“But . . . You’re talking about a war. An invasion!” She couldn’t believe Alet was saying this. Alet was a royal guardswoman! Sworn to the Crown!
“It won’t be a war if no one fights back,” Alet said. She’s serious, Naelin thought. “Please, Naelin. You could flee with your children. Keep them safe, while knowing that the people of Aratay will be cared for. It’s everything you ever wanted. You’ve trained enough to keep your family safe from spirits. Take that knowledge and run.”
Naelin shook her head. She pictured Ven and the young queen. “If I become queen, I can protect Daleina. I can keep the spirits from hurting her until a cure can be found. She might not have to die. And Ven . . . If I leave and if Semo invades, he’ll fight. You know he will. You’ll have to fight too.” Unless Alet planned to run too. No, she wouldn’t. And I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Naelin turned to go back inside. “I can’t be having this conversation right now.”
From within the chambers, Bayn howled.
She felt Alet grab her arm and spin her—
—and Naelin reacted instinctively, as she’d been trained: she twisted and jabbed upward. Deflected, the knife slid into Naelin’s side, slicing her skin but missing her organs. Even as she did, the wolf leaped through the archway and slammed into Alet.
Stumbling backward and clutching her side, Naelin called for the spirits.
They swarmed the balcony. Tree spirits skittered over the palace wall. Fire spirits burst through the chimney and out. Water spirits swept toward them in a wave of rain. Shrieking, they converged on Alet. The guardswoman screamed.
Stop! Naelin ordered. Hold her!
The tree spirits bound her wrists and her ankles with vines. Bark closed over her stomach, securing her to the balcony. Go, she ordered them. She pushed them back with her mind but kept them close.
She saw Alet’s face. It had been burned, badly. The fire spirits had seared her cheek. One eye was sealed shut. Her hair smoked. Naelin had been slow to stop the spirits—too slow. She smelled the stench of burnt flesh.
“Mama?” she heard behind her. Erian.
“Go back to my room,” she ordered. “Now. Lock the door. Lock the windows.”
Erian hesitated. “Captain—”
“Now!” And Erian retreated. She heard the lock click, and turned her attention back to Alet. Bayn stood over the captain. His teeth were bared. Naelin noticed that Alet was bleeding around the bark that pinned her down. Red leaked onto the balcony, spreading into a pool. She’s hurt beyond the burn, Naelin thought.
Get Hamon, she ordered the air spirits. And bring Ven. Now!
She knelt next to the woman she’d thought was her friend and waited.
Chapter 28
Ven left Daleina’s throne room feeling as if he wanted to punch something. He hated Daleina’s plan and had expressed his views clearly, logically, and with minimal shouting. Her plan might save the northeast and Mittriel, or it might kill both Daleina and Naelin and not save anyone. She was trying to do it all and be the hero, but there was no good option here.
He stalked through the corridors of the palace.
She’d told him she planned to cancel the trials. At dawn, she’d announce that she was declaring Naelin her heir. There were no other candidates who were remotely ready, and Daleina claimed Naelin had been tested enough with what she’d endured already. Instead of facing the trials, Naelin would face the Queen’s Grove and the coronation ceremony, alone.
And Her Royal Majesty had left it to Ven to inform Naelin.
Bad, bad idea.
All of it.
Naelin was going to hate this. He hated this. She should have the trials so she could test herself before she faced the minds of every spirit in Aratay. She shouldn’t have to bear this responsibility so soon. And Daleina shouldn’t give up so fast. Hamon and his mother were still working to find a cure! Investigators were still searching for the poisoner! According to Daleina, Alet hadn’t yet cleared all the champions. In the meantime, three more candidates had died—killed by spirits, they’d told the public, but Hamon and Ven were convinced it was an assassin. They’d had no progress on that investigation front either.
They needed more time!
He heard a whoosh of wind and had a sword out before he was finished turning around. Three air spirits were diving for them. Daleina! She’d lost control! She’d—
But there was no screaming.
He tipped the sword up at the last moment, and the air spirits flew beneath him, sweeping him off his feet. He braced, expecting to feel their teeth and claws . . . but the spirits cradled him, flying him fast—faster than he could run, as fast as the wind, up the stairs, out the window, and then straight up the side of the palace tree. He kept a grip on his sword.
They dumped him onto a balcony.
He absorbed the scene: Naelin, slumped against the balcony railing, holding her side. Blood stained her fingers. Alet, pinned to the ground by roots and vines. Half her face was burnt, and a pool of blood lay beneath her.
He felt his heart lurch. He clamped it down fast.
Sword ready, he scanned the area, looking for their attacker.
A half second later, the air spirits deposited Hamon next to Ven. The healer hurried to Naelin’s side. Naelin—brave, selfless Naelin—shook her head. “No, see to Alet.”
“You’re the one who must live,” Hamon said.
“Deflected it. Just a scratch.”
“I’ll decide that.” Hamon forced her to lift her hand, and he applied pressure. Kneeling beside him, Ven saw she was right: it was a shallow cut. A knife cut. She’ll live, he thought—and the relief hit him like a tidal wave. “Hold the gauze,” Hamon ordered, then turned to Captain Alet.
“What happened?” Ven demanded. He noticed Bayn was standing over Captain Alet, guarding her—no, guarding Naelin, he corrected. “Did you lose control?” He wanted that to be the answer. But she’d sent the air spirits to fetch him and Hamon. That wasn’t the act of someone who had lost control. And the cut was a single slice, straight as if from a blade, not claws . . . All the clues were there in front of him. He didn’t want to add them together.
“Don’t be dense,” Alet croaked. She coughed and blood spattered. “I tried to kill her. But you . . . you trained her well, when I . . . wasn’t looking. You should be . . . proud.”
“Don’t try to talk,” Hamon told her. “You may have a pierced lung. I’ll need these roots cleared so I can see to work.” He glanced at Naelin, who nodded. Tree spirits began to unwrap the wood.
Ven leveled a sword at Alet’s throat. “Move, and you die.”
“Dying anyway,” Alet whispered.