The Reluctant Queen (The Queens of Renthia #2)(65)

"Fix her," Hamon said, pointing at the queen's sister, "and prepare to create an antidote. You will be well rewarded." He strode out of the chamber. "I will find the poison."

Passing the guards, he said, "Don't eat the cake."



Her borrowed embroidered shoes quiet on the smooth wood, Naelin followed Ven up a staircase into one of the many spires of the palace. He had barely spoken after he'd come to claim her for training. He'd introduced the guards who would be watching her children while they slept, and he waited while she'd grilled them on their qualifications and trustworthiness. But after that, silence. 

It occurred to her that maybe he was afraid of what she was going to say. Or not "afraid," perhaps. He was a champion. But . . . wary.

It was almost funny.

If she had been younger, Naelin might have yelled at him and cursed him out. She might have hated him, blaming him the way she used to blame her parents-her mother, for being reckless with her power, and her father, for not finding a way to protect them. Or the way she still blamed Renet, who had started all this.

But she wasn't interested in lying to herself: She'd been the one to summon the kraken. It was her power, and she'd been foolish to think the queen would help her, or could help her. There was no easy fix.

"Talk to me about your training plan," Naelin said.

He was silent for a moment. She had the sense he hadn't been thinking about her or her training at all. At last, he said, "With Daleina, she had to learn how to use her power judiciously, favor the techniques that worked for her and abandon those that didn't. A handful of gravel thrown in the eyes of your enemy can be as effective as a boulder dropped on his head."

"And with me?"

"You have to learn not to drop boulders on everyone's heads."

She snorted. "How exactly do I learn that?"

"By dropping a few on my head. You draw them, and if you can't handle them, I'll stick my sword into them. Fairly straightforward. We don't have time for nuance." He was climbing the stairs as if he wanted to pound them flat with his feet. She was struggling to keep pace with him. The stairwell was lit with firemoss, and their glow wavered as she and Ven passed.

"What if I draw another kraken?"

"That's why we're climbing up instead of staying on the forest floor. Besides, even big spirits don't like being jabbed with pointy metal sticks. You surprised me back at the academy. I won't be surprised again." Reaching a landing, he halted in front of an ornate door, decorated with carvings of vines. He pulled out a key. "No one lives in this tower. Not anymore. You will be able to practice here without endangering anyone."

The door swung open, and Naelin gasped.

She thought she'd seen opulence in the throne room and the grand halls, but the rest of the palace was nothing compared to these rooms. Gold seemed to drip from every surface: the curved couch, the table with the glass surface, the mantel over the fireplace, the washbasin with the filigree pitcher. It all glittered in the light of a dozen cream-colored candles on candelabras. On a dais was a canopied bed, piled high with pillows. But it was the ceiling that stunned her the most: inlaid with tiny crystals, it sparkled like the night sky. Marveling, she walked into the center of the room. "You want me to practice here?"

He didn't answer, and she looked over at him. His hand was on the mantel, tracing the curves of the carving. His eyes were sad.

"Ven, whose rooms were these?"

She guessed the answer as he gave it: "Queen Fara's." He rubbed the dust from his fingertips. "No one comes here now. We can practice here uninterrupted."

Naelin walked through the rooms, afraid to touch anything, and out onto the balcony. Before her was the night forest. Lights dotted the branches, lining bridges that were obscured from sight. She felt the spirits out there, amid the branches. She heard Ven walk onto the balcony with her. "You knew Queen Fara well?"

"Very well."

"What was she like?"

"Everything you'd imagine a queen should be. Fearless. Ambitious. Determined. Utterly convinced of her own infallibility. She lacked any shred of humility, but she was so powerful that it didn't matter." Leaning on the balcony railing, he was staring into the forest as if it held answers.



       
         
       
        

"I'm nothing like that."

He didn't answer.

She'd never measure up, not to his expectations and not to his memories. He's deluding himself if he thinks I'm queen material. "What was Queen Daleina like before she became queen?"