But she didn’t stop kissing him.
In the palace in Mittriel, Daleina woke, stretched, and felt the silken sheets slip over her naked body. She then curled against a sleeping Hamon and worried about whether she’d sent Queen Naelin to her death—and by extension, Ven.
“Did I make a mistake?” she whispered into the darkness.
Hamon shifted and mumbled, “Of course you didn’t.”
She laughed, despite herself. “You don’t even know what I’m referring to.”
He flopped one arm across her stomach. “Don’t need to. You’re alive. That’s proof enough.” Snuggling closer, he burrowed his face into her neck. She felt his breath hot against her skin.
It was sweet that he was so supportive, but his statement was ridiculous. “There’s a lot of space between no mistakes and death.”
He lifted his head and sounded more awake and serious. “Not for you.”
Hard to argue with that.“But what if—”
He placed a finger over her lips. “No.”
“‘No’ what? You don’t know what I’m going to say.” She kissed his finger.
“You’re going to second-guess yourself.” Moving his finger, he kissed her, his lips soft on hers. “Nothing good comes from that. All you can do is move forward. Make the next decision. When I’ve a patient, I can’t take back the medicine I’ve given her, even if it doesn’t work. All I can do is treat the next set of symptoms, even if my medicine caused them.”
“If Queen Naelin dies, there’s only me. Aratay still has no heirs.”
“The champions are training more.”
She noticed he didn’t say Naelin would be fine. “Not quickly enough.” Wrapping a sheet around herself, she extracted herself from the bed and crossed to the balcony. She pushed open the door and stepped outside. The cool night air danced around her, and she wondered what time it was. It was impossible to tell looking out into the forest, but it was still late enough that the city of Mittriel was a black tangle, with the few scattered lights looking like distant stars caught in its branches. She should try to go back to sleep. She wasn’t sure she could, though.They should be near the edge of the forest now, she thought.One more day, and they’ll be beyond where I can keep them safe.
“What if it’s all part of her plan?” Daleina asked.
“Queen Merecot’s?”
She heard sheets rustle and then footsteps. Hamon’s arms wrapped around her waist, and she leaned back against him. He smelled like mint and cinnamon and faintly of exotic flowers she couldn’t name—he’d been mixing new medicines earlier in the day. Some of his ingredients came from as far away as the islands of Belene or the farmlands of Chell. He’d told her once that he even used a lichen that grew only in the crevasses of glaciers in Elhim. As she mused on what made Hamon’s profession, she felt an idea begin to form, so faint that she didn’t dare call it an idea yet. Quietly, she said, “You use ingredients from other lands in your medicines.”
“Mm-hmm, definite perk of being a palace healer. Access to resources beyond our borders.” His hands caressed her stomach, and he kissed her neck. “Did I tell you about the lichen from Elhim? Grows only in—”
Resources beyond our borders. Yes.She stepped out of Hamon’s embrace and raised her voice. “Guards, summon the seneschal!” She hurried to her desk and tried to light the firemoss in the lantern. Her hands shook as she fumbled with the fire stick, and Hamon gently took it from her and lit it.
“You may wish for clothes if your seneschal is coming,” he said mildly.
She waved him off. “He’s unshockable.” Sitting with her bedsheet wrapped around her, she shuffled through her papers until she found unblemished parchment. She’d need three copies—the seneschal would neaten her thoughts and prepare the copies. Across the room, she heard Hamon putting on his own clothes and neatening the blankets on the bed. He then was behind her again, brushing her hair back behind her neck and away from the ink as she wrote.
She heard a knock on the door and one of her guards said, “The seneschal, Your Majesty.”
“Allow him in,” she ordered without looking up.
Footsteps. “Your Majesty. Healer Hamon.”
“Seneschal,” Hamon said politely.
She kept writing. “I wish to send messages to the queens of Belene, Chell, and Elhim, privately, if possiblesecretly, and I will need to receive their messages equally discreetly.”
“Green and black ribbons, Your Majesty,” the seneschal responded promptly—she knew he’d have an answer. “Green will alert the queens that the spirit bears a message from the forest queen. Black will signal its sensitivity.”
“Good. I will locate spirits who can carry the messages.” She’d need ones that were willing to fly a distance, into lands that they weren’t tied to, but were calm enough to continue to obey her commands even when they were out of reach of her mind, since even with a queen’s power, she wasn’t strong enough to send her thoughts beyond her borders. Standing, she handed the paper to the seneschal. “Three copies, by your hand only. Let no one else know the contents. I won’t raise hopes when there’s a high chance they will be dashed.”
Accepting the paper, the seneschal bowed and then backed out of the bedchamber.
