"Tell us!" Ven demanded. He couldn't threaten her. He had no leverage. And she had no reason to tell him anything-
"Merecot, my sister," Alet whispered. He could barely hear the words. "Naelin, you understand . . . what you do . . . for family. Did it for my sister. Tell Daleina . . . I'm sorry. So very sorry. It was for the best. Greater good . . . You must understand: for the greater good. I am a hero."
You're a murderer, Ven wanted to say. He didn't. "Alet, where is the poison?"
"Medicine good. No pain. Thank you. Kindness . . . I didn't expect. You will understand, when Merecot comes. You will forgive. I did what was necessary, for the future of our people."
"Why is it ‘too late'?" Hamon asked again. His voice was calm, soothing, as if he were merely tucking Alet into bed. "Tell us, Alet, why is it ‘too late'?"
"Because I already told her. About the trials. She will begin at dawn."
"Who's ‘she'?" Ven demanded. "Queen Merecot? Begin what?" But he thought he knew the answer. "She's beginning the invasion?"
"Tell my sister: I died a hero."
She didn't speak again.
Chapter 29
Hope.
That's what the dead woman was, Hamon thought. As soon as he'd stitched Candidate Naelin's wound-which would heal; she'd managed to keep the blade away from anything vital-he dropped to his knees beside the assassin.
He'd need to search her and search her possessions. She may not have told him what the poison was or if she'd had any remaining, but at least he at last had somewhere to look! He refused to think about the possibility that she had tossed the rest or that there was none left.
"Keep my queen alive," he told Ven. His eyes were only on the body. He began to check her pockets, outer first. "All I need is time."
"Time is one thing we may not have," Ven told him.
"Make time. Find a way to delay." Nothing in the outer pockets. Inner? "Tell her I'm close to a cure. Just give me time!"
"I won't give her false hope," Ven said.
"It's not false! I will find her cure. And when I do, she has to be alive to take it. Don't let her be a martyr." He jumped to his feet and grabbed the front of Ven's armor, curling the leather in his fist. "You're her champion. Be it."
Ven's expression didn't change. "Work fast."
"I will." He strode to the door and flung it open. "You and you"-he pointed to two startled guards-"will carry a body and come with me." He wouldn't be working alone. He'd bring the dead woman and all her belongings to his mother. Together, they'd save Daleina.
Ow, ow, ow. Naelin pressed her hand to her side. She'd been stitched up, but it still hurt like . . . like . . . well, like she'd had a knife stuck in her. Standing, she leaned against the balcony railing while a guard and two caretakers helped Healer Hamon with the body.
The body.
Alet.
Oh, Alet.
If only . . .
But there wasn't time for thoughts like that. There wasn't time for anything. "I have to get Erian and Llor to safety." She wouldn't be able to watch them. Neither would Ven. Or Alet. Poor Alet. Her sister . . . Naelin knew she should feel angry. Later, maybe. Later, she could feel whatever she wanted. Anger. Sympathy. Sorrow. Guilt. "Renet has to watch them." She hated saying it, hated that she had to rely on him, hated that he was right in any way.
She began to walk toward the bedroom when Ven stopped her. "Wash first. You'll scare them."
She loved that he thought of that, of how her children would feel. Veering, she hurried to the washbasin in the corner of the room. She scrubbed her hands, trying not to think about how this was her blood, how it had felt when the knife had slid into her . . . that moment before it started to hurt, when she knew it would hurt. And then it did. Ven produced a robe from somewhere, and she wrapped it around herself to hide her bloodstained clothes. It wasn't perfect. But it was better. She noticed Ven had pulled the curtains over the entrance to the balcony, a mercy.
Knocking on the door, she called, "Erian? Llor? It's okay. You can unlock now."
She heard the lock click, and then Erian and Llor both tumbled out, squeezing together through the doorway to throw themselves into her arms.
"There were scary sounds, Mama!" Llor cried. He was clutching his stuffed squirrel, the one his sister had made him from old bedsheets. Both button eyes had fallen off.
"I know, baby." Naelin stroked his hair. "And now I need you to hurry. You two are going to stay with your father tonight. The queen needs me, and I need to know you're safe and with someone who loves you. Now, be good, and come with me."