“She needs a soldier, not a lover,” Sevrin said, and Ven seriously considered smashing his balled-up fist into the man’s face. If Daleina hadn’t lightly and subtly touched his arm at that very moment, he might have done just that. “And Aratay needs its hero champion,” Sevrin continued. “You’ve heard the songs, I assume? You’re the finest champion who has ever lived, trainer of two queens, warrior extraordinaire, and other drivel. We in this room may know better, but if you abandon Aratay in its hour of need, the people will panic. The people are counting on you to find the next queen-to-be.”
Despite Daleina’s hint, Ven’s hand strayed toward his sword hilt. He’d never draw on another champion, but his fingers were now brushing the pommel. Through clenched teeth he said, “I’m not abandoning the people of Aratay; I’m serving its queen.” That any champion would be so shortsighted as to fail to see that—
“You’re serving yourself,” Sevrin said, “as you always do.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Now he did put his hand on his sword hilt, but he made himself remove it. A fight here wouldn’t help anyone.
“First Queen Fara, now Queen Naelin,” Sevrin drawled. “Some say you serve yourself when you serve your queens.” He pushed himself off his seat and crossed to Ven. Stopped only inches from him. “Some say you think with the wrong sword.”
Ven did not draw his weapon at that. He looked back at Daleina, and tried to apologize without words. One of her eyebrows shot up, but she said nothing.
He turned back around . . . and punched Sevrin in the face.
With a howl, Sevrin staggered back. Blood poured from his nose, but he wasn’t stunned—he was a champion himself. With a roar, he launched himself at Ven, fists flying. Ven kicked back, hitting the larger man square in the gut and sending him crashing into the seats. Other champions sprang out of the way.
Daleina’s voice cracked across the chamber. “Enough!”
Ven, muscles still coiled, watched Sevrin as he pushed to his feet. Scowling at Ven, he wiped the blood from his upper lip with the back of his hand. It smeared onto his cheek. “They speak of you with such respect.” Sevrin spat onto the council floor, at Ven’s feet. “They don’t know how weak you truly are, confusing duty for ‘love’ and queens for toys.”
Queen Daleina rose to her feet, and above her, the air spirits shrieked. All the champions reacted—drawing swords, kicking aside the chairs, crouching at the ready—but Daleina stood straight and tall, motionless while the spirits circled. “And what of this queen, Champion Sevrin?”
Sevrin blanched, seeming to realize the implication he had made concerning her.
“Champion Ven will accompany Queen Naelin to Semo. His so-called weakness is his strength. He would die to protect her. Isn’t that correct, Champion Ven?”
He knelt on one knee. “It is, Your Majesty.”
“Then not sending you would be stupid,” Daleina said. “And I strive to avoid stupidity. Champions, return to your chosen candidates. Continue to train them. And pray they will not be needed anytime soon.”
The spirits cried once more and then flew higher, into the clouds.
The champions bowed and filed out of the chamber, except for Ven. He stayed kneeling before Queen Daleina, his head bent, though he watched Sevrin and the other champions tromp past and down the spiral stairs, until at last they were alone.
Daleina sank into her throne. “Did you have to hit him?”
Ven considered that. “Yes, I believe I did.” He didn’t plan to make a habit of it, especially while Sevrin carried that wicked ax of his, but the situation had warranted it. “There is nothing dishonorable or selfish about what I’ve done.” It demeaned both women to suggest it, implying they didn’t choose him as freely as he chose them.
“He was goading you,” Daleina said, tapping the parchment against the armrests of her throne. “He wanted to prove you’re ruled by emotions, not logic. He was angling for me to remove you as a champion—subtlety is not his strength.”
Rising to his feet, Ven said, “I’ve noticed.”
“Nor is it yours,” she snapped.
Ven winced. That was fair. He supposed he should have waited until after the champions had left to announce his intention to accompany Naelin. The champions were right to worry—without heirs, Aratay remained vulnerable, and Ven had sworn the same oath they had.
But there was another oath he’d made in his heart . . .
Daleina looked toward the north, over the canopy of trees. Ven followed her gaze. The mountains were too distant to be seen from Mittriel, but the damage from the invasion was still visible—new trees had been grown to replace the damaged ones, and they formed a river of golden leaves against the dark green of the old pine and the red and orange and brown. “Do you think it’s a trap?”
“Yes. I don’t know. It could be.” Ven hesitated, weighing the various risks. “It doesn’t really matter, though, does it? And it’s why I’m going, to protect Naelin against any attacks with blades, fists, or claws. But if Queen Merecot was to attempt poison . . .”
“I’ll order Poison-Master Garnah to accompany you.”
“She won’t be willing to leave her son.” That wasn’t his only objection, though. Truthfully, Garnah was the last person he would trust on a diplomatic mission. She was more likely to cause disaster than prevent it. But he could appreciate Daleina wanting Garnah out of the country, as far from Arin as possible.
She rose again. “I will speak to her. You wish to leave at dawn, I presume?”
He bowed. “Yes, Your Majesty. I officially request a leave of absence from my champion duties, until the completion of this mission.”
“Granted,” Daleina said. “But Ven . . .”
“Yes?”
“You will always be my champion.”
Chapter 14
Flanked by Ven and Hamon, Daleina strode through the palace and tried to ignore the tree spirit that was nestling into her crown. It was muttering to itself in unintelligible words that sounded like wood splintering while it wound her hair into a nest and cuddled with the jewels on her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hamon shooting glances at her crown.
“Daleina . . .” Hamon began.
“Yes, I know.”
“But it’s staying.”
“I know.”
Ven looked amused. “You might start a new fashion.”
Hamon did not look amused. “If it should panic or turn on you, its claws could—”
Daleina interrupted him again. “I know.” She swept down the hallway. Up ahead, two guards stood at attention on either side of Poison-Master Garnah’s door, ostensibly protecting the dangerous concoctions inside but also monitoring Garnah’s movements. They inclined their heads as she approached but otherwise remained vigilant. One of them spotted the tree spirit in Daleina’s hair—she saw his eyes widen. “The Queen’s Poisoner is dangerous. It’s important she be reminded that I’m more dangerous.”
Let them all think about that.
She wasn’t certain she believed it, but it sounded good, and she needed all her self-confidence wrapped around her like armor if she was going to convince Garnah to cooperate.
Stepping forward, Ven swung open the door for her, and she entered the room.
Arin scurried forward. “Daleina!” She wore a thick leather apron and a falconer’s gloves. Her hair was pulled back into a bun that didn’t allow for any strand to slip out, and she had protective glasses on her face.
“Please don’t hug me if you’ve been playing with poison,” Daleina said.
Her little sister skidded to a stop.
“Why is that even a thing I have to say?” Daleina asked.
Across the room, Garnah chuckled. She was not dressed in any protective gear. Instead she wore layers of flouncy lace that billowed around her like a child’s drawing of a cloud. Three peacock feathers stuck out of her elaborately braided hair. She looked like she’s been playing dress-up in a courtier’s closet, Daleina thought, and wondered if Garnah was deliberately mocking the court ladies or if that was merely an accidental bonus. With Garnah, it could be either. “Your Majesty,” Garnah said, rising then curtsying. Her skirts pooled around her. “My beloved son.” Crossing to Hamon, she embraced him. He stiffened, and Daleina thought he’d rather bolt than endure her touch. But he was here to help, not cause a scene, and so he didn’t move. Garnah then turned to Ven. “And the gruff, muscly man.” She pinched Ven’s bicep.
“You insisted on coming,” Daleina told him.
Garnah glanced at Daleina’s crown. “Nice hat.”
The spirit hissed. Garnah stuck her tongue out at it.