The Queen of Sorrow

by Sarah Beth Durst

  As soon as this is over, we can all go home. Together.

  Softly, so her voice wouldn’t carry, Queen Merecot said, “As the poets would say, when the mountains pierce the sun so deeply that it bleeds, we will go. Truly, you could not have picked a better distraction for my people. Everyone loves a wedding and all the implied happy-ending nonsense.”

  “Your soldiers will barricade the castle?” Ven asked, in an equally soft voice.

  Merecot nodded. “Yes. No spirits will enter here. I’ve told them it’s out of an overabundance of caution. Weddings are special, you know.”

  “This one is,” Ven agreed.

  The queen of Semo ignored that. “Of course, if things get truly out of hand, I can’t promise my endearingly rambunctious spirits won’t collapse the castle or shake down the mountain, but if it reaches that point, we’ll both be dead, so what does it matter?”

  “Your selflessness is indeed worthy of legends,” Ven said.

  Merecot smirked. “It will be.”

  “You have guards watching my children?” Naelin asked. “They must be kept safe, or the deal is off.” She wanted to make even more threats: if any harm came to them, she’d unleash every spirit she controlled onto Semo. She’d tear this country apart rock by rock.

  “I have my finest guards with them. All human guards, not spirits. Your precious darlings will be safer than anyone else in Semo. And hey, aren’t I supposed to be using them to threaten you?”

  “Let’s just do this,” Naelin said through gritted teeth.

  Merecot just smiled pleasantly at her people and said to Naelin, “When the time is right.”

  The musicians played faster, and the Semoians flocked to the dance floor like bejeweled birds. Skirts swirling, the women danced in circles, lightly touching hands, while the men linked arms and marched first right, then left. Glasses were clinked. Laughter rose to the crystal chandeliers.

  The hours passed.

  On the dais, Naelin watched the sun sink. It did look as if a peak were piercing it. Tinged with blood, the sun spread as it descended into the mountains. “It’s time now.”

  Queen Merecot nodded slightly and stepped forward. Raising her arms, she addressed the adoring crowd. With her eyes fixed on the sunset, Naelin didn’t listen to Merecot’s speech or pay attention to the music, dancing, and cheering that it spawned. The wedding guests tossed silver and gold ribbons into the air, and more glasses brimming with amber liquid were passed around.

  As the music crescendoed, Ambassador Hanna rolled through the audience first, parting the crowd, and Naelin followed with Ven out of the West Room. Queen Merecot swept by with so much grace and elegance that a few of her subjects swooned when she passed them.

  Everyone loves a wedding, Naelin remembered Merecot had said. It seemed she was right. The people all adored the bride and groom, their queen, and one another, at least for tonight.

  Outside the West Room, Naelin released Ven so he could push Ambassador Hanna’s chair through the corridors. They didn’t speak as they crossed the castle. She wished she could have seen Erian and Llor after the wedding, tuck them into bed, and reassure them that all would be well.

  Let’s just get this over with, and then we can all be together.

  Two hallways from the West Room, Merecot ordered her guards to stay behind. Three hallways away, Hanna signaled to her guards to leave as well.

  This part of the castle was silent, except for their footsteps and the crunch of Hanna’s wheels. On the walls, the tapestries were faded and frayed, and the stone behind the sconces was stained black from decades of smoke. Another corridor, and Naelin noticed the dust on the floor: there were no footprints. Cobwebs clung to the ceiling. Strange, Naelin thought. She knew Merecot wasn’t about to clean her own castle, but she had both caretakers and spirits at her command. She wondered why this wing of the castle had been ignored.

  Unwatched, the two queens, the champion, and the ambassador entered a small courtyard lit only by the rising moon, a weak crescent vulnerable to the clouds. A few stars were visible.

  Naelin glanced at Hanna, but the ambassador seemed unconcerned about the fact that they were in a forgotten part of the castle without any guards. She’d been similarly unfazed by the scope of the wedding ceremony. They’ve been talking behind my back, Naelin guessed. She wondered if that was cause for alarm and decided no, she trusted Hanna. Plus it was too late for alarm. She was committed now.

  The courtyard looked abandoned: shriveled weeds filled the cracks between the stones, a few arches had crumbled and the rubble had never been removed, and the center of the square was loose dirt.

  “What you are about to witness is a closely guarded secret,” Queen Merecot said. “The queens of Semo have traditionally hidden the location of the Semoian grove, in order to control which heir was able to replace them.”

  Naelin walked forward. This can’t be the grove. It didn’t have that same sacred feeling of the Queen’s Grove in Aratay. She turned in a circle, looking at all the tumbled arches. It’s just a neglected, old courtyard.

  “You hide your grove?” Ven asked, disbelief and disapproval clear in his voice.

  “Impractical,” Ambassador Hanna said with a sniff. “Queens cannot always predict their deaths.” Naelin agreed with that—history was full of examples. It was why the canopy singers were so important: their drumbeats could spread word of the queen’s death before too many innocents died.

  Beside her, she noticed Ven was also scanning the area, watching for threats—half his attention on Merecot and half on the courtyard. There were shadows everywhere: in the corners, behind half-dead trees, beside the rubble.

  “One heir at all times must know how to reach the grove,” Merecot said. “Unfortunately, at this time, I haven’t chosen which heir to trust, perhaps because they all hate me. And each other too, but mostly me.”

  “Even more impractical,” Hanna said.

  Naelin agreed with her again. So many innocent people depended on the queen. To keep the location of the grove a secret was bad enough, but for Merecot to have gone this long without a successor voluntarily, while Queen Daleina sent her champions out in a desperate search for suitable candidates . . . “Impractical and irresponsible.”

  “I don’t criticize your country,” Merecot snapped. “You shouldn’t criticize mine. Besides, it’s because of the power struggles between the heirs that I was able to become queen, and that was the best thing for Semo.”

  She doesn’t lack for confidence, Naelin thought. She wondered if they’d misread her—if everything about Merecot was a misread. This could still be a trap.

  “What you’re about to attempt is dangerous,” Ven said. “If the spirits rebel and you are killed, and no one knows the location of the grove . . .”

  “That’s why I’ve invited Ambassador Hanna to accompany us, at least as far as this courtyard,” Merecot said. “Ambassador Hanna, you will remain here as insurance against our failure.”

  Naelin glanced at Hanna, who raised her eyebrows and said, “I assumed I was invited to ensure neither of you dies in this endeavor.”

  Merecot dismissed this. “You don’t have the power to ensure that. But you can watch how we access the grove, and if my spirits start slaughtering everyone, you can ensure that the death toll isn’t overly catastrophic by guiding an heir here. Any of the nitwits will do. You can always poison them if they prove inept.”

  She’s so casual about lives, Naelin thought. Real men, women, and children were at risk, and Merecot didn’t care. She thought of Erian and Llor and hoped they had enough guards around them. At least Merecot had promised none of the guards were spirits. However, it didn’t stop her from saying, “You’re sickening.”

  “I’m practical,” Merecot said. “Vast difference. Not everyone who is born is meant to survive. I have a responsibility to my people as a collective whole, not to any particular individual. But maybe that’s the difference between you and me. I value all my people equally. You cher
ish a few above all others. That’s why I’m a better queen than you are.”

  I never pretended to be a good queen, Naelin thought. But I’m better than Merecot. Merecot was immature and immoral, a combination with the potential to turn deadly. Potential? No—she’s already proved deadly. Innocent Aratayians had suffered and were still suffering from the invasion, and think of all the candidates she’d had murdered! “You only care about yourself.”

  “Not true. I don’t care about myself at all. Everything I do is for the good of Renthia. You, on the other hand . . . Of the two of us, I think it’s clear which of us is the more selfish. I care about the fate of thousands of people, yet you would have given up all your power, abdicated the throne, left Aratay in danger, for the sake of your children.”

  Naelin bristled. She has no right to judge me, she thought. “I love my children more than my own life!”

  “You love your children more than anyone’s life,” Merecot said. “As my sister found out. But that’s not the issue, and who you love is not my problem—at least, I hope it isn’t. So long as you serve their needs, the excess spirits won’t care where your loyalties lie, and neither will I. Let’s do this, shall we?”

  Naelin wanted to argue. This young girl playing at queen had no idea what it meant to be a mother. She’d never woken ten times in the night, just to check that her child was still breathing. She’d never worried about whether she was making her child too scared or not scared enough while she warned them to be careful, always careful. She’d never been aware—so aware that it made her skin prickle and her heart thump faster—of how little she could control in the world around them, of how fragile they were, and of how finite days were. “You don’t—”

  And then she cut herself off as Queen Merecot summoned a massive earth spirit. Shaped like a giant slug, it burrowed up through the dirt in the courtyard. Broken flagstones spilled back from its bulbous body.

  Naelin stepped back—she’d been so caught up in feeling outraged that she hadn’t sensed it, but here it was, looming in her consciousness. Its hate felt hazy and distant, as if leftover from a previous emotion, and she sensed no coherent thought beyond down, down, dig deep, dig down.

  “Creepy thing,” Ven muttered, hand straying to his sword. “Naelin?”

  “It’s not attacking,” Naelin said.

  “Of course it’s not attacking—I summoned it,” Merecot said, exasperated, as she climbed onto its back. “The Queen’s Grove of Semo is hidden within the mountains. Fastest way to reach it is to take tunnels. If the worst happens, Ambassador, this is the kind of spirit an heir must summon. It and its ilk know the way.”

  “And I find an heir how?” Hanna said testily. “Since you’ve shirked your responsibility to choose one.”

  “All the heirs attended the wedding. You’ll find them in the West Room. Choose whomever seems least annoying.” Leaning down, Merecot held out her hand to Naelin.

  Naelin hesitated. Can I trust her?

  “Not the time for second thoughts,” Merecot said. “Climb on board. I’ve got a whole country full of people depending on me who need this to work.”

  She wondered if Merecot saw her people like they’re her children. Could she? If so . . . Before Naelin could decide, Ven stepped in front of the earth spirit. “I’m coming too.”

  “You can’t,” Merecot said. “We discussed this. Unlike the spirits of Aratay, the spirits of Semo won’t enter the grove if others are present. Or more accurately, they will, but they’ll be very pissed off. Your presence will endanger our lives.”

  “I’ll wait outside. But I will go with my wife as far as I can.”

  Merecot looked as if she was about to argue more, but Ambassador Hanna didn’t let her. “If I must stay here, then he must go,” Hanna said. “Besides, your people would be suspicious if they saw him without his bride so soon after the wedding, and I know you want this to be secret. At least until you’re sure it will succeed.”

  The other queen scowled but agreed. “It will succeed. But fine. Come with us, Ven. You can’t enter the grove, but you can lurk outside it in whatever threatening manner you’d like. Honestly, you champions are more stubborn than mountain goats. And believe me, Semo has more than enough of those.”

  Naelin climbed onto the spirit, and Ven got on behind her. The earth spirit’s flesh squished beneath her. It smelled sour, like dirt with dung mixed in, after the rain. Breathing through her mouth so she wouldn’t smell it, she hung on to its stiff hairs as the spirit plunged back into the hole it had made.

  Inside the tunnel, the darkness was complete. She saw the same whether her eyes were open or closed, and the only sounds were their breathing, the huffing of the spirit, and the sprinkling sound of pebbles rolling downhill. It was equal parts horrifying and disgusting, but Naelin said nothing. She thought about Erian and Llor. Once I finish this, I’ll never have to be parted from them again. Assuming it works . . .

  At last, the slug spirit emerged from the tunnels. Above, the sky was dimpled with stars, and the mountains were black shadows that sliced up the night sky. She saw torches lit in a line toward slabs of stone, standing side by side in a circle.

  The Queen’s Grove of Semo.

  All three of them slid off the spirit’s back. Merecot plucked dirt off her dress and straightened her crown. “Shall we?”

  Ven placed his hands on either side of Naelin’s face and kissed her so deeply that she felt as if her bones were melting. She caught her breath while he turned to Merecot. “Understand that if you emerge from the grove and Naelin does not, I will kill you.”

  Merecot smiled frostily. “You will try.”

  Naelin placed a hand on Ven’s chest, as if that would hold him back if he decided to attack Merecot. “Let’s not threaten each other when the goal is to survive this, right?” She pleaded with her eyes, trying to make him understand that she did intend to survive this. She had a purpose now, and a goal. Everything had changed when she’d learned of what Queen Jastra had done. He put his hand over hers, holding it until she stepped away.

  “Aw, that’s sweet,” Merecot said, rolling her eyes. “Come on.”

  The queen of Semo headed toward the circle of stones, and Naelin followed after her. Wind whistled through the canyon, and cold pricked her arms. She heard no other sound. No birds. No animals. No crickets. She felt as if the mountains were watching her.

  The only light was from the line of torches and the crescent moon above. She wondered who had placed the torches here, or if they’d been lit by fire spirits. She sensed no spirits nearby—even the earth spirit who’d brought them had retreated back into the rock.

  Far in the distance, south beyond the border, she felt the rest of the spirits of Aratay like a tingle. She couldn’t distinguish between individual spirits, but she knew they were there, linked to her. She wondered what it would feel like when she severed her connection to them. It could hurt. Or it might feel no different from clipping off a dead fingernail.

  Much closer, Naelin brushed her mind against the serpent-shaped spirit of Aratay who had carried her to Semo. She’d sent their other mount, the feathered deer, away earlier, to bring her message to Daleina, but this one was still at the castle, awaiting her orders. Go south. Fly to Aratay. She wanted it closer to Daleina, where the other queen could more easily reassert her power over it.

  Naelin felt the spirit fly toward the border and felt a twinge of . . . I can’t be feeling sadness. I never wanted to be their queen. You can’t regret what you didn’t want.

  The two queens entered the stone circle.

  “Careful. It’s slippery,” Merecot said. “I fell twice when I was crowned.”

  “Really?” She couldn’t imagine Merecot ever doing anything that uncontrolled.

  “Not really. I’m just trying to make you feel better. Did it work?”

  “No.” It was barren rock within, but polished until it gleamed, so smooth that Naelin had to walk gingerly to avoid slipping. Hardly a historic moment if
I fall on my butt, she thought. On the other hand, at least there was no one here to see, except Merecot.

  Still, even empty, the grove felt oddly alive. The silence was a hushed one—the silence of a person holding her breath, not the hollow silence of a vacant room. It was the same feeling as the Queen’s Grove in Aratay, as if she’d walked into a place so steeped in memories and expectations that the very air remembered.

  Merecot halted in the center of the circle. Turning back to Naelin, she held out her hands and waited for Naelin to pick her way over the slick stone.

  Reaching her, Naelin took Merecot’s hands. “All right then. I’ll abdicate first, then you release your spirits, then I claim them.”

  Merecot swung Naelin’s arms from side to side, shaking them out. She seemed far more cheerful than was appropriate. “Relax. Worst that can happen is a painful death.”

  “And the destruction of both Aratay and Semo, if Daleina can’t control her spirits and you can’t control yours.” Naelin said it calmly, but it was a real possibility. As far as Naelin knew, nothing like this had ever been attempted before. What if Merecot accidentally lost control of all of them? What if Naelin wasn’t able to gain control? No one had ever released a portion of their spirits before, and the Semoian spirits from the untamed lands were far wilder than any Naelin had ever encountered. All of this has the potential to go horribly, terribly wrong. And her husband was just outside the grove, alone and exposed.

  Grinning, Merecot nodded. “End-of-the-world stakes. Yay! You go first.”

  “For the record, I don’t like you, but I trust that you want to be a good queen and that you have the best interests of your people at heart.”

  “For the record, I don’t care, and you can trust that I want to be a great queen.”

  Closing her eyes, Naelin concentrated. She felt for her connection to the spirits of Aratay, and to her surprise she also “saw” the connection of the spirits of Semo to Merecot. As if she were snipping threads on embroidery, she severed the threads connecting her to her spirits, careful not to touch any of the threads leading to Merecot, though she felt as if she could have. All the threads lay before her. I release you. I abdicate. I am not your queen.