“She can’t be trained here,” the headmistress said.
Ven’s head shot up. “But she—”
“You have to take her to the queen. She’s the only one with enough power to handle things if Naelin summons spirits she can’t control.”
“This isn’t the time—”
The headmistress cut him off. “It is precisely the time. There is, in fact, no time to waste. She needs the queen . . . and the queen needs her.”
Slowly, Ven nodded.
Yes, we need the queen, Naelin thought. The queen could keep the kraken from ever coming back. She had power over all the spirits. Maybe she could command them to forget me. She could order them to leave me and my children alone, forever.
Pulling back from Erian and Llor, Naelin caressed her daughter’s cheek, pushing her hair back behind her ear. She smiled at both of them, a trembly smile but the best she could do. “We’re going to the palace. Isn’t that exciting? You’ll need to be very, very good.”
“I don’t want to!” Llor wailed.
“The queen will help us.” She patted his back as he wrapped his arms around her neck. “She’ll keep us all safe. From the spirits. From me.” She took a deep breath. “I seem to be . . . more than a hedgewitch.” There was no hiding from that fact. Ven was right. She knew full well that spirits like that didn’t come to a weak, immature power. Whatever was in her . . . it was big, bigger perhaps than her mother’s power had been. Scarier. But if the queen could convince the spirits to ignore the power they’d seen in her . . .
Llor whimpered. “Are there going to be more monsters?”
She hugged him tighter and wished with all her heart she could tell him no. “There are always monsters. But I’ll always be here to scare them away.”
“Will you . . . will you be safe, Mama?” Erian asked. Her lip was trembling but she wasn’t crying anymore. She was trying to be brave.
“Of course,” Naelin said. “Everything will be fine. You’ll see. We’ll all be together, and that’s what matters.” The queen was more powerful than anyone. She could help Naelin, if she chose to.
“Promise?” Llor said.
“Double promise,” Naelin said. They linked pinkies, all three of them, while Ven and the headmistress looked on silently. Smiling, Naelin didn’t let her children see a shred of fear or doubt . . . even as those feelings tried to eat away at her insides.
Soon—sooner than Naelin would have liked—they were at the palace gate. She stayed with Erian and Llor as Ven spoke with the guards. After a minute, Ven waved them forward, and Naelin shuffled toward the gate with the children clinging to her middle. They all stared at the guards, stiff-backed and armed with swords and staffs with glittering blades on the ends. All the guards stared straight ahead, motionless.
“Are they statues?” Llor reached out a pudgy finger to poke one, and she caught his wrist.
“Don’t touch,” Naelin cautioned.
“Can I tickle them?”
“How is that not covered by ‘don’t touch’?” She kept a firm grip on his wrist until they were past the guards and through the grand gate.
Inside, the palace was just as elegant as outside, with polished wood walls and glass globes lit within by either firemoss or fire spirits. Reaching out with her mind, Naelin felt the presence of dozens of spirits, flitting around the palace, more out in the capital, mostly small, harmless spirits, no larger than birds. Earth spirits worked in the garden, and a water spirit bathed in pools that Naelin couldn’t see—she could sense the spirit’s contentment, though, with the water that surrounded it.
Ven strode ahead of them, nodding at the guards that flanked a vast stairway, and then veered around the stairs toward a door beneath it. Naelin exhaled—she hadn’t been relishing the thought of ascending those stairs, all the guards watching her. Her footfalls felt thunderously loud in the cavernous entrance hall.
“You’ll have to be prepared the meet the queen,” Ven said. “Don’t be offended. The caretakers have firm ideas about what constitutes ‘presentable.’”
Before Naelin could ask for specifics, the caretakers descended on them: three coiffed women and two men whisked them through the narrow door, away from Ven. They clucked to one another, chattering so fast that it felt as if they were speaking a different language. One yanked on Naelin’s hair and then sniffed before recoiling. Naelin clutched Erian and Llor closer.
One of the caretakers bowed to her. “You will bathe now.”
“Don’t want to,” Llor said.
“That’s an excellent idea.” Naelin spied steaming baths through a half-open curtain. “Go with the nice man. Mama will be right nearby.” To the caretaker, she said, “Don’t take him farther than I can hear. And don’t listen if he screams when you wash his neck.”
Llor relinquished her hand and went with the caretaker. “I’m ticklish,” he warned the caretaker. “I bite when I’m tickled.”
“No biting!” Naelin called after him.
Erian still clutched Naelin’s hand. “Please don’t make me go with them.”
“They just want to clean us. Don’t you want to be clean?” She knelt in front of Erian. “You’ll feel better clean. Smell better too. I bet they have lovely smelling baths here.”
Another caretaker bowed. “You can choose your fragrance. Pine, lilac, magnolia.”
“Ooh, magnolia.” Naelin faked a smile, her eyes still on Erian. “That’s a flower from a tree that only grows where it’s warm, in southern Aratay. I’ve heard it smells sweeter than honeysuckle.” Through the curtain, she heard Llor yelp and water splash and hoped her son wasn’t about to bite a person who worked for the palace. They must have had young visitors before, right? “I’ll be right nearby.” She prayed the caretakers wouldn’t make her break her promise. She was aware of the guards just outside. She couldn’t let her children cause a scene here, not if she wanted them to be allowed to stay with her. “Don’t you want your hair untangled? You have enough snarls that I’m sure birds are using it as a nest. They’ve probably already laid eggs inside.” She pressed her ear against Erian’s hair. “I hear chirping! The eggs are hatching!”
Erian giggled and then let the caretakers lead her into a bath. Eyes on the curtains, Naelin followed her caretakers toward her own bath. The tub looked to be stone and was cradled against the wall of wood, which glistened with beads of water from the rising steam. She shed her clothes and lowered herself into the water. It smelled sweet, like vanilla, and the bubbles hid her body from the caretakers as they efficiently scrubbed her arms, back, and hair. She told herself she’d birthed two children—she didn’t care about modesty.