The Reluctant Queen

by Sarah Beth Durst

  He hesitated, and Naelin liked him better for that hesitation—he didn’t know what to do either, and weirdly that was comforting. But then his “in-charge champion” face snapped back into position, and he was again using his voice of authority, which was probably highly effective on young candidates but less impressive to Naelin, who had used that tone herself plenty of times. “As corny as it sounds, you need to believe in yourself.”

  Naelin snorted. “You can’t tell me the queen doesn’t fear the spirits. She saw what they can do. It can’t be just about cheerful confidence and a positive attitude.”

  “Daleina feels fear, but it doesn’t cause her to retreat. She pushes back harder.”

  “Good for her.” She buried her face in her hands. “Ugh! Why can’t I do this? I sent the kraken away! These little spirits should be nothing!”

  “You need that core of determination—”

  “I am determined.” How many times had Renet called her stubborn? My pigheadedness is my defining feature. It was why she’d stayed married to Renet for so long, even though she’d been acting more like his mother than his wife for some time. She’d been so determined to keep their marriage from dying that she hadn’t wanted to admit it was already dead. “You’ve seen me be determined.”

  “With me, yes. But with the spirits? Your fear swallows your determination.”

  He was right, of course. Naelin knew what fear could do: it could freeze you worse than an ice spirit. She remembered when Erian was five years old, and she was terrified of climbing, which was a problem when their home was a hundred feet up in a tree and her school was even higher. Don’t look down, Naelin had told her. But Renet had said, Look down. It’s all right to be afraid. She’d looked down, shaking like a leaf in a stiff breeze, and didn’t move. For well over an hour, she sat there, staring, and then eventually, because she was five, she got bored. And she climbed. He’d been right.

  Ven was talking again, telling her how strong her power was, how she’d already proven she had the potential, how she should trust herself—and on and on.

  Naelin lowered her hands. “I have a truly terrible idea.”

  This was enough to break through his faux relaxed pose. For the first time since practice began, he looked interested. “I like terrible ideas.”

  “I want to surround myself with spirits.”

  “All right.”

  “I don’t want to control them. Just acclimatize myself to them.” Walking over to the balcony doors, she peered out. In the nearby area, she could sense dozens of spirits: fire spirits dancing in the candles and hearths, air spirits flitting above the canopy and playing with the flags, water spirits weighing down the clouds, earth spirits burrowing through the gardens, tree spirits, even a few ice spirits. If she opened her mind to them and invited them in . . . called them closer but didn’t use them . . . “You don’t think it’s a terrible idea?”

  “Works for me.” He drew his sword.

  “Last time I summoned all the spirits, a kraken nearly destroyed the academy. I can’t promise that won’t happen again.”

  “You’re high above the earth. Plus Daleina knows you’re training. She’ll keep us from destroying the palace. Call them.”

  Opening the balcony doors, Naelin stepped outside. She felt wind in her face, carrying the scent of pine needles and roses. She heard the bustle of people in the city, crossing over the many bridges, beyond the thick mat of leaves. Below, guards clustered near the entrance, and a couple strolled through a pavilion. She wondered what her children were doing, if they were happy, if they were scared, if they’d eaten their lunch . . .

  Come. She sent the word out, first to the air spirits, letting it ride on the breeze. Come, she whispered to the trees. Come, she called the fire and the water. Come, ice and earth.

  She felt a breeze first on her face. It smelled sweet, with a hint of saltwater and overripe fruit that didn’t grow within a hundred miles of the forest, and it danced around her, lifting her hair from her neck. Naelin turned to see the breeze solidify into a dancing spirit. It was joined by others, cavorting in a ring around her. Their translucent skin shimmered in the light of the fire spirits. An earth spirit climbed in over the balcony and plopped onto the floor—it was a toad with a boy’s head. A tree spirit made of knobby sticks perched on the balcony. It ripped the canopy fabric with its skinny fingers. She told herself not to stop it.

  More poured into the room. She felt them crawling in through the balcony window, like insects on her skin. Ven opened the door, and more crowded in—fire spirits from the lanterns, tree spirits from the walls and floors, earth spirits from the kitchen and flower gardens.

  Most were tiny, the size of her palm. They zipped through the room, cackling and shrieking, chasing one another. An ice spirit decorated a wall with frost. A fire spirit landed in the hearth, set a log on fire, and tossed it to another spirit. They began to toss it back and forth, sparks flying up to the ceiling. A water spirit rained in a corner.

  Naelin wanted to run out of the room screaming.

  She forced herself to stand still.

  She felt the spirits swirl around her, too close. An earth spirit cozied up to her ankle. A tree spirit ran along her arm. An air spirit entwined itself in her hair. She felt its tiny feet on her scalp. Sweat prickled over her skin, and Naelin wiped her palms on her skirt. Her mouth was dry, and she felt her heart beating so hard in her chest that it hurt. There wasn’t enough air. The spirits were sucking away all the oxygen. She began to gasp for breath.

  “Calm,” Ven said.

  “Doesn’t help,” she reminded him.

  “Just breathe.”

  “Trying.” She forced herself to take a slow breath and then exhale it. There wasn’t less air. It only felt that way. The spirits pressed closer to her. She felt their claws touch her skin, dragging along the surface without breaking it. She was aware of her blood pulsing through her and how easily they could spill it.

  A tree spirit breathed on her neck, its breath hot and smelling of wet moss, and it took every bit of willpower in her not to rip it away from her and fling it across the room.

  “Used to them yet?” Ven asked.

  “No. You?”

  “No, this may have been a terrible idea.”

  “Told you so.” She realized he’d moved next to her. His sword was in his hand, ready. His eyes were darting around them.

  “How long would you like to do this?” Ven’s voice was polite.

  “As long as it takes.” Lowering herself, she sat cross-legged on the floor. Water from a trio of water spirits pooled around her, soaking into her skirt. A fire spirit landed on the back of her hand, and she flinched. It giggled and flew off.

  “And how will you know when it’s done?” Still polite. It was starting to get a touch infuriating.

  “Either I’ll be cured of my paralyzing fear, or I’ll end up so traumatized that I’ll be a twitching mess on the floor.” Naelin laid her hands on her knees and focused on breathing in and out, while a hundred or so of her worst nightmares spun and laughed and crawled and flew and slithered around her.

  “Sounds good.”

  Hamon paused outside his mother’s quarters. “Has she tried to leave?”

  The guard on the left straightened. “Not on our shift, sir.”

  “Before that?” He didn’t believe she hadn’t tried to push the boundaries he’d set in place—she might not even have an agenda outside her quarters, but that wouldn’t stop her from poking and prodding until she found any weakness. She was a caged predator.

  “Prior shift reported no movement.”

  Since Hamon hadn’t seen these particular guards before, he repeated his warning: “Don’t talk to her. Don’t take anything from her. Don’t ever eat anything she has touched or been near or even breathed on. It’s best if you don’t let her touch you, or even let her close enough so she could touch you. She’s a venomous snake.”

  The guards looked startled. The one who hadn’t spoken
yet said, “She’s your mother.”

  “Precisely why you should trust me on this.” He nodded toward the door. “Unlock it. And do not engage, even if she addresses you directly.” The first guard nodded and undid the lock. It slid back with a solid thunk. He twisted the handle, and Hamon saw he was as tense as a spring, ready to jump away from the door. The other guard had his hand on his hilt. Good, Hamon thought.

  Hamon stepped inside and waited while the guards shut and locked the door behind him. Only then did he step into the room. “Hello, Mother.”

  His mother was sprawled on the couch, her bare feet propped on a letter-writing box that had been embossed with gold and was probably worth more than his childhood home. At the long worktable, Arin was hunched over a test tube. She didn’t move when Hamon entered. Concentrating, she frowned at a teaspoon of powder as she carefully transferred it to the glass tube.

  She shouldn’t still be here! he thought. Why was she—

  Mother held a finger to her lips, and Hamon halted, the words he’d planned to say stuck in his throat. As Arin finished pouring the powder, her shoulders dropped and she exhaled. She stuck the teaspoon back into the jar.

  “Seal it, and then drop the gloves into the basket,” Mother instructed. “You don’t want to risk contamination.”

  Arin obeyed, adding her gloves to an already-large pile in a basket underneath the table. Hamon wondered how they’d obtained so many gloves if Mother hadn’t spoken to the guards . . . and then he realized the answer was right in front of him. He’d given the guards no warnings about the queen’s sister. She was free to come and go as she pleased. She’d most likely procured the gloves, as well as anything else Mother needed or wanted, including that pear wine and all the chocolates. That was why Mother hadn’t pushed at the boundaries of her cage. She didn’t need to. She’d found herself a loophole. “Clever,” he murmured.

  “Yes, I know,” Mother said. Then, “To what are you referring to?”

  He didn’t answer. His instinct was to grab Arin and send her as far away as possible, but that wouldn’t be smart, not until he knew what Mother had done to her. “What do you have her doing?”

  “Practicing.” Mother swung her feet off the letterbox. “No, girl, you don’t cap it. You have to let it breathe. Oxygen is a key ingredient. Just be careful you don’t knock it over, or you’ll be spitting up blood for an hour.”

  “You’re teaching the queen’s sister to make poisons.” His voice was flat. His hands curled into fists, and he forced them to relax. If she was doing this to poke at him, he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of showing it was effective. “The queen would not approve.” He kept his voice mild.

  “No, Hamon, I am teaching my assistant to make poisons.” Mother beamed at Arin. “And a wise queen would not disapprove of any knowledge fairly and freely won. Arin is an apt pupil, and she has a steady hand.”

  Looking at him for the first time since he’d entered, Arin flashed a smile. “It’s the bakery training. You have to be precise to replicate a perfected recipe, and you need a steady hand to decorate. Ever tried to shape a flower petal out of sugar?”

  “Bah, she’s been wasted in bakeries,” Mother said. “I have given her a true calling, and a noble purpose!” She widened her arms for effect.

  “I told you to fix her,” Hamon said. “This is not acceptable.” This was Daleina’s sister! Mother had to release her now before Daleina heard, before any permanent damage was done, before this became irreversible and unforgivable.

  His mother smiled in that condescending Mother-knows-best smile that he hated. Sweetly, she said, “Is this truly what you came to talk to me about?”

  He opened his mouth, shut it, fumed, and opened it again. He should insist she release Arin. He’d promised Daleina . . . But Mother was right—he’d come for another favor, and he knew her well enough to know he’d never convince her to help if he insisted on this.

  Daleina wouldn’t thank him when she learned he’d allowed his mother to enspell Arin. In fact, she might not forgive him. But as long as she was alive to hate him, that was what mattered the most. The issue of Arin could wait. Right now, she was safe enough. Mother wouldn’t want to damage her new assistant, not while she was being useful.

  Forcing himself to look away from Arin, he ground out the words. “We’re in need of your expertise again, Mother.”

  Sitting up straight, Mother clapped her hands together. “Delightful! Do you have more blood for me to test? This time I’d like my assistant to try her hand—”

  “We need your knowledge of people. Poison makers, to be specific. Queen Daleina requires the name of everyone with the skill to craft the False Death poison.”

  “Oh, Hamon, you know I cannot give you the names of my colleagues.” She sounded as if she were scolding him for asking for a treat. “We work in secrecy for our own protection. My life would be in danger if the others knew I’d exposed them.”

  “If they’re innocent, they won’t be harmed.”

  “None of us are innocent. You know that.” She smiled indulgently at Arin. “Precious few of any of us—of people—are innocent. Certainly you are not, my darling boy. Does your beloved queen know of your youthful activities?”

  “She knows all.” He was letting her derail the conversation. Talking with other people was never as hard as talking with Mother. He’d always been excellent at steering the conversation. Just not with her. “If you’re looking to blackmail me, it won’t work.”

  She laughed, actually laughed at that. It was a merry sound, like a tinkling of ice, and just as cold. “Darling boy, I have all the leverage I need.”

  I’m sorry, Arin, he thought. Once Daleina was safe, he’d help her. “Then garner more goodwill by doing us this favor. The queen wants names and, if possible, addresses. She wants that poison sample.”

  “No poison maker would admit to creating the poison that is killing the queen.”

  “If the poison maker didn’t know the intended target, then the poison maker would be granted immunity. Absolved of all prior crimes. Free to pursue his or her profession without interference.”

  “That could interest them.” She looked as if it interested her. Tapping her teeth with her fingers, she studied Hamon as if he were a three-headed mouse—she’d created one of those once, after infecting a mother mouse with one of her serums. Hamon had made it a pet, until Mother had insisted he kill it so they could study its brains. She’d had him break all three of its necks, even though one had been enough. His childhood was full of fun memories like that. He looked again at Arin and promised himself he’d find a way to extract her from Mother’s influence, after Daleina was healed.

  “Absolved of all past crimes, regardless of severity, in exchange for a sample of the poison,” Hamon said, and wondered if he were promising more than he could deliver.

  Mother smiled. “So in a way, I would be providing a potentially lucrative business transaction for my colleagues, wouldn’t I? But tell me, what do I get out of this kindness? Will I be granted such immunity?”

  He relished the thought of his mother in jail, with no means to create her concoctions, no ability to hurt anyone ever again, no means to intrude on his life. A child’s dream, he thought. “Help us, and I will ensure it. With provisions.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Provisions? I don’t think you’re in any position to be making demands. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you need me. Therefore, I set the terms. I want this immunity, on top of the palace position we discussed.”

  He ignored the last part for now. “You will be forgiven for past crimes,” Hamon said. “But I cannot endorse your committing future crimes.” Even the first part of that pained him to say. He’d always believed that his mother’s past would someday catch up with her.

  “I’ll accept that, so long as self-defense remains a viable option if any of my fellow chemists object to my exposing them,” Mother said. “Grab yourself some paper. I am about to give you names, and if you mi
ss any, it won’t be my fault.”

  He scrambled for paper as she began talking.

  Chapter 20

  It had been three days, and Daleina had her first reports from her investigators, both the ones she’d sent to visit the bereaved families and the ones she’d sent to interview poison makers. Written on curled parchment, sealed with official marks, they were delivered to her on silver platters. She opened them in her throne room, with Bayn beside her and guards outside the door, and then crushed them. The brittle paper crumbled easily in her hands. Watching her, an air spirit stirred a breeze, and the fragments of parchment swirled into dust and then out the window. She let them.

  No news. No suspects.

  Of course, they couldn’t be certain. People lie. People hide. But her people were thorough, and she was certain these reports were accurate.

  The investigators would fan out into the forest. Many families were from beyond the capital, some as far as the border, and most poison makers lived in hiding. They’d need more time. She wasn’t certain how much time she had. Nor did she believe they would find her poisoner.

  She was losing hope, and it hurt as much as losing blood.

  One of her guards opened the door. “Captain Alet, reporting as ordered.”

  Daleina straightened. Maybe Alet would have news. “Allow her in, of course, and then leave us.” Bayn lifted his head to watch as Captain Alet marched into the throne room and then waited at attention until the other guards left. The heavy doors clanged—Daleina had picked the Amber Throne Room today. It held a seriousness that felt appropriate, with the heavy iron-crusted doors, the sconces made of old swords, and the walls sheathed in golden amber. Her throne was also coated in amber, and the armrests felt smooth under her fingers.

  “Alet, please tell me you’ve discovered something,” Daleina said.