The Reluctant Queen Read online

  She jammed her feet into the crevasses of the bark, feeling her way down. Llor clung to one side of her—he’d wrapped her belt around his waist as they’d practiced. Erian was in front of her, climbing within the curve of Naelin’s arms. She felt her daughter’s movements as she brushed against her, and heard the breathing of both her children. Away from the camp, darkness closed around them like a blanket, and Naelin listened as hard as she could, hoping the spirits didn’t notice them.

  Eventually, her foot landed in dirt—the forest floor. She peered into the darkness around them. They’d come down between the curves of the roots. “Hide here,” she whispered, and herded Erian and Llor into the folds of the massive roots. They clustered together, roots on three sides of them, snug in the embrace of the tree. Naelin gathered her children close and wished they hadn’t left home. She didn’t belong out here, risking her family, trusting a man who didn’t understand that some risks weren’t acceptable. She thought of Renet and wondered if she’d traded one man with bad judgment for another, but she couldn’t bring herself to miss him. At least Champion Ven had never lied to her. “Sleep,” she whispered into her children’s hair.

  “I can’t,” Erian whispered back.

  “I know. But pretend, and maybe you’ll fool yourself and actually fall asleep.”

  Llor snuggled closer, and she breathed in his sweet little-boy scent. It didn’t seem to matter how many mud puddles he fell into, he exuded a smell that was better than baking. “Mama, I’m scared.”

  “That’s good. Fear can be your friend. It tells you when to run and when to hide. The trick is that after you’ve run and hid, you have to tell your fear thank you very much, you’re fine now, come back later.”

  “Will Champion Ven and Captain Alet be okay?” Erian asked, her voice small. Naelin held her tighter. It was easy to forget that Erian was still a child too. She was growing up so fast and wanted so badly to be an adult already.

  “Yes,” Naelin started to answer and then stopped as she saw a shadow move within the other shadows, a shift of gray. “Shhh.”

  They obediently quieted, knowing better than to ask why.

  It didn’t feel like a spirit. She couldn’t sense any crinkling in the air, but she heard the nearest bushes rustle, and then Erian let out a tiny gasp and squeezed tighter. An animal? It sounded larger than a squirrel. Raccoon? Badger?

  Naelin saw a shape move again and heard a low rumble, a growl. Predator. She held still, feeling as if every muscle had locked. They’d tucked themselves into the crook of branches for safety, but now it felt more like a trap.

  And she knew in that instant she’d use her power again. But not as a first resort. Not the way Champion Ven wanted. If she did this, she did it on her own terms.

  Resolute, she held her children in the crook of the tree until their breathing slowed, becoming even, and their bodies relaxed, limp against her. Awake, she stared into the darkness.

  Night was never just blackness in the woods. It was layers of colorlessness, shapelessness, and silence. Here, the silence was buoyed by the crickets, whose song melded into a steady hum in all directions.

  She didn’t intend to sleep at all, but somehow, despite the fear, despite her swirling thoughts, despite whatever lurked out there in the shadows, exhaustion overwhelmed her and she drifted into sleep, curled up with her children.

  She woke at dawn, as light filtered, gray and dim, to the forest floor. Seated in front of her, back to her as if he were on guard, was a massive wolf. Naelin tensed, squeezing her children tighter, and she felt Erian and Llor shift, waking. She loosened her grip on them, wiggling one arm free. Her kitchen knife was in her pack . . . which she’d left up with the champion, of course. She cast around for anything that could be used as a weapon—a stout branch, a sharp rock.

  Champion Ven spoke. “His name is Bayn.”

  She swallowed, not trusting herself to speak. He was here, and he knew the wolf. That was . . . good? Champion Ven was leaning against the trunk of the tree, arms crossed, face in shadows. A streak of blood stained the sleeve of his armor. In the dim dawn light, it looked like rust. He looked like he’d walked directly out of a heroic ballad, and she felt instantly safer. Not safe, but safer. Her heart kept thudding fast, though. “He seems to have taken a liking to you,” he said.

  In her arms, Erian woke and tried to stifle a scream—it came out as a shrill meep! The wolf turned his head to look at them. His yellow eyes fixed on Naelin. She didn’t move.

  “Doggie?” Llor said, his voice mushy with sleep.

  “He’s . . . tame?” Naelin’s voice only cracked a little. She licked her lips and tried again. Show no fear. “He won’t hurt us?”

  “Why don’t you ask him?”

  Because he’s a wolf, Naelin thought. “Don’t mock me.”

  “Never.”

  She thought she detected a twinkle in his eye, but perhaps that was her imagination. Surely he didn’t have a sense of humor. Erian took the champion literally and addressed the wolf, “Hello, Mr. Wolf, are you planning to eat us?”

  As if her question were beneath his dignity, the wolf looked away, scanning the forest once more. Around them, leaves rustled, and above birds chattered at one another, calling as they flew unseen from branch to branch. The forest was awakening as dawn filtered through the leaves.

  “Nice doggie,” Llor murmured, and then yawned, as if it were perfectly normal to wake up next to a wolf.

  After a few more minutes of no one being savaged by any wild animals, Naelin extradited herself from Erian and Llor and stood. Her muscles twinged, and her back ached. She hadn’t slept outside in years, and never as unprotected as this. She stretched her back and tried to shake out her foot, which tingled from being tucked underneath a not-so-small child for so long. At Champion Ven’s feet, nestled against the tree, were their packs—all the supplies that Naelin had left behind when she’d climbed with the children in the night. She didn’t see Captain Alet and felt a rush of alarm. “Is the captain all right?” Naelin asked.

  “She’s fine, but you left us in danger. That’s not behavior appropriate for an heir.”

  She considered for a moment how to reply to that. She knew he expected her to be abashed, or at least apologetic that she’d fled, but after searching her feelings, she decided she didn’t feel sorry at all. She settled on, “I’m glad that neither of you were hurt.” There, that was true.

  “You agreed to be trained,” he said. “If you’re to survive the trials, you must be trained.”

  “You agreed to keep my children safe,” she shot back. “If you want me to train, then tell me what you plan. No surprises. No assumptions. I will not be your performing monkey, dancing to your tunes without questions.” There. Let him respond to that.

  “Mama likes explanations,” Erian spoke up. “If you tell her why you want to do something and show you’ve thought it through, she’ll consider it.” She was parroting something Naelin told them all the time. If they acted mature, she’d treat them as mature. She nodded approvingly at Erian. Nice to know she’d been listening.

  Champion Ven sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Perhaps you’re right. I am used to candidates who need to be taught about spirits in the wild—they’ve spent years within the academy, learning to use their power within a highly controlled environment, and it’s my responsibility to throw them into the real world and teach them to adapt and bend, so that they don’t break. You, though, you already know about the dangers and unpredictability of the world. Perhaps what you need is the structure.”

  Naelin blinked at him, unsure if that was an apology, an insult, or a compliment. She thought . . . maybe the latter? “Exactly what do you mean?”

  “Tell me what you already know, and we’ll devise a lesson plan.”

  He was trying very hard to be both nice and reasonable, which was impressive given how she had abandoned him to the spirits last night. “I won’t agree to any plan that endangers Erian or Llor.”
/>   “You’ve made that clear.” She thought she heard a hint of amusement in his voice. He was laughing at her, or at least near her. “And Bayn apparently agrees with you. He’s been on guard all night.”

  She looked at the wolf again. “Thank you.”

  The wolf inclined his head as if he understood.

  “If we’re in agreement . . . ?” the champion asked.

  Naelin nodded, cautiously, still watching the wolf. She wasn’t certain she trusted this conciliatory mood of Ven’s. It felt like it should be some kind of trap, except he was agreeing with her. What’s the catch? Oh, right . . .

  “I still haven’t agreed to become an heir.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You still need to be trained.”

  She stared at him. He stared back. And for the first time, she felt like she was with someone who saw who she was, all her strengths with all her faults, and . . . approved? “All right then.”

  “All right. We begin today. Now.”

  Chapter 11

  Naelin saw Ven exhale, as if he’d been worried she’d refuse. Granted, she was still refusing to become an heir, but he must have been worried she’d refuse to train at all, after the stunt he’d pulled last night. Truthfully, she’d considered it. If he’d been a little less honest, a little less kind . . .

  He settled himself on a root. “Have you ever summoned a spirit?”

  “Never. And I won’t, not out here, not around Erian and Llor.” She used her this-is-not-open-to-debate voice. It worked well with her children; she wasn’t certain it would work at all with a champion.

  “But you’ve sent spirits away? You’ve commanded them.”

  She saw where this was going, and she didn’t like it. “Only when Renet forced me. Only what you saw. I’ll send them away again if I have to, but only if it’s necessary, and I won’t summon them. Not here, with us all alone and not enough charms.”

  “I know you can sense spirits. Describe that to me.”

  It felt like a change of subject—she’d been expecting an argument instead. She didn’t hesitate, though, and answered promptly, feeling like a schoolgirl. “It’s like a crackle in the air, like lightning about to strike.”

  “Good. You should also be able tell their proximity, their size and strength, and their general intent, whether they plan to tear you to bits that instant or generically just want to kill you. Can you do that?”

  Behind her, Naelin heard Erian gasp-yelp at the word “kill” and saw the champion wince. He clearly wasn’t used to watching his words. She wondered if that had gotten him into trouble before. Not everyone appreciated honesty. She did, though. Minutely, she relaxed—he didn’t seem like he was trying to trick her into anything. “I don’t think so. Or at least, I’ve never tried.” I’m not stupid, or reckless. She’d spent so much time pretending she didn’t have power, acting as if she were normal. She’d never wanted to jeopardize what she had by experimenting.

  “Then that’s where we’ll start.” He held up his hand to stop her question before she asked it. “Don’t worry. We won’t summon anything. This exercise won’t endanger anyone.” He looked at her, sincerity clear in his eyes. And also respect—that was a look she hadn’t seen in Renet’s eyes in a long time. Ven was treating her as if he valued what she thought and felt. “If this is going to work, you’re going to have to trust my word.”

  Reaching behind her, Naelin squeezed Erian’s shoulder, as much to reassure the young girl as herself. She kept her eyes on Ven, particularly watching his hands to be sure he didn’t stab the trees again. She knew she shouldn’t trust him after last night . . . yet she wanted to, especially when he looked at her like that. “I’m listening.”

  “When you are with your children, your awareness grows, doesn’t it?” He pointed to Erian and Llor with his knife, and then appeared to think better of it and tossed and caught the knife so that he was pointing at them with the hilt instead of the tip. Llor whistled, obviously impressed. If Naelin weren’t careful, the boy was going to develop a serious case of hero worship. Ven seemed oblivious to it, which was another point in his favor. He was confident without being arrogant. She’d met plenty of people who were the reverse, as well plenty who were far less worthy of adoration. “You expand your sense of what’s ‘you’ to envelop them, the same way you’re aware of a knife in your hand as an extension of you.”

  “Yes, precisely.” She was surprised to hear him describe it so exactly.

  “I’ve been a bodyguard. It’s similar to parenthood. Except with moderately more bloodshed.” He actually smiled at that, and it was all she could do to not smile back. She wanted to be angry at him, but there was something about him that made that impossible. Maybe his earnestness. Or his determination. He was just so blasted sincere. He radiated heroism, even when he wasn’t doing or saying anything particularly heroic. If I’m not careful, she thought, I’ll be the one with the case of hero worship. Shaking herself, she tried to focus on his words. He continued. “What I want you to do is expand your awareness as far as you can. Consider the forest around you as part of your body and reach your mind out to touch your new ‘limbs.’” He sheathed his knife.

  Erian crawled up beside her. “Can I try?”

  Champion Ven looked at her sharply. “Does your daughter have any affinity for spirits?”

  “No,” Naelin began, and then stopped. “We don’t know.” They’d never experimented with it, and she wasn’t about to start. “Erian, I need to work with Champion Ven for a while. Why don’t you . . .” She trailed off, unsure what to suggest she do. She didn’t want Erian to stray far, but she couldn’t expect her to huddle in the roots for however long this took.

  The guardswoman dropped from a branch onto one of the roots. She wore no sign of last night’s battle—her face was scrubbed clean, her hair tied slickly back, her leather armor stiff and spotless. She twirled a knife in one hand and then tucked it into a sheath. Crouching, she studied Erian. “I can teach her a few things. Defensive moves. How to break a hold.”

  That sounded . . .

  “Yes!” Erian sprang to her feet.

  . . . perfect.

  As Captain Alet guided Erian to a patch of soft moss and demonstrated a defensive stance, Naelin began to revise her opinion of her. She was a kinder teacher than Naelin would have expected, not barking at Erian or scolding her for her lack of knowledge. She positioned the girl’s limbs, even gave her an encouraging smile.

  Both Naelin and Ven watched them for a moment.

  “Mama, may I play with the doggie?” Llor asked. He’d crawled closer to the wolf and was holding his hand out, palm up, for the wolf to sniff. The wolf declined to sniff.

  “Only if he wants,” Naelin said, damping down her natural instinct, which was to scoop up Llor and run as far and fast away from the predator as she could. So far, the wolf had done nothing but protect them. “His name is Bayn. Don’t pull his tail.”

  “I wouldn’t!” Llor cried with all the dignity of an insulted six-year-old.

  A ghost of a smile crossed the champion’s face. “There, your children have babysitters, at least for the next few minutes. Now will you focus on your training?”

  Unusual babysitters, she thought, but he was right. Erian and Llor were both nearby and as safe as she could hope them to be, given the circumstances. She didn’t have any more excuses. “Sensing the spirits won’t summon them?”

  “Not in my experience, which is considerable.”

  He was trying hard to sound soothing, she could tell, and that impressed her. She didn’t know why he wanted her as his student so badly, especially when she refused to become an heir, but sensing spirits did sound both harmless and useful. “All right, I’ll try it.”

  Crossing her legs, she sat on one of the roots. She felt the bark dig into her thighs, through the fabric of her skirts. She felt the damp morning chill in the air and breathed in the heavy, wet, mossy taste of the forest floor. Birds were chirping in the trees above, and a few bushes ru
stled nearby, most likely squirrels. Concentrating, she tried to do as he said—imagine that she was part of the woods around her, that her arms extended into the trees, that her thighs poured into the earth, that her lungs expanded to breathe in all the air.

  Half of her kept listening for Erian and Llor—she heard the captain giving Erian instructions, and Erian answering with questions about how to hold her arms and her shoulders, adjusting her foot position in the crumbled old leaves and pine needles. In between the roots, Llor was babbling happily to the wolf, telling him all about his collections back home: he liked to collect rocks, feathers, and interesting sticks, but Mama didn’t let him bring the best sticks into the house because they were too pointy, which was endlessly disappointing. Mama was fine with rocks, he confided, as long as they weren’t too big, and fine with feathers, as long as he found them himself and didn’t try to pluck them from any birds. He even had an eagle feather that was as long as his arm, but he’d had to leave it behind when they left. He promised to show the wolf when they went back sometime.

  She shook her head. “I can’t do it. My children—”

  “Don’t block them out,” Ven advised. “Embrace them, and then stretch farther. Pretend you’re listening to them and making charms at the same time. You’ve done that, right?”

  That she could do. She was used to splitting her attention between her own tasks and her children. It was how she went about every day. She’d never tried to reach beyond, but she supposed that the champion was right—in theory, it shouldn’t be too different. She stretched her mind, and felt the quivering of nearby spirits. It was so simple and easy that she gasped. I can feel them.

  There! A wood spirit, above, skittering along a branch.

  To the east, an air spirit flitted through the trees, rustling the leaves, drawing a breeze behind it.

  Below, an earth spirit burrowed.