The Queen of Sorrow

by Sarah Beth Durst

  “Mostly exhausted,” Garnah said. “She’s had more than her share of challenges.”

  True enough. “And if I were to offer to relieve her of her challenges, how do you think she’d react?” Merecot knew how she’d react if anyone offered to “relieve” her. The offerer would find her head being tossed back and forth by the nearest spirits. Reflexively reaching out, Merecot tried to brush the minds of the nearby spirits—

  And found none.

  She reached out farther . . . and still found nothing. It was as if she were cut off from the thing that made her her.

  She hated the feeling.

  Daleina, what did you do?

  Merecot spun, her skirts swirling around her, to face the door that Daleina had exited through. “So she just went to the washroom?” she snarled. More like she was setting a trap. Merecot suddenly realized she’d turned her back on a woman who had powder that could eat through the floor and the skills to undo the Belenian poison. Moving quickly, she darted behind a couch and watched Garnah.

  Garnah merely smiled at her, and the woman’s amusement made Merecot even angrier . . . and a bit more frightened.

  And Daleina came back through the door.

  Daleina had cut off both her weapons and her escape route. Granted, Daleina didn’t have any spirits to call as weapons of her own either, but with Garnah, it was two against one . . .

  It is a trap! I knew it! How could I be so foolish?

  “What did you do?” Merecot barked at her.

  “I bought us some privacy,” Daleina said. “Poison-Master Garnah, thank you for entertaining our guest. If you would please excuse us?”

  Garnah beamed at both of them. “Delightful chatting with you. And thank you for the idea for where to retire in my dotage.” Bowing, she scooted out the door and shut it behind her. Merecot didn’t doubt that she’d remained, listening.

  Scowling at her, Merecot saw Daleina’s eyes light on the divot in the floor. “What did she . . . Never mind. As you’ve clearly noticed, there are no spirits left within Mittriel, either yours or mine, to overhear us. So explain everything. How do you plan to destroy them?”

  It’s . . . not a trap?

  Daleina listened as Merecot talked:

  “The key is that I need to be strong enough for it to work. Obviously, I started out powerful. And the more powerful you are to begin with, the more powerful you are as a queen. Hence the difference between you and me.” She paused, then added, “No offense meant.”

  With a tight smile, Daleina said, “None taken.”

  I know she’s more powerful than I am. That’s obvious. Daleina wasn’t offended by the truth. She was offended by the invasion and the attempted assassination, but for the sake of Aratay, she was setting aside her anger and anguish. Or trying to.

  Merecot continued. “When you become queen, your power—however much it is—is amplified. The spirits share their power when they choose you. This is why a queen has the strength to keep her spirits from slaughtering her people. Mostly.”

  Every child knew that. It was the reason Renthia needed queens. But Daleina was determined to be patient. She folded her hands on her lap and tried to pretend she was listening to Headmistress Hanna lecture, instead of Merecot. “Go on.”

  “So here’s my revelation: even a powerful queen can be made stronger. Okay, so it’s not much of a ‘revelation,’ really. It’s logic. You must have noticed that when a spirit dies, you feel weaker. Well, the reverse is true, too: if an additional spirit chooses to share its power with you, then you become stronger. So if you—and by ‘you’ I mean me, of course—can become queen of enough spirits, then you can become strong enough to issue a command that would destroy them!”

  And destroy Renthia in the process. Daleina tried not to interrupt, though she badly wanted to. She’d seen firsthand what happened when spirits died. All around Aratay was the proof: the barren lands, the destroyed homes, the ruined harvest. But Daleina kept quiet, with effort, wanting Merecot to finish first before she began berating her for abject stupidity. And for raising my hopes.

  “Queen Jastra realized this years ago and tried to do it by capturing more spirits in the untamed lands, thinking they would bolster her power. But without land, the spirits were uncontrollable, and she spent all of her extra energy keeping them from ripping Semo to shreds.” Merecot paused as a flicker of pain flashed across her face, then was gone—so fast that Daleina thought she’d imagined it. “Overall, it was a bad idea. What she should have done is conquer a second kingdom, thereby doubling her power with nice, stable spirits, who aren’t busy fighting one another over a mountain or two.”

  “And that’s why you had me poisoned and my heirs killed?” Daleina kept her voice flat, but her hands were squeezing together so tightly that her nails dug into her skin. This is a terrible idea, pursued by terrible people.

  “Precisely.” She said it so casually, Daleina almost flinched. Why, exactly, do I want to be friends with her? She answered herself: Because a friendship with Merecot would mean peace for my people.

  Unless Merecot destroys the world first.

  Merecot continued. “I thought that if I could conquer Aratay, then with the combined strength of Aratay and Semo, I’d have enough power to issue a command that will change the fate of Renthia. You can’t do it—even as queen, you don’t have the power. But I do. That’s why it has to be me.”

  Holding up a hand, Daleina stopped her. Even if she accepted that Merecot could become powerful enough to do it, why would she ever want her to? She pictured the barren lands, the lost homes, the lost lives. “You said you wanted to destroy the spirits. How would you do that without destroying everything and everyone we know in the process?” She tried to keep her voice even and calm, but it was difficult. This was madness. She couldn’t believe she was having a conversation about why her friend had tried to kill her and had had so many others killed. Still, if this—an end to spirits—was what Merecot truly wanted, Daleina at least had to give it to her: she couldn’t say the goal wasn’t grand.

  She doesn’t think small, that’s for certain.

  Daleina didn’t know whether she wanted to scream, cry, or laugh. Maybe all three. And then shake Merecot until she sees sense.

  Merecot waved her hand dismissively. “I was being dramatic. Destroying the spirits would of course destroy the land. No, I don’t want to kill them. I want to change them! I want to order them to evolve. I want to force them to . . . well, become the land. I suppose that’s the best way to put it. Instead of nature spirits, we’d merely have nature, the way it’s supposed to be.”

  As she said this, Merecot was watching her reaction. And Daleina couldn’t help but react. Her mouth fell open. That was . . .

  Bold.

  And also brilliant.

  If the spirits were changed, if they could be altered en masse in a fundamental way . . . Carefully, not wanting to hope, Daleina asked, “What exactly do you mean?”

  “The spirits weren’t meant to be like this, continually torn between shaping the world and dismantling it. They were supposed to finish creating this world and then change to become a passive part of it.” Merecot gestured at the windows, the ceiling, the wall, as if they represented the world. “You’ve heard our versions of the creation story. Here’s theirs: they were supposed to evolve into a new kind of spirit, but they didn’t. They couldn’t.”

  Despite herself, Daleina began to feel drawn in. She thought of the gratitude story her parents always told before every meal, and the ballads that the canopy singers sang. “Because the Great Mother died.”

  “Yes! After her, no one had enough power to change them.”

  Could it be true? Were the spirits supposed to have evolved?

  “For generations, queens have kept the peace with relative degrees of success in their own lands. They gained enough power through the spirits they controlled to keep the status quo, but not enough to truly influence the spirits, to force them to finish their evolution. B
ut if a queen were to have more power . . .” Merecot trailed off as if the conclusion were obvious.

  Daleina stared at her. She couldn’t believe she was hearing this. She couldn’t believe she was considering this. But if it were possible . . .

  It wouldn’t just change the spirits.

  It would change the world.

  Merecot sighed dramatically. “Really, Daleina? I paused so you could jump in with your own ‘aha!’ revelation. You were supposed to use your towering intellect to fill in the blanks.”

  “Fill it in for me.” She refused to leap to conclusions, though she was pretty sure she knew exactly where Merecot was going. She wanted Merecot to say it, all of it. Out loud.

  “Fine. Once I’m strong enough, once I can draw strength from the spirits of both Semo and Aratay, I’ll finish what the Great Mother couldn’t. I’ll order the spirits to change.” Her face was flushed, and her hands were shaking. Merecot obviously believed every word she was saying.

  And Daleina couldn’t help but believe her too. Or at least, couldn’t help but want to believe. She knew how powerful Merecot was, and the spirits of Aratay, combined with the spirits of Semo, would make her even more powerful. Powerful enough? she wondered. “You think this is a thing that can be done?”

  “I think this is a thing that was supposed to have happened long ago, before humans ever walked the lands of Renthia, before Renthia even existed. Something went wrong long ago, and I want to make it right. Help me make it right, Daleina.”

  It was an amazing thought. If it was truly possible . . . It would be a miracle. In a hushed voice, as if Merecot had uttered a spell she was afraid to break, Daleina asked, “What are you asking me to do?”

  She knew the answer before Merecot said it.

  This was what Merecot had been leading to. This was why she’d come. She’d already said it multiple times, in fact, she just hadn’t said why until now.

  “Abdicate,” Merecot answered. “Let me take control of the spirits of Aratay. With them and with the strength of Semo, I can do this. It requires someone with enough strength giving the right command.” She leaned forward, intense. “I know the right command, and I am the right someone.”

  “And you didn’t want to tell me any of this before now?” Daleina felt outrage build—Queen Jastra and Merecot had the solution to the problem that had plagued Renthia since the beginning of history, and they were just . . . keeping it secret?

  “I didn’t think you’d understand, or agree,” Merecot said. “So that’s why the poisoning. But given a choice, I’d rather work with you than against you. We used to be friends. It would be nice if we could be again.”

  Daleina did not change her expression. She held herself very still. Merecot may be ambitious and ruthless and many other things, but she’d never been a liar.

  If it’s possible . . .

  If there’s even a chance that it’s possible . . .

  An end to the spirits, to the deaths, to the fear.

  She thought of Arin’s boyfriend, Josei, of her own lost friends, of her childhood home of Greytree, of the fallen champions and the ordinary people of Aratay who had suffered at the hands and claws of spirits. If the spirits were to “evolve” . . .

  No one else would have to die.

  She would be fulfilling her ultimate duty as queen: to protect her people.

  Merecot had talked about destiny, and Daleina had rejected it. But if she was to choose a destiny, it would be to do all she could to save all she could. And now Merecot was offering her a way to do exactly that. If it works. “You believe this. Do you have any proof that the command will work? Proof that the spirits can be changed?”

  “Bayn. Your wolf. He’s an evolved spirit.”

  “And now he’s dead because your spirits drove him into the untamed lands. Do you have any other proof? Any living proof?”

  “Call back a spirit or two,” Merecot said. “Ask them to tell you their story. Ask them about their lost destiny. Ask about who or what they were supposed to be. In truth, I’m only planning to do what the spirits themselves want.”

  Daleina shook her head. “But they—”

  “Just listen to them. Please, Daleina. And then give me your answer, whether you want to save the world or . . .” Merecot trailed off.

  “Or?” Daleina prompted.

  “Or die, so I can.”

  Chapter 29

  There was a child in the untamed lands.

  Not her child, but as Naelin stared at the space where the ragged child had stood, she felt hope stir within her, so hot and fierce that it felt as if her veins were filled with boiling water. “Ven, was that—”

  “Yes, I saw him too.” Ven bounded across the rocks as they undulated beneath his feet, rising and falling in response to an earth spirit burrowing beneath them. Naelin felt it slither past, deep within the ground, a massive bulbous worm with sluggish thoughts of destruction. She called to one of her own spirits, an earth spirit that looked like a horse made of smooth black stone, and climbed onto its back.

  Follow the child, she ordered her spirits. Do no harm.

  Swarming around her, the spirits changed course. They poured in a river over the rocks and into the crevasses. She rode with them, the horse’s stone hooves striking the backs of other spirits and then they in turn clawing past the horse spirit, a writhing stream of bodies.

  “You’ll scare him, Naelin! Hold back!” Ven called.

  “You’re the one with the sword!” Naelin called to him. But she reined in her spirits, letting them swirl around her. Absently, she stroked the back of a winged ermine spirit who flew beside her. It hissed through its fangs. Shh, I will stay with you, she soothed the spirits.

  She felt their agitation through her bond with them, vibrating like a plucked string, and she blanketed them with calming thoughts. It only partially worked. Her own thoughts were nowhere near calm. If a child could survive here, then maybe my children could have.

  It was common knowledge that no one survived the untamed lands.

  But common knowledge could be wrong.

  She pushed her mind toward the spirits on the edges of her swarm, watching Ven through their eyes. He climbed over the rocks, batting away an ice spirit that tried to sink its icicle claws into his arm. His mouth was moving—he was calling to the child. Naelin pushed herself deeper into the spirits, listening.

  “We swear we won’t hurt you!” Ven called. “Come back! We’re looking for someone! We need help. Please!” He was aware he didn’t present the least-threatening sight, with his green leather armor, scarred and bearded face, sword in his hand, and bow and arrows on his back. He also had spare knives in his boots and an extra in his front pocket. But he had to be less alarming than Naelin, with her spirits.

  Frankly, he found her intimidating like this.

  Not that he’d admit that.

  He scrambled over the rocks, which would not stay still. Gah! This place is a nightmare! As he climbed a boulder, the rocks rumbled again, split, and a spurt of fire shot up from the crevasse. “Naelin, can you do something about this?”

  Two ice spirits, laughing, shot past him. He rubbed his ear as the cold stung and watched as they dove into the fiery crevasse, filling it with ice crystals that crinkled and crackled until they solidified into a solid blue sheet. The ice spirits danced beneath the ice, spreading flowerlike patterns from below. Ven jumped off the boulder and, crouching, slid down the new ice river.

  “Boy! We need your help! Come back!”

  Seeing the end of the ice river, Ven leapt to the side. He held still, listening. The mist coiled and curled around him, and he heard a crack of thunder. Rain began to fall, smacking his cheeks and seeping beneath his armor, soaking his shirt underneath.

  Just as suddenly, the rain stopped. Sun beamed down for a moment and then was swallowed. I lost him. Straightening, he turned to trudge back to Naelin.

  And there before him was the boy.

  Ven did not move. “We’re looking
for someone. Two someones, a boy and a girl named Llor and Erian.” He thought about asking about Bayn as well. It’s too much to hope for that he’s survived. Protector of Queens or not. Bayn had been in the untamed lands for far longer than Erian and Llor. Then again . . . this boy survives here . . . “Can you help us find them? And a wolf? We call him Bayn.” He kept his voice soft and gentle, sheathed his sword, and spread his hands in front of him to show he meant no harm.

  The boy did not speak.

  But then the boy beckoned to Ven and began walking, jumping from rock to rock, using his hands for balance, as if he were a squirrel in a tree. Ven didn’t hesitate, keeping his eye on the boy as he followed. He trusted that Naelin would be behind him, keeping the spirits in check.

  The land around them continued to change: toward the north, a mountain spewed flames on one side of its face while it wept waterfalls on the other. Ice crystals shaped like trees sprouted into a forest farther to the west, only for wind to blow them apart. Unnatural place, he thought. And yet, what the spirits did here was nothing compared to what he saw next. Because when he crossed the latest ridge, he halted, shocked.

  It was a village. Of sorts.

  A collection of huts made from uneven planks of wood lashed together and leaning up against boulders, the town—More like a camp, he thought—was smushed close, as if the buildings themselves were huddled together, afraid of the outside world. Which, he supposed, is exactly what they are afraid of. He saw fire pits between them, a few lit with pots hanging on spits, and laundry was strung between windows. Perhaps more than anything, it was the laundry that disturbed him. It was such an easy sign of domesticity that would get overlooked elsewhere, but here, it drove home just how out of place all this was in the untamed lands.

  A few people came out of the huts as they approached: men, women, children, all of them as dirty and underfed as the boy. Ven raised his hand in a wave. “We mean no harm!”

  One of the women scurried forward and pulled him down from the rocks. “Quickly, quickly,” she muttered, “before the spirits see you.” As soon as he passed the first hut, the people all surrounded him, pressing close, patting his arms, his hair, his pack, and murmuring at him.