“Until you need to yell at him again,” Erian pointed out. She carried a pitcher of water to the table. To Llor, she said, “Sometimes Father needs yelling at.”
Naelin’s mouth quirked into a smile. It was true. But she wished she didn’t feel like yelling at him so often. He meant well, usually, and he certainly hadn’t meant for any harm to come to Erian and Llor. It could have, though, she thought. They could have been killed. Her smile faded, and shivers ran up and down her spine again. She redoubled her efforts in mashing the herbs. Extra protection charms. That would help. And she’d string up garlic and onion, make the place smell so noxious that no spirit would want to come near it.
She heard the ladder creak outside.
“Father’s home!” Llor cried. He ran to the window and threw open the shutters.
Dropping the pestle, Naelin rushed to the window and pulled her son back. “Ask first.” She tried not to let fear into her voice. Windows weren’t safe right now, not until she was sure the spirits had lost interest in her. She closed the shutters and latched them.
“He’s early,” Erian observed. “Do you think something’s wrong?”
With Renet, it could be anything: a spirit attack, a forgotten lunch, or he simply didn’t feel like working today. That had happened before. Sometimes it was nice, like when he’d sweep the whole family away on an impromptu picnic, and sometimes it wasn’t, like when he’d come home furious about some imaginary slight that was obviously her fault. Regardless, she wasn’t in the mood for his whims today. “Renet, is that you?” she called.
“Yes!” he called back. He sounded cheerful.
She wasn’t certain if that made her relieved or annoyed. Both, she decided.
“I’ve brought guests!”
This time, she was the one to open the shutters and lean out the window. Looking down, she saw only her husband on the ladder. And then she felt eyes on her. Skin prickling, she looked up sharply, expecting to see more spirits, but instead two people, a man and a woman, were perched on branches directly opposite their house.
These were not her husband’s usual friends. Not only had she never seen them before, but they didn’t look like anyone she’d ever seen. The man was tall, very tall, with a salt-and-pepper beard, hard blue eyes, and an old scar on his forehead. He had a bow and quiver on his back, as well as a travel sack, and wore green leathers that looked as if they’d seen a lot of tree bark. He was the kind of dangerous handsome that the women from town liked to whisper about. Staring at him, Naelin had to force herself to tear her eyes away in order to examine his companion, a lithe woman with bare, muscled arms, curls pinned back from her face, and knives strapped to her calves. She was watching Naelin as if Naelin were a squirrel, a tasty, plump squirrel that the woman was considering for dinner. Naelin wanted to close the shutters and tell Renet to take his “friends” back where they came from. But these didn’t look like the kind of people you were rude to, at least not safely.
Champions, her mind whispered, but then she pushed that thought away. It couldn’t be. Renet had promised. Besides, wouldn’t champions look more regal? These two looked like wild hunters, the kind of people who roamed the forest without a permanent home.
Before she could decide what to do, Llor was tugging at the door, and Erian was undoing the locks. Llor tumbled backward as the door swung open. Reversing direction, he launched himself forward and hugged Renet’s leg. “Father! Don’t worry. Mother’s not still mad. She said she wouldn’t yell at you anymore.”
Renet glanced at her, his expression like a toddler with chocolate on his face who expects to be smacked but doesn’t regret the chocolate. Please, she thought. Please, tell me these aren’t champions. Please say you didn’t do it. He’d done something, though—that much was clear.
When had their marriage become like this? At the start, they’d been so happy. He’d made her laugh like no one else ever could. He’d taught her to dance, and she’d taught him to read, at least a little—he hadn’t been a very good student, and she hadn’t been a strict teacher. They used to spend moonlit nights on the roof, catching glimpses of the stars through the leaves. They used to skinny-dip in the forest pools. But that was years ago. Now she couldn’t remember the last time they’d laughed together, or even seemed to be having the same conversation. Somewhere along the way, they stopped being able to talk without shouting, and their easy friendship had slipped away, argument by argument. “Who are your friends?” she asked as the man and woman came through the door.
He turned to them and bowed slightly. “May I present my wife, Naelin.”
“And me!” Llor tugged on his father’s shirt. “Present me next.” He said the word “present” carefully, copying his father.
Renet ruffled his hair. “This is my son, Llor, and my daughter, Erian.”
Erian curtseyed and then drifted closer to Naelin. Automatically, Naelin put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders. She didn’t blame Erian for being wary of these newcomers. She certainly was. They seemed to fill the house just with their presence.
Llor hopped over to the man. “Is that a longbow? Can I see it? Is it hard to pull?”
“Llor, don’t pester him,” Erian said.
Naelin squeezed Erian’s shoulders before letting her go and stepping forward. “Welcome to our home. I’m sorry, but Renet didn’t say your names. . . .”
The man ducked to fit under one of the rafters. Drying herbs brushed his hair. “I am Ven, Queen’s Champion. And my companion is Captain Alet, a member of the royal guard.”
She felt as if all the air had been siphoned out of the room. It was harder to breathe. She sucked in more air, aware she was gasping, unable to stop. This was at the same time the worst and most wonderful thing she could have imagined. A champion, here. Queen Daleina’s own champion, in her home!
“Wow,” Llor said, his eyes as wide as an owl’s, “you’re a hero.”
“What’s the queen like?” Erian asked breathlessly at the same time. To the woman, she asked, “Are you her personal guard? Do you know her? Is she as beautiful as they say?”
“More beautiful,” the guardswoman said gravely.
“Did she really defeat a hundred spirits by herself?” Erian asked.
“I heard they flee when they see her!” Llor jumped in. “She just has to look at them, and they run. I heard she tore one apart with just a word! And she destroys them too and sets their trees on fire from miles and miles and miles away!”
“She can do all that,” the royal guard said.
Llor’s mouth opened in a silent “wow.” He was staring at the champion and the guard as if they’d descended from the sky above the forest. Naelin understood—she’d told tales about Queen Daleina and her champion to Llor (and Erian, who claimed she was too old for bedtime stories, but always listened in). Queen Daleina was the one who kept them all safe. She was Aratay’s protective charm, the woman who battled fear and won. And this was the man who’d taught her.