The Queen of Blood (30 page)

“The spirits know who we all are,” one said.

Others nodded.

Daleina stretched her awareness out, feeling for spirits, for anything that didn't seem right. She felt the plethora of spirits they'd called, clustered in the trees and flying through the air and spread throughout the forest. It didn't feel any different from how it felt that morning.

“No one can hide from the spirits,” Iondra said.

“She's not hiding,” Zie said sharply. “Mari wouldn't do that. She'd have come back if she could. Something happened. Maybe that earth spirit . . .”

Daleina plunged her awareness into the earth, to the bedrock. She felt nothing but the ordinary spirits that burrowed through the soil. “It's not near.” If it had been near, it had left. “Tell the spirits . . .” She swallowed not wanting to say it out loud. “Tell them to look for bodies.” If Mari were . . . gone, the spirits might not consider her Mari anymore. They might overlook her. She heard Linna gasp and Revi hiss.

One of the other candidates, Berra, asked, “Why don't you send spirits out too? Why are you always just giving orders?” She had burn scars across her knuckles, as if she'd once punched a fire.

“Because this is Mari's life we're talking about,” Daleina snapped. She wasn't going to trust her own power for this. “And I don't play games with my friends' lives.”

“You don't know Mari,” Linna chimed in, “so your mind is calmer than ours. You're able to control the spirits better. Please don't argue, not now.” Squeezing Daleina's hand, Linna glared at Berra and the others. Daleina wanted to tell them they didn't need to hide her weakness, not anymore. She'd made her peace with it. But now wasn't the time. This wasn't about her and her future; it was about Mari.

They waited. The spirits searched.

Daleina felt them scouring the forest. All the spirits were
awakened and buzzing through the air, earth, and trees. Except for a tight knot of motionless spirits. She let her awareness brush over them. They weren't angry. Maybe asleep? She tried to push them away, but it was like pushing on a boulder. She wasn't strong enough. “Revi, to the northeast . . . there are some wood spirits who haven't responded. Can you try to wake them?”

Frowning, Revi concentrated. “Yeah, I feel them. It's like they're curled in a ball.”

Oh no
. “A ball,” Daleina said carefully. “A sphere of spirits. Six spirits?”

“I can't tell. Yes. Maybe . . . yes.”

From the forest came a wolf's howl. Bayn.

Daleina took off at a run. The others ran with her. The spirits whipped around them, and Daleina ignored them, all her focus on the sphere of spirits ahead and the lone wolf's howl. She crashed through the brush, making no attempt to be silent. “Break that sphere! Break it apart!”

On the command of the other candidates, all the spirits flew toward the sphere. They tore at it, breaking at the wood. Daleina burst into the clearing, seeing it for the first time, through the translucent bodies of the spirits.

It cracked. She heard the crack, felt it within her body, felt as if her own bones were breaking, and the sphere cracked open like an egg.

Mari's shattered body tumbled out of the sphere.

I
t should have been a triumphant return, with parades and feasts and joy. Nearly all the candidates had survived the trials, and even better, an abandoned village had been rebuilt. Other years, other trials, the death toll had been higher. But Ven was there in the academy when the news was told to Caretaker Undu. He saw the ashen face of Headmistress Hanna. He watched the reaction of the masters, all of whom had known Candidate Mari. And he knew her champion, an older man who had trained three heirs before her and who, once the news had spread, had confided in Ven that this was it, he was done, he'd never train another.

Ven had understood.

So he was in a less than celebratory mood when the silken air spirit landed on his bed and informed him that the queen requested his company. He was even less pleased when the spirit said it had been sent to carry him. But he squelched down the instinct to toss the spirit out the window and instead sat on its back as if it were a horse. Stronger than it looked, the spirit unfurled mothlike wings that were broader than he was tall, and soared out of the academy window.

Ven eyed the trees as they flew past, his muscles tensed to leap from the back of the air spirit, if necessary, but the spirit flew him straight to the palace and up to the balcony of Queen Fara's bedchambers. It alighted on the balcony, and he dismounted.

The spirit hovered for a moment, as if it expected a reward or praise. Determined not to fight with Fara over unimportant things when there were important things to say, he bowed stiffly to the air spirit.

As if satisfied, it flew away, toward the moon, its white body shadowed as it passed in front of it. Behind him, he heard the rustle of silk. “They can be beautiful, can't they?”

Ven grunted.

“Come, Ven, even you must admit it.”

“The moon is beautiful. The trees. This palace.” He turned to face her. “You.” She was. Her silken robe seemed to float on her shoulders. Her hair was loose and tumbled around her neck. He wanted to brush that hair off her neck and kiss her skin everywhere, but he forced himself not to move. “But they . . . they destroy beauty. Fara, those spirits have to die.”

Killing a spirit was a serious matter. Each death caused the death of a portion of Aratay, decreasing their forests, destroying their usable land. Six was a significant number, especially given how powerful the spirits were reported to be. Homes could be lost. Orchards. More. But this couldn't continue. Six powerful spirits were rogue and had to be brought down. “Once, it was an accident. Twice, unfortunate. Three times . . . it's a pattern. These spirits are defying you.”

“And I will tighten my grip on them. Champion Ven, I am deeply sorry for your losses, but I cannot afford to terminate these spirits.” She was using his title. She wasn't pleased with him. Well, two could play at that game: he wasn't pleased with her.

“Their deaths would send a message to the other spirits—”

“The spirits never understand those messages,” Queen Fara said. “You know that. This would be an execution, pure and simple.”

“
You
don't need to do it,” Ven said softly.

She didn't speak.

“I will do it. It doesn't need to come from the queen. Let me hunt them down.” He wanted to be the one to do it—he hadn't been here to protect Sata. And he'd been with Fara, distracting her and distracted by her, when the spirits attacked Daleina.
Destroying them will be my penance
. “I can do it.”

Fara was studying his face. “These spirits overwhelmed powerful women, trained to command. What makes you think you have a chance against them?”

“I am certain the heirs would assist me, especially those who were close to Mari. It's possible the entire Northeast Academy would rally for such a hunt, if it was endorsed by Your Majesty, though you may want it done more quietly. One or two heirs would be sufficient assistance.”

“It would set a terrible precedent,” Fara said. “Punishment is supposed to come from the queen. Otherwise, we'll have vigilantes trying to kill spirits, destroying our land in the process and most likely dying.”

“I'm the disgraced champion,” Ven pointed out. “I'm not supposed to follow the rules.” He held her gaze and thought he saw almost approval in her eyes.

“I have larger problems than a few rogue spirits,” Queen Fara said. “There's a new queen in Semo, and she's flexing her muscles. The border spirits are restless. My attention
must
be there, if we don't want to wake one morning and discover our land has shrunk and half our citizens are bowing to someone new who doesn't know our people or respect our forests. As much as our people wish to believe it, I'm not omnipotent.” Her gaze locked on Ven, as if they shared a secret, which he supposed they did, though he wasn't sure which secret she was thinking of. “I can't afford the time or energy to hunt for rogue spirits, and I can't afford to worry about protecting other spirits from overeager hunters who think it's open season.”

“Perhaps that's what the spirits are counting on?” Ven suggested.

“Perhaps,” she said. “It's as fine a theory as any.”

For once, she was admitting weakness. For once, she was being honest with him. He felt the muscles in his shoulders unknot. “Then you will allow me to hunt?”

“You must do it secretly, to avoid creating new vigilantes.”

And to hide your weakness,
he thought but didn't say.

“Begin tonight. It's a full moon, which means the strongest spirit in the capital will be distracted—you should be able
to escape her notice. You may take your candidate, of course. I believe she will be motivated to assist you. But I'd ask that you tell no one else.”

He touched her cheek, let his hand cup her face. “There's no shame in asking for help.”

“There is if you're queen.”

“Then don't be queen right now, and ask me as you, as Fara.” He touched her lips with his and wondered at the woman who could inspire him to poetry. Perhaps a bit of canopy singer had touched him as well. It did run in his family. “My beautiful Fara.”

She kissed him back. “Kill the spirits, Ven. For Mari, for Daleina, for Sata, for me.”

“Gladly,” he said, and drew her inside the bedchamber.

T
HE FUNERAL FOR
M
ARI WAS BEAUTIFUL
,
AND
D
ALEINA HATED
every second of it. All the students from the academy wore black ribbons and filed in a line to the burial ground. All the masters encircled her body, and the headmistress herself summoned the spirits to bury her deep in the earth. Standing between Revi and Linna, Daleina let her awareness follow the spirits down as they sank with Mari. When it was complete, thousands of white flowers blossomed around the grove, as if snow had fallen. Looking at Caretaker Undu across the grove, Daleina wished she could uproot every single flower and instead give the caretaker back Mari. Joining the line of people, she passed by the masters, clasped their hands, and murmured meaningless phrases, the things you said when this happened, about how she wasn't in pain now, and how she was part of Renthia forevermore, how she'd never be forgotten. She reached Caretaker Undu.

“I'm sorry for your loss,” Daleina said, and her throat clogged.

Caretaker Undu held herself as still as a statue. Her hands were clasped in front of her, and her face was like stone. “Thank you, Candidate Daleina.”

And that was all she could say, all she could do. She'd never felt so helpless. She wanted to drive her knife into a tree and yell until her throat ached. But she knew that wouldn't bring Mari back or erase one second of pain for Mari's mother.

After the funeral ended, Daleina separated herself from the crowd. Beyond the grove, people lined the bridges, and it felt more like a festival—they wanted to celebrate the end of the trials. Shopkeepers were selling sugared rolls and fruit dipped in chocolate. Children were blowing horns and waving flags. Daleina was even more conscious that Mari should be walking with them, not left behind under the ground in a blossom-covered grove. Veering away, she headed for the academy. She couldn't celebrate.

She found Hamon inside, waiting in her room, as if he'd known she'd come there. He went to her instantly, drew her inside, and shut the door.

“I keep thinking that it could have been you. I'm sorry. I know you're mourning her and I should be too, but I didn't know her. I know
you,
and I keep picturing you in that sphere. It was almost you.” He brushed the hair from her neck and wrapped his arms around her, his cheek pressed to her cheek. She let him hold her.

She didn't feel right being in the academy without Mari. It didn't feel like the academy should exist without her. But it was here. They'd come back in only two days, with her body encased in cloth. They hadn't stopped until they reached the tower, and then the candidates had fractured—many to their homes, some to their academies. She had come here, with Mari's body, and been here when Zie had broken the news. She didn't know how her friend had had the strength to form the words. She'd said afterward that was information she never wanted to have to share, and then she'd shut herself in her room and hadn't said a word since.

Their rooms had been preserved—the next crop of students hadn't come yet. Mari's room was still exactly as it had been, with her class schedule on the door, though her belongings weren't there. She'd packed them all away when she left for her training, as they all had. Daleina guessed they were with Caretaker Undu now.

Daleina's room felt like it wasn't hers. All her belongings were still stuffed into a bag. Sitting on her old cot, she felt like a stranger. She held on to Hamon as if he were her link to who she was.

“I know I'm supposed to say a lot of things, like she's at peace, and time will heal all wounds, but that won't help, will it?” Hamon was stroking her hair.

She rested her head against his shoulder. “It won't help.”

“What will? Tell me and I'll do it.”

She heard the door open. She didn't move, though she felt Hamon's back stiffen as if he wanted to stand at attention, but he stayed with her, arms tight around her.

“I know what will help.” Champion Ven.

Daleina lifted her head.

He shut the door behind him. “Queen Fara has given her permission. We are to find the spirits who did this—and then kill them.”

She stared at him. Beside her, Hamon was staring too, his jaw open as if he'd forgotten how to work it. Daleina's hands curled into fists. “You're right,” she said. “That will help.”

“I
HATE THIS PLAN
,” H
AMON MUTTERED LOUDLY
.

Ven contemplated telling the boy to leave. He didn't have to be here. In fact, they barely fit, three of them on the tiny platform, a hunter's blind just outside the city. But Daleina beat him to it. “Then leave,” she said.

He was sorting through his healer's pack, and Ven watched him count tubs of fast-acting salve, tourniquet materials, and a scalpel. “Of course I'm not leaving. Someone has to patch you up afterward. I'm only saying I hate this. I'm not saying you shouldn't do it.”

Daleina blinked. “You aren't going to talk us out of it? Say it's too bloodthirsty? Claim that Mari wouldn't want this, that it's unworthy of a candidate, that it will hurt Aratay more than it will help, that spirits are amoral, not immoral, and they can't help their instincts, and they're part of the wild beauty that is the world?”

“No.”

“Good.”

The two of them stared at each other, and Ven felt as if he were missing large pieces of the conversation. “Did you two just have your first lovers' quarrel?” he asked.

“I think so,” Hamon said gravely.

“Huh. Much less dramatic than some I've had. Can we do this now?” He spared Hamon another pointed glance. “Without the commentary, if you please.”

Daleina closed her eyes, her body still, her face blank. Ven recognized the look—she was focusing outward, feeling for spirits. He waited, patiently, somewhat patiently, not at all patiently. His fingers were itching to hold his knives, the comforting weight in his hands, but he kept them sheathed. If they were going to have any element of surprise, it was best not to look like a dangerous murderer.

She opened her eyes. “Found one.”

“That was fast,” Hamon said.

“What did I say about no commentary?” Ven said. “The fact that one is nearby only proves they're targeting the most powerful women in Aratay.” All of the heirs and candidates were gathering in the capital, awaiting the queen's announcement of the new heir rankings. Sata had been ranked first—the older heirs would want to know if they'd moved into her position, and the younger ones would want to know where they ranked with the rest.

“It's coming,” Daleina said. She added, “Told you it wouldn't be able to resist.”

“How did you do it?” Ven had doubted she was strong enough to command even one of the six spirits that had overcome Sata and Mari, but she'd been insistent.

“I asked it to come kill me.”

Ven stared at her.

“Told you I hated this plan.” Hamon picked up a scalpel as if it were a weapon and waited. “She has alarmingly self-sacrificial instincts.”

Ven scowled and leveled a finger at her nose. “We'll talk about this later.” Now it was Ven's turn. He climbed higher, positioning himself between two branches, and focused, feeling his heart race and his palms sweat. He'd missed this, he realized. Just pure fight. One goal clear: eliminate the threat. He readied his bow, fit an arrow, and prepared to draw. He scanned the trees—

There.

He drew and released.

It thunked into wood. He drew and released again, tracking the slight movement in the leaves. The second one hit—he heard the shriek. He had to finish this quickly and quietly. Sprinting over the branches, he ran toward the sound. The spirit was there, an arrow stuck in its wooden thigh. Bark—its skin—spread to enclose the arrow, solidifying around the shaft, subsuming the point.