A guard boomed, “The duke of Pellian!”
A man in a fur-trimmed robe stomped into the throne room. “Your Majesty, I demand to know why your spirits didn’t fix the North Bridge before beginning on the Southern Crossroad. It’s inexcusable that the bridge to my region should be neglected when trade from the Pellian Mountains comprises half of all trade in Arkon, a fact that you should know by now, if you cared at all about our country—”
As Cajara shrank back farther and farther into her throne, Arin wanted to yell at the man to make him stop shouting at her. But then she had a better idea.
Reaching into her pocket, Arin stepped forward. And blew a puff of powder in his face.
He collapsed to the floor, asleep.
“Arin!” Cajara half yelped, half whispered.
“Tell the spirits to fix the bridge,” Arin suggested. “We’ll wake him when it’s done.” She crossed the throne room and poked her head out the door. “Could you please ask Ambassador Hanna to come to the throne room? And don’t admit anyone else, especially the seneschal, per order of your queen.” She then returned to Cajara, who looked as if she couldn’t decide whether to wring her hands or burst out laughing.
“If all it will take is time,” Arin said firmly, in a tone she’d learned from Daleina, “then we’ll buy time.”
Cajara settled on laughing, quietly, with tears pricking her eyes. Looking at the snoring man flopped on the very ornate mosaic throne-room floor, Arin started laughing too.
They were still giggling when Ambassador Hanna rolled into the throne room. She stopped just shy of the sleeping duke’s feet. “Do I even want to know?” she asked mildly.
Cajara swallowed her laughter and wiped her eyes. “Arin was just reminding me that I’m here to be queen.” She began to look pale and frightened again as worry crept into her voice, and Arin reached out and took her hand. “Have I . . . Do you think we made things worse?”
Hanna snorted, then peered down at the man. “He’s the one who’s been going on and on to everyone about how you haven’t fixed the North Bridge, isn’t he? I assume he came in here ranting and raving?”
Cajara nodded.
“Serves him right then,” Hanna said. “He should have asked nicely. Only fools insult queens, even new queens.”
Beside her, Arin felt Cajara relax. She squeezed Cajara’s hand again, encouraging her. “When he wakes,” Cajara asked tentatively, “could you tell him that the North Bridge is fixed?”
“Will it be?”
“The spirits are there now.”
A smile spread across Hanna’s face. “Clever, girls. Very clever. When he wakes, I’ll tell him his queen works miracles. Let him spread that story instead. Perhaps I’ll also mention that he should work on his courtly manners.”
“Will you . . . will you meet with people like him, for me? Find out what they need?” Cajara asked, her voice still shaky and thin.
“Good idea. There’s no need for all your time to be swallowed in meetings,” Hanna approved. “I’d be happy to be your go-between.”
“And I want to replace the seneschal,” Cajara said, sounding braver.
“Excellent.” Hanna sounded satisfied. “Never liked her. She let too many people pester you. This is a step forward. You don’t need to tolerate people who don’t respect you. And you don’t need to speak with everyone who has a grievance. You aren’t Queen Daleina. You’re Queen Cajara, and you’ll do things your way.”
Glancing at the duke, Hanna added in a pained voice, “Except maybe try not to put everyone to sleep.”
Arin and Cajara exchanged glances and, heroically, managed not to laugh.
Across Renthia, in the icy kingdom of Elhim, first whispers then rumors trickled in: the queens of Aratay and Semo had tried and failed to kill their spirits, and a new queen, called the Mother of the Wild, had tamed a piece of the wilderness that lay beyond the borders of the world.
Queen Xiya of Elhim listened to it all, with her beloved daughter beside her.
“Mother, is it possible? Can the untameable be tamed?” her daughter asked.
“Of course not, Kaeda. It’s only a story, a fable to instruct or entertain. You must concentrate on your studies and not be distracted by nonsense.” She then smiled at her daughter. “Now, show me what you’ve made.”
Cupping her hands together, Kaeda held up a rose made of ice.
Caught in its heart was a tiny spirit.
“Very nice,” Xiya approved.
As Kaeda beamed at her creation, she seemed to have forgotten all about the nonsensical rumors. But Xiya couldn’t forget. She woke in the night, wondering at what the truth was.
Rising, the queen of Elhim wrapped a robe around her shoulders and crossed to a bay of windows. Looking out the frost-laced windows of her ice palace, she wondered what lay beyond her borders, beyond the glaciers. She wondered if perhaps she should find out.
In Chell, Queen Gada heard the rumors and believed them, especially the part about the queen of Aratay and the queen of Semo joining forces, however briefly. That was the kind of rumor she worried about.
As she dismissed the anxious messenger, she weighed her options:
Do nothing.
Send an envoy.
Send an army.
Or perhaps a little of all three. Gada prepared envoys to congratulate the current queen of Aratay on retaining her throne, the new queen of Semo on gaining her throne, and the new queen of . . . whatever the new land was called . . . on whatever it was she did.
She then quietly readied her army.
Just in case.
And then she waited.
Word did not reach the islands of Belene at all.
And it wouldn’t, until Garnah reached those storm-battered shores. But that would not be for many months, and Garnah would be careful whom she told.
Panting, with her skirt hitched up, Daleina climbed the stairs to the Chamber of the Queen’s Champions. She stopped at the top, smoothed her skirt, and made a mental note to make a second chamber of champions much lower down in the palace, as soon as all the vital repairs elsewhere in Aratay were done. Which may be never, Daleina thought cheerfully. There was always another bridge that needed to be fixed, school that had to be built, and village that wanted to expand—and that in and of itself was amazing.
It was nice to be needed for tasks that didn’t involve preventing imminent death.
Given all that had happened, it was extraordinary that there were people in Aratay left to want bridges and schools and villages, and spirits left to built them. It could have so easily happened differently, she thought. She could have failed to stop Merecot, and everyone down to the very last man, woman, and child could have died. She could have been the last queen of Aratay, and her home could have ceased to exist.
Daleina wasn’t going to forget how close she’d come to the death of everything. Lifting her face, she felt the breeze and inhaled the sharp bite of coming cold. It would be winter soon, and she’d had the spirits whipped into a frenzy, growing berries and nuts for the people to store, building warmer shelters for everyone who had lost theirs. She’d kept them so busy that they hadn’t had a moment to dwell on their usual anger and hatred. We survived, spirits and humans, and that is extraordinary.
She’d spent time after she and Merecot had left the grove wallowing in guilt—she’d been the one to agree to Merecot’s plan. She’d abdicated and placed the future of her people at risk. The deaths that had occurred before she’d been able to claim the crown again were on her head, and before she’d wed, she’d led a funeral service in honor of all who had fallen.