“Because it works,” Daleina said, trying to stay patient, at least while he was handling the poison. They were in the headmistress’s office, and he was straining the nightend juice. He’d instructed her to stay against the wall, opposite him, until every drop was in the vial. “We know she plans to kill people. She’ll be happy to have a volunteer.”
“‘It.’ It’s not a person. And it will kill you, given half the chance.” He poured the juice into another vial, his hands steady, his eyes fixed on the glass tube.
“My friends won’t let it kill me.” That was the other half of the plan: the other candidates would put the owl woman to sleep. Beauty in its simplicity.
“I hate seeing you risk yourself again and again.” He screwed the top onto the vial of poison, laid it gently on a cloth, and began prepping the syringe.
“You have to stop trying to protect me. I am choosing to risk myself. It’s what I do. If you can’t handle it, then maybe you should stop caring about me.”
He froze, and she both wanted to breathe the words back in and shout them louder. She couldn’t carry the weight of his worry on top of her own. It was bad enough to even be contemplating what they were doing. As they stared at each other, she told herself it wasn’t truly murder. It would be Queen Fara’s actions that condemned her. If the queen did not make another bargain with the owl spirit, she wouldn’t be harmed. If she tried to condemn more innocents, then she would be killed. Her own actions—
No. This was murder. Regicide. No matter how justified it was, she would not lie to herself about what it was she was choosing. She was going to live with this guilt and not try to rationalize it away. She was crossing a line she could never uncross. It was both the right thing and the wrong thing at the same time, but she was doing it anyway. For Greytree. To prevent another Greytree, because that was why she had done all of this—apprenticed herself to the hedgewitch, entered the academy, trained with Champion Ven, given up a normal life and a safe future—all so that what happened to her village would never happen again. This was the way to prevent it. And if it made her a murderer instead of queen, so be it.
She looked at Hamon, her resolve settled. I will do what needs to be done, with or without you.
“Daleina . . . I love you.”
She flinched. “Let’s see this through, and when it’s over . . . we will see if we’re still the same people we were. You don’t do what we’re going to do and not change.”
He tucked the vial of poison into his pocket and then stepped into a closet beside one of the headmistress’s bookshelves. “What I feel for you will never change.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she said as he closed the door. She stared at the closet for a long moment, wanting to fling it open, kiss Hamon, and take back her trying-so-hard-to-be-brave-and-wise words. He loved her. Surely he was right and that would survive this act.
Surely such love wasn’t just for the stories.
Crossing to the headmistress’s door, Daleina knocked once. Leaning against it, she listened—Headmistress Hanna was on the opposite side, at the top of the stairs. Her friends should be arrayed on the stairs beneath her.
At her signal, the headmistress began speaking, “My students . . . not my students for much longer. Today you will be named heirs, to serve for peace and prosperity in Aratay. It is a vast responsibility, as well as an honor, but I know you are all ready. You have worked hard, and I could not be prouder.”
Daleina wondered what the others thought of the fact she wasn’t with them. Were they worried about her? Did they think she’d quit? Should she? What she was doing wasn’t an act of a loyal heir. I’m loyal to Aratay, she told herself. The queen wasn’t Aratay. She felt her throat clog.
“There is one more task that remains ahead of you. Word has come to me that a spirit plans to disrupt the announcement ceremony. It is an old, powerful spirit—”
Daleina heard murmurs but not the actual words. Surprise? Concern?
“It will be drawn here, into my office, and then you must use your collective strength to put the spirit to sleep. It must sleep through the announcement, then wake unharmed, none the wiser. Remember the words: Do no harm.” The murmurs of agreement grew louder. “Will you join together for this one last task, as my students?”
From the stairs, from her friends, Daleina heard cries of yes as well as cheers. And she knew it was time. They’d command the spirit from the safety of the stairs. The headmistress had sworn to leave the door shut. No matter what happened, her friends would be fine. Hamon, fine. Ven, far away and fine. Daleina drew in a breath, concentrated, and sent her thoughts flitting out for the owl spirit. She knew she’d recognize it—and she did.
It was here, in the capital.
Of course it was.
And it was older, smarter, and more wild than any she’d felt before. Daleina crafted a single thought and sent it to her.
Kill me.
She felt the owl spirit respond, like a purr: Gladly.
Daleina stood in the center of the office, in the pool of sunlight. She faced the window and tried to keep her mind clear and her thoughts focused. If this didn’t work . . . if the others couldn’t control the owl woman . . . if the spirit were stronger than their combined strength . . .
But she couldn’t have those thoughts. Not here. Not now. She drew a breath and thought of Arin. She was doing this for her, so she would always be safe. She imagined Arin’s bakery, imagined her laughing, imagined her someday marrying the baker’s boy, imagined her parents beaming with happiness.
The owl spirit crashed through the window. Shards of glass flew across the room, and Daleina ducked, her arms in front of her face. “So, you are the one who wishes to die?” the spirit said, and Daleina felt shivers up and down her back.
Now!
And she added her mind to the command: Sleep. A single command, from seven soon-to-be heirs at once, plus the headmistress.
Sleep.
The owl spirit hesitated, swayed, shook her head, and then stalked forward, toward Daleina. Why isn’t it asleep? Daleina backed up, bumping into a chair, and then maneuvering around it until she was against a bookshelf.
“So very curious: I seldom am asked for death. Tell me why.”
Truth? A lie? Daleina felt as if her tongue were thick.
“Ah, have you reconsidered, now that you face your death? So very human of you. I can taste your fear, thick in the air. It’s as sweet as your sweat. Do you think you can change your mind so easily and that I will simply curl up and sleep, like a tame kitten? Oh no, my sweet, you asked me to kill you, and I have come.”
She had to delay, give her friends more time. “Before you kill me . . . I’d like to ask a question, if you please. Why do you kill humans? All of you. Why kill us?”
“Because you do not belong here.” The owl woman snapped her beak together. “A child’s question, and you are no child. You are Daleina of Greytree, candidate soon to be heir. I know you. You do not wish to die. Why did you call me?”
“You kill innocents. You don’t have to. We could all live together, in peace.”
“There can be no peace with humans. You mar the peace. There can only be peace when you and all of your kind are gone from Renthia.” She sounded so reasonable, as if she weren’t calling for their extinction.
“Then why”—she licked her lips and hoped that the others couldn’t hear her through the door; surely, it was thick enough, for the headmistress’s privacy—“bargain with the queen? If we’re all your enemies, why offer her miracles? That proves you’re willing to compromise. I believe you must want peace too—”
The owl woman laughed, a horrible shrieking sound. “You believe we compromise with her? How very entertaining. There have been others who have thought as you. Others who thought we could be tempted by other things. But no, there is only one thing we wish: your eradication.”
“That’s not your only wish, though. You want to build! Grow things. Shape them. I know tha
t.” Everything she’d learned in the academy, everything she’d seen in the forest, supported that. The spirits wanted to both kill and build—and the queen was supposed to resolve the contradiction between those two desires, to keep their land in balance.
“Indeed. And you stand in our way of that.”
“We could work together.” Daleina wondered what Hamon was thinking of this conversation. He could hear every word. “What if we didn’t control your kind? No more coercion. You build, as you wish, without our commands, and in exchange, you do no harm.”
“Idealistic child. It is the ‘harm’ bit that is nonnegotiable. We must harm. It is who we are, and what we do. Just as it is who you are to resist your inevitable death, to reach for life, to try to bargain with the embodiment of your death.” The owl woman crossed to her, and Daleina tried frantically to focus. Sleep, sleep, sleep. The owl woman stroked her cheek with a fingernail. “It would be delightfully fun to watch all your illusions shattered, but you did issue a command that pleases me more.”
“I withdraw the command.”
“But I choose to fulfill it. You see, that is the secret that so few of your queens understand. It is always our choice, deep down. It may hurt us to refuse, even destroy what we are, but it can be done.”
Daleina swallowed. This was going to fail. She was going to die, right now, with all her friends just outside the door.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hamon step out of the closet. She wanted to yell at him no, their plan would fail if the owl woman saw him—if she knew she’d been injected, she’d warn the queen. But Hamon didn’t move toward the spirit. Instead, he slipped behind the headmistress’s desk and pulled the string before ducking out of sight.
The office door swung open, and the headmistress and all of Daleina’s friends burst into the room. “Sleep,” they commanded. As one, they marched toward the owl woman. Sleep, sleep, sleep!
The power of the combined command—strengthened by proximity—caught the spirit by surprise. Daleina felt her surprise like a ripple in the air. The owl woman’s eyelids fluttered, and her hand dipped down. “Betrayal,” she murmured, and then she crumpled to the floor.
So much for her choice, Daleina thought, and then shuddered. That had been close. Much too close.
Daleina’s friends surrounded a shaking Daleina. Chattering, their words fell over each other, talking about how difficult it was, how they’d needed the proximity, how powerful they’d felt when their commands at last united. They’d never felt a spirit resist like that, hadn’t known it was possible. If Daleina hadn’t opened the door . . .
The headmistress shooed them out. “Don’t wake her now. I’ll summon a healer to keep an eye on her. Now you must all attend the announcement ceremony.” Daleina met her eyes, and then she was swept down the spiral stairs, ensconced among her friends.
It was done.
DRUMS SPREAD WORD, CALLING ALL CANDIDATES TO THE HEIR announcement. As Daleina and the others descended from the headmistress’s office, all her friends began buzzing between their rooms and the bathroom, preparing for the announcement. Feeling as if she were floating through a nightmare, she joined them, dressing in the white robes that the caretakers provided. Caretaker Undu was there, overseeing it all, ensuring that everyone looked presentable, hair neatly pinned, faces clean, bruises hidden. If she was missing Mari on this day, it did not show on her face. She was only efficient action. Daleina let it all swirl around her as she prepared.
Considering what they’d just done, it seemed surreal.
She joined the others as they filed out of the academy, again toward the palace. This time there was no restraining the citizens. They had dressed for a party and were handing out drinks and food as they watched the candidates parade past them. She craned her neck as she went, looking for her family in the sea of people, but she didn’t see them. Perhaps they’d been able to make the journey. Perhaps they hadn’t.
Revi gripped Daleina’s hand. “I’m so nervous I could wet myself.”
Linna wrinkled her nose. “Please, try to refrain.”
“I don’t trust myself. I feel like any moment, my grip on appropriate behavior is going to slip and I’ll start clucking like a chicken. That’s how unreal this is. Chicken unreal.”
“You’ll be fine,” Daleina told her. “Our part is over. All we have to do is hear the news.” And look on the face of Queen Fara, the woman who had destroyed Greytree. I shouldn’t have come, Daleina thought. She should have stayed behind at the academy. Helped Hamon. Waited with the headmistress. Made sure the spirit woke and left without hurting anyone.
She wondered if Ven was in the palace, if he’d been able to have his audience with the queen.
If she’d listened.
If she’d killed him.
The crowd swirling around them, they progressed through the capital to the palace. She felt, oddly, vulnerable, as if her secrets were written on her skin, and the queen would read them instantly. She slid herself behind Revi and Linna. Her hands were sweating, and she clasped them together. Nerves were normal, she told herself. No one would guess what she knew. No one had guessed anything—and that was part of the problem. Queen Fara had hidden her secrets well. No one suspected she was sacrificing the innocent. No one knew the cost in blood of all the new schools and libraries and bridges and homes.
Throngs of people had gathered, filling the trees around the palace. Vendors hawked food and drink to the spectators, and musicians riled the crowd, mixing dancing reels with battle hymns until it was a cacophony of melodies and shouts. Acrobats, the Juma, performed in the trees. Their faces were painted blue, red, and green, and their bodies were in a riot of colors. In duos, they flipped their bodies from branch to branch, and the crowd cheered as they landed, ribbons trailing behind them. As a woman swirled another ribbon around a branch, a man leapt, grabbed it, and swung, and then another followed, until they were all sailing from branch to branch. Catching one another, they posed in a pyramid—feet on knees, arms stretched to their utmost. The crowd exploded in applause, and the drums beat out another rhythm as the acrobats split apart, swinging and spinning from the ribbons, twisting them around their bodies. Daleina found herself staring at them, unable to look away, as they contorted their bodies above the crowd.
And yet there was so much more to see.
Across, on a nearby platform, other performers had seized their chance before the audience. One man stood on a roof, loudly reciting poetry. Another, a girl, tossed balls in the air, flipped in a somersault, and then caught them. Three men with stringed instruments strummed so fast their fingers were blurred, and a woman danced on top of a crate, flicking her skirts back and forth in rhythm, bells jangling on her ankles and wrists.
All music ceased when the ornate door blew open. Air spirits carried the queen’s throne outside, lifting her high into the air. Cheers then erupted, complete with bells and trumpets, until Queen Fara held up both hands. “The first heir is . . .”
Fire spirits wrote names in the sky as she called out the names, ranked by order of their strength. Cheers exploded with each name, and the candidates were pushed forward to kneel in front of the queen. She laid a thin circlet of silver on each of their brows.
Daleina cheered with the others as each name was said—names she didn’t recognize, of heirs who had already proven themselves, and of other candidates from other academies, as well as her friends: Revi, Linna, Iondra, Zie, Evvlyn, Airria . . . She heard the absence of Mari’s name from the list. And she waited to hear her own name. And waited, as more names were called.
Her stomach began to clench, and then she forced herself to breathe. The queen had finally seen what others had seen Daleina’s entire life: she wasn’t worthy to be an heir. She wasn’t powerful enough. You knew that, she told herself. Hadn’t she seen that herself during the trials? Hadn’t she already decided she wasn’t worthy? Faced with this moment, though, she realized she still hadn’t let go of her old dream. She knew she wasn’t g
oing to be queen—she’d accepted that—but she had still wanted to be an heir.
Maybe it was for the best. One of her friends would become queen. At least no one could say she was committing regicide out of ambition.
Still, it hurt. She had worked hard. She had given up countless other futures. She had defined herself by this goal. It was time to finally accept that this wasn’t her future.
“Daleina of Greytree.”
The fire spirits wrote her name in the sky.
She felt a shudder shake through her. She was an heir. The last heir. She was ranked last, dead last out of all fifty heirs, but she’d been named. She knew she should feel like cheering. She’d worked so very hard for this, defied so many expectations, but she felt as if her smile were painted on her face.
Pushed forward, she was suddenly in front of the queen, who smiled at her, tight-lipped, and then laid a circle, cool metal, on her brow, and all Daleina could think was, Murderer.
Her friends hugged her, and they were all hugging and crying. But inside she felt cold, as cold as the circle of silver she wore.
CHAPTER 26
So very young, Fara thought.
As the queen looked out over the faces of her heirs, she noted the unclouded brightness in their eyes, the innocent joy in their smiles, the relaxed happiness in their arms and shoulders as they absorbed the fact that they had succeeded and were chosen, fulfilling their hopes and dreams, not to mention their families’ hopes and dreams. Each of them, on the cusp of spreading their wings, with only one barrier between them and their destiny: her life. And she was supposed to feel joy and congratulate them on their accomplishments. So very innocent, so very foolish, so very pathetic. She wanted to tell them their hopes and dreams were stupid. Find a nice shop somewhere, sell charms, marry and have kids . . . or not. Travel or pick a small village and never leave. Tend a garden and a one-room house. Listen to the canopy singers at dawn. Gather berries between the roots in the autumn . . . or not. Just don’t do this, tossing your life away in pursuit of something that only brings pain, regret, and guilt.