“Good enough.” She squeezed his hands. “Don’t be specific as to the cause, just be factual with the medical need—we need them focused, not panicked. I’ll provide precise locations by morning. Go.”
He left, and she waited for the seneschal to return with the chancellors. After the rescue forces were mobilized, she would need to make a speech to her people. She realized as she thought about it that she’d already decided to lie to them, at least for now. They’d been through enough, felt enough fear.
They didn’t need to know they couldn’t trust one of their queens.
Chapter6
Naelin woke alone in an unfamiliar bed. She stared up at the ceiling. The quilt smelled like herbs, rosemary and sage. More dried herbs hung from the rafters.I’m in Redleaf, she thought. Her head felt fuzzy, and it was hard to remember why she was here, or even whereherewas. Thoughts kept slipping away from her, like wriggling fish in a stream.
My children are gone,she thought.
Then:No, that can’t be right.
Erian and Llor were curled in the beds in the other rooms. If she went to the doorways, she’d hear their breathing—Erian’s soft and even, Llor with a slight snore because he’d had a bit of a cold. She’d been making him breathe in the steam from a mug of pinewood tea before bed.
Standing, she walked into Llor’s bedroom. She swayed as she walked, her head pounding and her vision tilting with blots of blackness that came and went. And then her mind cleared again for a moment:They’re not here. They’re gone. I lost them.The memory made her gasp as if she’d been stabbed.
Llor’s favorite stuffed animal, a squirrel he called Boo-Boo, was propped on his pillow. Erian had made it for him out of old bedsheets and had sewed buttons for the eyes, lopsided. One was cracked. Sitting on the bed, Naelin hugged the squirrel to her chest.
It smelled like him.
Lying on his pillow, she cradled the squirrel against her.
As her mind began to knit itself back together, she was clear on one important detail: she knew whom she must kill.
Of course, killing Queen Merecot of Semo would not be easy. She was powerful, possibly as powerful as Naelin and certainly better trained. She’d been through several years at the same academy as Daleina and had been a queen for longer than either Daleina or Naelin.
But it had to be done. There was no question that those spirits—the air spirits that had kidnapped her children—were foreign. They owed their allegiance to another queen. And the logical answer to the question ofwhichqueen was Merecot. They’d fled north, after all.
Perhaps she’d taken the children for revenge. Naelin had killed her sister, Alet, albeit in self-defense. Naelin had also been instrumental in thwarting her invasion plans. Or perhaps the attack was part of a broader scheme to invade Aratay again—the problem of too many spirits in Semo still remained. Perhaps Merecot sought to weaken one of Aratay’s queens, in preparation for another battle.
Naelin didn’t care what the reason was. There was no forgivable reason.
And there was nothing—absolutely nothing—Merecot could do or say that would prevent Naelin from destroying her and taking back her children.
Struggling against the fog in her mind, she tried to think through the logistics: she’d need Queen Daleina’s help. The disaster at the border had proven that an all-out attack was useless. Merecot’s borders were too well defended. Naelin also wanted Ven’s assistance. She’d have better odds with a trained warrior at her side. It might not be easy to convince him to leave the forest, though. He was a sworn champion. His duty was here in Aratay, preparing a new heir.
Well, she had a duty too.
Leaving Boo-Boo, Naelin placed her crown on her head and checked herself in the mirror. Dark circles under her eyes might have been distressing if it hadn’t been like she was staring into the eyes of a stranger. She pressed her hand against the mirror, over her own reflection.
Her vision swam again as the black blots popped like bubbles.
On an ordinary morning, Llor would have been calling for help with tying the drawstring on his pants, and Erian would be trying to slip past her without brushing her hair. Erian hated to brush her hair and would avoid it for days if allowed to, at which point it would be more snarled than a bird’s nest. Naelin would then have to brush it out strand by strand, joking about how many birds were living on Erian’s head.
Consumed by her chaotic thoughts, Naelin didn’t realize she was pushing harder and harder against the mirror until she knocked the glass out of its frame. Lunging forward, she tried to catch it, but it hit the wall and shattered in her hands.
She pulled her hands back. A shard had sliced one of her palms. Blood welled up in the cut, and she stared at it fascinated at the brilliant red against her skin. It didn’t hurt, not at first, but then it did.
Holding her wounded hand in the air, she walked to the kitchen, turned on the water, and winced as the cold hit the cut. Blood mixed with the water and pooled in the bottom of the sink. She wrapped a towel tight around her hand and tied it off, one-handed. The cut wasn’t deep but it was long. She looked back across the kitchen to the bedroom and saw the drops of blood that she’d left in a trail. Getting to her knees, she scrubbed it with another towel.
She again lost track of who she was and why she was here.
That was how the village leader found the queen of Aratay, on her hands and knees, cleaning his floor with one hand while cradling her other bandaged hand against her.
“Your Majesty!”
She heard the shock in his voice. Didn’t care.
