Lying flat on the floor, Daleina stared up at the painted ceiling. She took a breath and then another, pushing her fear deep down inside her, burying it beneath her breath. You have to do this. It was her duty, despite the risk. Slowly at first, she sent her awareness out. If she was careful and slow . . . maybe the False Death wouldn’t come. She touched the spirits in the palace first. Present in every corner of the complex, they felt like a buzzing on her skin. She then expanded to the capital, touching the earth spirits that burrowed beneath the roots and the air spirits that flitted between the trees. There were fewer in the busier areas of the city and then more as she spread outward—
Click.
She heard, distantly, the door to her bedroom open and then footsteps coming closer, but her mind felt stretched like bread dough. She kept her focus on the spirits—if anyone hostile tried to enter her room, Alet would stop them. And if Alet failed, Bayn would defend Daleina. Ever since he’d returned, he had stayed by her side. He was with her as often as Alet and more than Arin. Her sister had visited her only twice since coming to the palace. Safer that way, Daleina told herself, and pushed that bit of hurt down with the fear. After all, she was risking another false death right now. It was better that Arin was nowhere nearby. She continued to reach out, spreading herself across the forests of Aratay.
Whoever had come into the room was waiting. She heard their breathing.
She almost had it, all of Aratay. Her skin felt slicked with sweat. She felt the rain in the east and the sun in the west as if they were hitting her skin as well. She breathed in pine and magnolia and lilac and the sweet smell of the earth.
Stay awake, she thought. Stay alive.
This was the most dangerous moment, when she was connected to all of them. If she died while she was connected to them . . .
“Do no harm,” she thought.
She sent the thought out to all of them, adding to all the other times she’d made that command, feeling the order burrow into the spirits.
“Do. No. Harm.”
She felt them resist, flailing against the reissue of the basic and most essential command, and then she felt it sink into them, like a weight inside them.
Pulling back fast, Daleina reeled her mind back into her body. She became aware of the coolness of the floor, the smell of the wood fire in the fireplace, the sound of guards walking up and down the corridors outside. She pried her eyes open. Her lids felt crusty, as if she’d been asleep for hours, and her muscles felt stiff. She exhaled—if she’d triggered another false death while she was linked to the spirits . . . but she hadn’t, and the essential command had been reinforced. She’d done her duty and all had survived—this time.
“No new blackouts?” a voice asked. Hamon.
She turned her head to see him but kept lying on the floor. She knew from experience that standing up too soon would make her entire head feel as if it had been shaken. “Not today.”
“You’ve been poisoned.”
She blinked once, twice. Slowly, she peeled herself up from the floor. She sat with her head between her knees for another moment. In a light and painfully calm voice, she said, “You used to have a better bedside manner.”
His mouth twitched at her joke, but his eyes stayed intense. He’s serious, she thought. He continued, “My mother, with the help of your sister, finished her examination of your blood and concluded that your illness isn’t natural. It was imposed externally, presumably deliberately.”
Daleina absorbed this, turned the idea over in her head, and began to laugh. She knew she shouldn’t be laughing, but she couldn’t stop. Her body shook, and her eyes teared.
He waited quietly until she finished.
Hiccupping, she got control of herself again. “It is grimly appropriate.”
“No one knows we poisoned Queen Fara. And I don’t believe in fate. I do believe in assassins.” He knelt beside her. “Daleina, if we can find your poisoner, if we find a sample of the poison . . . my mother thinks she can manufacture a cure.”
Daleina felt herself still, any hint of hysterical laugher wiped out of her. “Do you think she can?”
“She may be an amoral killer, but she’s also an amoral genius. Also she’s proud of her abilities. She wouldn’t lie about this, not if it meant gaining my admiration. When I was a child, after she’d poison someone, she’d retell the tale over and over, expecting me to worship her for her brilliance every time. She feeds on adoration. If she saves you, she’ll expect some sort of compensation—a position in the palace, she suggested; she’ll want prestige and praise.”
Daleina waved her hand. “If she saves me, she’ll be compensated. According to my seneschal, the point of having a treasury is to bribe amoral but useful people. He’s been using it to bribe the border patrol of our neighbors for years.” She closed her eyes for a second as a wave of realization crashed over her. “It’s not genetic. That means Arin is safe.” Opening her eyes, she threw her arms around Hamon.
He held her close. She felt his breath against her neck and the tightness of his arms around her. She rested her cheek against his shoulder and let herself feel, for the first time in a long time, safe.
Remembering something else he said, she raised her head. “Did you say my sister was with your mother?”
“I’ll make sure she’s all right,” Hamon promised. “In the meantime, we need to find the poison. Who would try to kill you?”
“No one. Anyone. I don’t know.” She thought of Queen Fara. The prior queen had feared the heirs, but there were no heirs to covet Daleina’s crown. Due to the Coronation Massacre . . . “Maybe the families of the heirs who died? There were some of them who blamed me for surviving when their loved ones didn’t. One of them could have sought revenge.”
Hamon nodded slowly. “They had both motive and opportunity.”
That’s what she was thinking. After the coronation, she’d visited every family, joined them for a meal, comforted them as best she could . . . She thought of how they’d broken down in tears, how some had railed in anger, how some had sat as quiet as stone, as though the news had hardened them inside. Any of them could have done it. “I visited nearly fifty families,” Daleina said. “Where do we start? How do we know—”
“It couldn’t have been just anyone,” Hamon said. “Crafting poisons, in particular creating new poisons, is a very specialized craft. This poison was designed to mimic a specific disease. Furthermore, it was designed to be undetectable by ordinary blood screens—I didn’t find it on my tests. Only a few in Aratay are skilled enough for this kind of work.”
“Do you know who those people are?”
He hesitated. “My mother might. But the poisoner might not be the poison maker. Most poison makers don’t use what they create. The risk of being caught and imprisoned is too high.”
“So we are looking for either a friend of your mother’s, or someone very wealthy. At least that narrows it down. Will you speak to your mother again? Ask for a list of her poison-making friends . . .” Daleina hesitated, not sure how to phrase her next question. He seemed so tense that the wrong word could shatter him. She didn’t have the time to be careful of his feelings, though. “Hamon, I hate to ask this, but . . . Is there any chance your mother could have done this?”
“Yes, of course,” he answered immediately. “But I don’t think she did. Her surprise at being called to the palace seemed real. And if she’d created such a clever poison, I don’t think she’d miss the chance to gloat. If I’m wrong, though . . . the guards will keep her contained.”
That had to be good enough, for now. At least he was aware of the possibility. “I will send royal investigators to the heirs’ families, the wealthiest first, while you talk to your mother about her friends. Hamon, we’ll find who did this! I’ll live!” She cradled his face as he began to cry. “I’ll live.”
Folding her hands on her lap, Daleina tried not to show how much the conversation with Hamon had affected her. He’d given her hope, and it felt as powerful as the most potent wine. She’d deployed investigators, after telling them a version of the truth—that someone had tried to poison her; she didn’t tell them that someone had succeeded—and now all she had to do was wait. And be queen.
She’d chosen to hold court today in the Sunrise Room. Cradled in the center of the east spire, the Sunrise Room was painted in lemons, pinks, and pale blues, with a floor inlaid with so much amber that it glowed when the sun streamed through the leaves. Her throne was in a pool of light. It was a room that felt filled with hope, and she hadn’t had the energy to face its cheerfulness in days. But today it felt right to be in this room.
That said, her first meeting was less than cheerful.
She was supposed to be spared from the day-to-day minutiae of running a country—there were legions of courtiers, caretakers, and chancellors devoted to everything from trade to education to waste removal. The queen’s role was first and foremost to control the spirits, and then second to be the voice of Aratay when the country needed to react in one accord. But some days, there was a lot that needed to be heard by the voice of Aratay.
For forty minutes, one of her border guards had been reporting to an audience of her and two advisers on activity to the north, at the border with the mountainous land of Semo. He’d described in minute detail the movement of guards, illustrating on a map how Semoian soldiers had been filtering into the area in small groups that added up to large numbers. “Training exercises, they call it,” he said, and then fiddled with the lapel of his jacket as he talked—the caretakers had let him wear a variant of his uniform, but it clearly still had more frills than he was used to. She’d have to talk to them about that sometime. It didn’t offend her to see people in ordinary clothes. It did offend her when they droned on for forty minutes, especially when she could be with her sister, sharing the news with her. Or with Ven. Or Alet. But her advisers had agreed it was important for her to hear this.
“Queen Merecot hasn’t declared war,” one of her advisers noted—Chancellor Isolek. He was a stocky man with a braided beard. The braids were tipped with jewels, and he had less patience for wasted time than Daleina did, which meant that he felt this meeting was important.
“‘Training exercises’ is a legitimate euphemism for mobilizing for war,” the other, Chancellor Quisala, said. She was older and had been an adviser to multiple queens. Daleina trusted her opinion on foreign affairs more than any other.
“Merecot wouldn’t go to war against me,” Daleina said. They’d been friends at the academy. Nothing had happened to change that. Merecot—Queen Merecot of Semo—had even sent a lovely diamond statue to celebrate her coronation. “Our countries are allies.”
“She may not have told her military that,” Chancellor Quisala said. “Look at the positions here and here.” She pointed at the map that the guard had scribbled all over.
“We signed treaties.” Daleina began to feel an ache between her temples. She rubbed her forehead. This was not what she wanted to be doing today. She wanted to be chasing down the poisoner, but she’d already deployed the investigators. In truth, there was nothing for her to do but wait. “She can’t declare war on us.”
“She can’t declare war,” Chancellor Quisala said. “But she could wage war.”
“Not Merecot. She wouldn’t.” She knew as she said the words that this wasn’t true—Merecot’s ambition was boundless—but the timing was terrible. There had to be a way to stop this before it started. Nip it in the bud.
Chancellor Isolek pushed back his chair and paced. “If we move guards into those areas, it will be seen as an act of aggression. We’ll have to declare ‘training exercises’ as well. It will escalate.”
“We have to de-escalate it,” Daleina said. Her situation was too precarious for this. She needed all guards near her people, not the borders, in case of another blackout. It didn’t matter whether Merecot was honoring their treaties or not. Daleina’s people needed to be defended from the danger within; she couldn’t worry about the danger without. “I want a message sent to Merecot, a personal message from queen to queen. Remind her of our friendship, and the treaties.”
“Polite missives might not be enough,” Chancellor Quisala cautioned. Leaning over the map, she pointed to various cities around Aratay. “Here are where our guards currently are. If we pull out of the cities, send them north, and leave defense to the local woodsmen until this is resolved—”
“We can’t do that,” Daleina said. She wished she could explain why. She knew she looked naïve and inexperienced by refusing to take their advice, but they couldn’t know the truth.
“With all due respect, Your Majesty, Chancellor Quisala is correct that this requires a response,” Chancellor Isolek said. “If training exercises turn into an incursion, we must have troops in place. But we need your approval.”
As queen, she was the commander of all military. She had final say over deployment, though she’d never had to use that power before. Until now, the guards had functioned fine without her. Oh, Merecot, not now! “I won’t escalate the situation, and I won’t approve the repositioning of our warriors. Merecot is not our enemy, and we are not hers. Perhaps Merecot needs to be reminded who the real enemy is, but that won’t be done by rattling our swords at her guards.”
The border guard bowed. “Your Majesty, if she does—”
“She won’t. I know Merecot, and she will listen to reason.” Actually, Merecot wasn’t known for listening to anyone, but Daleina didn’t see much choice. Not when she could still die at any moment. Until they had a sample of poison or at least a viable heir ready, Daleina herself was the greatest threat to Aratay. Since she couldn’t say that, though, she’d simply have to be firm and hope her commands at least sounded reasonable enough. “We try diplomacy first.”
“And if that fails, Your Majesty?” Chancellor Quisala asked. “You listened to the guard’s presentation. You must see the pattern.”
“Diplomacy first,” Daleina repeated. When they began to object, she said, “Keep me apprised of the situation, but do not leave our cities defenseless against the true enemy because of misplaced fear. You are dismissed.” All of them bowed as they left the Sunrise Room, and Daleina wished she’d chosen one of the more somber receiving rooms. Merecot, what are you doing? I don’t have time for this now! She sagged in her throne, straightening only when Alet opened the door to allow the seneschal in.
She’d inherited the seneschal from Queen Fara and had seen no reason to replace him. He was scarily efficient, carrying at least twenty lists with him at all times, and had enough knowledge of history and law to fill a library.
She wondered how he’d felt when Fara died and Daleina took the crown. She’d never thought he liked her much, but then again, it didn’t seem that he disliked her either. His heart was in his job. Who wore the crown seemed to be irrelevant to him.
But what if it wasn’t? He had daily access to her, and she had little choice but to trust him—he was the one who knew the day-to-day details of being queen, managed her schedule, and controlled access to her.
Stop it, she told herself. She couldn’t begin suspecting everyone around her. If she died without an heir, the seneschal would lose his job, his purpose. She could trust his commitment to the Crown, if not to her specifically. “What’s next?”
“Champion Piriandra would like your approval on her new candidate,” the seneschal said, consulting his notes. “She waits outside.”
“Tell Captain Alet to allow her in.”
The seneschal made a note on his clipboard and then scurried to the door. Opening it, he addressed Captain Alet, and Champion Piriandra strode through. A girl followed her. She was as wiry as Piriandra and had a snarl of red hair that had been coaxed into coils. Bits of it were escaping the ribbons, and Daleina knew without asking that this was the caretakers’ work again, making people “presentable.” The girl barely fit in her new leather armor. She shifted uncomfortably and eyed the doors as if she wanted to bolt. She looked several years younger than Daleina. Daleina thought of Champion Ven’s candidate, the woman named Naelin, who had pitied Daleina for the loss of her childhood—this girl that Piriandra had chosen looked plucked straight out of her own childhood. She was too young to be an heir and much too young to be queen.
“Your Majesty,” Champion Piriandra said, inclining her head. “Allow me to present to you my newest trainee, Beilena, for your consideration as candidate.”
“You had a candidate before,” Daleina said.
“She died.”
“My condolences.” She ran through her memory, trying to recall if anyone had informed her of this. Usually updating her on the progress of candidates was a top priority. She admitted she’d been distracted lately, but a death should have registered. Daleina addressed the new candidate, “You are aware that you are embarking on a dangerous endeavor, with a shortened life expectancy. You will be in service to Aratay, and your days and wishes will not be your own. It is, however, an essential role—” She looked up at Piriandra. “Champion Piriandra, couldn’t you find someone older?”
“I did,” Champion Piriandra said. “Her name was Linna. You watched her die. After that, I chose a recent graduate named Ulina. The sprits killed her as well, albeit less dramatically. Beilena is a suitable next choice.”
Daleina flinched and dropped her eyes. She couldn’t look at the champion, not while images of her friend danced in front of her eyes: escaping the maze together on their first day at the academy, studying late at night in each other’s rooms, talking and laughing and complaining at mealtimes in the dining hall, facing the trials, and then the coronation ritual . . . She’d been there, by her side, and hadn’t been able to save her. One minute alive, and the next . . . She wondered if someday she’d be able to remember her friend without picturing that moment.
She had a sudden thought: What if the poisoner wasn’t from the families of the heirs? What if he or she was someone closer? A champion. No.
These were the people she was supposed to trust beyond all others, but they were also the people who were preparing her replacements. Suspecting them was ridiculous.
Still . . .
It was no secret that most champions were displeased that she had been the one to survive. They’d considered her the least of all the heirs—in fact, it was her lack of power that had enabled her to survive. The spirits had overlooked her, considering her not a threat, until the end. She’d never told anyone that.
She’d eaten with all of the champions, spent time with them, been alone with each of them. All of them had had opportunity. But they wouldn’t risk Aratay, she thought. Without a fully trained heir, the country was vulnerable. No champion would take that kind of risk.
Now that the suspicion was raised, though, it was hard to squash, even knowing how tremendously unlikely it was. She couldn’t afford to ignore any possible avenue.
“You’re approved,” she managed to mumble.
Bowing, Champion Piriandra and her candidate backed out of the Sunrise Room. Alone, Daleina paced across the amber floor. Outside, the birds twittered to one another, and she felt the presence of spirits, swirling through the air, climbing through the trees, and burrowing through the earth.
At last, she raised her voice. “Captain Alet, summon Champion Ven.”