Naelin felt herself blush.
Laughing, Sira wiggled down the branch, descending fast from the canopy. The peal of her laughter lingering behind. Naelin hung on as the thin branches shook. The crisp autumn leaves clicked and crackled as they smacked together from the movement. Only when it steadied enough did Naelin feel safe enough to climb down too.
As she descended, the branches closed above her, blocking off the starlight and moonlight until she was climbing into shadows. Naelin thought about reaching out to a spirit to help her—but no, she would not depend on them. She reached with her foot down for the next branch. Soon, she’d switch to ropes, but she couldn’t remember exactly how far until the ropes began—
She felt hands on her waist, steadying her. “Rope ladder is to your left. Reach out and you’ll have it,” a familiar voice said in her ear. Ven.
He held her as she reached, stretching her fingers and pawing at the empty air, until the tips of her fingers touched the rough dryness of a rope. Her hand closed around it.
With Ven, she climbed the ladder onto a platform. Below was the warm light of his mother’s house. She heard voices rising up from it—the cascading light laugh of his sister, Sira, and the knife-sharp voice of his mother, Zenda.
Ven’s arms were still around her waist.
The shadows felt like a blanket around her, and she leaned her head back against Ven’s chest and listened to him breathe. She supposed this meant he’d survived his “talk” with his mother. She thought about asking how he was, but instead just let the silence wrap around both of them.
The First went into the untamed lands and came out.
It was just a bit of a nearly forgotten legend.
But that title “Protector” . . . Merecot had used that title to refer to Bayn. Why? What did it mean? It was a tenuous thing, a single word in common between a song and a letter. Yet it felt like there was a connection between the two, and she was determined to find out what it was. After we save Erian and Llor, maybe there’s a chance we can also save Bayn! All this hope was a heady thing—it made her feel like anything was possible. “Tomorrow we’ll reach Queen Merecot,” Naelin said.
“Yes.”
Then maybe we’ll have answers, including why she targeted Bayn. And what she wants from me. “Good. I’m ready.”
“Naelin . . . I need to know . . .”
She waited, thinking about what Sira had told her, about how he loved her. I love him. But she couldn’t remember if she’d ever told him. If he says the words, I will. I won’t even hesitate.
“Are you still planning to kill her?”
She startled and then nearly laughed at herself for thinking that Ven was thinking about romance when he was busy plotting how to keep his queen from committing murder. “I don’t know. Rescue first, then I’ll think about revenge.”
“Just don’t . . . I don’t want to lose you to revenge. If you lose control again . . .”
Naelin did laugh then, though it wasn’t anything to laugh about. He was afraid of her, of what she’d do, of the harm she could bring to the people of Semo and the people of Aratay . . . people like his sister, Sira, who didn’t deserve to suffer because of Naelin’s rage and despair.
“I’m going to see this through, as I promised,” Naelin said. “I’m not going to harm Queen Merecot unless she tries to hurt us first.” I am, though, going to ask her a few questions, after she returns my children. Naelin turned then, within the circle of Ven’s arms. Reaching up, she touched his face, felt the stiffness of his beard and the weathered softness of his cheek, and before she could remind herself that she had no feelings anymore, she kissed him.
He kissed her back, tentatively at first but then more desperately, as if he were a drowning man and she could save him.
She wasn’t certain she could save anyone.
But she didn’t stop kissing him.
In the palace in Mittriel, Daleina woke, stretched, and felt the silken sheets slip over her naked body. She then curled against a sleeping Hamon and worried about whether she’d sent Queen Naelin to her death—and by extension, Ven.
“Did I make a mistake?” she whispered into the darkness.
Hamon shifted and mumbled, “Of course you didn’t.”
She laughed, despite herself. “You don’t even know what I’m referring to.”
He flopped one arm across her stomach. “Don’t need to. You’re alive. That’s proof enough.” Snuggling closer, he burrowed his face into her neck. She felt his breath hot against her skin.
It was sweet that he was so supportive, but his statement was ridiculous. “There’s a lot of space between no mistakes and death.”
He lifted his head and sounded more awake and serious. “Not for you.”
Hard to argue with that. “But what if—”
He placed a finger over her lips. “No.”
“‘No’ what? You don’t know what I’m going to say.” She kissed his finger.
“You’re going to second-guess yourself.” Moving his finger, he kissed her, his lips soft on hers. “Nothing good comes from that. All you can do is move forward. Make the next decision. When I’ve a patient, I can’t take back the medicine I’ve given her, even if it doesn’t work. All I can do is treat the next set of symptoms, even if my medicine caused them.”
“If Queen Naelin dies, there’s only me. Aratay still has no heirs.”
“The champions are training more.”
She noticed he didn’t say Naelin would be fine. “Not quickly enough.” Wrapping a sheet around herself, she extracted herself from the bed and crossed to the balcony. She pushed open the door and stepped outside. The cool night air danced around her, and she wondered what time it was. It was impossible to tell looking out into the forest, but it was still late enough that the city of Mittriel was a black tangle, with the few scattered lights looking like distant stars caught in its branches. She should try to go back to sleep. She wasn’t sure she could, though. They should be near the edge of the forest now, she thought. One more day, and they’ll be beyond where I can keep them safe.
“What if it’s all part of her plan?” Daleina asked.
“Queen Merecot’s?”
She heard sheets rustle and then footsteps. Hamon’s arms wrapped around her waist, and she leaned back against him. He smelled like mint and cinnamon and faintly of exotic flowers she couldn’t name—he’d been mixing new medicines earlier in the day. Some of his ingredients came from as far away as the islands of Belene or the farmlands of Chell. He’d told her once that he even used a lichen that grew only in the crevasses of glaciers in Elhim. As she mused on what made Hamon’s profession, she felt an idea begin to form, so faint that she didn’t dare call it an idea yet. Quietly, she said, “You use ingredients from other lands in your medicines.”
“Mm-hmm, definite perk of being a palace healer. Access to resources beyond our borders.” His hands caressed her stomach, and he kissed her neck. “Did I tell you about the lichen from Elhim? Grows only in—”
Resources beyond our borders. Yes. She stepped out of Hamon’s embrace and raised her voice. “Guards, summon the seneschal!” She hurried to her desk and tried to light the firemoss in the lantern. Her hands shook as she fumbled with the fire stick, and Hamon gently took it from her and lit it.
“You may wish for clothes if your seneschal is coming,” he said mildly.
She waved him off. “He’s unshockable.” Sitting with her bedsheet wrapped around her, she shuffled through her papers until she found unblemished parchment. She’d need three copies—the seneschal would neaten her thoughts and prepare the copies. Across the room, she heard Hamon putting on his own clothes and neatening the blankets on the bed. He then was behind her again, brushing her hair back behind her neck and away from the ink as she wrote.
She heard a knock on the door and one of her guards said, “The seneschal, Your Majesty.”
“Allow him in,” she ordered without looking up.
Footsteps. “Your Majesty. Healer Hamon.”