Yes! That’s right!
Her vision split, and she saw through their eyes as they poured their energy into the acorn. The nut split open, and a tendril of green burst from its brown shell. It unfurled. Still laughing, the tree spirits danced faster, a whirl around her. She felt the sprout thicken and grow. More leaves poked out of it, and she felt as if the leaves were poking out of her flesh. Below, the earth spirit softened the soil, and the acorn’s roots shot through the ground, thickening and hardening. The tree shot toward the sky, higher and higher, growing thicker and thicker. Branches stabbed out from it.
Shape it, she ordered the spirits. She pictured the trunk opening wide to form houses within. The branches were to be stairs, rooms were to be formed and shaped as if carved out of the soft inner wood. She pressed this image out toward the spirits, and they howled—they wanted the tree to be wild and free; she wanted it to be a new home for the villagers who lived on the forest floor, a safe home, above the dangers of the wolves and bears and countless creatures who hunted at night.
She pressed harder and harder, bearing down on the spirits, filling their minds, and they in turn forced the tree to grow in the shape she pictured. Grow higher, wider, like this . . . She added more rooms and more. This tree would house many. Above, the branches spread into a canopy, blotting out the sun.
And then, without warning, her mind went dark.
Sightless, she heard the spirits shrieking and then heard the men and women screaming—for her, for themselves—as she toppled onto the churned dirt.
Chapter 2
She woke to blood: on the dirt, on the trees, on her skin. It even seemed to stain the sky, until her mind woke enough to realize that she was seeing her white skirts, billowing in the wind, not the clouds overhead. Around her, she heard shrieking, shrill, mixed with laughter that was as wild as a tornado. The spirits were creating the wind as they swirled through the grove.
Suddenly, pain shot through her leg, sharp and fast, and she screamed, loud and high. Jerking forward, she clutched at her thigh, and a tree spirit skittered away from her on all fours. Leering, it wiped her blood from its mouth.
“No!” she shouted. “Stop!”
There was blood, as if it had been flung from a bucket, in every direction. Her mind took an extra second to understand what she was seeing: the spirits had torn the men and women to pieces and thrown their body parts around the grove. That, there—it wasn’t a root; it was a leg. And that was a torso, cracked open like a shellfish and then shredded. Daleina balled up every bit of her mind that wasn’t screaming and threw it at the spirits. Stop! I am your queen, and I command you, stop now!
All stilled.
The spirits hung in the air. All of them stared at her with their blank, translucent eyes. One held the head of a woman. Blood pooled on the ground below and sank into the moss, staining it a deep russet red.
You will obey me.
One of them laughed, shrill, and then fell instantly silent as Daleina, forcing away the pain, pushed herself up to sitting and then slowly stood. She felt the blood run down her leg, warm and wet, and her knees shook. But she stayed upright. She reached with her mind toward the one who had laughed.
Burn, she commanded.
It twisted and writhed, screamed and cried, but she held her order firmly in her mind. The spirit began to fade, growing more and more faint, and she knew elsewhere in the forest, a great tree burned, wreathed in fire spirits. She’d learned this since she’d become queen: kill a wood spirit and a tree dies, but kill the right tree and a spirit dies. Reaching farther, she called to the water spirits.
Do not let the fire spread, she told them.
She watched the fading tree spirit. It continued to contort itself, its face now more childlike. It wept tears of polished amber. In only seconds, the spirit vanished, and all that remained was a pile of yellow jewels.
Across the forest, the fire died with the tree. Daleina half felt and half saw the water spirits douse the embers, seeing it distorted through their eyes. At last, the ashes were cold, and the spirits danced as if oblivious to the death of their kin.
She turned then to the others, who held themselves still and silent.
Build.
She felt their relief and joy as they flew up toward the branches and wanted to rip that feeling from them. . . . No, I can’t hurt them. Clamping down on her feelings, she let the spirits build, and the tree began to grow again, shaped into the village she had planned. She pivoted slowly, painfully, to face the bodies of the villagers who had come to watch.
They were all dead.
Except no, the old woman still breathed. She lay on the ground, unmarked except for a dark wet patch on her stomach. Daleina took a step toward her, and her leg crumpled under her. Gritting her teeth, she crawled the rest of the way. She lay beside the old woman.
The woman opened her tiny eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Daleina said. It’s my fault. They’re dead, and it’s my fault. I was supposed to protect them. They trusted me, and I failed. . . .
“Kill me,” the woman whispered.
“I’ll fetch healers . . .” She should have told Hamon to meet her here, or at least let Bayn join her. The wolf could have held some of the spirits off, or also been killed. I should have made them leave. I shouldn’t have come at all.
“Won’t heal.” The woman moved her gnarled hand to shift the fabric of her shirt. The wound was through her stomach, her organs pierced. A fatal wound. She’d die slowly, painfully, inevitably, poisoned from within.
“I can’t kill you,” Daleina said, unable to take her eyes off the wound.
The woman made a sound that could have been a laugh or a cough. “You already have, Your Majesty. Show me the queen’s mercy.” Each word was a forced whisper.
Daleina held her gaze for a long moment, until the old woman closed her eyes. “I’m sorry,” Daleina said again, but she knew the words weren’t enough to make this right, and she didn’t deserve forgiveness. Another massacre, and this time it’s all my fault. Sorrow, guilt, hate, rage . . . all of those emotions rose into Daleina’s throat, and she forced them down into a tight knot deep inside.
Drawing Ven’s knife from her bodice, Daleina pressed it to the woman’s throat. With one quick hard stroke, she severed her jugular. Bright arterial blood sprayed onto Daleina, covering her hand and arm.
She turned her head to look at the tree spirits. They’d done her bidding, built the tree village as tall and strong as she might have wished.
Go, she told them.