“And if that fails, Your Majesty?” Chancellor Quisala asked. “You listened to the guard’s presentation. You must see the pattern.”
“Diplomacy first,” Daleina repeated. When they began to object, she said, “Keep me apprised of the situation, but do not leave our cities defenseless against the true enemy because of misplaced fear. You are dismissed.” All of them bowed as they left the Sunrise Room, and Daleina wished she’d chosen one of the more somber receiving rooms. Merecot, what are you doing? I don’t have time for this now! She sagged in her throne, straightening only when Alet opened the door to allow the seneschal in.
She’d inherited the seneschal from Queen Fara and had seen no reason to replace him. He was scarily efficient, carrying at least twenty lists with him at all times, and had enough knowledge of history and law to fill a library.
She wondered how he’d felt when Fara died and Daleina took the crown. She’d never thought he liked her much, but then again, it didn’t seem that he disliked her either. His heart was in his job. Who wore the crown seemed to be irrelevant to him.
But what if it wasn’t? He had daily access to her, and she had little choice but to trust him—he was the one who knew the day-to-day details of being queen, managed her schedule, and controlled access to her.
Stop it, she told herself. She couldn’t begin suspecting everyone around her. If she died without an heir, the seneschal would lose his job, his purpose. She could trust his commitment to the Crown, if not to her specifically. “What’s next?”
“Champion Piriandra would like your approval on her new candidate,” the seneschal said, consulting his notes. “She waits outside.”
“Tell Captain Alet to allow her in.”
The seneschal made a note on his clipboard and then scurried to the door. Opening it, he addressed Captain Alet, and Champion Piriandra strode through. A girl followed her. She was as wiry as Piriandra and had a snarl of red hair that had been coaxed into coils. Bits of it were escaping the ribbons, and Daleina knew without asking that this was the caretakers’ work again, making people “presentable.” The girl barely fit in her new leather armor. She shifted uncomfortably and eyed the doors as if she wanted to bolt. She looked several years younger than Daleina. Daleina thought of Champion Ven’s candidate, the woman named Naelin, who had pitied Daleina for the loss of her childhood—this girl that Piriandra had chosen looked plucked straight out of her own childhood. She was too young to be an heir and much too young to be queen.
“Your Majesty,” Champion Piriandra said, inclining her head. “Allow me to present to you my newest trainee, Beilena, for your consideration as candidate.”
“You had a candidate before,” Daleina said.
“She died.”
“My condolences.” She ran through her memory, trying to recall if anyone had informed her of this. Usually updating her on the progress of candidates was a top priority. She admitted she’d been distracted lately, but a death should have registered. Daleina addressed the new candidate, “You are aware that you are embarking on a dangerous endeavor, with a shortened life expectancy. You will be in service to Aratay, and your days and wishes will not be your own. It is, however, an essential role—” She looked up at Piriandra. “Champion Piriandra, couldn’t you find someone older?”
“I did,” Champion Piriandra said. “Her name was Linna. You watched her die. After that, I chose a recent graduate named Ulina. The sprits killed her as well, albeit less dramatically. Beilena is a suitable next choice.”
Daleina flinched and dropped her eyes. She couldn’t look at the champion, not while images of her friend danced in front of her eyes: escaping the maze together on their first day at the academy, studying late at night in each other’s rooms, talking and laughing and complaining at mealtimes in the dining hall, facing the trials, and then the coronation ritual . . . She’d been there, by her side, and hadn’t been able to save her. One minute alive, and the next . . . She wondered if someday she’d be able to remember her friend without picturing that moment.
She had a sudden thought: What if the poisoner wasn’t from the families of the heirs? What if he or she was someone closer? A champion. No.
These were the people she was supposed to trust beyond all others, but they were also the people who were preparing her replacements. Suspecting them was ridiculous.
Still . . .
It was no secret that most champions were displeased that she had been the one to survive. They’d considered her the least of all the heirs—in fact, it was her lack of power that had enabled her to survive. The spirits had overlooked her, considering her not a threat, until the end. She’d never told anyone that.
She’d eaten with all of the champions, spent time with them, been alone with each of them. All of them had had opportunity. But they wouldn’t risk Aratay, she thought. Without a fully trained heir, the country was vulnerable. No champion would take that kind of risk.
Now that the suspicion was raised, though, it was hard to squash, even knowing how tremendously unlikely it was. She couldn’t afford to ignore any possible avenue.
“You’re approved,” she managed to mumble.
Bowing, Champion Piriandra and her candidate backed out of the Sunrise Room. Alone, Daleina paced across the amber floor. Outside, the birds twittered to one another, and she felt the presence of spirits, swirling through the air, climbing through the trees, and burrowing through the earth.
At last, she raised her voice. “Captain Alet, summon Champion Ven.”
Chapter 18
When the summons from the queen came, Champion Ven was spearing an air spirit with a candelabra. It squawked as the iron pinned its shoulder to the wall, and then it melted into the air and flitted as wind across the room to coalesce on the balcony railing.
“Naelin, you have to stay in control of your emotions,” Ven said. “You can’t panic.” He plucked the candelabra from the wall, scowled at the tear in the gold-leaf decoration, and then turned.
A courtier was clinging to Naelin.
“I didn’t panic,” Naelin said. “He did.” She pried his fingers off her arm and then patted his shoulder. “You should knock next time.”
The courtier bowed deeply. His eyes still looked wild, as if he wanted to bolt but his knees were shaking too hard to carry him out of the room. “Champion Ven, the queen has requested your presence with utmost haste. She is in the Sunrise Room.”
“Is she—” He halted. “Of course. Naelin, please continue to practice. A light touch, this time. Think small thoughts.”
“I’m not summoning any spirits alone.”
Beside the fireplace, the wolf Bayn stretched, as if to deliberately remind them of his presence. Ven was again struck by how much the wolf understood what went on around them. “Bayn will bite anything you can’t handle and howl if there’s anything he can’t handle. You’ll be perfectly safe.”