But the two spirits flew toward a balcony and then in through a broad, open window. They deposited Erian and Llor onto a soft white carpet, thicker than grass. Erian lay there for a moment, trying to remind her arms and legs how to move.
She heard a woman’s voice. “Welcome to Semo.”
“You’re her,” Llor said. “The mean queen.”
Erian lifted her head and saw jewels, glittering brighter than the night sky. The queen of Semo was covered in strands of diamonds that draped down her huge skirts. More diamonds were woven into her black hair so that they glittered like stars in the night sky. She had a white streak in her hair, like Alet had had. They were sisters, Erian remembered. Beside the queen, an old woman was dripping with just as many sapphires and rubies. Her wrinkled cheeks had been rouged red to match the rubies, as if she were trying to transform into a jewel. It was a sight that didn’t make any sense to her tired brain.
But she knew Llor shouldn’t have called the queen “mean.”
The old woman wrinkled her nose. “You should have them bathed.”
“Immediately,” Queen Merecot agreed. She bent her lips into a smile—it didn’t look normal on her. It looked as if someone was squishing her cheeks so her lips turned upward. “And how would you like some food and drink? Cake, perhaps? All children love cake.”
Erian picked herself up off the floor. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, aware how filthy and smelly she was but deciding not to care. She didn’t like how the queen said “children,” where she didn’t look that all old herself. Certainly not as old as Mama. “We’d like to go home, Your Majesty. Please send us there.”
Queen Merecot turned to the wrinkled woman. “She did say ‘please.’”
The old, wrinkled woman pressed her lips together and fixed Merecot with a disapproving look that reminded Erian of Mama. “Don’t taunt them.”
Chastened, Queen Merecot gave Erian and Llor another overbright smile. “Please don’t be afraid, children. I mean you no harm, and your stay here will be temporary. I will ensure you’re comfortable and happy during your visit.”
Nodding at Queen Merecot, the old woman clapped her hands as if this were all very exciting. “You’ll have your very own room and play areas. Games, clothes, food, desserts, everything you want, you may have!”
I want to go home, Erian thought, but didn’t bother saying it again.
“You’re not victims,” Queen Merecot said, as if she wanted to reassure them. “You’re pawns.”
Erian did not feel reassured.
“You’re a bad person,” Llor informed her. Sliding closer to him, Erian elbowed him in the stomach. Don’t make her mad, she wanted to say.
But Queen Merecot merely smiled—a real smile this time. “Yes, I am,” she agreed, without any trace of anger in her voice. “But I am a very good queen.”
The difficulty with thinking about Merecot as her enemy was that Daleina still thought of her as her friend.
Even after the invasion.
Even after the poisoning.
In a way, she understood those things, and so she still saw Merecot as the girl in the room next to hers at the academy, who helped her with her summoning lessons and who flooded her bedroom when Daleina accidentally set it on fire. I can’t hate her. Maybe I can’t forgive her, but I can’t hate her either.
Standing on her balcony, Daleina let the vines in the railing grow and twist around her hands. A tree spirit scurried over her fingers, and she ignored it—she had to conserve her energy. Her first task was to soothe the spirits and stop the random attacks, and then she could figure out how to fix the homes and the orchards. Reaching out with her mind, she sent soft thoughts as far as she could:
Calm. Calm. Calm.
“Our people will starve if the harvests fail,” Champion Havtru said behind her.
She broke her thought, took a deep breath, and reminded herself he was here to help. “We have emergency stores. We’ll open them if we need to.”
“Won’t be enough. It’ll be a lean winter.”
“Lean is not the same as starving, though.” The tree spirit, which looked like a knot of brambles the size of a chipmunk, nibbled at Daleina’s fingers. Glaring at it, she sent it scrambling away. “I will do the best I can. And when she’s ready, I’m certain Queen Naelin will assist as well.” If she’s ever ready. According to Ven, after Daleina had sent a nicely worded diplomatic latter to Queen Merecot—apologizing for the “incursion” and inquiring about any knowledge of the children—Naelin had shut herself in her room and, with the assistance of Headmistress Hanna, was consumed with trying not to cause another earthquake.
Daleina didn’t want to be insensitive, but a little help would have been nice. Responsibilities didn’t end when tragedies struck. I’d thought she was so strong. And then Daleina immediately felt guilty for thinking that—in truth it had only been a few days, and Naelin still believed her children were alive. There’s as little proof of that as there is that Merecot’s the cause.
“Oh, of course, Your Majesty! I didn’t mean to criticize. Just was thinking that Queen Naelin picked the worst time of year to agitate the spirits.”
Daleina didn’t disagree with that. But she couldn’t say it out loud. So she decided to switch tack. “Havtru, tell me, how would you prioritize the requests for assistance?” Coming back inside, she waved at the sheath of papers that the seneschal had left for her. So far, she hadn’t touched them. Keeping people from dying today had taken priority over keeping people from dying in the future. She glanced at him and noticed he was twisting his hat in his hands as if it were a wet dishrag and shooting glances at the door as if he wanted to be anywhere but here. She knew he wouldn’t leave—Ven had insisted that a champion guard her in addition to the usual palace guards, at least until the spirits were calmed, and he’d assigned Champion Havtru—but it was clear he felt out of his element.
Let me tell you about being queen sometime.
He swallowed a few times. “Your Majesty, I don’t feel qualified—”
“You lived in the outer forest. A berry picker? That was your former occupation?”
“Yes, Your Majesty, but surely there are chancellors—”
“The chancellors prioritize their own regions, and the courtiers overvalue the cities. I want the opinion of someone who will look out for those who have no voice.”
He bowed and picked up the sheath of papers, though he didn’t look happy about it. I can’t care if he’s happy or not, she thought. I need help! It was too much—the amount of damage that Naelin had done was overwhelming, and the country was still recovering from what Merecot had inflicted on them when she swept down with her spirits from the north. Rubbing her tired eyes, Daleina wondered if she’d ever stop feeling like she was making things up as she went along. She couldn’t imagine Queen Fara had ever felt this way. Maybe she just hid it better.
One of the guards by her door called, “Champion Ven, Your Majesty!”
“Allow him in,” she answered.
She heard Ven’s familiar footsteps—the soft, measured steps of someone who was always alert—as he entered her chambers and then came out on the balcony. He nodded to Champion Havtru, then bowed to her. “Your Majesty, a message has arrived from the queen of Semo. She sent it with a spirit bearing an ambassador’s colors.”
“Since when are champions in charge of delivering the mail?” But that flippant question was mostly to cover the fact that her heart was thumping faster—this was the first they’d heard from Merecot since the attack on Naelin’s children, and what the queen of Semo said would determine the fate of many.
Ven flopped into a chair and ran his fingers through his hair. He looked, Daleina thought, more like an unkempt scarecrow than a crisp soldier. She wondered when the last time he’d slept was. “Ever since paranoia became a required personality trait.” He laced his hands together, as if to force himself to sit still. “I came to counsel caution.”
“I’m alway
s cautious.”
“It’s with the guards right now. You should ask Hamon’s mother to check it before you open it.” He held up a hand to forestall any objections. “I know she is not the most trustworthy person, but she is the most knowledgeable. Queen Merecot has already resorted to poison once. I know you want to trust that your mercy transformed her, but humor me.”
In theory, it was sound. But she didn’t want to owe more favors to the Queen’s Poisoner than she already did. It was bad enough that the woman had been instrumental in saving her life. “My guards always examine—”
“Please, Daleina.”
He so rarely called her just Daleina anymore, especially in front of other people. Havtru flinched at the familiarity, then buried himself again in reading through the requests.
Daleina raised her voice. “Seneschal? Please ask Queen Naelin to join us in the Master Poisoner’s laboratory and have the missive from the queen of Semo transported there as well. Carefully. As if it contains a nest of venomous snakes.”
“Because it might,” Ven put in.
Daleina shot him a look. “She needs diplomacy to work. Her people require it.”
“Only while you’re alive.”
Without dignifying that with a response—because he was right; she may have a co-ruler but she still had no heirs—Daleina swept out of her chambers. The palace guards folded around her in tight formation, flanking her as she strode through the halls. Fire spirits flitted from sconce to sconce, following her, watching her, hating her. As they touched each candle, it flamed up and scorched the ceiling. Calm, she thought at them. Calm.
She wished it would work on herself.
Calm.
Outside of Garnah’s room, Daleina waited while the palace guards checked for threats. From within, she heard Garnah say in a mild voice, “You may not want to touch that.”
And then Daleina’s sister, Arin, chirped, “Definitely don’t touch that! Or that. Or . . . no, not that either, unless you want to itch. And spit up blood . . . You can touch that one. It just smells nice.”
Another familiar voice—Hamon: “I can vouch for them. For now. But we thank you for your conscientious thoroughness.”
“We do not thank them,” Garnah said. “Oafs.”
That was enough. Daleina swept into the room. She knew she looked regal—she wore her tiara of curled vines and her silver gown, the one she’d picked because it made her look older and she’d wanted to impress the chancellors with her seriousness—and she was rewarded with Garnah, Hamon, and Arin all falling silent, bowing and curtsying. She thought about telling her sister not to curtsy to her, but it was important right now that Garnah see her as the queen of Aratay, not a piece in whatever game she was currently playing. “We require your assistance,” Daleina declared.
Garnah cleared her throat. “Is that plural, or the royal ‘we’?”
Depends on how royal Naelin is feeling, Daleina thought.
Ven stepped forward. “The queen of Semo has sent Their Majesties a message. We wish for you to examine it before the queens read it.”
“Ah, you think poison?” Garnah asked. “Unlikely, since that approach already failed once. Granted, it’s a classic for a reason, and I can’t help but be flattered that you would come to me, Your Majesty. Unless you chose me for my expendability, rather than my expertise.”
“Queen Daleina isn’t like that, Mother,” Hamon said.
“She’s a queen,” Garnah countered. “She should be like that. Have no fear, Your Majesty, I would be delighted to be of service in any way I can. I am anxious to prove my loyalty, though some would say I already have.”
“Those people just haven’t met you yet,” Hamon muttered.
Garnah laughed. “Delightful boy.” Reaching over, she patted his cheek, and Hamon flinched. Looking from one to the other, Daleina wondered what they’d been talking about before she’d entered. Hamon didn’t visit his mother willingly.
The guest room had been converted into a laboratory with long tables running against the walls, and dozens of beakers and test tubes and other glassware. Containers of powders labeled in Arin’s neat handwriting were stacked beneath one table, and all the rugs had been rolled up and taken away. Even the curtains had been removed. Except for one divan, the furniture in the room was practical: tables, benches, stools, and one gurney. Thankfully, it did not hold a body. Or worse, a live “patient.” Hamon had told her plenty about his mother’s old experiments. Garnah had sworn up and down that she didn’t engage in that sort of “basic research” anymore, and Daleina had made Arin promise to tell if she encountered anything of questionable morality. But still . . . I’ve become just as paranoid as Ven.
It was no more than a few awkward minutes before Queen Naelin arrived, which did nothing to diminish the awkwardness. In fact, the presence of the Queen of Sorrow (as Daleina had heard a few courtiers call her) increased the tension in the room to such a level that Daleina thought she could taste it: thick and sour.
Queen Naelin pushed the wheelchair that held Headmistress Hanna, who had been attempting to teach the older queen more techniques to control her thoughts and emotions. Hanna had reported privately that it was like trying to teach a rock—she listened but she was so set in her ways, you didn’t know if she absorbed any of it. Still, Hanna was trying to squeeze in as many lessons as possible, in case Daleina agreed to send her to Semo. But I haven’t agreed yet, Daleina thought. It depends on what Merecot says.
“I am sorry for your loss, Your Majesty,” the Queen’s Poisoner said with a bow. “Know that I and my skills are at your disposal, should you require it.”
“Mother,” Hamon growled.
Garnah blinked. “What? What did I say?”
“It’s not certain they’re dead,” Ven said. There was a hardness in his voice that Daleina hadn’t heard before, as if he wanted to hit something or someone.
Naelin growled, “They are not.”
“We are pursuing diplomatic answers,” Daleina said firmly.
“Ahh,” Garnah said. “So that’s why you’re having me check her letter? Because ‘diplomacy’ involves possible death?”
“A precaution,” Daleina said, and wished the letter would arrive already. She looked at Naelin and thought she’d never seen a person look so hollow. She wondered if it would help to have Havtru talk to her—he’d lost his wife in a spirit attack, before he became a champion—or if there were something in Garnah’s repertoire of potions that would ease Naelin’s pain. Even with Hanna’s impromptu lesson during the earthquake, she could feel the despair and anger leaking through to the spirits.
Queen Naelin didn’t speak again.
“Your Majesty . . .” Arin hesitated, opened her mouth, and then shut it and shrank back as if she’d changed her mind.
“Go on,” Hamon encouraged her, always kind. Daleina spared a smile for him.
Daleina also smiled at her sister, and Arin said in a rush, “Erian and Llor were two of the bravest kids I’ve ever met. Two of the bravest people. And I just . . . I mean, I can’t help thinking if they could have survived . . .” She swallowed. “I just wanted to say I believe you. I believe they’re alive.”
“That makes three of us, then,” Naelin said. “You, me, and Ven. The rest of Aratay seems to have already condemned them.”
Tentatively, Daleina reached out to touch the nearby spirits, to make certain they weren’t going to explode into violence again, but they felt subdued, as if they were absorbing more sadness than anger. She met Ven’s eyes and saw pain in them. The silence in the room was oppressive.
At last, two palace caretakers and more guards arrived, thankfully breaking the somber spell. Escorted by the guards, the caretakers carried a thin lacquered black box that appeared to be shaped from a single piece of wood. Smooth, it had no joints, only a lid. They placed it on one of the worktables, bowed, and retreated.
This must be the letter. And . . . a gift?
Garnah stepped forward. Reaching into the
pockets on her skirt, she withdrew a variety of powders and began to sprinkle them on the box. She muttered to herself as she examined it from every angle, and Daleina watched as fingerprints appeared in the dust—Garnah then tossed a few drops of liquid, and the powder puffed into a cloud above the box. It dissipated in the air. “Outside is fine,” she announced.
“Did you test for—” Hamon began.
“Obviously.”
“But what about—”
“Don’t be an idiot.”
“You can’t know—”
“It’s safe.” She opened the lid and lifted a parchment out. “The gift itself is wrapped in velvet, and here is the letter.” She sniffed it and then applied an assortment of different powders, which turned purple then white. She knocked them to the floor. “Nothing alarming about the letter. You may read it.” She held it out.
Hamon took it and then passed it to Daleina, who read. “It’s addressed to Queen Naelin, not to me.” Curious, she thought.
“Read it aloud,” Naelin said without turning around. Her eyes were fixed on the fireplace, where two fire spirits curled between the logs.
“‘To Queen Naelin of the forests of Aratay, long may you reign in Renthia.’”
Garnah murmured, “A pleasant beginning.”
“Quiet,” Hamon said.
“Merely expressing an opinion.”
“Read on,” Naelin said.
Daleina saw two lizardlike fire spirits spit flames onto the hearth. Headmistress Hanna clearly noticed too, because she began whispering in Queen Naelin’s ear. The fire spirits withdrew to the logs, smoldering, their ember-black eyes glaring at the humans as if they wanted to flay them all alive. Which they do, of course, she thought. Fly and burn and bite and claw.
Daleina read, “‘Please accept my most profound apology for . . .’” Her voice trailed off as she scanned ahead. Oh.
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