The Queen of Blood (34 page)

Still, it hurt. She had worked hard. She had given up countless other futures. She had defined herself by this goal. It was time to finally accept that this wasn't her future.

“Daleina of Greytree.”

The fire spirits wrote her name in the sky.

She felt a shudder shake through her. She was an heir. The last heir. She was ranked last, dead last out of all fifty heirs, but she'd been named. She knew she should feel like cheering. She'd worked so very hard for this, defied so many expectations, but she felt as if her smile were painted on her face.

Pushed forward, she was suddenly in front of the queen, who smiled at her, tight-lipped, and then laid a circle, cool metal, on her brow, and all Daleina could think was,
Murderer
.

Her friends hugged her, and they were all hugging and crying. But inside she felt cold, as cold as the circle of silver she wore.

S
o very young,
Fara thought.

As the queen looked out over the faces of her heirs, she noted the unclouded brightness in their eyes, the innocent joy in their smiles, the relaxed happiness in their arms and shoulders as they absorbed the fact that they had succeeded and were chosen, fulfilling their hopes and dreams, not to mention their families' hopes and dreams. Each of them, on the cusp of spreading their wings, with only one barrier between them and their destiny: her life. And she was supposed to feel joy and congratulate them on their accomplishments. So very innocent, so very foolish, so very pathetic. She wanted to tell them their hopes and dreams were stupid. Find a nice shop somewhere, sell charms, marry and have kids . . . or not. Travel or pick a small village and never leave. Tend a garden and a one-room house. Listen to the canopy singers at dawn. Gather berries between the roots in the autumn . . . or not. Just don't do
this,
tossing your life away in pursuit of something that only brings pain, regret, and guilt.

Of course she said none of this. She spread her arms wide, knowing she looked like the heroic savior from some ballad, knowing that a half-dozen poets were scribbling painful metaphors to capture the moment and that later she'd have to listen to another half-dozen ballads in deep, serious voices. “You are the hope, the security, the future of Aratay—a heavy burden, I know,
but take comfort in the fact that the burden is not and may never be yours. Your country is whole, and your queen is strong.”

She swept forward, knowing her people would follow. Some, from curiosity. Others were herded along the paths by her guards, in a friendly fashion, of course. At her signal, ribbons were tossed from the higher boughs. Like colorful rain they fell, and the people reached their hands up, catching them, and danced with the ribbons between them. Musicians struck up a suitably inspiring march, full of horns and drumbeats that sliced through the cacophony of voices behind her and pulled them inexorably in her wake.

It would have been simpler to put the population on leashes and drag them where she wanted them to go, but this way, they at least maintained the illusion of choosing to follow her.
Sheep,
she thought. She'd been right to dread this day. It only reminded her that all her sacrifices were to improve the lives of ungrateful, fickle idiots, who would tear her down without remorse and then worship the next queen just as blindly as they'd adored her.

The dead patch of forest was ahead, with husks of houses, crumbled trees, and dead branches. No birds settled on the stumps. No animals lived in the fallen homes. Even the wind didn't blow here. Behind her, the music silenced, and the people fell quiet, watching. She didn't have to look behind her to know they'd spread out to see, none of them crossing from the living city to the dead.

She inhaled.

She'd never attempted this. To her knowledge, no one had. Dead patches were left alone until the spirits reclaimed them, and then they were tamed. It was a process that took years, and she wanted it done in a few minutes, to show them, to show herself—she could work miracles. She wasn't just
a
queen; she was the queen they needed. Spreading her hands wide, she expanded her consciousness, touching the spirits around her.

True to the owl woman's word, the spirits waited for her, at the edges of her consciousness. She called them in: first, fire. She sent it blazing over the dead patch, scorching what remained until
it crumbled to ash. Rich, fertile ash. The fire roared in front of her, and the brilliant orange-red filled her eyes. Heat warmed her skin. She didn't move, keeping her hands out, controlling the fire, forcing the spirits to keep it contained to only the dead patch. The spirits wanted to struggle against her—they wanted to spread the fire to the capital, to dance on the roofs of the houses, to consume the bridges, to fill the air with smoke—but they didn't. They obeyed. And when the remains of the grove were ash below, Fara dispersed the fire spirits and called for the earth spirits. Reclaim the soil. Make it fertile again. Prepare it.

Air spirits carried the seeds to her, the acorns to grow the trees and the brambles to grow the bushes. They dropped them on the ground, and the earth spirits swallowed them. Next, water. Rain fell only on the blackened land. Then wood spirits—
grow
. Higher, faster, stronger, and the trees burst out of the soil.

Behind her, she heard gasps, and she permitted herself a small smile. Yes, the heirs could summon all six spirits. They could bring fire and rain. They could encourage trees to grow and fruit to ripen. But not on the scale that she could. Not with the spirits working
with
her, instead of against her, for that was what her bargain with the owl woman achieved: Fara didn't have to fight them; she merely had to use them.

And use them she did. When she finished with this dead patch, she moved to the next, and then the next, until she had repaired all the damage that the spirits' deaths had caused. Through it, her people followed her. She heard the word “miracle” echoing about and let it sink into the bones of her people.

Yes, it was a miracle.
And it's because of me, because of my strength, because of my choices, that it's possible
. She was the queen they needed. She was indispensable. She was also bone-deep tired, but she did not let that show.

Summoning two air spirits, she let them lift her into the air. She sat regally, as if on the throne, and waved to her people as they carried her to the palace. Below, her people cheered so loudly that their voices filled every inch of the air. She instructed the spirits to carry her up, high along the palace wall, until they reached her balcony. They set her down, and she turned once
more to wave at her people, to see the worshipful adoration in their eyes. It was better than food.

Allowing her skirts to swirl around her, she swept off the balcony and into her bedroom. Curtains fell behind her. Then, and only then, did she allow herself to sag. Fara sank into a cushioned chair. She dropped her face into her hands and let the trembling that had been building inside her shake through her body.

“You work miracles, my queen,” a voice said.

She jerked upright, and then she relaxed. “Ven. You're a welcome sight.”

He stood by the door to her bedchamber, dressed in his formal green armor. She noticed there were circles beneath his eyes, as if he hadn't been sleeping well. He worked himself hard, too hard, but that was one of the things that she'd always admired about him: his drive. He took his duty so very seriously. “You told your guards I was welcome here.”

She laughed—she knew he would discover that soon, that she'd granted him full access. “I keep no secrets from my guards.” The palace courtiers had known she'd taken him to her bed, and she saw no reason to hide it. She'd instructed her guards to allow him in whenever he requested it, the same way she used to, before everything had become more complicated. It was one thing she could do to begin to erase the years of his disgrace. She wondered if he'd truly forgiven her for that or not.

“No secrets? My queen, I know that is not true.”

Uncoiling from the chair, she crossed to him. She still felt tired, but he could make her forget that. Yes, this was exactly what she needed. Stopping in front of him, she ran her hand up his armored chest. “So strong and so stern. Come, it's a celebratory day, is it not? You can hear them outside. Parties will stretch late into the night. There's no more duty today.”

He caught her hand in his. “Fara, you must break your bargain with the spirits.”

She froze and then withdrew her hand. “You know I hate it when you tell me what to do.” She kept her voice light, as if this were still a bedroom game.
What did he know?

As if he read the question in her mind, he said, “You met with
a spirit with a woman's body and an owl's head. I saw you. I heard you.”

She felt as if everything inside her had turned to stone. “Tell me what you heard.”

“You, allowing death, in exchange for miracles.” There was pain in his eyes. She could see it. He thought she'd betrayed him, his trust, her promises. She'd known he'd see it this way. He wouldn't understand.

Fara turned abruptly from him and walked across the room, toward the curtain that covered the balcony. She didn't open it. Outside, she could hear the shouts, laughter, and music. It drifted on the air. “They celebrate the possibility of my death.”

“They celebrate their lives, which they believe they have because of you. They don't know you've been bargaining away those very lives that you're sworn to protect.”

“Always so righteous. Always so certain you're right. Right and wrong, so very clear. Good and evil. Night and day. But there are shadows you refuse to see. Choices that aren't right or wrong, but simply better or worse.”

“Don't try to justify it, Fara. You know what you're doing is wrong.”

Fara touched the curtain, widening it to see the people outside, figures in the trees. She let it fall back down. “I was chosen, out of all the heirs at the coronation ceremony. Yes, I was ranked first, but the spirits don't have to listen to that. They alone choose who they deem the strongest, the one they believe can keep them from destroying what they have wrought. They make their own choice, to gift one heir with their trust, a precious trust. I believe they chose me because they knew I could make the difficult decisions. I could make the sacrifices. They knew I'd work with them toward a better Aratay, for both humans and spirits.” She squared her shoulders and faced Ven. “And they were right: Aratay has flourished in my reign. More schools, hospitals, and libraries have been built in the past five years than in the prior fifty. On the whole, people are living safer, longer lives. Happier lives, because of me, because I am not willing to settle for my limitations, because I am willing to reach for more, on their behalf.
When I die, I will be remembered as one of the great queens of Renthia, the greatest queen Aratay has ever known. I will leave a legacy of beauty and knowledge and prosperity, all the things that a people need and want. And yes, there was a cost. But I am a great queen because I have paid that cost, and you have no right to judge me based on unrealistic ideals. Without the safety I promise, how many more would die? How many would live in fear and ignorance, huddled in their huts? I sacrifice a few for the benefit of the many. How is this different from the generals who lead their soldiers to war? Or the parent who gives up his own happiness for his child's well-being?” Her voice had risen, as if she were making a speech. She lowered it. “That was not a rhetorical question.”

He stood, unmoving, implacable, and she wanted to shake him.

“Always you, who sees me at my weakest,” Fara said with a laugh that burned in her throat. “I begin to think it's fate. Except that I don't believe in fate . . . just as I know you don't. I believe it is we who must shape the world to be the way we wish it. My words still hold true, whether it is you who hears them or another. Judge me as you will, but I have acted in the best interests of Aratay.

“Always.”

“There weren't traitors in Greytree, were there?” His voice felt rough, as if he hadn't used it in a long time. “Or any of the other villages?”

“No.”

He swallowed, loudly enough that it made her own throat feel dry. “I thought you were losing control.”

“I told you once I never lose control.”

“All those villages . . . all those people . . .”

“For the glory of Aratay.”

“Innocents.”

“I know. And I know you think me deplorable. It is remarkable how you have held on to your idealism for so very long. Ven, do you truly think magic comes without a price?”

“You're sworn to protect the people.”

“And I have. Ask any person you pass, Are they safer than
they once were? Are their lives better? Do they have more food? Can their children go safely to school? Do they have art, music, literature, dance, laughter, life? Yes to all of that. Because of me.”

“Because of the people you've killed.”

“Because of the sacrifices that I've made.”

“You didn't make any sacrifices,” he said. “You sacrificed people you didn't know, strangers you've never seen, for your own glory. For your legacy. So that you can be the greatest queen Aratay has ever known.”

“Is it wrong to want more for my people?”

“Yes!” He toned down his voice, which had also risen. “Yes, Fara. Can't you see that? You've crossed a line. Queens must protect their people, not allow them to be killed. Especially not when you're only doing it for the glory of yourself! You've violated your basic promise to this world.” He sucked in air. “You cannot continue to do this.”

“I cannot stop.” Her smile was sad. Poor, sweet Ven, so certain he could save everyone, if only he flexed his muscles virtuously enough. “The spirits guard the border for me, for all of us. The mountains of Semo have a new, ambitious queen. If I stop, the border falls. If I stop, who will make the new homes, guard the new orchards, build all the bridges this country needs? This country has needs, Ven, and this is the only way to meet them all. We are growing, and there are growth pains. With the cooperation of the spirits—”

“But they aren't cooperating with you. They're
using
you! It started small, didn't it? A harmless bargain? They offered you a prize you couldn't resist at a price that seemed like very little. What was it at first, Fara? Who did you sacrifice? An old man, in his final days? A sickly child, unlikely to ever be healthy? A stranger with a pitiful life?”

It was a criminal at first, a man who had hurt a child, a man who felt no remorse, a man who was so consumed with hate that he deserved . . . That one had been easy. Easy too when she granted the spirits freedom within a jail, full of those who deserved punishment. But that hadn't satisfied the owl spirit or her followers for long. “I have put the needs of the many over the needs of the
few. It is a choice that queens have had to make again and again in every generation.”