Daleina leaned back against her throne and rubbed her temples. She’d already discarded her crown—it wasn’t as if anyone was likely to forget she was queen—but her head still ached. Lack of sleep, Hamon had told her. Also stress. It’s not as if I can prevent that. “You are dancing around something, and I don’t like it,” she informed her chancellors.
Chancellor Isolek fidgeted uncomfortably in his high-back chair. “It is only that we take no pleasure in bringing you this news.”
“You don’t want to say ‘I told you so’?” Daleina guessed.
“Precisely,” Chancellor Quisala said. She looked smaller, as if she’d shrunk during the past few weeks. Her wrinkles had folded in on themselves until her skin looked more like tree bark. Leaning across the table, she placed markers on the map of Aratay. Chancellor Isolek jumped forward and took the markers for her, positioning them along the border with Semo, clustered in the northeast. Chancellor Quisala sagged back into her chair for a moment and then fixed her posture—Daleina thought about ordering the woman to sleep more, but that was as likely to be effective as Hamon telling Daleina to rest. Both of them had better things to do.
“Over the last few days, we’ve seen significant movement here”—Isolek pointed at the map—“and here, in the northeast. Each marker denotes a squadron. That puts three squadrons just over the border in Nimoc, with another positioned due north of Ogdare and another northeast of North Garat, leaving only one behind north of Birchen.”
“It’s undeniable,” Quisala said. “This is no training exercise.”
Oh, Merecot, why are you doing this? Daleina thought. “We can send more envoys—”
“Your Majesty . . .” Isolek’s voice was gentle. “We believe the time has come to admit that diplomacy has failed.”
“Queen Merecot is invading,” Quisala said, thumping her frail fist on the table, “and we must respond. It may be too late already. She will sweep across the northern border—the guards there are not plentiful enough to repel an army of this size. She could reach Mittriel quickly.”
“Here is where we disagree, Your Majesty,” Isolek said. “She won’t come from the north; she’ll come from the northeast. She does not have enough soldiers to take Mittriel, even if she passes the border towns successfully.”
“Which she will,” Quisala put in, bitterness thick in her voice. “We left those woefully undefended.” She then shot a glance at Daleina. “For a reason. I understand that now.”
Daleina nodded to show she was not angered, at least not at her advisers.
“She may be positioned to attack the capital, but not with a large enough army to claim it,” Isolek said. “Our spies have not reported any increase in troops to the north. We believe there is an alternate explanation—that she may be trying to bite off a corner of Aratay, absorb it into Semo and expand her borders, rather than attempting a full-scale invasion. Look at the mass of troops near Ogdare and North Garat!” Isolek tapped the map. “We must make a choice as to where to send our soldiers: to the northeast to prevent an incursion there, or north to defend Mittriel. Frankly, I think the choice is clear: northeast. It’s the only place she has enough soldiers to form a true threat.”
“But that risks leaving Mittriel exposed!” Quisala said. “And the border towns will surely be overrun if you are wrong. Birchen will be destroyed.”
“Look at the numbers, Quisala!” Isolek jabbed at the map so hard that he dented it. “She has no hope of capturing Mittriel. Clearly the threat is in the northeast. That’s where we send soldiers . . . assuming that we can spare them at all. Your Majesty . . .”
With Candidate Naelin in the palace, Daleina was less worried about the spirits attacking the capital if and when she had another blackout. She was worried about that squadron north of Mittriel. Yes, it was only one squadron, but Chancellor Quisala was correct: if Daleina sent all the guards to the northeast, it exposed the capital, and if Daleina fell in battle before an heir was named and Merecot were able to take Mittriel . . . she could take it all. “It depends on whether she wants to annex a small portion of Aratay or wants the entire country,” she mused.
“Your Majesty, you know her best,” Quisala said, spreading her hands.
She wants it all, Daleina thought. Merecot was nothing if not ambitious. Leaning over the map, Daleina studied it again. A lot of forest lay between the capital and the northern border, but Daleina knew the shape of the land. She’d felt it as she sank herself into the spirits. She’d been with them as they soared over. The birches due north were easy to travel through, a direct line to Mittriel. “Northeast is a decoy. She wants us to send troops there to leave Mittriel exposed. It’s a trap.”
Quisala slapped the table. “Exactly as I said!”
“But she doesn’t have enough troops to take Mittriel,” Isolek protested. “There’s plenty of forest between the border and the capital and plenty of people who will rise to defend their homes. With one squadron, she can’t do it.”
Daleina closed her eyes, not wanting to say it but knowing it needed to be said. “She’ll use spirits.”
Both Quisala and Isolek protested. No queen would ever use spirits against humans. It was not done. It violated everything a queen was sworn to do.
Daleina knew for a fact that didn’t stop all queens—Queen Fara hadn’t hesitated to use spirits against humans.
Daleina thought of Sata and of Mari, who had been crushed by six tree spirits on the late queen’s orders. When they’d poisoned the queen, Fara had been bargaining with a spirit to exchange the lives of villagers for more power and control. Merecot might not be doing the same, but she wouldn’t hesitate to order the spirits to do whatever she felt had to be done.
“Send the troops north. We protect Mittriel.” If Queen Merecot took the capital before an heir was ready, she could claim all of Aratay. They had to keep Merecot’s people out of Mittriel, away from the throne.
“But the northeast . . . it will be overrun.”
“Can we protect both?”
Isolek studied the map. “No. You have to choose. If you’re wrong, all of our troops will be out of position, twiddling their thumbs while Queen Merecot’s army bites off the northeast.”
“And if I’m right?”
“All of our troops will be in the right position, fighting spirits, while Queen Merecot’s army still takes the northeast.” Chancellor Isolek slumped back in his chair. “You paint a grim picture, Your Majesty. A choice that is no choice.”
How ambitious was Merecot? Would she really use spirits to attack the capital?
Very. And yes.
There had to be a way to protect all her people. She tapped the table. If she weren’t afraid of another false death, she could use spirits to defend the capital. Except she’d never been as strong as Merecot. Nowhere near.
But Naelin was. Or she would be, if she were queen.
All Daleina had to do was abdicate and let Naelin take the crown. She could then send the troops to the northeast to fight the army, and Naelin could defend Mittriel from Merecot’s spirits.
Question was: was Naelin ready to be queen?
And was Daleina ready to die?
The drums had announced it: the trials would be held at dawn.
Naelin ate dinner with Erian and Llor (without Renet) in their chambers. Or at least she pushed food around her plate with her fork. She couldn’t manage to swallow more than a few bites. While the children were engrossed in their own meals, Naelin sneaked a slab of steak from her plate and fed it to Bayn under the table.
“I beat Erian in miyan today,” Llor announced.
“That’s wonderful,” Naelin told him.
Erian whispered in Naelin’s ear. “I let him win.”
Naelin patted Erian on the shoulder to say that of course she did, it was the right thing, and don’t say that where Llor could overhear.
“You did not let me win,” Llor said.
“You weren’t meant to hear that. I was whispering!”
“I won fair and square, because I’m smart,” Llor said.
Erian scowled at him. “If you’re so smart, how come you dumped your socks into pickle juice? I had to tell the cooks that you’d ruined their batch.”
He shrugged. “I was experimenting. When I grow up, I’m going to be a scientist like Healer Hamon. But not with people, because people’s inside stuff is icky. And you have to work with a lot of poop.”
“Llor!”
“Healer Hamon said so. It was part of his training. He had to learn all about how bodies work, and that includes—”
“Don’t say ‘poop’ again,” Erian warned.
“You just said it.”
Naelin smiled at both of them. It wasn’t even a forced smile. She loved them both so much that she felt as if her heart were going to burst out of her chest. Tears pricked her eyes.
“Mama has a big day tomorrow,” Erian said. “You should be on extra-good behavior.”
“It’s all right.” Reaching across the table, Naelin took both their hands. “Be on whatever behavior you want. Be yourselves. Who you are is wonderful, exactly as you are. Always remember that.” She squeezed their hands.
Now Erian looked on the verge of crying.
“Don’t worry about me,” Naelin told her. “I’ve been trained by the best champion Aratay has ever had and by the queen herself. Everything is going to be fine.” I even almost believe that, she thought.
After dinner, she tucked them in to her bed—after she was done making sure everything was ready, she planned to crawl in with them. But she couldn’t sleep just yet. Her mind was buzzing too loudly to fall asleep. She’d exercise, tire herself out, and then sleep.
Clearing the furniture to the side, she began a few of the stretches that Ven had taught her. She was stronger than she used to be—physically stronger, not just mentally. She had muscles on her arms that hadn’t been there before, and she could fold herself in half to touch her toes without any problem.
Not that the spirits would be impressed by that.
She heard a thump from the balcony. Odd, she thought. Stretching her mind, she felt for nearby spirits. There were a few tree spirits above her, clinging to the outside of the palace tree, and a few fire spirits in the hallway, dancing in the lanterns, but none were on the balcony.
She went to check—and saw her friend. “Captain Alet!”
Captain Alet was crouched on the balcony, as if she’d dropped there from above. As she straightened, she said, “Sorry to drop in on you so literally. Champion Ven wanted me to check on you. Tomorrow’s an important day, and you know how paranoid he is. Since there are already guards in the hallway, I thought I’d secure this exit.”
Going out onto the balcony, Naelin looked down. There were a few flagpoles that jutted out from the outer wall, plus windows, but they were all far apart. The night wind whipped around them, fluttering Naelin’s skirts. “You climbed up?”
“Down, actually.” Alet pointed up toward another balcony.
“You could have broken your legs. Or neck.”
“I’ve had plenty of practice,” Alet said. She shifted, and Naelin thought she seemed nervous . . . Tomorrow is important to everyone in Aratay, Naelin thought. “You’re not the only one who trains all the time. Speaking of which . . . are you ready for tomorrow?”
That was the key question. “I’d like another few days. Or years. Or a lifetime. But yes, I suppose I am ready. Ven thinks I am, or else he’s just saying that to keep me calm.” She didn’t think he could, or would, lie to her, but she also knew he desperately wanted her to be ready. He might be seeing only what he wants to see, she thought.
“You can still refuse,” Alet said. “There’s no dishonor in that. Plenty of the other candidates have already refused. They know they aren’t ready, and Queen Daleina was happy to approve their decision. She wants to have some potential heirs in waiting. You could easily sit out these trials, let someone else be heir, and wait until you’re needed.”
She wished she could. But from what Ven had told her, there was no one else. None of the other candidates were close to ready, though several planned to try. “I’m needed now. Apparently, Renet was right: I’m powerful. You know, Erian told me you were going to come talk to me days ago. I’d expected you before now.”
“I had other things to take care of. And . . . well, I was hoping I wouldn’t have to have this conversation. I was hoping you’d come to the right decision on your own.”
Naelin was confused. “What?”
“Naelin, please walk away from this. You can still have everything you want: your family safe. I can help you. I’ll get you out of the palace. Right now! You can run away, with Erian and Llor. Ven won’t even know. You can go far, far away. Even leave Aratay. You can start a new life, in the mountains of Semo. You’d be safe.”
Naelin shook her head, even more confused. “And what would happen to Aratay if I left?”
“It will fall to Semo. Queen Merecot will take care of the people like they’re her own. You don’t have to do this. It doesn’t need to be your responsibility. There’s another choice.”
Naelin couldn’t believe Alet was saying this—abandon Aratay!
“You think if you refuse, then the spirits will kill everyone, but it won’t happen that way. Merecot won’t let it. She’s poised to save Aratay. As soon as Queen Daleina falls—”
“You mean dies.” She didn’t want to hear this. It was crazy. “How can you say that?”
“She is going to die no matter what I say or what I feel or what I want,” Alet said. “Either she abdicates and the spirits kill her, or she stays queen and the False Death kills her. I’m telling you that the second option won’t be the disaster that you think it will.”
“But . . . You’re talking about a war. An invasion!” She couldn’t believe Alet was saying this. Alet was a royal guardswoman! Sworn to the Crown!
“It won’t be a war if no one fights back,” Alet said. She’s serious, Naelin thought. “Please, Naelin. You could flee with your children. Keep them safe, while knowing that the people of Aratay will be cared for. It’s everything you ever wanted. You’ve trained enough to keep your family safe from spirits. Take that knowledge and run.”
Naelin shook her head. She pictured Ven and the young queen. “If I become queen, I can protect Daleina. I can keep the spirits from hurting her until a cure can be found. She might not have to die. And Ven . . . If I leave and if Semo invades, he’ll fight. You know he will. You’ll have to fight too.” Unless Alet planned to run too. No, she wouldn’t. And I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Naelin turned to go back inside. “I can’t be having this conversation right now.”
From within the chambers, Bayn howled.
She felt Alet grab her arm and spin her—
—and Naelin reacted instinctively, as she’d been trained: she twisted and jabbed upward. Deflected, the knife slid into Naelin’s side, slicing her skin but missing her organs. Even as she did, the wolf leaped through the archway and slammed into Alet.
Stumbling backward and clutching her side, Naelin called for the spirits.
They swarmed the balcony. Tree spirits skittered over the palace wall. Fire spirits burst through the chimney and out. Water spirits swept toward them in a wave of rain. Shrieking, they converged on Alet. The guardswoman screamed.
Stop! Naelin ordered. Hold her!
The tree spirits bound her wrists and her ankles with vines. Bark closed over her stomach, securing her to the balcony. Go, she ordered them. She pushed them back with her mind but kept them close.
She saw Alet’s face. It had been burned, badly. The fire spirits had seared her cheek. One eye was sealed shut. Her hair smoked. Naelin had been slow to stop the spirits—too slow. She smelled the stench of burnt flesh.
“Mama?” she heard behind her. Erian.
“Go back to my room,” she ordered. “Now. Lock the door. Lock the windows.”
Erian hesitated. “Captain—”
“Now!” And Erian retreated. She heard the lock click, and turned her attention back to Alet. Bayn stood over the captain. His teeth were bared. Naelin noticed that Alet was bleeding around the bark that pinned her down. Red leaked onto the balcony, spreading into a pool. She’s hurt beyond the burn, Naelin thought.
Get Hamon, she ordered the air spirits. And bring Ven. Now!
She knelt next to the woman she’d thought was her friend and waited.