“No.”
“Good.”
The two of them stared at each other, and Ven felt as if he were missing large pieces of the conversation. “Did you two just have your first lovers’ quarrel?” he asked.
“I think so,” Hamon said gravely.
“Huh. Much less dramatic than some I’ve had. Can we do this now?” He spared Hamon another pointed glance. “Without the commentary, if you please.”
Daleina closed her eyes, her body still, her face blank. Ven recognized the look—she was focusing outward, feeling for spirits. He waited, patiently, somewhat patiently, not at all patiently. His fingers were itching to hold his knives, the comforting weight in his hands, but he kept them sheathed. If they were going to have any element of surprise, it was best not to look like a dangerous murderer.
She opened her eyes. “Found one.”
“That was fast,” Hamon said.
“What did I say about no commentary?” Ven said. “The fact that one is nearby only proves they’re targeting the most powerful women in Aratay.” All of the heirs and candidates were gathering in the capital, awaiting the queen’s announcement of the new heir rankings. Sata had been ranked first—the older heirs would want to know if they’d moved into her position, and the younger ones would want to know where they ranked with the rest.
“It’s coming,” Daleina said. She added, “Told you it wouldn’t be able to resist.”
“How did you do it?” Ven had doubted she was strong enough to command even one of the six spirits that had overcome Sata and Mari, but she’d been insistent.
“I asked it to come kill me.”
Ven stared at her.
“Told you I hated this plan.” Hamon picked up a scalpel as if it were a weapon and waited. “She has alarmingly self-sacrificial instincts.”
Ven scowled and leveled a finger at her nose. “We’ll talk about this later.” Now it was Ven’s turn. He climbed higher, positioning himself between two branches, and focused, feeling his heart race and his palms sweat. He’d missed this, he realized. Just pure fight. One goal clear: eliminate the threat. He readied his bow, fit an arrow, and prepared to draw. He scanned the trees—
There.
He drew and released.
It thunked into wood. He drew and released again, tracking the slight movement in the leaves. The second one hit—he heard the shriek. He had to finish this quickly and quietly. Sprinting over the branches, he ran toward the sound. The spirit was there, an arrow stuck in its wooden thigh. Bark—its skin—spread to enclose the arrow, solidifying around the shaft, subsuming the point.
Healing, the spirit moved fast, aiming for the platform, where Daleina waited with Hamon in a circle of firemoss light. Ven felt his lips curl into a smile that was like the wolf’s snarl. He swung above the spirit and then landed down, knife stabbing into its neck.
Spirits were hard to kill—they weren’t like animals with bones and blood, or at least they weren’t always. They could flow into the trees or the air or the water. This one was a wood spirit. He caught it as it tried to melt into the bark, pinned it with multiple knives to the wood, the iron in his blade stopping its transformation.
It had the face of a child. Ven wished he hadn’t seen that. Its face was round with baby lips and pudgy cheeks and a button nose, but eyes that were pure green with no whites and hair that was downy moss. Its limbs were long, thin sticks, and it grappled with him, trying to pin him with branches.
“Don’t,” it said in a reedy voice. “Please don’t, don’t, don’t.”
He hated the speaking ones. It was too easy to forget that they weren’t human, to think they had emotions, to think they were capable of empathy, when they didn’t, they couldn’t. He continued to grip his beloved knife.
“Is that what Sata said to you when you killed her?” Daleina said—she’d climbed up beside him. “How about Mari? Did they ask you to spare them? And did you?”
“Won’t, won’t, won’t again.”
“We don’t believe you,” Ven said. “Do you, Daleina?”
“You came to kill me,” Daleina said.
“You commanded! Answered command. Always answer command. Always, always.” It blubbered, its eyes filling with green-tinged tears.
“You’ve defied the queen,” Ven said. “This must be your fate.” He drew his knife back and then stabbed it into the spirit’s neck. The spirit dissolved under him, into the tree, and he knew he’d missed. “Watch out, Daleina!”
Daleina had her own knife up, ready to throw, as the spirit flew at her. Leaping up onto the branch, Hamon sliced with his scalpel. Thorns grew out of the spirit’s body, think and sharp as knives. Ven leaped toward the spirit, slicing at the thorns. He sheared off several and then Hamon drove his scalpel through the spirit’s eye.
“Know me,” Ven said as he drove knife after knife into the spirit’s body, “for I am death to all oath breakers, promise renders, and betrayers. Know me, for I am the last sunset, the night without dawn, the winter without spring. I am pain to your pleasure, silence to your shout, stillness to your speed. I hunt death.” At last, the spirit trembled and lay still, limp across the branch.
He heard Daleina suck in a ragged breath. He expected her to break down. Killing a spirit wasn’t easy. “That was poetic,” she said.
“I have my moments,” he said, and then: “This is the part where we run.”
It started with the bark around the body: it grayed, turned brittle, and then crumbled, and then it spread, across the bark of the branch, blackening as if burnt.
“Come. Quickly. Bring the light.”
“Let me look at her wounds first,” Hamon said, pulling out his medicine kit.
“Live first, heal later,” Ven said. He hauled Daleina onto her feet. She was clutching her side. “Are you going to bleed out, or can you jump?”
“Jump,” she said.
Taking the lantern of firemoss, Hamon grabbed her hand, and together they followed Ven, leaping onto the next tree as the decay spread down the trunk and up to the branches. They ran along the branches as the dead wood spread to the nearby trees. Behind them, Ven heard a creak and then a thunderous crash—the tree collapsing. Other trees began to crumble around them.
It took an hour until they were far enough away that Ven felt comfortable stopping. There were still a few more hours until daylight. Time enough to kill a couple more spirits. He waited while Hamon checked both of them thoroughly, bound their wounds, and made them drink an unpleasant concoction of herbs that was supposed to ward off infection.
The next two spirits were easy to kill, in comparison. Daleina lured them to their little circle of light, and Ven fought them from the shadows. He didn’t give them a chance or warning or mercy. In the aftermath, the forest crumbled around them, and they moved on, evading the forest guards, choosing only uninhabited trees.
“One more before daybreak?” Ven checked the sliver of matte-gray sky above. It wouldn’t be long until sunrise now, though it would take longer for the light to filter down to the forest floor. They’d been lucky tonight was a full moon, or all the shadows would have been impenetrable. As it was, the forest was woven from grays.
“She needs to rest,” Hamon said.
“She needs to be able to talk for herself,” Daleina said.
Ignoring them, Ven said, “So far, the spirits haven’t talked to each other. In another day, it will be harder to lure the last three—warnings will have spread, and they might be smart enough to guess we’re hunting them. Plus the forest guards will be looking for spirit killers. Best to do as many as we can quickly.” Also, the queen had said the strongest spirit in the capital would be distracted tonight, giving them a window of opportunity. He wondered how she knew, then dismissed the question. Of course a woman as powerful and intelligent as Fara studied the habits of her enemies. “We’ve already cut their strength in half. One more tonight.”
Daleina nodded. She pressed her lips together.
Ven admi
red that she didn’t complain. He knew it wasn’t easy, what he was asking of her. Sata had once described the feeling of reaching out to spirits as scooping out your own innards with a spoon, and Daleina was less powerful than Sata had been. But Daleina was motivated, and she was issuing a command no spirit could resist.
This time the spirit came quickly, as if it had been waiting precisely for a summons like this. Ven readied his bow, but the spirit dodged between the trees. Dammit, it knows. It must have heard about the spirit deaths. It clearly knew, or suspected, this was a trap.
“Be on guard,” he ordered Daleina.
“Told you it was secret,” the spirit hissed, keeping out of range of Ven’s arrow. Oh, great, it’s a clever one, Ven thought. “For you, only you. Told you our secret. But you told, so very sad. Told our secret. She said not to tell, but we told and you told.”
Daleina held up her hand toward Ven. “Wait, not yet. Who said not to tell?”
He hesitated, then cursed himself. He shouldn’t have listened to her. He’d lost the element of surprise, if he ever had it. This spirit seemed brighter than the others. He kept his knife ready, his arm tensed.
“Always obey,” the spirit said. “Happy to obey this. You ask, and we oblige.” The spirit landed on the ground and plants erupted from the soil. They wrapped around Daleina’s ankles. Branches pinned Hamon to the ground. He sliced with his knife. Ven judged the distance between him and the spirit, and then leaped, pinning the spirit down. It thrashed beneath him, but Ven sliced its arm, distracting it.
“Wait!” Daleina cried again.
About to strike its heart, Ven stopped.
“Did someone order you to kill me? To kill Sata and Mari?”
“Secret,” the spirit hissed. “Never tell.”
“It’s trying to trick you,” Hamon said. “Don’t trust it.”
Ven drew his knife back again.
“Halt!” a voice cut across the forest. “Do not move. Do not harm that spirit. I have an arrow trained on your heart and on the heart of your companion, and I will shoot.”
Ven froze. Conversationally, he said, “You must have an impressive bow, to aim at two hearts at once.” He eyed the spirit. It squirmed backward and squatted on a branch, regarding them with too-intelligent eyes. This spirit was child-size, with a bark-coated body and moss for hair. Its mouth was filled with thorns instead of teeth, and its feet were rooted into the branch, as if it had planted itself. It giggled, a sound like twigs breaking, and he wondered if he could stab it and deflect an arrow at the same time. It depended on whether their assailant had an arrow trained on him or on Daleina, or, improbably, both.
“Ordinary bow,” the woman said, “impressive archer. Don’t test me, or I’ll skewer you. It is forbidden to kill spirits. Am I correct in assuming you are responsible for the slaughter of three other spirits this night?”
“Say nothing,” Ven said softly to Daleina and Hamon. “She has no proof.”
The woman had moved—her voice came from beside them now. He shifted his weight toward her, ready to shield Daleina, if necessary. “You realize that, in and of itself, is a damn suspicious thing to say.”
“She has a point,” Hamon said, also softly.
“Show yourself!” Daleina called. “Who are you?”
“Lieutenant Alet of the Palace Guard,” the woman said. “I’ve been tracking you. You’ve been having a busy night, Champion Ven. Care to tell me why you decided to squander the queen’s goodwill, as well as abandon your duty to the great forests of Aratay, and slaughter spirits?”
He heard Hamon swallow hard before whispering, “She’s a guard. What do we do?”
Briefly, Ven was surprised she was palace guard, not forest guard, this far from the heart of the capital, but he had more important matters to worry about than who had jurisdiction. Ven’s eyes didn’t leave the spirit. His fingers itched on the handle of the knife. So quick and it would be over. Except this wasn’t the last spirit. Six killed Sata and tried to kill Daleina. He flashed to a memory of Sata’s funeral, the palace guard crowded into Heroes Grove, carrying her body in, and took a risk. “I’m hunting the spirits who murdered the Heir Sata.”
“Ven!” Daleina hissed.
He forced himself to look away from the spirit and fix his eyes on the branch where he suspected the palace guard lurked. He wondered if she was alone. Most likely not, which was a plausible explanation for how two arrows could be targeted on them at once. “Sata worked with the palace guard. Did you know her?”
There was silence for a moment. “Release the spirit. I believe we need to talk.”
He was taking a risk, he knew, but the palace guard had mourned her. “Daleina, tell it to leave.” They could capture it again, if necessary. It would be wary, but if Ven was wrong about the sympathies of this lieutenant, then it was best for her not to directly witness them killing the spirit. She couldn’t report what she hadn’t seen, and so far all she had were suspicions.
The spirit’s feet broke from the branch, and flowers burst from its toes and fingertips. Running along the branch on all fours, it glanced back to make sure they weren’t following. Ven spared it a glance and hoped he was making the right decision. It galled him to let revenge slip through his fingers. But he waited, outwardly calm, until the guard emerged along the branch, holding a bow with two arrows fitted. As she came closer, she repositioned the arrows, angling them inward. At this distance, he realized, she hadn’t been exaggerating—she could have hit both of them. He hadn’t realized she was so close, or so skilled. If he hadn’t been so focused on the spirit . . .
She was young, about Daleina’s age or possibly even younger, with black hair that sported a skunklike white streak down the center and black eyes that glittered as she came closer to the firemoss lanterns. Jumping onto their branch, she lowered her bow and straightened. “Heir Sata was like the big sister I never had. When my unit received word of the first spirit killed tonight . . . I left my unit to look for you.”
No partner, then. He felt his shoulders unbunch and his rib cage loosen. Plus she was sympathetic, to the point of disobedience. He’d guessed correctly.
“Then why did you make us let the spirit go?” Daleina asked.
“Because the spirits are not the enemy,” the lieutenant said, then she shook her head. “You have no reason to trust me, but you must. I began searching for you as soon as I heard—I knew you were the ones who needed to see.”
Ven didn’t move. “See what?”
“See who killed Heir Sata.”
VEN TRUSTED LIEUTENANT ALET, UP TO A POINT. SHE WAS STILL a stranger—just because she looked like she could be one of Daleina’s friends, that did not mean she was trustworthy. Plus she was being tight-lipped about who or what exactly she expected to them to see. They wouldn’t believe her if she told them, she claimed. He pulled Hamon aside. “Go to Headmistress Hanna and tell her everything. Swear her to secrecy, but tell her the queen has given permission for these spirits to be hunted. Others can do it our stead, if necessary.” Or rescue them from jail, if necessary.
“I’m not leaving Daleina or you,” Hamon said.
Ven was certain the “or you” was an afterthought. He wondered if allowing their relationship to progress had been a mistake. It was one thing for Hamon to put Daleina above orders, but what if Daleina prioritized Hamon’s safety over that of Aratay? She wouldn’t, he thought. He knew her well enough to be certain of that. If it came to a choice, Hamon was in for heartbreak. Just like I’ve had, Ven thought ruefully. “You want to convince her not to come? Be my guest. But if you insist on coming with us, she won’t have any backup if it turns out this is a trap.” And it very well could be. One young guard couldn’t hope to bring in a fully trained champion and candidate, but if she could get them into the palace, they could be subdued. It would be a clever move, and one that would win her a promotion. She seemed an enterprising young woman. “Come with us, and you can’t help. Stay safe, and you might.”
; Hamon opened his mouth, then shut it and nodded. Sensible boy.
To Lieutenant Alet, Ven said, “He’s a healer with duties at the academy. You’ll let him go if Daleina and I accompany you.”
“Of course,” she agreed. “Provided he does not plan to harm any spirit on his own.”
Hamon furrowed his eyebrows for a brief second, as if insulted, but then smoothed his face into his usual pleasant expression. He bowed briefly to Lieutenant Alet and then let his eyes linger on Daleina longer than was appropriate for mere travel companions. Then he clambered over the branches toward the academy, as instructed. To the palace guard, Ven said, “Lead on.”
“I can’t guarantee you’ll hear what needs to be heard, but it’s a full moon, plus the night before the heir announcements, so it’s likely.” She hesitated. “I must also ask you to protect the secret of the path we are about to take. It is known only to the palace guards.”
Despite his suspicions, he was intrigued. He’d worked with the guards on palace defense, and he’d never been privy to any knowledge about secret paths.
“Also, apologies in advance for any discomfort.” She struck out across a branch, creeping like a cat, with eyes darting in every direction.
“That’s ominous,” Daleina muttered, but followed nearly as nimbly across the branch. Ven joined her, and they traveled in silence until they reached a nondescript tree that held several derelict houses, their roofs caved in, and ladders with rotted rungs.
“This way,” the guard whispered. “We keep these houses abandoned for security reasons. Hurry.” She pushed aside one of the roofs to reveal a hole in the branch. She disappeared inside. Ven held Daleina’s arm and dropped in first. Clever, he thought—it was a tunnel within the branch. He heard Daleina land behind him.
He hadn’t planned on doing anything but hunt spirits tonight, but maybe this was better: he was hunting answers.
Together, they crawled behind the guard. Soon, it was darkness. Ven kept trying to see shadows in the black, to force it into shapes, but the dark wriggled away from his eyes. After a few turns, he lost his sense of direction. He felt as if the wood were pressing around him, and he pictured the weight of the houses above them. He’d never thought of himself as claustrophobic, but he felt as if he were inside a sausage grinder that would squeeze him into paste. He wanted to punch his way out of the wood. He thought of Sata—she must have felt so much fear within the wood sphere—and he thought of how Daleina had insisted on training even when she couldn’t see. That kind of determination couldn’t be taught. Someday she’d make a great queen . . . assuming this wasn’t some kind of trap or trick. The air felt thin, and he was sweating within his armor. Spots danced across his eyes, through the darkness. “This may have been a bad idea. . . .”
The Queen of Blood Page 29
