Naelin felt her heart beat so fast that it hurt inside her rib cage. It was hard to swallow. “Erian! Llor!” She reached for a spirit—her mind curled around one of her new earth spirits.
Grabbing control of it wasn’t as easy as with an Aratayian spirit, but she gave it no option to squirm away. She called it to her, and she felt it scurry up the side of the tower, making holes in the rock wall with its stone fists until it clambered over the windowsill.
It was a squat, stone creature with a tortoiseshell back. It stood on its hind legs and regarded her with cold, liquid eyes. Open that door, Naelin commanded.
How? it asked. Its mental voice felt like loose gravel pouring through her mind.
Bash it down.
The spirit liked that order.
It rammed its body against the thick door, splintering the wood around the hinges, until it had battered through. Ven gave the wood a kick, and then he stepped through the broken frame.
Naelin heard him gasp, and she felt a surge of glee from the earth spirit. She caught a glimpse through its eyes: red, smeared on the castle walls, and knew instantly:
The guards are dead.
“Where are my children?” she asked again. She felt her body begin to shake. “What has Merecot done with my children?” Sending her mind out again, she grabbed the nearest Semoian spirit—it wasn’t one of hers. She felt it resist her, but she forced it to come anyway.
Tell me what happened here.
It didn’t know.
She sorted through its memories, but found nothing of Erian and Llor. Naelin reached for another spirit—it too knew nothing. “This is too slow. I need Hanna.”
“I’ll bring her,” Ven promised.
“Hurry,” she growled.
Ven ran through the castle—he knew exactly where to find Ambassador Hanna, in her room with her four guards. He spoke as few words as possible: “Attack on the children. Naelin needs you.” And then he and the guards were carrying Hanna and her chair back through the castle, up the spire, as quickly as possible.
A few Semoians tried to stop them and question them.
He barreled through them, not caring who they alerted, and then up the stairs, past the murdered guards.
Ven would not be stopped.
Don’t let me be too late. Don’t let Naelin have done anything stupid. If she were to confront Merecot before they located the children . . . They didn’t know what Merecot wanted, or what she planned to do with them this time.
He heard Hanna gasp as she saw the dead guards and then swear colorfully when they barged through the door. Lowering Hanna’s chair to the ground, he surged forward, ready to defend his new wife, and then stopped—
Naelin was seated cross-legged in the center of the room.
She’s fine, he thought with relief. But the spirits aren’t.
Dozens of tiny Semoian spirits lay strewn around her, moaning in pain.
“Teach me how to do it,” Naelin commanded Hanna. “How do I winnow through all their minds to find the spirits who know what happened? Some of them must have seen. This castle and these mountains are full of spirits. At least one must know what happened to my children!”
Another fire spirit fell onto the hearth. It struggled as if against an invisible hand. Naelin held the spirit with her eyes as the spirit writhed.
Hanna did not reply. Instead, she ordered her four guards to check the bodies, to see if anyone had survived, though from the quantity of blood Ven knew that was useless. She also ordered them to watch for any rogue spirits.
“Shout if you need us, Ambassador,” Evenna said. Then she and the other guards jogged back into the corridor. “Champion, we’re trusting you to protect her.”
Ven circled back to push Hanna’s chair closer, but she held up a hand to stop him. She beckoned to him, and he leaned down. Her voice was pitched low so Naelin couldn’t hear. “There’s little chance the children survived an attack this violent,” Hanna said heavily to Ven. “And there is a very strong chance that those Semoian spirits witnessed her children’s deaths firsthand, and a strong chance those deaths were not painless. If Naelin were to see that in their memories, through their eyes, and watch her children die . . . Think about what could happen if Naelin loses herself again to rage and despair. The spirits she’s linked to are barely under control. She’ll fuel them, and they’ll rip this land apart.”
“So? Let her rip it apart!” He caught himself. “No—I don’t mean that. We’ll keep her from destroying the world,” he tried to reassure Hanna.
“How?” Hanna asked.
“Somehow.”
“‘Somehow’ isn’t good enough.”
“It has to be good enough!” He held Hanna’s gaze for a long moment until she wilted. He felt an instant of guilt for that, bullying an old woman, but this was Naelin!
“If this fails, it’s on you.” With that, Hanna wheeled herself across the room, to where Naelin sat cross-legged, deep in concentration already.
Ven approached her as well, beside Hanna. He took Naelin’s hand in his.
Naelin didn’t open her eyes. “I will have answers.”
Softly, Ven said to Hanna, “Help her. Please.” He pleaded with his eyes—Help me save her, he thought—and at last she sighed again, this time a resigned sigh.
“Spirit memory is partially collective,” Hanna said. “They share thoughts. An event like this—where a spirit tied to Semo ventured into Aratay—would have spread and been dissected. You need to chase it down to where it’s brightest and strongest. I recommend focusing on a single image: the gold in the children’s hair, for instance.”
Ven watched as Hanna guided Naelin’s mind on her search. He’d never liked this part of being a champion, when he couldn’t follow his charge on her journey. He occupied himself with listening as the castle guards discovered the corpses.
Hanna’s four guards had remained in the hallway, and Ven heard them explain what little they knew. He heard their voices rise, as the castle guard threatened to call for the queen.
Not yet, he thought. First find the children. Then deal with the queen.
“Got one,” Naelin whispered.
“Draw it here,” Hanna said. “It will resist, but it may also be curious.”
Ven shifted his attention to the sky, and after a few minutes, he was rewarded: a familiar shape with leathery wings and a sharp beak hurtled toward the window. He didn’t move as the air spirit dived straight inside, aiming for Naelin.
Closer.
Almost . . .
He then struck, leaping to intercept the spirit, drawing his sword at the same time and striking, flat of the blade first, on the spirit’s neck—with the blade flat, it didn’t cut but the force of the strike drove the spirit down, as Ven intended. He hurled his weight against the spirit’s shoulder. In an instant, he had it down, his foot on its back, his blade pressing against its neck. He pinned it down on the stone floor.
“Search its mind,” Hanna said.
They held their breaths, watching Naelin concentrate.
At last, her eyes snapped open. “Two air spirits—exactly the same kind as before, which can’t be a coincidence—carried them away from the castle. Alive. Merecot did it again. She stole them away from me a second time, when I was so close I should have been able to stop her and save them!”
Stepping away, Ven released the spirit. With a cry, it reared back.
Naelin froze it in place with one glance.
It glared at her, murder in its eyes, but she didn’t spare it a second look.
“Ask it where it took them,” Ven urged. Maybe if they could follow them . . . I’d happily fly on spirits again if it means we can catch them. He didn’t know how much of a head start the spirits had. He thought of the bodies in the hallway—if he checked how fresh they were, that would give them some kind of time frame, but he didn’t want to leave Naelin.
“It doesn’t know,” Naelin said. “Its orders were to kill the guards.”
Hanna was frowning. “Why would Merecot want to kill her own guards . . . ?”
Naelin rose to her feet. “Let’s ask her that, as well as where the spirits are taking my children, before we destroy her.”
On this, Ven was in perfect agreement with his new wife.