Ow, ow, ow. Naelin pressed her hand to her side. She’d been stitched up, but it still hurt like . . . like . . . well, like she’d had a knife stuck in her. Standing, she leaned against the balcony railing while a guard and two caretakers helped Healer Hamon with the body.
The body.
Alet.
Oh, Alet.
If only . . .
But there wasn’t time for thoughts like that. There wasn’t time for anything. “I have to get Erian and Llor to safety.” She wouldn’t be able to watch them. Neither would Ven. Or Alet. Poor Alet. Her sister . . . Naelin knew she should feel angry. Later, maybe. Later, she could feel whatever she wanted. Anger. Sympathy. Sorrow. Guilt. “Renet has to watch them.” She hated saying it, hated that she had to rely on him, hated that he was right in any way.
She began to walk toward the bedroom when Ven stopped her. “Wash first. You’ll scare them.”
She loved that he thought of that, of how her children would feel. Veering, she hurried to the washbasin in the corner of the room. She scrubbed her hands, trying not to think about how this was her blood, how it had felt when the knife had slid into her . . . that moment before it started to hurt, when she knew it would hurt. And then it did. Ven produced a robe from somewhere, and she wrapped it around herself to hide her bloodstained clothes. It wasn’t perfect. But it was better. She noticed Ven had pulled the curtains over the entrance to the balcony, a mercy.
Knocking on the door, she called, “Erian? Llor? It’s okay. You can unlock now.”
She heard the lock click, and then Erian and Llor both tumbled out, squeezing together through the doorway to throw themselves into her arms.
“There were scary sounds, Mama!” Llor cried. He was clutching his stuffed squirrel, the one his sister had made him from old bedsheets. Both button eyes had fallen off.
“I know, baby.” Naelin stroked his hair. “And now I need you to hurry. You two are going to stay with your father tonight. The queen needs me, and I need to know you’re safe and with someone who loves you. Now, be good, and come with me.”
The five of them—Naelin, Ven, Erian, Llor, and Bayn—hurried out of the chambers and through the corridors. As they went, Naelin reached out with her mind and touched the spirits around the palace and then farther out, in the capital. She couldn’t sense any invasion, but then she couldn’t reach much beyond the city. She wondered what Daleina could feel. As queen, she could sense every spirit within her borders. She should be able to sense when the queen of Semo’s spirits crossed into Aratay.
At Renet’s door, Naelin knocked.
No answer.
She knocked harder.
From inside, she heard shuffled footsteps. A muffled oof. And then the door opened. Renet stood in the doorway—bare chested, with a towel around his neck. His hair was wet and sticking out at all angles. She would have combed it for him if they’d been home.
Home felt very far away.
She herded Erian and Llor forward. “Keep a close watch on them, Renet.”
“Of course.” He opened his mouth to ask more questions, but she didn’t give him time. She bent down and hugged both Erian and Llor.
“Listen to your father,” she told them. “Unless he proposes something unsafe, in which case ignore him. I’m counting on you both to be smart and very grown-up until I’m back.”
“You’re going somewhere?” Renet asked.
To war, she thought. But she didn’t say it. “Keep them safe.”
She saw his eyes shift to Ven, and she couldn’t help glancing at Ven too. He was scowling at Renet, and she thought Renet was going to insult him or argue with him. But all Renet said was “Keep her safe too.”
“I will,” Ven said.
Then it was time to visit the queen and tell her things she wouldn’t want to hear.
Queen Daleina listened to the sounds of the city. From her balcony, she could hear the hum of voices—too far to hear any individual words—but she heard the soft murmur of intertwined voices from the bridges and paths closest to the palace. She heard birds flying back to their trees, and the spirits rustling through the leaves as they skittered along the branches. Somewhere, far in the distance, someone was singing. And she heard bells, perhaps at the academy. She wondered if she could hear that far away.
The night sounds were soothing, and she needed soothing. This day had been—
Her door slammed open. “Queen Daleina?” Ven strode in. Behind him came Candidate Naelin and the wolf Bayn. Looks like this day isn’t over yet, Daleina thought.
“Your Majesty, they insisted—” her guard began.
She waved the guard away. “You’re covered in blood,” she noted. Stains had seeped through Naelin’s robe. She forced down the immediate panic: I need her whole! “Yours? Have you been to a healer?”
“Healer Hamon,” Naelin said with a nod. “Your Majesty . . .” She hesitated.
“Your Majesty, Healer Hamon believes he has a clue to finding a cure,” Ven said. “I won’t lie to you—it is still a long shot, but . . . there’s hope. We know who the poisoner was. If he finds the poison among her belongings, he may be able to create an antidote.”
Daleina’s breath caught in her throat. A cure!
He held up his hand. “That is the good news. There is also bad news. Plenty of it. The assassin was Captain Alet, working on behalf of the woman she said was her sister: Queen Merecot. The queen of Semo plans to conquer Aratay. Alet told us before she died that Semo is overrun with spirits, and Queen Merecot needs to expand her lands. The murders were her attempt to do so with minimal bloodshed. Without a queen or viable heir, Aratay would be easy to take. She plans to begin the invasion at dawn, while we are distracted by the trials.”
Naelin was staring at him. “You are terrible at delivering news. Are you trying to cause a relapse?” Naelin crossed to Daleina and took her hands.
Daleina realized that she had been, in fact, clutching her heart, but that was only because it was beating so hard that it felt like it was going to leap out of her body. She let Naelin guide her to a chair. Picking up a pitcher, Naelin poured the queen a glass of water. Daleina took the glass and held it in her hands without drinking. “Alet?” Daleina said. “And Merecot?” She didn’t look at Naelin. Her eyes were glued to Ven. He wouldn’t lie to her.
“Yes.”
That yes hurt. Like a knife to her gut. But she couldn’t let it distract her, not now. She had to stay in control—feeling the pain could wait, but the invasion couldn’t. Balling up her thoughts and emotions, she ruthlessly shoved them deep down.
She set the glass down, and then she thrust her mind out—beyond the palace, beyond the capital, through the woods, toward the northern border . . . and she felt them, spirits, other spirits, whose minds she couldn’t sink into. They felt slippery, like wet moss, between her fingers. She felt the mass of them, whirling between her spirits.
“You said dawn?”