“The rumors say my children are there, and she’s gone to save them,” Renet blurted out. “But she’s not going to come back. I know it. I know her. She thinks this is her final act, saving our children, and I can’t . . . I can’t lose her. My children can’t lose her.”
Havtru hadn’t had children. He and his wife had talked about having them, but the time was never right. Wait a while longer, she’d say. After the next harvest, he’d say. Next season, she’d promise. One more year, he’d say. And then there was no more time. She was gone, taken from him in an instant by spirits who should never have attacked his village. He’d survived only because Champion Ven had arrived, and he’d survived after that only because Ven had given him a new purpose in life.
But he’d never forgotten his old life.
It occurred to him that regardless of the truth of any rumors, if he brought Renet, it would be a perfect excuse for his trip north. Queen Daleina didn’t want it known that she didn’t trust Queen Merecot, but if he was there escorting the queen’s husband to see his wife . . . “All right. You can come. But we leave tonight.”
Renet blubbered his thanks.
Havtru hoped he didn’t regret this.
Chapter 21
Ven did not like this plan.
He strapped his armor into position, tightening it too far and then loosening it. Glaring at himself in the mirror, he thought, I won’t be able to protect her. No matter how many weapons he brought with him, how many blades he slid into his boots, how many bows he put in his quiver. He wasn’t to be allowed into the grove.
“You’re angry,” Naelin said behind him.
She was already dressed: a simple white gown and the crown of Aratay on her head. A servant had braided her hair into some complex knots that made Ven wonder how many blades he could hide within it. Sure, she had her power to protect her, but Merecot was powerful too. And in the moment when Naelin abdicated her hold on the spirits of Aratay, she would be at her most vulnerable. Merecot would have full control of all the spirits of Semo, and the two women would be alone in the grove, without him.
I hate this.
“I’m not angry at you,” he told her. “I’m angry at the spirit-damned tradition that keeps me from going in with you. You’d think in unusual circumstances tradition could be bent.” If the champions had accompanied the heirs on the day Daleina had been crowned . . .
“Merecot has Erian and Llor, so she makes the rules. But in this case, it’s not just her rule. It’s the spirits—they view the grove as sacred. Only the queen and her heir may enter.” She held up a hand, stopping him before he could object. “I know you went with me to the Aratayian grove, but this is Semo. Different grove, different spirits. Besides, I think it’s best not to agitate the spirits before I do this, don’t you? They’re already agitated enough.” She was speaking evenly and brightly, as if he were a child about to pitch a fit.
“Stop that,” he told her.
She furrowed her brow. “Stop what?” A hint of the anxiousness she had to be feeling crept into her voice. Good, he thought. She shouldn’t be calm about this. Alert and afraid was the best way to be. The best way to not die.
“You can say what you want to me,” Ven said. “You don’t need to protect me by pretending to be all right.”
Her shoulders sagged. “I love that about you.” She flopped into a nearby chair, another carved stone monstrosity smothered in pillows.
She loves me, he thought. This was the second time she’d said the word “love.” He realized he was grinning foolishly and tried to hide his smile within his beard. She’d said the words so casually, as if it were a matter of course, which made it feel even more true.
“You can still back out of this. We can find another way. Rescue Erian and Llor, and flee.”
“You say that like it would be easy. We’re outnumbered, on enemy territory, and Erian and Llor are guarded by her spirits—spirits I can’t control, not while Queen Merecot has her fist around them. Besides, I can’t abandon the people of Semo to their fate. Not to mention Aratay—if I don’t help, then Queen Merecot will go back to her delightful plan of assassination and invasion.”
“All the more reason for you not to be alone in the grove with her.”
Naelin closed her eyes and sighed. “If I die in there, promise me you’ll take Erian and Llor home. Bring them to Renet. He’ll look after them—he’s not as irresponsible as he used to be.”
“I’ll take care of them myself, if you want me to.” Kneeling before her, he took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles. Her fingers curled around his.
“Marry me,” she said.
He froze, mid-kiss. “Now?”
“Yes. Before I enter the grove.”
“You’re not going to die in there.” He’d never thought about marriage before, not to anyone, but if he was to marry, of course it would be to Naelin. He never wanted to be parted from her—he’d proved that by coming here. But a wedding? Now? This wasn’t a proposal; it was a pity gesture to the man she planned to leave behind with her glorious, sacrificial death.
“You just as much said you think Queen Merecot plans to murder me.” Her eyes popped open. “So marry me first. It will make a better song for your sister to sing.”
“That’s a ridiculous reason to marry.” His throat felt clogged. It was hard to force the words out and make them sound normal. He didn’t know how she could talk about her own death so matter-of-factly. His hands tightened around hers.
“Then marry me because you love me.” She leaned forward and looked at him with such intensity that it felt as if she were memorizing every feature of his face. He wished he had a less scruffy face to offer her.
“I do love you,” he said.
Naelin smiled, and he felt as if he were looking straight into the sun. And he knew in that instant he wouldn’t say no, not if this made her glow so much. “You made me feel when I didn’t want to feel anything anymore,” she said. “And now . . . Ven, I’m not going to die in there. You’re going to marry me, I’m going to take the spirits, and we’re going to bring them home with Erian and Llor.”
He smiled back, even though his heart hurt. “Good plan, Your Majesty.”
Merecot raised her eyebrows at Ambassador Hanna. “I suppose a few hundred spirits will make an adequate wedding present?” She’d chosen to meet with the ambassador in the gardens, because the sculptures reminded her of what a queen could do with her power when she wasn’t worrying about volcanoes and avalanches and other spirit-born disasters.
The pebbles crunched as Hanna rolled over them. “I’m sure that would suffice, especially if a few could be wrapped in ribbons.”
Her eyebrows shot higher. “Continually surprises me that you have a sense of humor.”
“Mmm. Queen Naelin wished me to convey that she doesn’t want to inconvenience you or your people. If you could but supply a dignitary to officiate—”
Merecot waved away her words. “Bah, we can do more than that. Semo would be delighted and honored to host such an event. In fact, the courtiers will be giddy with joy. They’ll make it a night to remember.” Probably drench the entire castle in diamonds in honor of the event. And the city itself would be celebrating for weeks . . . but that might be a good thing. This will be excellent for public opinion. First, a lavish party, and then a solution to the spirit problem. Granted, it wasn’t the solution she’d planned, but she could work with it for now.
In fact, she already had several ideas. When she had time, she’d have to share them with Queen Jastra. But first, she had a wedding to plan!
As she began to make lists in her head—at least twelve musicians, an array of food including their most traditional Semoian dishes . . . oh, and they’d use the West Room of course, festooned with whatever fripperies her courtiers wanted—Merecot beamed at Hanna. “A royal wedding in Semo! Songs will be written about it. Horrible, sappy, romantic songs, but it will be a nice change from the usual ballads about death and mayhem.” Perhaps she could have a portion of the evening devoted to songsmiths debuting their newest creations—after I excuse myself for the night, so I won’t have to listen to their warbling.