The Queen of Blood (23 page)

It liked that.

Soaring up, it burst out of the clouds, and Daleina saw a field of hills spreading in every direction until they melted into blue. Above, the sky was unblemished and felt as if she were looking at an expanse of pure paint, thick and liquidy. The sun looked as if it had burned away part of the sky, searing away the blue and replacing it with white. Her eyes stung as she drank in the blue. It felt as if she'd never seen sky before. Daleina took a breath of impossibly pure air, and then the ermine spirit dove into the clouds again, faster and faster.

She held tight to its neck. It twisted as it burst out of the clouds above the forest canopy, and then it rotated upside down. She squeezed tight with her thighs as she felt gravity pulling her. It soared upside down inches above Ven and Hamon's heads. Hamon ducked, calling toward her. And she laughed—the look in Ven's eyes. She could see the surprise etched on his face.

You're amazing,
she told the spirit.

Twisting right-side-up, it spiraled down to the canopy. She slipped off, and Hamon caught her waist. Ven, she saw, had a knife held casually in one hand, ready. She knew how far he could throw it, though hitting the spirit while he carried her above the clouds would not have been helpful. She was glad he'd resisted.

The ermine spirit turned its bright eyes toward her—and then bit her arm.

Knife in hand, Ven lunged forward, but Daleina stopped him as the ermine spirit flew up and pierced the clouds. Hamon pressed his lips together in disapproval—she loved that she could read his expression instead of guessing his mood from his voice and the length of his silences—and pushed her sleeve up and began cleaning the wound with liquid he carried in his medicine pack.

“What did you do to it?” Ven asked.

“I complimented it, and I meant it.”

He snorted. “There have been queens that have tried to parlay with the spirits before. Many times, in fact. You've heard the stories?”

All of them ended badly, very badly.

“Instinct wins over all else,” Ven said. “But in the more advanced spirits . . .”

“It just wanted to fly,” Daleina said. It was easy to see how much the air spirits loved the air, just as the fire spirits reveled in fire.

He studied her for a moment, then asked, “Do you think your new friend will fly us all to Mittriel?”

“Unlikely.” At least, not without wanting to drop one of them. She didn't think she was up to wrestling the ermine for the entire journey. “But I'm glad I got to see above the clouds.” That statement seemed inadequate to how it had felt. The teachers never talked about how beautiful working with wild spirits could be. She thought of some of the worst romantic village songs, of young men who fall in love with wood spirits who look like beautiful young girls, and of the widow who hurled herself from the top of a pine tree for love of an air spirit. Always those tales ended in tragedy, but she didn't doubt that they sometimes happened. Some of the spirits looked so close to human, and so many, human or not, were beautiful. They could make even death look beautiful, if you were the kind who swooned over bad poetry. You couldn't ever forget they were the enemy.
Don't trust the fire, for it will burn you. Don't trust the ice, for it will freeze you. Don't trust the water, for it will drown you . . 
.

“Wire paths, then?” Ven suggested.

Daleina smiled and drew her clips out of her pockets, thankful that she no longer needed anyone to shout out when to use them. She could do this herself now. They climbed to the wires. Ven first, then Daleina, and last Hamon. Before clipping on, she pulled a smooth round rock out of another pocket and dropped it. It tumbled down the trunk toward the forest floor, a signal for Bayn that they were traveling again. The wolf had an uncanny ability to follow them, even from far below.

Daleina clipped on and pushed off. The trees blurred around her, and for an instant, she felt fear well up in her, like bubbles in her throat—she
knew
it was only because she was flying fast, but she couldn't seem to make her heart believe. It thumped faster and harder. She squeezed her eyes shut. There. That was better. She only opened them again when she heard Ven clip on to the
new wire, then she switched wires as well and closed her eyes again.

By nightfall, they'd traveled many miles, and Daleina would have kept going—traveling at night was still easier than traveling sightless. “We have three days to answer the summons,” Ven said. “We can stop here. Perhaps even find hospitality?” He turned to Daleina.

“Sorry, but I don't . . .” she began.

“Threefork. Your family's village,” Hamon prompted gently.

Daleina felt her cheeks flush. She hadn't recognized it, possibly because she'd never taken the wire paths here before. Looking down, she tried to orient herself. The village her family had settled in had a trio of thick trees at its heart. This—ahh, there they were, the triplet trees, split around a platform.

“At last, beds! Or cots. Or whatever your family has, I'm sure would be fine,” Hamon said. “Shall we go down?” He began climbing before Ven and Daleina agreed.

Following, Ven told him, “You lack the heart of a woodsman.”

“But I pretend at one so excellently,” Hamon said.

“Wait, are you a city boy at heart?” Daleina asked.

“He is,” Ven said seriously.

“I think I'm appalled.”

“Excuse me?” Hamon said, pausing.

“Revolted,” she amended.

“Definitely revolted,” Ven agreed. “Rejecting good, clean air and values.”

“I'm not sure I can keep talking with him,” Daleina said. “Do you think he's been faking woodsmanship the entire time?” He didn't talk about his own family much—only child, father dead, mother unkind, other relatives uninterested—but she knew he was from one of the northern cities. He was more comfortable in the forest, though, happily gathering his rare plants and berries, as at home as if he were from one of the outer villages.

“I think he slides silk pillowcases over the rocks at night when he thinks we aren't looking,” Ven said, climbing too.

“No!” Daleina gasped in mock horror. “And he wears a cravat hidden under his shirt.”

“I heard he secretly keeps a pocket watch,” Ven said.

“And his boots have heels,” Daleina said.

“
My
boots have heels,” Ven said. “Better to catch the branches.”

“Ahh, but yours aren't lined with fur to keep your toes soft.”

Hamon rolled his eyes at them. “I'm going to throw my fur-lined boots at you.”

They laughed and were soon on the bridge outside the village. Daleina felt her heart beating faster, and she couldn't explain why. This was her
home
. She should feel as if she were walking into a familiar embrace. Instead, she felt as if she were intruding. She felt both Ven and Hamon watching her, waiting for her, and briefly closed her eyes, resting them. She breathed in, steadying herself, and reminded herself that she faced spirits on a regular basis. Normal humans in a normal village should not make her nervous. Plus these were people who knew her, loved her, and were proud of her.

Except this is the first time I've visited without warning. . . 
.

Opening her eyes, she told herself to stop dithering, and she marched forward into the center of the village. Everything was the same as she remembered, but also a little different—same enough that the differences were disconcerting. The baker's shop had grown and now sported tables and chairs that extended onto the center platform. Families were sharing dinner together outside, a touch of city life that had spread to the village. The bookshop boasted a new sign, and the door was festooned with ribbons. Daleina didn't recognize any of the books in the display. Nor did she recognize any of the people moving around the town center. Children, laughing, ran through, on their way home from either school or their apprenticeships. She saw the hedgewitch's shop, where she had been an apprentice for five years, and she hesitated again.

Not that it did much good.

“Little Dally, is that you, all grown up? Bless me.” The hedge-witch, Mistress Baria, bustled out of her shop. Daleina realized
with a shock that she'd aged—her hair was thin and white, her face was creased with wrinkles. She tottered back and forth on plump legs as she crossed the platform to enfold Daleina in a hug.

“Little Dally?”
she saw Ven mouth. Oh, great, she wasn't going to hear the end of this.

Being enveloped by the hedgewitch made her feel ten years old again. The last few visits her family had come to see her, rather than the other way around. She hadn't seen Mistress Baria in a long time. “You've come for a visit? Oh, this is such a delight! And who are your charming friends?”

“Champion Ven and Healer Hamon,” Daleina introduced them, and tried to figure out how to phrase that she wasn't here for a visit, just for a place to sleep.

“A champion, here! And a healer too. I must show you some of my charms. I make the finest concoctions for three villages. Ask Dally. She knows. I taught her everything. She's my shining star.” The hedgewitch pinched Daleina's cheek. “I always knew she'd go far. Why, the very first time I met her, she marched into my shop and demanded that I teach her. Yes, she did. I told her no, no, you're too young, your parents should be asking for you, not you.”

“That was Arin, actually,” Daleina corrected. She felt as if her cheeks were fire-red. It was her sister who had marched into the hedgewitch's shop and informed her that she had to take Daleina for an apprentice. Daleina had been with her parents, shy in the face of a new village. She remembered she'd been looking into the window of the bookshop, wondering if she dared to go in and touch the new books, when Arin had come back, pulling the hedgewitch with her.

“Oh, it was? Truly? No, no, you're remembering wrong. It was you. I know. So precocious so young. I could see the power shining through. You were my prodigy. I was the one who taught her to summon, but she might as well have been teaching me. Such a natural!”

She hadn't been. She'd failed for the entire first year to summon anything. She thought she must have been wrong about her
power, until Arin had fallen into a stream and a water spirit had knocked the branches out of her reach, taunting her. Daleina had forced the spirit to release the branches and divert the stream, and the hedgewitch had yelled at her for it, saying she could have killed them both, could have killed them all, if the water spirit had been angry enough. She then assigned Daleina to mashing herbs in the back of the shop for a week, not letting her out until she'd finished and night was falling. Still, Mistress Baria hadn't been a bad teacher. Just cautious. Her first priority was to protect the village as best she could, and Daleina, with her half-formed power, was a danger.

But Mistress Baria was still talking, praising her, saying her power shone through, and everyone had known it. Another lie. Or perhaps just a false memory.

And perhaps one she could leave the old woman with.

Daleina extracted herself. “My family isn't expecting me. It's a surprise visit. So I'd better surprise them before they hear from someone else. You know how villages are.”

“Oh my yes. Why, once I had a raccoon break into my pantry, and by breakfast, everyone knew and appeared at my door with pastries—”

Pulling Ven and Hamon with her, Daleina made her escape across the platform. By now, she was certain that word of her arrival had spread to her family. She just wanted to make it there without any more interruptions.

“That explains a lot,” Hamon said blandly.

Daleina shot him a look.

Another voice called to them. “Daleina?” This voice was far more welcome: Arin, her sister, who was emerging from the bakery. “Is it truly you?”

She looked so much older than the last time Daleina had visited. She'd sprouted at least three inches, and her hair was pulled back into a bun instead of the braids she used to wear. But most noticeable was the cast that encased her leg from ankle to mid-thigh. She had crutches under her armpits and a bag with bread loaves slung over her back. Swinging her crutches forward, she
stopped just outside the bakery door. “If you've come to lecture me about being more careful,” Arin said, “I'll hit you in the head with my crutches.”

Daleina stared at the crutches. Lacquered black, they'd been carved with their mother's signature designs, curled vines and flowers, and decorated with fresh charms. “I'm not . . .” Words failed her. She hadn't been told of any accident. “Are you all right? Arin, what happened?”

Smacking the wood with her crutches, Arin propelled herself forward. On past visits, Arin had run out of the house and jumped into Daleina's arms. She'd been smaller then. Now Daleina wasn't certain how to greet her, especially with the crutches. Daleina stepped toward Arin to embrace her or kiss her cheek, but Arin's momentum carried her past Daleina toward one of the bridges. “Aren't you coming? Mother and Daddy will be thrilled to see you.”

Following Arin, Daleina asked, “How did you . . .”

“Fell out of a tree. It happens. Please don't make a big deal out of it.”

If she'd been here, she could have ordered an air spirit to catch her. “Were you pushed? Who did this to you?” As a kid, Arin had been as surefooted as a squirrel . . . Or, no, that was Daleina. Arin had needed help on the thicker branches. But that was when she was little. By now, she should know every inch of the village trees—the ladders, the bridges, the ropes.

“Of course no one pushed me. What a terrible thing to say! I was distracted, and I didn't lift my foot high enough. Caught my toes on the lip of a bridge, and
wheeee
.”

“But the railings—”

“Flipped right over. It was remarkably ungraceful, and thank you for making me relive it.” Pausing, Arin adjusted the pack higher on her shoulder.