“I’ll never do that. Remember who trained me.” She smiled, but there was sadness there too.
He knew she was remembering her friends who had died in the Coronation Massacre. He could read the shadows on her face—he knew he wore those same shadows on his own. So many had died over so many generations at the claws and teeth of spirits. Still, though, even he saw that there was beauty to them.
Leaning against the balcony rail, he watched two tree spirits race over a branch. They looked like squirrels that had been dipped in vats of paint. Both had autumn-colored leaves sprouting from their bodies. Chittering, they disappeared into a hole in the tree.
“So what is this cure?” Daleina asked.
Ven jumped onto the balcony railing and reached up to unhook a clip from a wire. The wire path connected this part of the palace to a tree in the heart of Mittriel. It wasn’t used often because queens typically traveled with a retinue of guards. He wiggled the clip at her. “You need to soar.”
He saw her try to glare at him and then she gave up and grinned. Squatting on the railing, he held out his hand. Daleina scooped up her skirts with one hand and took his hand with the other. Up on the railing, she hooked herself onto the wire path. He secured himself onto the wire as well.
Pushing off together, they sailed above their city.
Chapter 12
Near the northern border of Aratay, Hanna and her guards descended from the trees to cross the final miles to Semo on the ground—the trees were too thin and spaced too far apart, and the population was so scattered that there were not enough bridges for Hanna and her entourage to be able to travel at midforest level. She rather liked approaching from so low, however. It made the moment feel, well, momentous.
Certainly the view is glorious. Ahead, between the last few trees, were the mountains.
Snowcapped peaks broke the horizon into a serrated line. It looked as if enormous claws had scraped away the blue of the sky. The faces of the mountains were a mix of gray and black, and Hanna had the urge to paint pictures of them, even though she had never painted before in her life. Like the forests of Aratay, the mountains of Semo were breathtaking in their extreme beauty.
“Most impressive,” she declared.
The nearest guard, Serk, snorted—politely, but she heard it and raised her eyebrows at him. Ducking his head, he mumbled, “I miss the forest already.”
“Semo has trees too.” She pointed ahead to a patch of fir trees, a swatch of beautiful dark green framed by severe mountains. A vast waterfall tumbled beside the trees into a lake that glittered like a thousand jewels in sunlight.
“It’s not the same.”
It certainly wasn’t. Whereas Aratay was an unbroken sea of forest, the trees in Semo were scattered and seemed spindly, overwhelmed by the grandeur of the mountains. Yet there was beauty there too. “Come now, mountains are invigorating!” Hanna rolled herself forward, out of the forest, until she felt it: the border. She was surprised she could sense it, since she wasn’t a queen, but her skin prickled and her nose twitched with a nascent sneeze. The air even tasted different, as if an additional spice had been dropped into it.
It was, she was certain, the change in spirits. Within the trees, the spirits were tied to Daleina and Naelin, as well as Aratay itself, but here all of Nature was linked to Queen Merecot. Hanna was surprised that it was a profound enough difference that she, who was not sensitive to all kinds of spirits, could feel it.
In response, she felt, oddly, excited, which was not an emotion she’d expected to experience again. “It will be a new adventure!” Hanna turned her chair’s wheels and kept rolling forward, toward a wildflower field that was dotted with rock piles.
Hand on her sword hilt, Evenna jogged by her side. “Alert, everyone! Watch for spirits.”
The guards tensed, and even Hanna looked about intently for Semo’s border protectors. So . . . where are they? Hanna wondered.
She’d only just completed the thought when the rock piles in the wildflower field began to shift and move—and she saw they weren’t random piles at all.
They were earth spirits, stone giants.
One after another, they rose to their full height, towering over Hanna and her guards. Each was at least twenty feet high, with arms and fists of stone.
Two of her guards drew swords and stepped in front of her, while the other two notched arrows in their bows. Hanna laid her hands on the knives tucked into the armrests of her chair, though she didn’t know what good arrow and steel would do against stone.
She wondered how quickly she and her guards could flee. Surely the Semoian spirits wouldn’t follow them back into Aratay. But I can’t flee—I didn’t come all this way to be turned back at the border. “Don’t retreat unless they attack,” Hanna ordered her guards.
“Madame Ambassador . . .” Evenna began.
“Lower your weapons and identify yourselves!” a voice boomed—it came from a pile of rocks that hadn’t moved. Hanna squinted at the rocks. Could that be a person?
If there’s a human guard here . . . maybe this won’t be a disaster.
Not lowering her bow, Evenna called back, “Identify yourself!”
Hanna held up a hand to quiet her, then raised her voice. “I am Ambassador Hanna of Aratay, en route to parlay with Queen Merecot of Semo. These men and women are my escort.” As she spoke, she reached for an air spirit—while she didn’t have the broad power of a queen or even an heir, she did have some finesse with the spirits of the air—and found one nearby, darting between the wildflowers. Reveal him, Hanna told it.
It was a tiny, mischievous spirit—a slip of air that looked like a translucent butterfly—and it didn’t fight her. Giggling softly, it flitted behind the rock formation.
Leaning toward her, Evenna advised, “We should retreat. No Semoian spirit would dare harm you within the trees.”
“They won’t harm me here either,” Hanna said with more confidence than she felt. Just because the stone giants hadn’t attacked, it didn’t mean they were safe. It could be they were under orders to attack only those who came a certain distance across the border. “Diplomatic protection. I travel under a flag of peace, at least metaphorically . . . though perhaps we should have brought a literal flag.” Queen Daleina had sent word to Semo to expect an ambassador, but if that news hadn’t spread to the border guards . . .
Hanna heard a squawk from behind the rocks as, surprised by the spirit, the speaker jumped up. She saw a flash of gold and black, and that was enough. She relaxed a minute amount. “It’s a human guard. Good.” A human could be reasoned with. To the Semoian guard, she called, “I have a letter from my queen. Perhaps you wish to examine it?”
Coming forward, the border guard examined her papers. He was a young man with a sparse mustache and a gold-and-black uniform that looked dusty up close. His sword sheath, hanging from his belt, was battered and worn, as if he used it daily. Finally he seemed to accept the letter as legit. “Keep to the roads,” he cautioned. “Not all of the mountains are as stable as they once were.”
“Oh?” Hanna used her favorite tone for encouraging students to talk.
“You might say that Semo has experienced its fair share of change in recent years.”
“And why might I say that?”
The border guard’s gaze shifted to the stone giants, who still waited motionless in the field. Hanna wondered if they’d been ordered to obey his commands—and she wondered how this young man felt about that.
But he returned her papers without answering her question. “Stay on the roads. And do not camp in areas with minimal vegetation. Bare rocks often signify an avalanche-prone area.”
“Sounds alarming,” Hanna said, keeping her voice light and friendly. “We lack such exciting features in Aratay.”
“Small price to pay for not living in a tangle of weeds.” The Semoian guard nodded at the border of Aratay. “Begging your pardon, Madame Ambassador.”
Beside her, one of her guards, Tipi, b
egan to reply, and the headmistress laid a hand on her arm to caution her into silence. “We thank you for the warning,” Hanna said.
As soon as the Semoian waved them on, her own guards wheeled her down a gravel path, away from the border. “‘Tangle of weeds,’” Tipi muttered. She was from the Southern Citadel, known for its tangle of magnificent magnolia trees. “Better than this rock pile.” She glared balefully at the living rock piles—the gigantic earth spirits—who watched them pass with flat eyes made of shale.
“Hush,” Hanna said. “Every land has its beauty. Besides, let’s not offend our hosts.” She was certain that the stone giants were spies as well as guards and would be reporting to Queen Merecot on their arrival, so she plastered a reassuring smile on her face and beamed at the scenery.
Soon, though, they left the border, and the earth spirits, behind.
Yellow and white flowers clumped together between the tall grasses, creating a lovely quiltlike blanket at the foot of the mountains. I don’t see any cause for alarm yet, Hanna thought. This is very nice.
As the path climbed upward, Hanna saw blueberry bushes and requested a pause to gather some. These bushes were stuffed with clusters of deep last-season berries—in Aratay, the berries hadn’t ripened like this. More proof that the bad harvest in Aratay was the result of unhappy spirits, rather than natural weather, she thought. Not that she required proof. Right now, Semo seemed to be a safer place to be than Aratay.
As they passed a bush, Hanna wormed her fingers in between the leaves to pluck a few berries. She popped one in her mouth. Soaked in sunlight, it tasted like the last vestiges of summer. “Delicious,” she proclaimed. “Stop here.”
Serk produced a sack, and all of them turned to the task of stripping the bushes of as many berries as possible, taking care not to alarm any nearby tree spirits by damaging any branches or leaves. Hanna was delighted—she hadn’t had a picnic in years. I might as well enjoy myself before—
“Alert to the sky!” Tipi called.
All four guards aimed their bows upward, arrows notched. It was impressive, considering they’d just been picking berries.
Hanna tilted her head back, shielded her eyes, and watched as six spirits with leathery wings flew toward them, carrying a chariot between them.
—before Merecot finds us, she finished.
Encrusted in jewels, the chariot glistened in the sunlight. Hanna watched the spirits circle once and then fly down onto the path. At Hanna’s command, her guards lowered their bows but didn’t relax. She didn’t expect them to.
One of the spirits paced forward. Its body was shaped like a horse, but it bore leather-textured bat wings. It spoke with a mouth that looked as if it could grind rocks. “Queen Merecot welcomes you to the glorious land of Semo and invites you to complete your journey in comfort and see our beauty from above.”
Hanna’s youngest guard, nineteen-year-old Coren, fidgeted beside her. His hand clutched his sword hilt. “I am not traveling by spirit.”
“You will do as the ambassador says,” Evenna barked at him. “If she wishes to travel by spirit, we travel by spirit. If she wishes to travel by dancing bear, then dancing bear it is.” Turning to Hanna, she said, “Ambassador, how would you like to proceed?”
Hanna considered it. There was a reason no one traveled via spirit except in dire emergency. You were placing yourself at the mercy of their temperament and trusting in the control of their queen. And these were foreign spirits under the control of a queen whose motives were . . . self-serving, at best. Hanna knew she didn’t have anywhere near the kind of power to wrest control from Merecot if the queen intended them ill. She’d be trusting in Merecot’s desire for diplomacy. Yet that was okay.
I did come here to determine precisely that.
“It is a three-day journey by foot across the mountains,” Serk said. “Treacherous terrain, with all the dangers that go with it. If these spirits are to be trusted—”
“You can’t trust spirits,” Coren objected.
Hanna agreed. But it wasn’t about trusting the spirits. It was about trusting Merecot . . . Frankly, she wasn’t sure which was more deadly.
The spirits waited. One of them pawed the ground with its hoof. The chariot was wide enough for all of them, with velvet-cushioned seats. To reject it would be to insult Merecot, which may have been why she’d sent it—to see what they’d do. “It’s a test,” Hanna said. She’s testing to see if we truly want peace. Or to see how gullible we are. “If any of you wish to return to Aratay, I will send a message with you absolving you of any responsibility. But I will ride.”
Evenna snorted. “Our job is to guard you.” Without hesitation, she lifted Hanna out of her chair and into the chariot, then shot pointed looks at the other guards. Bringing Hanna’s wheelchair and their supplies, the others joined her, cramming together on the cushioned seats. They positioned their packs on the floor between them but kept their weapons accessible, though once they were airborne, there would be little they could do.
Hanna hoped she was making the right decision, for all their sakes.
Running up the path, the spirits stretched their wings out, then kicked off the gravel and soared into the air. Hanna gripped the sides of the chariot as it tilted. Wind rushed in her face, stinging her eyes and battering her cheeks, but she kept looking straight ahead as they flew toward the mountains.
They flew high, bursting through the clouds, until around them was a field of whiteness, broken only by mountain peaks, and then they swooped down, flying between the mountains. Outwardly calm, Hanna kept a firm grip on the side of the chariot as she watched the scenery zip past.
On the side of one mountain, she saw an avalanche: earth spirits tossing rocks back and forth, like children playing catch. As the rocks tumbled down the mountain they sounded like thunder. She watched tree spirits rip apart a boulder by penetrating it with roots that thickened and split the solid stone. Air spirits swirled with storm clouds over another mountain.
Semo, she noted, was thick with spirits. Very active spirits.
Perhaps it’s not so safe after all.
Below in the valleys, she saw towns nestled beside rivers. Strips of bare rocks surrounded them, as if avalanches had fallen again and again toward them but had always been diverted. Their fields were dotted with boulders.
She filed all of this away, cataloguing it in preparation for her first report back to Daleina.
They flew for hours as the sun trekked across the sky from one mountain range to another, until at last Hanna spotted a city carved into the side of a white stone mountain. In the late-afternoon light, it gleamed, its turrets sparkling as if embedded with flecks of diamonds—which it probably was. Waterfalls, brilliant blue, chased down the many levels of the city, and gold flags flew from the peaks of the spires. It was a most impressive sight, and Hanna made sure to be properly impressed. Merecot would certainly expect that. In fact, she had most likely instructed the spirits to bring them in from a direction that would best show off the capital city.
It’s what Hanna would have done.
Flying up, the spirits brought the chariot to the peak of the mountain, where a platform of stone extended in a circle around the snowcapped tip. Hanna felt the chill in the air, and felt the jostle to her bones as the air spirits clattered down on the paving stones.
The horse spirits folded their wings and waited as Hanna’s guards climbed out and then helped Hanna into her chair. For one brief moment, she permitted herself the luxury of anger.
I should be walking out of this chariot, and it’s Merecot’s fault that I’m not.
However, she buried these thoughts away as she always did. Others had lost their lives. She’d lost only her mobility. Still, that word “only” gnawed at her.
After the guards had removed all the packs from the chariot, they fanned out on either side of her, at attention, as if they were honor guards. She wished she’d had the opportunity to freshen her clothes. After all the travel, she imagined s
he looked rather like a crumpled scrap from the bottom of a pocket.
Again, probably exactly as Merecot intended.
The chariot with its spirit steeds ran toward the end of the platform and off it, sailing into the empty air and then soaring up toward the clouds. Hanna watched them as they disappeared.
“Pleasant way to travel, wouldn’t you say, Ambassador?” a woman’s voice said behind her, and Hanna pivoted her chair to see that Merecot—Excuse me, Queen Merecot, she corrected herself; she’d best remember that here—had joined them on the platform.
She looked . . . well, not quite the same as Hanna remembered. She still pictured her as the gawky, arrogant child who had cheated on her exams. Now that gawkiness had stretched to regally tall, and Merecot wore her jeweled gown as if she’d been born to it. Her throat was encased in gold rings, and bracelets worth more than half the houses in Mittriel covered her upper arms. Her dress was black with a single white stripe down the center, to match her hair, and it was studded with diamonds. An entourage of her guards, clad in steel armor, flanked her.
The Semoian and Aratayian guards sized one another up, and Hanna briefly imagined them as dogs sniffing one another. They stopped short of that, though.
“Headmistress,” Merecot said, a note of surprise in her voice. And then she laughed lightly, though the sound didn’t have much humor in it. “Daleina didn’t share her choice of ambassador with me, only your expected arrival date. I wonder if she thinks you’ll grade me. Do I pass or fail?”
Hanna bowed her head politely. “Your Majesty.” She wondered if Merecot would be foolish enough to mention the wheelchair, or if she’d have the presence of mind to guess the probable cause. No, she wouldn’t bring it up—Merecot had always been shrewd. Not subtle, but shrewd. She wouldn’t begin negotiations by placing herself in a situation that warranted an apology.
Instead, Merecot laughed again, warmer this time. “You know, I hadn’t expected my old headmistress to ever bow her head to me. If I’d known that would be a perk of this job, I would have jumped at it sooner.”
The Queen of Sorrow Page 13
