The Queen of Sorrow

by Sarah Beth Durst

  But here we are. And the wounds ran both ways.

  “Occurs to me that you don’t have the best track record with friends. All of them seem to die around you. Maybe I’m better off not being your friend.”

  That felt like a knife in the gut. She thought of Mari and Linna and the others. Most days she was able to make it through several hours without thinking of them. Maybe someday she’d even be able to think of them without picturing them lifeless and blood-soaked in the grove, but not yet and not today. “Maybe Alet was better off not being your sister,” Daleina snapped, and then she sucked in air, trying to steady herself again. She could not afford to lose control, not with Merecot.

  “Ouch,” Merecot said. “So the queen does have teeth.”

  Be calm, she ordered herself. Think of Aratay. We need this peace. “Were you close to your sister?” She wanted to sound kind and gentle, but the best she could manage was calm and polite.

  “You want the sad, terrible story of Alet and my childhood?” Merecot asked.

  “You never talked about her, or about your family at all.”

  “It wasn’t a pleasant topic. Parents who didn’t want us, and poverty that nearly killed us. Escaped all that as soon as I could. How about you? You never talked much about the formative event of your childhood, the tragedy that set you on your path to your destiny.”

  Daleina looked down at her soup and realized she hadn’t even tasted it. Everyone knew her tragedy: Greytree. But few knew she still dreamed about her cousin Rosari, telling her stories until she fell asleep. Few knew she still saw the faces of her childhood friends, mixed with her classmates who had died on Coronation Day, as if death erased the time between them. She wished she could remember what they looked like alive better than she could picture what they looked like dead. Isn’t time supposed to fix that? “It wasn’t a pleasant topic either. What was the moment you knew that you wanted to be a queen?”

  Merecot picked up her spoon and ate more, as if she weren’t as uncomfortable with this as Daleina was. She must be, Daleina thought. But Merecot answered conversationally, as if this were just a pleasant chat between casual acquaintances, “I always knew. It was my destiny.”

  “I don’t believe in destiny.” She couldn’t believe in it. Daleina didn’t want to ever think her friends had been destined to die. It was a terrible thing that shouldn’t have happened.

  And it was because of me, not fate, that it wasn’t worse. I couldn’t save them, but I did the best I could, both in Greytree and in the grove, and prevented tragedy from becoming a pure disaster. She was proud of that. And she wasn’t going to foist either credit or blame onto some nebulous “destiny.” Even more firmly, Daleina said, “No—destiny has nothing to do with it. We shape our own future.”

  “If things continue as they have, we shape a bleak future, then. One day, the spirits’ more violent nature will win out, and they will destroy every human in Renthia. One day, the queens won’t be able to stand against them. One day, they will win and lose at the same time, and all this will end.” Gesturing as if she could encompass the entire world, Merecot swept her arms out and knocked over a decanter. It crashed to the ground, and wine seeped out into the carpet. “Wait—don’t call a servant to clean that.”

  “You intend to clean it?” Standing, Daleina scooped up an embroidered napkin, intending to sop up the wine. It was ruby red, made from grapes from the Southern Citadel, a rare vintage according to her seneschal. She’d chosen it as a peace offering, as well as the soup made from rare white truffles. I don’t even like mushrooms.

  Merecot caught her wrist. She no longer seemed casual or even calm. “I’m trying to tell you something important, Daleina.” She hesitated, as if warring with herself. “The spirits are plotting our destruction!”

  Daleina twisted her arm, pulling out of Merecot’s grip. She wasn’t sure what had prompted this change in tone. Merecot sounded almost desperate. “The spirits are always plotting our destruction, Merecot,” Daleina said patiently. “That’s what they do, and that’s why we’re here—to hold them back.”

  “What if we’re not enough?”

  “We have to be enough,” Daleina said. “We’re all there is.”

  She didn’t understand why Merecot was looking so feverishly intense. She felt prickles on her skin and glanced toward the door, where she knew Garnah was listening. Garnah had been here when the food was served, to check it all for poison, but then Daleina had dismissed her out of sight. She wondered if it would have been smarter to keep her in the room, as well as a few heavily armed guards. “Is it fear? Is that why you’re queen? Are you afraid of the spirits? I’m trying to understand you, Merecot. I really am. Help me understand. Why did you try to kill me?”

  “For my people. You know that.”

  “You could have come to me and asked for help.”

  “If I’d asked, you could have said no.”

  “So you went with murder as your first-choice option! Why?” She realized she was shouting but couldn’t stop. All the old anger felt like it was pounding inside of her, wanting to burst out of her. She wanted to scream at Merecot, to shake her, to rage like the spirits. “There were other ways! Queen Naelin found another way. You could have too! Was it a failure of imagination, or is there something else you want? Do you hate me so much? Is it greed? Ambition? You want to be queen of the world?”

  Merecot smirked. “Queen of the world. I like the sound of it. Yes, since you mention it, I do want to be queen of the world.”

  There it is. Greed and ambition. Daleina puffed her breath out, feeling strangely disappointed. It was such a small, petty reason to do what Merecot had done. She felt herself deflate, her anger dribbling out, replaced by a kind of pity. “I expected more from you.”

  “More than queen of the world?”

  “Better from you.” She studied her old friend sadly. Merecot was thinner than she should be, her cheeks sunken beneath her prominent cheekbones, as if she hadn’t been eating, and she had shadows under her eyes, as if she hadn’t been sleeping. Her black hair was pinned harshly back, the white streak as visible as a bolt of lightning. Her jeweled crown was tight around her forehead, tight enough to leave a mark. “You were the best. Everyone thought so. Even Headmistress Hanna believed it. You could have—”

  Dropping back into her chair, Merecot slammed her palms on the table, knocking her spoon to the floor. “By the spirits, you are so sanctimonious! You think you’re better than me, that your purpose is more noble than mine. And what is this grand purpose of yours? To survive? To eke out another day for the people of Renthia? Another day where they all live in fear, never knowing if it’s their last day, never knowing if they’re going to be torn to bits while their family watches, helpless. It’s a pathetic life you want for our people. I want more! I want an end to fear! I want the world to be the way it should be, for our people to live their lives as they choose, to trust that they will have a future to live.”

  Daleina had never seen Merecot so serious or so passionate. She stopped scrubbing the spilled wine. “Merecot, what are you saying?”

  Lowering her voice to a whisper, Merecot leaned down and said, “I want to destroy the spirits. All of them. And I know how to do it.”

  Merecot spread her napkin over the wine stain on the carpet. Clutching one already-stained napkin as if it were a security blanket, Daleina was staring at her with a shocked expression. Merecot resisted rolling her eyes. You’d think after being queen, she’d have learned to hide her emotions. She’d expected her words to have an impressive effect, but Daleina was silent. A queen shouldn’t ever be struck dumb.

  That said, it had been a dramatic statement. One she hadn’t planned to share before coming here. And as expressive as Daleina’s face was, Merecot still wished she could read her thoughts. “Come on, Daleina. Look lively. You have to admit it has appeal.”

  “You can’t destroy them,” Daleina sputtered. “Destroying the sprits would destroy Renthia.”


  “I can prevent that.”

  “You can’t!” She was shaking her head. “The land will die. You’ve seen the barren areas in Aratay—you caused plenty of them. You’d turn all of Renthia into a wasteland.”

  “Don’t be silly, Daleina. You think I’d suggest this if I hadn’t thought it through?” No one else had enough power to conceive of the possibilities. But she knew it was possible. And so had Jastra. If she could make Daleina see even a hint of the beautiful future Merecot could imagine . . . Then maybe I won’t have to kill her. Please, Daleina, be willing to listen! “You want to save people, right? That’s your thing.”

  “I . . .” Daleina stopped, studying her. “Yes?”

  “You’re a hero.” Surprisingly difficult to say that without sounding sarcastic, Merecot thought. But she meant it. Daleina was a hero, like out of one of those piercing canopy-singer ballads, annoyingly consistently noble.

  “I just want to keep people safe.”

  Merecot believed her. That had always been true. I was a fool to not take it into account. She blamed Jastra—the older queen had been convinced that none of the other queens would understand, that they all valued their power too much, and that they’d be unwilling to give it up even for the good of the world. But Daleina . . . she was honorable and self-sacrificing and all the goody-goody characteristics that made a person heroic.

  “I’m sorry I tried to have you killed,” Merecot said.

  She meant it. She should have talked to Daleina. Not about the excess spirits, but about all of it. Daleina was just heroic enough to agree.

  And if she says no, killing her is still on the table.

  Jastra would have loved that.

  Merecot wasn’t worried about the guards that she knew were posted outside the door. If she killed Daleina, she’d do it fast this time, and no one would dare attack her after—with Queen Naelin gone and no heir available, they’d need her to stop the spirits of Aratay from killing everyone. She would be the only one in all of Aratay with the power to seize the crown.

  I can’t lose. Either way, yes or no, I move forward.

  But if Daleina says yes . . . It would be nice if I could avoid murdering the one person alive in the world who ever wanted to be my friend.

  Not essential . . . but nice.

  It occurred to her that Daleina hadn’t responded to her apology. “I don’t want to kill you anymore,” Merecot pushed.

  “Happy to hear that,” Daleina said, no emotion in her voice.

  I can’t quite blame her for not believing that. Merecot smirked, then sobered. “So we’re clear, I will if I have to. But you’re wrong about why. I don’t want to be queen of the world because of the power. I want it because it’s my destiny, because I am the strongest queen who has ever lived, and that means I am the one who can save Renthia. I can destroy the spirits once and for all.” She gripped the table as she stood. “You invited me here to see what I have up my sleeve. This is it. I want to save the world. The question is:

  “Will you save it with me?”

  Daleina folded the napkin she’d been clutching, laid it on the table, and excused herself. I’m not fleeing, she told herself. I’m taking a moment to gain perspective.

  Just keep telling yourself that.

  She heard Merecot call after her, “I’m telling the truth! We have the same purpose. My vision is just grander than yours, because I’m more powerful. I’ve always been more powerful. That’s why I’m the only one who can do this, and that’s why you need to abdicate and let me do what I’m destined to do!”

  Daleina stepped through the door to the side of the chamber, between the tapestries, and shut it behind her. “Is she telling the truth?” she asked Garnah.

  Garnah barked a laugh. “She thinks she is.”

  Daleina began to pace, trying to sort out her thoughts and separate reason from wild hope. “I’ve never heard Merecot talk like this. She seems to believe everything she’s saying.”

  “And why shouldn’t she? Yet ask yourself this: Does it make it true? Do you believe she knows how to destroy the spirits? It would be an impressive feat that no queen has achieved in the history of Renthia.” She looked at Daleina shrewdly. “But you didn’t come out here to ask for my opinion.”

  “You’re right.” Daleina knew her own past experience with Merecot was coloring her impression of her words. She wanted to believe that Merecot spoke the truth. If she truly had a way to destroy the spirits, it would explain so much of what Merecot had done. And it would be incredible. Life-changing for everyone. An end to the pain, the death, the fear! Peace, like no one in Renthia has ever known! It seemed to be both too much to hope for and everything she’d ever dreamed of. “I want you to talk to her. Pretend to be a servant sent to clean up the wine spill and distract her. See what she reveals to you.”

  Perhaps surprisingly, Garnah once again didn’t argue, let alone bristle at being asked to be a servant. Daleina didn’t have time to worry about that, though, as the poison master bustled through the door to distract Merecot. While that was happening, Daleina reached out to brush the minds of the spirits in Mittriel and outside the city. There were hundreds, under the earth, in the trees, in the air, small and large, burrowing and flying and slithering and crawling, breathing life into the land and then choking it.

  One by one, Daleina sent them away from Mittriel. She drew them out of the city, sending them toward the empty swaths of forest where there were few if any to harm. She persuaded the Aratayian spirits who surrounded Merecot’s eagle spirit from Semo to bring that spirit with them, and they were only too happy to oblige.

  In short order, the capital city was empty of all spirits.

  Fires fizzled, though they didn’t die. The breeze slowed until there was stillness in the air. If anyone had measured such a thing, they would have seen that the plants were growing slower, and that the water in the streams far below had slowed to a trickle. The spirits weren’t dead, merely absent, and it would only be for a time.

  Just long enough for Daleina to convince Merecot to tell her her whole plan, without a single spirit overhearing.

  Merecot paced as an old servant woman bustled into the room and began sprinkling a powder on the wine stain. I shouldn’t have spoken, Merecot thought. I scared her off. Daleina won’t understand. She can’t comprehend having the kind of power to do what needs to be done. Daleina didn’t know what it was like to have complete control over thousands of spirits, to hold their minds inside hers and know she could snuff them out in a moment. It can be done! I only need to be a little stronger . . .

  If Merecot could hold both Semo and Aratay, she should be strong enough.

  And then once the other countries saw her success, they’d agree to let her save them as well. All she needed to do was get Daleina to abdicate.

  Or kill her.

  But I’d prefer if she were willing. Jastra had never considered that possibility, but then the old queen had never met a queen as idealistic as Daleina.

  She told herself to be patient.

  I hate being patient.

  Merecot smelled a lemony spice that made her nose wrinkle and looked over to see the powder had eaten through the rug and was working on dissolving the wood floor. She marched over. “What are you doing?”

  “I’ve never been very good at housecleaning.” Standing, the servant dusted her knees off and smiled at Merecot. It was a predatory kind of smile that made Merecot think of the mountain cats that hunted on the slopes of Semo. Instinctively, she recoiled.

  “You’re not a servant.”

  “Very observant, Your Majesty. I’m here to watch you while Queen Daleina composes herself in the washroom. Whatever you two were talking about shook her up. Were you threatening to poison her again? Incidentally, I wanted to ask you, where did you obtain such a fascinating poison? I’d never seen its equal. Brilliant use of extract of wheat viper venom. And it must have been combined at extraordinary temperatures to activate the linseed.”

  “
Who are you?” Merecot asked.

  “Master Garnah, the Queen’s Poisoner, at your service,” the woman said with a bow. “Actually, that’s a lie. I’m not in your service in the slightest. I serve Queen Daleina, at least for as long as it suits me. But I do admire your style.”

  Merecot eyed the powder that had bored a shallow divot in the floor. “Thank you? Um, do you plan to do something about that before it creates a hole?”

  The woman pulled a vial out of a pocket in her skirt and poured a few drops onto the powder. It sizzled and steamed, and then the powder shriveled into a ball of gray dust.

  Merecot decided this “Poison-Master Garnah” was the most interesting person she’d met in a long while. “Are you the one who fashioned the antidote to the poison used on Queen Daleina?”

  “I may have been involved. Who concocted it?”

  “It was a gift,” Merecot said.

  Garnah leaned forward eagerly. “From whom?”

  Merecot debated herself for a brief moment, then decided to tell the truth. “I found it in the royal treasury, shortly after I claimed the throne. It was labeled as a coronation gift from the former queen of Belene to my predecessor, Queen Jastra, decades ago.”

  “Fascinating. And how did you know it was a poison and what it did?”

  “It came with a detailed letter. Apparently, the queen of Belene was looking for allies outside the islands—the coronation process in Belene is rather brutal.” Merecot hadn’t really dug much deeper than that—she wasn’t all that interested in the politics of Belene, at least not yet. One country at a time.

  “Really? I live in the wrong place. They use poison?”

  “So it seems. For whatever reason, Queen Whatever-Her-Name-Was thought Jastra would appreciate the gift. She didn’t have a use for it before she abdicated, but I did.”

  “Intriguing,” Garnah said.

  “Are you close to Queen Daleina?” Merecot asked. She wondered why Daleina would send her pet poison maker to talk. Was it to intimidate Merecot? To threaten her? What is Daleina up to now? “Can you tell me how she feels about being queen?”