The Reluctant Queen

by Sarah Beth Durst

  Naelin hugged Erian tighter. This she could forgive, easily. “It’s all right, baby. I understand.” She’d been leaving them alone while she trained. They had to be lonely and scared. She hadn’t known how to fix that, so Erian had found her own solution. In a way, it was clever. Pulling back, Naelin forced herself to smile. “Just because things have changed between your father and me, it does not mean they’ve changed between you and me or between your father and you. I love you, and he loves you, and that will never change.”

  “Naelin?” Renet’s voice was hesitant. “What are you saying?”

  “You know what I’m saying, Renet.” Naelin stood, her arm still around her daughter. “You may stay. Be father to our children. I will ask the palace caretakers to find you quarters nearby.” Or maybe not so nearby. Another level. Another tree. Another country.

  “But not here, with you?”

  “That’s right,” she said.

  Renet’s face darkened. “Is it because of him?” He pointed at Ven.

  Naelin felt her jaw drop open. Did he mean . . . He was accusing . . . She shook her head as if to knock his reaction into something that made sense. Ven had nothing to do with her and Renet’s failed marriage—their love had died years before the champion ever heard of East Everdale. “It’s because of you and me, and if you can’t see that . . .” She trailed off before she said something she’d regret in front of the children. He was still their father. She didn’t have the right to tear him apart in front of them, though she wanted to. She had the urge to send him to the corner, to think about what he’d said, like he was a five-year-old. Instead, she turned and crossed to the bell pull. She yanked on it, harder than necessary.

  Thankfully, she didn’t have to wait long for a caretaker to come. “This man has had a long journey and is almost certainly hungry. Could you please take him to the kitchens and then arrange for a bedchamber to be prepared for him”—she almost said near theirs but then changed her mind—“in the main tower? Just above the kitchens?”

  “Of course.” The caretaker bowed.

  To Renet, she said, “I begin training at dawn. You may return then to spend time with the children.”

  “Naelin, this is ridiculous,” Renet said. “You’re my wife, and they’re my children. And I don’t need your permission to spend time with—”

  Ven cut in. “Candidate Naelin is here by express invitation of the Crown. You are not. If your presence here distracts Candidate Naelin from her training in any way, you will be asked to leave.”

  Llor began to cry.

  Naelin closed her eyes again. She wanted to sag into a heap on the floor. But she didn’t. She held herself upright and her expression firm until Renet left with the caretaker. Even then she didn’t allow herself to collapse. She gathered her children into her arms as the door clanged shut behind him. “Everything will be all right,” she promised them.

  “You don’t know that,” Erian said, pulling away from her. “At least this way we won’t be alone when you’re killed.” She ran into the bedchamber and slammed the door behind her.

  Llor sobbed louder.

  Hugging him, Naelin tried to scoop him up, but her muscles were tired and shaking, and he was a solid six-year-old boy. Coming around her, Ven picked him up and carried him with her into the bathroom. There, Ven helped her dry Llor’s tears and prepare him for bed, washing him, brushing his teeth, dressing him in a nightshirt. Together, they tucked him in, and Naelin kissed his forehead. “Don’t die, Mama,” Llor begged sleepily.

  “I won’t,” she said, and hoped she wasn’t lying.

  Trotting in, the wolf licked the tip of Llor’s nose, and Llor giggled. He then closed his eyelids. Naelin watched him for a moment longer until he was breathing evenly. She then went into her bedchamber, where Erian had thrown herself on Naelin’s bed.

  “You’re mad at me,” Erian said, “but I’m not sorry.”

  “I am sorry,” Naelin said, and kissed Erian’s forehead. “And I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at the situation. I’m mad that I have to be apart from you for even a second. I’m mad that things change. But I’m not mad at you. And even if I were, you know what? I’d still love you.”

  “But you don’t love Father anymore.”

  Naelin sighed. “People change.”

  “What if I change, and you decide you don’t love me anymore?”

  She did not want to have this conversation right now. She silently cursed Renet for forcing her to. “How about I promise?”

  “You married Father. Didn’t you promise him then?”

  She had a point. Naelin was supposed to always love him. They’d built a life together. They’d had a home. They’d raised children. They were supposed to grow old together. If she could just forgive him for this one mistake . . . Except it wasn’t one mistake. It was the culmination of every mistake. It was the fact that he’d never grown up, never taken responsibility, never . . . But Erian was waiting for her answer. “That’s different.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he also made promises to me . . . and he didn’t keep them. I loved him, and he thought that meant that he had no responsibilities, that I would mother him and you, that I’d fix his problems, correct his mistakes, and keep us all safe no matter what whim struck him . . . and that almost cost me you and Llor. And I won’t let that happen. I promise.”

  Erian relaxed. She padded to the room where she and Llor slept, and let Naelin tuck her in and kiss her forehead. She even smiled at Ven and gave Bayn a pat on the head. Tiptoeing out with Ven and Bayn, Naelin shut the door on the children.

  “Are you all right?” Ven asked her.

  “I owe you an apology for all the family drama,” Naelin said. “I know it’s not the role of a champion.” She tried to summon up a smile, but it required too much energy. She sank onto the couch.

  “But it is the role of a friend.” He sat beside her.

  “Aw, that’s sweet. You know, you look deadly, but you are a sweet kitten inside.” Without thinking about it, Naelin leaned against him, resting her cheek on his shoulder. After a moment, he put his arm around her shoulders, and she was suddenly conscious of how close they were. They’d been close before, during training, especially when he was teaching her how to break holds and dodge knives, but that was entirely different, when Renet’s accusation still hung in the air. She felt his chest rise and fall with each breath, and she breathed in the smell of him: a mix of leather and sweat and pine needles. She could move away. Stand up, say good night, fall asleep in her own bed. But this . . . was nice.

  She fell asleep like that, head resting on his shoulder, his arm around her—safe.

  Two more days of training.

  Naelin spent the mornings with Queen Daleina and the afternoons with Ven. Throughout, the wolf Bayn stuck with her. She took to requesting raw meat with every meal, so that she could feed him too. “You should be out hunting,” she told him. “You’re a wolf. It’s the wolfly thing to do.”

  He merely looked at her with his yellow wolf eyes and then lay down in the hearth in the late Queen Fara’s chambers.

  “He likes you,” Ven said.

  “He likes the meat.”

  “That too.” Coming up behind her, Ven put one hand on Naelin’s wrist. “Now, what do you do if I grab you, spin you, and try to stab you?” He pulled her around, and she spun to face him. His other hand was formed into a fist, as if he held a knife. She felt his fist against her stomach. If it had been a real knife, she’d already be dead.

  It wasn’t a knife, though, and she was aware of how close he was, holding her pressed against him. It was damn distracting. She twisted away and jabbed upward with her elbow. She hit hard enough that he loosened his grip.

  “Faster. You won’t have time to think about your reactions. It has to be instinctual.” This time, when he spun her, she twisted and jabbed at the same time. “Good. Again.”

  They repeated the maneuver over and over, until she was sweating and hungry and t
horoughly done with it. As he spun her for the hundredth time, she called an air spirit—a small one—with her mind. She twisted—and the air spirit swept his feet out from under him.

  He thudded down backward.

  The air spirit perched on the arm of the couch and giggled. It was a tiny spirit, comprised of mainly white and brown feathers. Its giggle was shrill, like the sound of glass breaking.

  Naelin sent the spirit away and grinned at Ven. “Got you.”

  “Clever.” He held out his hand. She took it and pulled. He sprang up. He wasn’t winded at all, damn him. He looked like he could keep doing this for hours.

  “I need to rest,” she told him.

  “An attack could come at any time.” He spun her again. But this time, she didn’t move. She let him hold her, close against him. Tilting her head, she studied his face. It was the beard that made him look so stern. You couldn’t see the gentleness in his lips. His eyes weren’t stern. He looked worried, and she knew for a fact that he spent most of his waking hours worrying about either her or Daleina.

  “It’s a shame you aren’t a father,” she said.

  “Sorry?”

  “You’d love your children with all your heart.”

  “I’m not cut out for parenthood. It doesn’t suit my lifestyle. And why are we talking about this? Are you delaying so you don’t have to practice anymore?”

  “Yes. I’m tired. I told you, I need to rest.”

  “Then rest.” He released her, and she felt suddenly cold as a breeze sliced between them. The windows to the balcony were open. He crossed to them and shut them, as if he’d seen her shiver. He probably had. He watched her closely, she knew. Because he’s evaluating me, she reminded herself. Nothing more. She knew Queen Daleina was relying on him to say when Naelin was ready for the trials.

  “What would you be if you weren’t a champion?” she asked.

  “You keep trying to get to know me, as if I were complicated. But I’m not. I knew at a young age that it was my responsibility to carry on the family tradition. That was my goal. I never wavered.”

  “You never wanted an ordinary life? A house, a wife, a family?”

  “That was never my destiny.”

  She snorted. She didn’t believe in destiny. She believed in random chance that you pushed and pulled at to give you a life you could live with. “You never fell in love?”

  He looked away. “Once.”

  “What happened?” As soon as she asked, she thought maybe she shouldn’t push. “You don’t need to answer that. We can train more.” Naelin stepped back closer to him. She’d jab and twist, or whatever she needed to do.

  “She changed. And then she died.”

  Naelin laid a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”

  “That too is the destiny of champions: to love people who die.”

  She wanted to say something sympathetic. She knew that was what the situation called for, but he was sounding ridiculously melodramatic. “At the risk of sounding insensitive, everyone dies, so by definition, everyone loves people who die. The fact that your love died doesn’t make you a brooding hero out of a tale. Actually, the fact that you’re both brooding and a hero is what makes you one, but that’s not what I’m trying to say. I mean . . . I don’t know what I mean. Except that you don’t need to be so afraid. I’m not planning on dying.”

  “Good,” he said.

  And this time, when he spun her around, she again didn’t twist away. Instead, this time, she kissed him. He kissed her back.

  Chapter 27

  Daleina leaned back against her throne and rubbed her temples. She’d already discarded her crown—it wasn’t as if anyone was likely to forget she was queen—but her head still ached. Lack of sleep, Hamon had told her. Also stress. It’s not as if I can prevent that. “You are dancing around something, and I don’t like it,” she informed her chancellors.

  Chancellor Isolek fidgeted uncomfortably in his high-back chair. “It is only that we take no pleasure in bringing you this news.”

  “You don’t want to say ‘I told you so’?” Daleina guessed.

  “Precisely,” Chancellor Quisala said. She looked smaller, as if she’d shrunk during the past few weeks. Her wrinkles had folded in on themselves until her skin looked more like tree bark. Leaning across the table, she placed markers on the map of Aratay. Chancellor Isolek jumped forward and took the markers for her, positioning them along the border with Semo, clustered in the northeast. Chancellor Quisala sagged back into her chair for a moment and then fixed her posture—Daleina thought about ordering the woman to sleep more, but that was as likely to be effective as Hamon telling Daleina to rest. Both of them had better things to do.

  “Over the last few days, we’ve seen significant movement here”—Isolek pointed at the map—“and here, in the northeast. Each marker denotes a squadron. That puts three squadrons just over the border in Nimoc, with another positioned due north of Ogdare and another northeast of North Garat, leaving only one behind north of Birchen.”

  “It’s undeniable,” Quisala said. “This is no training exercise.”

  Oh, Merecot, why are you doing this? Daleina thought. “We can send more envoys—”

  “Your Majesty . . .” Isolek’s voice was gentle. “We believe the time has come to admit that diplomacy has failed.”

  “Queen Merecot is invading,” Quisala said, thumping her frail fist on the table, “and we must respond. It may be too late already. She will sweep across the northern border—the guards there are not plentiful enough to repel an army of this size. She could reach Mittriel quickly.”

  “Here is where we disagree, Your Majesty,” Isolek said. “She won’t come from the north; she’ll come from the northeast. She does not have enough soldiers to take Mittriel, even if she passes the border towns successfully.”

  “Which she will,” Quisala put in, bitterness thick in her voice. “We left those woefully undefended.” She then shot a glance at Daleina. “For a reason. I understand that now.”

  Daleina nodded to show she was not angered, at least not at her advisers.

  “She may be positioned to attack the capital, but not with a large enough army to claim it,” Isolek said. “Our spies have not reported any increase in troops to the north. We believe there is an alternate explanation—that she may be trying to bite off a corner of Aratay, absorb it into Semo and expand her borders, rather than attempting a full-scale invasion. Look at the mass of troops near Ogdare and North Garat!” Isolek tapped the map. “We must make a choice as to where to send our soldiers: to the northeast to prevent an incursion there, or north to defend Mittriel. Frankly, I think the choice is clear: northeast. It’s the only place she has enough soldiers to form a true threat.”

  “But that risks leaving Mittriel exposed!” Quisala said. “And the border towns will surely be overrun if you are wrong. Birchen will be destroyed.”

  “Look at the numbers, Quisala!” Isolek jabbed at the map so hard that he dented it. “She has no hope of capturing Mittriel. Clearly the threat is in the northeast. That’s where we send soldiers . . . assuming that we can spare them at all. Your Majesty . . .”

  With Candidate Naelin in the palace, Daleina was less worried about the spirits attacking the capital if and when she had another blackout. She was worried about that squadron north of Mittriel. Yes, it was only one squadron, but Chancellor Quisala was correct: if Daleina sent all the guards to the northeast, it exposed the capital, and if Daleina fell in battle before an heir was named and Merecot were able to take Mittriel . . . she could take it all. “It depends on whether she wants to annex a small portion of Aratay or wants the entire country,” she mused.

  “Your Majesty, you know her best,” Quisala said, spreading her hands.

  She wants it all, Daleina thought. Merecot was nothing if not ambitious. Leaning over the map, Daleina studied it again. A lot of forest lay between the capital and the northern border, but Daleina knew the shape of the land. She’d felt it as she sank
herself into the spirits. She’d been with them as they soared over. The birches due north were easy to travel through, a direct line to Mittriel. “Northeast is a decoy. She wants us to send troops there to leave Mittriel exposed. It’s a trap.”

  Quisala slapped the table. “Exactly as I said!”

  “But she doesn’t have enough troops to take Mittriel,” Isolek protested. “There’s plenty of forest between the border and the capital and plenty of people who will rise to defend their homes. With one squadron, she can’t do it.”

  Daleina closed her eyes, not wanting to say it but knowing it needed to be said. “She’ll use spirits.”

  Both Quisala and Isolek protested. No queen would ever use spirits against humans. It was not done. It violated everything a queen was sworn to do.

  Daleina knew for a fact that didn’t stop all queens—Queen Fara hadn’t hesitated to use spirits against humans.

  Daleina thought of Sata and of Mari, who had been crushed by six tree spirits on the late queen’s orders. When they’d poisoned the queen, Fara had been bargaining with a spirit to exchange the lives of villagers for more power and control. Merecot might not be doing the same, but she wouldn’t hesitate to order the spirits to do whatever she felt had to be done.

  “Send the troops north. We protect Mittriel.” If Queen Merecot took the capital before an heir was ready, she could claim all of Aratay. They had to keep Merecot’s people out of Mittriel, away from the throne.