The Queen of Sorrow

by Sarah Beth Durst

  “Hey, I know you!” one of the men said. “You dosed me with sleeping powder!”

  Arin blinked, tore her gaze from the pale-eyed girl, and looked at the two men for the first time. I know them! Both of them! The one who had spoken was Renet, Erian and Llor’s father, and the other was one of the champions. It took her a minute to remember his name: Champion Havtru. “I’m sorry about that,” Arin said. “It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”

  “Guess it was. But you didn’t have any right to endanger my kids.” He was glaring at her, which didn’t seem like a good start. He looked like the kind of person who liked to yell. She wasn’t overly fond of being yelled at. She much preferred it when everyone liked her.

  Maybe I should have stayed up in the trees and waited for dawn on my own. But her gaze drifted to the campfire, where skewered meat was already beautifully browned.

  The pale-eyed girl touched Champion Havtru’s sleeve and spoke in his ear, too softly for Arin to hear. The champion nodded. “Join us, child,” he said. “We have plenty. And tell us why you’re so far north on your own.”

  “Queen Naelin sent me,” Arin said, sitting before Renet could object. “I’m to meet her and Champion Ven in Arkon. We were traveling, then got separated. I’m to rejoin them.”

  Champion Havtru squinted at her. “Which is it? She sent you or you were separated? Doesn’t seem like Champion Ven to lose a traveling companion.” He scratched at his beard, and Arin couldn’t tell if he was being curious or if she seemed suspiciously nervous.

  I’m supposed to be with them—that much is true. Just because she very strongly suspected Daleina had convinced her champion into bringing Arin home and deliberately leaving her there . . .

  The girl lifted one of the skewers off the fire and handed it to Arin.

  “Thanks,” Arin said. She blew on it once, then bit into it. She winced as it burned the top of her mouth but didn’t stop eating. “I’m Arin.”

  “Cajara,” the girl said softly. Her voice was light and sweet, reminding Arin of a puff pastry. If Cajara were a food, Arin decided, she’d be a dessert.

  “Still don’t get why you’re here,” Renet said.

  And Renet would be the sour lemonade, before any sugar is added.

  “She’s here now,” Cajara said, just as softly as before. “Can’t she travel with us?”

  “Renet has a point,” Champion Havtru said, “or could have a point if he weren’t being surly about it.” He pounded Renet on the shoulder, a little too hard to be just jovial. “It’s dangerous crossing into Semo these days. Are you sure that’s where you’re wanting to go?”

  Yes. No. Maybe it’s just where I have to go. “Queen Naelin and Champion Ven could be walking into a trap. I can help them.”

  “You going to put everyone in Semo to sleep?” Renet asked sarcastically.

  It actually wasn’t a terrible idea, though she didn’t have that much of the sleeping powder with her. She’d mostly brought potion-laced charms to slow down spirits. She just shrugged and continued eating. At least I’ll be well fed when I sneak into Semo. “Why are you all going?”

  “To escort Ambassador Hanna home, once her work is done,” Champion Havtru said, “as well as Champion Ven and Queen Naelin, if they’ll come.”

  “She took guards, didn’t she? Why does she need an escort?” Arin could guess the answer: Because it’s a trap. So before anyone could answer, she pressed on. “Sounds like we’re here for the same reason. Maybe we should travel together.”

  Please say yes.

  If she traveled with them, they could get her past the border guards. Plus she’d be safer with a champion and . . . a candidate? Was that what Cajara was? She glanced at the girl again and saw Cajara was looking at her.

  Cajara blushed and looked down at her hands.

  “Are you a candidate?” Arin asked her.

  Cajara shook her head without looking up.

  Champion Havtru answered for her. “Cajara’s a family friend. She only has affinity for a couple of spirits. Came along for the experience.”

  He’s a terrible liar, Arin thought. It was a flimsy excuse to bring someone across the border. “You should say she’s your niece at least. Recently lost her parents to spirits, you’re the only family she has left, and she refused to be left behind.”

  “Huh. Plausible enough.”

  Renet’s eyes bulged. “Wait—Cajara’s a candidate?”

  “She’s just my niece,” Havtru said, trying out the lie.

  Cajara glanced up, met Arin’s eyes, then looked down again. Her eyes are more lilac than gray, Arin thought. “It’s close to true,” Cajara said. “Champion Havtru feels like my only family.” Her voice was so light that her words were nearly lost in the night breeze.

  Champion Havtru patted her shoulder. “Just call me Uncle Havtru.”

  “Congrats on your new family,” Arin said to her.

  She offered a quick, shy smile, so fast that Arin almost didn’t see it in the flicker of campfire light.

  Arin wanted to ask her more, not about her family—that wasn’t get-to-know-you talk—but about her: what she thought about where they were and where they were going, whether she wanted to be here, whether she felt like she had to. Before she could frame any questions into words, Cajara shot to her feet.

  “What is it?” Champion Havtru was on his feet only a second later, his bow in his hand. He reached for an arrow from his quiver. Renet stood more awkwardly and drew a dagger from his waist.

  Pointing north, Cajara whispered, “The spirits at the border. Look.”

  At first Arin couldn’t see anything through the birch trees. But then her eyes picked out movement: loosely shaped like humans but vastly larger, the Semoian spirits were drawing together along the border, side by side.

  “What are they doing?” Arin whispered.

  From what she could tell, the giant spirits weren’t doing anything but standing in a row. Are they going to attack? But they weren’t facing Aratay. They were looking northward.

  “Waiting,” Cajara said softly.

  “For what?” Arin asked.

  Cajara was silent for a moment, with that faraway look that Arin’s sister always got when she was speaking with the spirits. “For something wonderful to happen,” she said. “Or something terrible.”

  They waited too.

  The spirits didn’t budge.

  Night darkened around them, and the fire dwindled. Renet gave up on the vigil and tended to the fire. Champion Havtru kept his bow in his hand but didn’t notch an arrow. Cajara didn’t move.

  While they watched the border, Arin watched her. She couldn’t put her finger on why the other girl was so fascinating. It wasn’t as if she’d talked much. But there was something both strong and vulnerable about her at the same time. It made Arin want to get to know her better.

  Why am I thinking about her when I should be worrying about the spirits?

  Then Cajara gasped and staggered back. Champion Havtru reached out and caught one arm, stopping her before she fell into the fire. Arin automatically braced her on her other side. She didn’t let go, even when Cajara steadied herself. “Are you all right?” Arin asked.

  “I . . . don’t know. Yes.”

  “What happened?” Champion Havtru asked.

  “Something. Everything. I don’t know.”

  She wouldn’t—or couldn’t—explain more. A few times she started to try to put whatever she’d felt into words, and then she’d stop, fall silent, and shake her head.

  Eventually, the stone giants on the border shuffled away, and the four travelers climbed into their bedrolls and stole bits of sleep until dawn crept across them. Arin dreamed of stone crushing her and of the earth gaping open beneath her feet.

  When Arin opened her eyes, it took her a minute to remember where she was, who she was with, and why she was here. And it took another minute to process the fact that there was a feathered air spirit perched on Cajara’s wrist.


  Fully awake now, Arin bit back a shriek.

  “It’s delivering a message,” Cajara said quietly. She seemed amused at Arin’s alarm, though it was hard to read her expression. She might have been merely happy that the sky was blue.

  Cajara nodded at Champion Havtru, who was reading a parchment that must have been rolled around the spirit’s leg—it still had a curl to the paper from being rolled up. Going back to looking at the spirit, she stroked the feathers on its neck.

  Arin watched her for a moment. “So you’re just a family friend—excuse me, niece—with affinities for only a few spirits?”

  “Yes.” Meeting her eyes steady, Cajara added in her soft, sweet voice, “And the queens want you to go to Semo to help.”

  “That’s right,” Arin said.

  And Cajara smiled at her—a smile so amazing, so just for her, that Arin felt herself blush. “Then I’d guess we’d better go to Semo together,” Cajara said.

  And Arin couldn’t help but think, I’d go with her anywhere.

  Chapter 24

  Ven wanted to leave without any fanfare, but Naelin said no, they couldn’t sneak away like thieves. Queen Merecot’s people deserved to know all was well, she argued. So Ven gritted his teeth and suffered through a ridiculous farewell ceremony that involved an endless stream of praise, platitudes, and other ridiculous nonsense.

  They’d be leaving Ambassador Hanna in Semo with Queen Merecot to handle the aftermath—they’d mutually decided not to share the details of what happened in the grove until after Ven, Naelin, and the children had passed beyond the borders of Semo. After they were long gone, Hanna would support Merecot in revealing that they’d jointly solved the problem of restless spirits, with a whole bunch of vague statements. There would be a lot more celebrating. But they’ll celebrate without us, Ven thought. And more important, without that spirits-be-damned tight shirt.

  That thought cheered him up.

  Once the official farewell was complete, Ven and Naelin mounted two flying water spirits, formerly Merecot’s but now tied to Naelin—not that anyone in the crowd knew that. The spirits were shaped like winged horses but had scales like a fish. Sparkly fish scales. Ven was trying not to think about how ridiculous he looked riding one.

  As the Semoians cheered, they took to the sky.

  The people of Semo believed the newlyweds were on their way to celebrate their marriage, alone and far from prying eyes, per Semoian tradition. In truth, they planned to circle back to the castle, scoop up Erian and Llor, and then exit the country with a few hundred spirits in tow.

  Not as romantic, but a lot more practical.

  Airborne, he clung to his mount as Naelin led them in a circle, behind a mountain peak, and then out again on the opposite side of the castle. The children would be waiting for them in the third spire—the windows were to be left open so Naelin and Ven could fly directly inside. Erian and Llor would be waiting, ready to go, Merecot had assured them.

  Ahead, Ven spotted the spire with the open window, exactly as Merecot had described. He ducked as they flew inside, even though the window was broad enough for twice his height. His spirit landed and folded its wings.

  “Erian? Llor?” Naelin was calling.

  “They should be right here, waiting for us.” Ven dismounted. He’d been there when Merecot sent instructions to her guards, before the wedding ceremony had begun—Naelin had insisted on human guards, not spirits. She didn’t trust the Semoian spirits, no matter how good Merecot claimed her control was.

  Naelin’s voice was tight. “They should be.

  “But they’re not.”

  Naelin tried not to panic. Not to think the worst.

  But she’d lost them once before.

  Not again. Not twice. Not when we were so close to bringing them home! “Merecot promised they’d be here. She promised to keep them safe, with guards. Where are their guards? Where are my children!”

  Ven shoved at the door. Kicked it.

  Solid, it didn’t even creak.

  Naelin felt her heart beat so fast that it hurt inside her rib cage. It was hard to swallow. “Erian! Llor!” She reached for a spirit—her mind curled around one of her new earth spirits.

  Grabbing control of it wasn’t as easy as with an Aratayian spirit, but she gave it no option to squirm away. She called it to her, and she felt it scurry up the side of the tower, making holes in the rock wall with its stone fists until it clambered over the windowsill.

  It was a squat, stone creature with a tortoiseshell back. It stood on its hind legs and regarded her with cold, liquid eyes. Open that door, Naelin commanded.

  How? it asked. Its mental voice felt like loose gravel pouring through her mind.

  Bash it down.

  The spirit liked that order.

  It rammed its body against the thick door, splintering the wood around the hinges, until it had battered through. Ven gave the wood a kick, and then he stepped through the broken frame.

  Naelin heard him gasp, and she felt a surge of glee from the earth spirit. She caught a glimpse through its eyes: red, smeared on the castle walls, and knew instantly:

  The guards are dead.

  “Where are my children?” she asked again. She felt her body begin to shake. “What has Merecot done with my children?” Sending her mind out again, she grabbed the nearest Semoian spirit—it wasn’t one of hers. She felt it resist her, but she forced it to come anyway.

  Tell me what happened here.

  It didn’t know.

  She sorted through its memories, but found nothing of Erian and Llor. Naelin reached for another spirit—it too knew nothing. “This is too slow. I need Hanna.”

  “I’ll bring her,” Ven promised.

  “Hurry,” she growled.

  Ven ran through the castle—he knew exactly where to find Ambassador Hanna, in her room with her four guards. He spoke as few words as possible: “Attack on the children. Naelin needs you.” And then he and the guards were carrying Hanna and her chair back through the castle, up the spire, as quickly as possible.

  A few Semoians tried to stop them and question them.

  He barreled through them, not caring who they alerted, and then up the stairs, past the murdered guards.

  Ven would not be stopped.

  Don’t let me be too late. Don’t let Naelin have done anything stupid. If she were to confront Merecot before they located the children . . . They didn’t know what Merecot wanted, or what she planned to do with them this time.

  He heard Hanna gasp as she saw the dead guards and then swear colorfully when they barged through the door. Lowering Hanna’s chair to the ground, he surged forward, ready to defend his new wife, and then stopped—

  Naelin was seated cross-legged in the center of the room.

  She’s fine, he thought with relief. But the spirits aren’t.

  Dozens of tiny Semoian spirits lay strewn around her, moaning in pain.

  “Teach me how to do it,” Naelin commanded Hanna. “How do I winnow through all their minds to find the spirits who know what happened? Some of them must have seen. This castle and these mountains are full of spirits. At least one must know what happened to my children!”

  Another fire spirit fell onto the hearth. It struggled as if against an invisible hand. Naelin held the spirit with her eyes as the spirit writhed.

  Hanna did not reply. Instead, she ordered her four guards to check the bodies, to see if anyone had survived, though from the quantity of blood Ven knew that was useless. She also ordered them to watch for any rogue spirits.

  “Shout if you need us, Ambassador,” Evenna said. Then she and the other guards jogged back into the corridor. “Champion, we’re trusting you to protect her.”

  Ven circled back to push Hanna’s chair closer, but she held up a hand to stop him. She beckoned to him, and he leaned down. Her voice was pitched low so Naelin couldn’t hear. “There’s little chance the children survived an attack this violent,” Hanna said heavily to Ven. “And there is a
very strong chance that those Semoian spirits witnessed her children’s deaths firsthand, and a strong chance those deaths were not painless. If Naelin were to see that in their memories, through their eyes, and watch her children die . . . Think about what could happen if Naelin loses herself again to rage and despair. The spirits she’s linked to are barely under control. She’ll fuel them, and they’ll rip this land apart.”

  “So? Let her rip it apart!” He caught himself. “No—I don’t mean that. We’ll keep her from destroying the world,” he tried to reassure Hanna.

  “How?” Hanna asked.

  “Somehow.”

  “‘Somehow’ isn’t good enough.”

  “It has to be good enough!” He held Hanna’s gaze for a long moment until she wilted. He felt an instant of guilt for that, bullying an old woman, but this was Naelin!

  “If this fails, it’s on you.” With that, Hanna wheeled herself across the room, to where Naelin sat cross-legged, deep in concentration already.

  Ven approached her as well, beside Hanna. He took Naelin’s hand in his.

  Naelin didn’t open her eyes. “I will have answers.”

  Softly, Ven said to Hanna, “Help her. Please.” He pleaded with his eyes—Help me save her, he thought—and at last she sighed again, this time a resigned sigh.

  “Spirit memory is partially collective,” Hanna said. “They share thoughts. An event like this—where a spirit tied to Semo ventured into Aratay—would have spread and been dissected. You need to chase it down to where it’s brightest and strongest. I recommend focusing on a single image: the gold in the children’s hair, for instance.”

  Ven watched as Hanna guided Naelin’s mind on her search. He’d never liked this part of being a champion, when he couldn’t follow his charge on her journey. He occupied himself with listening as the castle guards discovered the corpses.