The Queen of Blood (32 page)

Hamon furrowed his eyebrows for a brief second, as if insulted, but then smoothed his face into his usual pleasant
expression. He bowed briefly to Lieutenant Alet and then let his eyes linger on Daleina longer than was appropriate for mere travel companions. Then he clambered over the branches toward the academy, as instructed. To the palace guard, Ven said, “Lead on.”

“I can't guarantee you'll hear what needs to be heard, but it's a full moon, plus the night before the heir announcements, so it's likely.” She hesitated. “I must also ask you to protect the secret of the path we are about to take. It is known only to the palace guards.”

Despite his suspicions, he was intrigued. He'd worked with the guards on palace defense, and he'd never been privy to any knowledge about secret paths.

“Also, apologies in advance for any discomfort.” She struck out across a branch, creeping like a cat, with eyes darting in every direction.

“That's ominous,” Daleina muttered, but followed nearly as nimbly across the branch. Ven joined her, and they traveled in silence until they reached a nondescript tree that held several derelict houses, their roofs caved in, and ladders with rotted rungs.

“This way,” the guard whispered. “We keep these houses abandoned for security reasons. Hurry.” She pushed aside one of the roofs to reveal a hole in the branch. She disappeared inside. Ven held Daleina's arm and dropped in first.
Clever,
he thought—it was a tunnel within the branch. He heard Daleina land behind him.

He hadn't planned on doing anything but hunt spirits tonight, but maybe this was better: he was hunting answers.

Together, they crawled behind the guard. Soon, it was darkness. Ven kept trying to see shadows in the black, to force it into shapes, but the dark wriggled away from his eyes. After a few turns, he lost his sense of direction. He felt as if the wood were pressing around him, and he pictured the weight of the houses above them. He'd never thought of himself as claustrophobic, but he felt as if he were inside a sausage grinder that would squeeze him into paste. He wanted to punch his way out of the wood. He thought of Sata—she must have felt so much fear within the wood
sphere—and he thought of how Daleina had insisted on training even when she couldn't see. That kind of determination couldn't be taught. Someday she'd make a great queen . . . assuming this wasn't some kind of trap or trick. The air felt thin, and he was sweating within his armor. Spots danced across his eyes, through the darkness. “This may have been a bad idea. . . .”

“Sending Hamon was a good idea,” Daleina said. “He'd hate this.”

“Should I be asking questions about your relationship?” As her champion, he was supposed to look out for her emotional and mental well-being, as well as her magical and physical wellness. As himself, he had no interest in a conversation with her about that. Sata had managed her love life just fine without him, even marrying a man whom Ven didn't hate, which was more than he could have even asked. He thought of Sata's husband, how difficult this must be for him. If Ven didn't kill all six spirits, could he ever look him in the eye again, knowing how close he'd come to avenging Sata?

“Please don't,” Daleina said. “Unless you want to hear about how he kisses, or how skilled a healer's hands are at—”

“Let's just crawl quietly.”

Daleina laughed, and he marveled at the fact that she could laugh, in the darkness, within the wood. He felt much more like strangling someone, or pounding at the wood with every bit of strength in his muscles. But he sucked in air, and it tasted like wet wood pulp. The wood beneath his hands was soft and wet as well, and he felt it fill under his fingernails and coat the skin of his palms. If Daleina hadn't been with him, he might have lost it.

“Down,” the guard said.

“Where—” he began, and then the wood wasn't there beneath his hand as he reached forward and he fell, crashing against the side and then sliding and tumbling down. He heard Daleina shriek behind him as she slid after him. He reached his hands out and spread his legs, trying to slow his fall, and then the passageway twisted, and he crashed against it, slowing, until he skidded to a stop in a heap. Daleina crashed into him.

“Sorry!” she cried.

“Shh!” the guard whispered.

Silently, they disentangled, and then they felt their way forward. The feel of the wood changed, became less spongy, more like dirt. He saw a sliver of light ahead. He crawled toward it and emerged from between the roots of a tree, within the palace treasure pavilion.

The guard beckoned them forward.

He knew Fara the moment she walked into the pavilion. She faced away from him, but he knew the set of her shoulders, the fall of her hair, the shape of her arm, the force of her walk. She strode directly to the chalice of Chell and lifted it in her bejeweled hands. Chalice in her hands, she turned, and he glimpsed her face.

“So much beauty,” Fara said.

Soft, in his ear, Daleina whispered, “Is that the queen?”

He didn't move, didn't speak, just stared at Fara and tried not to think about why the guard had brought them here, to watch her.

Another voice spoke. “Not as beautiful as you, my queen.” It was a thin, reedy voice that could have been female or not. Ven tried to see its source.

“The things we make say more about us than our words.” She twisted the chalice. Candlelight flickered on its surface, bending the amber light around its curves. “In that way, we are alike, your kind and mine. We are both makers.”

“You are pensive tonight.” The speaker shifted—there, a shadow, between the pillars. “Tell me what you wish of me and mine.”

“Tell me the reports from the border,” Fara said.

“The new queen tests us. She prods, pokes, and then retreats.”

“Keep it guarded.”

“As you wish.”

“Anything else?” the queen asked.

The speaker stepped out of the shadows, and Ven heard Daleina suck in a hiss of air, for it was clear that the other wasn't human. She—it—was as tall as the queen, with a woman's body dressed in translucent green silk that shifted around her body as
she moved, but her head was that of an owl, with a curved beak, black eyes, and feathers that trailed down her neck into wings that lay on her back like a cape. “You must have felt the deaths.”

“I did.”

“And will you punish the perpetrators?”

“Of course.”

Ven stiffened. She had to be lying. Unless he'd been naïve again, unless he was her scapegoat again. But no, of course she had to lie to the spirit.

Queen Fara added, “
If
they are caught. My guards have found no clues as of yet, but I will instruct them to remain vigilant.” His shoulders relaxed—she was protecting him. This must be the spirit she'd spoken of, the strongest in the capital. She was distracting the spirit for his sake.
Thank you, my queen,
he thought. He silently apologized for the hideous doubts that had crept into his mind ever since the guard led them here. “But perhaps there is still an opportunity here. . . .” She laid the chalice back on its pedestal, then swept across the pavilion and halted in one of the archways, silhouetted in the candlelight as she looked out across the gardens. “Tomorrow is the heir announcement. I will call on yours to show my will—all eyes will be on the palace, and I want to create beauty they will not soon forget. They must remember I am still queen. This position is not open to them.”

Ven shifted, peering into the shadows. Beside him, he heard Daleina breathing, quietly, shallowly. She hadn't moved. The guard was silent and still, her breathing slow and steady—she wasn't surprised by this.

“You will heal the broken spaces their deaths left behind. Regrow the forest. Strengthen the roots and the limbs.”

“Ahh, and this will be a sufficient miracle to impress your new heirs, my queen. A reminder of your power, your specialness, your strength.”

“Precisely,” Queen Fara said.

The owl woman folded her hands together, her long fingers crossing over one another, as if in prayer. “This is not easy work, this miracle. It will cost. One village.”

Ven felt as if the air had soured. His chest hurt, his ribs felt
tighter, and he refused to examine the thoughts that swirled through his mind. She couldn't . . . wouldn't . . . Not Queen Fara. Not his Fara.

Fara held up a slender finger. “Three families, no more than twelve deaths, and you must wait until a full day after the heir announcement. No heirs this time. I will not have the miracle undermined. Understood?”

“It is agreed.” Gliding across the pavilion, the owl woman held her hand over the chalice. She dragged the point of her fingernail over the flesh of her palm. Three drops of saplike blood fell into the chalice with a soft ping. She then carried the chalice back to Queen Fara, who lifted it to her lips and drank.

It took all of Ven's self-control not to burst out from their hiding place, rip the chalice from her lovely hands, and shatter it on the floor.

H
eadmistress Hanna served the tea herself, in porcelain cups marked with the academy's seal. Her hands shook, and the liquid splashed onto the saucer. She set the teapot down, stirred in sugar, and forgave herself for not being calm while contemplating regicide. “You know she will not abdicate. You know her too well to think otherwise.”

Ven looked as if he'd aged a decade in one night. He stood by the wide window and watched dawn rise through the branches of the trees. Overhead, the sky was the bluest blue, a beautiful day to hold such ugly thoughts. Hanna wished there was something she could say to make this easier for him, for all of them. She wished that the guardswoman hadn't dumped the matter into their laps, but in truth, she was grateful. At least they knew for certain now. The guardswoman, Lieutenant Alet, had confirmed everything Ven and Daleina had said, plus reported on other meetings she'd observed on other full-moon nights, before returning to her post at the palace. It was a chilling tale. Hence the need for tea.

“I had a cousin,” Daleina said. “Her name was Rosasi.” She was curled on a chair, knees to her chin, as if she were still a child, or as if she wanted to be a child, innocent again. “She used to tell wonderful stories about queens of the past, how they'd save whole villages. Never one single story about a queen destroying a village.” The healer Hamon laid his hand on Daleina's shoulder,
but Daleina seemed not to feel it. “The queen killed her, as sure as if she'd put a knife to her throat.” Her eyes had that faraway look of a person seeing a vivid memory. So did Ven's. Hanna didn't doubt he was picturing the villages, the lives he'd tried to save, the ones he'd been too late to save.

“She sent the notes,” Ven said. “There's good in her.”

“Or guilt,” Hamon said.

“Good enough to feel guilt.”

“But not good enough to stop.” Daleina lifted her head, and her expression was fierce. “All those messages she sent you . . . She
chose
for that to happen. For Rosasi, for . . .” She sucked in air as if she were trying to keep control of herself.

Hanna had suspected the messages were to assuage the queen's guilt, but she'd thought it was guilt about hiding her loss of control. But the truth was that Fara had never lost control, and she wasn't hunting traitors, as she'd once told Ven. She was trading innocent lives for power.

Slumping into a chair, Ven said, “She told me once she wasn't losing control. I hadn't believed her then. And later, she let me think . . . I am a fool.”

“I knew her too, and I never suspected.” Hanna tried to make her voice gentle, to reassure, to be calm, even though she wanted to rage until every shred of glass shattered.

Ven dropped his face into his hands. “Sata.”

“And Mari,” Daleina said.

“She also nearly killed Daleina,” Hamon said. “I can't forgive that.”

No—forgiveness was certainly not in the cards anymore. Headmistress Hanna could see only one solution. Queen Fara was violating the very core of what it meant to be queen. She was betraying every Renthian who had ever lived, who had ever feared the spirits, who had ever hoped for salvation. She could not be allowed to continue, and now that they knew she wasn't losing control, there was no hope that the spirits would stop her. Hanna saw the only solution clearly—and hated it.

“I remember when she first came to the academy,” the headmistress said. “She was top in everything. So much promise.” She remembered the fierceness in Fara's face as she passed the trials,
the dedication to every class, the way she conquered every test as if her life depended on it. “So much fear.”

“Fear?” Ven snorted. “Her?”

“Oh, yes. So very afraid of death, especially at the hands of spirits. So very afraid of failing. And so she never did. She was top in every class, first in every test, chosen as a candidate before all her classmates, ranked first heir. Perhaps that is where this all went wrong.” Hanna sat at her desk and made herself sip her tea. It was important that she look calm. The others had not yet drawn the conclusion she had. She was going to have to lead them there. “She will never abdicate, and yet she cannot continue as queen. Otherwise, there will be more deaths of innocents, and when will it stop? She will become older, weaker, and her fear will grow. It will become worse, not better. It already has. She not only slaughters innocents, but she kills heirs, our future protectors.”

“She's afraid of the wrong things,” Daleina said. “Afraid the people will think she's weak if she doesn't keep supplying miracles. Afraid the heirs want to replace her. Not afraid of the spirits.” Hanna nodded. The girl showed insight. It was entirely possible that Fara had targeted Sata because she was the best heir and Mari because she was the best candidate, fearing that they'd replace her.

And Daleina . . . She'd grown the spires in North Garat. Fara must have seen her as a threat too. Perhaps she saw the same things Ven had seen in the girl. Determination. Intelligence. Resourcefulness.

“She told me Greytree was destroyed because she suspected traitors,” Ven said. “It is possible her paranoia started long ago, and I did not see it. Did not want to see it.” His voice sounded a lot smaller than she could ever remember it. “Maybe I still don't want to see it.”

“None of us do,” Hanna said soothingly. “None of us did.” But she was just saying words now for the sake of saying something. She did not wish to say it, the thing that
needed
saying. She wanted Ven to draw his own conclusion. She wanted Daleina to understand. And Hamon not to condemn. There was only one solution, and yet she couldn't find it in herself to voice it.

“Poison,” Hamon said.

All of them looked at him.

“It can be quick, painless, and impossible to detect. Perhaps nightend berries.”

Ven turned from the window. In a low, steady voice, he asked, “What are you saying?” A dangerous voice. Hanna kept her hands folded on her desk, around her tea.

Hamon didn't flinch. “She must ingest it, though.”

Hanna knew of nightend berries. Rare, deadly. They'd been one of the poisons tried against the spirits, before the link between spirit and land was proven. No effect on them, but on humans . . . Usually the plants were rooted out as soon as they were found, to minimize the risk to inexperienced woodsmen and children out scavenging. Even the meat of animals who had eaten the berries was poisonous to humans. A few healers used the berries to help ease the suffering of the dying, but even they rarely carried it. A poison so powerful was not handled lightly. “The queen has her food and drink tested, always. She has never even taken tea from me. Fear of death, as I said, combined with the fear of betrayal.”

“You are speaking of killing the queen,” Ven said, his voice ground out.

“I am speaking of killing a murderer before she kills again. Before she destroys another village. Before she kills Daleina. She has tried once. She will try again. Do you doubt it?”

Ven was silent.

“Surely there's another way,” Daleina said. “If we appeal to her—”

“Yes, we can try,” the headmistress said. “But if that fails?”
When
it fails. Of that, Hanna had no doubt. “She sends you messages. She
knows
what she does is wrong, yet she doesn't stop.”

“Maybe she feels she has no alternative,” Daleina said.

“I will confront her,” Ven said. “I will tell her she
must
abdicate.”

“And if she refuses?” Hanna pressed.

“I will inform the council of champions, before she meets with the owl spirit again,” Ven said. “The wood spirit said she meets
with her every full moon. I'll talk to them, and the council will have a month to decide how to act.”

“And then what?” She rose. “At best, they will not believe you. You are the disgraced champion. They will not see you as reliable, given the severity of the charges you will level. At worst, though . . . at worst, they will believe you, and they will act against the queen. What will she do if her champions turn against her? Be honest, Ven, what will she do?”

He looked hollow. “She will fight. She will call the spirits and defend herself. She will brand them all traitors and destroy them.”

“She has become a queen of blood,” Hanna said gently. “Death will fill her reign. She must be stopped. At least this way, we can preserve her legacy. She will be remembered kindly in the minds of her people. Expose her for what she truly is . . . there is no good that can come of that. It could plunge us into civil war, human against human, while the spirits are free to hunt us down. We must make the choice that will preserve the most lives.”

“She's the
queen,
” Ven said, pleading.

“Precisely,” Hanna said. And then she waited, silent, for him to work through his thoughts. He was a logical man as well as a noble one. He had seen firsthand the damage that Fara could do, had already done. It would only get worse.

“I must talk to her first.” Ven stalked to the door.

“Wait!” Hamon jumped to his feet. “What are you going to tell her? She'll come for us—for Daleina, especially—if she knows we know.”

He stopped. “I will protect Daleina with every breath in my body. You can count on that.” Turning to Daleina, he handed her his best knife, in its leather sheath. He didn't give her time to object or question. “Keep this, in case I don't return.”

And then he walked out the door. Hanna could have stopped him. Called him back. Tried to force him to see that it would be pointless. She knew Fara well enough to know that she'd never abdicate, and she wasn't going to stop. She'd been doing this for years, even though she knew it was wrong. Squaring her shoulders, she looked at Hamon. He was fidgeting beside her desk—she
noticed he'd found the string that opened the office door. “How do you suggest we force the queen to eat the berries? The queen has significant defenses at her disposal. Additionally, it would not benefit Aratay for any of us to be caught in this act.”

It was Daleina who answered. “She drinks the owl spirit's blood, after she bargains. Three drops. If the poison were in the spirit's blood . . .” She swallowed, as if the words she was saying tasted foul. “Humans have been poisoned by tasting tainted meat. Wouldn't ingesting blood work?”

Hamon nodded.

There was beauty in this proposal. “It would give Ven a chance to convince her and us a chance to safeguard our people against the aftermath of her death—the guardswoman said the queen meets the owl-faced spirit only on the full moon, so we will have a month to prepare,” Hanna said. “If the queen never makes another bargain, she won't be harmed. But if she chooses to kill again . . . then she will be stopped.”

T
HE PLAN WAS BEAUTIFUL IN ITS SIMPLICITY
:
SUMMON THE OWL-FACED
spirit, dose her, release her. Hamon had assured them the poison would linger in her blood for at least a month—he'd been studying nightend berries and had professed confidence in its properties. Daleina was tasked with drawing the owl spirit to the academy. Predictably, Hamon hated her part of the plan. “I don't see why you need to be bait again.”

“Because it works,” Daleina said, trying to stay patient, at least while he was handling the poison. They were in the headmistress's office, and he was straining the nightend juice. He'd instructed her to stay against the wall, opposite him, until every drop was in the vial. “We know she plans to kill people. She'll be happy to have a volunteer.”

“‘It.' It's not a person. And it will kill you, given half the chance.” He poured the juice into another vial, his hands steady, his eyes fixed on the glass tube.

“My friends won't let it kill me.” That was the other half of the plan: the other candidates would put the owl woman to sleep. Beauty in its simplicity.

“I hate seeing you risk yourself again and again.” He screwed the top onto the vial of poison, laid it gently on a cloth, and began prepping the syringe.

“You have to stop trying to protect me. I am choosing to risk myself. It's what I do. If you can't handle it, then maybe you should stop caring about me.”

He froze, and she both wanted to breathe the words back in and shout them louder. She couldn't carry the weight of his worry on top of her own. It was bad enough to even be contemplating what they were doing. As they stared at each other, she told herself it wasn't truly murder. It would be Queen Fara's actions that condemned her. If the queen did not make another bargain with the owl spirit, she wouldn't be harmed. If she tried to condemn more innocents, then she would be killed. Her own actions—

No
. This was murder. Regicide. No matter how justified it was, she would not lie to herself about what it was she was choosing. She was going to live with this guilt and not try to rationalize it away. She was crossing a line she could never uncross. It was both the right thing and the wrong thing at the same time, but she was doing it anyway. For Greytree. To prevent another Greytree, because that was why she had done all of this—apprenticed herself to the hedgewitch, entered the academy, trained with Champion Ven, given up a normal life and a safe future—all so that what happened to her village would never happen again. This was the way to prevent it. And if it made her a murderer instead of queen, so be it.

She looked at Hamon, her resolve settled.
I will do what needs to be done, with or without you
.

“Daleina . . . I love you.”

She flinched. “Let's see this through, and when it's over . . . we will see if we're still the same people we were. You don't do what we're going to do and not change.”

He tucked the vial of poison into his pocket and then stepped into a closet beside one of the headmistress's bookshelves. “What I feel for you will never change.”