“I never let it, even though they . . . I never let it hurt them, no matter what,” Cajara said. “And when she died . . . I went to Champion Havtru and told him I wanted to be his candidate.”
Hanna noticed instantly that Cajara said “she” instead of “it” for the spirit, which told her more than any of her other words what she needed to hear—and it wasn’t good. Or, it wasn’t what she knew to be good. Hanna trained her students to hold the spirits apart, to remember they weren’t human, to remember their instincts were fundamentally opposed to human life. But something about the way Cajara spoke . . . it intrigued her. She had to be sure, though . . .
“Queens don’t befriend spirits.”
“But they do save them, when they can,” Cajara said.
It was a good enough answer.
Hanna barked directions as Renet ran toward them. He had a woodsman’s knife in one hand and a bow and quiver of arrows on his back. He was panting. “The spirits are attacking!” he cried. “And your guard—”
“Yes, we are aware, Woodsman Renet,” Hanna said crisply. What did Naelin ever see in this idiot? Beyond them, Havtru, Evenna, Serk, and Tipi were fighting the spirits off, and Arin was lobbing vials and charm bundles at them. Her potions were at least as effective as Havtru’s sword—any spirit splashed by one of her liquids or pelted with one of her herb bundles either froze, burned, dropped, or ran.
“Queen Merecot is dead?” Renet asked.
“Apparently,” Hanna said.
Arin, puffing, ran back to them, excitement in her voice. “Then Daleina won?”
Knowing Daleina, she’d never call it winning. “I’d thank you not to say that while we are the only Aratayians within the Semo castle.” Merecot was my student too. I failed her. She hadn’t expected Daleina to resort to this. She’d trusted that Daleina meant peace when she said peace. Perhaps she changed. She had suffered at the hands of Merecot. Perhaps I misjudged her.
Perhaps, though, none of this matters right now. What matters is that we keep moving.
Hanna guided them through the halls as Havtru, Renet, and her guards fought off the spirits with their weapons, Arin battled them with her potions, and Cajara deflected them with her mind. The spirits were swarming the corridor—pebble-like earth spirits were burrowing through the floor and crawling over the walls and ceiling. An ice spirit, shaped like a snake with wings, slithered through the air, only to meet one of Arin’s potions. Hanna threw two more of her knives, and Havtru retrieved them for her.
At last, they reached the courtyard . . . the old, neglected one with the weeds and the broken flagstones. And the way to the grove, Hanna thought.
“You say you love the forest,” Hanna said to Cajara. “Can you learn to love the mountains?” Beside her, Renet was fending off a tiny earth spirit that had latched onto his ankle. Bounding over to him, Havtru pried it off and flung it against a pillar.
“Aratay is my home,” Cajara said.
“All of Renthia is your home,” Hanna said. She reached for another knife—she didn’t find one. She’d used them all. “And Renthia needs you. Will you answer her call?”
“I don’t understand,” Cajara said.
Arin grasped her hands. “She wants you to be queen, Cajara.”
“But I can’t—”
“You can! If you won’t believe in yourself, then I’ll believe in you for you. That’s what I did for Daleina. I always knew she could do it. And I know you can too.”
Hanna wheeled forward. “Summon an earth spirit, a large one from beneath this courtyard. You, my dear, must be the new queen of Semo, as soon as we can reach the grove.” She expected Cajara to protest more—she wasn’t ready. Hanna knew it, Havtru knew it, Cajara knew it. She couldn’t have been training for more than a few months, with less raw power at her disposal than Naelin. But Hanna did not know how to reach the true heirs of Semo within the damaged castle—Cajara was here, and Hanna was the only one who knew how to find the grove.
She spared a brief thought to wonder if Merecot had intended this outcome, as a backup, but then dismissed it. Merecot was too arrogant to conceive of defeat, and too selfish to consider the fates of the Semoian people if she should fall.
Regardless, Hanna didn’t have time to waste thoughts on Merecot, because the earth spirit burst through the courtyard. “Control it,” Hanna ordered.
“It’s strong!” Cajara yelled. Yet she isn’t backing down, Hannah thought. She can do this.
Sweat beaded on Cajara’s forehead as she fought to control the monstrous spirit. From above, other spirits swarmed toward them, drawn by the battle of wills between the candidate and the spirit.
Arin had positioned herself at Cajara’s back and was throwing powders and potions with deadly aim at the spirits, keeping them from Cajara, while the candidate focused on the earth spirit.
“We must ride it!” Hanna shouted. “Guards, defend us. Havtru, help me.” Hurrying to her, Havtru scooped her out of her chair. He carried her, running toward the spirit as Cajara fought to master it.
Hanna saw Serk fall, an ice spirit slicing him down the sternum. Shrieking, Tipi leapt forward, hacking at the spirit, shattering it beneath her blade.
Cajara was speaking out loud, soothing the bulbous earth spirit, and at last it bent its head down. Havtru tossed Hanna onto its back and climbed on behind her.
More spirits rushed into the courtyard. Larger spirits: stone monsters that looked like half bears and half men, a bull-like beast with a snake’s tongue and fangs, and three serpents with diamond scales.
We aren’t going to make it, Hanna thought.
Cajara climbed onto the earth spirit’s back, behind Havtru and Hanna. She held her hand out, and grabbing it, Arin scrambled up.
“Evenna! Tipi! Fall back!” Hanna ordered. But she could already see they were too far away, enmeshed in their own battles. Both were wounded—Evenna’s shoulder was charred and blackened, and Tipi had streaks of blood like tears on her cheeks.
“Go, we’ll hold them!” Evenna ordered.
Hanna wanted to close her eyes. She’d seen this too many times before. But this felt worse, because they weren’t just dying—they’re dying for me.
I can’t waste their sacrifice.
“Renet, hurry!” Havtru called.
“I’ll hold them back too!” Renet said. “Go!” Charging forward to join the two remaining Aratayian guards, he fought the spirits, hacking at them as if they were trees he was trying to fell, buying them precious time. “Tell my children to be proud of me! I’ve finally done something useful!” And then a spirit stabbed with its claws hand through Renet’s stomach. He doubled over.
He’d been a fool . . . but he was a brave one. I’ll tell them, she thought. He will be honored. If we survive.
“Tell the spirit to go,” Hanna ordered. “Now.”
Carrying them, the earth spirit dove deep into the ground.
In the Queen’s Grove in Aratay, Hamon felt searing agony as a fire spirit’s fist slammed into his shoulder. He heard himself scream, but the sound was lost in the cries of dozens of spirits all around them. His eyes locked onto Daleina’s for a brief moment before she was swept away, fighting both Merecot and the spirits.
He fell to his knees. They hit hard, but he barely felt it.
His hearing felt muffled, as if cotton were shoved into his ears. He felt pain rippling across his body, and he waited, unable to flee, for the final strike.
It didn’t come.
Instead the fire spirit dissolved in front of him, compressing into ash. His mother slapped a cool mass of leaves over her shoulder. “Hold that there,” she instructed.
His hands, shaking, held the poultice. It was radiating coolness through his body. It chilled his fingers as he touched it. His thoughts were swimming, connecting slowly together, as his mother stood in front of him, legs straddled wide, with charms in each hand. She was screaming insults at the spirits as she hurled charms at them.