The Reluctant Queen

by Sarah Beth Durst

  It tasted, she thought, like blackberries. And sugar.

  She swallowed.

  “Good,” Garnah said. She pressed the vial of antidote into Arin’s hand, and Arin drank it. “Very good.” She then handed a knife to Arin. “Now, bleed.”

  Arin pressed the blade against her arm. Red welled up in a line. She held her arm over a plate of glass on the microscope. And she bled once more, for her sister.

  Chapter 33

  The Queen’s Grove.

  Naelin had never expected to see this place. She’d never wanted to. Horrors had happened here. Directing the air spirit to set her down, she climbed off, along with Ven.

  “You can do this,” Ven said.

  She glanced at him. He was staring up at the trees as if they would crush him. He’d been here, she knew. He must have seen Queen Daleina walk out of the grove, after the massacre. He may have gone in and seen the bodies. “You can do this,” she told him.

  His eyes widened for a second, and then he nodded.

  At the edge of the trees, Ven hopped onto one of the broad roots and began to climb. “I’ll watch for Queen Merecot. Do you sense any spirits?”

  She reached—inside it felt empty. Peaceful. Climbing over the roots, she squeezed between two tree trunks. In seconds, she was within the grove. Looking around, she was shocked at how beautiful it was. And serene. Morning light filtered through the leaves and spread across the mossy floor. An orange butterfly spiraled lazily over a flower. She walked forward, and her steps were muffled. She couldn’t hear any of the sounds from the city—the screams, the crashing, the cries, all of it faded.

  Naelin reached out to touch the spirits. All of them were focused outward, facing the army from the north. They seethed like a storm. She couldn’t hear the queen’s orders, but she could feel the spirits’ reaction. Queen Daleina was using the spirits to attack from below, behind, above: water against fire, earth against ice, air against earth . . . She wasn’t attacking head-on; she was undermining the foreign spirits. “I think the queen is winning, or at least holding her own.” So far, she hadn’t triggered a false death. I hope I truly am ready, Naelin thought. She was slightly farther from the city border now than she had been, but the spirits were still within range. She could reach them, if and when she needed to.

  Shielding her eyes, Naelin looked up at the trees. Ven had climbed high and was partially hidden within the branches. He’d taken a small telescope from his pocket and was looking north.

  “Anything?” she called.

  He lowered the telescope. “I feel as though I have run away from battle.”

  “We were ordered away from it.” Within the circle of trees, sheltered from the rest of the forest, Naelin felt as if she’d been tucked away in a closet, like a family heirloom, for safekeeping. Here, the blue sky and the gentle wind that caressed the leaves seemed far removed from the chaos and destruction they’d left behind. “I think Queen Daleina lied to us, or else we misunderstood. Queen Merecot is focused on the capital—she’s not coming here, not until she’s conquered the capital.”

  “Daleina knows Merecot. If she thinks—”

  “I don’t think Queen Daleina sent us here to fight her. I think she sent us here to keep me safe.” Naelin could feel the battle like pinpricks on her skin. So far away. Yet close enough that she could still sense the spirits and, if she tried, still reach out and command them. “I am her backup plan.” If Queen Daleina continued to repel the invaders, it was likely that Queen Merecot and her army would never make it as far south as the grove. If not, if Queen Daleina suffered another false death . . . then Naelin would repel them from the safety of the grove. It was clever. The Semoians wouldn’t know who they were fighting if she was hidden here.

  “It’s possible,” Ven conceded. “But she could—”

  Apparently she couldn’t.

  Naelin felt the moment that Daleina lost control. It felt like a glass vase rupturing, and her head filled with screams. Distantly, she heard Ven calling to her. She felt the wild glee/rage/hunger surge through her—

  Do no harm! she projected. She sent the thought as far and broadly as she could. She hammered it into the spirits. But there were so many! So many more than just in the palace. The queen must have drawn them from the forest beyond.

  Already caught up in bloodlust, they didn’t listen to her. She’d never pull them back to peace. She had to redirect them. Yes. You can do this. As Queen Daleina had taught her, Naelin pushed the spirits, refocusing them on the enemy. She made them reshape the bedrock that the foreign spirits had unearthed, regrow the trees that had been felled—but they fought her.

  They wanted blood.

  They wanted death.

  Human blood. Human death. Naelin squeezed her head between her hands. They wanted it so badly that it hurt. She dropped forward, crashing onto her knees in the soft ground. She felt the earth kraken moving beneath the city, rocking the palace. Erian and Llor! Seizing the kraken, she redirected him away from the city.

  But there were too many. She couldn’t control them. At best, she could hold them, limit their destruction, but she couldn’t do it indefinitely, and the enemy was rolling over the capital. She couldn’t repel Semo’s spirits while she contained Aratay’s—

  “She’s coming!” Ven called. He climbed higher into the tree.

  “I can’t fight her!” Naelin could barely hold the spirits. She wasn’t going to be able to keep them from destroying the city and face down a queen at the height of her power.

  “Naelin . . . You were right, but not for the reasons you think,” Ven said. “She didn’t send you here to fight; she sent you to avoid a fight!”

  Naelin didn’t understand what he meant.

  And then suddenly she did understand.

  Champion Piriandra plunged her sword into the side of an earth spirit. It kept marching forward. As it swung its massive arm, she ducked beneath it. Gravel rained on her head. She yanked the sword out and swung again.

  Beneath her, the forest floor buckled like waves. Aratay was predominantly tree spirits, but Semo had mostly earth spirits. She hadn’t realized until now how difficult they were to fight. Climbing up onto one of the trees, Piriandra clung to a branch as it swayed. She surveyed the enemy soldiers—it was hard to see them through the flood of spirits—but she could pinpoint the location of . . . Where is she? “Can anyone see Queen Merecot?” she called. “Eyes on the enemy! Can you see her?”

  The queen of Semo had been in the back behind the soldiers, directing the spirits. She’d been clever enough to stay out of range of any arrows, but she’d been ever-present, riding back and forth. Now Piriandra couldn’t see her. She didn’t know what that meant, but her gut said it wasn’t good.

  Still, she had little time to consider it. Two earth spirits were trying to break through the line of guards by pulling the soldiers hip-deep into the earth. Running along the roots, Piriandra helped lift soldiers up into the trees. They scrambled up the trunks, like ants, as one of the spirits of Aratay caused a spring to erupt in the path of the earth spirits. It swept them backward. Good, Piriandra thought. If they could focus on keeping the soldiers out of Mittriel—You can’t conquer a place you can’t reach. She’d feel better if she knew where Queen Merecot was, but—

  One of the soldiers screamed. Piriandra swung up toward him. He was prone on a branch, and a tree spirit had pinned him down. It was gnawing on his leg. Jumping onto the branch, Piriandra kicked the spirit hard in the chest. It sailed backward, crashing against the trunk. And then spirits were all around her.

  Their spirits. The spirits of Aratay. “They’ve gone rogue!” she shouted. “Defend yourselves!” She brought her sword up and then leaped onto the next vine, swinging low and slashing with her sword as air and tree spirits turned on their people.

  The cry began to spread through the ranks. “The queen! The queen is dead! Queen Daleina is dead!” As Piriandra fought, she saw the soldiers begin to fall, caught beneath the claws and teeth.<
br />
  “She will wake!” Piriandra shouted. “Fight, you idiots! Buy her time!”

  She joined the other champions, circled around the candidates. Sword held in her sweating hand, she backed up shoulder to shoulder with Champion Havtru and Champion Keson. They fought, defending the remaining candidates, but there were too many.

  All around, people were dying.

  Soldiers. Candidates. Champions.

  She knew in the city people must be dying.

  Mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, children.

  And suddenly, she knew they couldn’t wait. If they waited for Queen Daleina to wake, they’d all be dead. She’d rule an empty forest.

  “Stop them!” she shouted to the candidates. “Make them freeze!”

  “You mean—”

  “Yes!”

  “But Queen Daleina will wake!” Havtru cried.

  “If we wait, she’ll wake to our deaths!” To the candidates, she yelled, “Do it!”

  As one, they began to cry, “Choose! Choose!” Piriandra felt the command, even though she had no power of her own. It swept like wind through the forest.

  And the spirits drifted away.

  All the spirits of Aratay simply retreated, slowly, distractedly—the air spirits floated into the air, the earth spirits sank into the earth, the tree spirits wandered vaguely away from the bodies they’d been savaging.

  Unblocked, the spirits of Semo renewed their attack.

  Leaping in front of one of the candidates, Piriandra blocked an air spirit, and then felt a sharp pain in her side. She looked down. An earth spirit had risen through the muck beside her and pierced her side. She felt another sharp pain in her arm. She swung her sword and kept fighting even as the blood flowed from her.

  With only the swords of the champions and the spears and swords of the soldiers to stop them, the army of Semo swept past the border and into the city of Mittriel.

  As they rushed by Piriandra, she dropped to her knees. Her sword slipped from her fingers, and she spread her hands over the gash in her side. I failed, she thought.

  The last thing she heard was screaming.

  It could have been her own.

  Naelin felt the command sweep through the spirits: Choose!

  No! she thought. Queen Daleina will wake! Wait for her to wake! But the spirits were already caught in the ancient command. She felt them detach and then drift. Their emotions fragmented. They’d drift until the next coronation ceremony.

  “She’s coming,” Ven shouted. “And she’s bringing her spirits!”

  Naelin grasped for the spirits. Help me! Fight! But they only milled listlessly around her. She had no defenses, only Ven’s sword. And if she had no defenses . . . neither did the city. Neither did the palace. Neither did Erian and Llor.

  Queen Merecot was coming to the Queen’s Grove.

  And Naelin knew what she had to do, what Queen Daleina wanted her to do.

  She reached out to the spirits, touching them with her mind as far as she could. She brushed against them and focused her thoughts. Choose me.

  Make me queen.

  Chapter 34

  Erian crouched under the table with her arms wrapped around Llor. Their father was huddled beside them. “If we’re quiet, they won’t know we’re here,” Father whispered. He flinched as something heavy crashed against the door. There was screaming out in the hall. Lots of crashes and the tinkle of shattering glass.

  “I want Mama,” Llor whimpered.

  “Shh,” Erian told him.

  “Your mama is out there, helping keep us safe,” Father said.

  “She’s doing it wrong,” Llor said. “She should be in here, keeping us safe. You shouldn’t have made her so mad. Then we’d all be together. It’s your fault!” His voice was rising with each word.

  Erian clapped her hand over Llor’s mouth. “Shh! Spirits will hear you!”

  He bit her hand.

  “I’m going to find Mama!” He dove forward, out from under the table, and both Father and Erian scrambled after him. He was as quick as a squirrel, darting across the room, over the couch and under a table to the door. Throwing back the lock, he threw it open just as Father reached him—and a young woman rushed inside.

  She slammed the door shut and locked it. Then she sank down, hugging a glass bottle to her chest. Her hair was singed and dirt streaked her cheek, and she looked a little familiar.

  “Are you all right?” Father asked her.

  “It worked,” the woman said. Girl, really. She looked maybe fourteen. Older than Erian, but not as old as Mama and Father. “I’m not dead. Not temporarily. Not permanently. It worked, and I have to get it to her.” Her voice became more and more shrill.

  “Slow down,” Father said. “It’s not safe to go anywhere. There are spirits out there. You can hide with us.” Father saying “hide”—that scared Erian more than all the screaming. He was the one who waltzed out of the house forgetting his ax. He was the one who forgot to stuff charms in their school bags. He was the one who said everything would work out fine, as long as they were cheerful and positive. Mother used to get so angry when he’d say that.

  The older girl shook her head. “Can’t. Got to get to the queen. I can do it. I can cure her. But the spirits came. They—I don’t know if Master Garnah’s alive or dead. I don’t know if everyone’s dead. I took it, and I ran.” Tears leaked down her cheeks.

  “You aren’t making sense,” Llor told her.

  “Shh,” Erian said. “She’s upset.” But she agreed with Llor. She didn’t know what the scared girl was talking about, let alone who Master Garnah was.

  “The queen is in the tower,” the girl babbled to Father, “the tallest one. The Queen’s Tower. So she could see the battle. I have to get there, but there are spirits everywhere. . . . You have to help me!” She showed them the bottle she’d been hugging: a vial filled with ruby-red liquid. “This will heal the queen.”

  Erian stared at it. Heal the queen!

  If the queen was better . . . then Mama wouldn’t have to be an heir anymore. Then she wouldn’t have to be away, she wouldn’t have to train, they wouldn’t have to be here, she’d forgive Father, and they could all go home! If the queen gets better, then Mama won’t die.

  Father was shaking his head. “I promised my wife I would take care of our children. No risks. I have to prove she can trust me—”

  “We’ll help you,” Erian interrupted. She then turned to her little brother. “Llor, we have to be sneaky to get past the spirits.”

  His grin lit up his face. “I’m the sneakiest.” Dropping to the floor, he stuck his face against the tiny space at the bottom of the door. “Looks messy out there,” he reported. “But nothing’s moving. We could go now!”

  “Llor, Erian, you aren’t going anywhere,” Father said firmly. “I told your mother—”

  “Mama would do it,” Erian argued. “She’d want to help the queen. She’s helping her right now.” She unlocked the door and peered out.

  Father reached over and pushed it shut. “I know I’ve made mistakes. But ever since you were born, ever since I looked in your faces, I’ve wanted to give you everything. I never wanted to say no. I never wanted to make you cry. So I let your mother say no. I let her be the parent. I wanted to be the friend, the one who could make you happy. I thought if your mother came here, if she became an heir, that we’d have everything we needed—no more worries about anything. You could have all the toys and books you wanted, all the food we could ever eat, the biggest house . . . It was stupid. I know that now. I wasn’t thinking it would be dangerous. Your mother . . . nothing has ever stopped her or scared her. I didn’t think . . . Anyway, I am here now. And I am going to keep you safe and make the smart choices, even if it means saying no. So no, you cannot leave this room. We are going to hide here, safe and sound, until it’s all over.”

  The older girl reached into a pocket of her skirt, pulled out a handful of dust, and blew it into Father’s face. He crumpled onto th
e floor.

  “You killed Father!” Llor cried. Balling up his fists, he ran at her. Erian intercepted him, catching him around his waist. Father didn’t look dead or even hurt.

  A second later, Father began to snore.

  “He’ll wake,” the girl said.

  “Wow!” Llor said. Erian let go of him—in an instant, he seemed to have forgotten his desire to beat her up. “How did you do that?”

  The older girl didn’t answer. “You two stay here. Keep yourselves hidden. Out there is no place for children. The spirits have gone rogue.”

  “But you said you need help!” Erian said. “I want to help.” Especially if the queen was sick again. That meant that Mama was out there, fighting the spirits all by herself. I have to help!

  “You aren’t much older than us,” Llor put in. And then his eyes went wide as if a sudden thought had occurred to him. “Erian”—he pulled her closer to whisper—“we can’t go with her! Mama said never go anywhere with a stranger!”

  He was right. But if they could help Mama . . . “What’s your name?” Erian demanded.

  “Arin,” the girl said. “I’m the queen’s sister.” She cracked open the door and poked her head out. Erian noticed that it was quiet outside: no crashing. Peeking out around Arin, she didn’t see any spirits. She did see a mess: half the roof was caved in.

  “I’ve seen you!” Erian remembered seeing her in the garden—the queen had pointed her out, when they first met her. “It’s okay. She’s not a stranger,” she told Llor.

  “I’m going,” Arin said. “Stay here, and stay hidden.”

  “We’re coming with you,” Erian insisted.

  “I don’t have time to argue—” Arin began.

  Erian cut her off. “Then don’t.”

  “Wait!” Llor said, and then he tucked his stuffed squirrel under Father’s arm. Father mumbled in his sleep but then continued to snore softly.

  They all slipped into the hallway. Llor grabbed Erian’s hand as the door closed behind them. Shadows were everywhere, and it was strangely silent. They tiptoed through the hall, stepping over broken chandeliers. Scorch marks ran across the wood walls. Vines crisscrossed over them, as if they were bandages over the burns.