The Queen of Sorrow

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. I think he wasn’t protecting Aratay; I think he was protecting the queen. I think he was more than the first champion. And do you know what else I think?” She lowered her voice even further. “I think Ven is your Protector. He loves you. I can see it. Feel it. He would set aside his fear of death for you. He would follow you into death.”

  Naelin felt herself blush.

  Laughing, Sira wiggled down the branch, descending fast from the canopy. The peal of her laughter lingering behind. Naelin hung on as the thin branches shook. The crisp autumn leaves clicked and crackled as they smacked together from the movement. Only when it steadied enough did Naelin feel safe enough to climb down too.

  As she descended, the branches closed above her, blocking off the starlight and moonlight until she was climbing into shadows. Naelin thought about reaching out to a spirit to help her—but no, she would not depend on them. She reached with her foot down for the next branch. Soon, she’d switch to ropes, but she couldn’t remember exactly how far until the ropes began—

  She felt hands on her waist, steadying her. “Rope ladder is to your left. Reach out and you’ll have it,” a familiar voice said in her ear. Ven.

  He held her as she reached, stretching her fingers and pawing at the empty air, until the tips of her fingers touched the rough dryness of a rope. Her hand closed around it.

  With Ven, she climbed the ladder onto a platform. Below was the warm light of his mother’s house. She heard voices rising up from it—the cascading light laugh of his sister, Sira, and the knife-sharp voice of his mother, Zenda.

  Ven’s arms were still around her waist.

  The shadows felt like a blanket around her, and she leaned her head back against Ven’s chest and listened to him breathe. She supposed this meant he’d survived his “talk” with his mother. She thought about asking how he was, but instead just let the silence wrap around both of them.

  The First went into the untamed lands and came out.

  It was just a bit of a nearly forgotten legend.

  But that title “Protector” . . . Merecot had used that title to refer to Bayn. Why? What did it mean? It was a tenuous thing, a single word in common between a song and a letter. Yet it felt like there was a connection between the two, and she was determined to find out what it was. After we save Erian and Llor, maybe there’s a chance we can also save Bayn! All this hope was a heady thing—it made her feel like anything was possible. “Tomorrow we’ll reach Queen Merecot,” Naelin said.

  “Yes.”

  Then maybe we’ll have answers, including why she targeted Bayn. And what she wants from me. “Good. I’m ready.”

  “Naelin . . . I need to know . . .”

  She waited, thinking about what Sira had told her, about how he loved her. I love him. But she couldn’t remember if she’d ever told him. If he says the words, I will. I won’t even hesitate.

  “Are you still planning to kill her?”

  She startled and then nearly laughed at herself for thinking that Ven was thinking about romance when he was busy plotting how to keep his queen from committing murder. “I don’t know. Rescue first, then I’ll think about revenge.”

  “Just don’t . . . I don’t want to lose you to revenge. If you lose control again . . .”

  Naelin did laugh then, though it wasn’t anything to laugh about. He was afraid of her, of what she’d do, of the harm she could bring to the people of Semo and the people of Aratay . . . people like his sister, Sira, who didn’t deserve to suffer because of Naelin’s rage and despair.

  “I’m going to see this through, as I promised,” Naelin said. “I’m not going to harm Queen Merecot unless she tries to hurt us first.” I am, though, going to ask her a few questions, after she returns my children. Naelin turned then, within the circle of Ven’s arms. Reaching up, she touched his face, felt the stiffness of his beard and the weathered softness of his cheek, and before she could remind herself that she had no feelings anymore, she kissed him.

  He kissed her back, tentatively at first but then more desperately, as if he were a drowning man and she could save him.

  She wasn’t certain she could save anyone.

  But she didn’t stop kissing him.

  In the palace in Mittriel, Daleina woke, stretched, and felt the silken sheets slip over her naked body. She then curled against a sleeping Hamon and worried about whether she’d sent Queen Naelin to her death—and by extension, Ven.

  “Did I make a mistake?” she whispered into the darkness.

  Hamon shifted and mumbled, “Of course you didn’t.”

  She laughed, despite herself. “You don’t even know what I’m referring to.”

  He flopped one arm across her stomach. “Don’t need to. You’re alive. That’s proof enough.” Snuggling closer, he burrowed his face into her neck. She felt his breath hot against her skin.

  It was sweet that he was so supportive, but his statement was ridiculous. “There’s a lot of space between no mistakes and death.”

  He lifted his head and sounded more awake and serious. “Not for you.”

  Hard to argue with that. “But what if—”

  He placed a finger over her lips. “No.”

  “‘No’ what? You don’t know what I’m going to say.” She kissed his finger.

  “You’re going to second-guess yourself.” Moving his finger, he kissed her, his lips soft on hers. “Nothing good comes from that. All you can do is move forward. Make the next decision. When I’ve a patient, I can’t take back the medicine I’ve given her, even if it doesn’t work. All I can do is treat the next set of symptoms, even if my medicine caused them.”

  “If Queen Naelin dies, there’s only me. Aratay still has no heirs.”

  “The champions are training more.”

  She noticed he didn’t say Naelin would be fine. “Not quickly enough.” Wrapping a sheet around herself, she extracted herself from the bed and crossed to the balcony. She pushed open the door and stepped outside. The cool night air danced around her, and she wondered what time it was. It was impossible to tell looking out into the forest, but it was still late enough that the city of Mittriel was a black tangle, with the few scattered lights looking like distant stars caught in its branches. She should try to go back to sleep. She wasn’t sure she could, though. They should be near the edge of the forest now, she thought. One more day, and they’ll be beyond where I can keep them safe.

  “What if it’s all part of her plan?” Daleina asked.

  “Queen Merecot’s?”

  She heard sheets rustle and then footsteps. Hamon’s arms wrapped around her waist, and she leaned back against him. He smelled like mint and cinnamon and faintly of exotic flowers she couldn’t name—he’d been mixing new medicines earlier in the day. Some of his ingredients came from as far away as the islands of Belene or the farmlands of Chell. He’d told her once that he even used a lichen that grew only in the crevasses of glaciers in Elhim. As she mused on what made Hamon’s profession, she felt an idea begin to form, so faint that she didn’t dare call it an idea yet. Quietly, she said, “You use ingredients from other lands in your medicines.”

  “Mm-hmm, definite perk of being a palace healer. Access to resources beyond our borders.” His hands caressed her stomach, and he kissed her neck. “Did I tell you about the lichen from Elhim? Grows only in—”

  Resources beyond our borders. Yes. She stepped out of Hamon’s embrace and raised her voice. “Guards, summon the seneschal!” She hurried to her desk and tried to light the firemoss in the lantern. Her hands shook as she fumbled with the fire stick, and Hamon gently took it from her and lit it.

  “You may wish for clothes if your seneschal is coming,” he said mildly.

  She waved him off. “He’s unshockable.” Sitting with her bedsheet wrapped around her, she shuffled through her papers until she found unblemished parchment. She’d need three copies—the seneschal would neaten her thoughts and prepare the copies. Across the room, sh
e heard Hamon putting on his own clothes and neatening the blankets on the bed. He then was behind her again, brushing her hair back behind her neck and away from the ink as she wrote.

  She heard a knock on the door and one of her guards said, “The seneschal, Your Majesty.”

  “Allow him in,” she ordered without looking up.

  Footsteps. “Your Majesty. Healer Hamon.”

  “Seneschal,” Hamon said politely.

  She kept writing. “I wish to send messages to the queens of Belene, Chell, and Elhim, privately, if possible secretly, and I will need to receive their messages equally discreetly.”

  “Green and black ribbons, Your Majesty,” the seneschal responded promptly—she knew he’d have an answer. “Green will alert the queens that the spirit bears a message from the forest queen. Black will signal its sensitivity.”

  “Good. I will locate spirits who can carry the messages.” She’d need ones that were willing to fly a distance, into lands that they weren’t tied to, but were calm enough to continue to obey her commands even when they were out of reach of her mind, since even with a queen’s power, she wasn’t strong enough to send her thoughts beyond her borders. Standing, she handed the paper to the seneschal. “Three copies, by your hand only. Let no one else know the contents. I won’t raise hopes when there’s a high chance they will be dashed.”

  Accepting the paper, the seneschal bowed and then backed out of the bedchamber.

  Hamon was watching her but he hadn’t asked. She loved that about him: he trusted her completely. If she kept secrets, he trusted those secrets wouldn’t hurt him. But there was no reason to keep this from him. “As you said, other lands send herbs, food, supplies we don’t have here, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So why can’t they also send heirs?”

  He paused, thinking it over. Then, “You’ll be admitting weakness to the other queens. What if they have the desire to expand their land, like Queen Merecot? It’s a risk.”

  “More than leaving Aratay without a viable heir?” Now that things were set in motion, she felt some of the tension leave her shoulders. Keeping the bedsheet around her, she walked out onto the balcony once more. The blackness was fading to a pale gray. Nearly dawn, she thought. I wonder if Ven is watching the sunrise from the northern border. “I don’t mind saving the world—it’s what I swore to do. I just don’t like worrying about who is going to save the world when I can’t.”

  “You think they’ll spare one of their heirs?”

  “I think there’s a chance, and I can’t deny our people that chance.” If she were queen of a country with multiple heirs and received a plea for help, she would have spared one. Truly, hadn’t Semo done just that to Aratay? Although they more stole Merecot than asked for her, or more accurately, Merecot had left, but still . . .

  I have to try.

  “I value our people’s lives over my sovereignty.”

  “Fine. But we don’t even know what the other queens are like.”

  “True. But we do know what the spirits are like, and what they’ll do if I die without an heir. Hamon, why are you arguing with me about this?” It was the first solid idea she’d had about how to keep Aratay safe.

  He wrapped his arms around her again. “I’m sorry, Daleina. It’s only . . . I don’t like any plan that presumes you’re going to die.”

  Oh. I see. She never really ever thought of it like that, but of course he was right—it was only a problem if she died. “This is plan B. Or even C. I don’t plan to die.”

  “Then make plan A: you don’t die.”

  She smiled. “All right. It’s official. Plan A is no dying.”

  “Dying can be plan Z,” he said.

  “Guess I’m going to need a lot more plans.”

  He smiled back at her, his special smile that made her feel as if hot liquid were pouring through her. “Do you have any plans for right now?” he asked, and then kissed her neck and shoulders.

  “Yes, I believe I do.”

  She led the bedsheet slip off her, falling into a pile at her bare feet.

  Chapter 17

  At dawn, Naelin called to two air spirits to carry them into Semo. She’d said goodbye to Ven’s mother and sister already, and Sira had climbed monkeylike up to the tips of the trees. The slight shiver of the leaves betrayed that she was high up at the top of the canopy, on branches that Naelin wouldn’t trust, and she was singing to the sunrise. “Don’t you worry about her?” Naelin asked Ven.

  He didn’t look up from his pack as he loaded supplies into it. “Always.”

  “I mean right now, when she’s so high up.”

  He glanced up at the canopy above. The crinkled brown leaves were edged with a lemon-yellow glow, and the bits of sky were pale. “I don’t worry about that. She knows how to climb.”

  “But a branch could snap.”

  “She’d feel it.”

  “What do you worry about then?”

  “I worry that one day she’ll realize the sun will rise whether she sings to it or not, and she’ll quit springing out of bed as if the day were made just for her. I worry that she’ll realize her little brother sometimes makes mistakes, and that just because she trusts me and Mother, it doesn’t mean she’ll always be safe or that everything will work out for the best. I worry that she’ll stop believing in the power of good over evil, and that she’ll learn that sometimes bad things happen no matter how hard you fight.”

  It was a lengthy speech for Ven. Fighting with his mother must have made him contemplative. She studied him—he had depths it was easy to overlook when he was busy being his competent, in-control self. “And do you worry about me too?”

  “Obviously.”

  “Don’t.”

  He paused his packing and looked at her. “Are you promising you won’t do anything to endanger yourself while we’re in Semo?”

  I’ll do whatever’s necessary to save Erian and Llor, so . . . no, I’m not promising that. “I’m saying that maybe your mother is right. Maybe you should return to Mittriel, be a champion, and I will be a queen.” And a mother.

  He studied her a moment longer. “You think it’s a trap.”

  “I think Queen Merecot was desperate enough to invade Aratay, so who knows what she’s capable of? She could have tricked Headmistress Hanna into sending that message.”

  “You’re right. And if it is a trap, then it’s even more important that I come with you.”

  Naelin felt a little of the tension seep out of her shoulders. She wanted him to come, desperately. She might need his help to save Erian and Llor. But she didn’t want to force him. I’d never forgive myself if I ordered him to come and something happened. She was only starting to realize that, for him, there was no place he’d rather be than by her side. It was . . . a strange feeling, to have someone so selflessly give themselves to her when for so long it had been her who’d always been the one who gave and gave. “Thank you.” She tried to put every bit of what she felt into those two words. She nearly added, I love you, but didn’t. It didn’t seem right, to tie that love to gratitude.

  But she felt it anyway.

  His smile warmed her heart even more, and she was pretty sure he heard those unsaid words. “Let’s go,” he said.

  Outside, she mounted an air spirit that looked like a deer with wings. Its antlers were coated in down-soft feathers, and its fur was white. Ven’s spirit was shaped like a serpent with golden scales. It had wings like an eagle, which it spread wide until its wingtips brushed the bark of the nearby trees. Naelin had chosen these spirits because they could fly great distances, and she intended to ride them all the way to the capital, bypassing the border guards and arriving on her own terms. She’d heard how Queen Merecot had sent a spirit-pulled chariot for Ambassador Hanna—Hanna had included that in her report—but Naelin had no intention of trusting Merecot with her or Ven’s safety.

  “Let’s fly,” she said when Ven had mounted, and the two air spirits pushed off the platfo
rm and burst up through the canopy of leaves. She glanced back to see Sira waving at them. She was still singing, her voice rising up with the wind, and for a moment, they flew buoyed by the rising notes, but then her song faded and all Naelin could hear was the wind rushing past her.

  From this high above the canopy, she could see it: Semo. Birches marked the border, sentinels with yellow leaves that gleamed in the morning light. Beyond the border were rocks—heaps of granite boulders, fields of stone, and great slabs that looked as if they’d stabbed their way out of the earth. She felt, like itches on her skin, the presence of spirits within those fields, but she couldn’t see them. They’re beneath the boulders, she thought. Or they are the boulders. She saw wildflowers growing in the cracks, clumps of purples and blues, as well as bushes with so many berries that they looked like bright-red decorations left behind after a celebration.

  And then there were the mountains.

  At first Naelin thought she was looking at clouds. Surely no mountain was ever so enormous! But as the images resolved before her, she could see they were indeed the various ranges of Semo. Their peaks looked as if they wanted to claw the sky. Her mind tried to wrap around the tremendous size—and then she felt the sudden shift in the world as they crossed the border.

  She hadn’t expected to be able to sense it. Land was land. But it was as if the air had been pushed out of her lungs, and she was suddenly breathing something else: air too, but with an unfamiliar taste that tickled the back of her throat. Lemons, she decided. It tastes like lemons and snow . . . Maybe pine, but a different kind of pine than at home.

  The air felt colder too, as if she’d stripped off all her layers. And hollow. Or maybe that was how she felt inside—the sense of thousands of spirits around her, linked to her, had faded, muffled, and it was as if those thousands of spirits were instead watching her from a distance.

  It feels like I don’t belong.

  She decided this was an accurate feeling, since she didn’t belong. She wondered if Ven felt the same way, but the wind was too loud for her to ask him, even if she’d wanted to have a conversation about it.