The Queen of Sorrow

by Sarah Beth Durst

  “Marry me,” she said.

  He froze, mid-kiss. “Now?”

  “Yes. Before I enter the grove.”

  “You’re not going to die in there.” He’d never thought about marriage before, not to anyone, but if he was to marry, of course it would be to Naelin. He never wanted to be parted from her—he’d proved that by coming here. But a wedding? Now? This wasn’t a proposal; it was a pity gesture to the man she planned to leave behind with her glorious, sacrificial death.

  “You just as much said you think Queen Merecot plans to murder me.” Her eyes popped open. “So marry me first. It will make a better song for your sister to sing.”

  “That’s a ridiculous reason to marry.” His throat felt clogged. It was hard to force the words out and make them sound normal. He didn’t know how she could talk about her own death so matter-of-factly. His hands tightened around hers.

  “Then marry me because you love me.” She leaned forward and looked at him with such intensity that it felt as if she were memorizing every feature of his face. He wished he had a less scruffy face to offer her.

  “I do love you,” he said.

  Naelin smiled, and he felt as if he were looking straight into the sun. And he knew in that instant he wouldn’t say no, not if this made her glow so much. “You made me feel when I didn’t want to feel anything anymore,” she said. “And now . . . Ven, I’m not going to die in there. You’re going to marry me, I’m going to take the spirits, and we’re going to bring them home with Erian and Llor.”

  He smiled back, even though his heart hurt. “Good plan, Your Majesty.”

  Merecot raised her eyebrows at Ambassador Hanna. “I suppose a few hundred spirits will make an adequate wedding present?” She’d chosen to meet with the ambassador in the gardens, because the sculptures reminded her of what a queen could do with her power when she wasn’t worrying about volcanoes and avalanches and other spirit-born disasters.

  The pebbles crunched as Hanna rolled over them. “I’m sure that would suffice, especially if a few could be wrapped in ribbons.”

  Her eyebrows shot higher. “Continually surprises me that you have a sense of humor.”

  “Mmm. Queen Naelin wished me to convey that she doesn’t want to inconvenience you or your people. If you could but supply a dignitary to officiate—”

  Merecot waved away her words. “Bah, we can do more than that. Semo would be delighted and honored to host such an event. In fact, the courtiers will be giddy with joy. They’ll make it a night to remember.” Probably drench the entire castle in diamonds in honor of the event. And the city itself would be celebrating for weeks . . . but that might be a good thing. This will be excellent for public opinion. First, a lavish party, and then a solution to the spirit problem. Granted, it wasn’t the solution she’d planned, but she could work with it for now.

  In fact, she already had several ideas. When she had time, she’d have to share them with Queen Jastra. But first, she had a wedding to plan!

  As she began to make lists in her head—at least twelve musicians, an array of food including their most traditional Semoian dishes . . . oh, and they’d use the West Room of course, festooned with whatever fripperies her courtiers wanted—Merecot beamed at Hanna. “A royal wedding in Semo! Songs will be written about it. Horrible, sappy, romantic songs, but it will be a nice change from the usual ballads about death and mayhem.” Perhaps she could have a portion of the evening devoted to songsmiths debuting their newest creations—after I excuse myself for the night, so I won’t have to listen to their warbling.

  “Queen Naelin and Champion Ven won’t want a fuss,” Hanna said.

  “Then we won’t tell them we’re making one,” Merecot said. “My people will love this!” And they’ll love me for it. “Are you against a bit of subterfuge in keeping plans from the besotted couple?” She expected Hanna to refuse, but instead Hanna nodded seriously.

  “Indeed, I would recommend it. They don’t need to know the extent of the celebration until the day of.” Hanna quit rolling her chair and leaned back, folding her hands in her lap. “How soon can such an event be arranged, though? I believe they want to be wed before the transfer of spirits.”

  “It can be done quickly.” Merecot then held up one hand and touched the minds of the spirits in the garden—a trio of tiny earth spirits playing with gravel, as well as a water spirit bathing in a fountain. She viewed the garden through their eyes, checking to be sure there were no stray gardeners or courtiers to overhear her and Hanna. Once she was certain, she said to Hanna, “We can use the wedding as a distraction. While the guests are consumed with merriment, Queen Naelin and I can visit the grove.”

  “You don’t wish to make the transfer of spirits public?” Hanna asked. “You should at least alert your chancellors and your military.”

  Merecot snorted. “Definitely not.” People would panic. Or have opinions. Either was inconvenient. She’d rather it be a done deal and then present their success to the adoring public, or else bury their failure as quickly as possible and shift the blame elsewhere.

  “Won’t your people need to be prepared in the event of failure?” Hanna asked.

  “Why? So they can run around in terror?” But it was a valid point. Merecot considered the matter, pacing beneath a stone sculpture of . . . Really? A sheep dressed as a courtier? The statue was an exquisite representation of a sheep standing on its hind feet with a chiffon puffed skirt and a surfeit of necklaces. Sometimes the garden sculptures made Merecot dream of more peaceful times, but sometimes they made her wonder about the priorities of her predecessors. Here I am, trying to save the world, and they were carving sheep ladies.

  The statue, though, did remind her that so far, she hadn’t chosen an heir from the flock of hostile Semoian candidates. Because all of them are unworthy. None of them had been happy about an interloper from Aratay taking the crown, and so Merecot hadn’t liked any of them in return. If her failure were catastrophic, if she’d made a miscalculation and neither queen survived this attempt . . . Only she and Jastra knew how to reach the grove. And Jastra, as the former queen, would be one of the spirits’ first targets.

  Merecot felt a pang of guilt. In her obsession with Aratay, had she failed one of her basic duties to Semo?

  Glancing at Hanna, Merecot thought of a way to sidestep the issue. So long as Jastra and I aren’t the only ones who know how to reach the grove, I don’t have to choose a successor. If I die, it can be someone else’s problem. She smiled at the elderly ambassador. “You will accompany us when we leave the celebration. But you’d better prepare your guards to accept your absence—they aren’t invited to the after party.”

  With that, Merecot pivoted and strode through the garden, fast enough that she was certain Hanna couldn’t follow her, not without assistance. She didn’t want to answer any questions. Besides, she had a wedding to plan.

  Ambassador Hanna sat placidly in the center of her chambers as a courtier held up a necklace. “The Crown was given this necklace by the stonemason Herro, on behalf of the knights of Nimoc, in gratitude for the creation of their town. Queen Rakka carved their town within a mountain—it is said to have been the grandest collection of caves ever seen, until it collapsed in the Tragedy of Enneva Falls.” The necklace was an elaborate twist of gold, cradling sapphires and rubies.

  “It’s beautiful,” Hanna said.

  The courtier looked delighted at her assessment. “Wait until you see the Bracelet of Joy! It took three generations of jewelers to piece together, legend says, and the last jeweler was said to cry tears of blood as she finished, which is why the diamonds look as red as rubies.”

  “That sounds lovely as well.”

  As Hanna was dressed in even more jewels, the courtier told her a story for each, and seemed happier and happier with Hanna’s responses—Hanna had the sense she didn’t have an attentive audience often. When she finished, Hanna felt as if she were dressed in the history of Semo, which was nearly certainly the point. �
�You look beautiful!” the courtier gushed. Waving toward a servant, she had a mirror brought in front of Hanna.

  I look elegant. Not at all like the strict headmistress of an elite academy. She looked as frivolous as any courtier. The gown was layers of blue and purple, falling over one another like petals of a just-bloomed flower. Her white hair had been twisted with so much gold that it sparkled like sunshine, and the jewels . . . It felt as if she were wearing the sky around her neck and on her arms. “Thank you.”

  “You’re most welcome, Ambassador Hanna.” The lady dropped into a curtsy.

  Guards opened the bedroom door to admit Champion Ven. He’d been dressed too, albeit with far fewer jewels. He still wore his green leather armor, but it had been cleaned and mended, and he wore a stiff shirt underneath it. He tugged at the collar as if it were strangling him. His beard had also been trimmed and neatened, and his hair was smoothed. Hanna repressed a smirk. “You look very handsome, Champion Ven.”

  He snorted. “Let’s get this over with.”

  She clucked her tongue. “That’s not the attitude for the groom on his wedding day.”

  “They tried to tell me I couldn’t take my weapons.” He scowled at the nearest guard, as if it were his fault. The guard shrank back.

  Hanna noted he still carried his sword. She supposed “tried” was the operative word. “Have you ever even been to a wedding?” she asked, torn between exasperated and amused.

  “I thought we’d find a tree to stand under, say vows, and then kiss hard enough to embarrass everyone who’s watching.”

  “You’re such a romantic.”

  “She doesn’t want romance; she wants insurance.” He shook his head. “Forget I said that. Just nerves.” He moved behind her chair and pushed her forward. “I’m supposed to escort you.”

  Hanna couldn’t help being amused as she looked back and up at him. This wedding was a stroke of diplomatic brilliance, but she knew that wasn’t why Naelin was doing it. “She loves you, you know.”

  He tugged on his collar again. “I know that. Love her too. Hate this shirt.”

  “Stop tugging on it. You’ll stretch it out.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  Flanked by guards in ceremonial armor, they processed through the castle. Queen Merecot had called on the spirits to decorate for the wedding in mere hours, and the results were spectacular: the castle looked like a cake, with ivory buntings instead of frosting and bouquets of jewels instead of fondant flowers. Hanna admired it, even as she thought it was all a bit ridiculous.

  Every courtier had dressed in his or her finest as well, draped in jewels that undoubtedly all had their own stories and histories. The West Room had been chosen for the site of the wedding, but it had been transformed with lush red carpets everywhere and golden ribbons dangling from the arched ceiling. On a dais, Queen Naelin waited with her children beside her, both dressed in gold and silver. Hanna felt Ven slow, nearly forgetting to walk, much less push her, when the two queens came into view.

  Queen Merecot was beautiful, of course, in a midnight-blue gown, with her hair with its white streak artfully arranged to gleam in the sunlight that poured through the high windows. But Queen Naelin had also been transformed into an elegant creature out of legend. She looked serene, dressed in an exquisite gown of pale green, the color of new leaves in the spring. She didn’t wear a single Semoian jewel but instead had living vines wrapped around her bare arms. The leaves were deep green, all except for one golden leaf at the hollow of her throat.

  Hanna sighed happily.

  Whatever the reason, however ridiculous the extravagance, this would count as the pinnacle of her career: facilitating the wedding of the Mother of Aratay to the Hero of the Forest and cementing peaceful relations between Aratay and Semo.

  She cried a few polite, happy tears, along with everyone else when the couple exchanged their vows—heartfelt declarations of love, in voices that carried through the West Room—and she cheered with everyone else when Champion Ven and Queen Naelin kissed, elegantly, framed by the sun that poured through the windows.

  Hanna was beside them with a perfect view as they turned to face the adoring crowd.

  And the look on the bride’s face was such a perfect mix of joy and sorrow that it nearly broke Hanna’s heart. Oh spirits, Hanna thought as her cheers faded in her throat. She’s found her perfect happiness . . . and she’s just realized that tonight, in the grove, she might lose it.

  Chapter 22

  Erian loved every second of the wedding:

  How happy Mama looked.

  How happy Ven looked.

  How pretty the castle was.

  How everyone cheered.

  How she was asked to stand with Llor beside her mother for the ceremony. She’d been given a royal jewel to hold, the Diamond of Eternity, which was supposed to symbolize everlasting love. There was a story that went with it, about a queen who’d married a man who worked in a diamond mine. On the day he proposed, he found this stone lying next to his pickax, as if it had been left for him—he took it as a sign of their love. The courtier said that on their wedding day, it rained diamonds, which Erian thought sounded painful.

  She cheered with everyone when the bride and groom kissed, and her mother kissed her forehead as Erian placed the Diamond of Eternity on a pedestal beside them.

  And then she and Llor were ushered out of the West Room to the cheers and the music. Now we’ll go home, all together, and it will be perfect. Maybe their father could live near them. She wondered if they’d still live in the palace in Mittriel, or if they’d live in the outer forest. Mama likes the outer forest, but the palace is nice too.

  Llor clung to her hand, close by her side, as they were shooed up a tower into a room near the top, to wait for their mother and Ven. It was a nice room: two fluffy beds piled with pillows, a couch by a fireplace, a table with a tower of pastries. A wide window with a view of the mountains was open, and a sweet breeze wafted inside. Releasing Erian’s hand, Llor beelined for the pastries and stuffed one in his mouth.

  Then they were left alone, which was pretty much the first time they’d been alone since their arrival in Semo. Or almost alone—Erian knew there were guards just outside, several of Queen Merecot’s best. She tried not to mind that they were always guarded. After all, they’d been guarded in Mittriel too. And at least these new guards were human, instead of spirit.

  “I want Mama and Ven,” Llor said loudly, still chewing the pastry. Crumbs dribbled down his shirt. “Why can’t we stay with them?”

  “Because that’s not how they do weddings here.”

  They’d been told they couldn’t stay for the entire wedding. Children weren’t allowed—another Semoian tradition, like the Diamond of Eternity. She knew Mama and Ven had argued against that, but Queen Merecot had overruled them. “Her land, her traditions,” Mama had told Erian. “Be a good girl and look after your brother. Try to get some sleep. We’ll have a long journey tomorrow.”

  “But they missed us. They said so.” His lower lip was quivering, still dotted with crumbs. Oh no, tantrum coming! Erian thought.

  Crossing to him, she knelt quickly and hugged him, which was awkward in her dress. The satin creaked when she stretched her arms out. “Don’t worry. After we’re home, we’re all going to be together forever and ever. That’s what the wedding meant.”

  He nodded, and then his eyes widened. “Then why are they here?”

  He pointed over her shoulder, and she turned.

  Two very familiar air spirits had landed in the open window. They had leathery skin and vicious beaks, and Erian was certain these were the spirits that had ripped them from Bayn’s back. She pushed Llor behind her and backed slowly toward the door.

  Llor broke away from her and ran toward the door. He screamed as he tugged on it. She ran to him, helping him pull. “Help!” she yelled. “Guards, help us! Please, help!”

  The door didn’t open.

  And no one came.

 
She felt talons close over her shoulders, and she was yanked backward, out the window. Llor was screaming too as he was pulled by the second spirit, also out the window. They were carried away from the castle, away from their mother and Ven, away from their perfect future.

  Hand in hand with her new husband, Naelin faced the cheering crowds of Semoians and wished Erian and Llor had been permitted to stay—she’d told them it was because of tradition, because she didn’t want to scare them with the truth: they were still prisoners, at least until the transfer of spirits was complete. She hated being parted from them, even if it was just for a few hours.

  Better that they don’t worry, she comforted herself.

  At least they wouldn’t be nearby when Naelin and Merecot went into the grove.

  Queen Merecot whispered in her ear, “Well done. An Aratayian queen wedding her champion on Semoian soil is a diplomatic coup of the highest order—you’ve made my people feel lots of warm and fuzzy thoughts toward your wooded homeland.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “And I’m not planning to kill you tonight, so there’s that to be happy about too. Now smile at the nice, cheering people.”

  Naelin didn’t find that very reassuring. There were so many ways tonight could go wrong, even with the best intentions. But she plastered a smile on her face, because that’s what the crowd needed to see, and she continued to smile while she watched the traditional dances performed in her and Ven’s honor. Clapped when she was supposed to clap. Bowed when she was supposed to bow. And tried to appreciate it when a gold-clad woman hailed as the singer with the highest voice in the land proceeded to pierce everyone’s eardrums with an absurdly shrill aria.

  “Sira would have loved that,” Ven murmured.

  She glanced at him to see if he was joking.

  He wasn’t.

  They smiled at each other.

  Beyond him, the sun had nearly reached the western mountains. Already the sky wore a rosy tinge. She blinked from the blaze of the sun as it streamed through the wall of windows. Jewel-toned glass framed each of the windows, casting pools of colored light.