The Queen of Sorrow

  A fire spirit raced through the hall toward them. Shaped like a dog, it was made of pure flame. It slammed into Evenna, and Tipi yanked her back, smothering the flames. Howling, the spirit flew toward Hanna. Havtru leapt in front of her, his sword drawn, but his sword sliced harmlessly through the fire.

  “Cajara!” Arin cried. “Stop the spirit! You can do it!”

  Spreading her hands in front of her, Cajara concentrated—and the fire dog yelped and pivoted, racing in the opposite direction.

  “Brilliant!” Arin cheered. She hugged Cajara.

  Cajara looked startled, then pleased—a small smile touched her lips.

  I was right, Hanna thought. She does have power. And an idea occurred to her. Either a terrible idea, or a brilliant one. “Wheel me around,” Hanna ordered. “We have to go out.”

  All her guards protested.

  Hanna overrode them. “Candidate Cajara, you have affinity for all types of spirits, yes?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was so soft that Hanna could barely hear her over the shrieks of the palace people and the rage-filled cries of the spirits.

  That shyness could be a problem, Hanna thought. The girl would need strength and confidence, in addition to power. “Tell me about yourself, girl.”

  Havtru broke in. “Ambassador Hanna, I don’t think this is the time—”

  “I am not speaking to you, Champion Havtru,” Hanna said in the same voice she would use to berate a first year trying to make an excuse for not turning in their homework. No, she didn’t have time for anyone else’s nonsense—at this moment, the only thing that mattered was Cajara. As she focused on the girl, she also continued to issue the “choose” command to the spirits. At some point, her command would converge with others, and it would be multiplied until it impacted into the consciousness of the raging spirits. Until then, they had to survive. “There’s an air spirit up ahead. Do something about that, Champion.”

  “Cajara isn’t . . .” he began.

  “Cajara is not your concern right now. That spirit is.”

  Arin sprinted ahead. “I’ll get it!” As she ran toward the air spirit, she drew a charm out of her pocket and threw it at a flicker of light. It caught the spirit square in the forehead. The air spirit squealed, then dropped to the floor.

  “Help her,” Hanna ordered Havtru.

  With one more glance at his candidate, Havtru sprinted ahead. Before them, Hanna saw a body in Aratayian colors, slumped on the floor: the young guard Coren. It was a sharp pain, seeing him dead, but she kept her focus on Cajara. If I don’t find a way to end this, he won’t be the only one to die.

  “Answer me, girl! Why do you want to be queen?” Hanna was aware she was yelling, but she could feel air spirits closing in around them. She knew there must be others. Just because she lacked the affinity to sense them, it didn’t mean they weren’t there. Aiming one of her knives, Hanna threw it at a torch on the wall—a fire spirit squealed.

  Staring at the wounded fire spirit, the girl didn’t answer at first, and Hanna was about to bark at her again. Then at last she said, “I love the forest.”

  “Yes. And?”

  “My family . . . we lived on the forest floor. Berry-pickers. That is how we knew Champion Havtru. Or knew of him, I mean.”

  Hanna was aware of the champion’s past. He’d been a berry-picker, though he’d lived midforest, before his wife was killed by spirits and Ven recruited him. She readied another knife. “You said ‘lived.’ Past tense. Family dead?”

  “Oh, no, Ambassador. They’re well. But the forest . . . It died around us. I felt it die. I knew the spirit who was tied to our land. I used to play . . .” She trailed off.

  “You befriended a spirit?” This didn’t bode well. Or did it? “And the spirit never tried to harm you or your family?”

  “I never let it, even though they . . . I never let it hurt them, no matter what,” Cajara said. “And when she died . . . I went to Champion Havtru and told him I wanted to be his candidate.”

  Hanna noticed instantly that Cajara said “she” instead of “it” for the spirit, which told her more than any of her other words what she needed to hear—and it wasn’t good. Or, it wasn’t what she knew to be good. Hanna trained her students to hold the spirits apart, to remember they weren’t human, to remember their instincts were fundamentally opposed to human life. But something about the way Cajara spoke . . . it intrigued her. She had to be sure, though . . .

  “Queens don’t befriend spirits.”

  “But they do save them, when they can,” Cajara said.

  It was a good enough answer.

  Hanna barked directions as Renet ran toward them. He had a woodsman’s knife in one hand and a bow and quiver of arrows on his back. He was panting. “The spirits are attacking!” he cried. “And your guard—”

  “Yes, we are aware, Woodsman Renet,” Hanna said crisply. What did Naelin ever see in this idiot? Beyond them, Havtru, Evenna, Serk, and Tipi were fighting the spirits off, and Arin was lobbing vials and charm bundles at them. Her potions were at least as effective as Havtru’s sword—any spirit splashed by one of her liquids or pelted with one of her herb bundles either froze, burned, dropped, or ran.

  “Queen Merecot is dead?” Renet asked.

  “Apparently,” Hanna said.

  Arin, puffing, ran back to them, excitement in her voice. “Then Daleina won?”

  Knowing Daleina, she’d never call it winning. “I’d thank you not to say that while we are the only Aratayians within the Semo castle.” Merecot was my student too. I failed her. She hadn’t expected Daleina to resort to this. She’d trusted that Daleina meant peace when she said peace. Perhaps she changed. She had suffered at the hands of Merecot. Perhaps I misjudged her.

  Perhaps, though, none of this matters right now. What matters is that we keep moving.

  Hanna guided them through the halls as Havtru, Renet, and her guards fought off the spirits with their weapons, Arin battled them with her potions, and Cajara deflected them with her mind. The spirits were swarming the corridor—pebble-like earth spirits were burrowing through the floor and crawling over the walls and ceiling. An ice spirit, shaped like a snake with wings, slithered through the air, only to meet one of Arin’s potions. Hanna threw two more of her knives, and Havtru retrieved them for her.

  At last, they reached the courtyard . . . the old, neglected one with the weeds and the broken flagstones. And the way to the grove, Hanna thought.

  “You say you love the forest,” Hanna said to Cajara. “Can you learn to love the mountains?” Beside her, Renet was fending off a tiny earth spirit that had latched onto his ankle. Bounding over to him, Havtru pried it off and flung it against a pillar.

  “Aratay is my home,” Cajara said.

  “All of Renthia is your home,” Hanna said. She reached for another knife—she didn’t find one. She’d used them all. “And Renthia needs you. Will you answer her call?”

  “I don’t understand,” Cajara said.

  Arin grasped her hands. “She wants you to be queen, Cajara.”

  “But I can’t—”

  “You can! If you won’t believe in yourself, then I’ll believe in you for you. That’s what I did for Daleina. I always knew she could do it. And I know you can too.”

  Hanna wheeled forward. “Summon an earth spirit, a large one from beneath this courtyard. You, my dear, must be the new queen of Semo, as soon as we can reach the grove.” She expected Cajara to protest more—she wasn’t ready. Hanna knew it, Havtru knew it, Cajara knew it. She couldn’t have been training for more than a few months, with less raw power at her disposal than Naelin. But Hanna did not know how to reach the true heirs of Semo within the damaged castle—Cajara was here, and Hanna was the only one who knew how to find the grove.

  She spared a brief thought to wonder if Merecot had intended this outcome, as a backup, but then dismissed it. Merecot was too arrogant to conceive of defeat, and too selfish to consider the fates of the Semoian people if she
should fall.

  Regardless, Hanna didn’t have time to waste thoughts on Merecot, because the earth spirit burst through the courtyard. “Control it,” Hanna ordered.

  “It’s strong!” Cajara yelled. Yet she isn’t backing down, Hannah thought. She can do this.

  Sweat beaded on Cajara’s forehead as she fought to control the monstrous spirit. From above, other spirits swarmed toward them, drawn by the battle of wills between the candidate and the spirit.

  Arin had positioned herself at Cajara’s back and was throwing powders and potions with deadly aim at the spirits, keeping them from Cajara, while the candidate focused on the earth spirit.

  “We must ride it!” Hanna shouted. “Guards, defend us. Havtru, help me.” Hurrying to her, Havtru scooped her out of her chair. He carried her, running toward the spirit as Cajara fought to master it.

  Hanna saw Serk fall, an ice spirit slicing him down the sternum. Shrieking, Tipi leapt forward, hacking at the spirit, shattering it beneath her blade.

  Cajara was speaking out loud, soothing the bulbous earth spirit, and at last it bent its head down. Havtru tossed Hanna onto its back and climbed on behind her.

  More spirits rushed into the courtyard. Larger spirits: stone monsters that looked like half bears and half men, a bull-like beast with a snake’s tongue and fangs, and three serpents with diamond scales.

  We aren’t going to make it, Hanna thought.

  Cajara climbed onto the earth spirit’s back, behind Havtru and Hanna. She held her hand out, and grabbing it, Arin scrambled up.

  “Evenna! Tipi! Fall back!” Hanna ordered. But she could already see they were too far away, enmeshed in their own battles. Both were wounded—Evenna’s shoulder was charred and blackened, and Tipi had streaks of blood like tears on her cheeks.

  “Go, we’ll hold them!” Evenna ordered.

  Hanna wanted to close her eyes. She’d seen this too many times before. But this felt worse, because they weren’t just dying—they’re dying for me.

  I can’t waste their sacrifice.

  “Renet, hurry!” Havtru called.

  “I’ll hold them back too!” Renet said. “Go!” Charging forward to join the two remaining Aratayian guards, he fought the spirits, hacking at them as if they were trees he was trying to fell, buying them precious time. “Tell my children to be proud of me! I’ve finally done something useful!” And then a spirit stabbed with its claws hand through Renet’s stomach. He doubled over.

  He’d been a fool . . . but he was a brave one. I’ll tell them, she thought. He will be honored. If we survive.

  “Tell the spirit to go,” Hanna ordered. “Now.”

  Carrying them, the earth spirit dove deep into the ground.

  In the Queen’s Grove in Aratay, Hamon felt searing agony as a fire spirit’s fist slammed into his shoulder. He heard himself scream, but the sound was lost in the cries of dozens of spirits all around them. His eyes locked onto Daleina’s for a brief moment before she was swept away, fighting both Merecot and the spirits.

  He fell to his knees. They hit hard, but he barely felt it.

  His hearing felt muffled, as if cotton were shoved into his ears. He felt pain rippling across his body, and he waited, unable to flee, for the final strike.

  It didn’t come.

  Instead the fire spirit dissolved in front of him, compressing into ash. His mother slapped a cool mass of leaves over her shoulder. “Hold that there,” she instructed.

  His hands, shaking, held the poultice. It was radiating coolness through his body. It chilled his fingers as he touched it. His thoughts were swimming, connecting slowly together, as his mother stood in front of him, legs straddled wide, with charms in each hand. She was screaming insults at the spirits as she hurled charms at them.

  The charms exploded all around them, circling her and Hamon.

  “See, my boy,” Garnah cried, laughing, “I’ll keep you safe! Mother’s job, they say. Mother’s joy. To protect my little boy. That’s all I ever wanted. Just didn’t know how. Never knew how. Instead I scared you away. But I get why. Because I’m scary. Hah! Want to see how scary I can be? Come at me, spirits!”

  As Hamon struggled to rise, his mother hurled charm after charm at the spirits that surrounded them, driving them back with deadly accuracy. He reached shakily into his pocket and pulled out an herb, stuffed it into his mouth and held it inside his cheek—the pain receded, and he drew his knife. He stabbed at every shadow, every wisp, everything that moved in front and beside him, while his mother stood at his back, hurling charms.

  “We’ve got them, my boy! Keep it up! Don’t—” Her voice broke off, and he felt her crumple at his back. He turned, in time to catch her as she fell, slumped against him. He felt blood on his fingers, hot and wet, on her side.

  “Mother?”

  “Well, this wasn’t supposed to happen,” she whispered. He lowered her down. She’d been sliced in the side, deep. Her breathing was fast, hitched. “Looks like you’re getting what you wanted.”

  Around him, the spirits swirled.

  Chapter 34

  Daleina kicked hard against Merecot’s knee, then jammed her fist into Merecot’s side. Her friend huffed as the air was knocked out of her. Spinning away, Daleina struck upward with her knife and jabbed into the slippery thigh of a water spirit. “Enough!” she yelled at the spirits. “Choose! Choose, damn you!”

  “Choose,” she heard Merecot say, panting on the ground, looking up at the sky. Daleina looked up too. It was filled with swirling spirits, clogging the air between the trees, blocking out the sun.

  Choose! Choose!

  And the spirits stopped.

  Hanging in the air, they at last drifted between the trees. On the ground, the earth spirits slumped down or milled listlessly around the roots and rocks. Fire spirits dampened their flames. Daleina sank to her knees beside Merecot. She kept her eyes on the other queen. No—not other. I’m not a queen anymore.

  “I can’t feel them,” Merecot said.

  “What?” Her legs? Her arms? How badly did I hurt her? Ven hadn’t taught her to fight cautiously. He’d assumed her enemies would be spirits. He’d taught her to fight hard to save her life, and that’s what she’d done. Daleina realized she ached everywhere, in places where spirits had burned and froze and jabbed her. She touched her cheek and felt wetness. Drawing her fingers back, she saw the tips were red. While she’d fought Merecot, the spirits had attacked both of them. She was amazed she was still whole. I wish I could thank Ven.

  Collapsed on the golden leaves, Merecot was wounded in a dozen different places. Blood spread through her silk sleeve, and a darkening bruise colored her cheek. But none of her injuries looked deep enough to be fatal. “The spirits,” she wheezed. “They’re gone. I can see them, but only with my eyes. I can’t feel them! What did you do to me?”

  Daleina shook her head. She’d severed the links. The severing must have been more serious than she’d realized. But she couldn’t spare the energy to speak. Instead she reached out to the spirits in the grove and beyond.

  Choose me.

  Once again, let me be your queen.

  She touched the spirits of Aratay, and she felt them respond, linking to her, accepting her, loathing her and loving her. She tried to reach farther—but her power was never as vast as Merecot’s. She couldn’t reach beyond the northernmost birch trees.

  She felt a handful of tiny spirits curling above her, crafting a crown of leaves to lay on her head once again, and she thought of Naelin, far beyond the borders of Aratay.

  “You truly can’t sense them?” Daleina asked.

  Merecot gave her a withering look. “I wouldn’t lie about this.”

  If it was true, then it meant she’d discovered a way to remove the affinity for spirits—the thing that Naelin had wished for so desperately. If I’d known this sooner, I could have granted her wish. Naelin could have returned to her forest village with her children and never known any of the power or the pain of being
queen. She wouldn’t have had to give up her home. Her children would never have been in danger. If she ever returns from the untamed lands, I can tell her . . . But she wouldn’t, Daleina knew. The untamed lands were death. Both Naelin and Ven would have perished soon after crossing the border. I failed them.

  “Semo?” Merecot asked.

  Daleina shook her head. I failed to save them too.

  “And so my people die, because you aren’t strong enough.”

  “No, they died because you thought you were strong enough,” Daleina shot back. “But you weren’t.”

  Merecot fell silent.

  Around her, Daleina felt life return to Aratay once more. The wind blew, the trees swayed, and the forest went on. It was all she could do.

  She hoped it was enough.

  Merecot lay on the golden leaves in the center of the grove and stared up at the swirling spirits. She’d never felt so alone. “You should have killed me.”

  “I couldn’t lose another friend,” Daleina said.

  Turning her head, Merecot looked at her, saw the spirits crowning her, and closed her eyes. “I will hate you always.” She meant every word.

  “That doesn’t matter,” Daleina said infuriatingly. “I made my choice.”

  On the other side of the grove, Hamon knelt by his mother. “You deserve to die,” he told her. “You’ve killed so many people, and you haven’t cared.”

  “Ah, but I saved you,” Garnah said. “In the end, at least I did that. I can die contented.”

  “I’m not giving you that kind of peace,” Hamon said, and he opened his healer’s bag. For the first time since he’d entered the grove, his hands were steady as he began to sew his mother’s wounds.

  To the north, in Semo, Arin readied another packet of herbs. She’d laced this charm with poisonous bark mixed with pepper dust. She didn’t know why the spirits hadn’t calmed yet—the Semoian hedgewitches had to be trying the “choose” command. Maybe the spirits here are just too strong.

  Arin glanced over her shoulder at Havtru and Hanna—they were fending off an air spirit that looked like a bat made of glass. She then looked at the circle of stones in front of them, the grove. “You have to do it,” she told Cajara. “Go!”