Hanna’s four guards had remained in the hallway, and Ven heard them explain what little they knew. He heard their voices rise, as the castle guard threatened to call for the queen.
Not yet, he thought. First find the children. Then deal with the queen.
“Got one,” Naelin whispered.
“Draw it here,” Hanna said. “It will resist, but it may also be curious.”
Ven shifted his attention to the sky, and after a few minutes, he was rewarded: a familiar shape with leathery wings and a sharp beak hurtled toward the window. He didn’t move as the air spirit dived straight inside, aiming for Naelin.
Closer.
Almost . . .
He then struck, leaping to intercept the spirit, drawing his sword at the same time and striking, flat of the blade first, on the spirit’s neck—with the blade flat, it didn’t cut but the force of the strike drove the spirit down, as Ven intended. He hurled his weight against the spirit’s shoulder. In an instant, he had it down, his foot on its back, his blade pressing against its neck. He pinned it down on the stone floor.
“Search its mind,” Hanna said.
They held their breaths, watching Naelin concentrate.
At last, her eyes snapped open. “Two air spirits—exactly the same kind as before, which can’t be a coincidence—carried them away from the castle. Alive. Merecot did it again. She stole them away from me a second time, when I was so close I should have been able to stop her and save them!”
Stepping away, Ven released the spirit. With a cry, it reared back.
Naelin froze it in place with one glance.
It glared at her, murder in its eyes, but she didn’t spare it a second look.
“Ask it where it took them,” Ven urged. Maybe if they could follow them . . . I’d happily fly on spirits again if it means we can catch them. He didn’t know how much of a head start the spirits had. He thought of the bodies in the hallway—if he checked how fresh they were, that would give them some kind of time frame, but he didn’t want to leave Naelin.
“It doesn’t know,” Naelin said. “Its orders were to kill the guards.”
Hanna was frowning. “Why would Merecot want to kill her own guards . . . ?”
Naelin rose to her feet. “Let’s ask her that, as well as where the spirits are taking my children, before we destroy her.”
On this, Ven was in perfect agreement with his new wife.
After the farewell-to-the-newlyweds extravaganza, Merecot gave a nicely rousing speech and then retreated inside to her chambers with Queen Jastra. For a moment, she let herself just rest, with her mind closed to the spirits and eyes closed to the world.
It’s been a . . . unique week.
She knew she’d have to prepare for the next step soon, but for now . . . Naelin, Ven, and the children were on their way back to Aratay, taking the troublesome spirits with them.
Opening her mind, she reached out, intending just to check—
What . . . ?
For at that moment, Merecot felt Semoian spirits screaming and immediately jumped to her feet. What is Naelin doing to my spirits?
Queen Jastra laid a hand on her wrist. “Stop.”
“But she’s hurting them!”
“Let her.” Folding her hands calmly on her lap, Jastra studied the silver tray of delicacies. A sampling of desserts from the wedding had been delivered directly to Merecot’s chambers, per Merecot’s command. She’d planned to celebrate in the privacy of her rooms.
I should be celebrating! It all went well! She’s supposed to be gone! Why is she still here, hurting my spirits? “Jastra . . .”
“Patience, Your Majesty.” Jastra selected a concoction made with salt and caramel. She popped it in her mouth and chewed with a delighted sigh. “Try one. Delicious. And trust me: Queen Naelin will come to you.”
Merecot paced.
She hated doing nothing.
No one is allowed to hurt my spirits but me.
“At least explain why!” Merecot burst out.
“Remember how I told you an opportunity will present itself? Sometimes you have to nudge that opportunity along. Create a situation in which it will blossom.”
Merecot quit pacing. She stared at Jastra. Slowly, trying to keep her voice steady and calm, she asked, enunciating each word, “What did you do?”
“It’s not what I did that’s important; it’s what will happen next,” Jastra said. “She will attack you, and you will defend yourself. You, with the power of all the spirits of Semo behind you. And her, with the power of only a few hundred, barely controlled, wild spirits that aren’t tied to any land. With such a power imbalance, you’ll easily defeat her.”
“And why will she attack me, after I threw her a lovely wedding and gave her everything she desired?” Merecot clenched her fists then released them. She forced herself to breathe evenly and think clearly. This was not the plan.
“Because your spirits took her children into the untamed lands.”
Merecot was at a loss for words. She looked at the ex-queen across the room. Jastra smiled triumphantly, as if she had done something immensely clever. Instead of immensely reckless and stupid. “By now they are already there,” Jastra said.
“Then they’re dead,” Merecot said flatly.
“Not necessarily.”
“No one survives the untamed lands. Least of all children.” She thought of the boy and girl—they were just ordinary, innocent kids. Sure, she didn’t like little kids much, but that didn’t mean they deserved to die. Kidnap, fine, but not this. I have some sense of right and wrong. And this goes too far. “You sent my spirits, behind my back, to kill Queen Naelin’s children?”
“Remove them, not kill,” Jastra clarified, as if that made any difference when the untamed lands were involved.
Merecot shook her head. She wished she could shake this knowledge out of her mind. “You’re right—she’ll want revenge. You can’t attack cubs without angering the mama bear.”
“Yes! Precisely! She fights you, and you destroy her. You have the advantage—your spirits outnumber hers, and you have better control of them.” Jastra was practically rubbing her hands together in glee. “She knows this, which is why she had to be goaded into action. It’s brilliant! You’ll be able to eliminate one of the Aratayian queens, as well as the problematic spirits in one fell swoop! I have turned your mistake into victory!”
Argh! Merecot gritted her teeth so she wouldn’t scream out loud. She knew the kind of damage Naelin had done to Aratay the last time her children were endangered. It had taken serious power at the border to repel her. And now Naelin was within Semo, in Merecot’s castle. I’ll win, of course. But it won’t be a pretty fight.
Perhaps worse, though, was the fact that Jastra had backed her into a corner, neatly and efficiently and without Merecot’s knowledge. It made her feel powerless—and that was not a feeling she enjoyed one bit. She’d had a plan, and it was working. “I did not make a mistake. Allowing Naelin to take the excess spirits was the correct call, both for Semo and Renthia.”
“In the short term, perhaps. I’m sure it seemed that way,” Jastra said, her voice full of sympathy. “But in the long term? Oh my dear, I wish you had consulted me first! You followed your heart instead of your head, and in doing so, unraveled all our plans.”
Because I had a new plan! A better plan! Let Naelin go, and then, under the guise of peace, visit Daleina . . . and eliminate her. And then—and only then—battle Naelin. But now . . .
Daleina will never let me near her if I’ve just murdered Naelin!
“You shouldn’t have done this,” Merecot ground out. “Especially not this way.”
It was true that killing Naelin had been the original plan if the queens refused to abdicate, but even then they’d planned to make it seem like an accident. A rogue spirit. Or a fall—Naelin was older, distraught over all she’d endured. This . . . Everyone would know Merecot was responsible.
Jastra shook her head and clucked
her tongue, as if that made her seem like an old wise woman. But she’s not, Merecot thought. She’s just another person who has betrayed me. “You hadn’t the nerve for what needed to be done,” Jastra said. “It’s important you remember this is about all the children, and sacrifices must be made—”
“Yes,” Merecot cut her off. “They must.” She felt her shoulders sag, and then she straightened. This was not the time for weakness. It’s only that I trusted Jastra. I liked her. And now . . . she’s left me with no choice. It just galled her, because Jastra was right.
I have to do what’s best for Semo. And for Renthia.
Looking beyond Jastra, Merecot said, “Have you heard enough, Your Majesty?”
Queen Naelin was crouched in the windowsill, several of her spirits behind her. Champion Ven was already within the room, his sword drawn. The two of them hadn’t moved closer while she’d been questioning Jastra.
“This could be staged,” Ven said to Naelin.
Naelin’s eyes were on Merecot, and Merecot saw the rage and distrust in them. She wished there were another way. I should have taken the time to explain to Jastra how the plan had changed. No, she wasn’t going to feel guilty about this. It wasn’t her fault! Jastra should have known I’d have a new plan. She should have trusted me!
She wished Jastra had believed in her the way Merecot had thought she did. She wished they’d never involved children. She wished she’d left that damn wolf alone.
“You have betrayed me, Jastra,” Merecot said quietly. “And you have committed an act of war against Queen Naelin of Aratay. I am sorry for what I must do, but you have left me no choice.”
She meant every word.
Stepping back, Merecot withdrew her protection from the former queen of Semo. And the spirits felt it almost immediately. At first they hesitated, as if unsure what to make of this.
But then they came.
Howling, they flew through the halls of the castle, through the windows, down the stairwells, all of them converging. Fire spirits flew from the hearth, a blur of flame. Ice spirits laid frost trails across the floor. Water spirits gushed through the windows. Air spirits whipped around Jastra. Tree spirits pinned her arms together and filled her mouth with leaves, while earth spirits tore her apart.
Merecot forced herself to stand and watch.
At last, when the screaming ended, she closed her eyes and realized she was crying.
Chapter 25
Carefully, as calmly as she could manage, Naelin broke the shocked silence with the most important question: “Is it true that Queen Jastra went into the untamed lands and came out again?”
“She certainly did,” Merecot said in a ragged voice. “Fool that she was.” The insult lacked bite, though. Her cheeks were wet with tears. But Naelin didn’t have enough room in her heart and mind to worry about Merecot’s feelings.
Naelin felt as if an ocean were surging inside her. If Queen Jastra can do it, so can I. I can search for them. I can find them. She met Ven’s eyes, and knew he was thinking the same thing. Erian and Llor could still be alive! They could rescue them! If they dared. If she were strong enough. I have to be.
“You’re thinking of doing it too, going into the untamed lands,” Merecot accused. “You can’t. You have to take the excess spirits to Aratay, as we agreed—they can’t stay here.”
She was right. The spirits couldn’t stay here. Naelin felt them, clawing at the back of her mind, buzzing like a hundred mosquitoes. If she left them, they’d be essentially queenless, worse than if she’d never come at all.
“What if instead of taking the extra spirits to Aratay . . .” Naelin said slowly, the idea solidifying as she spoke. “. . . What if . . . I take them with me back to the untamed lands?”
“You’ll die,” Merecot said bluntly. “Jastra spent years preparing for her trip. Only a powerful and well-trained queen can leave the known world and hope to survive. You fit the first adjective; fail on the second.”
“I won’t be going alone.” She’d have all the excess spirits with her—a veritable army. And she’d have Ven by her side. She looked at her champion.
Ven nodded. “You won’t be going alone.”
“Aw, how sweet,” Merecot said. “You’ll both die.” Crossing to the door, she summoned her guards. “Please see that Queen Jastra’s body is taken to the Tomb of Queens. And clean this room up.” There was a tremor in her voice that she almost successfully hid—Naelin heard a hint of it as Merecot turned back to her and Ven. “You’re serious about this?
“Tell us where your spirits entered the untamed lands,” Ven demanded. “That will give us a starting point. Even if Queen Jastra hijacked those particular spirits, you must be able to read the minds of spirits who saw them pass.”
Naelin watched as Merecot concentrated, her eyes unfocusing. For what seemed like the thousandth time, she thought, Can we trust her? She kidnapped Erian and Llor once; she could still be behind the second kidnapping. She could be manipulating them as some part of a broader, more elaborate plot to rule Semo and Aratay.
Her shock, though, had seemed genuine.
And there isn’t time for second-guessing. Every minute we waste is a minute too long.
At last, Merecot shook herself. “Stupid creatures returned to the only part of the border they knew: in Aratay, near the village of Redleaf, where they lost the Protector of Queens. I suppose that was the simplest order for Jastra to give them.”
If they’d flown that far, then maybe there was still a chance to catch them. “Please explain everything to Ambassador Hanna,” she said to Merecot. “And send word to Queen Daleina—she’ll need to know I won’t be bringing the spirits to the barren lands.”
Merecot’s eyebrows shot up. She spends most of her time looking at me as if I’m crazy, Naelin thought, when she’s the one who set all this in motion.
“You know Daleina won’t trust what I say,” Merecot said.
“Frankly, it doesn’t matter. She’ll feel it when we cross the border.” Naelin tried to think through if there was anything else she could do to prepare, anything else that would tip the odds from “impossible” to “merely difficult,” but everything inside her was screaming, Go, go, go!
With wind in their faces, they soared above the mountains. It was just past dawn, and the sun was behind them, shedding light on all the rocks beneath them. Ought to make it across Semo into Aratay by tonight, Ven thought. The spirits would have flown straight. So can we.
It helped if he thought of this as an ordinary hunt. Follow the trail, find the prey.
Maybe we can make up time.
We have to.
As they crossed another mountain, he heard a whoosh and then the sky was filled with spirits: hundreds of them, rising up from the canyons and valleys. Beside him, with her arms spread wide, Naelin had her eyes closed and was arched back. Wind streamed her hair backward, and the spirits flew all around her. Below, more ran across the ridges and peaks of the mountains—streaks of gold and red and black.
The spirits without a land, he thought. Her spirits.
Some of them flew closer, and he saw their eyes, filled with fire or darker than night. One hissed, showing three rows of wolflike teeth. Another spat crimson spittle into the air. It seared onto the back of another, and the injured spirit howled, whipping around to strike at the spitting spirit with talons as long as swords.
Oh, great.
He’d never hunted with an army before. Especially one that had zero discipline and even less loyalty, to either their Queen or each other.
This is going to be interesting.
With her new spirits, Naelin flew across Semo. She felt their minds pressing in on hers, as if they wanted to swallow her whole—thoughts, memories, feelings. Over and over again, she saw the moments that shaped her: the day her family died, the day she married Renet, the day Erian was born and the day Llor was born, the day she met Ven, the day she lost her children, the day she found them . . . but the spirits always wanted
more. They rummaged through her mind, exposing little memories: the croon of a lullaby sung by her mother, the sound of sizzling eggs, the taste of fresh berries, the smell of fresh laundry in the spring breeze, the feel of Ven’s lips on hers, the way her body shook when she laughed hard enough, the sensation of brushing her hair . . . so many little details at once that she felt bombarded.
She didn’t feel the wind rushing on her face or see the snowcapped peaks below them, as her mind was plunged from memory to memory, and she was only vaguely aware when they crossed from Semo into Aratay. She didn’t notice when the sun blazed brilliant red on the horizon and the forest below sank into shadows, a vast dark sea of branches and dying leaves. She didn’t feel the night chill, and when, well after midnight, Ven called to her that they needed to stop, she needed to rest, she didn’t hear him until her spirit shrieked and jerked backward.
An arrow had flown by its face.
Ven was holding his bow.
With a pleasant smile on his face, he said, “Stop for the night?”
She didn’t want to. “Erian and Llor . . .”
“We can’t help them if we’re drained of all strength,” Ven said.
She knew he was right. And she felt the exhaustion in the smaller spirits. A few had flagged behind, far behind, and she knew she couldn’t leave them. She’d taken on this responsibility, and she couldn’t leave them queenless in Aratay, to kill and destroy.
Yet it meant her children were alone. And in danger. And maybe hurt, and certainly scared, and surely . . .
The grief hit her like a blow to the gut, and she almost collapsed into a heap as both the emotions and exhaustion swept through her. She needed to rest, but she didn’t dare rest. She needed to do her duty, and yet the only duty that mattered was to her family.
How can I possibly do this?
She looked over and saw Ven watching her. And while there was concern in his eyes, it wasn’t patronizing. It wasn’t pity. His eyes simply said, You can’t help anyone if you’re dead. In a way, it was a bit brutal. He knows how much this devastates me. Yet, that was almost certainly what he was trying to convey: empathy and commitment to her oaths. Brutal, yes. But necessary.
The Queen of Sorrow Page 30
