Ven claimed the practice area at the palace. It wasn’t that he forbade others from using it—it was merely that by using it, he dominated it, and that meant he got it to himself.
Squirreled behind the ornate palace trees, the training area held an obstacle course of vines, ropes, nets, ladders, and beams built to mimic the toughest of forest terrain.
Ven began with the vines, leaping off a branch and swinging one-handed to the next vine. Grabbing it, he swung to the next and then the next, and then up straight onto a wall with two-inch handholds six feet apart from one another. He climbed, swinging his body like a pendulum to reach up to the next handhold until he reached the waterfall.
Gallons of water were dumped continuously, using a waterwheel and pulley system to create a gushing waterfall down the side of the tree. The handholds were within the waterfall—you had to reach into the pouring water, let it hammer your face, and reach by blind feel up through the water to climb.
Ven climbed it in less than thirty seconds.
He then leapt off the top of the waterfall onto another vine and swung across to a platform. He was breathing hard but felt good. Champion Havtru, who was waiting on the platform, passed him a cup of water, and Ven chugged it in one gulp.
“No safety harness?” Havtru asked.
“Done this course hundreds of times.” He refilled the water from a pitcher and drank it again. “Besides, I stay sharper if there’s no harness.”
“You’re making the rest of us look bad.”
Ven reached for the pitcher to refill his glass, changed his mind, and drank directly from the pitcher instead. Water spilled down his cheeks, but his shirt was already soaked from the waterfall. “Just need to stay ready.”
“Ready for what?”
Anything, he thought. Everything. “Tomorrow. Or maybe the next day. Who knows.”
“You expect the worst.”
“Always. It’s how I’m still alive.”
Havtru nodded, but then shook his head. “Can’t do that. Gotta keep thinking it’ll be better, you know? But that’s not why I’m here—I wanted to ask you about the girl I’m thinking of picking to be my new candidate. I think she shows real potential, but she’s as meek as a baby bunny. Scared of every shadow.”
Grabbing a towel, Ven dried his neck and hair. “She’s right to be scared.”
“Yeah, that’s not helpful.”
Ven smiled ruefully and then shrugged.
“Anyway, I was hoping you could talk to her—”
“No.”
Havtru opened and shut his mouth like a fish. Finally, a “What?” escaped his lips.
“Does anyone know you’ve decided to choose her? I assume she’s at an academy—have you told her headmistress? Has she met the queen yet? Either queen?”
“Um, no. Only decided to choose her a few days ago.”
“It could be I’m being paranoid.” Eh, who am I kidding? Of course I’m being paranoid. Question was: Was it unwarranted? He didn’t think so. Aratay had two queens but no heirs—and if the attack by Merecot’s spirits proved anything, it was a reminder of how precarious their situation was. They needed heirs. Specifically ones not in danger of being murdered. “But my advice is don’t tell anyone about her,” he continued. “Don’t bring her to the palace. Don’t introduce her to the queen or talk about her to the other champions. Train her in secret. That way, if an assassin begins targeting candidates, he or she won’t know to target her.”
Havtru shook his head. “But the assassin was stopped. Killed. And Queen Merecot of Semo has asked for peace—I heard that Headmistress Hanna is traveling north to serve as ambassador.”
“You heard right,” Ven said. “And I’m saying it changes nothing.”
Havtru tugged on the royal champion insignia on his jacket. He obviously didn’t like Ven’s advice, and Ven felt bad about that—but he’d feel worse if he was right, hadn’t acted, and the candidates all died, again. “You think the queen of Semo—” Havtru began.
“Or the spirits themselves. Some of them are smart enough to target known candidates. And if the queens lose control . . .”
“Surely they won’t. We have two! And the death of Queen Naelin’s children—it was a shock, but it was also a one-time event. She’ll recover. She won’t be the same—you can’t be after something like that—but the shock of the moment has passed.”
Ven tried not to flinch at the mention of death. They had all agreed not to let it leak that Queen Merecot had kidnapped the children. Or that she was involved at all. “Just a precaution, Havtru. Humor a paranoid old man.”
The other man almost smiled. “If you’re old, I’m ancient. But yes, I’ll do it. She can tell her headmistress she’s going home to visit family, and I’ll take her to—”
“Don’t say it out loud. Not here. Not even to me.” He hadn’t noticed any spirits in the practice area, but the palace was crawling with them. Better not to take the risk. He didn’t need to know where Havtru would be training his candidate.
“Are you doing the same with your candidate?” Havtru asked.
Ven eyed the course and wondered if he should go again. He hated the way he felt helpless to support Naelin, and he kept thinking how he’d failed Bayn and the children—not only had he not been able to keep Erian and Llor from being kidnapped, but the air spirits who’d attacked them had escaped and Bayn had been lost. Everything about that day had been the stuff of his worst nightmares. He’d been late, like he’d been on the day Greytree, Daleina’s childhood home, was destroyed. I’ll never be too late again, he vowed. “Haven’t taken another candidate,” he said.
Hadn’t even thought about it.
Didn’t want to.
Havtru seemed surprised, even shocked. “But you’re the best! You need to train another candidate—the queens need an heir, a good one.”
Naelin needs me now. And Daleina. I failed the last three queens in one way or another. I don’t know if I can go through that again. What I can do, though, is give you all the time to find the next one. “Train your candidate. But keep her secret, to keep her safe,” Ven said.
“I will,” Havtru promised.
Rather than continue the conversation, Ven jumped off the platform and onto a vine. He started the course again and tried to block out every doubt, every fear, and every emotion he felt.
He tried to move faster than ever.
So he’d never be late again.
After an hour, Ven finished his workout, wiped the sweat from his face and armpits with a towel, and then trudged back into the palace. He bypassed the blue-robed caretakers who fluttered around him, trying to steer him to the baths, and he climbed the spiral stairs toward Naelin’s quarters.
She won’t care if I’m clean or dirty. Her practicality was one of her best qualities. She knew people sometimes sweat and smelled and bled and cried and basically acted human. He didn’t have to be anything other than who he was with her. And if she wants to rage and cry and be human, I’ll be there for her.
That was all he could do right now.
Not that he didn’t wish he could do more. Like march into Semo and steal away Erian and Llor. He hated waiting for someone else to act.
But that wasn’t his call.
In this branch of the palace, the walls were white wood, like the pulpy heart of a tree but polished until it gleamed. Fire spirits kept the sconces burning by dancing from wick to wick, and their shadows writhed on the walls. There were cracks like knife-cut scars that ran through the wood. Probably from Naelin’s earthquake. In more peaceful times, Daleina would have sent tree spirits to heal the hallways. Not exactly a priority now. If anything, they were important reminders that Aratay was far from safe.
Especially while Aratay was still without heirs.
Guards were posted outside of Queen Naelin’s chambers. He nodded to them, but before he could ask them to announce him, a man spoke from down the hall. “She ate one pear and a slice of bread.” It was Renet, slumped against t
he wall. “At least she’s not starving herself.”
“How long have you been here?”
“I only want to make sure she’s okay.”
Ven turned to one of her guards. “Is she okay?”
The guard nodded crisply. “Yes, Champion. Healer Hamon visited this morning and checked her vitals. She has taken nourishment, and she has slept. But she has requested privacy.”
Ven considered leaving without announcing his presence—if she wanted to be left alone, then she should be, but he also wanted her to know he’d come by. If she decides she doesn’t want to be alone, I want her to know I’m near. We can be impatient together. “She doesn’t have to see me if she doesn’t want to, but could you please tell her I came by to see if she’s all right?”
The guard knocked on the door and relayed the message.
Ven heard Naelin’s voice from within, too muffled for him to parse the words, but the guard had his ear pressed against the door. “She said to tell you she’s occupied and to ask you to take Master Renet elsewhere.”
Naelin paced from one end of the overly ornate bedroom to the other. She knew she’d made the right decision, both for her children and for Aratay. But it should still be me, traveling to Semo, taking the risks, searching for Erian and Llor.
She’d reconsidered her decision to remain here six times every hour, beginning the moment Headmistress Hanna started north. She wasn’t used to second-guessing herself. Much less third-, fourth-, or fifth-guessing.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flicker in the fireplace. She glared at it, and the fire spirit shriveled. It was a tiny one, the shape of a lizard, its scales stained with soot. Its tongue was fire, and a white-hot stripe burned along its back, ending in a blue flame on the tip of its tail. “Come to mock my pain, spirit? Your kind must be enjoying this.” They lived to see humans suffer, after all.
To her surprise, it spoke. She hadn’t thought a spirit so small would be able to talk. Its voice was a crackling hiss. “I want to burn for you.”
She was about to send it away, but then she stopped. “You do? And what do you want to burn?” She felt its eagerness, an itch inside her mind.
“Anyone. Everyone.”
Naelin studied the little spirit. It was writhing on a cold log, boring a circle of char into the bark. Maybe I can’t do anything to help Erian and Llor right now . . . but maybe I can be ready when it’s time. “How would you like to play a game?”
The fire lizard wiggled in excitement.
Throwing open the wardrobe, she pulled out one of the more ridiculous dresses, a poofy concoction that reminded her of an overstuffed peach pie, and then hung it from the bed canopy. She made a mental note to apologize to the caretakers later—she’d find a way to make it up to them. “Let’s pretend this is an enemy spirit.”
Silently, she issued the order:
Burn it.
Hurt it.
With glee, the lizard bounded out of the fireplace. Leaping up onto the bed, it danced across the hem of the dress, licking it with its fiery tongue. The fabric began to smoke.
Higher, Naelin ordered, sending the lizard running up the skirt and bodice of the dress. She didn’t want to torture the Semoian spirits; she wanted to defeat them. It would be useful to know which orders were most effective.
Soon, she sensed other fire spirits had crept down through the chimney and were clustered on her hearth—some were like the lizard, others were more like tiny dragons, still others looked like little people made of flame. She reached out to them, commanding them to act in concert, attacking the poor innocent dress.
Smoke thickened in the bedroom, and Naelin summoned air spirits to whisk it away out the window and up the flume. And once she had the air spirits around her, she set them to destroying a finely crafted table.
She was standing in the middle of a cyclone of destruction, feeling better than she had in days, when a guard knocked on her door. “Your Majesty,” he called through the door. “Champion Ven has come to inquire as to your well-being. Also, Master Renet remains in the hallway, awaiting your pleasure.”
She’d forgotten that Renet was outside—she’d told the guard she didn’t want to see him right now. Looking around the room, she thought she was still not ready for visitors, albeit for entirely different reasons. “Please tell Champion Ven I am . . . occupied.” Beside her, a tree spirit pierced a cushion with needle-like spears that it grew from its knuckles. “And please ask him to take Renet elsewhere.”
I’ve found my own way to cope with waiting. He needs to too.
Turning her attention back to the spirits, she practiced splitting them into groups and guiding them to attack a couch cushion from multiple directions.
The cushion did not survive.
He wasn’t offended. He knew the need for time alone. And she deserved to have whatever time she wanted without either her lover or her ex-lover lurking nearby. “If she asks for me, please send word,” Ven told the guard. To Renet, he said, “Come with me.”
“Where to?” Renet asked. He didn’t budge.
One of the guards scowled at him. “When the Queen’s Champion issues an order, you don’t question it.” The other leveled a kick at Renet’s knees. A light kick, but it still sent Renet scrambling to his feet.
Truthfully, Ven didn’t have an answer—he didn’t think Naelin cared where in the palace Renet went, as long as it wasn’t near her. Ven headed for the stairs. Behind him, he heard Renet follow, albeit slowly.
“I loved her before she was queen,” Renet said, following Ven down the stairs.
“I know.” What he didn’t know was why Renet was bringing it up now.
“I saw the potential in her before you even knew she existed. She was the queen of my heart before she was queen of this land. Someday I’ll win her back.”
Ven tried to summon some sympathy and failed. This wasn’t the time for either of them to feel jealousy—Naelin needed all the support they both could give her. He made a noncommittal sort of grunt.
More plaintively, Renet asked, “Do you think she will ever allow me to win her back?”
Ven suppressed a sigh. “I don’t know that I’m the best person to answer that.”
“I don’t deserve her. Probably never did. But a person can change. Can’t they?”
Ven was grateful when his feet led him to where he hadn’t even realized he was going: to the eastern throne room, where Queen Daleina was. Because if he couldn’t serve one queen, then he would be useful to the other. He didn’t pause as the guards threw the doors open in front of him but strode inside without slowing.
Daleina and the seneschal looked up from the stacks of papers they had spread across the council table. He saw the dark shadows under her eyes and the wisps of hair that had escaped her crown. Behind him, he heard Renet halt abruptly.
“Your Majesty,” Ven said, inclining his head. “Apologies for the interruption. This is Renet, father to Erian and Llor. He needs something useful to do. A distraction from his . . . current situation.”
Daleina looked startled for only an instant, then masked it. “Welcome, Renet, and please accept our sympathy for the current situation. We would be delighted for your assistance, if that’s your wish.” She’s had too much experience with surprises lately, Ven thought.
Renet’s jaw hung open. “Uh . . . .” Belatedly, he dropped into a bow so low he nearly toppled over. Recovering, he straightened. “Your Majesty, I . . . That is . . . Ahh . . .”
“Champion Havtru had been assisting us in sorting through requests for help.” Daleina waved her hand at the papers. “But he pleaded champion duties today. You could take his place. The requests must be organized by priority. Imminent death takes top priority; aesthetics are last. I’ll review them when you’re finished. Seneschal, would you please show Renet what needs to be done?”
The seneschal bowed to her. He was a thin, tall man, taller than most, with a hawklike nose that had been broken once and white eyebrows that obscure
d half his eyes. His uniform was, as always, crisp and pressed. Ven remembered his name was Belsowik, though like his predecessors, he insisted on being known only by his title. He valued his duty above his personal needs. Ven approved of that. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
Queen Daleina swept around the table and placed a hand on Renet’s shoulder. “Thank you.” The words were heartfelt, and Ven knew he’d at least done something right today.
Renet looked as if he were going to faint. Ven suppressed a grin and managed to look the stern warrior while the young queen swept past the overwhelmed man and then looped her hand through Ven’s arm. He guided her out of the throne room. Under her breath, Daleina said, “If I see one more paper, I will shred it into flakes.”
“I think I know a cure for that.”
“Hamon isn’t—”
“No medicine involved.” He led her up the palace stairs, higher and higher.
Spirits flitted around them, more than usual. A tiny air spirit with dragonfly wings and a humanlike face hovered by Daleina’s shoulder and stroked her hair before darting away. Tree spirits poked their heads out of cracks and knots in the wood to watch her pass.
A fire spirit curled up in a sconce leapt to its feet and writhed as if it wanted to catch her attention. Ven saw her pause, focus on it, and the spirit curled back around its wick and seemed to purr like a cat that had been stroked.
“You want to tell me what’s going on with them?” Ven asked. He’d never seen spirits act so . . . non-homicidal before. It’s almost as if they like her.
“I think what happened with Naelin upset them,” Daleina said. “They’re making nice so that I don’t hurl them across a hostile border like she did. Or so I’ll protect them if she tries again.” She held out her hand as they walked out onto a balcony, and a spirit shaped out of wisps of cotton landed on her index finger. “I didn’t know they could even be scared.” She cradled the spirit in her hands as if comforting it and then released it. It circled around her head once before flying up toward the clouds.
“Don’t feel so sorry for them that you trust them,” Ven cautioned.
The Queen of Sorrow Page 12
