The Reluctant Queen

by Sarah Beth Durst

The door swung open, and Naelin gasped.

  She thought she’d seen opulence in the throne room and the grand halls, but the rest of the palace was nothing compared to these rooms. Gold seemed to drip from every surface: the curved couch, the table with the glass surface, the mantel over the fireplace, the washbasin with the filigree pitcher. It all glittered in the light of a dozen cream-colored candles on candelabras. On a dais was a canopied bed, piled high with pillows. But it was the ceiling that stunned her the most: inlaid with tiny crystals, it sparkled like the night sky. Marveling, she walked into the center of the room. “You want me to practice here?”

  He didn’t answer, and she looked over at him. His hand was on the mantel, tracing the curves of the carving. His eyes were sad.

  “Ven, whose rooms were these?”

  She guessed the answer as he gave it: “Queen Fara’s.” He rubbed the dust from his fingertips. “No one comes here now. We can practice here uninterrupted.”

  Naelin walked through the rooms, afraid to touch anything, and out onto the balcony. Before her was the night forest. Lights dotted the branches, lining bridges that were obscured from sight. She felt the spirits out there, amid the branches. She heard Ven walk onto the balcony with her. “You knew Queen Fara well?”

  “Very well.”

  “What was she like?”

  “Everything you’d imagine a queen should be. Fearless. Ambitious. Determined. Utterly convinced of her own infallibility. She lacked any shred of humility, but she was so powerful that it didn’t matter.” Leaning on the balcony railing, he was staring into the forest as if it held answers.

  “I’m nothing like that.”

  He didn’t answer.

  She’d never measure up, not to his expectations and not to his memories. He’s deluding himself if he thinks I’m queen material. “What was Queen Daleina like before she became queen?”

  “Determined, though in a different way. She didn’t feel as though she was owed the crown like Fara; she felt it was her duty. She’d committed herself to this path at a young age.”

  “And you? Were you always destined to be a champion?”

  “Yes.”

  Naelin resisted rolling her eyes. This was absurd. She was consorting with born-from-the-womb heroes. She wasn’t worthy of this. “You must have made a choice at some point. Something set you on this path. Come on, confess. You weren’t born with muscles. Or did you punch your way out of your mother’s womb?”

  A faint smile crossed his lips, nearly hidden within his beard. “She’d say that’s exactly how it happened. She’d like you, I think. She was a mama bear too.” He lapsed into silence again, lost in thought.

  “You don’t normally train people this way, do you?”

  “Usually, trainees have to learn to turn their whisper into a shout. You, on the other hand, have to turn a shout into a whisper. If I were to train you the usual way, you’d likely cause a few natural disasters before we were done.”

  “You aren’t comforting.” And she didn’t like her own thoughts. Insecurity was the shortest path to failure. “Can we just start?”

  He nodded abruptly as if she’d interrupted him, and then led the way back inside the room, to the fireplace. Two candelabras flanked it, but the fireplace itself was cold. All the ash had been cleared away. Logs were stacked within, as if for decoration rather than use.

  “No surprises,” Naelin warned.

  “No surprises,” he agreed. He drew his sword and crouched, ready. “Start with a fire spirit, call it into the hearth. Concentrate on one that’s already in the palace, feel it first, attract its attention, and direct your command at it. Just at it, as if you were whispering and didn’t want anyone to overhear.”

  She widened her awareness, brushing against the tree spirits that skulked in the branches, an earth spirit that snuffled at the roots far below, an air spirit . . . there, a fire spirit, flitting around the balcony curtains, shriveling their edges with its heat. You. Only you. Come to me. She tried to whisper, a gentle command.

  She felt the spirit pause, curious. Patches of bark blackened beneath its feet as it lingered on the balcony. She pushed again, harder. You, come to me.

  It sped closer, a streak of light. It dived inside the room and straight into the fireplace. Flames shot up a foot, and Naelin scrambled back, but then the fire calmed, and the spirit spun inside it, dancing music-less. It was no bigger than her hand, with a body made of fire and a face of twisting flame, white at the core, a molten gold chest, orange arms, and red hands that ended in black fingers. Its eyes were ember, and its mouth held a tongue of flame that flicked in and out.

  Naelin studied it. It stared back.

  “Good,” Ven said.

  “It was the only one nearby.”

  “Still, good. See if you can command it.”

  It flickered as it moved, and Naelin realized its ember eyes were trained on her, as if waiting. “To do what?” The firelight danced, and Naelin felt as if she couldn’t look away. She felt the warmth on her skin and inside her, as if the fire were inside her chest.

  “Control which log burns—and which one doesn’t.”

  She eyed one log, a thick chunk of oak. It was untouched by flame yet, waiting for one of them to toss it in. Burn that.

  With a cackling howl, the fire spirit dove onto the log. Flames shot out of the hearth, raced across the room, and hit the bed. One of the silken pillows burst into flames. Running, Naelin grabbed a pitcher from the washbasin and hurled its contents onto the bed. Water dampened the flames, and smoke curled up to stain the canopy. Shrieking, the spirit fled, bursting out the archway to the balcony and shooting straight up to blend into the stars.

  “On the plus side, you didn’t destroy the palace,” Ven said mildly.

  Naelin stared up at the stars. “I may need more practice.”

  Chapter 17

  Lying flat on the floor, Daleina stared up at the painted ceiling. She took a breath and then another, pushing her fear deep down inside her, burying it beneath her breath. You have to do this. It was her duty, despite the risk. Slowly at first, she sent her awareness out. If she was careful and slow . . . maybe the False Death wouldn’t come. She touched the spirits in the palace first. Present in every corner of the complex, they felt like a buzzing on her skin. She then expanded to the capital, touching the earth spirits that burrowed beneath the roots and the air spirits that flitted between the trees. There were fewer in the busier areas of the city and then more as she spread outward—

  Click.

  She heard, distantly, the door to her bedroom open and then footsteps coming closer, but her mind felt stretched like bread dough. She kept her focus on the spirits—if anyone hostile tried to enter her room, Alet would stop them. And if Alet failed, Bayn would defend Daleina. Ever since he’d returned, he had stayed by her side. He was with her as often as Alet and more than Arin. Her sister had visited her only twice since coming to the palace. Safer that way, Daleina told herself, and pushed that bit of hurt down with the fear. After all, she was risking another false death right now. It was better that Arin was nowhere nearby. She continued to reach out, spreading herself across the forests of Aratay.

  Whoever had come into the room was waiting. She heard their breathing.

  She almost had it, all of Aratay. Her skin felt slicked with sweat. She felt the rain in the east and the sun in the west as if they were hitting her skin as well. She breathed in pine and magnolia and lilac and the sweet smell of the earth.

  Stay awake, she thought. Stay alive.

  This was the most dangerous moment, when she was connected to all of them. If she died while she was connected to them . . .

  “Do no harm,” she thought.

  She sent the thought out to all of them, adding to all the other times she’d made that command, feeling the order burrow into the spirits.

  “Do. No. Harm.”

  She felt them resist, flailing against the reissue of the basic and most essential command, an
d then she felt it sink into them, like a weight inside them.

  Pulling back fast, Daleina reeled her mind back into her body. She became aware of the coolness of the floor, the smell of the wood fire in the fireplace, the sound of guards walking up and down the corridors outside. She pried her eyes open. Her lids felt crusty, as if she’d been asleep for hours, and her muscles felt stiff. She exhaled—if she’d triggered another false death while she was linked to the spirits . . . but she hadn’t, and the essential command had been reinforced. She’d done her duty and all had survived—this time.

  “No new blackouts?” a voice asked. Hamon.

  She turned her head to see him but kept lying on the floor. She knew from experience that standing up too soon would make her entire head feel as if it had been shaken. “Not today.”

  “You’ve been poisoned.”

  She blinked once, twice. Slowly, she peeled herself up from the floor. She sat with her head between her knees for another moment. In a light and painfully calm voice, she said, “You used to have a better bedside manner.”

  His mouth twitched at her joke, but his eyes stayed intense. He’s serious, she thought. He continued, “My mother, with the help of your sister, finished her examination of your blood and concluded that your illness isn’t natural. It was imposed externally, presumably deliberately.”

  Daleina absorbed this, turned the idea over in her head, and began to laugh. She knew she shouldn’t be laughing, but she couldn’t stop. Her body shook, and her eyes teared.

  He waited quietly until she finished.

  Hiccupping, she got control of herself again. “It is grimly appropriate.”

  “No one knows we poisoned Queen Fara. And I don’t believe in fate. I do believe in assassins.” He knelt beside her. “Daleina, if we can find your poisoner, if we find a sample of the poison . . . my mother thinks she can manufacture a cure.”

  Daleina felt herself still, any hint of hysterical laugher wiped out of her. “Do you think she can?”

  “She may be an amoral killer, but she’s also an amoral genius. Also she’s proud of her abilities. She wouldn’t lie about this, not if it meant gaining my admiration. When I was a child, after she’d poison someone, she’d retell the tale over and over, expecting me to worship her for her brilliance every time. She feeds on adoration. If she saves you, she’ll expect some sort of compensation—a position in the palace, she suggested; she’ll want prestige and praise.”

  Daleina waved her hand. “If she saves me, she’ll be compensated. According to my seneschal, the point of having a treasury is to bribe amoral but useful people. He’s been using it to bribe the border patrol of our neighbors for years.” She closed her eyes for a second as a wave of realization crashed over her. “It’s not genetic. That means Arin is safe.” Opening her eyes, she threw her arms around Hamon.

  He held her close. She felt his breath against her neck and the tightness of his arms around her. She rested her cheek against his shoulder and let herself feel, for the first time in a long time, safe.

  Remembering something else he said, she raised her head. “Did you say my sister was with your mother?”

  “I’ll make sure she’s all right,” Hamon promised. “In the meantime, we need to find the poison. Who would try to kill you?”

  “No one. Anyone. I don’t know.” She thought of Queen Fara. The prior queen had feared the heirs, but there were no heirs to covet Daleina’s crown. Due to the Coronation Massacre . . . “Maybe the families of the heirs who died? There were some of them who blamed me for surviving when their loved ones didn’t. One of them could have sought revenge.”

  Hamon nodded slowly. “They had both motive and opportunity.”

  That’s what she was thinking. After the coronation, she’d visited every family, joined them for a meal, comforted them as best she could . . . She thought of how they’d broken down in tears, how some had railed in anger, how some had sat as quiet as stone, as though the news had hardened them inside. Any of them could have done it. “I visited nearly fifty families,” Daleina said. “Where do we start? How do we know—”

  “It couldn’t have been just anyone,” Hamon said. “Crafting poisons, in particular creating new poisons, is a very specialized craft. This poison was designed to mimic a specific disease. Furthermore, it was designed to be undetectable by ordinary blood screens—I didn’t find it on my tests. Only a few in Aratay are skilled enough for this kind of work.”

  “Do you know who those people are?”

  He hesitated. “My mother might. But the poisoner might not be the poison maker. Most poison makers don’t use what they create. The risk of being caught and imprisoned is too high.”

  “So we are looking for either a friend of your mother’s, or someone very wealthy. At least that narrows it down. Will you speak to your mother again? Ask for a list of her poison-making friends . . .” Daleina hesitated, not sure how to phrase her next question. He seemed so tense that the wrong word could shatter him. She didn’t have the time to be careful of his feelings, though. “Hamon, I hate to ask this, but . . . Is there any chance your mother could have done this?”

  “Yes, of course,” he answered immediately. “But I don’t think she did. Her surprise at being called to the palace seemed real. And if she’d created such a clever poison, I don’t think she’d miss the chance to gloat. If I’m wrong, though . . . the guards will keep her contained.”

  That had to be good enough, for now. At least he was aware of the possibility. “I will send royal investigators to the heirs’ families, the wealthiest first, while you talk to your mother about her friends. Hamon, we’ll find who did this! I’ll live!” She cradled his face as he began to cry. “I’ll live.”

  Folding her hands on her lap, Daleina tried not to show how much the conversation with Hamon had affected her. He’d given her hope, and it felt as powerful as the most potent wine. She’d deployed investigators, after telling them a version of the truth—that someone had tried to poison her; she didn’t tell them that someone had succeeded—and now all she had to do was wait. And be queen.

  She’d chosen to hold court today in the Sunrise Room. Cradled in the center of the east spire, the Sunrise Room was painted in lemons, pinks, and pale blues, with a floor inlaid with so much amber that it glowed when the sun streamed through the leaves. Her throne was in a pool of light. It was a room that felt filled with hope, and she hadn’t had the energy to face its cheerfulness in days. But today it felt right to be in this room.

  That said, her first meeting was less than cheerful.

  She was supposed to be spared from the day-to-day minutiae of running a country—there were legions of courtiers, caretakers, and chancellors devoted to everything from trade to education to waste removal. The queen’s role was first and foremost to control the spirits, and then second to be the voice of Aratay when the country needed to react in one accord. But some days, there was a lot that needed to be heard by the voice of Aratay.

  For forty minutes, one of her border guards had been reporting to an audience of her and two advisers on activity to the north, at the border with the mountainous land of Semo. He’d described in minute detail the movement of guards, illustrating on a map how Semoian soldiers had been filtering into the area in small groups that added up to large numbers. “Training exercises, they call it,” he said, and then fiddled with the lapel of his jacket as he talked—the caretakers had let him wear a variant of his uniform, but it clearly still had more frills than he was used to. She’d have to talk to them about that sometime. It didn’t offend her to see people in ordinary clothes. It did offend her when they droned on for forty minutes, especially when she could be with her sister, sharing the news with her. Or with Ven. Or Alet. But her advisers had agreed it was important for her to hear this.

  “Queen Merecot hasn’t declared war,” one of her advisers noted—Chancellor Isolek. He was a stocky man with a braided beard. The braids were tipped with jewels, and he had less patience for was
ted time than Daleina did, which meant that he felt this meeting was important.

  “‘Training exercises’ is a legitimate euphemism for mobilizing for war,” the other, Chancellor Quisala, said. She was older and had been an adviser to multiple queens. Daleina trusted her opinion on foreign affairs more than any other.

  “Merecot wouldn’t go to war against me,” Daleina said. They’d been friends at the academy. Nothing had happened to change that. Merecot—Queen Merecot of Semo—had even sent a lovely diamond statue to celebrate her coronation. “Our countries are allies.”

  “She may not have told her military that,” Chancellor Quisala said. “Look at the positions here and here.” She pointed at the map that the guard had scribbled all over.

  “We signed treaties.” Daleina began to feel an ache between her temples. She rubbed her forehead. This was not what she wanted to be doing today. She wanted to be chasing down the poisoner, but she’d already deployed the investigators. In truth, there was nothing for her to do but wait. “She can’t declare war on us.”

  “She can’t declare war,” Chancellor Quisala said. “But she could wage war.”

  “Not Merecot. She wouldn’t.” She knew as she said the words that this wasn’t true—Merecot’s ambition was boundless—but the timing was terrible. There had to be a way to stop this before it started. Nip it in the bud.

  Chancellor Isolek pushed back his chair and paced. “If we move guards into those areas, it will be seen as an act of aggression. We’ll have to declare ‘training exercises’ as well. It will escalate.”

  “We have to de-escalate it,” Daleina said. Her situation was too precarious for this. She needed all guards near her people, not the borders, in case of another blackout. It didn’t matter whether Merecot was honoring their treaties or not. Daleina’s people needed to be defended from the danger within; she couldn’t worry about the danger without. “I want a message sent to Merecot, a personal message from queen to queen. Remind her of our friendship, and the treaties.”