For three days, Naelin trained. She worked with Queen Daleina as often as the queen could manage, and with Ven every other waking hour. She learned to stretch her mind to control multiple spirits at once, and she learned to push her body to react to an attack.
“You don’t need to know how to kill,” Ven had told her. “You need to know how to not be killed. Slight but important distinction.” He made her repeat the same maneuvers over and over: how to break a hold, how to dodge a knife thrust, how to twist so that a knife would only hit something nonvital. “Your mind doesn’t need to memorize this; your body does.” And so she practiced, because he’d described the murdered girls in enough detail that she didn’t need to hear any more.
He also insisted she allow the wolf Bayn to come with her everywhere at all times, which was fine, albeit a little awkward in the bathroom. He usually politely faced the wall. But it was a plus when she had a free moment to visit her children. Llor would forgive any absence in exchange for the chance to play with the “doggie,” and even Erian couldn’t stay angry when Bayn licked her cheek.
So on the night of the third day, when Ven told her she was done, she looked around Queen Fara’s old chambers for Bayn. He was sitting by the hearth, chewing on the thigh bone of a deer. “Ready to have a small child get sticky fingers in your fur?”
He thumped his tail and then trotted over to her side.
“I’ll walk you there as well,” Ven said.
She didn’t bother to argue that she was safe in the palace, with all the guards who milled through every corridor and a very large wolf by her side. A little paranoia was a fine thing. Admirable, even. She shot him a look as they walked down the spiral stairs in the center of the palace tree. He was scowling beneath his beard, with his forehead crinkled and eyes fierce. “You look under stress,” she said, even though it was an understatement. “Are you getting enough sleep?”
He quit scowling. “Are you trying to mother me?”
“The proper word is ‘nag.’ I am trying to nag you into taking care of yourself, not just taking care of me. I’m fine.” In truth, she felt as if she’d been rolled down a set of stairs and then stomped on, but that didn’t bear mentioning. She also had a headache that pounded as if she had tiny drummers trapped inside her skull.
“I can handle it.”
“Of course you can. Until you collapse from exhaustion and malnourishment. Look at it this way: I only nag because I care.”
He stopped for a moment midstep and looked as if he wanted to say something, but then he continued down the stairs without speaking. She thought about asking him if there had been any progress in investigating the murders, or any progress in the search for the poisoner, but if there had been, he wouldn’t look so intense. She wasn’t sure she’d ever had anyone care for her well-being so much. She had to remind herself it was only because he wanted her to be the heir. He valued her for what she could do, not who she was. Not unlike Renet.
She was still thinking about her former husband when she walked through the door to her and her children’s chambers—and he was there.
Renet.
Sitting on a couch, with Erian and Llor on either side of him.
Looking recently washed, with wet tousled hair, velvet clothes that weren’t his, and a sheepish expression that was one hundred percent his.
Naelin stopped so abruptly in the doorway that Bayn’s snout bumped against the back of her thighs. The wolf poked his head around her.
“Doggie!” Llor cried, and shot off the couch.
She felt Ven’s hand on her shoulder and his breath on her neck as he murmured in her ear, “Do you want me to stay or go?”
She liked that he asked. “Stay, please,” she murmured back, and stepped inside.
Bayn pushed past her and bounded over to Llor. Llor threw his arms around the wolf’s neck. “Don’t do that, Llor,” Erian said. “He’s been eating. You’ll get blood on your shirt, and Mama doesn’t have time to wash it out.”
“I’ll take care of it, Erian,” Renet said. “I can clean stains. Contrary to popular opinion, I’m not useless.” He smiled to soften the words, as if he could charm his way back into her life.
Naelin felt as if her head were swimming. She wished she could force her headache away. She did not have the energy left to deal with this. “The palace has its own laundry. You know that, Erian. And Renet, you’ve never scrubbed a stain out in your life. But that is far less relevant than the question: What are you doing here?”
Llor’s eyes went wide. “Uh-oh, Mama’s mad.”
Yes, she wanted to say. I am. She was about a half second away from screaming, or collapsing into a pile and weeping. She did not need this. She did not want this. She did not deserve this. Clenching and unclenching her hands, she tried to calm her breathing, to speak calmly, to not burst into tears or throw things or walk out the door or scream. “Renet, answer please.”
“You need me here,” Renet said. “The children need me. They said so.”
“Father came fast!” Llor said. “Isn’t that great, Mama?” His face was shining, as if he could convince her this was a wonderful thing if only he said it cheerfully enough. Or maybe he was simply happy about it. His father was here. Hooray.
“Truthfully I was halfway here already,” he said, using his sheepish expression again.
“Llor, Erian . . .” She was about to tell them to go into the other room, so she could talk to Renet without them, but she caught the look on Erian’s face. Erian was digging her toe into the wood floor and looking everywhere but at Naelin. “Erian?”
“Captain Alet said we needed someone to watch us while you’re training,” Erian said in a rush, “and I’m too old for a governess, and we didn’t want some guard that we don’t know. Father said he missed us and he’s really, really sorry.”
Renet rose, and she knew that look on his face: the penitent puppy-dog look that he’d perfected years ago. It used to make her laugh and forgive whatever ridiculous thing he’d done. He’d swear never to do it again, and she’d kiss him and he’d remember to come home when he said he would instead of lingering out in the woods, or take the rotten food far from the house instead of dumping it at the base of the tree, or fetch Llor from school at the correct time . . . I shouldn’t have had to tell him any of that, she thought. She thought of how she used to nag him, as if she were his mother, as if she had three children instead of two. She thought of how she used to see his absentmindedness, his wild ideas, his enthusiasm for ridiculous risks as charming or even exciting. But she couldn’t see it that way anymore.
He hadn’t changed.
She’d changed.
“Mama, can he stay?” Erian asked.
“I am truly sorry,” Renet said. “I— Can we talk alone?” He bowed to Champion Ven. “Forgive me, great sir, but my wife—”
“Former wife,” Ven corrected. “She left you, spoken and witnessed.”
“I am hoping she will reconsider that,” Renet said.
Erian moved to Renet’s side and took his hand. “We want to be a family again, Mama.”
Naelin felt as if she’d been stabbed by one of Ven’s knives. All three of them were looking at her with eager eyes: Erian, Llor, and Renet. It would be so very easy to say yes. She closed her eyes. She’d been fighting spirits all day, fighting her own body, fighting fate. She didn’t want to fight her family too. “Renet . . .”
“I swear I will never endanger the children again,” Renet said. “I know what I did was wrong. I was wrong. I didn’t think about consequences. Or at least not about bad consequences. I knew you’d protect them. I thought they’d be fine. I’m an optimist—you know that. I believed everything would work out, if I could just make you see how incredible you are—”
“Stop. Just stop.” The ache in her head pounded harder. She squeezed her eyes and tried to make it recede so she could think and react in a reasonable way. She felt Ven’s hand, still on her shoulder, and she felt Bayn press against her side, his warm, furry body holding her up, if she needed it to.
“They’re my children too,” Renet said, “and I love them.”
If she opened her eyes, she knew what she’d see: Renet, with his arms around Erian and Llor, the picture of the perfect father. And he was a good father to them, mostly. He loved them. Even if he was occasionally scatterbrained and reckless, he did love them. And they adored him. She knew if she opened her eyes, she’d see hope burning bright in her children’s eyes. They were waiting for her to say she forgave him, as she always did.
“I’ll be the perfect husband,” Renet said. “Give me a chance, Naelin. Please. See, look at me, begging in front of the Queen’s Champion, sacrificing my pride. I will dote on you, adore you, worship you, just give me another chance. I swear I’ll listen to you. I’ll respect your wishes. I’ll do anything you want me to do.”
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. Couldn’t think. “I didn’t want you to come. I told you not to, and you came anyway. How is that respecting my wishes?”
“The children needed me.” He sounded wounded, and her instinct was to heal, to soothe, to fix, as she always did.
She opened her eyes, and the picture was exactly as she’d imagined: Renet with his arms around the children, Erian with tears on her cheeks, Llor with a hopeful smile. And then Erian broke away from Renet and ran to her. Naelin instinctively dropped down on one knee, and Erian launched herself into Naelin’s arms. She buried her face in her mother’s neck. Naelin inhaled the sweet smell of her hair, the faint hint of honeysuckle and lavender. Erian still fit so neatly into her arms. Naelin wondered how much longer that would be true. Erian grew more every year, and soon she wouldn’t want her mother’s comfort like this. “I wrote him,” Erian said in her ear. “I’m sorry, Mama. I asked him to come.”
Naelin hugged Erian tighter. This she could forgive, easily. “It’s all right, baby. I understand.” She’d been leaving them alone while she trained. They had to be lonely and scared. She hadn’t known how to fix that, so Erian had found her own solution. In a way, it was clever. Pulling back, Naelin forced herself to smile. “Just because things have changed between your father and me, it does not mean they’ve changed between you and me or between your father and you. I love you, and he loves you, and that will never change.”
“Naelin?” Renet’s voice was hesitant. “What are you saying?”
“You know what I’m saying, Renet.” Naelin stood, her arm still around her daughter. “You may stay. Be father to our children. I will ask the palace caretakers to find you quarters nearby.” Or maybe not so nearby. Another level. Another tree. Another country.
“But not here, with you?”
“That’s right,” she said.
Renet’s face darkened. “Is it because of him?” He pointed at Ven.
Naelin felt her jaw drop open. Did he mean . . . He was accusing . . . She shook her head as if to knock his reaction into something that made sense. Ven had nothing to do with her and Renet’s failed marriage—their love had died years before the champion ever heard of East Everdale. “It’s because of you and me, and if you can’t see that . . .” She trailed off before she said something she’d regret in front of the children. He was still their father. She didn’t have the right to tear him apart in front of them, though she wanted to. She had the urge to send him to the corner, to think about what he’d said, like he was a five-year-old. Instead, she turned and crossed to the bell pull. She yanked on it, harder than necessary.
Thankfully, she didn’t have to wait long for a caretaker to come. “This man has had a long journey and is almost certainly hungry. Could you please take him to the kitchens and then arrange for a bedchamber to be prepared for him”—she almost said near theirs but then changed her mind—“in the main tower? Just above the kitchens?”
“Of course.” The caretaker bowed.
To Renet, she said, “I begin training at dawn. You may return then to spend time with the children.”
“Naelin, this is ridiculous,” Renet said. “You’re my wife, and they’re my children. And I don’t need your permission to spend time with—”
Ven cut in. “Candidate Naelin is here by express invitation of the Crown. You are not. If your presence here distracts Candidate Naelin from her training in any way, you will be asked to leave.”
Llor began to cry.
Naelin closed her eyes again. She wanted to sag into a heap on the floor. But she didn’t. She held herself upright and her expression firm until Renet left with the caretaker. Even then she didn’t allow herself to collapse. She gathered her children into her arms as the door clanged shut behind him. “Everything will be all right,” she promised them.
“You don’t know that,” Erian said, pulling away from her. “At least this way we won’t be alone when you’re killed.” She ran into the bedchamber and slammed the door behind her.
Llor sobbed louder.
Hugging him, Naelin tried to scoop him up, but her muscles were tired and shaking, and he was a solid six-year-old boy. Coming around her, Ven picked him up and carried him with her into the bathroom. There, Ven helped her dry Llor’s tears and prepare him for bed, washing him, brushing his teeth, dressing him in a nightshirt. Together, they tucked him in, and Naelin kissed his forehead. “Don’t die, Mama,” Llor begged sleepily.
“I won’t,” she said, and hoped she wasn’t lying.
Trotting in, the wolf licked the tip of Llor’s nose, and Llor giggled. He then closed his eyelids. Naelin watched him for a moment longer until he was breathing evenly. She then went into her bedchamber, where Erian had thrown herself on Naelin’s bed.
“You’re mad at me,” Erian said, “but I’m not sorry.”
“I am sorry,” Naelin said, and kissed Erian’s forehead. “And I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at the situation. I’m mad that I have to be apart from you for even a second. I’m mad that things change. But I’m not mad at you. And even if I were, you know what? I’d still love you.”
“But you don’t love Father anymore.”
Naelin sighed. “People change.”
“What if I change, and you decide you don’t love me anymore?”
She did not want to have this conversation right now. She silently cursed Renet for forcing her to. “How about I promise?”
“You married Father. Didn’t you promise him then?”
She had a point. Naelin was supposed to always love him. They’d built a life together. They’d had a home. They’d raised children. They were supposed to grow old together. If she could just forgive him for this one mistake . . . Except it wasn’t one mistake. It was the culmination of every mistake. It was the fact that he’d never grown up, never taken responsibility, never . . . But Erian was waiting for her answer. “That’s different.”
“Why?”
“Because he also made promises to me . . . and he didn’t keep them. I loved him, and he thought that meant that he had no responsibilities, that I would mother him and you, that I’d fix his problems, correct his mistakes, and keep us all safe no matter what whim struck him . . . and that almost cost me you and Llor. And I won’t let that happen. I promise.”
Erian relaxed. She padded to the room where she and Llor slept, and let Naelin tuck her in and kiss her forehead. She even smiled at Ven and gave Bayn a pat on the head. Tiptoeing out with Ven and Bayn, Naelin shut the door on the children.
“Are you all right?” Ven asked her.
“I owe you an apology for all the family drama,” Naelin said. “I know it’s not the role of a champion.” She tried to summon up a smile, but it required too much energy. She sank onto the couch.
“But it is the role of a friend.” He sat beside her.
“Aw, that’s sweet. You know, you look deadly, but you are a sweet kitten inside.” Without thinking about it, Naelin leaned against him, resting her cheek on his shoulder. After a moment, he put his arm around her shoulders, and she was suddenly conscious of how close they were. They’d been close before, during training, especially when he was teaching her how to break holds and dodge knives, but that was entirely different, when Renet’s accusation still hung in the air. She felt his chest rise and fall with each breath, and she breathed in the smell of him: a mix of leather and sweat and pine needles. She could move away. Stand up, say good night, fall asleep in her own bed. But this . . . was nice.
She fell asleep like that, head resting on his shoulder, his arm around her—safe.
Two more days of training.
Naelin spent the mornings with Queen Daleina and the afternoons with Ven. Throughout, the wolf Bayn stuck with her. She took to requesting raw meat with every meal, so that she could feed him too. “You should be out hunting,” she told him. “You’re a wolf. It’s the wolfly thing to do.”
He merely looked at her with his yellow wolf eyes and then lay down in the hearth in the late Queen Fara’s chambers.
“He likes you,” Ven said.
“He likes the meat.”
“That too.” Coming up behind her, Ven put one hand on Naelin’s wrist. “Now, what do you do if I grab you, spin you, and try to stab you?” He pulled her around, and she spun to face him. His other hand was formed into a fist, as if he held a knife. She felt his fist against her stomach. If it had been a real knife, she’d already be dead.
It wasn’t a knife, though, and she was aware of how close he was, holding her pressed against him. It was damn distracting. She twisted away and jabbed upward with her elbow. She hit hard enough that he loosened his grip.
“Faster. You won’t have time to think about your reactions. It has to be instinctual.” This time, when he spun her, she twisted and jabbed at the same time. “Good. Again.”
They repeated the maneuver over and over, until she was sweating and hungry and thoroughly done with it. As he spun her for the hundredth time, she called an air spirit—a small one—with her mind. She twisted—and the air spirit swept his feet out from under him.
He thudded down backward.
The air spirit perched on the arm of the couch and giggled. It was a tiny spirit, comprised of mainly white and brown feathers. Its giggle was shrill, like the sound of glass breaking.
Naelin sent the spirit away and grinned at Ven. “Got you.”
“Clever.” He held out his hand. She took it and pulled. He sprang up. He wasn’t winded at all, damn him. He looked like he could keep doing this for hours.
“I need to rest,” she told him.
“An attack could come at any time.” He spun her again. But this time, she didn’t move. She let him hold her, close against him. Tilting her head, she studied his face. It was the beard that made him look so stern. You couldn’t see the gentleness in his lips. His eyes weren’t stern. He looked worried, and she knew for a fact that he spent most of his waking hours worrying about either her or Daleina.
“It’s a shame you aren’t a father,” she said.
“Sorry?”
“You’d love your children with all your heart.”
“I’m not cut out for parenthood. It doesn’t suit my lifestyle. And why are we talking about this? Are you delaying so you don’t have to practice anymore?”
“Yes. I’m tired. I told you, I need to rest.”
“Then rest.” He released her, and she felt suddenly cold as a breeze sliced between them. The windows to the balcony were open. He crossed to them and shut them, as if he’d seen her shiver. He probably had. He watched her closely, she knew. Because he’s evaluating me, she reminded herself. Nothing more. She knew Queen Daleina was relying on him to say when Naelin was ready for the trials.
“What would you be if you weren’t a champion?” she asked.
“You keep trying to get to know me, as if I were complicated. But I’m not. I knew at a young age that it was my responsibility to carry on the family tradition. That was my goal. I never wavered.”
“You never wanted an ordinary life? A house, a wife, a family?”
“That was never my destiny.”
She snorted. She didn’t believe in destiny. She believed in random chance that you pushed and pulled at to give you a life you could live with. “You never fell in love?”
He looked away. “Once.”
“What happened?” As soon as she asked, she thought maybe she shouldn’t push. “You don’t need to answer that. We can train more.” Naelin stepped back closer to him. She’d jab and twist, or whatever she needed to do.
“She changed. And then she died.”
Naelin laid a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”
“That too is the destiny of champions: to love people who die.”
She wanted to say something sympathetic. She knew that was what the situation called for, but he was sounding ridiculously melodramatic. “At the risk of sounding insensitive, everyone dies, so by definition, everyone loves people who die. The fact that your love died doesn’t make you a brooding hero out of a tale. Actually, the fact that you’re both brooding and a hero is what makes you one, but that’s not what I’m trying to say. I mean . . . I don’t know what I mean. Except that you don’t need to be so afraid. I’m not planning on dying.”
“Good,” he said.
And this time, when he spun her around, she again didn’t twist away. Instead, this time, she kissed him. He kissed her back.