“Teach me everything,” Arin bargained, “and I will stay. I will be more than your assistant; I will be your apprentice.”
Mistress Garnah’s eyes brightened. “Oh, really?”
“Yes, Master Garnah.”
Across the burial grove, Naelin watched Queen Daleina. The young queen held herself perfectly still, as if she were posed while an artist painted a portrait. Her shoulders were back, her chin was high, and her hands were clasped lightly together. She was the picture of regal poise. Poor girl must be terrified, Naelin thought.
“She doesn’t look sick,” Erian whispered.
“Her skin isn’t sick,” Llor whispered back. “It’s all the stuff inside. Right, Mama?”
Leaning over, Naelin pressed her lips onto the top of Llor’s head. “That’s right, sweetie. Sometimes people get sick deep inside, and sometimes there’s nothing anyone can do to fix it.”
Around them, people were crying. Some wailed loudly. Others were silent, their shoulders shaking and their face in their hands. A few were motionless, staring at the queen as if they could unhear the words or as if they were awaiting a punch line to a morbid joke.
“Are we all going to die, Mama?” Llor asked. “I don’t want to die. Ever. It makes everyone cry. And I hate itchy clothes. Why do I have to wear itchy clothes?”
“I won’t let you die,” Naelin told him. “And it’s polite to dress nicely for a funeral.”
“But you told me it’s not polite to itch in public, and I’m itchy.”
She wanted to laugh, but this was not the time or place. Glancing again at the queen, she saw the first hint of emotion on her lovely face: the briefest moment of panic. Around her, the champions were arguing. Some were shouting. And the crowd was growing louder . . . “There’s a time and a place for things,” Naelin told Llor. “This is a funeral, and we must all be respectful.” Guiding her children, she tried to melt backward into the crowd. She suddenly didn’t want to be here, with all these people and all their emotions. It could be dangerous. This much emotion, this many people . . . It didn’t feel like a solemn occasion anymore; it felt like embers inside of dried tinder.
The queen’s eyes landed on hers.
Naelin stopped.
She can’t fix this, Naelin realized. She’d said what she had to say, the truth, and it was up to the people to react. They aren’t going to react well.
Naelin staggered to the side as someone bumped hard into her. She hugged Erian and Llor tighter against her. People were shouting and beginning to shove. She saw the guards press closer around the queen, their hands on their sword hilts.
“Mama?” Erian said. “Can we go? Please?”
Naelin heard the fear in her daughter’s voice. “Yes,” she began to say, and then realized the crowd had pushed farther into the grove. All the exits were packed with people. Beyond them, more people. If they rioted . . .
The queen spoke again. “We are here to honor the dead . . .”
But a man shouted, “You killed them!”
A woman near him began shouting in his face. He raised his fist, and she slammed hers into his chin. He rocked backward, and then the knot of people around them began pushing, shoving, punching. The crowd surged, and Naelin was swept forward.
“Mama!” Llor cried.
Naelin repeated the queen’s words: “We are here to honor the dead.” Honor the dead. She pushed the thought out, hard. She felt the spirits converge, streaming in from all around. Honor them!
And it began to snow: white petals burst from the trees above and drifted down. Hundreds, thousands, millions, covering the people. On the ground, more flowers burst beneath people’s feet. Vines wrapped around ankles and then blossomed with more white flowers.
Wind whipped through the grove—targeted wind, fast, ringing the silver bells that people held in their hands or had put in their pockets. Catching the queen’s eye, Naelin mouthed one word: “You!”
Queen Daleina spread her arms wide and tilted her head back. Petals fell on her arms and face. It looked, to everyone else, as if she were causing this, as if she had command of the spirits. But it was Naelin who held them tightly, guiding them through the grove. Do no harm. Honor the dead.
The air spirits began to sing in voices full of wind. They whispered in harmony as they flew through the trees, a wordless song that was full of sorrow and hope—emotions that Naelin never thought a spirit could feel, much less turn into song.
All the people were motionless, their eyes wide, their mouths open. She saw wonder on their faces as the spirits crafted beauty around them. Water spirits flew by, leaving droplets in the air, and as the sun hit them, tiny rainbows appeared all around the grove.
“We honor our dead,” Queen Daleina said. Her voice rang as clear as the bells across the grove. “We thank them for entering our lives and will remember them with joy.” She then retreated—serenely and regally, but still retreated—with her guards around her.
Subdued, the crowd parted and let her pass. Taking Erian and Llor’s hands, Naelin slipped out through the crowd as well, skirting the bulk of the people to reach the palace from the side. Only when they were inside the gates did she release her grip on their hands.
Behind her, the petals continued to fall for hours.
Chapter 24
Ten days!
Candidate Esiella thought she might be sick. Yes, definitely. She’d held it in at the funeral grove, but she was safely back in the training room, a rented room north of the palace.
Dropping to her knees, she clutched her stomach and opened her mouth. Nothing came out. She breathed deeply a few times. Still felt sick. Still couldn’t be sick.
“Aw, come on, you can do this,” Champion Havtru said.
Is he encouraging me to . . . throw up?
No. He’s saying I can survive the trials.
She shook her head, even as she felt his heavy, warm hand on her back. She gulped in air again, and the knot inside her felt as if it were loosening a little. Her champion was always so encouraging. He’d even been sympathetic the time she’d summoned an earth spirit and it had chomped on his leg.
“I can’t do it,” she said. “I can’t be ready in ten days! Ten months, maybe. But ten days?” She raised her head to meet his gentle eyes. She knew he’d be looking at her with that mix of fondness, sympathy, pity, and belief. For some crazy reason, he believed in her, and that was extraordinary. No one had ever believed in her before. Not her mother, who used to call her worthless every time she tried to help around the house and worse than worthless if she didn’t try to help. Not her father, who had informed her on her sixth birthday that she shouldn’t have been born, before he walked out the door never to come back. Not her sisters, who stole her clothes whenever she didn’t hide them. Not her older brother, who used to hit her but only in places it wouldn’t show. Not her teacher, who’d called her a liar when she’d tried to say she felt spirits. Oh, how she’d loved the day he had been proved wrong! She’d loved the moment when it was her turn to walk out that door!
Champion Havtru had saved her.