The spirit on the roof moved—they heard its paws as it paced—but Erian didn’t stop. She kept going, even when her arms began to ache again.
They rose higher and higher, until at last—at long last—their heads bumped into a ceiling, and the rope jerked to a stop. They were here. The top of the tallest tower. The Queen’s Tower. Together, they locked the lift into position.
Bending, Erian opened the little door. She heard a voice, muffled, male, human. She hoped it was someone friendly. She squeezed out and then held her finger to her lips to signal Llor to be quiet. He jumped out next to her. Together, they crept up the final steps to the tower platform.
Erian peeked and saw a man in healer robes, bent over a pile of silk and lace and—the queen! She hurried forward, pulling the vial from her pocket.
At the sound of her steps, the healer spun—he had a knife in his hand. Erian halted, and then she heard a half whine, half bark. Llor cried, “Doggie!” He ran toward Bayn.
But Bayn lunged past him. Jaws wide, the wolf jumped onto the tree spirit who was climbing out of the dumbwaiter. Bayn pinned the spirit down—it was a small one, chipmunk-size, with thorny claws. Howling, it struck at Bayn’s face, but Bayn tore into it.
Right before them, the wolf ripped the spirit to pieces. Erian stared, unable to match the sweet wolf she knew with the savage beast she saw. The spirit was like a limp, lifeless doll. Growling between his teeth, he shook its body in his jaws and then dropped it.
“Erian, the queen!” Llor shouted, tugging on her sleeve.
Erian held out the vial to the healer. “The queen’s sister gave this to us.”
Llor nodded vigorously. “She said it will make the queen better.”
The spirit lay silent, in a pool of brown saplike blood. Erian tried not to look at it. Bayn trotted over to them, and Llor threw his arms around the wolf’s neck.
With a trembling hand, the healer took the vial. Erian, Llor, and Bayn crowded into the tower and watched as the healer tilted the queen’s head back, gently parted her lips, and poured the liquid into her mouth.
Hamon’s hand shook as he poured the antidote into Daleina’s mouth. He stroked her throat, willing her to swallow, even though her body felt dead—was dead—beneath his hands. She had the unmistakable cool stillness that typified the False Death. Or real death. He didn’t know if this was the one, the False Death that became true death, the one she wouldn’t wake up from. He prayed she’d wake. He prayed the antidote would work.
He kept her head tilted so that the liquid would flow down her throat. Beside him, the two children and the wolf waited quietly. All of them watched the queen, as if staring would cause her lungs to suddenly expand, her heart to beat, her eyes to open. Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed her fingers. “Wake, Daleina.”
She didn’t wake.
“What if it doesn’t work?” the girl asked, her voice anxious.
“It’ll work,” the boy said. “It’s medicine. Medicine fixes you.”
Not always, Hamon thought. He knew that far too well. Beyond the tower, he could hear the sounds of battle—the border had been breached, and the enemy spirits were within the city, close to the palace. And their own spirits were out there too, killing, burning, destroying.
“Mama gives me medicine when I’m sick,” the boy said. “It tastes bad. Maybe the queen doesn’t like the taste, and maybe that’s why she’s not waking up. I wish Mama was here.”
“She’ll come back for us,” the girl said.
“She’ll be mad we left Father,” the boy said.
“No. She won’t.”
Hamon forced himself to look at them. They really were young. The boy couldn’t have been more than six. “What are your names?”
“I’m Llor.” The boy stuck his thumb toward himself. “My sister is Erian.”
“Where are your parents?”
“Father’s asleep,” Llor said. “The queen’s sister blew some dust in his face, and he fell asleep. And Mama’s off fighting the monsters.”
“Do you think Father will wake?” Erian asked. “Arin said he would.”
“If he doesn’t wake on his own, I can wake him,” Hamon promised. It was the least he could do, given the risks these children had taken to bring the antidote. Even if it didn’t work.
“Don’t see how,” Llor said. “You’re stuck in this tower. All the stairs are broken, and you’re too big to fit in the lift.”
Hamon glanced at the boy’s sister, who nodded seriously. She flinched as a tree cracked close to the palace. The sky was dark with spirits, and he couldn’t tell if they were from Aratay or Semo. At this point, he wasn’t sure it mattered. People were dying, either way. He should be out there, helping the wounded. Instead, he was here, unwilling to admit that the antidote had failed, unwilling to admit that Daleina was gone, unwilling to admit it was true death and she wasn’t going to—
The wolf leaned forward and licked the queen’s cheek.
Daleina spasmed.
She sucked in air, and her body jerked and arched. Hamon caught her body, cradling her. “Breathe, Daleina. Come on, breathe.” He felt warmth flood through her limbs. He felt her lungs expand again as she took a second breath, and then a third. “Daleina?”
She opened her eyes.
He felt tears fill his own eyes. “Daleina.”
She spoke. Her voice was rough and broken. “My sister?”
The little girl, Erian, spoke. “She helped us reach you. She’s in the kitchen—she’s fine. She wouldn’t have been able to turn the crank if she wasn’t fine.”
“She is well,” Hamon reassured her. “As are you.”
Daleina drew another breath. “No, I’m not.
“There is another queen.”
Chapter 36
Naelin felt as though she were soaring through a rainstorm. Her mind was shrouded with grayness and pummeled with the thoughts-feelings-awareness of thousands of spirits. They swallowed her, and she felt as if she were fracturing within the storm.
She latched onto her own thoughts, to who she was, to her memories. Erian. Llor. She clung to them, to her images of them. They were her anchor, and she used them to pull herself back through the mass of minds into her own body.
And then she found it: herself. She felt her own breath. She felt the roughness of the bark of the roots beneath her. Opening her eyes, she saw the patch of blue sky above her.
“I can feel them all,” she whispered.
Every spirit, in all of Aratay.
“Naelin, she’s here!” Ven called to her. “Control the spirits! Use them!”
Plunging her mind into the earth, she sent her will out. Come to me, she told the earth kraken. It moved eagerly and quickly beneath the surface, racing toward the grove. To the other spirits, she ordered, Hold the enemy.
Don’t destroy. Just hold. Stop them.
Stop their advance, stop their destruction, hold them where they were.
Until Naelin could talk to Merecot.