Naelin knew that Ambassador Hanna would send her report soon. She’d promised—as soon as she’d assessed the level of threat, as soon as she’d seen the children, as soon as she had any information, she’d send word.
“Soon” wasn’t soon enough.
After Naelin had the spirits demolish her chambers and then repair and rebuild them, she left her room and wandered through the halls of the palace. Courtiers and caretakers bowed to her, offering their condolences for her children’s supposed death.
She smiled brittlely at them and thanked them without correcting them.
It was safer if they didn’t know the truth. Or what she hoped was the truth.
Where is that message, Hanna?
Most regarded Naelin as if she were a fragile teacup that would shatter if they even went close to it or a wild animal who could snap at any moment.I can’t blame them,she thought.Iamdangerous.
Fleeing from all the sympathetic and nervous glances, she ended up in the palace kitchen, which was empty except for Arin, Daleina’s younger sister. She was braiding dough to make a knotted pastry. Naelin stood in the archway silently for a moment, wondering if she should leave. Arin looked perfectly content, stretching and twisting the dough in peace, and Naelin didn’t want to shatter that peace with her own anxiousness.
Naelin’s eyes drifted to the winch for the dumbwaiter, and she remembered Erian and Llor telling her how Arin had turned the crank and lifted them up to the Queen’s Tower with the precious antidote. Their words had tumbled out of their mouths so fast that she could barely piece together what they were saying, but she knew that Arin had trusted them to save the queen—and they’d done it. Naelin had been bursting with pride when she’d heard.
No more remembering! No more thinking! Enough!
“May I join you?” Naelin asked.
Startled, Arin jumped. “Your Majesty! Yes, of course. Please. Can I get you anything?”
“Not unless you can bake me some patience.”
Arin looked sympathetic. “No word from Ambassador Hanna yet?”
Naelin sighed and shook her head. She sank onto a stool next to Arin. At least she was with someone who knew the truth—Arin had been in the room when Daleina read the ransom letter. Here, she didn’t have to fend off unwanted sympathy.
“You need a distraction,” Arin said. “A hobby. Like this.” She dipped a thick paintbrush into a cup and began painting butter onto the surface of the dough. It gleamed in the firelight from the kitchen hearth.
“I used to make charms,” Naelin offered. She’d been good at it, back when she’d believed that was all she needed to protect her family.
“Then make some.” Arin nodded at the pantry and at the dried herbs that hung from the rafters. “You’re in the best-stocked kitchen in Mittriel, and it’s not like you need to ask anyone’s permission, being queen and all.”
It was strange, but sometimes it still took a little reminding that as queen, all of this was technically hers (hers and Daleina’s, anyway). As that seeped in, so did Arin’s suggestion, and it was registering as a fairly good idea. Everyone could use more spirit-protection charms, and thanks to her power, hers always had been potent. The more she thought about it, the more she found herself without a reasonnotto do it. It was late, well after cleanup had been completed from the evening meal, and no one was going to disturb them.
With a confidence she hadn’t felt in days, Naelin busied herself with choosing ingredients from the myriad shelves. She pushed aside a stack of bowls to clear room to work, opposite Arin. For a while, both were silent—Arin with her bread and Naelin with her herbs. She wove a simple earth-spirit protection charm made of forest-floor herbs and laced with dried peppers. The secret was the combination of herbs, to create a scent that seemed both natural in its components and unnatural in its combination, that would repel the spirits.
“You could add more oomph to that,” Arin said. “A few sprigs of basilwort, combined with this powder that I’ve been working on—it won’t just repel them; it will burn them.”
“You’ve been learning that?” Naelin asked. “I thought you were apprenticed to the Queen’s Poisoner. Aren’t you learning about poisons?”
“Only against spirits. Every apprentice choses a specialty—though I think Master Garnah may be disappointed in mine. She likes human targets.” Arin shook her head in disgust, then looked at Naelin. “It doesn’t matter—here, I can show you what I’ve been working on, if you like,” Arin said, wiping off her hands. She had a smudge of flour on her cheek. “Can you call a fire spirit?”
Naelin called to one as if whistling for a dog. It darted down the chimney and landed in the fire in the kitchen fireplace. Embers popped out onto the hearth, and the wood crackled. The tiny spirit was humanlike with a child’s eyes and metallic red scales over its body.
“Better stand back,” Arin warned.
Naelin retreated to an alcove that held a table and stools, where the kitchen staff took turns resting on busy days. She watched as Arin drew a vial out of her pocket and shook it. Arin pursed her lips and steadied her aim—then threw.
The glass shattered on the bricks in the fireplace, and purple powder exploded into a cloud over the fire. Naelin jumped as itboomed.
She heard shouts from above, then footsteps.
“Oops,” Arin said.
“Everything’s all right!” Naelin shouted up at the palace guards.
