Queen Merecot turned to the wrinkled woman. “She did say ‘please.’”
The old, wrinkled woman pressed her lips together and fixed Merecot with a disapproving look that reminded Erian of Mama. “Don’t taunt them.”
Chastened, Queen Merecot gave Erian and Llor another overbright smile. “Please don’t be afraid, children. I mean you no harm, and your stay here will be temporary. I will ensure you’re comfortable and happy during your visit.”
Nodding at Queen Merecot, the old woman clapped her hands as if this were all very exciting. “You’ll have your very own room and play areas. Games, clothes, food, desserts, everything you want, you may have!”
I want to go home, Erian thought, but didn’t bother saying it again.
“You’re not victims,” Queen Merecot said, as if she wanted to reassure them. “You’re pawns.”
Erian did not feel reassured.
“You’re a bad person,” Llor informed her. Sliding closer to him, Erian elbowed him in the stomach. Don’t make her mad, she wanted to say.
But Queen Merecot merely smiled—a real smile this time. “Yes, I am,” she agreed, without any trace of anger in her voice. “But I am a very good queen.”
The difficulty with thinking about Merecot as her enemy was that Daleina still thought of her as her friend.
Even after the invasion.
Even after the poisoning.
In a way, she understood those things, and so she still saw Merecot as the girl in the room next to hers at the academy, who helped her with her summoning lessons and who flooded her bedroom when Daleina accidentally set it on fire. I can’t hate her. Maybe I can’t forgive her, but I can’t hate her either.
Standing on her balcony, Daleina let the vines in the railing grow and twist around her hands. A tree spirit scurried over her fingers, and she ignored it—she had to conserve her energy. Her first task was to soothe the spirits and stop the random attacks, and then she could figure out how to fix the homes and the orchards. Reaching out with her mind, she sent soft thoughts as far as she could:
Calm. Calm. Calm.
“Our people will starve if the harvests fail,” Champion Havtru said behind her.
She broke her thought, took a deep breath, and reminded herself he was here to help. “We have emergency stores. We’ll open them if we need to.”
“Won’t be enough. It’ll be a lean winter.”
“Lean is not the same as starving, though.” The tree spirit, which looked like a knot of brambles the size of a chipmunk, nibbled at Daleina’s fingers. Glaring at it, she sent it scrambling away. “I will do the best I can. And when she’s ready, I’m certain Queen Naelin will assist as well.” If she’s ever ready. According to Ven, after Daleina had sent a nicely worded diplomatic latter to Queen Merecot—apologizing for the “incursion” and inquiring about any knowledge of the children—Naelin had shut herself in her room and, with the assistance of Headmistress Hanna, was consumed with trying not to cause another earthquake.
Daleina didn’t want to be insensitive, but a little help would have been nice. Responsibilities didn’t end when tragedies struck. I’d thought she was so strong. And then Daleina immediately felt guilty for thinking that—in truth it had only been a few days, and Naelin still believed her children were alive. There’s as little proof of that as there is that Merecot’s the cause.
“Oh, of course, Your Majesty! I didn’t mean to criticize. Just was thinking that Queen Naelin picked the worst time of year to agitate the spirits.”
Daleina didn’t disagree with that. But she couldn’t say it out loud. So she decided to switch tack. “Havtru, tell me, how would you prioritize the requests for assistance?” Coming back inside, she waved at the sheath of papers that the seneschal had left for her. So far, she hadn’t touched them. Keeping people from dying today had taken priority over keeping people from dying in the future. She glanced at him and noticed he was twisting his hat in his hands as if it were a wet dishrag and shooting glances at the door as if he wanted to be anywhere but here. She knew he wouldn’t leave—Ven had insisted that a champion guard her in addition to the usual palace guards, at least until the spirits were calmed, and he’d assigned Champion Havtru—but it was clear he felt out of his element.
Let me tell you about being queen sometime.
He swallowed a few times. “Your Majesty, I don’t feel qualified—”
“You lived in the outer forest. A berry picker? That was your former occupation?”
“Yes, Your Majesty, but surely there are chancellors—”
“The chancellors prioritize their own regions, and the courtiers overvalue the cities. I want the opinion of someone who will look out for those who have no voice.”
He bowed and picked up the sheath of papers, though he didn’t look happy about it. I can’t care if he’s happy or not, she thought. I need help! It was too much—the amount of damage that Naelin had done was overwhelming, and the country was still recovering from what Merecot had inflicted on them when she swept down with her spirits from the north. Rubbing her tired eyes, Daleina wondered if she’d ever stop feeling like she was making things up as she went along. She couldn’t imagine Queen Fara had ever felt this way. Maybe she just hid it better.
One of the guards by her door called, “Champion Ven, Your Majesty!”
“Allow him in,” she answered.
She heard Ven’s familiar footsteps—the soft, measured steps of someone who was always alert—as he entered her chambers and then came out on the balcony. He nodded to Champion Havtru, then bowed to her. “Your Majesty, a message has arrived from the queen of Semo. She sent it with a spirit bearing an ambassador’s colors.”
“Since when are champions in charge of delivering the mail?” But that flippant question was mostly to cover the fact that her heart was thumping faster—this was the first they’d heard from Merecot since the attack on Naelin’s children, and what the queen of Semo said would determine the fate of many.
Ven flopped into a chair and ran his fingers through his hair. He looked, Daleina thought, more like an unkempt scarecrow than a crisp soldier. She wondered when the last time he’d slept was. “Ever since paranoia became a required personality trait.” He laced his hands together, as if to force himself to sit still. “I came to counsel caution.”
“I’m always cautious.”
“It’s with the guards right now. You should ask Hamon’s mother to check it before you open it.” He held up a hand to forestall any objections. “I know she is not the most trustworthy person, but she is the most knowledgeable. Queen Merecot has already resorted to poison once. I know you want to trust that your mercy transformed her, but humor me.”
In theory, it was sound. But she didn’t want to owe more favors to the Queen’s Poisoner than she already did. It was bad enough that the woman had been instrumental in saving her life. “My guards always examine—”
“Please, Daleina.”
He so rarely called her just Daleina anymore, especially in front of other people. Havtru flinched at the familiarity, then buried himself again in reading through the requests.
Daleina raised her voice. “Seneschal? Please ask Queen Naelin to join us in the Master Poisoner’s laboratory and have the missive from the queen of Semo transported there as well. Carefully. As if it contains a nest of venomous snakes.”
“Because it might,” Ven put in.
Daleina shot him a look. “She needs diplomacy to work. Her people require it.”
“Only while you’re alive.”
Without dignifying that with a response—because he was right; she may have a co-ruler but she still had no heirs—Daleina swept out of her chambers. The palace guards folded around her in tight formation, flanking her as she strode through the halls. Fire spirits flitted from sconce to sconce, following her, watching her, hating her. As they touched each candle, it flamed up and scorched the ceiling. Calm, she thought at them. Calm.
She wished it would work on herself.