North was the answer.
Merecot issued a command to her four spirits to return home, secretly and carefully, and then she drew her mind back across the border, across the mountains of Semo, toward the castle. Casting her mind out wide, she found the two missing spirits. They, along with their prizes, were not only in her land, but they were drawing rapidly close.
Nearly here!
Yanking her mind back, she crashed into her body. She swatted away the hands of the courtier. “That’s enough,” she snarled at her. Merecot’s eyes fixed on the mirror. Glittering, she looked as if she’d fallen into a vat of glass shards.
“Go. And send Jastra to me.”
She paced, which was not an easy feat in the layers of formal skirts. The voluminous fabric swooshed and swished as she paced in a tight circle in the center of her chambers. Am I ready? I must be ready!
Moments later, the guards swung open her doors, and Jastra entered. She too had dressed for the Harvest Festival, festooned with rubies, emeralds, and sapphires—precious stones were considered fruits of the earth, appropriate to the celebration of the literal fruits of the earth. She wore no fewer than six necklaces, as well as a sapphire the size of Merecot’s fist nestled on top of her head. It was brilliantly blue against the thin white of Jastra’s hair.
“My dear, you look lovely,” Jastra said. “You honor our people.”
“Leave us,” Merecot ordered the courtiers and the guards.
Bowing, the courtiers scurried out, and the guards shut the doors behind them. Jastra clucked her tongue. “You seem nervous. Don’t be. You’ll have one of the court historians on each side of you, and they will feed you all the ritual lines. They know it backwards, forwards, and upside down. Sometimes I think they’re born knowing—”
Shaking her head, Merecot beamed at Jastra. She wasn’t nervous. She felt like dancing! Seizing her mentor’s hands, she squeezed them in excitement. “The Protector is gone, and our guests are nearly here!”
“Splendid!” Jastra said, beaming at her with a beloved parent’s pride. “You do realize they’ll most likely cry. Or even scream. Children often do.”
“I’ll make sure they’re happy here,” Merecot promised. “Semo is the most beautiful land in all of Renthia. Full of delight. They’ll enjoy their stay.”
Jastra patted her hand.
And Merecot added, “And if they’re lucky and both queens of Aratay see reason, I may not even have to kill their mother.”
“I do admire your optimism,” Jastra said fondly.
Erian was terrified.
Or, at least, she had been at first, when the spirits with vicious beaks attacked her and Llor, chasing them as they fled on Bayn. When they’d plucked her away from the wolf, she thought she’d die from fear. She’d screamed so hard that she’d scraped her throat and lost her voice. She was left merely whimpering as the spirits carried them north.
But she couldn’t stay terrified forever. Oh, she was still scared. She wasn’t stupid. She knew what rogue spirits did to people they caught.
Except that the spirits didn’t tear her and Llor limb from limb.
Or eat them.
Or skin them.
Or squeeze them.
Or drop them.
And after a few hours, being afraid became . . . well, boring. She began to notice they were flying between mountains, extraordinary mountains, with peaks so high they vanished between clouds and cliffs so steep and sheer they looked like petrified waterfalls. And the colors! The stone wasn’t just grayish, like on the forest floor. It was shimmery black or as red as the sunset or streaked with glittering white sparkles.
Snow clung to the ridges and peaks, and far below, she saw rivers—great, gushing, white foam rivers—battering the walls of canyons.
The two spirits carried them between the canyon walls, and the only sound was the rush of wind. But that sound was so loud that it was like a steady scream. Erian wondered if, when the flight ended, she’d be able to hear anything else.
Eventually, the flight did end.
As the sun sank, so did the spirits, gliding down into one of the canyons. She saw a dark blotch on a canyon wall, which grew as they flew closer—a cave. And her terror returned as they flew inside, into the darkness.
Now they’ll kill us!
She was dropped a few inches above the rock floor and landed with a thump. It hurt for an instant, but she hadn’t fallen far. She scrambled, trying to get her feet underneath her to run away—she didn’t know where to. The cave was halfway up a cliff. But everything inside her screamed, Away, away, away!
She smacked into a cool leathery body—the spirit!
Screaming, she ran in the other direction and then tripped over something soft. She sprawled forward, scraping her hands on the rocks as she tried to catch herself.
“Erian?”
She’d tripped over Llor. Crawling to him, she wrapped her arms around him tight. He was crying, big heaving sobs that shook his body. “Shh,” she said into his hair. “You’re okay. We’re okay.”
“Are we going to die?”
“No,” she said instantly.
“I don’t want to die. It’ll hurt. And I’ll miss you.”
She agreed with that with all her heart.
“Is Bayn all right?”
I don’t know, she thought. But what she said was: “I’m sure he is.”
They held each other in the dark cave for hours. A few times, Erian tried to crawl toward what she thought was the mouth of the cave, but the two spirits blocked the way. Eventually, the children slept, curled around each other.
At dawn, the spirits pried them apart, lifted them in the air, and flew on. After the initial burst of fear, Erian began to feel numb. And hungry. And thirsty. And she had to pee.
She cried when she couldn’t hold it any longer, as the pee dripped down her leg. But by sunset, she didn’t care anymore, and all she could think about was how thirsty she was. She barely looked at the mountains as she hung from the spirit’s talons.
The two spirits cawed to each other, and at last she raised her head.
And saw the castle.
It was beautiful: all white stone, carved into the side of the mountain, with turrets and towers and bridges and fantastic waterfalls. It sparkled in the setting sun. Erian blinked at it, unsure if she was imagining it. I could be seeing things. That could be what happens before you die of thirst.
But the two spirits flew toward a balcony and then in through a broad, open window. They deposited Erian and Llor onto a soft white carpet, thicker than grass. Erian lay there for a moment, trying to remind her arms and legs how to move.
She heard a woman’s voice. “Welcome to Semo.”
“You’re her,” Llor said. “The mean queen.”
Erian lifted her head and saw jewels, glittering brighter than the night sky. The queen of Semo was covered in strands of diamonds that draped down her huge skirts. More diamonds were woven into her black hair so that they glittered like stars in the night sky. She had a white streak in her hair, like Alet had had. They were sisters, Erian remembered. Beside the queen, an old woman was dripping with just as many sapphires and rubies. Her wrinkled cheeks had been rouged red to match the rubies, as if she were trying to transform into a jewel. It was a sight that didn’t make any sense to her tired brain.
But she knew Llor shouldn’t have called the queen “mean.”
The old woman wrinkled her nose. “You should have them bathed.”
“Immediately,” Queen Merecot agreed. She bent her lips into a smile—it didn’t look normal on her. It looked as if someone was squishing her cheeks so her lips turned upward. “And how would you like some food and drink? Cake, perhaps? All children love cake.”
Erian picked herself up off the floor. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, aware how filthy and smelly she was but deciding not to care. She didn’t like how the queen said “children,” where she didn’t look that all old herself. Certainly not as old as Mama. “We’d like to go home, Your Majesty. Please send us there.”