The Reluctant Queen (The Queens of Renthia #2)(17)

Naelin loved the forest, all the layers and shades of green, so many shades that there weren't words to describe them all-a spectrum of green, from the hopeful green of new leaves to the contemplative moss green on the forest floor, so dark it was nearly black. She wished she were a poet to capture in words the way the forest changed as the light changed. She had to content herself with just drinking the colors in as she stole a few precious moments alone before her husband came home for dinner. She settled into the crook of a branch above the roof of her home, a torn shirt on her lap and a needle with thread in her hand.

Below her, inside the house, she heard the voices of her children: Erian and Llor. As they clomped inside, Llor was bragging about how many squirrels he'd shot with his new bow. Erian praised him and then told him to skin the squirrels himself, because Mama would be so impressed if he did. Naelin smiled. She'd done right there. She heard her own voice echoed in her daughter's. Naelin listened as Erian patiently coached Llor through the steps for preparing the meat. He squealed and eww-ed, and soon both children were laughing. Picking up the torn shirt, Naelin added a few more stitches, and then she froze.

She sniffed the air.

The forest smelled stronger, as if it had recently rained.

With her foot, she thumped on the roof of their house. "Erian, did your father put out the fresh charms for the spirits?" she called.

"Yes, he said he did . . ."

He says a lot of things, Naelin thought. Some of them are even true. "Would you check, please?" She kept her voice light and pleasant. "Look on the shelf and see if they're still there."

Naelin heard rustling, as if Erian were sorting through the herb shelf. Familiar prickles walked up and down her skin-she was being watched by flat eyes, spirit eyes. Multiple sets of them. They weren't close enough to see yet, but she could sense them.



       
         
       
        

"Erian?"

He hadn't done it. Naelin was certain.

"Erian, I won't be angry. Tell me the truth, baby. When were the charms last laid?"

Erian's voice was a wail, rising through the roof. "I don't know! Father said he did today's and yesterday's. . . . But the basket is still here, and the herbs are dry. I'll take it now-"

Naelin jumped to her feet, dumping the half-mended shirt off her. "No! Stay inside, both of you. Close the shutters, lock the doors, and hide yourselves. You know where. Not a peep."

She heard Llor begin to cry. She hadn't meant to scare them, except that yes, she did. They should be scared. Scared children hid, and she needed them to hide right now.

The cities and towns had organized protection, but on the outskirts, everyone looked after their own-they'd lived through enough queens to know you couldn't always depend on their protection, no matter what the songs and tales gleefully promised. Songs were written by canopy dwellers and tales by city folk. The spirits out here were bolder. Despite this, she'd always done fine. She had a knack for making the charms that repelled the spirits. There hadn't been a problem since before the children were born.

But something about today felt very, very wrong.

Crouching, Naelin scanned the forest. From the scent, she thought there were at least two tree spirits nearby, drawing closer, past where her husband usually hung the charms. She inhaled deeply. And maybe . . . yes, an earth spirit as well. Her breath caught in her throat. Two kinds of spirits at once.

The forest was not merciful today.

Reaching into her pockets, she clutched the bundle of herbs she'd prepared for herself. The herb charm was meant to discourage spirits, to fool them into thinking that she was just a part of the forest-benign, rather than one of the humans they hated. It wasn't strong enough to force them away once they'd taken an interest in her.

Silently, she cursed her husband. And she cursed herself. She should have taken care of the charms herself. But the last time she'd tried, he'd taken it as a grave insult, accusing her of sabotaging their marriage, of playing the martyr, of not allowing him a role in protecting their family. Wives make the charms; husbands lay them out-that's how it was always done in Everdale, never mind that it was different in other villages and never mind that she had done it herself for years after her parents died and before she married Renet.

I am a fool.

The smell was growing stronger. She saw a branch twitch, and then another. Naelin pivoted, trying to watch all the branches at once. Below, through the leaves, she saw an earth spirit sniff around the base of their tree. It was covered in fur and had a face like a squeezed walnut. It raised its face to look at her, and she shuddered. Its teeth were exposed, and it ran a black tongue over its fangs. "You cannot touch us," she told it. "I will not let you."