The Queen of Sorrow

by Sarah Beth Durst

  She braced herself, expecting to be challenged by border spirits. But no challenge came. Perhaps because they know we’re coming? Still, she didn’t relax as they flew deeper into Semo.

  Naelin had seen enough maps to know the direction they needed to head in: northwest, toward Arkon. But seeing the land on a flat drawing and seeing it beneath them with all its peaks and undulations was entirely different. As the spirit flew to the capital, Naelin drank in the view with all its differentness while trying to make sure they were headed in the right direction.

  Just as Aratay had more tree spirits than any other kind, Semo was dominated by earth spirits, and the results were the spectacular mountains with impossibly high peaks wreathed in snow, sheer walls of granite that had burst up from a field, and clusters of red rock towers and arches. Naelin and Ven flew above the rock towers, through the arches, and over canyons so vast that you could have inverted a mountain inside them. But more unsettling than the sheer size of Semo was the way it felt, as if it were all about to collapse in on itself. The spirits of Semo, restless within the earth, brushed against Naelin’s consciousness, and it made her want to fly back to Aratay, into the familiar trees, where the ground didn’t look as if it were ready to swallow you.

  She didn’t know how anyone lived here, in the shadow of all this enormity, but proof was everywhere: houses built into the crevasses in the granite fields, clinging to the sides of steep mountains, tucked beneath the arches, built beside rivers at the bottom of canyons . . . A lot of innocent people for Queen Merecot to protect, she thought.

  If that’s what Merecot truly wants to do, then I’ll help her do it.

  Because all these people had children too. And if she could protect them . . . I couldn’t keep spirits from taking Erian and Llor, but the children of Semo . . . If spirits came for them, it wouldn’t be to merely kidnap them. Maybe there is good I can do here.

  If Merecot lets me.

  It was a big if. Because Merecot had already proven time and time again that she didn’t care about innocent lives, not if they stood in the way of what she wanted. But even though Naelin didn’t trust her, she trusted what she could see: Semo needed help.

  And I’m strong enough to give it to them.

  Naelin saw the capital before she realized what it was. At first, from a distance, it seemed like yet another natural wonder, but as they flew closer, she saw it in all its glory. Built into a mountain, the marble city gleamed in the morning light with a brightness that made her eyes tear. Walls, towers, and turrets seemed to burst from the rock, and as they flew closer, even the people seemed like they were a part of the mountain—they dressed in the same sparkling white as the city walls, going about their lives in the steep, spiraling streets.

  “Naelin!” Ven called. “Welcoming party!”

  He pointed and then put his hand on his bow, positioning it, clearly concerned it was not a welcoming party. Naelin saw five air spirits shoot out from the window of one of the turrets. Small and streamlined, they looked like arrows.

  Ah, there’s the challenge.

  Naelin ordered their two mounts to split and circle the city, keeping a distance from the palace at its peak. She reached out with her mind toward the five foreign spirits—and met a wall. Their minds felt like a slick surface. Her thoughts glided off it.

  Just like the ones that took Erian and Llor.

  That almost unmoored her, but the fact that she was going to see them soon—I am going to see them soon—kept her focused.

  One of the foreign spirits let out a shrill cry and then dove at Naelin. Ven shouted, urging his spirit down to defend her. He drew an arrow out of his quiver and had it strung. Rising up, with only his knees holding on to his spirit, he aimed.

  Naelin shoved her mind hard at the blankness. Do not attack!

  But the spirit didn’t seem to hear her.

  It stayed on course, shooting toward her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ven fire his arrow. It hit the spirit in the right eye, and the spirit howled.

  The other four spirits targeted Ven.

  “Ven, watch out!” Naelin cried.

  He was firing arrows fast, but there were too many. As one swiped at his head, he swung his bow and hit it hard, knocking it aside. The others tore at the wings of his air spirit, trying to claw their way to him.

  Naelin tried to force the Semoian spirits to obey her, but her commands bashed into the slick blankness and slid away, so she switched directions and rammed her mind into a spirit in the palace—a tiny, weak fire spirit who was tending to a candle. She forced it to open its mouth and speak:

  Queen Merecot! We come in peace!

  She then grabbed the mind of every other weak spirit on the mountain until they were all shouting the same: Queen Merecot! We come in peace!

  It echoed through the castle.

  We come in peace!

  Abruptly, the five spirits broke off their attack. They sped back into the turret and disappeared through the window. Ven steadied himself on the back of his spirit. His green armor was ripped at the shoulder, and his air spirit was dripping golden blood from the tip of one wing. It drooped to the side as it struggled to stay aloft.

  Naelin scanned the palace, looking for a safe place to land. Pointing at one of the towers, Ven shouted, “There!”

  Like the Chamber of the Queen’s Champions in the palace of Mittriel, the white castle of Arkon had a broad balcony balanced on top of one of the pinnacles. Flying underneath Ven’s spirit, Naelin guided them all toward it and landed. His serpent spirit pitched forward as it touched down and then collapsed on the ground. She dismounted and hurried to it and Ven.

  Groaning, he slid off its back, then waved her off. “Just a scratch.”

  “Let me look,” Naelin demanded.

  He laid a hand over his wound. She saw his shirt was speckled with blood. “I’m fine. Let’s not show weakness in front of Queen Merecot’s people.” He nodded significantly at something—or someone—over Naelin’s shoulder.

  She turned to see castle guards dressed in marble-white armor, pouring out of an archway. Ven drew his sword and stood ready by Naelin as she straightened to face them.

  What am I doing here? I’m just a woodswoman. She’d never imagined she’d leave the forest to stand on the pinnacle of the capital of Semo, on the side of a mountain. But here I am.

  I am a not just a woodswoman.

  I am a woman of the woods.

  I am the queen.

  Ven spoke in a booming voice: “This is Queen Naelin of Aratay, answering the request of Queen Merecot of Semo. Stand down, or face the wrath of your queen and ours.”

  The guards did not stand down. Shoulder to shoulder, they held their swords ready, their faces implacable and unreadable through their helmets.

  Projecting the confidence of Queen Daleina and the arrogance of Poison-Master Garnah, Naelin walked toward the guards with her shoulders back and head held high, as if she intended to walk straight through them.

  Wavering, the guards looked at one another.

  “Call for your queen,” Ven suggested. “Let her tell you what to do.”

  One guard whispered to another, who nodded, and then a third guard bolted back through the archway. Naelin halted, waited, outwardly calm, the way she used to wait for Erian and Llor to settle down after chasing each other around the room. Don’t let them see they have any power. They’d have power only if she gave it to them.

  One of the guards began, “If you will lay down your weapons—”

  “We will not,” Naelin cut him off. She felt a stirring in the air that prickled the skin on her arms. Spirits. Lots of them, close by.

  “You cannot be permitted before the queen armed—”

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ven switch his grip on his sword, still ready. “As I recall,” she said, “the last time your queen visited our land, she came with an army. Be grateful we didn’t come with one as well.”

  The guards tightened their grips on thei
r weapons.

  Softly, Ven said, “Maybe we should have waited for that escort at the border.”

  “Nonsense,” Naelin said. “Queen Merecot wants us here. That’s the whole reason she took my children.” She raised her voice louder so it would carry on the wind. “Isn’t that right, Your Majesty?”

  With a whoosh of wind, Queen Merecot rose beyond the balcony, standing on the backs of air spirits, one foot on each. “Yes indeed. Welcome, Queen Naelin. You disappointed the escort I sent for you and ruined the elaborate welcome I’d planned.”

  Naelin studied her face, searching for a hint of whether this was a trap, or whether she was sorry for what she did and the pain and fear she put Naelin, Erian, and Llor through. But Queen Merecot neither looked filled with remorse nor did she launch into any kind of confession. If that’s how you want it to go, so be it.

  “You can save your theatrics for another audience,” Naelin said. “I’m here for my children, and to discuss the future of Semo.”

  Merecot twisted her lips into a smile, even though what she really wanted to do was snarl at Naelin like a wolf. This was the woman who had killed her sister, Alet. And I’m not going to forget that. But she knew she had to make nice. Especially since Ven still had his sword out and was looking exceptionally grumpy, even for the famed champion.

  Stepping lightly off the two spirits, Merecot dismissed them and nodded to the guards. “Notify Headmistress . . . excuse me, Ambassador Hanna that we will be meeting in the West Room, and arrange for refreshments to be sent there as well.” To her visitors, she said, “You’ll be pleasantly surprised to discover that Semo has a variety of delicious traditional dishes. Despite the surroundings, we don’t eat rocks and gravel.”

  Ugh, she hated being polite.

  “I’m sure it’s wonderful,” Queen Naelin said in a dry voice. “But before anything, I want to see my children.”

  “Of course.” She’d let Queen Naelin see them. But only see, for now. That was Queen Jastra’s advice—keep them apart as long as possible. Once Naelin and Ven had the kids, then Merecot would have no more leverage. And she didn’t believe the queen and her champion were here with peaceful intent. Daleina had to be using this opportunity to further one of her own plots, some kind of revenge or power play, and once they’d secured the children, Naelin and Ven would serve as part of her larger plan. They’ve already humiliated me in front of my nation and murdered my sister. What’s next? Deposing me? But she kept a pleasant smile on her face, even though it made her cheeks feel like they were going to crack, and led her guests through the archway to the stone stairs that spiraled down into the heart of the palace.

  Their steel armor clanking, her guards marched ahead of her. The stairs felt too narrow, with her visitors, her guards, and the heavy stone walls on either side. She’d rather have flown down on the backs of the spirits, but she was sure Naelin and Ven would have objected to that—certainly they didn’t trust her. I wouldn’t trust me, she thought.

  I don’t trust me.

  She smirked at herself. Maybe this would be entertaining. Maybe she could keep them off-balance enough that they wouldn’t enact whatever they were plotting. She needed to hold the cards in this game, and she wasn’t sure she did at the moment. But she was going to pretend as if she had every advantage until she figured out if that was true . . . or until she made it true.

  For now, though, thanks to her air spirits, she did have one enormous advantage.

  She halted at a window overlooking one of the many castle courtyards. Below, ringed by guards, were Erian and Llor. She’d given them marbles to play with. But not just any marbles—these were tiny earth spirits, on orders to both entertain and watch the children.

  Erian and Llor were laughing as they chased the “marbles” around the courtyard. The marbles bashed into one another as they rolled haphazardly over the flagstones. “You see? They’re happy and unharmed.” She shot a smug smile at Naelin—and then her smile faltered.

  The look on Queen Naelin’s face was enough to shred your heart.

  She seemed to be feeling every emotion at once: joy, pain, relief, longing. And Merecot had to look away. I didn’t mean . . . But no, she had meant to cause this. She’d intended to use these children, and she was going to continue using them and using Naelin’s emotions for as long as she had to. For the sake of Semo.

  For the sake of all Renthia.

  “Once our negotiations are concluded, you may, of course, reclaim them.” Under extremely heavy guard, and only if negotiations went well.

  “I’ll go to them now,” Naelin said. “They should know their mother is here.”

  Merecot sighed dramatically. “I hate having to threaten people.” Then she paused. “Oh wait, no. I don’t.”

  She flicked her mind at the “marbles.” Each earth spirit stopped, and then they began to roll toward Erian and Llor, coming at them from all directions. The children abruptly quit laughing. They stood back to back in the center of the courtyard.

  She felt Naelin’s mind poking at the edges of Merecot’s control. But these were Merecot’s spirits, bound to her, and she was focusing her will on them. She didn’t let that control waver. “Discussion first, then you may join your children.”

  Naelin’s mind retreated—it felt like a cloud moving away from the sun—and Merecot switched her order to the tiny earth spirits. Play, she told them. Play nice. And they resumed chaotically bouncing around the courtyard.

  The children watched them warily, aware now of their nature. Merecot was a bit sorry for that. It was easier if one’s prisoners forgot they were in a prison. At the same time, though, she really didn’t care if two stupid children were happy.

  “Follow me,” Merecot said crisply, ignoring the death glare that Naelin was shooting her. She led the way, which meant exposing her back to the queen and the champion, but Merecot kept her thoughts flitting from spirit to spirit, using them to watch behind her. Fire spirits lurked in each of the sconces along the corridor, and Merecot was able to see her visitors through their eyes.

  For now, she couldn’t see a threat from either Naelin or Ven.

  Soon enough, they reached their destination. She nodded at the two soldiers on either side of the massive oak doors, which they then pushed open, straining against the weight. Whatever queen had built this castle had liked impressively large things: large turrets, large doors, and large rooms. It suits a queen’s large ego, she thought ruefully. With the guards standing at attention on either side, Merecot swept into the West Room.

  Judged as the most ostentatious room in the castle (which said a lot, given the competition, Merecot thought), the West Room looked like a vast cavern, boasting an enormous arched ceiling, a polished marble floor, and huge windows that overlooked the western mountains. The western mountains were themselves ostentatious, their peaks rivaling the clouds, and it added to the overall feel of this chamber. It was a room designed to host large parties, impress visitors, and make them feel small. Merecot felt a little ridiculous using it for so few people, but it would be nice if they understood her problem:

  Semo was big and yet it still wasn’t big enough.

  Her gown swooshed across the stone floor, loud in the silent vast room, and she climbed the steps up to the throne. She sat. “Too obnoxious?”

  “A little,” Ven agreed. “Your Majesties are equals.”

  “I’m told that Queen Naelin did not have any intention of being crowned,” Merecot said, “whereas I’ve worked for this my entire life. I don’t know that we are equals.”

  An old yet still strong voice carried across the room. “You’ll have to excuse Queen Merecot. She failed her diplomacy classes.”

  Merecot rolled her eyes as Ambassador Hanna entered the room. Oh, yay, she’s here. She conveniently ignored the fact that she herself had called for her. “I didn’t fail. All my marks were high.”

  “True enough. You simply cheated to get them,” Hanna said as one of the guards pushed her chair across the r
oom. “Over there.” She pointed to the window. “We’ll need a table and chairs set around it. Comfortable chairs. This conversation could take a while.”

  “It will be short,” Naelin said. “I won’t be kept from my children.”

  “It will take as long as it takes,” Hanna said with that headmistress “charm” that Merecot hadn’t missed in the slightest—though it was satisfying to see it directed at someone else—“until all parties are satisfied. Your children are well. Now, we need that table.” She beckoned to one of Merecot’s guards.

  The guard glanced at Merecot, and she nodded. Let the old woman play at being in charge. Once the conversation started, then they’d see who really pulled the strings. Merecot doubted it was Queen Naelin. Ven, maybe? Or were they all just a mouthpiece for Daleina?

  She wished she could have made Daleina see that the poisoning hadn’t been personal. She hadn’t wanted Daleina to die. Or, at least, she would have cried for her once the deed was done.

  They waited while several servants scurried in and out of the room, delivering an overly heavy stone table, chairs plump with pillows, crystal vases with various juices, and an assortment of meat pies, the kind she’d grown fond of. “I recommend the pies. They’re mutton, but don’t let the word ‘mutton’ fool you. They actually taste good.”

  She sat first, since her guests hadn’t moved yet, picked up one of the mutton pies, and bit into it. Gooey sauce dribbled from the side, and she caught it on a napkin. She laid it on the plate. “Come on. Don’t insult my hospitality. It’s not as if they’re poisoned.”

  That joke fell like an anchor into the ocean, and all of them stared at her in hostile silence.

  Inwardly, Merecot sighed. She knew she was an excellent queen—extremely powerful, confident, and decisive—but this part of being royal was not her strong point. “Ambassador Hanna, since you did not fail diplomacy, how would you counsel us to begin?”

  Hanna wheeled herself up to the table and selected a meat pie. A servant poured her a mug of hot milk. Hanna dusted each with a powder before drinking and eating, and only then did Naelin and Ven eat.