The Queen of Sorrow

by Sarah Beth Durst

  “She is not the kind to be easily misled.”

  “—or manipulated.”

  Another spoke. “Or if Queen Merecot merely changes her mind. She’s asking us to relinquish our safety net! Aratay has no heirs! If Queen Naelin leaves Aratay and cannot return, for whatever reason, we will again be vulnerable.”

  Again, the champions squabbled like a flock of chickens.

  Naelin lost track of who was speaking. Reaching across, she extracted the message from Daleina’s grasp and read it. The ambassador’s report was concise, and she outlined her suggestion in clear terms, as well as her certainty that this would solve both Aratay’s problems and Semo’s. “I will, of course, go,” Naelin said.

  The champions fell silent.

  Lowering the letter, Naelin looked at them. She didn’t see why this was even open to debate, but she tried to formulate her thoughts to explain her reasoning. It was very tempting to say, Because I said so. “First and foremost, I will reclaim my children. But second, this is best for Aratay. If I can help solve the problem of Semo, we will be safe from any further invasions. Our people will be safe.”

  “But . . .” one began.

  “Do you know I have a nickname already in the outer forest?” Naelin said. “They call me the Mother of Aratay. And I say I will go, for the sake of all my children.”

  Her words were met with silence—the kind of silence that feels full of unspoken arguments. The champions shifted uncomfortably in their living wood seats. A few of them glanced at the sky, at the ever-present air spirits that circled above the chamber, like buzzards over a soon-to-be corpse.

  “I will leave immediately,” Naelin said to Daleina.

  At that, the champions began to argue again.

  She waited, letting their voices rise to shouting, her eyes only on Daleina. She agrees, Naelin thought. She knew as soon as she read the report, I’d go.

  When a moment of quiet descended on the chamber, while the champions drew breaths to argue again, Naelin rose from her throne. “You may debate it all you wish, but in the end, it is not your decision to make. We,” she said, pointing to Daleina and herself, “are the queens of Aratay. Not you.”

  She left the council while the champions continued to argue in her wake, like children who won’t admit the game is lost.

  Ignoring the arguments swirling around him, Ven crossed to Daleina and knelt in front of her. “My Queen, with your permission, I will accompany Queen Naelin to Semo.”

  Behind him, Champion Sevrin grunted. “You want to make the situation worse, Ven? By the spirits, I thought you had more sense than that.”

  Rising, he pivoted. His hands clenched, and he deliberately unclenched them. “She’ll need a guard.”

  “Send a palace guard.” Sevrin waved in the direction of the stairs. “Better yet, send a squadron of soldiers. Don’t send a champion.”

  “Champion Sevrin is correct,” Champion Jalsia said. “Your skills are needed here, now more than ever. Aratay needs heirs! If this is another ploy by Queen Merecot . . .” She didn’t need to finish her sentence. Nods were echoed all around the council chamber.

  It hadn’t occurred to Ven that his fellow champions would object. “Queen Naelin needs—”

  “She needs a soldier, not a lover,” Sevrin said, and Ven seriously considered smashing his balled-up fist into the man’s face. If Daleina hadn’t lightly and subtly touched his arm at that very moment, he might have done just that. “And Aratay needs its hero champion,” Sevrin continued. “You’ve heard the songs, I assume? You’re the finest champion who has ever lived, trainer of two queens, warrior extraordinaire, and other drivel. We in this room may know better, but if you abandon Aratay in its hour of need, the people will panic. The people are counting on you to find the next queen-to-be.”

  Despite Daleina’s hint, Ven’s hand strayed toward his sword hilt. He’d never draw on another champion, but his fingers were now brushing the pommel. Through clenched teeth he said, “I’m not abandoning the people of Aratay; I’m serving its queen.” That any champion would be so shortsighted as to fail to see that—

  “You’re serving yourself,” Sevrin said, “as you always do.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?” Now he did put his hand on his sword hilt, but he made himself remove it. A fight here wouldn’t help anyone.

  “First Queen Fara, now Queen Naelin,” Sevrin drawled. “Some say you serve yourself when you serve your queens.” He pushed himself off his seat and crossed to Ven. Stopped only inches from him. “Some say you think with the wrong sword.”

  Ven did not draw his weapon at that. He looked back at Daleina, and tried to apologize without words. One of her eyebrows shot up, but she said nothing.

  He turned back around . . . and punched Sevrin in the face.

  With a howl, Sevrin staggered back. Blood poured from his nose, but he wasn’t stunned—he was a champion himself. With a roar, he launched himself at Ven, fists flying. Ven kicked back, hitting the larger man square in the gut and sending him crashing into the seats. Other champions sprang out of the way.

  Daleina’s voice cracked across the chamber. “Enough!”

  Ven, muscles still coiled, watched Sevrin as he pushed to his feet. Scowling at Ven, he wiped the blood from his upper lip with the back of his hand. It smeared onto his cheek. “They speak of you with such respect.” Sevrin spat onto the council floor, at Ven’s feet. “They don’t know how weak you truly are, confusing duty for ‘love’ and queens for toys.”

  Queen Daleina rose to her feet, and above her, the air spirits shrieked. All the champions reacted—drawing swords, kicking aside the chairs, crouching at the ready—but Daleina stood straight and tall, motionless while the spirits circled. “And what of this queen, Champion Sevrin?”

  Sevrin blanched, seeming to realize the implication he had made concerning her.

  “Champion Ven will accompany Queen Naelin to Semo. His so-called weakness is his strength. He would die to protect her. Isn’t that correct, Champion Ven?”

  He knelt on one knee. “It is, Your Majesty.”

  “Then not sending you would be stupid,” Daleina said. “And I strive to avoid stupidity. Champions, return to your chosen candidates. Continue to train them. And pray they will not be needed anytime soon.”

  The spirits cried once more and then flew higher, into the clouds.

  The champions bowed and filed out of the chamber, except for Ven. He stayed kneeling before Queen Daleina, his head bent, though he watched Sevrin and the other champions tromp past and down the spiral stairs, until at last they were alone.

  Daleina sank into her throne. “Did you have to hit him?”

  Ven considered that. “Yes, I believe I did.” He didn’t plan to make a habit of it, especially while Sevrin carried that wicked ax of his, but the situation had warranted it. “There is nothing dishonorable or selfish about what I’ve done.” It demeaned both women to suggest it, implying they didn’t choose him as freely as he chose them.

  “He was goading you,” Daleina said, tapping the parchment against the armrests of her throne. “He wanted to prove you’re ruled by emotions, not logic. He was angling for me to remove you as a champion—subtlety is not his strength.”

  Rising to his feet, Ven said, “I’ve noticed.”

  “Nor is it yours,” she snapped.

  Ven winced. That was fair. He supposed he should have waited until after the champions had left to announce his intention to accompany Naelin. The champions were right to worry—without heirs, Aratay remained vulnerable, and Ven had sworn the same oath they had.

  But there was another oath he’d made in his heart . . .

  Daleina looked toward the north, over the canopy of trees. Ven followed her gaze. The mountains were too distant to be seen from Mittriel, but the damage from the invasion was still visible—new trees had been grown to replace the damaged ones, and they formed a river of golden leaves against the dark green of the old pine and the red and ora
nge and brown. “Do you think it’s a trap?”

  “Yes. I don’t know. It could be.” Ven hesitated, weighing the various risks. “It doesn’t really matter, though, does it? And it’s why I’m going, to protect Naelin against any attacks with blades, fists, or claws. But if Queen Merecot was to attempt poison . . .”

  “I’ll order Poison-Master Garnah to accompany you.”

  “She won’t be willing to leave her son.” That wasn’t his only objection, though. Truthfully, Garnah was the last person he would trust on a diplomatic mission. She was more likely to cause disaster than prevent it. But he could appreciate Daleina wanting Garnah out of the country, as far from Arin as possible.

  She rose again. “I will speak to her. You wish to leave at dawn, I presume?”

  He bowed. “Yes, Your Majesty. I officially request a leave of absence from my champion duties, until the completion of this mission.”

  “Granted,” Daleina said. “But Ven . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “You will always be my champion.”

  Chapter 14

  Flanked by Ven and Hamon, Daleina strode through the palace and tried to ignore the tree spirit that was nestling into her crown. It was muttering to itself in unintelligible words that sounded like wood splintering while it wound her hair into a nest and cuddled with the jewels on her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hamon shooting glances at her crown.

  “Daleina . . .” Hamon began.

  “Yes, I know.”

  “But it’s staying.”

  “I know.”

  Ven looked amused. “You might start a new fashion.”

  Hamon did not look amused. “If it should panic or turn on you, its claws could—”

  Daleina interrupted him again. “I know.” She swept down the hallway. Up ahead, two guards stood at attention on either side of Poison-Master Garnah’s door, ostensibly protecting the dangerous concoctions inside but also monitoring Garnah’s movements. They inclined their heads as she approached but otherwise remained vigilant. One of them spotted the tree spirit in Daleina’s hair—she saw his eyes widen. “The Queen’s Poisoner is dangerous. It’s important she be reminded that I’m more dangerous.”

  Let them all think about that.

  She wasn’t certain she believed it, but it sounded good, and she needed all her self-confidence wrapped around her like armor if she was going to convince Garnah to cooperate.

  Stepping forward, Ven swung open the door for her, and she entered the room.

  Arin scurried forward. “Daleina!” She wore a thick leather apron and a falconer’s gloves. Her hair was pulled back into a bun that didn’t allow for any strand to slip out, and she had protective glasses on her face.

  “Please don’t hug me if you’ve been playing with poison,” Daleina said.

  Her little sister skidded to a stop.

  “Why is that even a thing I have to say?” Daleina asked.

  Across the room, Garnah chuckled. She was not dressed in any protective gear. Instead she wore layers of flouncy lace that billowed around her like a child’s drawing of a cloud. Three peacock feathers stuck out of her elaborately braided hair. She looked like she’s been playing dress-up in a courtier’s closet, Daleina thought, and wondered if Garnah was deliberately mocking the court ladies or if that was merely an accidental bonus. With Garnah, it could be either. “Your Majesty,” Garnah said, rising then curtsying. Her skirts pooled around her. “My beloved son.” Crossing to Hamon, she embraced him. He stiffened, and Daleina thought he’d rather bolt than endure her touch. But he was here to help, not cause a scene, and so he didn’t move. Garnah then turned to Ven. “And the gruff, muscly man.” She pinched Ven’s bicep.

  “You insisted on coming,” Daleina told him.

  Garnah glanced at Daleina’s crown. “Nice hat.”

  The spirit hissed. Garnah stuck her tongue out at it.

  So much for impressing her, Daleina thought.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? Or are you here to visit my protégée?” Garnah frowned at one of the workbenches. “Arin, don’t let the wormtongue bathe in the hazel brine for more than three minutes.”

  “Oh!” Arin hurried back across the laboratory, secured her glasses, and then used tongs to lift a gnarled root out of a container of algae-green water.

  Hamon shook his head. “Mother, tell me you aren’t teaching her how to make beetle bane.” Daleina recognized the name of the poison—it was a common one for eliminating vermin from crops of berries, but mishandled it could be toxic. It was one reason why every cook washed berries before cooking with them.

  “She’s not making beetle bane,” Garnah said.

  “I’m making breath-choker juice,” Arin said cheerfully.

  Daleina sighed. If their parents ever learned about half the things that Arin was meddling with, they’d yank Arin out of Mittriel so fast that she wouldn’t even have time to pack. I should tell them. Even if they blame me. At least at home her sister would be safe. “Is that as ominous as it sounds?”

  “Certainly hope so,” Garnah said. “Otherwise she’ll have to start over. But you didn’t come to talk about mundane things like death. What do you need, Your Majesty?”

  Daleina debated several ways to frame the request and then opted for the direct approach. “Queen Merecot has Queen Naelin’s two children, and has requested Queen Naelin’s assistance in exchange for their safe return. I need you to accompany Queen Naelin to Semo and do what you can to keep her alive until the problem of excess spirits is solved.”

  “And after it’s solved,” Ven put in. “Keeping her alive in general would be good. We like her living.” He was fingering the hilt of his sword, and Daleina wasn’t certain if it was Garnah or the spirit on the crown that was making him uneasy. Or maybe it’s the deadly poison that my baby sister is brewing . . .

  “We don’t trust Queen Merecot for obvious reasons,” Daleina said, “and I believe that your expertise and experience would make you the ideal choice—”

  Garnah smiled sweetly. “You’re so kind to think of me, but no, thank you.”

  Daleina tried again. “Your service would be greatly appreciated. And well rewarded. In fact, if this mission is successful, you and all those who accompany Naelin would be considered heroes. Songs would be sung about you by canopy singers for generations.”

  “While all that fame sounds lovely, I cannot leave my beloved son now that I have at last found him.” Garnah patted Hamon’s cheek, and he flinched. “I assume you won’t be going to Semo on this joyful jaunt?”

  “I’m needed here, with Queen Daleina, as her personal healer,” Hamon said.

  “Very personal, I know.” Garnah winked. “But don’t think I disapprove! I think it’s delightful! What more could a mother hope for, than for her son to find happiness in the arms of—”

  Ven growled, “Enough.”

  Garnah clapped her hands together. “I’ve embarrassed the unflappable champion! Shall we discuss your love life next? It’s all very romantic. Many forest girls fall asleep each night by imagining a champion will choose them above all others and elevate them to a life of importance and meaning.”

  His hands were clenched into fists. “Queen Naelin’s life had meaning before me.”

  “Oh, that’s right, it did!” Garnah’s voice was filled with mock surprise. Daleina knew she should say something, stop this before . . . before what? What was Garnah aiming at? What did she want? “She had her children, the center of her world, the reason for her reluctance to claim power. They were her meaning in life. And because of you taking her unwillingly out of the life she’d chosen for herself . . . she lost them.”

  She heard Ven’s breath hiss as if he’d been punched in the stomach, and Daleina stepped between Garnah and Ven, using the breadth of her skirts as a barrier between them. “Poison-Master Garnah—”

  “I lost my son once,” Garnah said, all amusement gone from her voice. “He was the center of my world, my m
eaning in life, and I won’t lose him again, no matter the cost. You may command me to leave, but I will resist. You cannot force me to leave my reason for being. I’m quite certain Queen Naelin will feel the same way, once she has reclaimed her lost children.”

  Hamon sighed. “Mother, there’s a vast difference between you and Queen Naelin. You didn’t lose me. I left you because you’re an immoral serial killer.”

  Garnah was silent for a moment, then said, “I prefer ‘amoral.’”

  Daleina didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or scream. Instead she crossed to the nearest workbench and studied the array of scribbled-on parchment, bottles of herbs and other ingredients, and beakers of oddly colored liquids. Maybe she shouldn’t push Garnah to go to Semo. It had seemed like such a perfect solution: the poison maker could protect Naelin (and as a bonus quit tormenting Hamon and corrupting Arin), but even if she issued an order and even if Garnah obeyed, Daleina didn’t know if she could trust her. Maybe I’m being selfish, wanting her to go. If I send enough protection, it feels less as if I’m sending Naelin to her death.

  Beside her, Arin had taken off her glasses and the thick leather gloves. She neatened a stack of papers. “I’ll go,” she said quietly.

  Daleina flinched. “Don’t be absurd.”

  “I may not be training as a poisoner, but I think my skills may be even more useful,” Arin said. “I have been working with Master Garnah to develop defensive potions, effective against spirits. I can help defend Queen Naelin and her children against Queen Merecot’s spirits.”

  “Absolutely not.” Arin was barely more than a child! It was one thing to apprentice her to a confessed killer—that was bad enough—but to send her into known danger in a foreign land . . . Merecot could blame Daleina for the death of her sister, Alet. I’d have to be foolish to give Merecot such an easy way for revenge. “I need you here.”

  “Actually, you don’t. You have Healer Hamon and Master Garnah. Let me go, Daleina. I can be useful. I know I can. And unlike anyone else you send, no one will think that I’m there to guard the queen—they’ll look at me and see a young girl. I’ll be like a secret weapon.”