The children watched them warily, aware now of their nature. Merecot was a bit sorry for that. It was easier if one’s prisoners forgot they were in a prison. At the same time, though, she really didn’t care if two stupid children were happy.
“Follow me,” Merecot said crisply, ignoring the death glare that Naelin was shooting her. She led the way, which meant exposing her back to the queen and the champion, but Merecot kept her thoughts flitting from spirit to spirit, using them to watch behind her. Fire spirits lurked in each of the sconces along the corridor, and Merecot was able to see her visitors through their eyes.
For now, she couldn’t see a threat from either Naelin or Ven.
Soon enough, they reached their destination. She nodded at the two soldiers on either side of the massive oak doors, which they then pushed open, straining against the weight. Whatever queen had built this castle had liked impressively large things: large turrets, large doors, and large rooms. It suits a queen’s large ego, she thought ruefully. With the guards standing at attention on either side, Merecot swept into the West Room.
Judged as the most ostentatious room in the castle (which said a lot, given the competition, Merecot thought), the West Room looked like a vast cavern, boasting an enormous arched ceiling, a polished marble floor, and huge windows that overlooked the western mountains. The western mountains were themselves ostentatious, their peaks rivaling the clouds, and it added to the overall feel of this chamber. It was a room designed to host large parties, impress visitors, and make them feel small. Merecot felt a little ridiculous using it for so few people, but it would be nice if they understood her problem:
Semo was big and yet it still wasn’t big enough.
Her gown swooshed across the stone floor, loud in the silent vast room, and she climbed the steps up to the throne. She sat. “Too obnoxious?”
“A little,” Ven agreed. “Your Majesties are equals.”
“I’m told that Queen Naelin did not have any intention of being crowned,” Merecot said, “whereas I’ve worked for this my entire life. I don’t know that we are equals.”
An old yet still strong voice carried across the room. “You’ll have to excuse Queen Merecot. She failed her diplomacy classes.”
Merecot rolled her eyes as Ambassador Hanna entered the room. Oh, yay, she’s here. She conveniently ignored the fact that she herself had called for her. “I didn’t fail. All my marks were high.”
“True enough. You simply cheated to get them,” Hanna said as one of the guards pushed her chair across the room. “Over there.” She pointed to the window. “We’ll need a table and chairs set around it. Comfortable chairs. This conversation could take a while.”
“It will be short,” Naelin said. “I won’t be kept from my children.”
“It will take as long as it takes,” Hanna said with that headmistress “charm” that Merecot hadn’t missed in the slightest—though it was satisfying to see it directed at someone else—“until all parties are satisfied. Your children are well. Now, we need that table.” She beckoned to one of Merecot’s guards.
The guard glanced at Merecot, and she nodded. Let the old woman play at being in charge. Once the conversation started, then they’d see who really pulled the strings. Merecot doubted it was Queen Naelin. Ven, maybe? Or were they all just a mouthpiece for Daleina?
She wished she could have made Daleina see that the poisoning hadn’t been personal. She hadn’t wanted Daleina to die. Or, at least, she would have cried for her once the deed was done.
They waited while several servants scurried in and out of the room, delivering an overly heavy stone table, chairs plump with pillows, crystal vases with various juices, and an assortment of meat pies, the kind she’d grown fond of. “I recommend the pies. They’re mutton, but don’t let the word ‘mutton’ fool you. They actually taste good.”
She sat first, since her guests hadn’t moved yet, picked up one of the mutton pies, and bit into it. Gooey sauce dribbled from the side, and she caught it on a napkin. She laid it on the plate. “Come on. Don’t insult my hospitality. It’s not as if they’re poisoned.”
That joke fell like an anchor into the ocean, and all of them stared at her in hostile silence.
Inwardly, Merecot sighed. She knew she was an excellent queen—extremely powerful, confident, and decisive—but this part of being royal was not her strong point. “Ambassador Hanna, since you did not fail diplomacy, how would you counsel us to begin?”
Hanna wheeled herself up to the table and selected a meat pie. A servant poured her a mug of hot milk. Hanna dusted each with a powder before drinking and eating, and only then did Naelin and Ven eat.
Merecot supposed it was her own fault they were so paranoid. It would have been funny if it hadn’t all failed and left Alet dead.
Hanna spoke. “The situation is as I laid it out and as Queen Merecot had claimed: Semo has more spirits than the land can support. They’re warring with one another, and if left as is, they’ll tear the land apart. Judging from what I have seen . . . this could happen at any time.”
“Can’t you control them?” Ven asked bluntly. He was practically bristling with hostility. I’ve met friendlier wild boars, Merecot thought. “You’re supposed to be some kind of all-powerful prodigy.”
Merecot gritted her teeth, then made herself relax. She needed these people. Maybe. Jastra had advocated for simply . . . disposing of Queen Naelin—it was efficient, effective, and would permanently remove one more hurdle on the way to ruling both countries—but Merecot maintained it would be best for everyone if she could convince the queens of Aratay to do what she wished. Especially since she’d already failed to kill Daleina once. “I am controlling them. That’s the only reason that the country hasn’t erupted in endless earthquakes, avalanches, and volcanoes.”
“But this isn’t a permanent solution,” Hanna said, “which is what we are here to discuss.”
“It can be a short discussion, per your request, Queen Naelin,” Merecot said. Here we go. Say it with confidence. “The solution to Semo’s problem is a simple one. You and Queen Daleina must abdicate and allow me to rule both Aratay and Semo.” She sat back and waited for them to react.
They gaped at her for a moment, then exploded:
“Absolutely not!”
That was Ambassador Hanna.
“That’s insane!”
That was Ven.
He continued. “Abdicate to the woman who tried to kill Daleina and invade Aratay? Are you out of your mind?” Merecot wondered if he’d failed his diplomacy class too. “How about you abdicate?”
“Yes,” Hanna said. “Give Daleina and Naelin control of both Aratay and Semo.”
Ven nodded. “Allow them to redistribute your spirits. Your people would be safe then too.”
Merecot dismissed this immediately. “Daleina lacks the power and Naelin lacks the experience to control this many across such distances.”
“Naelin could be taught.”
“There’s not enough time. You felt how close the excess spirits are to ripping this land apart and making it as uninhabitable as the untamed lands.”
Naelin finally spoke up. “There would have been time if you had come to us, instead of wasting precious days with your plot to kidnap my children.”
“But I didn’t . . . and I did,” Merecot said, wondering if she should sound a bit more sorry. I’m not, though. I did what I had to do. She was certain Queen Naelin wouldn’t even be here if her children weren’t here. “And those are facts now, not hypotheticals. Think about it and you’ll realize I am the only logical choice to rule both lands.”
“There must be another solution,” Ven said.
“None that I can see,” Merecot said. And none that Queen Jastra could see either. The former queen had been studying the problem of spirits for years, and she’d come to the conclusion that this was the start of the solution: one queen for both Semo and Aratay. “Your barren lands provide land for my excess spirits. But only I can send them there and tie them to the land, and I can only accomplish that if I am queen of both.”