The Reluctant Queen

by Sarah Beth Durst

  Arin hurried forward. “She’s up—”

  She halted.

  Llor bumped into her. “Hey!”

  “Shh,” Erian said. “What is it?” She tried to see around Arin.

  “The stairs are gone.” Arin stepped aside, and Erian and Llor pressed forward. The stairs down were fine, but the stairway up had collapsed, folded together, as if the walls had been squeezed by a giant hand. “I don’t know another way up.”

  Llor grabbed both their hands. “I know all the ways!” He pulled them away from the stairs, and they hurried back through the hallway.

  He led them through the maze of corridors, to another set of stairs and up, but this one was blocked before the next level with branches that had woven together into a thick barrier.

  “No!” Arin cried.

  “Follow me,” Llor insisted. “There’s one more stairs.”

  They hurried through another corridor—and then stopped again. Here, the wall had been ripped off the building. Erian caught Llor’s arm before he barreled forward. Outside were trees and sky, and the stairs dangled into emptiness.

  In the city, spirits drifted aimlessly among broken trees. Several treetops hung upside down, split in the middle, and she saw black smoke staining the sky.

  This time, Llor didn’t race away. He stood staring at the open sky as if someone had stolen his favorite toy. They stood side by side.

  “Llor,” Erian asked, “are there any other stairs?” She knew the answer. She just hoped she was wrong.

  He gulped. “No.”

  Arin clutched the vial of medicine. “I can’t fail! She needs me. Don’t you see? She never needed me before. She was always the one who was going to protect me. Protect everyone. But now I have a chance to save her . . .”

  A sudden thought struck Erian so hard that she took a step backward. “The secret passageway! Llor, didn’t Captain Alet say it went all the way up?” She knelt in front of her brother, forcing him to look at her and not at the swirling spirits and smoke outside. “All the way up to the Queen’s Tower?”

  “Yes!” Excited, he pulled them until they were running back through the corridor.

  “It’s not really a secret. It’s a dumbwaiter, a lift,” Erian told Arin as they ran. “The kitchen staff uses it to send food up, so they don’t have to climb all the stairs.”

  “Yeah, you could ride in it! Like you’re food!” Llor said.

  “It’s controlled by a crank in the kitchen,” Erian explained.

  Arin was nodding. “I’ve used it before, to send a cake. But how—”

  This could work! It really could! “We could go turn the crank for you, and you could ride it up.” The two of them together should be able to turn the crank—it hadn’t looked that hard.

  And behind her, she heard a crackle.

  Glancing back, she saw ice spread across the wall. It looked like a many-figured hand reaching to grip the palace. “Ice spirit! Run faster!”

  Wind whipped around them, hurling shards of ice in every direction. One hit her cheek. She felt it sting and then felt wetness and knew she was bleeding, but she kept running, stumbling over her feet but running faster.

  Behind them, in a nearby corridor, the spirit shrieked.

  “Faster!” Llor shouted.

  Turning a corner, they reached the dumbwaiter, and Erian, with Arin and Llor, lifted the door. “Hurry, hurry, hurry!” Erian cried. She could hear the spirit in the corridor behind them—she didn’t know if it had seen them or not. Maybe it had gone another way. Her fingers felt so cold that it hurt to move, and the wind continued to howl. It was close but not here yet.

  Arin pulled on the rope, raising up the lift. She engaged the lock that kept it from plummeting when she released the rope. “Run, both of you! Get to the kitchen! Before the spirit finds you!” Without looking back to see if they’d obeyed, Arin tried to climb in—and Erian saw at once she was too tall. Inside, the cupboard itself was large, but the opening was narrow. She couldn’t fold her legs enough to fit through. She tried to shove herself in, grunting and wincing. “Can’t do it,” she panted.

  Llor hopped from foot to foot. “I’m little! I can fit!”

  Arin was shaking her head. “It’s too dangerous! If anything goes wrong, if a spirit finds you, you’ll be trapped. I can’t let you go. I have to find another way.”

  “But I can do it!” Llor cried.

  Erian said to Llor, “You aren’t going.” If a spirit found him inside the shaft, he’d be trapped with nowhere to run. Plus anything could be up there. More spirits. A dead queen. “I am.” She climbed into the lift and held out her hand for the medicine. “You have to promise to take care of Llor. Hide him from the spirits. And Llor, you have to promise to take care of Father when he wakes.” Her heart was thudding. She didn’t want to leave Llor, but bringing him wasn’t the responsible—

  The ice spirit screamed again, closer. It’s coming!

  Llor climbed in with her, his elbows and knees bumping against her as he squeezed in with her inside the lift. “I’m just as safe in here as out there. Safer! Please don’t leave me!”

  It was the “please” that convinced her. Llor never said please. And what if the spirit turned down this corridor? How could she leave not knowing if he’d have time to hide? “Okay.” She held out her hand to Arin. “Medicine?”

  Arin hesitated and then handed Erian the vial. “The queen’s my sister. Not just a queen. She’s family. Please . . .”

  “We can do it,” Erian promised. “Can you turn the crank in the kitchen? I don’t think I’m strong enough to pull us all the way up.” I know I’m not. It was a long way up.

  “I can,” Arin said. “I will.”

  Erian tucked the vial into her pocket and kicked the lock to release the dumbwaiter. It jerked down, but she and Llor held on to the rope at the back of the lift. Together, they pulled the rope. The dumbwaiter lurched upward.

  Soon, they were in darkness.

  Below them, they heard Arin scream.

  Chapter 35

  Arin slammed the door to the dumbwaiter shut as the ice spirit swept around the corner. She saw it—too close—with its eyes like white stones and its body covered in icy spikes. Opening its mouth, it screeched and flew toward her.

  She screamed once.

  And then she ran.

  Right, left, right again, then down a set of stairs. She didn’t think. Just ran. Behind her, she heard shards of ice shatter against the walls. The steps beneath her feet were slick with ice, and she grabbed onto the railing as she half fell forward. She didn’t look back.

  Cold pricked her neck, and wind howled in her ears. Ahead, she saw the hallway writhing—the walls were undulating with ripples as if the wood were water. Vines were snaking across the floor.

  Tree spirit!

  She looked back.

  The ice spirit was on the ceiling of the stairwell. It had jabbed its spiked fingers into the wood and was studying her as if she were delicious meat. It’s toying with me, she realized. It could kill her at any time. “Daleina!” Arin screamed. “Daleina, help me!”

  She knew her sister couldn’t hear her. She was near the base of the palace tree, and Daleina was at the very top. For all she knew, Daleina wasn’t even alive to hear her. Don’t think that. Daleina had to be alive, and soon she’d wake and take control again . . . But she wouldn’t be cured until that little girl and boy reached the top, which they couldn’t do without her.

  Arin kept moving, knowing that if the ice spirit didn’t catch her, she’d run into the tree spirit. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. I don’t want to die. Please, I don’t want—

  Behind her, the ice spirit screeched again, and she clapped her hands over her ears and ran faster. The vines tangled around her feet. She fell onto her knees, and the vines closed over her ankles. “No!” She tried to push them off. Jamming her fingernails into the soft wood, she tore at it.

  And the tree spirit scurried toward her. It looked like a twiste
d knot of brambles but with stones for eyes and thorns for hands. It launched itself at her shoulder. Pain shot through her as it dug into her arm, and she screamed and yanked at it.

  “Cover your face!” she heard.

  She buried her face in her hands and then felt a splash of water—her skin began to burn. She screamed again as every bit of flesh touched by the liquid felt as if it were on fire. But the wood spirit was yelling louder.

  “Get free, girl!”

  Arin forced her fingers to shove at the vines—they were loose—and she scrambled to her feet. She wiped with her sleeves at her face, neck, and arms, wiping the liquid off.

  A blast of icy air slammed into her back and knocked her forward.

  “Down! Crawl!”

  She obeyed, even though she couldn’t see who was shouting the orders. Looking up, she saw Master Garnah step around a corner and hurl a vial above Arin’s head. It shattered, and flames licked through the corridor.

  “Now! Follow me!” Master Garnah ordered.

  Arin scrambled to her feet and ran. She glanced back once and saw the ice spirit wreathed in flame. The creature’s body was contorted and blackened, but it was still alive, still screaming. “How did you do that? What was in that vial?”

  “Lesson later; live now.”

  “You came for me?” Arin stared at Master Garnah. The older woman had blood on her cheek and her left arm. Her skirt was torn, and soot and dirt stained it in streaks. “You’re alive?”

  “Obviously. Now we need to—”

  “I have to get to the kitchen. Please, help me!”

  To her surprise, Master Garnah didn’t ask why. “I want full freedom of the palace. Full pardon for anything I have done or may do. You swear to convince your sister of this, and I’ll get you wherever you want.”

  “You’ll have it.” If the antidote saved Daleina, she knew her sister would agree.

  Master Garnah held up a hand. She wasn’t done yet. Arin wanted to scream—they didn’t have time to make bargains! “And I want full access to the queen, whenever I need it.”

  “Fine,” Arin said. “So long as you promise not to harm her. And you teach me how to make whatever was in that vial.” She’d never heard of a potion that could hurt spirits.

  “Easily promised. I want my son back, and the only way to him is through the queen. Win her over, and I’ll win him. You have the antidote?”

  Arin didn’t know if Master Garnah was telling the truth or not, but this wasn’t the time or place to worry about it. “I have a way to get it to her, but we need to be in the kitchen now. I have to turn the crank to the lift—the antidote is inside. Only way to reach her.” She’d drop to her knees and beg, if that was what it took. But she didn’t need to. Master Garnah didn’t ask any more questions or make any more demands. She shoved an unmarked brown bottle into Arin’s hands and then propelled her forward.

  “Wash away the fire liquid,” she commanded. “You don’t want it to scar you.”

  As they hurried down more stairs, Arin doused her skin everywhere it stung. The new liquid cooled her. She stoppered the bottle and tucked it into a pocket—and then Master Garnah stopped. She put a finger to her lips.

  They crept forward, down the stairs. Arin wondered how many more stairs until they reached the kitchen, and how many more spirits were between here and there.

  More steps.

  And more.

  And then: the kitchen!

  Arin caught a glimpse through the doorway of the ovens and—Master Garnah shoved her back and flattened against the wall.

  “Spirits?” Arin mouthed silently. “How many?”

  Master Garnah nodded for her to look.

  Leaning forward, Arin peeked around the corner of the stairs into the kitchen. And saw a nightmare. Three spirits . . . no, four . . . no, there was another! An air spirit was feasting on the body of a dead cook. An earth spirit was tearing the ground open. Three tree spirits had wrapped a half-dozen other cooks in vines. Some were clearly dead. Others . . . Arin hoped they were dead. The floor and walls were spattered in blood, and there were . . . parts. Human parts.

  She felt herself begin to gag. Clamping her hands over her mouth, she retreated back to Master Garnah. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to erase what she’d seen, but all she saw was red. She could smell it now too, sickly sweet and coppery. Like licking a coin. The smell coated the back of her throat. “Too many,” Arin whispered.

  “Exactly how many and where?”

  “Five.” She described where they were: by the wall, by the hearth, under a table. She didn’t describe the bodies. Didn’t want to think about them. She wanted to pretend they weren’t real, that this was all some dream, some hideous nightmare.

  Master Garnah reached for her belt and began to unstring pouches. She pressed five vials into Arin’s hands and then tied the other pouches around Arin’s waist. “Throw them, into the mouths if possible, and then run for the crank. It won’t kill them. It should slow them.” She kept a few for herself. “If you succeed, remember your promise.”

  Arin nodded, even though her thoughts were screaming. Don’t do it! There are spirits! They’ll kill you! But Daleina had to be cured. She was the only one who could stop all of it. And Arin and Master Garnah were the only ones who could help her.

  “Good luck,” Master Garnah said. “And try not to die. You’re the best apprentice I’ve ever had—barring my son, of course.”

  “Wait—you aren’t coming?”

  “The queen is your sister, not mine,” Master Garnah said. “Don’t look at me like that. I never pretended to be altruistic, and I haven’t survived this long by taking foolish risks.”

  “If I die, I can’t keep my promise.”

  “Throw the vials, and try not to miss.” She patted Arin’s shoulder. It was not comforting. “Survive, and I’ll teach you how to make these.”

  Arin swallowed hard once, then again. Her mouth felt so dry that she couldn’t remember ever having saliva. Her heart was thumping so fast and hard that she felt it throughout her body. She clutched the vials in her sweaty hands.

  Throw the vials, she told herself. Just throw them and turn the crank. And that’s it.

  Stepping forward, she walked down the final steps into the kitchen. At the bottom, she froze, staring at the spirits and the bodies and the blood and . . .

  A tree spirit saw her. It shrieked and flew toward her.

  Throw!

  A half second later, her arm obeyed, and she flung a vial.

  Her aim was off. It hit a table, shattered, and the liquid oozed out, sizzling the stone. The tree spirit opened its jaws and reached, and Arin threw a second vial.

  It hit the tree spirit in the teeth.

  The glass shattered, and the liquid sprayed into the spirit’s mouth. The spirit jerked backward as if she’d stabbed it. And then all the spirits were coming for her, and she was throwing vials in every direction, one after another.

  The air was filled with inhuman screams, and she was screaming too.

  And then suddenly, the air was empty. The spirits were all alive, screaming and writhing on the floor, but they weren’t attacking. Arin ran toward the crank. She slipped in a puddle of blood, fell, and then scrambled to her feet.

  At the crank, she turned it. Harder and harder, faster and faster.

  Behind her, she heard the spirits growing louder. She risked a glance back. They were beginning to shake off the effects of the vials. She reached for her belt. She had more.

  As the earth spirit raised its head, she threw another vial. As the tree spirit crawled toward her, another. She turned the crank more, pausing to throw vials.

  And then she was out of vials.

  The lift was not at the top.

  “Run, girl!” Master Garnah shouted as she flung a powder into the kitchen.

  Arin ran through the powder toward the stairs. A tree spirit clawed at her leg. She felt its thorns rip her skin, but she didn’t stop. She raced past them and to the
stairs.

  Master Garnah grabbed her arm, and together they ran up, away from the kitchen.

  Arin hoped she’d done enough, that the children were high enough, that they could make it the rest of the way on their own, that they weren’t already dead, that her sister wasn’t already gone.

  The spirits in the kitchen howled, and there was no more time to worry. There was only time to run.

  It was quiet inside the shaft. The only sounds were the squeak of the rope and the grunt of their breaths as they pulled, pulled, and pulled. It jerked up at first and then it began to rise more smoothly as they fell into a pattern.

  “It’s a good thing I’m not scared of the dark,” Llor said.

  “Yes, it is,” Erian agreed. She wasn’t crazy about the dark. She tried not to imagine spirits coming into the shaft with them. They wouldn’t be able to run. They’d only be able to fall. Very, very far. She found herself listening extra hard.

  “I’m not scared of anything.”

  “Then you don’t have a very good imagination,” Erian said.

  Llor thought about that for a few minutes. She could almost hear his brain chewing over that idea. “I am a little scared of fire spirits. If they set the rope on fire, we’d fall down. And I’m a little scared of tree spirits. If they grew the walls in, we’d be squeezed. And ice spirits—”

  “Llor, please shut up.”

  He shut up.

  Erian’s arms began to ache. She didn’t know if she could pull much longer. She wondered if Arin had made it to the kitchen. She could have encountered spirits. She could be dead.

  Don’t think that, she told herself.

  Leaning against the rope, she panted. “I have to rest.” She hooked the rope so it wouldn’t fall farther. Her arm muscles felt as if they’d been twisted and stretched like taffy.

  Llor curled beside her. “What do we do?”

  “We wait. Arin will turn the crank. She just needs to get to the kitchen.” If she could. If there weren’t too many spirits in the way. If she wasn’t already dead.