The Reluctant Queen

by Sarah Beth Durst

  They waited together, in the darkness.

  Minutes stretched.

  When she felt like she could, Erian pulled on the rope again. This time, she only managed a few pulls before her arms felt like they were on fire. She had to rest again. I can’t do it. I’m not strong enough.

  The top of the tower was so impossibly high above them. Inconceivably high. Erian’s eyes felt hot, and she dashed away tears with the back of her hand.

  “Are you crying?” Llor asked in the dark.

  “No.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “Am not.” Then she added, “I don’t want to.”

  “Mama says it’s okay to cry if you’re really hurt. Are you hurt, Erian? My foot feels uncomfortable. Prickly. Do your feet ever do that? It helps if you shake them.” The lift began to wobble—Llor was shaking his foot. “Do you think we’re going to die in here? If no one ever knows we’re in here, do you think we’ll starve? What do you think it’s like to starve?”

  “We won’t starve,” she told him. “Don’t talk like that.”

  “What if I have to pee?” he asked.

  “Don’t.”

  “But if I really have to?”

  She heard a creak from above them, and she froze. Beside her, Llor fell silent without even needing to be told. She listened, trying to hear what it was. She heard a scrabbling sound, like a chipmunk running across dried leaves.

  “What is it?” Llor whispered. “Is it a spirit?”

  It could be. Very, very much could be. She wrapped her arms around Llor. If it was, there was no place to run. No place to hide, except where they were. Nothing to do, except wait.

  So they waited, in the darkness, listening to the spirit crawling around in the shaft.

  Time passed. She didn’t know how much time. It could have been hours or just minutes. It felt like forever. She wondered if she’d ever see outside this lift again, if she’d ever see sunlight, if she’d ever see Mama or Father. She started crying for real this time, and her tears fell onto Llor, but he didn’t say anything. He just squeezed her tighter.

  The lift lurched upward.

  “Erian, what’s happening?” Llor whispered, his voice high and scared. “Is it Arin?”

  They rose faster, up and up. “Yes, I think so.” Hope blossomed inside her, and she looked upward, as if she could see anything in the darkness, as if there were anything to see besides the roof of the box.

  “She made it,” Erian breathed. “We’re going to make it.”

  The lift jerked to a stop.

  Silence.

  And then the skritting sound, closer this time. Llor squeezed against her, and she held him tight. It sounded just above them. Definitely a spirit.

  They rose again.

  Higher.

  A thump on the roof.

  “It’s above us,” Llor whispered, directly into her ear.

  She said nothing. There was nothing to say. If the spirit realized they were inside . . . She heard it growl, that familiar and awful rumble of a tree spirit, just above them, riding the lift with them.

  And then the lift halted again.

  They waited.

  It didn’t start.

  Slowly, quietly, Erian unwound herself from Llor. Her muscles had had a chance to rest. She could do it, raise them up a little more. She grabbed the rope and began to pull.

  The spirit on the roof moved—they heard its paws as it paced—but Erian didn’t stop. She kept going, even when her arms began to ache again.

  They rose higher and higher, until at last—at long last—their heads bumped into a ceiling, and the rope jerked to a stop. They were here. The top of the tallest tower. The Queen’s Tower. Together, they locked the lift into position.

  Bending, Erian opened the little door. She heard a voice, muffled, male, human. She hoped it was someone friendly. She squeezed out and then held her finger to her lips to signal Llor to be quiet. He jumped out next to her. Together, they crept up the final steps to the tower platform.

  Erian peeked and saw a man in healer robes, bent over a pile of silk and lace and—the queen! She hurried forward, pulling the vial from her pocket.

  At the sound of her steps, the healer spun—he had a knife in his hand. Erian halted, and then she heard a half whine, half bark. Llor cried, “Doggie!” He ran toward Bayn.

  But Bayn lunged past him. Jaws wide, the wolf jumped onto the tree spirit who was climbing out of the dumbwaiter. Bayn pinned the spirit down—it was a small one, chipmunk-size, with thorny claws. Howling, it struck at Bayn’s face, but Bayn tore into it.

  Right before them, the wolf ripped the spirit to pieces. Erian stared, unable to match the sweet wolf she knew with the savage beast she saw. The spirit was like a limp, lifeless doll. Growling between his teeth, he shook its body in his jaws and then dropped it.

  “Erian, the queen!” Llor shouted, tugging on her sleeve.

  Erian held out the vial to the healer. “The queen’s sister gave this to us.”

  Llor nodded vigorously. “She said it will make the queen better.”

  The spirit lay silent, in a pool of brown saplike blood. Erian tried not to look at it. Bayn trotted over to them, and Llor threw his arms around the wolf’s neck.

  With a trembling hand, the healer took the vial. Erian, Llor, and Bayn crowded into the tower and watched as the healer tilted the queen’s head back, gently parted her lips, and poured the liquid into her mouth.

  Hamon’s hand shook as he poured the antidote into Daleina’s mouth. He stroked her throat, willing her to swallow, even though her body felt dead—was dead—beneath his hands. She had the unmistakable cool stillness that typified the False Death. Or real death. He didn’t know if this was the one, the False Death that became true death, the one she wouldn’t wake up from. He prayed she’d wake. He prayed the antidote would work.

  He kept her head tilted so that the liquid would flow down her throat. Beside him, the two children and the wolf waited quietly. All of them watched the queen, as if staring would cause her lungs to suddenly expand, her heart to beat, her eyes to open. Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed her fingers. “Wake, Daleina.”

  She didn’t wake.

  “What if it doesn’t work?” the girl asked, her voice anxious.

  “It’ll work,” the boy said. “It’s medicine. Medicine fixes you.”

  Not always, Hamon thought. He knew that far too well. Beyond the tower, he could hear the sounds of battle—the border had been breached, and the enemy spirits were within the city, close to the palace. And their own spirits were out there too, killing, burning, destroying.

  “Mama gives me medicine when I’m sick,” the boy said. “It tastes bad. Maybe the queen doesn’t like the taste, and maybe that’s why she’s not waking up. I wish Mama was here.”

  “She’ll come back for us,” the girl said.

  “She’ll be mad we left Father,” the boy said.

  “No. She won’t.”

  Hamon forced himself to look at them. They really were young. The boy couldn’t have been more than six. “What are your names?”

  “I’m Llor.” The boy stuck his thumb toward himself. “My sister is Erian.”

  “Where are your parents?”

  “Father’s asleep,” Llor said. “The queen’s sister blew some dust in his face, and he fell asleep. And Mama’s off fighting the monsters.”

  “Do you think Father will wake?” Erian asked. “Arin said he would.”

  “If he doesn’t wake on his own, I can wake him,” Hamon promised. It was the least he could do, given the risks these children had taken to bring the antidote. Even if it didn’t work.

  “Don’t see how,” Llor said. “You’re stuck in this tower. All the stairs are broken, and you’re too big to fit in the lift.”

  Hamon glanced at the boy’s sister, who nodded seriously. She flinched as a tree cracked close to the palace. The sky was dark with spirits, and he couldn’t tell if they were from Aratay or Semo. At thi
s point, he wasn’t sure it mattered. People were dying, either way. He should be out there, helping the wounded. Instead, he was here, unwilling to admit that the antidote had failed, unwilling to admit that Daleina was gone, unwilling to admit it was true death and she wasn’t going to—

  The wolf leaned forward and licked the queen’s cheek.

  Daleina spasmed.

  She sucked in air, and her body jerked and arched. Hamon caught her body, cradling her. “Breathe, Daleina. Come on, breathe.” He felt warmth flood through her limbs. He felt her lungs expand again as she took a second breath, and then a third. “Daleina?”

  She opened her eyes.

  He felt tears fill his own eyes. “Daleina.”

  She spoke. Her voice was rough and broken. “My sister?”

  The little girl, Erian, spoke. “She helped us reach you. She’s in the kitchen—she’s fine. She wouldn’t have been able to turn the crank if she wasn’t fine.”

  “She is well,” Hamon reassured her. “As are you.”

  Daleina drew another breath. “No, I’m not.

  “There is another queen.”

  Chapter 36

  Naelin felt as though she were soaring through a rainstorm. Her mind was shrouded with grayness and pummeled with the thoughts-feelings-awareness of thousands of spirits. They swallowed her, and she felt as if she were fracturing within the storm.

  She latched onto her own thoughts, to who she was, to her memories. Erian. Llor. She clung to them, to her images of them. They were her anchor, and she used them to pull herself back through the mass of minds into her own body.

  And then she found it: herself. She felt her own breath. She felt the roughness of the bark of the roots beneath her. Opening her eyes, she saw the patch of blue sky above her.

  “I can feel them all,” she whispered.

  Every spirit, in all of Aratay.

  “Naelin, she’s here!” Ven called to her. “Control the spirits! Use them!”

  Plunging her mind into the earth, she sent her will out. Come to me, she told the earth kraken. It moved eagerly and quickly beneath the surface, racing toward the grove. To the other spirits, she ordered, Hold the enemy.

  Don’t destroy. Just hold. Stop them.

  Stop their advance, stop their destruction, hold them where they were.

  Until Naelin could talk to Merecot.

  Queen to queen.

  She rose and felt as if her body were somehow larger than it was. She felt as if she were connected to the trees, the earth, the air, in a way that went beyond the metaphorical. Her breath was the sky. Her blood was the sap in the trees. Her heart was within the earth, deep down. She was Aratay. And Queen Merecot was an interloper. For all her spirits, she did not belong here. But Naelin did. She was the trees, the rocks, the air, the streams. She was mother to this earth.

  Walking forward, Naelin felt as if she were gliding. Raising her hands, she called tree spirits to her, and they parted the trees to open the grove.

  Standing on the backs of two air spirits, the queen of Semo flew into the grove. Three fire spirits flew behind her, sparks landing on the grasses and moss. Naelin sent her own spirits, only a few, to douse the flames.

  Queen Merecot was young, as young as Queen Daleina, with black hair that flowed in the wind and a dress that shone like the sun. One white streak of hair gleamed beneath her crown. Like the streak in Alet’s hair. Clasping her hands in front of her, Naelin waited for her to be close enough and then she said, “Welcome to Aratay.”

  Her words were echoed by spirits. Welcome, welcome, welcome.

  She added, “And now I must ask you to leave.”

  Leave, leave, leave.

  Queen Merecot’s face twisted in a flash of anger and then smoothed into a peaceful smile. She was beautiful, the kind of beautiful that comes from complete confidence. She radiated strength and youth and conviction. “Please, step aside.”

  “I cannot.” Naelin almost felt sorry for her. She looked like a woman who had never heard no, who had never failed, who had never met anyone stronger than she was. Until today.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.” Sincerity dripped from her tongue, but Naelin didn’t believe her. The spirits whispered, Lies, lies, lies. “I do not want to hurt anyone. I never did.”

  “Then don’t,” Naelin said reasonably. “Stop this war.”

  “I must have Aratay,” Queen Merecot said. “My people need this land.”

  “And what of my people?” She’s only a child, Naelin thought. A child who wanted more toys than she had. She shook her head. “You may try. You will fail. You’re on my land, facing the spirits who belong here. You cannot win.” She could feel all the spirits, swirling inside her head, tingling on her skin. She’d never imagined it would feel so exhilarating, or so wonderful.

  “Queen Daleina would understand what I have done and what I must do. I have responsibilities, to my people and to my land. I have sworn to protect them and nurture them, and this is the only way.” She sounded as if she thought what she said was reasonable, as if she thought she could talk Naelin into surrendering Aratay. “We will not survive as we are. There are too many spirits in Semo. The mountains—they rise and they fall. We must expand, or my people will die. It’s nothing personal; it never was. Daleina’s my dearest friend, but my people need this land. They’ll die without it.”

  “You cannot have Aratay,” Naelin said. “It’s not yours. It’s mine.” Mine to protect. Mine to love. Like Erian and Llor. She’d claimed all the people, the spirits, the rocks and trees and streams as her children.

  Queen Merecot narrowed her eyes, but Naelin was ready. When her spirits flew at her, she had her own fly to meet them. Air met air. Fire met fire. Wood met wood. And beneath the earth, the kraken reached the grove. Its hands burst through the rock and seized the earth spirits that were creeping behind Naelin.

  Hold them, Naelin ordered. Do not kill.

  Queen Merecot didn’t deserve to have her land’s spirits killed. Her people certainly didn’t deserve that. She would—

  “Attack!” Queen Merecot ordered.

  Lightning slammed into the ground, and fire swept in a circle around Naelin. The earth buckled and split, and Naelin screamed as she plummeted into a crevasse. She reached out with her mind, and three air spirits swept under her, catching her, but Merecot’s air spirits dove into them, wrestling them away. Naelin was knocked against the side of the crevasse.

  Hands made out of dirt reached from the soil and clamped onto Naelin’s wrists. She felt a tree root snake around her throat and begin to tighten. She reached for her own spirits—but they felt so distant, like whispers.

  She’s too strong, Naelin realized.

  I’m going to die.

  As the root squeezed her neck, she thought of her children. She’d sworn to protect them, yet here she was, miles away from them, trapped.

  Black spots swam in front of her eyes.

  She called to the earth kraken and felt him move within the earth, felt him grapple with the spirits of Semo, felt him try to reject them from his land. She called to the water spirits to loosen the soil around the tree. She called to her tree spirits to force the root to release her. But Merecot’s command of her spirits was absolute.

  I’m sorry, Erian. I’m sorry, Llor. I love you. She wished they could hear her, that she could see them one more time. Darkness rose like a shadow over her eyes. This wasn’t how she wanted to end. She thought of Ven and how he’d believed in her . . . I’m sorry.

  And then darkness.

  Black nothingness.

  Emptiness.

  She floated through silence, her thoughts fragmenting, her self unraveling. She was a cloud dispersing in the sky. Water evaporating in the sun. Snow melting in the spring. Death was here to embrace her.

  Naelin heard—no, she felt a voice. Distant. Soft. Sweet. Like the first touch of sunrise. “There is another queen,” the voice whispered. She suddenly felt as if she were split, and she was looking out at a
tower, at the face of a healer, at . . . Erian and Llor! They were there, peering down at her. No, not her. At . . . Queen Daleina? Was she . . .

  The root around her neck loosened.

  Only a little, but it was enough.

  Air rushed down her throat. Pain blossomed in her head, and she was back in her body, awake, alive. She pushed again toward her spirits. Free me!

  The air spirits dove for her, and earth spirits gnawed at the root around her. She fell into the feathery arms of a spirit and was lifted up out of the chasm.

  The grove was on fire. Flames roared through the trees, and smoke choked the air. Merecot had ringed herself with Semoian spirits and was calling more to her. Naelin saw the air around the other queen was clear, and she called her own air spirits to her, blowing fresh air through the smoke. She breathed, air rushing painfully down her throat.

  Queen Merecot was facing away from Naelin, toward the capital, toward the palace, toward Naelin’s children. “Leave them alone!” Naelin cried. “You fight me!” She wasn’t as well trained as Merecot, but she was strong, and this time she was ready—she could buy Daleina time, enough time to protect Erian and Llor, perhaps enough to save Aratay.

  That would be worth dying for.

  Merecot’s air spirits were holding back Naelin’s water spirits, keeping them from the flames, so Naelin called to her earth kraken again. She called the earth to rise up and swallow the flames in dirt and rock.

  As the fire died, Merecot’s attention shifted back to Naelin. Raising her arms, Queen Merecot directed her spirits directly at Naelin—

  And then Merecot collapsed.

  Chapter 37

  Naelin stared at Merecot’s unconscious body, sprawled across the roots, and then she looked up at Ven, who stood behind Queen Merecot with his sword raised. He’d hit her with the hilt of his sword.

  She felt a smile, unbidden, bend her lips. The queen of Semo had been so focused on her own power, on the power of queens, that she hadn’t watched for a straightforward attack—well, as straightforward as it could be, coming from behind. “Thank you, Ven,” Naelin said. She put every bit of emotion into those three words: everything she felt for Aratay, for her children, for herself, for him.