The queen of Semo ignored that. “Of course, if things get truly out of hand, I can’t promise my endearingly rambunctious spirits won’t collapse the castle or shake down the mountain, but if it reaches that point, we’ll both be dead, so what does it matter?”
“Your selflessness is indeed worthy of legends,” Ven said.
Merecot smirked. “It will be.”
“You have guards watching my children?” Naelin asked. “They must be kept safe, or the deal is off.” She wanted to make even more threats: if any harm came to them, she’d unleash every spirit she controlled onto Semo. She’d tear this country apart rock by rock.
“I have my finest guards with them. All human guards, not spirits. Your precious darlings will be safer than anyone else in Semo. And hey, aren’t I supposed to be using them to threaten you?”
“Let’s just do this,” Naelin said through gritted teeth.
Merecot just smiled pleasantly at her people and said to Naelin, “When the time is right.”
The musicians played faster, and the Semoians flocked to the dance floor like bejeweled birds. Skirts swirling, the women danced in circles, lightly touching hands, while the men linked arms and marched first right, then left. Glasses were clinked. Laughter rose to the crystal chandeliers.
The hours passed.
On the dais, Naelin watched the sun sink. It did look as if a peak were piercing it. Tinged with blood, the sun spread as it descended into the mountains. “It’s time now.”
Queen Merecot nodded slightly and stepped forward. Raising her arms, she addressed the adoring crowd. With her eyes fixed on the sunset, Naelin didn’t listen to Merecot’s speech or pay attention to the music, dancing, and cheering that it spawned. The wedding guests tossed silver and gold ribbons into the air, and more glasses brimming with amber liquid were passed around.
As the music crescendoed, Ambassador Hanna rolled through the audience first, parting the crowd, and Naelin followed with Ven out of the West Room. Queen Merecot swept by with so much grace and elegance that a few of her subjects swooned when she passed them.
Everyone loves a wedding, Naelin remembered Merecot had said. It seemed she was right. The people all adored the bride and groom, their queen, and one another, at least for tonight.
Outside the West Room, Naelin released Ven so he could push Ambassador Hanna’s chair through the corridors. They didn’t speak as they crossed the castle. She wished she could have seen Erian and Llor after the wedding, tuck them into bed, and reassure them that all would be well.
Let’s just get this over with, and then we can all be together.
Two hallways from the West Room, Merecot ordered her guards to stay behind. Three hallways away, Hanna signaled to her guards to leave as well.
This part of the castle was silent, except for their footsteps and the crunch of Hanna’s wheels. On the walls, the tapestries were faded and frayed, and the stone behind the sconces was stained black from decades of smoke. Another corridor, and Naelin noticed the dust on the floor: there were no footprints. Cobwebs clung to the ceiling. Strange, Naelin thought. She knew Merecot wasn’t about to clean her own castle, but she had both caretakers and spirits at her command. She wondered why this wing of the castle had been ignored.
Unwatched, the two queens, the champion, and the ambassador entered a small courtyard lit only by the rising moon, a weak crescent vulnerable to the clouds. A few stars were visible.
Naelin glanced at Hanna, but the ambassador seemed unconcerned about the fact that they were in a forgotten part of the castle without any guards. She’d been similarly unfazed by the scope of the wedding ceremony. They’ve been talking behind my back, Naelin guessed. She wondered if that was cause for alarm and decided no, she trusted Hanna. Plus it was too late for alarm. She was committed now.
The courtyard looked abandoned: shriveled weeds filled the cracks between the stones, a few arches had crumbled and the rubble had never been removed, and the center of the square was loose dirt.
“What you are about to witness is a closely guarded secret,” Queen Merecot said. “The queens of Semo have traditionally hidden the location of the Semoian grove, in order to control which heir was able to replace them.”
Naelin walked forward. This can’t be the grove. It didn’t have that same sacred feeling of the Queen’s Grove in Aratay. She turned in a circle, looking at all the tumbled arches. It’s just a neglected, old courtyard.
“You hide your grove?” Ven asked, disbelief and disapproval clear in his voice.
“Impractical,” Ambassador Hanna said with a sniff. “Queens cannot always predict their deaths.” Naelin agreed with that—history was full of examples. It was why the canopy singers were so important: their drumbeats could spread word of the queen’s death before too many innocents died.
Beside her, she noticed Ven was also scanning the area, watching for threats—half his attention on Merecot and half on the courtyard. There were shadows everywhere: in the corners, behind half-dead trees, beside the rubble.
“One heir at all times must know how to reach the grove,” Merecot said. “Unfortunately, at this time, I haven’t chosen which heir to trust, perhaps because they all hate me. And each other too, but mostly me.”
“Even more impractical,” Hanna said.
Naelin agreed with her again. So many innocent people depended on the queen. To keep the location of the grove a secret was bad enough, but for Merecot to have gone this long without a successor voluntarily, while Queen Daleina sent her champions out in a desperate search for suitable candidates . . . “Impractical and irresponsible.”
“I don’t criticize your country,” Merecot snapped. “You shouldn’t criticize mine. Besides, it’s because of the power struggles between the heirs that I was able to become queen, and that was the best thing for Semo.”
She doesn’t lack for confidence, Naelin thought. She wondered if they’d misread her—if everything about Merecot was a misread. This could still be a trap.
“What you’re about to attempt is dangerous,” Ven said. “If the spirits rebel and you are killed, and no one knows the location of the grove . . .”
“That’s why I’ve invited Ambassador Hanna to accompany us, at least as far as this courtyard,” Merecot said. “Ambassador Hanna, you will remain here as insurance against our failure.”
Naelin glanced at Hanna, who raised her eyebrows and said, “I assumed I was invited to ensure neither of you dies in this endeavor.”
Merecot dismissed this. “You don’t have the power to ensure that. But you can watch how we access the grove, and if my spirits start slaughtering everyone, you can ensure that the death toll isn’t overly catastrophic by guiding an heir here. Any of the nitwits will do. You can always poison them if they prove inept.”
She’s so casual about lives, Naelin thought. Real men, women, and children were at risk, and Merecot didn’t care. She thought of Erian and Llor and hoped they had enough guards around them. At least Merecot had promised none of the guards were spirits. However, it didn’t stop her from saying, “You’re sickening.”
“I’m practical,” Merecot said. “Vast difference. Not everyone who is born is meant to survive. I have a responsibility to my people as a collective whole, not to any particular individual. But maybe that’s the difference between you and me. I value all my people equally. You cherish a few above all others. That’s why I’m a better queen than you are.”
I never pretended to be a good queen, Naelin thought. But I’m better than Merecot. Merecot was immature and immoral, a combination with the potential to turn deadly. Potential? No—she’s already proved deadly. Innocent Aratayians had suffered and were still suffering from the invasion, and think of all the candidates she’d had murdered! “You only care about yourself.”