She heard Jastra ease into a cushioned chair. It creaked beneath her. “Or I could insult your sister instead. If she hadn’t failed, you would be queen of Aratay by now, and there would be no more need to play catch-the-lava with fire spirits.”
All the warm, fuzzy feelings fizzled away. She should have known the moment was too nice to last. “Nice” wasn’t for Merecot; “nice” was for other people and their lives.And that’s fine. I don’t need nice, not from Jastra and not from anyone.
“Admit it: your sister was foolish. She allowed sentiment to slow her hand.”
Lava crept down the side of the mountain. Merecot didn’t have to direct the ice spirits to freeze it—they pounced on it with savage joy. Howling, the fire spirits spewed more. Inwardly, she howled with them. Outwardly, she was silent.
Jastra sounded smug. “You’re learning control. Good. A year ago, you would have flown into a rage if I’d dared make such a statement. It is gratifying to see you mature. Not many queens have the opportunity to observe their successor grow and blossom. I am blessedly lucky.”
If it weren’t for my “control,” you’d be dead.“It would be prudent of you to remember you aren’t here because of luck, blessed or otherwise.” Merecot delivered a pointed look to the older woman. Queens who abdicated (the very few who did) were always targeted by the spirits they used to command and typically didn’t live long before suffering some kind of “accident.” Without a queen’s additional power, they couldn’t defend themselves against all the spirits who hated them. Merecot was protecting Jastra—that had been the agreement when Merecot was crowned, and she’d abided by her promise. So far. “You test my patience. It is not wise.”
The old woman laughed again. “Perhaps I’m merely testing to see if you will crack, so that I can take the reins of power back again.”
“Unlikely. You’ve become a coward in your dotage, content only to criticize from the shadows. If you were to become queen again, the people might remember you caused all their problems.” As two fire spirits charged down the mountain pulling a river of lava, Merecot sent three air spirits to blast them back into the crater. The lava hardened, and the earth spirits shattered it from beneath.
“Ah, my child, you do make me proud.”
Merecot didn’t know if the old queen was impressed with her power over the volcano or her ability to insult the weak and elderly.And the annoying. Don’t forget that.But Merecot couldn’t stay angry with Jastra. No one had forced the former queen to abdicate. She’d done it of her own free will for the good of her people and had tapped Merecot as her chosen replacement—in Semo, the queens selected a solitary heir. Only Merecot had been permitted into the hidden grove to claim the power.
The fact that Merecot had maneuvered to be in that position was beside the point.
Jastra had believed in her.And despite my failure in Aratay, she still does.Merecot felt the cloying lump in her throat again and chose to ignore it.
“Why exactly are you here?” Merecot asked.
She meant why was Jastra in her chambers, but the former queen chose to interpret the question more broadly. “To make amends for past wrongs, to complete my destiny, to aid you as you complete yours—pick one, Your Majesty. Or perhaps I am here because the palace chefs make a wondrous soufflé.” Jastra pushed herself to standing, wobbling as she took a step forward. Quickly, Merecot retrieved the old queen’s jewel-encrusted cane and presented it to her. Jastra patted her cheek in a condescending manner—or what Merecot thought of as “Jastra’s manner.”
“Such a good girl. Don’t you worry. Everything will work out.” With her cane, she toddled across Merecot’s chamber. “Let me know when you’re ready for our next step.”
“Mynext step,” Merecot corrected. “You aren’t my puppet master.”
“Of course I’m not.” Jastra looked aghast at the thought, an expression Merecot thought was a trifle overdone. “I merely offer sage advice. It’s a prerogative of cowards in their dotage.”
“I know what needs to be done,” Merecot replied, but she couldn’t help a small smile.Dotage indeed, she thought. Jastra may have walked with a cane, but her mind was sharper than most Merecot had met.Granted, most people are idiots, but still...
“I know you do, my dear,” Jastra said. All traces of mockery and condescension were gone from her eyes. Instead her expression was a mix of pride and sadness, and Merecot felt as if she were looking at the true Jastra, not the royal face she showed to others.
Merecot wanted to say something. Such asThank you for believing in me. But she was afraid it would sound sentimental. Or un-queenlike. Jastra could mock her for showing emotion, and Merecot couldn’t risk that.I’m supposed to be the ruthless queen, after all, who puts the needs of Semo—the needs ofRenthia—before my own.
Jastra cupped Merecot’s chin in her wrinkled hand. “I meant what I said: I chose well when I chose you. You can do this. You can do what I could not. You can change the world.”
Merecot swallowed. “I won’t let you down.”
“I know.” Jastra gave her a gentle smile, the kind that said she meant it. She then thumped on the door with her cane, and the doors were swung open.
The guards bowed as the old queen hobbled past them, and they bowed again to Merecot as they shut the door. For an instant, Merecot wanted to call her back to keep her company, to talk to her, to bolster her confidence some more. But she didn’t.
It was enough to know there was one person in Semo who was on Merecot’s side.
Sinking onto a pillow-laden couch, Merecot checked on the spirits at the volcano. All seemed well. Half the crater had been eaten down by lava, and the mountain was riddled with fissures. But the lava and smoke seemed to have died down, and tree spirits were scurrying over the cooling earth, causing stubborn little plants to sprout in the crevasses. In a few hours, the mountain would be dormant again, and she’d be able to release the tame spirits she’d forced to guard the wild ones.I saved thousands of lives, again, and no one knows. I am the unsung hero. Perhaps I should hire a few musicians to record my heroics. And sculptors.She had yet to employ any artisans to immortalize her reign. Somehow it seemed more appropriate to hire themaftershe’d saved the world.
But I will do it.
Jastra believes I can.
“This is too slow,” Naelin declared.
Ven was securing a rope to a tree—the bridge ahead was damaged. He’d already shot an arrow with a rope into the next tree, burying the bolt deep into the trunk.
