Ven knelt beside the wolf and ruffled the fur on his neck. “Ready for another run, old friend?” He chuckled at Bayn’s expression, which said as clearly as words, More ready than you, old man.
He stood as Bayn trotted down the bridge away from the palace. Watching him, Ven didn’t bother to tell him to be careful—the wolf knew the forest as well as he did. He’d find his own way northwest and most likely be there at the first village on their list, waiting for them, thumping his tail impatiently at the slowness of humans.
Behind him, Ven heard his traveling companions—Erian and Llor teasing each other, Naelin worrying over whether they’d packed enough socks, and Renet bragging about his woodsman skills.
Maybe I should have told Bayn to let us get a head start.
Naelin joined him. “I think we have everything.”
He surveyed their packs, which were bulging. “Are you sure?” he asked mildly. “Perhaps we could squeeze in a mattress? Or a dozen more gowns?”
She fixed him with a glare. “It wasn’t me. The palace caretakers insisted.”
He loved that glare. It made him want to wrap her in his arms and kiss her until she smiled again. Turning that glare into one of her smiles was his new favorite pastime. Later. “All right then. Let’s go. We should reach northwest Aratay in four days.”
It took them eight days.
Naelin loved every second of it, even with the overstuffed packs, even with Renet and his sad puppy eyes, even with Erian and Llor daring each other to more ridiculous climbing feats that Ven would have to rescue them from.
For eight days, she was just Naelin, an ordinary woodswoman, traveling through the forest with her family.
And then they reached the first village in northwest Aratay. Bayn was waiting for them just outside the village, looking extra-plump—judging from the chicken feather stuck to his fur, she gathered he’d helped himself to the village’s hospitality. She made a mental note to reimburse them for whatever he’d eaten.
“Wear your crown,” Renet told her.
“I’m not in the palace,” Naelin said. She knew he was right: she was supposed to be introducing herself as their new queen, which meant gowns and crowns. But she hated the way it poked her scalp.
Admit it, she told herself. You hate what it represents.
She waved off his argument before he could make it, dug the crown out of her pack, and stuck it on her head. Erian arranged her hair beneath it, and Llor solemnly handed her a flower. She tucked it amid the silver filigree on the crown.
“You can do this,” Ven told her.
In a low voice so only he could hear, she asked, “What if they don’t believe I’m the queen?” Despite living in the palace, despite being able to sense all the spirits in Aratay, despite the incredible (and rather terrifying) boost in power she’d felt ever since the moment the spirits had accepted her as their queen, she still didn’t feel royal. She was just a woodswoman, with two children, graying hair, bony elbows, and calluses on her palms from years of mending the shingles on her own roof and scrubbing her own floors. What if these people sense that? She was supposed to reassure them that all was well in Aratay, but how could she do that when she didn’t feel reassured? In fact, now that she was here, near a village that was not so different from where they used to live in East Everdale, she felt more like an impostor than she ever had.
For decades, she had known full well who she was—had liked who she was—and now she was supposed to be someone new. It made her feel like a teenager again, which was not a phase she had any interest in reliving. It’s bad enough that I’ll have to relive it through Erian’s and Llor’s eyes.
Ven shrugged. “Just instruct the spirits to eat a few of them. They won’t doubt you then.”
She shot him a withering glare.
He grinned back at her.
“You’re impossible,” she informed him.
“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘hilarious.’ Or you could go with ‘supportive.’ ‘Ruggedly handsome’? ‘Very strong’?”
Llor giggled. “‘Very silly’?”
Ven nodded solemnly. “Also ‘ticklish.’”
“Really? You?” Llor’s mouth dropped open.
Ven poked his elbow. “Right there.”
Both Erian and Llor attacked him. He collapsed dramatically, writhing on the ground and howling with laughter.
Naelin watched them for a moment. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bayn watching them as well with a long-suffering expression on his lupine face. Ridiculous humans, he seemed to be saying. Playing like pups when there’s work to be done. Her lips twitched, and she and Bayn exchanged glances.
Leaving Ven with the children and Renet, Queen Naelin of Aratay and the great forests of Renthia swept into the village with only a wolf by her side.
No one doubted who she was.
They moved on, and in each village they went to, the people of Aratay rushed to welcome her. They insisted on housing her and her companions in their finest home, feeding them a feast, and entertaining them with tales and songs. As word spread ahead of them, the villagers would be eagerly anticipating their queen’s arrival, ready to fawn over her—and to present all their requests in interminable meetings with the village leaders.
By their eighth stop, a tiny village called Redleaf, she barely had a few seconds alone with Erian and Llor each day before she was whisked away to greet everyone and hear their litany of complaints. “Let me take the kids on a picnic,” Renet begged. “They need a break. You can’t ask them to sit through another meeting where they can’t be near their mother and they’re bored to tears.”
Naelin refused. She didn’t want them out of her sight.
But it was true that Erian and Llor were bored. After sitting through the introduction of half the town’s population, Llor began begging and pleading and wheedling and threatening his father’s case. “If you don’t let us go, I’ll sing the alphabet song. Loudly. Over and over. So no grown-up can talk.”
She was tempted to let him do just that. Smothering a smile, she glanced over at Ven. If he were to accompany them, then she wouldn’t worry. . . .
He shook his head. “I stay with you. It’s my job to protect you.” He didn’t have to say how important Naelin was to Aratay, especially when there were no viable heirs.
“I will guard them with my life,” Renet pledged.
“Send Bayn,” Ven suggested, ignoring Renet. “He can protect them from all ordinary threats, and with you nearby, no spirit will dare attack them.”
“You can make the spirits watch us!” Llor said.
“Absolutely not. That will draw their attention to you.” Even as she said it, though, Naelin considered their request for an outing. She looked at Llor’s wide eyes and clasped hands. Saw how hopeful Erian looked. Even Renet’s expression tugged on her heart. It’s not fair to make all of them suffer through my being queen. “Very well. Take Bayn, and don’t stray too near the border. We’re close to Semo in the north and the untamed lands to the west. Be aware of your surroundings. Don’t do anything to upset the spirits, and be careful not to step on any weak branches.”
Erian kissed her cheek. “You worry too much, Mama. We can take care of ourselves. And we won’t let anything happen to Father either.”
She forced herself to smile, even though she wanted to say, I don’t like this.
No, it’s not the picnic that I don’t like. It’s the fact that I can’t be with them. I don’t know how to be a good queen and a good mother at the same time.
Something had to change if she was going to be successful at all this. But for now . . .
“You may go.”
Chapter 3