The Queen of Sorrow

by Sarah Beth Durst

  Sitting in her old chair with the creaky seat, Arin felt like she hadn’t ever left. Their meals always started like this, with a story to say thanks. Mama and Daddy liked the old traditions—they never skimped on charms in the roof, they left the first cut of wood outside for the fire spirits to claim, they planted acorns to appease the tree spirits every spring, and they always told a gratitude story before eating.

  I’d missed this in the palace, Arin thought. She hadn’t even realized she’d missed it. Everything had happened so quickly: Daleina’s poisoning, the invasion, her apprenticeship. As soon as we’re done in Semo, I’ll come back.

  “. . . the newborn child spoke one word, ‘Earth,’ and the spirits of the earth were born from her command. They fashioned earth beneath our feet so we could stand. She spoke again: ‘Air,’ and we breathed freely for the first time. ‘Water,’ and we drank. ‘Fire,’ and we were warm. ‘Wood,’ and we had trees for homes and plants for food. ‘Ice,’ and we had seasons to grow and seasons to rest. And so we multiplied, until we were too many for the world. And she spoke again, one more time, ‘Die,’ and the spirits who had made our home became our scourge and sought our deaths. And so we cried out to the baby, ‘Save us!’”

  Daddy took up the old familiar tale in his deep, soothing voice that made Arin think of lullabies: “So she laid her body in front of the spirits. Ice froze her skin. Fire burned her. Water drowned her. Air tore her limbs. Earth buried the pieces. And then Wood caused her to grow. From the pieces of her body grew stalks that blossomed, turned to fruit, and ripened. When the seed fell it was in the shape of little girls, and the spirits listened to what they said. The place where she sacrificed herself became the first sacred grove, and the first to fall from the fruit of their mother became our first queen. It is she we thank for this meal, for our home, and for our lives. Her blessing on us.”

  “Her blessing on us,” Arin echoed, and she bit into her mother’s nut bread and sighed happily. She’d tried to bake this bread in the palace ovens, and it hadn’t tasted the same. Maybe it was the kind of wood Mama burned in their oven, or maybe it was the type of nuts they harvested. Or maybe it was some other kind of magic, unknown to queens and champions and other fancy folk. But this . . . it tasted like home.

  “We tell another version of the tale up north,” Ven said. “In ours, the baby is a woman called the Great Mother of Spirits. And her body split apart to form the different groves—one for Aratay, one in Semo, one in Chell, one for Elhim, and one for Belene.”

  Mama poured pine-needle tea into mugs, and Arin got up to help hand them out to everyone. Even though she hadn’t been home in months, she didn’t think to act like a guest. Naelin and Ven were the guests, not Arin. This was home, even if she knew she wasn’t staying. She loved the way it smelled: the spice of the tea, the warm sharpness of the wood-stoked oven, the fresh baked bread. The palace always smelled like flowers. And sometimes like blood, she thought.

  “Would you like to tell us the tale?” Mama asked Ven politely.

  “It’s supposed to be sung, and you don’t want to hear me sing it, trust me,” Ven said. “My sister is the one with the beautiful voice. She’s a canopy singer.” He helped himself to a pile of leaf-wrapped boar meat and then stuffed one in his mouth.

  Arin wished for a moment that they were actually traveling to Ven’s family, not to the foreign land of Semo, and that this were only a short, simple trip. For now, I’ll pretend it is.

  They all ate for a moment in contented silence.

  “I saw Eira when we arrived,” Arin said to her parents. “She said you had a surprise?” Perhaps they’d sold the house and were going to move to Mittriel to be closer to her and Daleina! It would be nice if the four of us could be together again, wherever we are. Maybe it would make Daleina happy. Her sister looked perpetually tired and worried. But Arin would miss Threefork. They’d moved here when she was four years old. I didn’t even realize how much I missed it here. Lately, she’d been too busy to even think or feel.

  Both her parents grinned as if they were little kids about to open a present, and then they began speaking at the same time: “You’ll never guess—” And “It was extraordinary luck—” Then they stopped, laughed, and Daddy said, “You go first.”

  “Honey, do you remember the old bakery that you and Josei planned to buy and fix up? The one in Fawnbrook? You two were saving up enough money on your own, and we were so proud of you. It was so grown-up of you to have a plan and pursue it.”

  Arin felt a lump in her throat. Of course she remembered. It had been her and Josei’s dream. As soon as they’d saved enough and as soon as they could, that’s what they were going to do: buy the old shop, fix it up, and start a bakery. She’d do fancy cakes for weddings and festivals, and he’d run the front of the shop and deal with the customers. They planned to marry too, when they were old enough, and live together in a home behind the shop. They’d talked about it all the time.

  Mama beamed at Daddy. “You tell her. You were the one who did it.”

  “We both did,” Daddy said. Reaching across the table, he squeezed Mama’s hand. “Arin, we bought the bakery. It’s yours! Your mother and I have been working on fixing it up, according to your plans.”

  Arin felt as if bees were swarming inside her head. She opened her mouth but no words came out. Their bakery. It was a dream from what felt like years ago. Her and Josei’s dream. But he was gone, and she’d thought the dream had died with him. But now . . . Now . . . She looked from Mama to Daddy and back again. Both of them were beaming at her. “Really?”

  “Really truly,” Mama said.

  Arin felt tears on her cheeks. “That’s the most . . .” Words failed her. She couldn’t think of any that went far enough. Jumping from her seat, she ran around the table and threw her arms around her parents. “Thank you!”

  Her parents beamed at her.

  And then the memory of why she was here and where she was going crashed into her. “But I can’t. I have to . . . Please understand, it’s not that I don’t appreciate it or want it. I do! It’s just that . . . I can’t right now. It will have to wait until I come back.” If I come back. “I’m sorry, Mama, Daddy.”

  Calmly, Mama picked up the ladle. “Don’t you worry, baby. I have faith everything will work out. Would you like some soup, Your Majesty?”

  Arin jumped, but neither Queen Naelin nor Ven seemed at all surprised. “You know? You’ve known all along? I was right! Daleina told you!”

  “Of course,” Mama said, patting her hand.

  Arin felt a burst of love for her sister and her parents, for believing in her.

  As the girl Arin babbled happily to her parents about her plans for after Semo, Naelin chewed on a sweet slice of nut bread and tried to keep herself from thinking, I shouldn’t be here. I should be in Semo already.

  Suddenly, the room felt stifling. “Excuse me. I just need a little air.”

  Arin’s mother nodded, understanding in her eyes. “Your family will be together soon.”

  The sentiment didn’t help.

  Naelin burst out the door and drew in a breath of night air. It tasted sour as she breathed in the smoke from the chimneys of the village all around. The sun had set, and dusk shrouded the trees in shadows. Lights from the other houses glowed warm amber. Firemoss twinkled from the bridges and ladders.

  Naelin heard the door open and shut behind her. “I know I was rude. It’s just . . . They’re waiting for me. I want to be there already.”

  “I promised Daleina I’d bring Arin home,” Ven said. “Given all that’s going on, she felt it was the safest place for her sister.”

  “She’ll be angry at being left behind.” She thought of how gleefully Arin had made the potion-laced charms—this felt like a betrayal after how kind the girl had been to Naelin.

  “Angry is better than dead,” Ven said. “Young people should have their childhoods and not be asked to save the world. We should at least be able to spare them that.” H
e was frowning, and she wondered if he was thinking of the heirs who’d died over the years. He’d been a part of training those young people to risk themselves—she hadn’t realized he ever felt guilt over that. “Besides, her parents will keep her from noticing when we leave. I’m planning on being miles away when she figures out we’re gone.”

  Naelin snorted. “The big, strong champion afraid of a child’s temper tantrum?”

  “Terrified,” he agreed. “But more terrified of what would happen to her if Merecot decided to use her for revenge or leverage. Here she’ll be protected against anything Merecot tries to do. In Semo . . . It’s not right to take a child into such obvious danger.”

  “Like I took mine,” Naelin said.

  “That’s not what I meant!” Ven said. “It’s not your fault.”

  Of course it is! “I became queen. I made them targets. If I hadn’t done that, Merecot never would have taken them. We’d all be safe at home.”

  “You might as well blame me, then. If I hadn’t found you and forced you to use your powers, you’d still be in East Everdale with Erian and Llor and Renet.”

  She felt the spirits around her, feeling her guilt and impatience, and walled her thoughts off as the headmistress had taught her. The last thing she wanted to do was draw spirits to Arin’s home. That would be the worst way to repay this family for their hospitality.

  “I think my mother and sister will like you,” Ven said.

  Naelin glanced at him. The warm light from the house was behind him, and his face was shadowed. She couldn’t read his expression. “I thought that was a ruse. We aren’t visiting your family. Didn’t you hear me? I want to reach Semo quickly.”

  “My mother and sister, Sira, live due north of here. It would make sense, strategically, to stop at their home, both to rest and to gain any knowledge about activity on the border. My mother’s a border guard. She should have insight into the mood of the people of Semo. Any knowledge of what we’re walking into could be useful, especially if this is a trap. We’ll cross the border at dawn, at peak strength, ready for whatever Merecot has planned.”

  She studied him. “That’s the only reason? Strategy?”

  “I’d also like you to meet my family,” he said simply.

  She frowned. Why does it matter so much to him? Then she saw the look in his eyes, the warmth that had first drawn her to him.

  And for the first time in what felt like a very long time, Naelin smiled.

  Chapter 15

  Once Naelin and Ven were beyond Threefork, with Arin safe and still asleep in her parents’ house, Naelin summoned two nearby spirits: earth spirits who clawed their way out of the dirt between the roots of the vast trees. One looked like a wolverine carved from rotted wood and another was bear-shaped but made of moss and mud.

  “They’ll carry us.”

  “Or we could take the wire paths,” Ven suggested.

  Naelin climbed onto the back of the bear-shaped spirit. She wound her fists in the moss that clumped at its neck. “The wire paths are dangerous.”

  “Spirits are more dangerous.”

  “They know I’ll destroy them if they fail us.”

  “You’ll destroy part of the forest if you do too,” Ven said.

  “Then they had better not disobey me.”

  Ven shot her a grin, and then climbed down the tree and mounted the wolverine. He trusts me, she thought. Even after all I’ve done. She grinned back at him. Beneath her, the spirit sniffed and snorted, pawing at the dried leaves on the ground. They crunched beneath its paws.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  North, Naelin instructed their mounts.

  Both spirits bounded forward.

  Above them, the wind blew strong and the trees swayed, causing the light that hit the floor to shift like waves. Autumn leaves swirled as they fell, raindrops of red and amber, filling the forest with each gust of wind.

  Behind her, Ven shouted directions: north, then east. Naelin passed it along to the spirits.

  As they traveled, Naelin found herself wondering about Ven’s family. Ven never talked about them much, so Naelin had assumed the memories were painful and hadn’t pried. But he’d seemed so eager to introduce her that she thought maybe she’d been wrong. What kind of childhood shaped a champion? What kind of people had raised him? He’d mentioned a mother and siblings, but she had no feel for what they were like or what they meant to him. I suppose I’ll find out soon, she thought.

  As the day waned, the forest floor dipped into shadows. Above, the canopy still caught the low light of the sun, but it no longer filtered deep in between the trees. It brushed the surface of the leaves high above them. She sensed the energy of their spirit mounts beginning to flag—these two were used to resting at night, and with the growing shadows, they began to slow. “I think we’ve reached the limit for these mounts.”

  “There’s a wire path above us, but it’s a ways up,” Ven said. “Unless there are winged spirits nearby large enough to carry us, we’ll need to free-climb.” He dismounted from the stone bear and began to rummage through his pack for ropes, clips, and other climbing gear.

  She reached out with her mind and touched several air spirits, but all of the nearby ones were tiny, like puffs of dandelion fluff, drifting with the falling leaves. She also sensed an abundance of tiny tree spirits in this region of the forest, skittering with the squirrels at dusk. Sliding off the back of the earth spirit, she landed on the ground, knelt, and felt through the leaves until she found what she was looking for: an acorn. “Come stand here and hold on to me,” she told Ven.

  “Exactly what do you have in mind?” Ven asked.

  Naelin showed him the acorn and then planted it in the soil. She’d never tried this before, but it should work. If not, I can handle looking stupid in front of Ven. Concentrating, she called to the tree spirits. Come. Grow. Tall and straight, up to the sky. Come and grow!

  The spirits poured down from the trees. A few at first, then dozens swarmed over the branches and the trunks, pulled by her call. She stretched her arms out as if welcoming them into an embrace. Chittering to one another in raspy voices, the squirrel-like spirits came first, burrowing into the earth in a circle around them, and she saw a sprout unfurl between her feet. Its leaf was a pale translucent green that almost seemed to pulse with its own light, and then it pushed its way out of the earth, thickening as it grew. She straddled it as more tree spirits filled the forest floor around them: green tangles of leaves with lithe little bodies, gnarled bits of wood with humanlike faces and spiderlike legs, and larger stumplike spirits with faces made of bark.

  She saw the sprout split into branches, and she carefully positioned her feet on one tender shoot. “Hang on tight,” she told Ven. “This might fail spectacularly.”

  “It won’t,” Ven said as he wrapped his arms around her waist. She glowed at both his confidence and his touch.

  Grow faster, she told the tree spirits, and they whipped around her ankles.

  The tiny tree spurted higher, and Naelin grabbed on to the center stalk. It thickened in her hands until she was hugging it. Ven squeezed her, his arms a comforting warmth, holding her steady. Her heart was thumping so fast it felt like fluttering wings within her rib cage. The branches beneath their feet widened until they were standing on them firmly as the tree grew faster and faster, shooting toward the sky.

  Branches spread and leaves popped to life: first, pale spring green, then deep summer emerald, then fall yellow, crinkling as they browned. The new tree blended with the canopy all around them.

  “Very nice,” Ven said in her ear.

  She giggled—a sound she hadn’t made in years, but it felt good. I’m getting better at this. She’d learned a lot since her last encounter with Merecot. I’m ready for her.

  “Right there.” Ven nodded at the next tree.

  She saw the delicate line running past them. He pulled out harnesses with clips for each of them and helped attach hers.

  “I’ll
lead,” Ven said. “Follow me.”

  Hooking onto the wire, Naelin and Ven attached themselves to the path and pushed away from the new tree. Naelin glanced back to see the tree spirits scampering over the branches and up and down the trunk. She heard them babbling to one another, and she felt—joy. It infused them and leaked inside of her, the joy they felt in growing that tree. It was the kind of joy a child feels when she’s fully in the moment, separated from any regrets or worries or anything that isn’t the splendor of the now. It was the joy of a sunrise, the first moment of an unstained day, in the breath after a dream faded but before memories returned. It was the joy of an awaited kiss. The joy of light after rain.

  They sailed across the top of the forest as the sky deepened to a darker blue and the stars began to gleam. The moon was a pale crescent, barely visible and translucent, as if it were shy about joining the stars in the sky.

  Ven called out instructions as they reached junctions in the wires, and they switched from path to path. “One more mile!”

  As they flew closer, Naelin saw firemoss light glowing in the branches. “Be ready to release,” Ven barked. “The path ends just ahead.” He put his hand on his clip, and she did the same.

  “Now!” Ven released the clip and plummeted down to land in a tarp that had been stretched between the branches—a landing pad. Behind him, Naelin released her clip and fell. She felt the breath pushed out of her as she landed on the tarp beside him and bounced twice.

  Near the tarp was a bridge that had seen better days. Frayed, it creaked under their weight. Around and below them, the forest was dark, the floor impossibly far down and sheathed in so many shadows that it was all a morass of gray. Light came from the stars above and the firemoss lights ahead. As the wind blew through the trees, the firemoss seemed to twinkle.