He popped his head back into the room so fast that she knew he’d been plastered against the door. “Yes, Your Majesty?”
“As soon as Queen Naelin reaches the palace, please see that she’s escorted to me.” She had an additional thought: it was possible that the older woman wasn’t going to listen to a scolding by a younger queen. “Also, could you please ask Headmistress Hanna from Northeast Academy to join us?” Perhaps the headmistress could offer Naelin extra training—Naelin had become queen at a time of emergency and had skipped over all of the lessons in magic theory and history, instead going straight to the practical application of power. That part she’d mastered quickly.
Too quickly, Daleina thought.
“And please send for Healer Hamon with his medicine bag—but take care not to alarm him. Only a touch of head pain, thanks.”
He bowed. “I will have food and drink sent as well, for your guests.”
“You think of everything, Belsowik.” She deliberately used his given name—he insisted she use his title most of the time, but she wanted him to know she valued him specifically. Not just anyone could be as efficient and thorough as he was. “Your queen is grateful.”
She was rewarded by seeing him blush at the praise. Still, that didn’t stop him from chiding her. “My queen needs to take better care of herself. Your evening activities will be canceled tonight, and you will rest after you meet with Queen Naelin.”
If I can, she thought. “I will,” she promised him.
“Rest now.”
Obediently, she laid her head on the table with her arms curled beneath her cheek. She closed her eyes. What seemed like only a moment later, she felt a warm hand on her shoulder, and she blinked her eyes open—her eyelids felt crusty, and her mouth tasted like it was stuffed with spider webs. Hamon was beside her, crushing herbs into a goblet. “This will keep your head clear, but then you’ll need to sleep.”
“My seneschal tells me that’s on my schedule.” Daleina ran her tongue over her teeth and patted at her hair. Accepting the goblet from Hamon, she drank. It tasted like pine tree with a hint of apple cider and cinnamon, not at all like medicine. “Nice.”
“My mother’s concoction.” He held up one hand to forestall any comment. “I tested it myself, and there are no unusual side effects. All it should do is clear your head, and perhaps slightly improve your eyesight and bone density—it has a few vitamins.”
She drank the rest of it. “How is she?” What she really wanted to ask was: how are you with her? Hamon had a strained relationship with his mother. And that’s putting it mildly. If she hadn’t saved my life and Arin’s . . .
He smiled, though it was a bittersweet kind of smile. “She hasn’t killed anyone lately. Or if she has, she’s become more skilled at hiding the bodies.”
“You don’t believe her promises that she’s reformed.”
“No more than I believe a spirit will become my best friend.” He took back the empty goblet and then, after a hesitation, leaned over and kissed her cheek.
She laughed. “That was a kiss?”
“You’re on the throne. More seemed inappropriate.”
Grabbing a wad of his shirt in her fist, Daleina pulled him closer so fast that he dropped to his knees, and kissed him thoroughly. He slid his hands around her and over her, until both of them were breathing fast and she didn’t feel the least bit tired anymore.
She heard the seneschal clear his throat from the entrance, and Hamon jumped to his feet. He straightened Daleina’s skirt and smoothed her hair, tucking loose strands behind her ears. She grinned at him, drinking in his handsomeness. “Thank you for your ministrations, Healer Hamon. I feel better already.”
He kissed her lightly again. “You said the seneschal cleared your schedule tonight?”
Her smile widened. “Yes, isn’t that lovely?”
He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “You are lovely.”
“Charmer,” she murmured. And then her good mood drained away as she thought of what had to happen before she was free to be with Hamon again.
He saw her shift in mood. “Daleina, what is it?”
She reached out with her mind briefly and touched the thoughts of the spirits in the palace. She felt them churning, like water in a waterfall. “I have a meeting.”
“About what?” She heard the concern in his voice.
She judged the other queen to be only a staircase away. She felt, rather than saw, the candles in the hall blaze as the fire spirits reacted to Naelin. “I have to tell a mother not to care so much about her missing children.”
Missing, and nearly certainly dead, she thought.
He left her with one more kiss, and Daleina waited on her throne. She was aware of the second throne beside her, one that Naelin had sat in only a handful of times, since their unusual co-rule began. There was no known protocol for how to deal with such a situation. According to all records, such a situation had never occurred before, and before recent events, Daleina had thought they were handling it well—double the queens should have meant double the protection for Aratay.
Now she wished Naelin were merely a powerful heir that Daleina could order to stand down, rather than a queen. She was going to have to rely on Naelin’s willingness to cooperate, and she couldn’t count on that. “Seneschal, could you please help me display the damage reports, as well as the requests for assistance?”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” He scurried forward and placed the stack of papers in front of her. Standing, she began to lay them out side by side on the wood and mother-of-pearl table. Homes, schools, shops, libraries, fields, orchards, bridges, marketplaces . . . Outside the door, she felt Naelin arrive—tree spirits crawled over the door as if they wanted to tear it apart. She heard their claws scrabble at the wood.
Ready to rush to the door, the seneschal hopped away from the table, but Daleina laid a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “I suspect she’ll make a dramatic entrance. I’d rather you weren’t harmed, Belsowik.”
He waited beside her, tense.
The door, a heavy oak door, blew open and slammed against the wall. Chittering like squirrels, spirits ran across the walls and onto the ceiling. Daleina let them—she had no fear they’d harm her; they were her spirits too, no matter how strong the other queen was, and she could stop them if she had to.
I’m almost certain I can. . . .
Lizardlike fire spirits scorched the wood ceiling and then dove into the cold fireplace. Embers smoldered as the lizard spirits writhed in the grate. An ice spirit, lithe and tall, slipped along the ceiling. Shaped like a human, it ran its long fingers over the edge of the table, causing frost to spread in flower patterns, then drifted to the window. It curled its body onto the sill, bending into itself in a tighter coil than any human body could bend. Dozens of tree spirits, each no larger than Daleina’s hand, skittered around her feet.
“Go,” she told Belsowik.
He scurried out the door. She knew he’d stand just outside with the guards until she called for him again. Gathering her inner strength, she faced the new arrivals.
Ven first: he looked weathered, as if he were an old shirt that had been scrubbed in the wash too many times. She wondered if he’d slept in days. Probably not.