Naelin felt Erian’s and Llor’s hand dampen in hers as she sweated. This was it. “We’ll find a quiet home far from anyone.” Naelin was trying not to beg. “I won’t ever use my power again. All I need is for you to command them to ignore me, until they forget about me.”
“It is not possible to command the spirits to forget,” the queen said. “And at best, a command to leave you alone would only work as long as I am alive. After my death, the spirits would come for you and rend you limb from limb, along with those you seek to protect. If you are as powerful as Ven says and if you refuse to use your power, they will treat you like a queen who lost her throne—they’ll hunt you and destroy you.”
Erian whimpered and clung closer. Llor began to cry.
“You’re young and strong,” Naelin said. “You’ll outlive me. You can keep my children safe, even after I’m gone.”
“You cannot be certain of that,” the queen said.
“Queen Fara did not live a long life,” Ven added.
The queen bowed her head.
“Please, Your Majesty.” Naelin couldn’t seem to make her voice louder than a whisper. Her throat felt tight. “I’m too dangerous.”
“Untrained, she summoned the earth kraken,” Ven told the queen, “and then banished it.”
The queen’s fingers halted. She held them motionless above the arm of the throne. Studying Naelin, Erian, and Llor, she didn’t speak. Naelin tried to read her expression, but Queen Daleina may as well have been carved out of wood.
“It damaged the academy walls,” Naelin said. “People could have been killed, because of me.”
“Because you were untrained. Trained . . .” Ven turned back to the queen. “Trained, she could protect the palace, when you can’t. She could train here, be here for when she’s needed.”
The queen’s eyes shifted to bore into Ven’s eyes. Silence weighed heavily on the throne room. Llor fidgeted beside Naelin, but she kept a tight grip on his hand.
The queen spoke. “If she doesn’t want to be queen . . .”
Naelin jumped in. “I don’t.”
“. . . that only proves she’s saner than I. It doesn’t, however, absolve her of her responsibilities to this land. You will train her quickly, Champion Ven?”
“I will.”
“But . . .” No, this wasn’t the way the conversation was supposed to go! She’d told the queen no. Surely that had to disqualify her. “Your Majesty, while I’m flattered that Champion Ven believes I’m worth his time, the fact remains that I have prior responsibilities. My children come first, before any ambition—”
“Do you think I sit here because of ambition?” The queen rose, and her train pooled around her feet. She swept down the stairs, past Naelin, to an archway. After a moment’s hesitation, Naelin joined her, herding Erian and Llor beside her. Ven and her guards, including Alet, followed at a discreet distance.
The archway opened into a vast curve of windows that overlooked the royal gardens. Roses in a riot of colors filled the garden beneath them, so much rich color that for a moment all Naelin could do was drink in the jeweled rainbow below. Then she noticed a girl, older than Erian, perhaps thirteen or fourteen, walking between the roses, randomly plucking the blossoms and laying them in a basket. Every few feet, she kicked the skirts out of her way, clearly unused to walking in such a long gown.
“My sister Arin,” the queen said, and Naelin saw the tangle of emotion in her eyes: love, regret, guilt, fear. “You see, we all have someone we want to protect. You will train, Mistress Naelin, and you will train hard and well, for the sake of Aratay, my sister, and your children.
“You will protect them all.”
Chapter 16
Hamon smoothed the wrinkles on his robe and then ran his fingers through his hair. Going to see his mother made him feel as if he were eight years old, with smudges on his cheeks and dirt under his nails. She used to spot every stray mark.
Now he felt like she could spot even deeper, and that made him nervous.
Flanking the door, the guards fixed their eyes down the corridor, politely ignoring the way he was fidgeting and delaying. He appreciated that. He made a mental note to commend them to their superior.
He schooled his expression into a neutral one, reminded himself to remain calm and professional, and then nodded to the guards. One of them opened the door, and he heard light laughter from inside—the voice of a young woman.
“You allowed her a guest?” he hissed to the guards.
The guards exchanged glances. “She insisted.”
“You spoke with my mother?”
“Not her. The queen’s sister.”
Hamon barged into the room. His mother was sprawled on one of the couches, her feet bare and propped on a pillow. Daleina’s sister, Arin, was twirling around the room with scarves draped over her arms. Seeing Hamon, she dropped the scarves.
“Ah, Hamon, there you are at long last! Come. Sit. Lady Arin and I were just celebrating our success.” She lifted a glass of what looked like sparkling pear wine—if so, it was one of the most expensive drinks in the capital. On the side of the room were the remnants of a several-tier cake, as well as a cascade of grape stems and a half-eaten side of spiced meat. Ants crawled over the cake, and Hamon thought he saw a mouse scoot beneath the tablecloth. Blossoms from the royal gardens—blossoms from rare, specially cultivated flowers—were strewn around Mother’s microscopes, test tubes, and beakers, in a very expensive celebratory wreath.
Scurrying to the side bar, Arin poured a crystal goblet of pear wine and held it out to Hamon. “Celebrate with us, and drink to your glorious mother’s health!”
“No,” he said. “No to all of this. Mother, what are you doing? You know I have you here for a serious purpose.”
Mother waved the glass in the air until the wine spattered on the floor, the couch, and her arm. “And I have fulfilled it! Grandly and magnificently.”
For a moment, he couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. “A cure?”
She swigged the pear wine. “Don’t be absurd. I am flattered at your faith in my abilities. Sincerely flattered, actually. To know you think so highly of me . . .”
“Mother, if you did not find a cure . . .”
“A cause, my boy,” she said. “I found a cause.”
That was not an excuse for celebration. That was obvious. “She has the False Death. It’s genetic. The cause is in her ancestry.” Every letter he’d received back from scholars across Renthia agreed with that: she’d been born to this fate. All had expressed condolences for his sick “friend” and wished him luck with his studies.
“The cause was in her wine,” Mother said. “Or her cake. Or her bread. Or dusted on her pillow. Or poured into a wound.”
Hamon sighed. “Clearly this was a mista—”
“She was poisoned, dear Hamon. Very cleverly poisoned.”
Hamon felt his knees buckle. He thought of Queen Fara and the nightend berries. His head felt as if it were swimming. His Daleina, poisoned? “Impossible. It’s False Death.”