The Queen of Blood (20 page)

His lungs began to burn. He had to work fast, release whatever was holding her. He expected to find a knot of vines. Instead, it felt like stone, clamped around her.
Dammit, release her!

Moving his arm through the sludge of sand, he drew his sword and plunged it into the stone.
Let her go!
The stone loosened, and Ven tugged Daleina upward, yanking himself up on the rope.

The rope itself began to pull upward. He burst out of the morass and gasped in air. Sand filled his mouth, and he spit it out as he hauled Daleina out of the quicksand.

Hamon and Bayn were both pulling the rope, helping him out. Hamon rushed forward and dragged Daleina out and lay her on her back. Ven crawled out on his elbows beside her. “Is she alive?” Ven spat out sand.

“No,” Hamon said as he tore open his healer's pack.

D
aleina woke in darkness. Her eyes felt as if they'd been scalded, and when she blinked, it felt as if knives were being plunged into the back of her skull. She reached up to wipe the grit from her face, and her wrist was caught by a hand. “Don't fight,” an unfamiliar voice said.

Every instinct screamed at her to claw the sand from her eyes and to run, far away from the shifting sand, from the monster, from the pain. But then she felt cool water poured over her eyelids. A cloth was rubbed gently across her face, and then more water. Her head was tilted to the right, and she coughed, splitting up bile mixed with sand. It scraped her throat like a thousand fingernails, and tears popped into her eyes. The tears were rinsed away, along with more sand.

Reaching with her mind, she felt deep into the bedrock, for the spirit . . . Nothing. No monster beneath the rocks. The water continued to pour, washing her eyes. Moving hurt. Breathing hurt.
Who are you?
she wanted to ask.

“Is she going to live?” Ven's voice.

She clung to his voice as if it were a rope tossed to her as she drowned. She wanted to say yes, she was alive, she wasn't beaten.

That he hadn't broken her yet.

“Her heart stopped,” the unfamiliar voice said, calm, as if commenting on the weather.

“I know, but is she going to live?”

My heart?
It was impossible to imagine. Her hand twitched, and she raised it to lay over her heart. She tried to feel the heartbeat through her sand-encrusted shirt.

“Yes. But there may be damage.”

“Fix it,” Ven said.

“Stop talking, please.” The other voice was mild, calm, and male. She couldn't tell the age, but she thought he must be a nice singer. His voice was a smooth baritone. “Relax, Daleina—you're safe now.”

She lay still and let the healer continue to pour water over her eyes. At some point, she must have lost consciousness again, because the next moment she became aware, she tried to open her eyes and couldn't—her head was swaddled in soft cloths. Reaching up, she touched the bandages. “Hello?” she tried to whisper. Her throat felt raw, as if it had been scraped with a fork all the way down to her lungs.
Ow
.

“Lie still,” the baritone said. “You need to rest.”

“Who are you?” There, that sounded louder, more human.

“My name is Hamon. I'm a healer.” His voice flowed over her, like the water. It made her feel as if everything was all right, as if she was being taken care of, as if she were home. She'd never heard a voice with that kind of power in it.

“Where's”—she stopped, tried to swallow, tried again—“Champion Ven?” Her voice creaked, like a rocking chair made of brittle wood.
A thousand times ow
.

“He's hunting. Said he wants to make you soup.” Hamon sounded amused. “I didn't know he knew how to make soup. His usual cooking technique is to stick meat into a fire until it's burnt.”

She knew she should smile, but her face felt stiff. “My eyes?”

“Need to heal.” She felt his hand laid over hers. His hand was warm, like a blanket.

“How long?”

He didn't answer. “How are you feeling?”

She considered being stoic and strong. She was a candidate,
after all—she wasn't supposed to be slowed by pain—but he was a healer, and it felt stupid to lie. “Everything hurts.”

“You have no breaks, miraculously, but your body was under tremendous strain. You were the rope in a tug of war. Do you remember any of it?”

She shook her head and then wished she hadn't as pain blossomed fresh through her skull.

“Champion Ven dove into the quicksand after you and stabbed the spirit with his sword. I don't think anyone has ever fought a spirit within the earth before. As he told it, the spirit was surprised enough to release you, and Ven pulled both you and himself out.”

“Why?” she asked.

“What do you mean, ‘why'?” He sounded startled, unusual in such a soothing voice. His voice reminded her of chocolate, she decided. “He wanted to save you.”

“I failed.” She wanted to elaborate, but every word still scraped her throat. She'd failed her test. She was unworthy. By all rights, he should have left her in the soupy earth. As soon as she was well enough to move, he'd be taking her back to the academy, dumping her on the doorstep. Some hero she'd turned out to be. She couldn't even protect herself. No one wanted a queen who needed saving.

“You encountered an old, strong spirit,” Hamon said. “There's no shame in that.”

“Lots of shame. I can't move.” The truth of that last sentence echoed in her head. “Why can't I move?” She tried to shift her leg.

She felt calming hands on the sides of her face. “I had to give you a large dose of medicine—a mix of firebrand and moon-moss, which if you combine three to one and . . .” Hamon began then stopped. “Your muscles will remember how to move. In the meantime, you need to be patient and rest. The forest won't fall down around us if you sleep a little more.”

“And my eyes?”

He was silent for a moment. “You need to be patient—”

“Am I blind?”

“Your eyes were scratched by the sand. They need to rest.”

“But will I—”

She felt fingers pressed to her lips, stopping her. “Rest,” Hamon told her.

Daleina tried, truly tried, but her mind churned, replaying every second that she could remember, trying to pinpoint what she did wrong and what she could have done differently. If she'd summoned the spirits faster . . . If she hadn't clung to Bayn . . . If she'd been more aware to begin with . . . She spread her awareness out as she “rested,” and felt the location of every spirit around her, from the tiny ones in the upper leaves to the ancient slumbering ones within the trees. She'd never felt one as large as the one within the bedrock before, and she couldn't find it now. It must have fled the area, or burrowed deeper.

She heard Ven's voice. “How is she?”

“Stubborn. Like you. She pretends to cooperate, but she's lying there, awake, most likely berating herself for not being instantly well. Speaking of which, you should let me examine you.”

“I'm fine. Will she recover?”

“It's too soon to tell. Give her another few days to sleep, and then we'll see.”

She wanted to speak up then, tell them she couldn't sleep for a few days, she couldn't afford to lose the training time, she didn't want to fail . . . But then she felt sweet, syrupy liquid on her lips.

“Drink,” Hamon commanded. “It will help.”

She drank. And then she slept again.

At some point, she woke and ate soup, which tasted like burnt meat. Some time later, she woke again and was able to sit up. Later, Hamon helped her stand. He steadied her as she relieved herself, and she realized he must have been cleaning her before now. She was grateful for the syrupy liquid after that realization. Maybe it would erase the memory of how terrible it was to feel so helpless.

She didn't know how much time had passed before she was strong enough to feel her way over roots without help. Bandages were still wrapped around her eyes. Underbrush scraped her
legs. Bayn nudged her knees, guiding her behind a tree so she could relieve herself on her own. It was her first triumph since her failure with the quicksand.

That night, she sat still as Hamon unwrapped the bandages. Ven told her he'd douse the fire so the brightness wouldn't hurt her eyes. She blinked them open. The lids felt crusty.

“Tilt your head to the side,” Hamon said.

She obeyed, and he poured water gently across her eyes. After he finished bathing them, he tilted her chin up, as if he were examining her. “How can you examine my eyes in the darkness?” she asked.

“It's not dark,” Hamon said quietly.

“What do you mean?” But she felt her heart constrict.

Gently, he rewrapped the bandages. “Your eyes need to heal for a while more.”

Reaching her hands forward, Daleina felt around her, and her palms felt heat—Ven hadn't extinguished the fire. “But . . . they should be better!” The rest of her had healed. Why not her eyes?

“The corneas should heal themselves,” Hamon said. “Most likely, your sight will return on its own, but you must continue to rest them. All you need is time.”

“Is she well enough to travel?” Ven asked.

“Yes, except for her eyes, she's fully recovered,” Hamon said. “She was remarkably lucky, in many ways.”

“Then we'll start for the academy at dawn—”

“I'm not going back,” Daleina interrupted. He'd said she was recovered. That wasn't grounds for sending her back to the academy in shame. She felt along the edges of the bandages. Their softness was comforting now, after the water. “I'll heal out here.”

“You can't continue your training like this,” Hamon said gently. “In a few months—”

“In a few months, the queen could call for the trials.” The queen could call them whenever she wanted, regardless of whether Daleina—or anyone—was ready. And Champion Ven could find another candidate, one who wasn't injured, one who was more powerful. It would be worse than not having been chosen; she'd be the rejected one.

“It's not possible,” Ven said. “You can't climb without your sight, and you can't train on the forest floor—it's too dangerous, especially since we can't predict when another earth spirit will decide to grab you—”

“Of course you can predict it! It was your test, wasn't it?”

“Daleina, that wasn't a test.”

She was silent for a moment, absorbing that—he hadn't been testing her, which meant she hadn't failed, not really, not in her champion's eyes. At least, not yet. Not if she showed him that this wouldn't stop her. That was one thing she could do as well as or better than any other candidate: be stubborn.

“It's the healer's purview . . .” Hamon began.

“But my decision, right?” Daleina interrupted.

Hamon began to protest again, but this time Ven stopped him. Daleina listened to their breathing. She heard the crackle of the fire and Bayn's soft panting beside her, as well as the wind in the leaves above and the rustle of night animals in the underbrush. Stretching her awareness out, she touched the spirits that lived in the trees nearby. “What are you suggesting?” Ven asked her.

“If I become queen, I won't have the luxury of hiding if things get difficult,” Daleina said. “If I'm not strong enough for just myself, how can I be strong enough for Renthia? I have to do this. I can't stop.”

“You're injured,” Hamon said. “No one expects you to continue to train while—”

“I'm supposed to stay with Champion Ven. Learn from him. I can't learn if I'm cocooned away somewhere.” There was no guarantee Champion Ven would want her as a candidate anymore if he had to wait for her to heal. He could choose someone else, and what if no one else ever chose her? Especially with an injury, her chances were far worse. If he didn't keep training her, if she didn't continue, she may never get another chance.
It was a miracle I was chosen at all
. Headmistress Hanna had made that clear.

“Only until you're well enough,” Hamon said. “Then you can train all you want.”

“It's just my eyes, isn't it? If I could see, you'd let me train, no objection.”

“You need your eyes—”

“The people need a queen, not a squirrel. I don't need to be able to climb easily; I just have to control the spirits.” Daleina buried her hands in Bayn's fur. “Bayn will help me on the forest floor. And when I have to climb higher . . . I've climbed at night before. This won't be so very different. Please, Ven, don't dismiss me. I can still do this.”

“I don't advise it,” Hamon said.

“You're not supposed to advise it,” Daleina said. “You're a healer. You're supposed to coddle people. Ven, I know I can do this, but I can't do it without you. Please. You chose me. Choose to believe in me again.”

He was silent for a long moment. She listened to the night sounds. A distant wolf howled, but Bayn didn't echo him. Insects buzzed, and night animals rustled in the bushes around them, scrounging for food. No spirits were nearby.

“Very well,” he said at last.

S
HE TRAINED ON THE FOREST FLOOR
.

Her champion drilled her on sensing spirits. How many could she feel? How far could she reach? She'd never done it without sight before, and it was both easier and harder. She couldn't depend on seeing a leaf rustle, but she could hear it, and without the distraction of her eyes trying to guess where the spirits were, she began to trust her mind more. For an entire week, that was all she did: practice reaching with her mind.

They kept to the camp for the most part, with Bayn on guard against wolf packs, irate badgers, ground snakes, and the other wildlife that kept most villages up in the trees. The wolf also acted as her guide, helping her move quickly around the trees and over the roots. Daleina keep her hand on the wolf's back so she could feel when Bayn leaped over a root, and Bayn would nudge against Daleina when it was time to move around a tree. The wolf stuck by her side constantly.

The earth spirit in the bedrock didn't return, but Daleina
stayed alert for him. When it was time to sleep, she climbed into a hammock above the dirt, and Bayn lay beside her. She hoped that was enough to keep them safe.

Gradually, she became used to feeling her way around the camp. She had a sense of where the trees were, and each step didn't feel so much like plummeting off a cliff.

“You're going easy on me,” she told Ven one morning. “You haven't had a spirit attack me yet.”

Hamon spoke up. “You
want
to be attacked?”