Champion Havtru answered for her. “Cajara’s a family friend. She only has affinity for a couple of spirits. Came along for the experience.”
He’s a terrible liar, Arin thought. It was a flimsy excuse to bring someone across the border. “You should say she’s your niece at least. Recently lost her parents to spirits, you’re the only family she has left, and she refused to be left behind.”
“Huh. Plausible enough.”
Renet’s eyes bulged. “Wait—Cajara’s a candidate?”
“She’s just my niece,” Havtru said, trying out the lie.
Cajara glanced up, met Arin’s eyes, then looked down again. Her eyes are more lilac than gray, Arin thought. “It’s close to true,” Cajara said. “Champion Havtru feels like my only family.” Her voice was so light that her words were nearly lost in the night breeze.
Champion Havtru patted her shoulder. “Just call me Uncle Havtru.”
“Congrats on your new family,” Arin said to her.
She offered a quick, shy smile, so fast that Arin almost didn’t see it in the flicker of campfire light.
Arin wanted to ask her more, not about her family—that wasn’t get-to-know-you talk—but about her: what she thought about where they were and where they were going, whether she wanted to be here, whether she felt like she had to. Before she could frame any questions into words, Cajara shot to her feet.
“What is it?” Champion Havtru was on his feet only a second later, his bow in his hand. He reached for an arrow from his quiver. Renet stood more awkwardly and drew a dagger from his waist.
Pointing north, Cajara whispered, “The spirits at the border. Look.”
At first Arin couldn’t see anything through the birch trees. But then her eyes picked out movement: loosely shaped like humans but vastly larger, the Semoian spirits were drawing together along the border, side by side.
“What are they doing?” Arin whispered.
From what she could tell, the giant spirits weren’t doing anything but standing in a row. Are they going to attack? But they weren’t facing Aratay. They were looking northward.
“Waiting,” Cajara said softly.
“For what?” Arin asked.
Cajara was silent for a moment, with that faraway look that Arin’s sister always got when she was speaking with the spirits. “For something wonderful to happen,” she said. “Or something terrible.”
They waited too.
The spirits didn’t budge.
Night darkened around them, and the fire dwindled. Renet gave up on the vigil and tended to the fire. Champion Havtru kept his bow in his hand but didn’t notch an arrow. Cajara didn’t move.
While they watched the border, Arin watched her. She couldn’t put her finger on why the other girl was so fascinating. It wasn’t as if she’d talked much. But there was something both strong and vulnerable about her at the same time. It made Arin want to get to know her better.
Why am I thinking about her when I should be worrying about the spirits?
Then Cajara gasped and staggered back. Champion Havtru reached out and caught one arm, stopping her before she fell into the fire. Arin automatically braced her on her other side. She didn’t let go, even when Cajara steadied herself. “Are you all right?” Arin asked.
“I . . . don’t know. Yes.”
“What happened?” Champion Havtru asked.
“Something. Everything. I don’t know.”
She wouldn’t—or couldn’t—explain more. A few times she started to try to put whatever she’d felt into words, and then she’d stop, fall silent, and shake her head.
Eventually, the stone giants on the border shuffled away, and the four travelers climbed into their bedrolls and stole bits of sleep until dawn crept across them. Arin dreamed of stone crushing her and of the earth gaping open beneath her feet.
When Arin opened her eyes, it took her a minute to remember where she was, who she was with, and why she was here. And it took another minute to process the fact that there was a feathered air spirit perched on Cajara’s wrist.
Fully awake now, Arin bit back a shriek.
“It’s delivering a message,” Cajara said quietly. She seemed amused at Arin’s alarm, though it was hard to read her expression. She might have been merely happy that the sky was blue.
Cajara nodded at Champion Havtru, who was reading a parchment that must have been rolled around the spirit’s leg—it still had a curl to the paper from being rolled up. Going back to looking at the spirit, she stroked the feathers on its neck.
Arin watched her for a moment. “So you’re just a family friend—excuse me, niece—with affinities for only a few spirits?”
“Yes.” Meeting her eyes steady, Cajara added in her soft, sweet voice, “And the queens want you to go to Semo to help.”
“That’s right,” Arin said.
And Cajara smiled at her—a smile so amazing, so just for her, that Arin felt herself blush. “Then I’d guess we’d better go to Semo together,” Cajara said.
And Arin couldn’t help but think, I’d go with her anywhere.
Chapter 24
Ven wanted to leave without any fanfare, but Naelin said no, they couldn’t sneak away like thieves. Queen Merecot’s people deserved to know all was well, she argued. So Ven gritted his teeth and suffered through a ridiculous farewell ceremony that involved an endless stream of praise, platitudes, and other ridiculous nonsense.
They’d be leaving Ambassador Hanna in Semo with Queen Merecot to handle the aftermath—they’d mutually decided not to share the details of what happened in the grove until after Ven, Naelin, and the children had passed beyond the borders of Semo. After they were long gone, Hanna would support Merecot in revealing that they’d jointly solved the problem of restless spirits, with a whole bunch of vague statements. There would be a lot more celebrating. But they’ll celebrate without us, Ven thought. And more important, without that spirits-be-damned tight shirt.
That thought cheered him up.
Once the official farewell was complete, Ven and Naelin mounted two flying water spirits, formerly Merecot’s but now tied to Naelin—not that anyone in the crowd knew that. The spirits were shaped like winged horses but had scales like a fish. Sparkly fish scales. Ven was trying not to think about how ridiculous he looked riding one.
As the Semoians cheered, they took to the sky.
The people of Semo believed the newlyweds were on their way to celebrate their marriage, alone and far from prying eyes, per Semoian tradition. In truth, they planned to circle back to the castle, scoop up Erian and Llor, and then exit the country with a few hundred spirits in tow.
Not as romantic, but a lot more practical.
Airborne, he clung to his mount as Naelin led them in a circle, behind a mountain peak, and then out again on the opposite side of the castle. The children would be waiting for them in the third spire—the windows were to be left open so Naelin and Ven could fly directly inside. Erian and Llor would be waiting, ready to go, Merecot had assured them.
Ahead, Ven spotted the spire with the open window, exactly as Merecot had described. He ducked as they flew inside, even though the window was broad enough for twice his height. His spirit landed and folded its wings.
“Erian? Llor?” Naelin was calling.
“They should be right here, waiting for us.” Ven dismounted. He’d been there when Merecot sent instructions to her guards, before the wedding ceremony had begun—Naelin had insisted on human guards, not spirits. She didn’t trust the Semoian spirits, no matter how good Merecot claimed her control was.
Naelin’s voice was tight. “They should be.
“But they’re not.”
Naelin tried not to panic. Not to think the worst.
But she’d lost them once before.
Not again. Not twice. Not when we were so close to bringing them home! “Merecot promised they’d be here. She promised to keep them safe, with guards. Where are their guards? Where are my children!”
Ven shoved at the door. Kicked it.
Solid, it didn’t even creak.