other countries with other queens. Just because the spirits had fled north, it didn’t mean Semo was guilty—all it meant was that north was the closest escape route.

  Besides, if she charged into Semo without a plan, she’d be killed. He’d defend her with his dying breath, if he had to. But how could he defend her from herself? “All I’m saying is we don’t need to declare our intentions to everyone in Mittriel. Approach the palace as if all is well. Speak with Queen Daleina. And then we decide, together, the best way to proceed.”

  He was rather proud of his little speech. Very measured and rational advice. And hopefully Daleina would be able to slow her down. Together, they could decide on a reasonable, achievable response that wouldn’t endanger the children or Aratay or its two queens.

  “Fine,” she snarled. “We walk. Just three ordinary citizens on an ordinary day.”

  Shouldering a pack, Naelin marched down a bridge.

  He and Renet watched her for a moment. “This isn’t good,” Renet observed. “I know how she feels—I feel it too. Helpless. Angry. But I’ve never seen her act like this. Once, maybe, when we had rats in the house. She was this determined.”

  “I take it things didn’t turn out well for the rats.”

  “Or the house.”

  They watched her for a moment more, until she shot a look back at them. The look said clearer than words, Move now. They hurried after her. “We’re going to have to talk sense into her,” Ven said. “She’s acting on raw emotion. That won’t help Erian and Llor.”

  “No chance she’ll listen to me,” Renet said. “It’s all you. You’re the one she trusts. Besides, you’re the one who will be there when she meets with Queen Daleina.”

  Ven studied Renet. He’s right. Naelin did not have a high opinion of her ex-husband, and even though she hadn’t said it out loud, the fact that they’d lost the children on Renet’s watch had to have an effect. She still hasn’t forgiven me either, for not being able to protect them. But then, I haven’t forgiven myself. If he’d gone with them . . . If he’d kept them in the village instead of allowing them to go off on that damn picnic . . . If he hadn’t placed so much responsibility on Bayn . . . Oh, old friend, I hope you survived.

  But he knew it was a thin hope. No one survived the untamed lands. They were death, destruction, wild pain. This was the world, and that was beyond. No human, no animal, no spirit ever went beyond. To go beyond was to never return. Still, Bayn’s not like other wolves.

  He almost laughed at the ridiculous optimism. “I’m sorry,” Ven said to Renet. “For what happened. For Erian and Llor.”

  “She won’t even talk about them,” Renet said.

  Ven nodded. He got that. She was too full of pain to have any room for Renet’s pain.

  “Do you . . .” Renet’s voice broke. “Do you really think they could be still alive? They were taken by spirits. How could . . . Is it possible . . .”

  “Naelin needs me to believe it. So I do.” Or at least he’d believe it was possible.

  He let Renet talk all the way to the palace, story after story about Erian and Llor. Half-listening, he watched Naelin—back straight, chin high, fists curled—and wondered whether he was going to need to keep her from starting a war, or help her start one.

  Chapter 8

  Queen Daleina lowered her head onto the exquisite table—crafted out of rare suka wood and inlaid with mother-of-pearl shell mosaic, a coronation gift from the queen of the islands of Belene—and slowly thumped her forehead on the surface.

  “Your Majesty?” one of the chancellors asked tentatively.

  She didn’t lift her head. The shell mosaic was nicely cool. “Exactly how bad will the harvest be? Broad numbers, please.”

  Another chancellor cleared his throat. “We lost twenty-five acres of mature trees in the northwest, one hundred fifty per acre. The windstorm battered the trees so badly the fruit was knocked off. The harvesters have gathered as much as they could but the vast majority wasn’t ripe, and the long-term damage to the trees themselves . . . well, frankly, it’s devastating. If you could send spirits to regrow—”

  “Seneschal, please add it to the list.” She raised her head. “Next?”

  The chancellor who represented western Aratay rose. “As you know, we’ve also seen significant damage in the wake of Queen Naelin’s, um, response—”

  “Yes, I know. What do you need?”

  “Homes. We lost many homes when the spirits died. Your seneschal has our list of requests, but what I wished to speak with you about was the current problem: the last twenty-four hours have seen a marked increase in spirit attacks. The spirits’ behavior has been unusually aggressive, and there have been numerous injuries, some quite serious. Forgive my presumption, Your Majesty, but could there, perhaps, be a causal relationship between—”

  Daleina cut him off. “I will look into it. Thank you. If that’s all . . .” She looked at her seneschal. Please let that be all. Her head was throbbing so enthusiastically that she thought her skull would bruise.

  The chancellors started to protest, but the seneschal was bobbing his head, effectively ending the session. “If you’ll follow me, ladies and gentlemen . . .” He led the chancellors to the door of the council room. She rose. Each of them bowed to her before filing out, and she acknowledged each of them with a solemn nod that she hoped communicated I am competent and all will be well soon. Shutting the door behind him, th
e seneschal left her alone.

  She sank back into her throne in front of the mosaic table but didn’t let herself rest. Instead she sent her aching mind outward—yet again—to touch the spirits around the capital. While she couldn’t directly hear Queen Naelin’s thoughts, she could feel the agitation Naelin left in her wake. The woman was a storm sweeping across the land, without any consideration for the damage she was causing.

  There’s a reason I don’t keep my mind open to the spirits. And it wasn’t lack of power or fear of death, though those were factors. The spirits don’t need to feel my every emotion. She raised her voice, “Seneschal?”

  He popped his head back into the room so fast that she knew he’d been plastered against the door. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

  “As soon as Queen Naelin reaches the palace, please see that she’s escorted to me.” She had an additional thought: it was possible that the older woman wasn’t going to listen to a scolding by a younger queen. “Also, could you please ask Headmistress Hanna from Northeast Academy to join us?” Perhaps the headmistress could offer Naelin extra training—Naelin had become queen at a time of emergency and had skipped over all of the lessons in magic theory and history, instead going straight to the practical application of power. That part she’d mastered quickly.

  Too quickly, Daleina thought.

  “And please send for Healer Hamon with his medicine bag—but take care not to alarm him. Only a touch of head pain, thanks.”

  He bowed. “I will have food and drink sent as well, for your guests.”

  “You think of everything, Belsowik.” She deliberately used his given name—he insisted she use his title most of the time, but she wanted him to know she valued him specifically. Not just anyone could be as efficient and thorough as he was. “Your queen is grateful.”