Perhaps Captain Alet would be buried with honor at a later date, or at least dignity, but for now her body was laid on a kitchen cart that had last held a cake. Hamon had spread all of her belongings, lugged over from her quarters, across the floor of his mother’s living quarters. He, his mother, and Daleina’s sister, Arin, were pawing through them.
“Not the way I expected to spend tonight,” Mother commented. “Did you have to bring the corpse? It has an odor.”
“All death has an odor,” Hamon said without looking up. “You should know that by now. You’ve caused enough of it.”
“Now, is that the way to talk to someone who is letting you use her carpet?” Mother chided. She picked up a canister of cosmetics, opened it, sniffed it, closed it, and tossed it over her shoulder. It clattered to the ground, burst open, and sprayed rouge powder over the side of a couch.
“Technically, it is Queen Daleina’s carpet, and have you found anything?” Hamon knew he shouldn’t let his frustration show, or any emotion at all. Any emotion was a toy for his mother to play with. He’d theorized it was because she didn’t have any of her own. Except curiosity. That she had in abundance. It was a shame it wasn’t tempered by a shred of morality. Nodding at Arin, he said to his mother, “She shouldn’t be here.”
“She chose to be here,” Arin said without looking up from Captain Alet’s belongings.
“It’s true,” Mother said smugly. “Of her own free will. Not everyone thinks I’m evil.”
Hamon turned to Arin. “Arin, she used one of her potions on you—”
“I know. It wore off. I know what I’m doing, Hamon.”
He shook his head. She couldn’t possibly understand. Even if she had shaken off the effects of whatever potion, his mother was still a terrible influence. “Oh? What are you doing?”
“I’m saving my sister.” Arin lifted a black box out of a pile of clothing. Sitting back, she placed it on her lap. “I think I found it.”
All three of them crowded around as she opened the box. Rows of glass vials were packed between black silk. Reaching over, Hamon’s mother plucked one out. She held it up to the candlelight and shook it lightly. Amber liquid sloshed. “Interesting. Very interesting. And not part of an ordinary guard’s med kit.” She put it back into the box.
Hamon selected the next one. It held white crystals with gold flecks.
“Worth a fortune,” Mother commented. “You know what that is?”
“Dirthium.” It loosened muscles, lowered inhibitions, and caused blissful happiness, unless you took too much and then it resulted in painful death that shredded your internal organs at the same time as it messed up your sensory input. He put it back in the box.
“Your friend had a wealthy benefactor,” Mother said.
“Her sister,” Hamon said curtly. The dirthium was strong evidence that Alet had been telling the truth—But where’s the poison?
After examining them all, they had three vials with unknown substances in them. Mother clapped her hands like a child. “Exciting! Now if we only had someone to test these on—”
“No,” Hamon said. “We test them with equipment.”
“Poo. You’re no fun at all.”
“At least one of these is deadly,” he pointed out.
Mother held one of the vials up. “Ooh, or maybe all of them!” Humming happily to herself, she carried the first one to her makeshift workbench. “Just a drop, my dear,” she said to Arin. “Once we’ve identified the compound, we’ll need more to synthesize an antidote, and then more to test it. Since my son refuses to be practical . . .”
“No murder,” Hamon said. “We’re here to prevent death, not cause it.” That was a sentence that really shouldn’t need to be said out loud. Hovering, he watched his mother and the queen’s sister. Mother had set herself up well, using a combination of kitchen and medical supplies to create a decent laboratory. But it was Arin who took command of it.
Arin was the one who handled the poisons.
Arin was the one who set up the experiments.
Arin was the one who stayed calm, steady, and serious while Hamon hovered over her and Mother issued directions from the comfort of the pillow-laden couch.
And it was Arin who identified the poison: a mix of heartease, soldier grass, and six other compounds that no one should have ever thought to mix together. Crowding around the workbench, the three of them stared at the innocent-looking amber liquid.
“Now,” Mother said, “we get to work.”
Headmistress Hanna felt every bone creak as she climbed the palace stairs. She hadn’t been in the Queen’s Tower for years, and she didn’t miss it. Her own office was high enough, thank you very much, but one didn’t ignore a summons from the queen just because it was inconvenient or uncomfortable—which this most certainly was. She was puffing by the time she reached the top.
Several others were already squeezed into the tiny space: Queen Daleina, Champion Ven, Champion Piriandra, the palace seneschal, and two chancellors, who were both folded into wooden chairs and looked unhappy either because of the situation or their seating arrangements. Or perhaps they were unhappy because of the large wolf curled at their feet.
And most surprising of all: Candidate Naelin.
Hanna was certainly not expecting her. Still, she hadn’t gotten to where she was in life without having a little patience. Hanna knew all—or at least, most—would be explained.
“Are you well?” Ven asked the headmistress.
“Old age,” she replied. “Nothing that a bit of death won’t cure.”
One of the chancellors, a man with a full beard—Chancellor Isolek, her memory supplied—sprang to his feet and offered her his chair. Hanna motioned for him to sit back down. If Hanna sat down, she knew her muscles would clench and it would be that much harder to stand again.
“Thank you for coming,” Queen Daleina said to all of them. “Rumors will start flying soon, as news trickles in from the north. Until then, this is the most private place in Aratay. Naelin will be keeping away any spirits while we talk.” Hanna noticed that Naelin was focused out the window. Her fists were clenched, and her eyes were scanning the night sky and the dark forest canopy below. Hanna knew she wasn’t looking with only her eyes, which meant she had advanced much since they had last met.
It was a crisp night, and the wind blew through the open windows of the tower. The flames in the lanterns wavered, and shadows crossed the queen’s face. She looks tired, Hanna thought. So do we all. She doubted many in the kingdom had slept much since the queen had announced her illness.
Champion Piriandra was scowling. “Why are we here?”
“To the point, then . . . we are being invaded. It has already begun.” As Hanna gasped, Daleina smiled sadly at the two chancellors. “I was correct: they are coming from the north, straight to Mittriel.”
“I know you take no joy in that,” Chancellor Quisala said stiffly.
“They sense weakness,” Piriandra said, and Hanna wanted to scold her for the hostile tone of her voice. Young or not, inexperienced or not, powerful or not, Daleina was queen.
“Here is what we know,” Ven said, stepping in before she could say anything. “Queen Merecot arranged for Queen Daleina to be poisoned, using a slow-acting concoction that masqueraded as a natural illness.”
“Presumably she guessed that I would react exactly the way I did: keeping our soldiers in Mittriel to protect my people in case I lost control, rather than sending them to the borders,” Daleina said. Hanna had the sense she’d pace if she could, but the tower was too cramped. Instead she fidgeted, twisting the sleeves of her gown and fiddling with the pearl embellishments. “I do not regret this decision, though it nearly proved disastrous—Merecot effectively silenced whatever minimal border guard we have. We received no warning through them when the invasion began.”
“Then how did you know?” Piriandra asked again.
“I can feel them,” Daleina said simply.
Ven spoke again. “We believe Queen Merecot used this poison in order to buy herself time to gather Semo’s soldiers and spirits at our border.”
“We will send our troops north to intercept,” Chancellor Isolek said, rising. “If we begin immediately, they can be in Birchen by—”
“No,” Daleina said. “We make our stand in Mittriel. I want every soldier, every champion, and every candidate positioned at the northern edge of the city.”
Chancellor Quisala gasped. “But the border towns! You can’t—”
Daleina cut her off. “We must. Naelin, how far can you reach?”
Naelin didn’t move from the window. “No more than two miles from the northern border of the city. Keep them within that line, and I can do it.”
“Who’s she?” Champion Piriandra demanded. “I don’t take orders from a candidate.”
“She’s my heir,” Daleina said.
Champion Piriandra began shouting, as did Chancellor Isolek and Quisala. It wasn’t done! The trials had to be held! She couldn’t—she wouldn’t—she didn’t—
When they finally took a breath, Headmistress Hanna spoke. “She has proven herself to you?”
“She has,” Daleina said.
“Then that is sufficient for me.” Hanna quelled the others with a look. After all, she had decades of experience training and evaluating potential heirs. She surmised that this was why Daleina had requested her presence, to lend credibility to the queen’s decision. “This is not a time to be without an heir. A trial now would be both a luxury and a foolish risk, and there are no other suitable candidates. It is Naelin or no one.”
The others fell silent. Piriandra visibly swallowed back whatever she planned to say. “Champion Piriandra”—Daleina turned to her—“I appoint you to lead the champions and their candidates. You are one of our most experienced champions.”
Straightening her shoulders, Champion Piriandra said stiffly, “With all due respect, Your Majesty, I may not be your best choice. My misjudgment has cost two candidates their lives.”
“I can’t speak to the first candidate’s fate, but as to the second . . .”
Hanna saw the queen hesitate.
Ven spoke for her. “She was murdered, Piriandra. We believe your candidate Beilena was killed by an agent of Semo, on orders from Queen Merecot.”
“Her death was not your fault,” Daleina said.
All the color drained out of the champion’s face. Her hand drifted to her sword hilt. Headmistress Hanna laid her own hand on Piriandra’s shoulder. “Revenge will come later,” Hanna told her quietly.
“No revenge,” Daleina said. “I need you focused on protecting our soldiers. Can you do this? Lead the champions with their candidates? Protect our soldiers from whatever spirits Merecot sends against them?”
“Of course.” Piriandra bowed.
“Chancellors, you will focus the troops on the human enemy. It’s a single squadron. You should be able to hold them. Chancellor Quisala, you will command the soldiers in the northeast of the city, and Chancellor Isolek, the northwest. We cannot let Merecot take the capital.”
“But the spirits—” Isolek protested.
“We will protect you from them,” Champion Piriandra promised.
“Only those that attack the troops directly,” Daleina told the champion. “Let the others pass you. Do you understand? Keeping Merecot and her soldiers out of Mittriel is your sole goal.”
Piriandra objected. “If the spirits—”
“Heir Naelin will handle the spirits that target the city. Your duty is to the soldiers. Do not let them take the capital. Headmistress Hanna”—Daleina turned—“you must protect the academy. I believe that Merecot will send forces to attack you and your students directly. Her strategy has been to remove anyone with power. The academies will be among her prime targets. Inform your colleagues, and then prepare your students.”
Hanna suppressed a shudder. Surely Merecot wouldn’t attack students. They were children! Then again, she wouldn’t have thought Merecot would attack her homeland either. So yes, if she did, then Hanna would guard them—with her life, if necessary. “We will be ready,” Hanna promised. Her teachers would all make the same promise, she knew.
Daleina turned to the seneschal. “Refugees will be coming from the north and northeast. People will be frightened. They’ll flee to the palace.”
He bowed. “We will keep them out.”
She shook her head. “I want you to let them in. Open the storerooms. Distribute supplies. Set up cots in the throne room and halls. Use the palace however you see fit to house as many as you can.”
The seneschal looked pleased. “It will be so.”
“Your Majesty,” Chancellor Isolek protested, “won’t Queen Merecot target the palace?”
“She will, but as a prize. She won’t destroy it,” Daleina said. “She wants it for herself. And we will not let her take it. She will not rule here.”
Hanna had never been more proud of her than she was in that moment. Daleina looked every inch a queen. There would be many more tales written about her, many more songs sung, beginning with the story of this moment.
Assuming anyone lives to tell it, Hanna thought.