Everyone had an opinion on who should accompany Queen Naelin, what route they should take, when they should leave, and what supplies and weapons and gifts they should bring with them. Ensconced in a throne room, Queen Daleina listened to the string of chancellors, champions, and others who all knew best until her head throbbed.
She nodded politely at each one and instructed her seneschal to take a note, which he diligently did. She agreed to putting together an entourage of courtiers, diplomats, and guards. She agreed to task tailors and seamstresses with crafting royal gowns that would impress the Semoians. She even entertained the suggestion of designing a new flag for Aratay, which a standard-bearer—who would of course be part of the entourage—would carry. And she accepted offers from historians who wished to record this historic trip, singers who wanted to immortalize it, and an artist who wanted to paint the grand journey.
All told, if she followed the advice, preparations would take two months.
Her cheeks began to ache from smiling so much as she listened and nodded to the final opinionated visitor of the day. She kept smiling as the seneschal led him out the throne room door and closed it firmly behind him.
She massaged her cheeks. “They’re under way, yes?”
The seneschal nodded. “Queen Naelin left with Champion Ven several hours ago. They should be well beyond Mittriel by now.”
Daleina sagged back into the throne. “Excellent.”
Neither of them mentioned Arin, though she knew her seneschal knew everything she knew. She’ll be safe, that’s what’s important, Daleina thought. Someday she’ll forgive me.
“Pardon me for asking, Your Majesty, but won’t your advisers and the chancellors be irate when they discovered you deceived them?”
She waved her hand nonchalantly. “I will be irate when I discover that Queen Naelin deceived me and left of her own volition. But then I will accept that one queen can’t command another, and Queen Naelin has an independent streak.”
The seneschal collected the papers. She watched him as he sorted them, piled them, and then straightened the edges. I would have just tossed them in the fire, she thought, but she said nothing.
“You disapprove?” she asked.
“Never, Your Majesty,” he said instantly. “It’s not my place.”
“It’s everyone’s place to have an opinion. What’s yours?”
“On the contrary, it is my job to not pass judgment on the decisions of Her Majesty, only to ensure the smooth execution of her wishes.” He hesitated. “I do, however, worry.”
Daleina felt herself smile, in spite of everything. “As do I, Belsowik. But Naelin and Ven will be safer and faster on their own than in a group waving a flag that says ‘Target here!’” She trusted Champion Ven and Queen Naelin to reach Semo without an army at their side. Ven could defend against all physical dangers, and Naelin could handle anything magical thrown at them. They’ll be perfectly safe, she thought.
At least until they reach Merecot.
My turn for an adventure! Arin thought, and she stifled her grin. She didn’t want Champion Ven and Queen Naelin to see how excited—and nervous—she was. In truth, she hadn’t expected Champion Ven to invite her along after Daleina had said no so adamantly. He’d told her why he’d wanted her: in addition to requiring her skills with potions, he wanted an excuse to stop at her parents’ house on the way. He didn’t want Queen Naelin to have to camp outside any more than strictly necessary, but he didn’t want anyone to guess where she was.
Champion Ven had insisted they leave stealthily. She’d never done much sneaking, but she liked it. They’d exited the palace through the kitchen, carrying sacks of nut flour out to the food-storage tree—Arin hadn’t even known there was a food-storage tree. Apparently, it held extra food for the people of Aratay in case of emergency, as well as for the palace. Daleina had insisted on canceling all feasts until the harvest crisis was over, so, dressed in kitchen aprons, Arin, Ven, and Naelin had helped shift sacks from the palace to storage. From there, they’d lurked in the shadows until the guard shift changed, and left the palace grounds when no one was watching.
Ven had grumbled about that for a while—it shouldn’t have been possible to slip out.
Arin had pointed out that the guards were supposed to keep people from slipping in, so technically they weren’t failing in their jobs by letting the three of them out.
He’d just grunted.
“Keep your head down and shuffle your feet more,” Ven advised her now. “You’re bouncing too much. General idea is not to draw attention.”
“Sorry.” Arin tried to shuffle more as she followed Ven and Queen Naelin across a few sparsely populated bridges until they reached the capital library.
The Great Library of Mittriel was a sight that Arin had meant to see while she was in the capital, but somehow between the invasion and all the potion making, she hadn’t had time. According to legend, it had been grown a century ago from a solitary redwood by a queen with a flair for the dramatic. She had coaxed the spirits into twisting the trunk so that it formed a spiral like a conch shell. “Whoa,” Arin breathed as it came into view.
Brilliant orange, the leaves of the Great Library blazed as if they were on fire. They crowned a tree of deep russet red that curved in a vast spiral. It was so grand that Arin thought there should be trumpets playing and canopy singers singing above it. Beside her, Queen Naelin murmured, “Erian and Llor would have loved this.”
“Maybe you can bring them to see it, once we get them back,” Arin said, and was rewarded with a startled almost-smile from Queen Naelin.
“You brought me here on purpose,” the queen said to Ven.
He pointed toward the highest branches. “There’s a wire path—”
“This is a place of hope. Like the library I made in Redleaf.” Queen Naelin waved her hand at the glorious tree, with its entrance draped in elegant vines. “You want me to have hope.”
Champion Ven met her eyes, and Arin had the sense that a thousand unspoken words were passing between them before Ven said one single word: “Yes.”
Ven led the way into the library, and Arin continued to gawk as she climbed the wide staircase. Shelves had been carved into, or grown out of, the curved walls, with vines cradling the books, and decorated with wooden sculptures of birds and deer and bears and foxes. The books themselves were works of art too, with spines of carved wood or intricately decorated leather. All of it was lit by sunlight filtered through stained-glass windows so that reds and blues danced across all of the surfaces. There were no candles, just the slivers of colored sunlight and the soft glow of firemoss to chase away the shadows. As they climbed higher, more light streamed through the stained glass until Arin felt as if they were swimming in jewels.
Hand in hand, the queen and champion climbed higher through the library while Arin followed behind them, feeling as if she’d been entangled in an old ballad, a classic one with lots of adventure between queens and spirits. The sight of all the beautiful books only added to that feeling. She reached out and ran her fingertips over the spines. She wondered who would be adding Naelin and Daleina’s stories.
She wondered if any would mention her.
Queen Naelin was right—this is a place of hope. And dreams.
At the top of the spiral, as promised, was a wire path. It was tucked into a bower of roses and flowering vines with cushioned chairs, ideal for curling up with books, with a view of the forest canopy and the glorious blue sky. Ven stopped, and Arin saw he was looking at Naelin, not at the view. The queen faced north.
“We’ll bring them home,” Ven promised.
“I can’t help feeling, despite Ambassador Hanna’s reassurances, that it’s still a trap.”
“Of course it’s a trap.” Ven shrugged. “We’ll still bring them home.” He turned to Arin and held out a harness. To her surprise, he was smiling—it was the kind of smile that Daleina used to give her, right before dumping a bucket of cold water on her head because Mama said to give her a bath. “Have you ever ridden the wire paths?” he asked her.
“No.” She took the harness and puzzled at the clips.