The Reluctant Queen (The Queens of Renthia #2)(142)

Damn Daleina. And damn that woman Naelin.

And damn herself too.

"I failed," Merecot said.

"You did," the old woman behind her said. "You allowed your emotions to cloud your judgment. When I was queen, there was no softness in me. I showed no mercy."

Merecot clenched her fists, then unclenched them as she commandeered an air spirit to deflect a boulder away from the castle. It crashed into one of the giant earth spirits. "My sister is dead. I have been the opposite of soft and weak. Indeed, I have sacrificed too much."

"How much is too much when the world is at stake?" The old queen rose and tottered to join Merecot at the window. She smelled of dried apples, and her face was as shriveled as rotten fruit. "You have a chance to do what I could not do: make all of this right. Make this stop. Yes, you have had a setback, but you must let it harden you in your purpose."

"The price is too high." She thought of Alet-so very brave. Alet had always been that way, the younger sister watching out for the older, reckless one. When they were little kids, it was a five-year-old Alet who scared away a tree spirit that a six-year-old Merecot had summoned to play with. It was Alet who had taught herself to swim and then insisted Merecot learn. Alet who had stayed behind when their father was dying, who was strong enough to feed him and bathe him and wipe away his tears and his vomit and his filth while Merecot fled first to the academy and then to Semo. And it was Alet whom Merecot had turned to when she realized she'd become queen of a doomed country.

The old queen snorted. "No price is too high. You must be the hero that Renthia doesn't know it needs. You alone have the power, so you alone bear the responsibility. You must embrace your destiny."



       
         
       
        

"Quit talking like you're some kind of wise old prophet," Merecot said. The former queen of Semo was neither wise nor a prophet; she was merely old. And she was becoming increasingly more annoying. It would do her well to remember she lived only because of Merecot's protection. "You could have done it-you had the power once-but you failed far worse than I. Instead, you allowed this to happen." She waved her hand at the window, at the spirits whose rage could be slaked only by destruction.

The old queen was quiet for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was softer and kinder. "You're right-I am not wise. But I do have the benefit of hindsight that you, in your youth, do not. I see in you a chance to right old wrongs, to undo past mistakes, not only those done by me, but those done by every queen of Renthia that has come before. You can make the world a better place, if you dare."

Outside, lightning struck, and a field caught fire. Merecot instantly forced the water spirits to make it rain, extinguishing the flames. She then flung yet another boulder back at the earth spirits. We can't survive like this. If I can fix the world . . . then I must. "I dare."

The old queen patted Merecot's arm in approval, and Merecot felt a rush of warmth. Her own mother had never quite approved of her. It was nice to have someone notice that Merecot made the right choices, the difficult choices.

Her resolve strengthened, Merecot reached out with her will and forced the warring spirits to turn away from one another. They'd had enough playtime for one day. It was time to let the frightened people come out of their homes and live their lives. She'd let the spirits spend more of their rage tomorrow. "So that's it then? I try again, but this time to remove two queens of Aratay?"

The old queen smiled. "It will not be difficult now. The spirits will not stand for two queens of the same land. Soon they will see. All you must do is remove the queens' protector."

She was startled. She hadn't thought Champion Ven was that much of a threat. He had surprised her in the grove, of course, but now that she knew to watch for him, he would not be a threat twice. "You mean the champion?"

The old queen laughed. "Oh, my sweet, innocent child, no."

"Then who?"

"I should think it obvious. You must kill the wolf."



In the heart of Aratay, within the palace, the wolf called Bayn padded into Queen Naelin's bedchamber. She was sleeping soundly, with her children tucked on either side of her. The boy had dropped his stuffed squirrel toy on the floor. It lay in a pool of moonlight.

Gently, Bayn picked up the toy in his jaws and placed it next to the boy. He then circled the bed and nudged the girl's arm back onto the mattress. She murmured in her sleep and curled up tighter against her mother.