Carefully, as calmly as she could manage, Naelin broke the shocked silence with the most important question: “Is it true that Queen Jastra went into the untamed lands and came out again?”
“She certainly did,” Merecot said in a ragged voice. “Fool that she was.” The insult lacked bite, though. Her cheeks were wet with tears. But Naelin didn’t have enough room in her heart and mind to worry about Merecot’s feelings.
Naelin felt as if an ocean were surging inside her. If Queen Jastra can do it, so can I. I can search for them. I can find them. She met Ven’s eyes, and knew he was thinking the same thing. Erian and Llor could still be alive! They could rescue them! If they dared. If she were strong enough. I have to be.
“You’re thinking of doing it too, going into the untamed lands,” Merecot accused. “You can’t. You have to take the excess spirits to Aratay, as we agreed—they can’t stay here.”
She was right. The spirits couldn’t stay here. Naelin felt them, clawing at the back of her mind, buzzing like a hundred mosquitoes. If she left them, they’d be essentially queenless, worse than if she’d never come at all.
“What if instead of taking the extra spirits to Aratay . . .” Naelin said slowly, the idea solidifying as she spoke. “. . . What if . . . I take them with me back to the untamed lands?”
“You’ll die,” Merecot said bluntly. “Jastra spent years preparing for her trip. Only a powerful and well-trained queen can leave the known world and hope to survive. You fit the first adjective; fail on the second.”
“I won’t be going alone.” She’d have all the excess spirits with her—a veritable army. And she’d have Ven by her side. She looked at her champion.
Ven nodded. “You won’t be going alone.”
“Aw, how sweet,” Merecot said. “You’ll both die.” Crossing to the door, she summoned her guards. “Please see that Queen Jastra’s body is taken to the Tomb of Queens. And clean this room up.” There was a tremor in her voice that she almost successfully hid—Naelin heard a hint of it as Merecot turned back to her and Ven. “You’re serious about this?
“Tell us where your spirits entered the untamed lands,” Ven demanded. “That will give us a starting point. Even if Queen Jastra hijacked those particular spirits, you must be able to read the minds of spirits who saw them pass.”
Naelin watched as Merecot concentrated, her eyes unfocusing. For what seemed like the thousandth time, she thought, Can we trust her? She kidnapped Erian and Llor once; she could still be behind the second kidnapping. She could be manipulating them as some part of a broader, more elaborate plot to rule Semo and Aratay.
Her shock, though, had seemed genuine.
And there isn’t time for second-guessing. Every minute we waste is a minute too long.
At last, Merecot shook herself. “Stupid creatures returned to the only part of the border they knew: in Aratay, near the village of Redleaf, where they lost the Protector of Queens. I suppose that was the simplest order for Jastra to give them.”
If they’d flown that far, then maybe there was still a chance to catch them. “Please explain everything to Ambassador Hanna,” she said to Merecot. “And send word to Queen Daleina—she’ll need to know I won’t be bringing the spirits to the barren lands.”
Merecot’s eyebrows shot up. She spends most of her time looking at me as if I’m crazy, Naelin thought, when she’s the one who set all this in motion.
“You know Daleina won’t trust what I say,” Merecot said.
“Frankly, it doesn’t matter. She’ll feel it when we cross the border.” Naelin tried to think through if there was anything else she could do to prepare, anything else that would tip the odds from “impossible” to “merely difficult,” but everything inside her was screaming, Go, go, go!
With wind in their faces, they soared above the mountains. It was just past dawn, and the sun was behind them, shedding light on all the rocks beneath them. Ought to make it across Semo into Aratay by tonight, Ven thought. The spirits would have flown straight. So can we.
It helped if he thought of this as an ordinary hunt. Follow the trail, find the prey.
Maybe we can make up time.
We have to.
As they crossed another mountain, he heard a whoosh and then the sky was filled with spirits: hundreds of them, rising up from the canyons and valleys. Beside him, with her arms spread wide, Naelin had her eyes closed and was arched back. Wind streamed her hair backward, and the spirits flew all around her. Below, more ran across the ridges and peaks of the mountains—streaks of gold and red and black.
The spirits without a land, he thought. Her spirits.
Some of them flew closer, and he saw their eyes, filled with fire or darker than night. One hissed, showing three rows of wolflike teeth. Another spat crimson spittle into the air. It seared onto the back of another, and the injured spirit howled, whipping around to strike at the spitting spirit with talons as long as swords.
Oh, great.
He’d never hunted with an army before. Especially one that had zero discipline and even less loyalty, to either their Queen or each other.
This is going to be interesting.
With her new spirits, Naelin flew across Semo. She felt their minds pressing in on hers, as if they wanted to swallow her whole—thoughts, memories, feelings. Over and over again, she saw the moments that shaped her: the day her family died, the day she married Renet, the day Erian was born and the day Llor was born, the day she met Ven, the day she lost her children, the day she found them . . . but the spirits always wanted more. They rummaged through her mind, exposing little memories: the croon of a lullaby sung by her mother, the sound of sizzling eggs, the taste of fresh berries, the smell of fresh laundry in the spring breeze, the feel of Ven’s lips on hers, the way her body shook when she laughed hard enough, the sensation of brushing her hair . . . so many little details at once that she felt bombarded.
She didn’t feel the wind rushing on her face or see the snowcapped peaks below them, as her mind was plunged from memory to memory, and she was only vaguely aware when they crossed from Semo into Aratay. She didn’t notice when the sun blazed brilliant red on the horizon and the forest below sank into shadows, a vast dark sea of branches and dying leaves. She didn’t feel the night chill, and when, well after midnight, Ven called to her that they needed to stop, she needed to rest, she didn’t hear him until her spirit shrieked and jerked backward.
An arrow had flown by its face.
Ven was holding his bow.
With a pleasant smile on his face, he said, “Stop for the night?”
She didn’t want to. “Erian and Llor . . .”
“We can’t help them if we’re drained of all strength,” Ven said.
She knew he was right. And she felt the exhaustion in the smaller spirits. A few had flagged behind, far behind, and she knew she couldn’t leave them. She’d taken on this responsibility, and she couldn’t leave them queenless in Aratay, to kill and destroy.
Yet it meant her children were alone. And in danger. And maybe hurt, and certainly scared, and surely . . .
The grief hit her like a blow to the gut, and she almost collapsed into a heap as both the emotions and exhaustion swept through her. She needed to rest, but she didn’t dare rest. She needed to do her duty, and yet the only duty that mattered was to her family.
How can I possibly do this?
She looked over and saw Ven watching her. And while there was concern in his eyes, it wasn’t patronizing. It wasn’t pity. His eyes simply said, You can’t help anyone if you’re dead. In a way, it was a bit brutal. He knows how much this devastates me. Yet, that was almost certainly what he was trying to convey: empathy and commitment to her oaths. Brutal, yes. But necessary.
It was exactly what she needed.