The Reluctant Queen

by Sarah Beth Durst

  Alet’s eyes fluttered.

  “Keep her alive,” Ven ordered.

  But Hamon was already at her side. “I can’t work miracles. I can extend her life for only a few minutes. Maybe less.” He was pulling herbs out of pockets. He found one and, hands shaking, poured it into his hand. He then funneled it into her mouth. “Taste it. There. That’s it.”

  “Helps,” Alet said. Her eyelids fluttered again.

  Ven knelt closer so he could hear her. He’d failed to suspect Alet. But he wouldn’t fail now. “The poison. Where is it?”

  “Too late,” Alet said. “I am sorry. Tell Daleina . . . I’m sorry.”

  “Why is it ‘too late’?” Hamon asked. “What is the poison?”

  Alet didn’t answer. She just breathed, shallowly, with a horrible rattle that made Ven want to scream. This woman had all the answers they needed, and she was slipping away.

  “Tell us!” Ven demanded. He couldn’t threaten her. He had no leverage. And she had no reason to tell him anything—

  “Merecot, my sister,” Alet whispered. He could barely hear the words. “Naelin, you understand . . . what you do . . . for family. Did it for my sister. Tell Daleina . . . I’m sorry. So very sorry. It was for the best. Greater good . . . You must understand: for the greater good. I am a hero.”

  You’re a murderer, Ven wanted to say. He didn’t. “Alet, where is the poison?”

  “Medicine good. No pain. Thank you. Kindness . . . I didn’t expect. You will understand, when Merecot comes. You will forgive. I did what was necessary, for the future of our people.”

  “Why is it ‘too late’?” Hamon asked again. His voice was calm, soothing, as if he were merely tucking Alet into bed. “Tell us, Alet, why is it ‘too late’?”

  “Because I already told her. About the trials. She will begin at dawn.”

  “Who’s ‘she’?” Ven demanded. “Queen Merecot? Begin what?” But he thought he knew the answer. “She’s beginning the invasion?”

  “Tell my sister: I died a hero.”

  She didn’t speak again.

  Chapter 29

  Hope.

  That’s what the dead woman was, Hamon thought. As soon as he’d stitched Candidate Naelin’s wound—which would heal; she’d managed to keep the blade away from anything vital—he dropped to his knees beside the assassin.

  He’d need to search her and search her possessions. She may not have told him what the poison was or if she’d had any remaining, but at least he at last had somewhere to look! He refused to think about the possibility that she had tossed the rest or that there was none left.

  “Keep my queen alive,” he told Ven. His eyes were only on the body. He began to check her pockets, outer first. “All I need is time.”

  “Time is one thing we may not have,” Ven told him.

  “Make time. Find a way to delay.” Nothing in the outer pockets. Inner? “Tell her I’m close to a cure. Just give me time!”

  “I won’t give her false hope,” Ven said.

  “It’s not false! I will find her cure. And when I do, she has to be alive to take it. Don’t let her be a martyr.” He jumped to his feet and grabbed the front of Ven’s armor, curling the leather in his fist. “You’re her champion. Be it.”

  Ven’s expression didn’t change. “Work fast.”

  “I will.” He strode to the door and flung it open. “You and you”—he pointed to two startled guards—“will carry a body and come with me.” He wouldn’t be working alone. He’d bring the dead woman and all her belongings to his mother. Together, they’d save Daleina.

  Ow, ow, ow. Naelin pressed her hand to her side. She’d been stitched up, but it still hurt like . . . like . . . well, like she’d had a knife stuck in her. Standing, she leaned against the balcony railing while a guard and two caretakers helped Healer Hamon with the body.

  The body.

  Alet.

  Oh, Alet.

  If only . . .

  But there wasn’t time for thoughts like that. There wasn’t time for anything. “I have to get Erian and Llor to safety.” She wouldn’t be able to watch them. Neither would Ven. Or Alet. Poor Alet. Her sister . . . Naelin knew she should feel angry. Later, maybe. Later, she could feel whatever she wanted. Anger. Sympathy. Sorrow. Guilt. “Renet has to watch them.” She hated saying it, hated that she had to rely on him, hated that he was right in any way.

  She began to walk toward the bedroom when Ven stopped her. “Wash first. You’ll scare them.”

  She loved that he thought of that, of how her children would feel. Veering, she hurried to the washbasin in the corner of the room. She scrubbed her hands, trying not to think about how this was her blood, how it had felt when the knife had slid into her . . . that moment before it started to hurt, when she knew it would hurt. And then it did. Ven produced a robe from somewhere, and she wrapped it around herself to hide her bloodstained clothes. It wasn’t perfect. But it was better. She noticed Ven had pulled the curtains over the entrance to the balcony, a mercy.

  Knocking on the door, she called, “Erian? Llor? It’s okay. You can unlock now.”

  She heard the lock click, and then Erian and Llor both tumbled out, squeezing together through the doorway to throw themselves into her arms.

  “There were scary sounds, Mama!” Llor cried. He was clutching his stuffed squirrel, the one his sister had made him from old bedsheets. Both button eyes had fallen off.

  “I know, baby.” Naelin stroked his hair. “And now I need you to hurry. You two are going to stay with your father tonight. The queen needs me, and I need to know you’re safe and with someone who loves you. Now, be good, and come with me.”

  The five of them—Naelin, Ven, Erian, Llor, and Bayn—hurried out of the chambers and through the corridors. As they went, Naelin reached out with her mind and touched the spirits around the palace and then farther out, in the capital. She couldn’t sense any invasion, but then she couldn’t reach much beyond the city. She wondered what Daleina could feel. As queen, she could sense every spirit within her borders. She should be able to sense when the queen of Semo’s spirits crossed into Aratay.

  At Renet’s door, Naelin knocked.

  No answer.

  She knocked harder.

  From inside, she heard shuffled footsteps. A muffled oof. And then the door opened. Renet stood in the doorway—bare chested, with a towel around his neck. His hair was wet and sticking out at all angles. She would have combed it for him if they’d been home.

  Home felt very far away.

  She herded Erian and Llor forward. “Keep a close watch on them, Renet.”

  “Of course.” He opened his mouth to ask more questions, but she didn’t give him time. She bent down and hugged both Erian and Llor.

  “Listen to your father,” she told them. “Unless he proposes something unsafe, in which case ignore him. I’m counting on you both to be smart and very grown-up until I’m back.”

  “You’re going somewhere?” Renet asked.

  To war, she thought. But she didn’t say it. “Keep them safe.”

  She saw his eyes shift to Ven, and she couldn’t help glancing at Ven too. He was scowling at Renet, and she thought Renet was going to insult him or argue with him. But all Renet said was “Keep her safe too.”

  “I will,” Ven said.

  Then it was time to visit the queen and tell her things she wouldn’t want to hear.

  Queen Daleina listened to the sounds of the city. From her balcony, she could hear the hum of voices—too far to hear any individual words—but she heard the soft murmur of intertwined voices from the bridges and paths closest to the palace. She heard birds flying back to their trees, and the spirits rustling through the leaves as they skittered along the branches. Somewhere, far in the distance, someone was singing. And she heard bells, perhaps at the academy. She wondered if she could hear that far away.

  The night sounds were soothing, and she needed soothing. This day had been—

  Her door sl
ammed open. “Queen Daleina?” Ven strode in. Behind him came Candidate Naelin and the wolf Bayn. Looks like this day isn’t over yet, Daleina thought.

  “Your Majesty, they insisted—” her guard began.

  She waved the guard away. “You’re covered in blood,” she noted. Stains had seeped through Naelin’s robe. She forced down the immediate panic: I need her whole! “Yours? Have you been to a healer?”

  “Healer Hamon,” Naelin said with a nod. “Your Majesty . . .” She hesitated.

  “Your Majesty, Healer Hamon believes he has a clue to finding a cure,” Ven said. “I won’t lie to you—it is still a long shot, but . . . there’s hope. We know who the poisoner was. If he finds the poison among her belongings, he may be able to create an antidote.”

  Daleina’s breath caught in her throat. A cure!

  He held up his hand. “That is the good news. There is also bad news. Plenty of it. The assassin was Captain Alet, working on behalf of the woman she said was her sister: Queen Merecot. The queen of Semo plans to conquer Aratay. Alet told us before she died that Semo is overrun with spirits, and Queen Merecot needs to expand her lands. The murders were her attempt to do so with minimal bloodshed. Without a queen or viable heir, Aratay would be easy to take. She plans to begin the invasion at dawn, while we are distracted by the trials.”

  Naelin was staring at him. “You are terrible at delivering news. Are you trying to cause a relapse?” Naelin crossed to Daleina and took her hands.

  Daleina realized that she had been, in fact, clutching her heart, but that was only because it was beating so hard that it felt like it was going to leap out of her body. She let Naelin guide her to a chair. Picking up a pitcher, Naelin poured the queen a glass of water. Daleina took the glass and held it in her hands without drinking. “Alet?” Daleina said. “And Merecot?” She didn’t look at Naelin. Her eyes were glued to Ven. He wouldn’t lie to her.

  “Yes.”

  That yes hurt. Like a knife to her gut. But she couldn’t let it distract her, not now. She had to stay in control—feeling the pain could wait, but the invasion couldn’t. Balling up her thoughts and emotions, she ruthlessly shoved them deep down.

  She set the glass down, and then she thrust her mind out—beyond the palace, beyond the capital, through the woods, toward the northern border . . . and she felt them, spirits, other spirits, whose minds she couldn’t sink into. They felt slippery, like wet moss, between her fingers. She felt the mass of them, whirling between her spirits.

  “You said dawn?”

  “Yes.”

  “They aren’t waiting for dawn.” Daleina touched her spirits, felt their anger and fear. “They’ve already crossed.” She felt her earth spirits scrambling—the rocks were heaving around them, and they weren’t causing it. Jumping to her feet, she crossed to the door. Throwing it open, she ordered the guards. “One of you, find Chancellors Isolek and Quisala. Bring them here.” She stopped, considering it. “No, bring them to the Queen’s Tower. It has both privacy and a view of the north. I also want Headmistress Hanna from Northeast Academy and Champion Piriandra.” She shut the door as they hurried to comply.

  Naelin and Ven were watching her.

  She paced the length of the room, her gown brushing the edges of the furniture. The carpets absorbed her steps. She felt the spirits around her, in the palace—none of them were alarmed. Yet. The foreign spirits were still too far away.

  She had time.

  If she was willing to sacrifice the border.

  “I’d hoped for more time, to get into position, to move our soldiers, to prepare you, Naelin.” Daleina took a deep breath. “This is the choice: option one, I use my power to control the spirits near the northern border. Fight off the invasion. But if I do that, I risk losing control in a false death—the spirits will turn on our people the instant they feel my control disappear. At the border, the spirits are too far away for you, Naelin, to control. Many would die.”

  “Option one is bad,” Ven said. “Got that.”

  “Option two, I abdicate right now. You become queen—go to the Queen’s Grove right now and take control. You control the spirits to fight off the invasion at the border.”

  “Also bad,” Ven said. “While Naelin is repelling the invasion, she may not be able to defend you. The spirits will kill you.”

  “But they won’t kill our people.” She didn’t like that option either, especially if Hamon was close to a cure . . . How close? How much time did she need to buy? Alet might not even have more of the poison in her possession. “Option three is the most selfish option, but it’s also the one most likely to work. We let the invasion happen. We don’t stop them at the border. We wait until the invaders reach the capital, and then once they’re here, within Naelin’s range, Naelin uses our spirits to fight Merecot’s spirits, while our soldiers repel Merecot’s soldiers. Once Hamon has the cure, I fight with her. Together, we drive them away.”

  Naelin was frowning. “What happens to Aratay between the border and the capital?”

  “We evacuate it, as best we can.” Their best, though, wouldn’t mean much. There wouldn’t be time. She knew that. Merecot wouldn’t be hampered by the speed of soldiers; she’d move at the speed of spirits, carrying her soldiers with her. Daleina turned to Naelin. “Merecot is powerful. And she’s had training. She’s also a queen, with all the extra strength that comes with it. What I’m asking—”

  “I’ll do it,” Naelin said. “There’s no one else. I know that. I’ll stand between the queen of Semo and Aratay, between her and my children, for as long as you need me.”

  As the wolf leaned against her as if in agreement, Daleina felt a little tendril of hope. She didn’t like this plan. She’d have to sit and wait while Merecot’s spirits tore apart her land. She’d have to leave her people undefended. But it was the best way to save the most lives . . . maybe even her own.

  Chapter 30

  Perhaps Captain Alet would be buried with honor at a later date, or at least dignity, but for now her body was laid on a kitchen cart that had last held a cake. Hamon had spread all of her belongings, lugged over from her quarters, across the floor of his mother’s living quarters. He, his mother, and Daleina’s sister, Arin, were pawing through them.

  “Not the way I expected to spend tonight,” Mother commented. “Did you have to bring the corpse? It has an odor.”

  “All death has an odor,” Hamon said without looking up. “You should know that by now. You’ve caused enough of it.”

  “Now, is that the way to talk to someone who is letting you use her carpet?” Mother chided. She picked up a canister of cosmetics, opened it, sniffed it, closed it, and tossed it over her shoulder. It clattered to the ground, burst open, and sprayed rouge powder over the side of a couch.

  “Technically, it is Queen Daleina’s carpet, and have you found anything?” Hamon knew he shouldn’t let his frustration show, or any emotion at all. Any emotion was a toy for his mother to play with. He’d theorized it was because she didn’t have any of her own. Except curiosity. That she had in abundance. It was a shame it wasn’t tempered by a shred of morality. Nodding at Arin, he said to his mother, “She shouldn’t be here.”

  “She chose to be here,” Arin said without looking up from Captain Alet’s belongings.

  “It’s true,” Mother said smugly. “Of her own free will. Not everyone thinks I’m evil.”

  Hamon turned to Arin. “Arin, she used one of her potions on you—”

  “I know. It wore off. I know what I’m doing, Hamon.”

  He shook his head. She couldn’t possibly understand. Even if she had shaken off the effects of whatever potion, his mother was still a terrible influence. “Oh? What are you doing?”

  “I’m saving my sister.” Arin lifted a black box out of a pile of clothing. Sitting back, she placed it on her lap. “I think I found it.”

  All three of them crowded around as she opened the box. Rows of glass vials were packed between black silk. Reaching over, Ha
mon’s mother plucked one out. She held it up to the candlelight and shook it lightly. Amber liquid sloshed. “Interesting. Very interesting. And not part of an ordinary guard’s med kit.” She put it back into the box.

  Hamon selected the next one. It held white crystals with gold flecks.

  “Worth a fortune,” Mother commented. “You know what that is?”

  “Dirthium.” It loosened muscles, lowered inhibitions, and caused blissful happiness, unless you took too much and then it resulted in painful death that shredded your internal organs at the same time as it messed up your sensory input. He put it back in the box.

  “Your friend had a wealthy benefactor,” Mother said.

  “Her sister,” Hamon said curtly. The dirthium was strong evidence that Alet had been telling the truth—But where’s the poison?

  After examining them all, they had three vials with unknown substances in them. Mother clapped her hands like a child. “Exciting! Now if we only had someone to test these on—”

  “No,” Hamon said. “We test them with equipment.”

  “Poo. You’re no fun at all.”

  “At least one of these is deadly,” he pointed out.

  Mother held one of the vials up. “Ooh, or maybe all of them!” Humming happily to herself, she carried the first one to her makeshift workbench. “Just a drop, my dear,” she said to Arin. “Once we’ve identified the compound, we’ll need more to synthesize an antidote, and then more to test it. Since my son refuses to be practical . . .”

  “No murder,” Hamon said. “We’re here to prevent death, not cause it.” That was a sentence that really shouldn’t need to be said out loud. Hovering, he watched his mother and the queen’s sister. Mother had set herself up well, using a combination of kitchen and medical supplies to create a decent laboratory. But it was Arin who took command of it.

  Arin was the one who handled the poisons.

  Arin was the one who set up the experiments.

  Arin was the one who stayed calm, steady, and serious while Hamon hovered over her and Mother issued directions from the comfort of the pillow-laden couch.