The Reluctant Queen

by Sarah Beth Durst

  “Polite missives might not be enough,” Chancellor Quisala cautioned. Leaning over the map, she pointed to various cities around Aratay. “Here are where our guards currently are. If we pull out of the cities, send them north, and leave defense to the local woodsmen until this is resolved—”

  “We can’t do that,” Daleina said. She wished she could explain why. She knew she looked naïve and inexperienced by refusing to take their advice, but they couldn’t know the truth.

  “With all due respect, Your Majesty, Chancellor Quisala is correct that this requires a response,” Chancellor Isolek said. “If training exercises turn into an incursion, we must have troops in place. But we need your approval.”

  As queen, she was the commander of all military. She had final say over deployment, though she’d never had to use that power before. Until now, the guards had functioned fine without her. Oh, Merecot, not now! “I won’t escalate the situation, and I won’t approve the repositioning of our warriors. Merecot is not our enemy, and we are not hers. Perhaps Merecot needs to be reminded who the real enemy is, but that won’t be done by rattling our swords at her guards.”

  The border guard bowed. “Your Majesty, if she does—”

  “She won’t. I know Merecot, and she will listen to reason.” Actually, Merecot wasn’t known for listening to anyone, but Daleina didn’t see much choice. Not when she could still die at any moment. Until they had a sample of poison or at least a viable heir ready, Daleina herself was the greatest threat to Aratay. Since she couldn’t say that, though, she’d simply have to be firm and hope her commands at least sounded reasonable enough. “We try diplomacy first.”

  “And if that fails, Your Majesty?” Chancellor Quisala asked. “You listened to the guard’s presentation. You must see the pattern.”

  “Diplomacy first,” Daleina repeated. When they began to object, she said, “Keep me apprised of the situation, but do not leave our cities defenseless against the true enemy because of misplaced fear. You are dismissed.” All of them bowed as they left the Sunrise Room, and Daleina wished she’d chosen one of the more somber receiving rooms. Merecot, what are you doing? I don’t have time for this now! She sagged in her throne, straightening only when Alet opened the door to allow the seneschal in.

  She’d inherited the seneschal from Queen Fara and had seen no reason to replace him. He was scarily efficient, carrying at least twenty lists with him at all times, and had enough knowledge of history and law to fill a library.

  She wondered how he’d felt when Fara died and Daleina took the crown. She’d never thought he liked her much, but then again, it didn’t seem that he disliked her either. His heart was in his job. Who wore the crown seemed to be irrelevant to him.

  But what if it wasn’t? He had daily access to her, and she had little choice but to trust him—he was the one who knew the day-to-day details of being queen, managed her schedule, and controlled access to her.

  Stop it, she told herself. She couldn’t begin suspecting everyone around her. If she died without an heir, the seneschal would lose his job, his purpose. She could trust his commitment to the Crown, if not to her specifically. “What’s next?”

  “Champion Piriandra would like your approval on her new candidate,” the seneschal said, consulting his notes. “She waits outside.”

  “Tell Captain Alet to allow her in.”

  The seneschal made a note on his clipboard and then scurried to the door. Opening it, he addressed Captain Alet, and Champion Piriandra strode through. A girl followed her. She was as wiry as Piriandra and had a snarl of red hair that had been coaxed into coils. Bits of it were escaping the ribbons, and Daleina knew without asking that this was the caretakers’ work again, making people “presentable.” The girl barely fit in her new leather armor. She shifted uncomfortably and eyed the doors as if she wanted to bolt. She looked several years younger than Daleina. Daleina thought of Champion Ven’s candidate, the woman named Naelin, who had pitied Daleina for the loss of her childhood—this girl that Piriandra had chosen looked plucked straight out of her own childhood. She was too young to be an heir and much too young to be queen.

  “Your Majesty,” Champion Piriandra said, inclining her head. “Allow me to present to you my newest trainee, Beilena, for your consideration as candidate.”

  “You had a candidate before,” Daleina said.

  “She died.”

  “My condolences.” She ran through her memory, trying to recall if anyone had informed her of this. Usually updating her on the progress of candidates was a top priority. She admitted she’d been distracted lately, but a death should have registered. Daleina addressed the new candidate, “You are aware that you are embarking on a dangerous endeavor, with a shortened life expectancy. You will be in service to Aratay, and your days and wishes will not be your own. It is, however, an essential role—” She looked up at Piriandra. “Champion Piriandra, couldn’t you find someone older?”

  “I did,” Champion Piriandra said. “Her name was Linna. You watched her die. After that, I chose a recent graduate named Ulina. The sprits killed her as well, albeit less dramatically. Beilena is a suitable next choice.”

  Daleina flinched and dropped her eyes. She couldn’t look at the champion, not while images of her friend danced in front of her eyes: escaping the maze together on their first day at the academy, studying late at night in each other’s rooms, talking and laughing and complaining at mealtimes in the dining hall, facing the trials, and then the coronation ritual . . . She’d been there, by her side, and hadn’t been able to save her. One minute alive, and the next . . . She wondered if someday she’d be able to remember her friend without picturing that moment.

  She had a sudden thought: What if the poisoner wasn’t from the families of the heirs? What if he or she was someone closer? A champion. No.

  These were the people she was supposed to trust beyond all others, but they were also the people who were preparing her replacements. Suspecting them was ridiculous.

  Still . . .

  It was no secret that most champions were displeased that she had been the one to survive. They’d considered her the least of all the heirs—in fact, it was her lack of power that had enabled her to survive. The spirits had overlooked her, considering her not a threat, until the end. She’d never told anyone that.

  She’d eaten with all of the champions, spent time with them, been alone with each of them. All of them had had opportunity. But they wouldn’t risk Aratay, she thought. Without a fully trained heir, the country was vulnerable. No champion would take that kind of risk.

  Now that the suspicion was raised, though, it was hard to squash, even knowing how tremendously unlikely it was. She couldn’t afford to ignore any possible avenue.

  “You’re approved,” she managed to mumble.

  Bowing, Champion Piriandra and her candidate backed out of the Sunrise Room. Alone, Daleina paced across the amber floor. Outside, the birds twittered to one another, and she felt the presence of spirits, swirling through the air, climbing through the trees, and burrowing through the earth.

  At last, she raised her voice. “Captain Alet, summon Champion Ven.”

  Chapter 18

  When the summons from the queen came, Champion Ven was spearing an air spirit with a candelabra. It squawked as the iron pinned its shoulder to the wall, and then it melted into the air and flitted as wind across the room to coalesce on the balcony railing.

  “Naelin, you have to stay in control of your emotions,” Ven said. “You can’t panic.” He plucked the candelabra from the wall, scowled at the tear in the gold-leaf decoration, and then turned.

  A courtier was clinging to Naelin.

  “I didn’t panic,” Naelin said. “He did.” She pried his fingers off her arm and then patted his shoulder. “You should knock next time.”

  The courtier bowed deeply. His eyes still looked wild, as if he wanted to bolt but his knees were shaking too hard to carry him out of the room. “Champion Ven, the que
en has requested your presence with utmost haste. She is in the Sunrise Room.”

  “Is she—” He halted. “Of course. Naelin, please continue to practice. A light touch, this time. Think small thoughts.”

  “I’m not summoning any spirits alone.”

  Beside the fireplace, the wolf Bayn stretched, as if to deliberately remind them of his presence. Ven was again struck by how much the wolf understood what went on around them. “Bayn will bite anything you can’t handle and howl if there’s anything he can’t handle. You’ll be perfectly safe.”

  “Famous last words.”

  “Trust me. Or if you don’t trust me, trust yourself. That’s the piece you’re missing. You still don’t trust yourself.” He crossed to her and put his hands on her shoulders, as if he could convince her through his intensity.

  “I’m dangerous.”

  “Yes, you are—but to them too. Trust that to keep you safe.” He could tell from her mulish expression that he wasn’t getting through to her. She didn’t see herself the way he saw her: strong, in every way that mattered. He’d never encountered anyone like her, someone who gave off her own kind of brilliant light, someone who made him want to be better and fight harder. But he couldn’t stay and argue with her, not when Queen Daleina had summoned him. He shot a look at the wolf, and the wolf flared his nostrils as if in agreement. It wasn’t a good sign when an animal understood him better than his trainee. Ven leveled a finger at Naelin. “We’ll continue this later.”

  He then strode out of Fara’s chambers. He knew the way, but the courtier insisted on scrambling after him, trying to fulfill his obligation of leading the champion, even though Ven outpaced him and was down the twisting stairs while the courtier still puffed behind him.

  He tried not to think about why Daleina could need him. If she was having a blackout, she wouldn’t have been able to summon him. Plus the spirits would be acting murderous. The air spirit had been irritated, but not worse than that, and he knew there were fire spirits flitting from lantern to lantern as if nothing was wrong. Maybe other symptoms had begun to manifest? But then she’d call for Hamon, not for him. She must want to talk about her security. He’d handed much of the responsibility over to the palace guards, but he knew Daleina felt most comfortable with him in charge.

  Nodding at Captain Alet and a second guard outside the Sunrise Room, he strode inside. She wasn’t on the throne. Instantly, his hand went to his sword hilt and he scanned the room, checking for threats. He saw her a moment later, in front of a mural, staring at it.

  “Leave us, and close the doors,” she ordered.

  The guards obeyed. He heard the solid doors clank shut and noticed the room was devoid of spirits, as near as he could tell—and he considered himself to have solid instincts when it came to spirits. He might not have the power to sense them, but he was aware of the twitch of air, the vibration in the earth, and the shuddering of a flame that came with them. He and Daleina were alone.

  “Do you hate me for Queen Fara’s death?” Daleina asked.

  The question hit like an arrow from an unseen archer. “You are my queen, and I could not hate you.”

  “Nice answer, but you must blame me.”

  He couldn’t imagine where this was coming from, or why she wanted to discuss it now. “Of course I blame you. And I blame myself. But mostly I blame Fara, and the spirit who corrupted her.” He corrected himself: “The spirit she allowed to corrupt her.” Fara had never been an innocent in what happened. She may have been tempted, but she was the one who chose to taste that temptation. “Why are we talking about this?”

  “Because of Hamon’s mother.” Daleina turned from the mural to face him, and he was relieved to see she looked fine. No trace of illness. Some shadows under her eyes from lack of sleep. She needed to eat more. He made a mental note to tell her sister to bake her some sweets.

  “All right. I’ll bite. Are you going to explain what you mean by that, or simply let that cryptic statement hang in the air? Granted, the cryptic statement is more regal, but I’m the only one here to impress.”

  Her mouth quirked into a smile. “Hamon’s mother has determined that my case of False Death is not natural. I was poisoned.”

  He felt himself go very still, every muscle tense, the way he felt before an attack. He was aware of the taste of the air, the stillness and silence in the room, the warmth of sun on the amber floor, the sound of his breathing and hers. “Hamon has confirmed this?”

  “He believes her, and that means I do too. It explains the early onset and the lack of other symptoms. But there’s more: his mother believes she can manufacture a cure, if we can find a sample of the original poison. It’s too diluted in my blood right now.”

  “Then we’ll find it.” He’d tear apart the palace, branch by branch. “We’ll wring it out of whoever did this to you—” He cut himself off. “Who would do this? It can’t be someone rational. Anyone would know that killing you without an heir would destroy Aratay. We’re after a madman.”

  “Or someone subsumed by grief. I’ve sent investigators to the families of the heirs, with instructions to pry without compounding their grief. But it could also be someone who privately hates me—either with reason or without. A caretaker. A courtier. A guard. A cook.”

  “Then we interview everyone.”

  “Everyone in Aratay?”

  “Everyone who has had contact with you in the past month. Your seneschal will have a list. Call them to the palace one at a time—”

  “It could be a champion.”

  She was watching him, looking for his reaction, and so he didn’t react, not at first. He considered it. His first and obvious reaction was no, impossible, and ridiculous. Champions were sworn to protect the Crown. “It couldn’t.”

  “It could.”

  “We are sworn to protect the Crown.”

  “The Crown, not the woman who wears it.”

  “Sophistry.”

  Her eyes were still on him as he paced back and forth. He wanted to punch something—a wall, an enemy, the throne. “We killed a queen for the sake of the country,” she said. “What if someone else wanted to do the same?”

  He knew all the other champions. Hated a few of them. Still didn’t believe any of them were guilty of regicide. But then, he’d never have expected it of Hamon and Headmistress Hanna either, nor his Daleina. “There’s no heir. No champion would endanger Aratay.” None of them were madmen, or so subsumed by grief as to be so irrational.

  “It’s a slow-acting poison,” Daleina pointed out. “A champion could think he or she would have time to train a new heir. He could have realized how I’d react: that I’d push forward faster with the training and the trials. He could have known that I’d name an heir sooner.”

  It was nonsense. But he couldn’t entirely dismiss the idea. The champions had unfettered access to Daleina and the palace. Everyone trusted them. And she was right about the choice of slow-acting poison: anyone who didn’t care about consequences could have simply stabbed her. Poison was the choice of someone who wanted additional time. “It’s very, very, very unlikely.”

  “But not impossible.” Her shoulders drooped, as if she’d been hoping he would argue with her and convince her she was wrong.

  He wished he could, but once the seed of doubt was planted, it took root. “Good people can do the wrong thing for the right reasons,” Ven said slowly. Plenty of champions were upset when their heirs died and Daleina emerged. Many thought she was unqualified and unworthy. He’d heard rumblings . . . Nothing to suggest that anyone meant her harm, but enough to know she had few fans among the champions. They’d yet to be impressed with her. She’d been careful with her power ever since being crowned and very careful after falling ill, and while the people might have seen her as cautious, there were those who saw her as weak. “Still, these are your champions we’re talking about. You shouldn’t doubt us. I can. But I’m a bitter, jaded old man, and you’re the fresh face of hope and light.” He shook h
is head. Now that she’d introduced the idea, he couldn’t help but cycle through each of the champions, evaluating them: Piriandra, Cabe, Ambir . . . No, it was unbelievable that he was even considering this.

  “It’s not a likely enough possibility for me to spare an investigator,” Daleina conceded. “But I thought perhaps you could question them, if only to lay our worries to rest.”

  “I can’t approach them in the middle of training. They’d think I was there to poach their candidate, or at least disrupt their training. You need a neutral party.” Ven paced harder, his feet grinding into the amber floor. He knew the other champions. He’d never succeed in cracking through their secrets. “Not neutral. Someone who is loyal to you alone. Captain Alet.”

  She sank into her throne. “Yes. Of course, yes. She’s perfect.”

  “Tell them she’s there to assist, in the interest of fairness. All of them know she assisted me. Or that she’s there to evaluate them, to determine if their candidates are ready for the trials. Either way, they won’t suspect the truth.” And if, however unlikely it was, Alet were to uncover the killer, at least she could defend herself, unlike an ordinary investigator. She was one of the few who stood a chance to survive such a discovery. She’d be able to report, even subdue the guilty party and secure the poison. He’d seen enough of her skills to know she could bring down a champion. He felt a chill, thinking of anyone taking down a champion, revealing them as a traitor and a murderer . . . “Daleina, you realize we’re grasping at straws here. The poisoner is far more likely to be a disgruntled political enemy or some heartbroken citizen than a hero of the realm.”

  Softly, the queen said, “I know. But Ven, don’t you see? There’s hope now. I can’t let it slip away. I have to do everything I can.”

  “I know,” he said. “And we will.”

  Telling Ven her suspicions hadn’t been so hard. Asking Alet to spy on the heroes of Aratay would be harder. Daleina wasn’t going to order her to do it. She wanted this to come from a friend, not a queen. She didn’t know why that mattered to her, but it did. It was such a ridiculous idea that she couldn’t make it a royal command.