The Queen of Sorrow

by Sarah Beth Durst

  Not your queen.

  She heard them echo her, distantly: Not our queen.

  Not ours.

  Not ours.

  Not.

  And Naelin swayed, feeling suddenly weak, as if she were a water bucket that had been drained—the sense of the spirits of Aratay were gone, to be replaced by an awareness of the spirits of Semo: coming toward the stone grove, hating her, hating their queen, determined to destroy them both.

  Or at least Naelin.

  Merecot knew she could kill her.

  Right now.

  Easy.

  She wouldn’t even have to shed a drop of blood herself. Just call on one of the earth spirits to suck Naelin down into the stone, or one of the air spirits to raise her up and drop her. She had full control over every spirit in Semo, and all of Naelin’s strength couldn’t compare to that.

  The instant that Naelin released the spirits of Aratay, Naelin staggered back, losing her grip on Merecot’s hands, and Merecot let her fall backward. The older queen slipped on the slick rock ground and sprawled out at Merecot’s feet.

  For that moment, Merecot looked down at Naelin and contemplated murder.

  It was the original plan: kill the queens and seize the power. Queen Jastra would have been whispering at her to do it. The old queen had sworn an opportunity would present itself once the wolf protector was removed.

  This is an opportunity, but I’ve a far better plan, Merecot thought. Don’t kill Naelin. Let her take the wild spirits and go, and then visit Daleina with hands and conscience both clean—and at full strength, without the distraction of the excess spirits. If Merecot were innocent of regicide, then Daleina might welcome her old friend with open arms.

  And then, maybe, I have a chance to fulfill my destiny.

  Kill Daleina first, take control of Aratay, and then use the combined strength of both Aratay and Semo to squash Naelin with her paltry number of excess spirits.

  But first, Naelin had to live now, so she could die later.

  Reaching down, she helped Naelin back onto her feet. “Ready?”

  Naelin took a deep breath, and Merecot saw her brace herself. Good. “Better be,” Merecot told her. “The spirits who aren’t linked to the land are very strong.”

  “So am I,” Naelin said grimly.

  Merecot could admire that. Concentrating, she reached out—the spirits of Semo had already sensed that something was happening in the stone grove and were hurling themselves there as fast as they could. The wind was whipping around the grove hard, slapping at Merecot and Naelin, and the ground began to quiver under their feet.

  She felt for the wild ones, the ones who weren’t sunk deep into the soil of Semo, the ones who wanted to fight and wanted to flee and wanted to tear apart the world she was trying to hold together. Grabbing ahold of the invisible connection that bound her to them, she imagined she was coiling those lines around her hand, tightening them into a single rope.

  And then she cut the rope.

  Naelin felt the spirits of Semo scream—the wild ones broke free, while the others strained at their bonds. I could take them all, she thought. At this moment, Merecot was weak. If Naelin pushed her mind into the swirling chaos, she might be able to wrest control of all of them, the ones from the untamed lands and the ones native to Semo, away from Merecot. Within the grove, she could feel the threads of their connection.

  I could ensure she never invades again.

  I could protect Queen Daleina and all my people from her and her ambition.

  Maybe. If Merecot didn’t stop her. If the spirits didn’t fight back. If Naelin even wanted this. I . . .

  I want Erian and Llor.

  She plunged her mind into the maelstrom of spirits.

  Choose me, she told the wild spirits. I will be your queen now. Choose me. Now!

  Her thoughts, her emotions, her will was battered by the howling of the spirits. They wanted to rip, destroy, break, kill. She heard a rumbling around her, and the earth bucked beneath her feet. Naelin slammed down hard on her knees. Pain shot up through her legs, but she barely felt it. It was buried in the pain all around her as the spirits’ minds tore at hers.

  She felt herself scream, but she couldn’t hear her own voice. It was swallowed by the shrieks and cries. Her muscles felt as if they were being ripped apart, her bones felt as if they were cracking within her body, and her mind splintered.

  And then she saw herself, from the outside, as if through a hundred eyes at once, multiplied and distorted. Her vision of her body twisted, as if she were being wrung like a rag, shaken and ripped into a million pieces.

  She fought to pull herself back together, and it was like gathering sand in her arms. But she wasn’t lying to Merecot when she said she was strong.

  She was.

  You are mine, she told the spirits. I am yours.

  I will take you home.

  A pause.

  She felt her body fall forward, hard, on the ground, and she was whole again, for a moment. And then the spirits were inside her, ripping through her thoughts, holding up her memories and shattering them into fragments as if they were made of glass.

  She saw herself, a child, the night her parents died.

  Saw them again. Heard them scream.

  Saw Renet, the moment she met him. Kissed him. Married him.

  Erian, born squalling, and then suckling at her breast, living, breathing, growing, and then Llor, his tiny face screwed up in a scream. And then they grew, running into the house and throwing their arms around her, laughing and chattering.

  The spirits tore through her memories until they found the moment she’d lost Erian and Llor, when they were taken from her. And then she saw the moment she found them again, when they ran into her arms with tears on their cheeks. They paused, expectant, and at first Naelin was confused.

  And then she understood.

  I will hold you, she told the spirits, like I held them. In my heart.

  Take us, the spirits said.

  And she did.

  In the empty courtyard, Hanna felt the moment that control of the spirits shifted. It was a few stray seconds. Alone, she rolled across the courtyard to look out between the arches toward the mountains in the west.

  She saw a peak crumble.

  And then she saw a new mountain rise in its place.

  Good, she thought. Very good. If I’ve done nothing else in my life, I have done this. Saved a kingdom. Saved a queen. This could have been an ending. But it’s a new beginning.

  Chapter 23

  Even though she knew it was coming, Daleina felt the recoil as if it were a punch. She slammed backward in her throne, her head smacking against the wood. She heard cries around her but didn’t have time to reassure her chancellors.

  Plunging into the minds of her spirits, she spread her will through them. Calm. I am here. You are not alone. I have not abandoned you. Cling to me.

  And to her surprise, they clung.

  She felt their relief like a waterfall, all their feelings rushing through her, but primarily pure relief as they were released from the conflicting tug of two queens. Daleina swaddled them in her hope and her strength.

  And for the first time she realized she didn’t hate the spirits. Not anymore. Everything she’d told Naelin was true: you couldn’t hate them. You had to accept them, even love them. They were a part of the world, and alongside their hatred and rage, there was also beauty and the desire for life to thrive. She fed them all of her wishes and hopes and dreams for a peaceful future, and they, bereft from Naelin’s abdication, lapped it up as if her thoughts were water down their thirsty throats.

  Daleina opened her eyes. “She did it.” Straightening in her throne, she smiled at her chancellors, feeling stronger than she had in weeks, even months. “All right, tell me everything that needs fixing. It’s time to heal Aratay.”

  Her chancellors took her at her word, and the meeting stretched late into the night. It ended only when her seneschal insisted and shooed the
chancellors out of the Sunrise Room. He scolded her about not sending them away sooner, taking on too much, and not taking care of herself. She smiled at him and laughed lightly. “Why do I have to take care of myself when I have you to take care of me for me, Belsowik?”

  “You’re giddy with lack of sleep, Your Majesty.” He helped her off the throne. Her legs felt stiff from sitting so long, and her back ached, but she still felt better than she had this morning. It was as if the spirits were strengthening her.

  “Do you know where I can find Healer Hamon?”

  “I’ll have him summoned to you,” the seneschal said.

  She waved off that suggestion. “No need to interrupt his work. I can go to him. Can you find out where he is?”

  “I believe he’s with his mother.” The disapproval was thick in his voice. The seneschal could see through Poison-Master Garnah’s bright cheeriness, and despite her work in saving Daleina from the poison, he obviously did not like her. Not much escaped the seneschal’s notice, Daleina had discovered. Good judge of character. Hope he likes me.

  “How do you even know that?” she asked. “Do you keep tabs on everyone I care about?”

  He answered seriously. “Yes.”

  Daleina walked through the palace in such a good mood that she wanted to skip, but decided it wouldn’t be majestic enough. She contented herself with smiling at everyone and was rewarded with smiles, bows, and good wishes. At the door to Garnah’s rooms, she let her guard knock and announce her.

  “Oh, how deliciously delightful!” Garnah said from within.

  Daleina thanked her guard and entered. Lounging on a couch, Garnah was strumming on a small harp, badly, and Hamon was peering at a collection of tubes and beakers across the room. He straightened when she came into the room. “Your Majesty!”

  “You seriously call her that?” Garnah asked him.

  “She’s the queen. She’s owed respect.”

  “You call her that while you’re, you know, with her?”

  Daleina felt herself blush.

  “Mother!” To Daleina, he said, “Forgive her. She suffers from a medical condition known as Horrible Personality.”

  Garnah laughed. “That was very nearly witty. I’m proud of you, my boy.”

  For Hamon’s sake, Daleina tried not to smile. She knew how much of a nightmare Garnah was as a mother—she couldn’t imagine the horror of growing up under the power of someone like Garnah—but the woman did have a sense of humor that Daleina found refreshing after dealing with dour chancellors and dramatic champions.

  Concern in his eyes, Hamon crossed to Daleina. “Is everything all right?”

  “Good news, for a change.” Daleina beamed at him. “The plan worked.”

  “Yay!” Garnah cried. “The queen is dead!”

  “She’s not dead. I said good news. She abdicated control of the spirits of Aratay and assumed responsibility for the excess spirits of Semo . . .” She trailed off. At least, she was mostly sure that that’s what had happened. Her sense of spirits did not extend beyond the border, but she would have felt if Naelin had died, wouldn’t she have? “At least, that was the plan, and the first half went well, so I’m going to assume the second half did as well.”

  “Yay?” Garnah said. “The queen might not have died?”

  “Hopefully no one died,” Daleina said. “The only thing I’m certain of is that I’m the only queen of Aratay again.”

  “Without an heir,” Garnah said.

  “Mother. You aren’t helping.” Coming over to Daleina, Hamon put his arm around her. “It’s entirely possible everything will turn out fine.”

  There would be issues when Naelin returned and tied her spirits to the barren areas—they’d have to figure out how the borders would work, whether Naelin would rule a separate country within Daleina’s. But Daleina had confidence they could figure all of that out.

  Garnah smiled brightly at them both. “In the meantime . . . I was just telling Hamon here how much I would really like grandchildren. I think you should name one after me.”

  This time she couldn’t help it: Daleina laughed out loud.

  Sneaking away from home and traveling north alone was not the best decision that Arin had ever made, but Queen Naelin and Champion Ven hadn’t left her much choice. She’d packed what she’d been able to scrounge from her parents’ kitchen: several loaves of bread and a cake, but she hadn’t eaten meat in days.

  On the plus side, nothing had eaten her.

  Probably because I smell bad enough to churn any predator’s stomach.

  She hadn’t dared descend to the forest floor to wash in any of the streams. The safest route was midforest, so that’s what she’d stuck to. Now, only a few miles from the border, she wished she’d braved a stream. The border guards are going to get one sniff of me and say, “We don’t want your stench in Semo.”

  For the past several miles, she had been trying to think of what to say to get past the border guards. Queen Naelin had been invited. Me . . . not so much.

  If only they hadn’t left her behind, this would have all been much easier.

  And I’d be able to protect Queen Naelin, like I promised I would. It had been obvious to everyone that the queen and Champion Ven were waltzing into a trap, and it was obvious to Arin that she could help. But I can’t if I’m not there!

  She reached the end of a rope bridge and plopped down on the platform to rest. Above her, she heard the sweet birdlike song of a canopy singer—a wordless melody. Leaning her head back against the trunk, Arin listened as the gentle music drew closer.

  And then it cut off abruptly.

  She sat up straight. Had the singer fallen? Been attacked by spirits? Arin scanned the nearby branches for any movement, but saw nothing.

  “Hello, young traveler!”

  Arin yelped as a woman swung in front of her—she was upside down, dangling with her knees around a skinny branch. Her frizzy hair puffed down in a cloud beneath her head, and she was smiling happily, as if finding Arin had made her day.

  “Um, hello.” Arin bent her head to the side, trying to see the woman right side up.

  “It’s unusual for people as young as you to travel so close to the border by themselves. But I’m not going to ask if you’re lost, because I can tell you’re not.”

  “You can?” Arin didn’t think she was lost, but it was difficult to be sure. “I’m traveling to Semo. I heard the passage through is north?”

  “Only a mile more. But you’ll want to cross at dawn. The Semoian spirits are fussy—they think everyone who crosses at night is an invader, and they tear them apart.” The woman swung back and forth, and her poofy hair swung with her.

  Arin wanted to reach out and grab her, but the woman didn’t seem worried about falling. “Definitely don’t want to be torn apart. Thanks. Are you the canopy singer I heard?”

  “My name’s Sira. I was preparing the trees for sunset. Everything changes for them when dusk comes. They can’t drink the sunlight anymore, and different birds and creatures scurry across them. I always thought it must be scary for them, so much change every day. So I sing to comfort them.”

  “Yeah, night can be scary.” Arin wasn’t sure what else to say to such a speech. And it was true that nights alone in the forest had been terrifying. Suddenly, she didn’t want Sira to leave. “Where do you go at night? Do you have an extra place to sleep?”

  “There’s only enough room for my mother and me, and sometimes my brother, when he comes to visit. But now he’s gone to Semo. Oh! There are others on their way to Semo!” Sira smiled even brighter. “You may wish to join them. I’ll take you to them!”

  She scampered squirrel-like over the branches, and then swung from a rope to the next tree, laughing as she swooped through the air. Arin hurried to follow as Sira swung from rope to rope, tossing back the ropes each time. It reminded Arin of when she and Daleina were little, before Daleina went to the academy, when they’d race all around the trees. She soon found herself laugh
ing too, until at last Sira stopped on a platform.

  To the north, the vast oaks and pines switched to slender birches. In between them, not far away from Arin and Sira, campfire smoke snaked up to the sky. “Mother is with them,” Sira said, “either advising them or yelling at them. Possibly both. You’ll be welcome by their fire.”

  “You aren’t coming too?” Arin didn’t love the idea of approaching strangers, despite the fact that Sira had been a stranger ten minutes ago.

  “My feet won’t touch the forest floor until it has stories to tell me. I’m not done with the trees yet.” She said it so matter-of-factly that Arin bobbed her head in agreement, as if this statement made perfect sense.

  Arin glanced back at the figures around the campfire—she counted four. Three were seated and one stood, but it was impossible to see more detail than that. She turned back to ask Sira another question . . . but the canopy singer was already swinging back through the trees and then climbing, without ropes or ladders, even higher toward the precarious treetops.

  My first canopy singer, Arin thought. And she was just as strange as I’d always imagined. It was known to take a special kind of person to spend their lives so high up that the branches might or might not hold your weight. I liked her, though.

  Arin located a rope ladder descending from the platform, and she climbed down. By the time she reached the forest floor, the sun had set, and the brightest light was the campfire.

  She walked toward it, telling herself to be brave like Daleina. In the distance, she thought she heard the soaring voice of the canopy singer, but the wind stole away half the melody.

  By the time she reached the campfire, only three figures surrounded it: two men and a girl who looked to be Arin’s age. Of the three, the girl was the only one who looked up at Arin’s approach. She had blue and black hair drawn severely into multiple braids, and she wore a cloak pinned at her throat with a brooch shaped like a tree with flame-red leaves. She studied Arin with pale gray eyes. Arin stared back, not even sure why she was staring, except that no one had ever looked at Arin so intensely before. Most times, no one notices me at all. Except to note she was the queen’s little sister.