The old woman laughed again. “Perhaps I’m merely testing to see if you will crack, so that I can take the reins of power back again.”
“Unlikely. You’ve become a coward in your dotage, content only to criticize from the shadows. If you were to become queen again, the people might remember you caused all their problems.” As two fire spirits charged down the mountain pulling a river of lava, Merecot sent three air spirits to blast them back into the crater. The lava hardened, and the earth spirits shattered it from beneath.
“Ah, my child, you do make me proud.”
Merecot didn’t know if the old queen was impressed with her power over the volcano or her ability to insult the weak and elderly. And the annoying. Don’t forget that. But Merecot couldn’t stay angry with Jastra. No one had forced the former queen to abdicate. She’d done it of her own free will for the good of her people and had tapped Merecot as her chosen replacement—in Semo, the queens selected a solitary heir. Only Merecot had been permitted into the hidden grove to claim the power.
The fact that Merecot had maneuvered to be in that position was beside the point.
Jastra had believed in her. And despite my failure in Aratay, she still does. Merecot felt the cloying lump in her throat again and chose to ignore it.
“Why exactly are you here?” Merecot asked.
She meant why was Jastra in her chambers, but the former queen chose to interpret the question more broadly. “To make amends for past wrongs, to complete my destiny, to aid you as you complete yours—pick one, Your Majesty. Or perhaps I am here because the palace chefs make a wondrous soufflé.” Jastra pushed herself to standing, wobbling as she took a step forward. Quickly, Merecot retrieved the old queen’s jewel-encrusted cane and presented it to her. Jastra patted her cheek in a condescending manner—or what Merecot thought of as “Jastra’s manner.”
“Such a good girl. Don’t you worry. Everything will work out.” With her cane, she toddled across Merecot’s chamber. “Let me know when you’re ready for our next step.”
“My next step,” Merecot corrected. “You aren’t my puppet master.”
“Of course I’m not.” Jastra looked aghast at the thought, an expression Merecot thought was a trifle overdone. “I merely offer sage advice. It’s a prerogative of cowards in their dotage.”
“I know what needs to be done,” Merecot replied, but she couldn’t help a small smile. Dotage indeed, she thought. Jastra may have walked with a cane, but her mind was sharper than most Merecot had met. Granted, most people are idiots, but still . . .
“I know you do, my dear,” Jastra said. All traces of mockery and condescension were gone from her eyes. Instead her expression was a mix of pride and sadness, and Merecot felt as if she were looking at the true Jastra, not the royal face she showed to others.
Merecot wanted to say something. Such as Thank you for believing in me. But she was afraid it would sound sentimental. Or un-queenlike. Jastra could mock her for showing emotion, and Merecot couldn’t risk that. I’m supposed to be the ruthless queen, after all, who puts the needs of Semo—the needs of Renthia—before my own.
Jastra cupped Merecot’s chin in her wrinkled hand. “I meant what I said: I chose well when I chose you. You can do this. You can do what I could not. You can change the world.”
Merecot swallowed. “I won’t let you down.”
“I know.” Jastra gave her a gentle smile, the kind that said she meant it. She then thumped on the door with her cane, and the doors were swung open.
The guards bowed as the old queen hobbled past them, and they bowed again to Merecot as they shut the door. For an instant, Merecot wanted to call her back to keep her company, to talk to her, to bolster her confidence some more. But she didn’t.
It was enough to know there was one person in Semo who was on Merecot’s side.
Sinking onto a pillow-laden couch, Merecot checked on the spirits at the volcano. All seemed well. Half the crater had been eaten down by lava, and the mountain was riddled with fissures. But the lava and smoke seemed to have died down, and tree spirits were scurrying over the cooling earth, causing stubborn little plants to sprout in the crevasses. In a few hours, the mountain would be dormant again, and she’d be able to release the tame spirits she’d forced to guard the wild ones. I saved thousands of lives, again, and no one knows. I am the unsung hero. Perhaps I should hire a few musicians to record my heroics. And sculptors. She had yet to employ any artisans to immortalize her reign. Somehow it seemed more appropriate to hire them after she’d saved the world.
But I will do it.
Jastra believes I can.
“This is too slow,” Naelin declared.
Ven was securing a rope to a tree—the bridge ahead was damaged. He’d already shot an arrow with a rope into the next tree, burying the bolt deep into the trunk.
Grabbing the minds of three nearby tree spirits, Naelin propelled them toward the bridge. Fix it. She formed an image of a finished bridge. Obeying, the spirits began to grow branches from the trees and weave them together.
“That isn’t necessarily faster,” Renet pointed out. “We can just use the rope.”
“It needs to be done. Regardless, we aren’t taking the bridge. We’re going to fly.” Closing her eyes, she reached for the three nearest large air spirits.
“Uh-uh, Naelin, you know I’m not comfortable traveling—”
“Then don’t come,” she cut him off. She didn’t understand how he could talk about comfort when their children were missing. The more time we waste . . . She chose not to finish that thought. The faster, the better.
Lifting up her face, she watched three air spirits slice through the canopy. Sunlight wavered as the leaves shook and fell all around them. The air spirits she’d called looked like jaguars, with orange-and-black markings on their fur, but they had blue-and-purple iridescent wings like peacocks.
Rejoining Naelin and Renet, Ven shielded his eyes as he looked up at the spirits. “Yours?”
“We’re going too slow.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty.”
Renet fidgeted beside her as the three spirits landed. “Naelin, can’t we discuss this?”
There’s nothing to discuss. The longer this took, the longer Erian and Llor were in danger. She strode toward the spirits. “If we stay on foot, it will take us five days to reach Mittriel.” She swung herself onto the back of the closest one. It hissed like an angry cat as she settled her weight onto it and grasped its neck fur. “If we fly, we can be there tomorrow.”
“Naelin . . .”
Ven clasped Renet on the shoulder. “No shame if you choose to continue on foot. I’ll leave you enough supplies.” He handed Naelin’s ex-husband a coil of rope and an extra knife.
Renet refused them. “I’m not traveling alone. Are you crazy?”
“Your choice.” Climbing over the branches, Ven mounted a second air spirit beside Naelin. He looped a length of rope around the spirit’s neck and around his waist. “Secure yourself?” he suggested.
“I won’t fall,” Naelin said. And if I do, so what? She’d make another spirit catch her. Gone were her qualms about drawing the attention of spirits. All her carefulness hadn’t protected the two people who mattered the most.
“Do it anyway,” Ven said.
Reminding herself she had no rational reason to be angry at him—if he hadn’t carried her away from the battle, she’d be dead and her children would still have been taken—Naelin tied herself onto the spirit.
Swearing under his breath, Renet climbed onto the back of the third spirit and tied himself on. The jaguar spirit snarled, flicking its fat tail. “This is a bad idea,” Renet said. “Just want to be on the record saying that.”
She also had no rational reason to be angry at Renet. He wasn’t a warrior. It wasn’t his fault he hadn’t been strong enough to protect the children.
But logic didn’t keep her from wanting to growl at him.