And it was Arin who identified the poison: a mix of heartease, soldier grass, and six other compounds that no one should have ever thought to mix together. Crowding around the workbench, the three of them stared at the innocent-looking amber liquid.
“Now,” Mother said, “we get to work.”
Headmistress Hanna felt every bone creak as she climbed the palace stairs. She hadn’t been in the Queen’s Tower for years, and she didn’t miss it. Her own office was high enough, thank you very much, but one didn’t ignore a summons from the queen just because it was inconvenient or uncomfortable—which this most certainly was. She was puffing by the time she reached the top.
Several others were already squeezed into the tiny space: Queen Daleina, Champion Ven, Champion Piriandra, the palace seneschal, and two chancellors, who were both folded into wooden chairs and looked unhappy either because of the situation or their seating arrangements. Or perhaps they were unhappy because of the large wolf curled at their feet.
And most surprising of all: Candidate Naelin.
Hanna was certainly not expecting her. Still, she hadn’t gotten to where she was in life without having a little patience. Hanna knew all—or at least, most—would be explained.
“Are you well?” Ven asked the headmistress.
“Old age,” she replied. “Nothing that a bit of death won’t cure.”
One of the chancellors, a man with a full beard—Chancellor Isolek, her memory supplied—sprang to his feet and offered her his chair. Hanna motioned for him to sit back down. If Hanna sat down, she knew her muscles would clench and it would be that much harder to stand again.
“Thank you for coming,” Queen Daleina said to all of them. “Rumors will start flying soon, as news trickles in from the north. Until then, this is the most private place in Aratay. Naelin will be keeping away any spirits while we talk.” Hanna noticed that Naelin was focused out the window. Her fists were clenched, and her eyes were scanning the night sky and the dark forest canopy below. Hanna knew she wasn’t looking with only her eyes, which meant she had advanced much since they had last met.
It was a crisp night, and the wind blew through the open windows of the tower. The flames in the lanterns wavered, and shadows crossed the queen’s face. She looks tired, Hanna thought. So do we all. She doubted many in the kingdom had slept much since the queen had announced her illness.
Champion Piriandra was scowling. “Why are we here?”
“To the point, then . . . we are being invaded. It has already begun.” As Hanna gasped, Daleina smiled sadly at the two chancellors. “I was correct: they are coming from the north, straight to Mittriel.”
“I know you take no joy in that,” Chancellor Quisala said stiffly.
“They sense weakness,” Piriandra said, and Hanna wanted to scold her for the hostile tone of her voice. Young or not, inexperienced or not, powerful or not, Daleina was queen.
“Here is what we know,” Ven said, stepping in before she could say anything. “Queen Merecot arranged for Queen Daleina to be poisoned, using a slow-acting concoction that masqueraded as a natural illness.”
“Presumably she guessed that I would react exactly the way I did: keeping our soldiers in Mittriel to protect my people in case I lost control, rather than sending them to the borders,” Daleina said. Hanna had the sense she’d pace if she could, but the tower was too cramped. Instead she fidgeted, twisting the sleeves of her gown and fiddling with the pearl embellishments. “I do not regret this decision, though it nearly proved disastrous—Merecot effectively silenced whatever minimal border guard we have. We received no warning through them when the invasion began.”
“Then how did you know?” Piriandra asked again.
“I can feel them,” Daleina said simply.
Ven spoke again. “We believe Queen Merecot used this poison in order to buy herself time to gather Semo’s soldiers and spirits at our border.”
“We will send our troops north to intercept,” Chancellor Isolek said, rising. “If we begin immediately, they can be in Birchen by—”
“No,” Daleina said. “We make our stand in Mittriel. I want every soldier, every champion, and every candidate positioned at the northern edge of the city.”
Chancellor Quisala gasped. “But the border towns! You can’t—”
Daleina cut her off. “We must. Naelin, how far can you reach?”
Naelin didn’t move from the window. “No more than two miles from the northern border of the city. Keep them within that line, and I can do it.”
“Who’s she?” Champion Piriandra demanded. “I don’t take orders from a candidate.”
“She’s my heir,” Daleina said.
Champion Piriandra began shouting, as did Chancellor Isolek and Quisala. It wasn’t done! The trials had to be held! She couldn’t—she wouldn’t—she didn’t—
When they finally took a breath, Headmistress Hanna spoke. “She has proven herself to you?”
“She has,” Daleina said.
“Then that is sufficient for me.” Hanna quelled the others with a look. After all, she had decades of experience training and evaluating potential heirs. She surmised that this was why Daleina had requested her presence, to lend credibility to the queen’s decision. “This is not a time to be without an heir. A trial now would be both a luxury and a foolish risk, and there are no other suitable candidates. It is Naelin or no one.”
The others fell silent. Piriandra visibly swallowed back whatever she planned to say. “Champion Piriandra”—Daleina turned to her—“I appoint you to lead the champions and their candidates. You are one of our most experienced champions.”
Straightening her shoulders, Champion Piriandra said stiffly, “With all due respect, Your Majesty, I may not be your best choice. My misjudgment has cost two candidates their lives.”
“I can’t speak to the first candidate’s fate, but as to the second . . .”
Hanna saw the queen hesitate.
Ven spoke for her. “She was murdered, Piriandra. We believe your candidate Beilena was killed by an agent of Semo, on orders from Queen Merecot.”
“Her death was not your fault,” Daleina said.
All the color drained out of the champion’s face. Her hand drifted to her sword hilt. Headmistress Hanna laid her own hand on Piriandra’s shoulder. “Revenge will come later,” Hanna told her quietly.
“No revenge,” Daleina said. “I need you focused on protecting our soldiers. Can you do this? Lead the champions with their candidates? Protect our soldiers from whatever spirits Merecot sends against them?”
“Of course.” Piriandra bowed.
“Chancellors, you will focus the troops on the human enemy. It’s a single squadron. You should be able to hold them. Chancellor Quisala, you will command the soldiers in the northeast of the city, and Chancellor Isolek, the northwest. We cannot let Merecot take the capital.”
“But the spirits—” Isolek protested.
“We will protect you from them,” Champion Piriandra promised.
“Only those that attack the troops directly,” Daleina told the champion. “Let the others pass you. Do you understand? Keeping Merecot and her soldiers out of Mittriel is your sole goal.”
Piriandra objected. “If the spirits—”
“Heir Naelin will handle the spirits that target the city. Your duty is to the soldiers. Do not let them take the capital. Headmistress Hanna”—Daleina turned—“you must protect the academy. I believe that Merecot will send forces to attack you and your students directly. Her strategy has been to remove anyone with power. The academies will be among her prime targets. Inform your colleagues, and then prepare your students.”
Hanna suppressed a shudder. Surely Merecot wouldn’t attack students. They were children! Then again, she wouldn’t have thought Merecot would attack her homeland either. So yes, if she did, then Hanna would guard them—with her life, if necessary. “We will be ready,” Hanna promised. Her teachers would all make the same promise, she knew.
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Daleina turned to the seneschal. “Refugees will be coming from the north and northeast. People will be frightened. They’ll flee to the palace.”
He bowed. “We will keep them out.”
She shook her head. “I want you to let them in. Open the storerooms. Distribute supplies. Set up cots in the throne room and halls. Use the palace however you see fit to house as many as you can.”
The seneschal looked pleased. “It will be so.”
“Your Majesty,” Chancellor Isolek protested, “won’t Queen Merecot target the palace?”
“She will, but as a prize. She won’t destroy it,” Daleina said. “She wants it for herself. And we will not let her take it. She will not rule here.”
Hanna had never been more proud of her than she was in that moment. Daleina looked every inch a queen. There would be many more tales written about her, many more songs sung, beginning with the story of this moment.
Assuming anyone lives to tell it, Hanna thought.
Chapter 31
Daleina gripped the tower window. Wind whipped against her. Leaves swirled over the city, and the trees swayed. She could feel them: the foreign spirits. They were flowing across the forest like a wave, sweeping away everything in their path.
Merecot’s earth spirits were tearing through the land, causing bedrock to tilt and pierce through the surface. The land shifted, and the trees toppled. Daleina felt her own spirits howl in rage. But Naelin was holding them back, within two miles of the city.
The enemy wasn’t close enough.
It was sound logic: if Daleina controlled them and blacked out, they’d feel her death and turn on her people. If that happened outside of Naelin’s range, there would be no stopping them. So it was better to wait and let Naelin control them from the start. Avoid the risk altogether.
Daleina dug her fingers into the wood and wished she dared command them. North of the city, people were fleeing from the destruction. Their homes were crumbling around them. The very earth was betraying them. She was betraying them. She’d sworn to protect them, and here she was, seemingly doing nothing while they lost their homes, possibly even their lives.
I could abdicate, she thought. She could let Naelin take the crown now. Naelin could then command the spirits throughout Aratay . . . unless she couldn’t. Unless the coronation failed. There had never been a coronation ceremony with only a single heir, and there was no guarantee the spirits would accept Naelin. Plus she’d need to take the crown without the traditional seven-day grace period. Daleina had no proof that the spirits would even accept a new queen without those seven days. They might, if the new queen were powerful enough—the seven days could be mere tradition—but she didn’t know for certain. No, it was too great a risk. She’d hold out and wait, until the spirits reached the capital, until Hamon had her cure. He had to find it.
Alet . . .
No, I can’t think about her right now. Not yet. She’d lost so many friends, to death and now betrayal. Every loss felt like another bit of her soul was sliced away. She wasn’t certain how much more she could take, but she wasn’t ready to give up. Abdicating felt like failure. “Am I being selfish, Ven?” she asked softly.
He was beside her, close enough to hear. Naelin was on his other side—she gave no sign that she’d heard Daleina, and Daleina hoped she hadn’t. “You must be. Aratay needs you.”
“Naelin could do it.”
“I’m not burying another queen,” Ven said.
So she held her power in check and kept the spirits close.
The chancellors had issued orders to her soldiers. She knew they waited as well, as the refugees poured into the capital. Her seneschal was welcoming as many as he could. He’d had tents set up in the gardens. The palace cooks were distributing food, and the caretakers were handing out blankets and other supplies. She’d received word from Hamon that her sister was with him—Arin was safe, at least for now, and if they could keep the invaders out of Mittriel, she’d stay safe.
“I hate waiting,” Ven said.
Daleina nearly laughed. He sounded like a grumpy child. A choked giggle burst out of her lips. She swallowed it back in.
From near one of the tower windows, Naelin snorted. “You should like waiting. When the waiting ends, the killing and dying begins. I’d rather wait an eternity.”
“You don’t feel it? The taste of the air, the beat of your heart—there must be a part of you that wants to release all your coiled energy. Strike out. Let loose your anger and your fear.”
“Mostly fear,” Naelin said. “How am I supposed to defeat a queen?”
“You just have to hold her and her spirits back until Hamon finds the cure,” Ven told her. “You don’t need to defeat her; you just need to buy time. Until Daleina can fight too.”
Except Merecot was always stronger than me, Daleina thought, but she didn’t say it out loud. It was the best and only plan they had. Daleina’s advantage was that she was defending her home. Her people. Her sister. She hoped that would be enough.
Daleina leaned out the window and looked across the canopy, across Aratay. The enemy was close enough to see: a thickness in the air, like a fog that hung heavily over the forest. It was a wall that advanced toward them. She wanted to strike at it.
“There’s a new mountain.” Daleina pointed. A peak, or the shadow of one, rose out of the swirling swarm. Merecot’s changing our land. My land.
“We’ll fix it,” Naelin said. Her voice was kind—she must have seen, or guessed, at Daleina’s feelings. “After the killing and the dying will come the cleaning and the recovering.”
“You can’t be looking forward to that part?” Ven looked incredulous, like Naelin had just told him that she didn’t like his beard. Daleina wondered if he felt fear, underneath all his casual bravery. He must. She wondered if he was hiding it for her sake or his own.
“You can stop trying to glorify battle,” Naelin told him. “I won’t like it, no matter how exhilarating you claim it is. It’s better to avoid a fight than win one. Even Queen Merecot doesn’t want a fight. That’s why she used Alet.”
Daleina widened her eyes. “You’re right,” she gasped. Queen Merecot didn’t want to destroy Aratay; she wanted to rule it. Daleina had realized that when she’d looked at the map with the chancellors. She’d known it when she’d invited the refugees into the palace. But she hadn’t fully followed the thought to its logical conclusion. Merecot wanted to become Queen of Aratay as well as Semo. To do that, she needed to claim both the capital and the spirits. “You need to go to the grove. Now.”
Both Naelin and Ven stared at her.
“What?” Naelin said.
“We aren’t leaving you,” Ven said simultaneously.
Naelin nodded. “Your Majesty, we’re here to defend you.”
“The attack. The grand entrance. Why is she doing this?” Daleina didn’t wait for them to answer her. Up until today, Daleina had assumed that Merecot didn’t know about her illness—all her strategy had been based on that assumption—but of course Merecot knew about it. She’d caused it. Merecot had always been stronger—in a head-to-head battle, it would take all of Daleina’s strength and cleverness to keep her out of the city, which Merecot knew. She was trying to force Daleina to use all her power to defend her capital—she was trying to trigger a false death. And she’d had Alet kill off any candidates who could take the crown. Oh, Alet, how could you? Sister or not, queen or not, you should have refused her! “It’s brilliant. She didn’t bring her spirits and soldiers to conquer the city. She brought them to protect it.”
Ven pointed out the window at the approaching storm of spirits. “That’s an invasion.”
“Yes, now. But when I fall . . . She plans to use the invasion to force me to trigger a false death, and in the midst of the chaos, she will walk into the Queen’s Grove. She’ll try to crown herself, during the invasion, not after! And the people will support her because, in the meantime, her spirits will be saving them. She wins the pow
er, the land, the spirits, the people—everything she ever wanted—all at once.” Which meant there was one way to outsmart her. One way to win. Daleina fixed both of them with the fiercest expression she could. “She doesn’t know Alet failed to kill you. You have to stop her. Go to the grove. Now.”
“What will you do?” Naelin said.
“I will be queen, for as long as I can.”
Naelin hated to use the air spirits for travel, but she saw little choice. Reaching out, she beckoned to one. Fly with us. She didn’t make it a command. As Daleina had taught her, she tempted instead—she picked a restless spirit, one that didn’t like being held at the border, and reeled it in like a fish on a line. It came eagerly. Climbing onto the window ledge, she held her hand out to Ven. “You’ll like this part,” she told him.
He raised his eyebrows. “We jump?”
“Yes,” she said, and leaped from the window, yanking him with her. For one terrifying, exhilarating minute, she plummeted, and then the air spirit was there. She thudded onto its back. Ven landed diagonal with her and quickly righted himself. He helped her sit upright and wrapped his arms around her stomach.
“See, I think you secretly crave adventure,” Ven said, “but you think you shouldn’t.” She could hear the forced lightness in his voice—inside, she knew he was twisted with worry. They were leaving their queen.
She forced lightness into her voice too. “Oh? You know me so well now?”
“Yes.” His voice was warm in her ear. “Right now, you are trying to decide whether it would be worth the risk of my falling if you were to elbow me for being obnoxious.”
Naelin couldn’t help herself: she laughed. “You’re just trying to distract me from being afraid.” She twisted to look at him. Seated on the air spirit behind her, he was very close, less than an inch away. “Thank you,” she said, and then she kissed him.
He cupped her face in his hands as he kissed her back, deeply, sweetly. The wind raced around them, and she felt the air spirit skim the tops of the trees. The first rays of sunrise spread across the leaves, lighting them in green and gold.