Headmistress Hanna clicked her tongue in disapproval. “You’d kill other people’s children in a doomed quest to save your own. You have no proof your children are even alive, much less with the queen of Semo.”
“They are alive! And we can keep our people safe if we work together,” Naelin said, her voice shrill. Daleina shot a worried look at the spirits on the roof, who were still agitated. “You can defend Aratay while I attack Merecot.”
“Say you attack, and say you win . . .” Ven said. “What if Merecot wasn’t responsible? What if you kill her, and she doesn’t have—never had—Erian and Llor? What if attacking her distracts you from finding whoever was truly responsible?”
Continuing to send soothing thoughts toward the spirits, Daleina pressed on. “You need to stop, assess, and then—when the immediate crises are over and when we’re sure who’s to blame—then we’ll act. Together. I swear it. Your children will not be forgotten. But we have a responsibility to all the children of Aratay first.”
Ven took Naelin’s hands. “If this wasn’t a random attack or a rogue spirit, we’ll find out and we’ll catch whoever was behind this. I swear it too.”
Headmistress Hanna rolled forward, halting in front of the two thrones. Her back was straight, her chin lifted, and Daleina felt, for a moment, the same way she had years ago, before she entered the academy—as if the headmistress had all the answers. “After I’ve given Queen Naelin the training she needs, I will go to Semo, as ambassador. It’s past time for a healthy dialogue between Semo and Aratay to be opened. While I’m there, I will search for any evidence that Queen Merecot was involved in the attack on Bayn and the children.”
That was not what Daleina had expected her to say. She stared at the headmistress, the woman who had devoted her entire life to her students, to training future heirs—the woman who had been wounded permanently while defending them. “You’d do this? Leave Aratay? But the academy—”
“Will function fine without me,” Hanna said. “And I would appreciate a change. Add to that the fact that I knew Merecot as a student, and I believe I am the ideal person to go.”
Considering it, Daleina ran quickly through the pros and cons—Hanna was valuable here, both for her experience at the academy and for her always-wise advice. She was one of the few allies who knew everything that Daleina had done, both the good and the bad, and Daleina trusted her absolutely. She’d miss having such a trustworthy friend so close. In addition, if Merecot did mean to hurt Aratay, Daleina would be sending the headmistress directly into harm’s way. On the other hand, Merecot knew and respected the headmistress, at least as much as she respected anyone, and Headmistress Hanna had no illusions about the flaws in Merecot’s character. Hanna knew the history of the countries, was even-tempered and diplomatic, and, in short, would make an ideal ambassador.
This might be just the thing to begin a peaceful dialogue between—
Leaving the hearth, the fire spirits crackled as Naelin cried, “My children are alive! And in danger! And you talk about ambassadors and harvests and—don’t you understand? We must act now, before it’s too late!”
Daleina felt the pain radiate out and pour into the spirits. She tried to stem the flood, thrusting her mind into the spirits’ swirling thoughts. Calm! Stay calm! Don’t—
But they howled, from deep within the bowels of the earth.
She felt them shift, reach, claw, scream.
And the earthquake struck.
Stop!
Naelin heard the word well up inside her—but she couldn’t say it. Once the power began to flow out of her, it gushed faster and faster until it was a flood that shuddered through her body. She felt it ram into the nearby spirits, felt their screams, and felt the earth shift as every earth spirit beneath the city bucked and writhed at once.
Only then did she cry out to them, No! Stop!
But it had no effect.
She pulled at her power, trying to draw it back inside her, as the throne room around her shook. She dropped to her knees. Dimly, she was aware of the others, crying out, falling. Tiles fell from the walls and shattered. A chandelier plummeted from the ceiling and hit the wood and shell table in the center—the table cracked in half.
I can’t stop. I don’t know how to stop!
She was hurting people. Badly. People could be dying. Innocent people. She pictured the papers that Daleina had shown her, lists she’d barely looked at. I’m attacking my own people!
I am worse than Merecot.
She felt the waves of rage inside her turn inward.
She didn’t deserve . . . Didn’t . . . Couldn’t . . . Before the thought could even be completed, she felt arms around her, warm and familiar. She felt Ven’s breath in her hair as he whispered her name, felt him stroke her back, felt him rock her side to side, as if she were a child who’d had a nightmare—the way she’d rocked Erian and Llor late at night, when they’d woken in a sweat, screaming out for her.
Just his arms and the whisper of her name, over and over.
With a shuddering gasp, Naelin pulled herself together enough to look around.
“What have I done?”
“Order them to stop!” Daleina snapped. “Help me!”
Beside her, she heard Headmistress Hanna, calm and no-nonsense: “You must construct a wall within you. Picture it as clearly as if it were in front of you. Every brick. Every chink. Pour the mortar. Smooth it.”
She did as the headmistress said.
“Think only of the wall. Feel the divots in the bricks. Smell the clay. Row by row, lay your wall around your mind. All your thoughts and feelings reside within. Allow no gap, no sunlight, no hint of wind—build it higher, as high as it takes.”
Naelin built, brick by brick, in her mind. It wasn’t difficult for her—she had the power—but it was still taxing, as hard as if she were doing it for real. She labored, and sweat poured down her face.
Ven was murmuring, but she didn’t hear him. Only saw the bricks. Only felt them beneath her fingers. She poured the mortar in her mind, thick so nothing would get through. She walled off the sunlight, she dammed up the flood, she sealed herself inside.
And then she opened her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
Ven kissed her forehead, which was damp with sweat. “If they’re alive, we’ll find them. Somehow. I promise. But you need to make sure there’s a home to bring them back to.”
Three minutes before the earthquake, in another branch of the palace, Queen Daleina’s sister, Arin, was measuring one teaspoon of ervo juice. She poured it into the test tube and then exhaled. Now for the tricky part. She had to add precisely three drops, no more and no less, with five-second intervals between each drop to allow the potion to mix at the correct rate. All the ingredients needed to be combined in a particular order with the proper timing, or else its potency would be reduced. She’d already mixed one subpar potion earlier, and now there was a frog in the palace garden hopping around with yellow and purple fur.
Done correctly, this potion should strip the skin off a spirit.
Incorrectly, and the results were . . . less impressive. And furrier. The potion was her own concoction, guided by Master Garnah. Arin had progressed quickly past the basics and was developing her own course of study. She had no interest in becoming a poisoner like Master Garnah, but she was interested in potions that could affect spirits.
“Slow and steady,” Master Garnah advised. “Consider it a dance, with a partner who might or might not kill you if you step on his feet.”