Beaming at him, Sira nodded, then shook her head. “She wanted to surprise you.”
He looked up over Sira’s shoulder to see his mother tromping across the flower-filled fields. She had a sword in each hand, unsheathed, and was glaring at him as if this were all somehow his fault. Briefly, he wished he’d stayed in the training yard. “Mother? This is a surprise.”
His mother reached him, sheathed both swords, and hugged him. “You married a queen, founded a nation, and didn’t invite us to any of it.”
“Well, um, you were busy.” He hugged her awkwardly, her hard leather armor pushing against his, causing his chest piece to dig painfully into his skin. He smothered a wince as she released him.
“And what are you doing? Are you champion to your new queen? Where’s your candidate?” She peered over his shoulder as if expecting one to trot into view. Ven glanced beside them and saw several of the village’s children were clumped together, whispering, and a few of the adults were watching while pretending to go about their daily tasks. Two new arrivals was exciting news.
“I’m head of her guard.”
She snorted. “Do you even have champions? Heirs? Have you done anything right here?”
“I didn’t die,” he pointed out. “And neither did Queen Naelin.”
She dismissed that with another snort.
“Mother, you need to tell him how proud you are,” Sira said. “She told me. And she’s happy to see you.” Mother shot her a glare, crossed her arms, then transferred her glare to Ven. Ven wondered which part of everything he’d done she was most upset about, and then he decided it didn’t matter.
“Yes, I can tell.” To Mother, he said, “Would a blanket apology work?”
Mother snorted again. “You didn’t answer my question: does your queen have any champions?”
“Not yet.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Honestly, there have been a few details to work out. Housing people. Feeding people. Building cool castles.”
Sira looked admiringly at the odd red-rock towers that framed the view. “I like them.”
“Then I’m her first champion,” Mother said decidedly. “You were right, Sira. He does need us. Come on, boy, show us to our quarters. Your queen did make guest quarters, didn’t she? She can make us a permanent home later. There’s work to be done first.”
Ven didn’t have any answer to any of that, except to nod.
“And, Ven.”
“Yes, Mother?”
“I am proud.”
On her return to Semo, Arin went straight to the throne room. She was announced, and the castle guards opened the great doors for her, then shut them behind her.
“Your Majesty,” Arin said.
Queen Cajara smiled. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come back.”
Arin grinned at her, basking in her smile. “Like you could keep me away.” She crossed the throne room at a half-run. Laughing, Cajara jumped out of her throne and hugged her.
“Guess what? My parents came with me!” Arin said. “They’re settling into their rooms now, but they want to meet you.”
She saw Cajara’s pale eyes cloud with worry.
“They’ll love you,” Arin reassured her.
“The Semoians don’t love me,” Cajara said, pulling back and sinking into the throne again. She looked small in it. Carved from marble, it could have easily fit two or three queens. Checking to be sure there were no fussy courtiers lurking in any corners, Arin plopped onto the throne next to her. Together, they fit nicely.
“Tell me everything,” Arin said.
Cajara made a face. “It’s the dukes. Or barons. Or I don’t know. I can’t tell which is which, and I think the castle seneschal has been lying to me about who’s who because she wants me to embarrass myself.”
“So we’ll find a new seneschal,” Arin said. “What does Ambassador Hanna say?”
“She says give it time.” Cajara sighed. “But I don’t think time will help. I can’t do this, Arin! They look at me, and they see a little girl. Worse, a little Aratayian girl who doesn’t know their land, their people, or their customs.”
It was the longest speech Arin had ever heard Cajara say, which said a lot for how worried the new queen was. She squeezed Cajara’s hand. “Then we change their customs. Start with this: you don’t need them to love you. You don’t even need them to like you. You just need to be their queen, and that means keeping them safe from spirits, right?”
Cajara nodded slowly.
“So you take care of the spirits. Let Ambassador Hanna deal with the dukes and barons and so forth. You don’t need to meet with everyone all the time. Ask her to help.”
“Do you . . . do you think she will?”
“I think—”
But Arin didn’t get a chance to finish her thought. The throne-room doors slammed open, and Arin leapt off the throne. She scooted to the side as Cajara sat up stiffly—Arin quickly reached over and straightened Cajara’s crown, which had slipped askew.
A guard boomed, “The duke of Pellian!”
A man in a fur-trimmed robe stomped into the throne room. “Your Majesty, I demand to know why your spirits didn’t fix the North Bridge before beginning on the Southern Crossroad. It’s inexcusable that the bridge to my region should be neglected when trade from the Pellian Mountains comprises half of all trade in Arkon, a fact that you should know by now, if you cared at all about our country—”
As Cajara shrank back farther and farther into her throne, Arin wanted to yell at the man to make him stop shouting at her. But then she had a better idea.
Reaching into her pocket, Arin stepped forward. And blew a puff of powder in his face.
He collapsed to the floor, asleep.
“Arin!” Cajara half yelped, half whispered.
“Tell the spirits to fix the bridge,” Arin suggested. “We’ll wake him when it’s done.” She crossed the throne room and poked her head out the door. “Could you please ask Ambassador Hanna to come to the throne room? And don’t admit anyone else, especially the seneschal, per order of your queen.” She then returned to Cajara, who looked as if she couldn’t decide whether to wring her hands or burst out laughing.
“If all it will take is time,” Arin said firmly, in a tone she’d learned from Daleina, “then we’ll buy time.”
Cajara settled on laughing, quietly, with tears pricking her eyes. Looking at the snoring man flopped on the very ornate mosaic throne-room floor, Arin started laughing too.
They were still giggling when Ambassador Hanna rolled into the throne room. She stopped just shy of the sleeping duke’s feet. “Do I even want to know?” she asked mildly.
Cajara swallowed her laughter and wiped her eyes. “Arin was just reminding me that I’m here to be queen.” She began to look pale and frightened again as worry crept into her voice, and Arin reached out and took her hand. “Have I . . . Do you think we made things worse?”
Hanna snorted, then peered down at the man. “He’s the one who’s been going on and on to everyone about how you haven’t fixed the North Bridge, isn’t he? I assume he came in here ranting and raving?”
Cajara nodded.
“Serves him right then,” Hanna said. “He should have asked nicely. Only fools insult queens, even new queens.”
Beside her, Arin felt Cajara relax. She squeezed Cajara’s hand again, encouraging her. “When he wakes,” Cajara asked tentatively, “could you tell him that the North Bridge is fixed?”
“Will it be?”
“The spirits are there now.”
A smile spread across Hanna’s face. “Clever, girls. Very clever. When he wakes, I’ll tell him his queen works miracles. Let him spread that story instead. Perhaps I’ll also mention that he should work on his courtly manners.”
“Will you . . . will you meet with people like him, for me? Find out what they need?” Cajara asked, her voice still shaky and thin.
“Good idea. There’s no need for all your time to be swallowed in meetings,” Hanna
approved. “I’d be happy to be your go-between.”
“And I want to replace the seneschal,” Cajara said, sounding braver.
“Excellent.” Hanna sounded satisfied. “Never liked her. She let too many people pester you. This is a step forward. You don’t need to tolerate people who don’t respect you. And you don’t need to speak with everyone who has a grievance. You aren’t Queen Daleina. You’re Queen Cajara, and you’ll do things your way.”
Glancing at the duke, Hanna added in a pained voice, “Except maybe try not to put everyone to sleep.”
Arin and Cajara exchanged glances and, heroically, managed not to laugh.
Across Renthia, in the icy kingdom of Elhim, first whispers then rumors trickled in: the queens of Aratay and Semo had tried and failed to kill their spirits, and a new queen, called the Mother of the Wild, had tamed a piece of the wilderness that lay beyond the borders of the world.
Queen Xiya of Elhim listened to it all, with her beloved daughter beside her.
“Mother, is it possible? Can the untameable be tamed?” her daughter asked.
“Of course not, Kaeda. It’s only a story, a fable to instruct or entertain. You must concentrate on your studies and not be distracted by nonsense.” She then smiled at her daughter. “Now, show me what you’ve made.”
Cupping her hands together, Kaeda held up a rose made of ice.
Caught in its heart was a tiny spirit.
“Very nice,” Xiya approved.
As Kaeda beamed at her creation, she seemed to have forgotten all about the nonsensical rumors. But Xiya couldn’t forget. She woke in the night, wondering at what the truth was.
Rising, the queen of Elhim wrapped a robe around her shoulders and crossed to a bay of windows. Looking out the frost-laced windows of her ice palace, she wondered what lay beyond her borders, beyond the glaciers. She wondered if perhaps she should find out.
In Chell, Queen Gada heard the rumors and believed them, especially the part about the queen of Aratay and the queen of Semo joining forces, however briefly. That was the kind of rumor she worried about.
As she dismissed the anxious messenger, she weighed her options:
Do nothing.
Send an envoy.
Send an army.
Or perhaps a little of all three. Gada prepared envoys to congratulate the current queen of Aratay on retaining her throne, the new queen of Semo on gaining her throne, and the new queen of . . . whatever the new land was called . . . on whatever it was she did.
She then quietly readied her army.
Just in case.
And then she waited.
Word did not reach the islands of Belene at all.
And it wouldn’t, until Garnah reached those storm-battered shores. But that would not be for many months, and Garnah would be careful whom she told.
Panting, with her skirt hitched up, Daleina climbed the stairs to the Chamber of the Queen’s Champions. She stopped at the top, smoothed her skirt, and made a mental note to make a second chamber of champions much lower down in the palace, as soon as all the vital repairs elsewhere in Aratay were done. Which may be never, Daleina thought cheerfully. There was always another bridge that needed to be fixed, school that had to be built, and village that wanted to expand—and that in and of itself was amazing.
It was nice to be needed for tasks that didn’t involve preventing imminent death.
Given all that had happened, it was extraordinary that there were people in Aratay left to want bridges and schools and villages, and spirits left to built them. It could have so easily happened differently, she thought. She could have failed to stop Merecot, and everyone down to the very last man, woman, and child could have died. She could have been the last queen of Aratay, and her home could have ceased to exist.
Daleina wasn’t going to forget how close she’d come to the death of everything. Lifting her face, she felt the breeze and inhaled the sharp bite of coming cold. It would be winter soon, and she’d had the spirits whipped into a frenzy, growing berries and nuts for the people to store, building warmer shelters for everyone who had lost theirs. She’d kept them so busy that they hadn’t had a moment to dwell on their usual anger and hatred. We survived, spirits and humans, and that is extraordinary.
She’d spent time after she and Merecot had left the grove wallowing in guilt—she’d been the one to agree to Merecot’s plan. She’d abdicated and placed the future of her people at risk. The deaths that had occurred before she’d been able to claim the crown again were on her head, and before she’d wed, she’d led a funeral service in honor of all who had fallen.
But sorrow was an old friend by now, and she welcomed it in, embraced it, and then moved on to the business of being both freshly married and queen. Whatever mistakes she’d made, Aratay still needed her. Life goes on, and we live with our choices, she thought, and then smiled at herself, wondering when she’d become sanctimonious inside her own head. Maybe for my next feat, I’ll become a wise queen.
She sat in her throne and waited while her champions huffed up the stairs and filed in to claim their seats in a semicircle around the chamber. Several of them had left behind their armor and wore silver silk that clashed with their scarred faces and muscled arms, but it was nice to see them less battle-weary. All of them still carried weapons, of course—feeling safe didn’t mean being foolish. “My champions,” she addressed them when they’d all arrived, “please update me on your progress with my future heirs.”
Leaning back in her throne, she listened as one by one they made their reports. Several candidates sounded promising, and she asked to meet with them—Belsowik would set up audiences with them in between her other engagements. When they’d finished their reports, the champions went on to discuss the state of Aratay and the spirits, what they’d observed and what they thought the people needed. She listened carefully to all of it, nodding where appropriate, and thanking them all.
After everything, they still trust me, Daleina thought.
Unbidden, the old child’s chant came into her mind:
Don’t trust the fire, for it will burn you.
Don’t trust the ice, for it will freeze you.
Don’t trust the water, for it will drown you.
Don’t trust the air, for it will choke you.
Don’t trust the earth, for it will bury you.
Don’t trust the trees, for they will rip you,
rend you, tear you, kill you dead.
But they trust me, Daleina thought. Both the spirits and the humans. I am still their queen. And I’m not dead yet.
Queen Daleina of Aratay smiled at her champions and, reaching out to touch the minds of her spirits, allowed the first snow of winter to fall.
The wolf heard the humans talking and thought they were being silly. They wanted a name for Naelin’s new country, and everyone seemed to like the name that the boy Llor had suggested: Renetayn, a mushing together of Bayn’s name and Llor’s father’s.
It wasn’t that Bayn was particularly possessive of his name. It was more that the idea of naming a land as if it were your pup was ridiculous. He preferred to think of it merely as home. He supposed he’d never fully understand humans.
Trotting away from the thriving new village, Bayn climbed the rocky path to the cave of the Great Mother. He went inside.
The villagers kept the torches lit, but he could have found his way in the dark. He trotted through the tunnel until he reached the chamber with the bier. He sat beside the mossy body. He didn’t dwell on memories often—wolves existed in the moment, and he was more wolf now than anything he was before, whatever that was. But he did remember when the Great Mother died. He’d protected her until the end. Just as he’d then protected the young girls who grew to be the first queens. Just as he’d protect the new queen Naelin.
He was aware he was unusually old for a wolf. He was also aware that he’d done well. Contentedly, he curled himself beside the mossy body of his dead goddess.
She would ha
ve been pleased, he thought.
Even without her, her world lived on.
Acknowledgments
Being a writer means you spend your days falling in love with imaginary people. (And wolves. Or one wolf in particular. Love you, Bayn.) And then when you finish a book, you have to say goodbye to these people (and wolves) who have lived inside your soul for months.
Saying goodbye is triply hard with a trilogy.
Three* things make this farewell okay:
Non-imaginary family and friends who love you.
Lots of chocolate.
Readers who welcome your characters into their hearts, minds, and souls.
So I’d like to say thank you to my family and friends who put up with my disappearing into other worlds. And thank you to my wonderful readers (you!) for coming into these worlds with me.
The chocolate doesn’t need a thank-you. I already ate it.
But there are more people whom I do want to thank: my incredible agent, Andrea Somberg; my fantastic editor, David Pomerico; and my amazing publicist, Caro Perny, as well as Jennifer Brehl, Priyanka Krishnan, Pam Jaffee, Angela Craft, Shawn Nicholls, Amanda Rountree, Virginia Stanley, Chris Connolly, and all the other phenomenal people at HarperCollins who helped bring Renthia to life.
And thank you to my husband and my children. You make this world magical. I love you.
* Actually, there’s a fourth thing, which is to not say goodbye at all! As soon as I finish typing this, I’ll be diving back into Renthia to write a stand-alone novel set on the islands of Belene! Sorry, family, but you’re going to need to get me more chocolate . . .
About the Author
SARAH BETH DURST is the award-winning author of sixteen fantasy books for adults, teens, and kids, including the Queens of Renthia series; Drink, Slay, Love; and The Stone Girl’s Story. She won an ALA Alex Award and a Mythopoeic Fantasy Award, and has been a finalist for SFWA’s Andre Norton Award three times. She is a graduate of Princeton University, where she spent four years studying English, writing about dragons, and wondering what the campus gargoyles would say if they could talk. She lives in Stony Brook, New York, with her husband, her children, and her ill-mannered cat. Visit her at www.sarahbethdurst.com.
The Queen of Sorrow Page 43