The ice spirit was on the ceiling of the stairwell. It had jabbed its spiked fingers into the wood and was studying her as if she were delicious meat. It’s toying with me, she realized. It could kill her at any time. “Daleina!” Arin screamed. “Daleina, help me!”
She knew her sister couldn’t hear her. She was near the base of the palace tree, and Daleina was at the very top. For all she knew, Daleina wasn’t even alive to hear her. Don’t think that. Daleina had to be alive, and soon she’d wake and take control again . . . But she wouldn’t be cured until that little girl and boy reached the top, which they couldn’t do without her.
Arin kept moving, knowing that if the ice spirit didn’t catch her, she’d run into the tree spirit. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. I don’t want to die. Please, I don’t want—
Behind her, the ice spirit screeched again, and she clapped her hands over her ears and ran faster. The vines tangled around her feet. She fell onto her knees, and the vines closed over her ankles. “No!” She tried to push them off. Jamming her fingernails into the soft wood, she tore at it.
And the tree spirit scurried toward her. It looked like a twisted knot of brambles but with stones for eyes and thorns for hands. It launched itself at her shoulder. Pain shot through her as it dug into her arm, and she screamed and yanked at it.
“Cover your face!” she heard.
She buried her face in her hands and then felt a splash of water—her skin began to burn. She screamed again as every bit of flesh touched by the liquid felt as if it were on fire. But the wood spirit was yelling louder.
“Get free, girl!”
Arin forced her fingers to shove at the vines—they were loose—and she scrambled to her feet. She wiped with her sleeves at her face, neck, and arms, wiping the liquid off.
A blast of icy air slammed into her back and knocked her forward.
“Down! Crawl!”
She obeyed, even though she couldn’t see who was shouting the orders. Looking up, she saw Master Garnah step around a corner and hurl a vial above Arin’s head. It shattered, and flames licked through the corridor.
“Now! Follow me!” Master Garnah ordered.
Arin scrambled to her feet and ran. She glanced back once and saw the ice spirit wreathed in flame. The creature’s body was contorted and blackened, but it was still alive, still screaming. “How did you do that? What was in that vial?”
“Lesson later; live now.”
“You came for me?” Arin stared at Master Garnah. The older woman had blood on her cheek and her left arm. Her skirt was torn, and soot and dirt stained it in streaks. “You’re alive?”
“Obviously. Now we need to—”
“I have to get to the kitchen. Please, help me!”
To her surprise, Master Garnah didn’t ask why. “I want full freedom of the palace. Full pardon for anything I have done or may do. You swear to convince your sister of this, and I’ll get you wherever you want.”
“You’ll have it.” If the antidote saved Daleina, she knew her sister would agree.
Master Garnah held up a hand. She wasn’t done yet. Arin wanted to scream—they didn’t have time to make bargains! “And I want full access to the queen, whenever I need it.”
“Fine,” Arin said. “So long as you promise not to harm her. And you teach me how to make whatever was in that vial.” She’d never heard of a potion that could hurt spirits.
“Easily promised. I want my son back, and the only way to him is through the queen. Win her over, and I’ll win him. You have the antidote?”
Arin didn’t know if Master Garnah was telling the truth or not, but this wasn’t the time or place to worry about it. “I have a way to get it to her, but we need to be in the kitchen now. I have to turn the crank to the lift—the antidote is inside. Only way to reach her.” She’d drop to her knees and beg, if that was what it took. But she didn’t need to. Master Garnah didn’t ask any more questions or make any more demands. She shoved an unmarked brown bottle into Arin’s hands and then propelled her forward.
“Wash away the fire liquid,” she commanded. “You don’t want it to scar you.”
As they hurried down more stairs, Arin doused her skin everywhere it stung. The new liquid cooled her. She stoppered the bottle and tucked it into a pocket—and then Master Garnah stopped. She put a finger to her lips.
They crept forward, down the stairs. Arin wondered how many more stairs until they reached the kitchen, and how many more spirits were between here and there.
More steps.
And more.
And then: the kitchen!
Arin caught a glimpse through the doorway of the ovens and—Master Garnah shoved her back and flattened against the wall.
“Spirits?” Arin mouthed silently. “How many?”
Master Garnah nodded for her to look.
Leaning forward, Arin peeked around the corner of the stairs into the kitchen. And saw a nightmare. Three spirits . . . no, four . . . no, there was another! An air spirit was feasting on the body of a dead cook. An earth spirit was tearing the ground open. Three tree spirits had wrapped a half-dozen other cooks in vines. Some were clearly dead. Others . . . Arin hoped they were dead. The floor and walls were spattered in blood, and there were . . . parts. Human parts.
She felt herself begin to gag. Clamping her hands over her mouth, she retreated back to Master Garnah. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to erase what she’d seen, but all she saw was red. She could smell it now too, sickly sweet and coppery. Like licking a coin. The smell coated the back of her throat. “Too many,” Arin whispered.
“Exactly how many and where?”
“Five.” She described where they were: by the wall, by the hearth, under a table. She didn’t describe the bodies. Didn’t want to think about them. She wanted to pretend they weren’t real, that this was all some dream, some hideous nightmare.
Master Garnah reached for her belt and began to unstring pouches. She pressed five vials into Arin’s hands and then tied the other pouches around Arin’s waist. “Throw them, into the mouths if possible, and then run for the crank. It won’t kill them. It should slow them.” She kept a few for herself. “If you succeed, remember your promise.”
Arin nodded, even though her thoughts were screaming. Don’t do it! There are spirits! They’ll kill you! But Daleina had to be cured. She was the only one who could stop all of it. And Arin and Master Garnah were the only ones who could help her.
“Good luck,” Master Garnah said. “And try not to die. You’re the best apprentice I’ve ever had—barring my son, of course.”
“Wait—you aren’t coming?”
“The queen is your sister, not mine,” Master Garnah said. “Don’t look at me like that. I never pretended to be altruistic, and I haven’t survived this long by taking foolish risks.”
“If I die, I can’t keep my promise.”
“Throw the vials, and try not to miss.” She patted Arin’s shoulder. It was not comforting. “Survive, and I’ll teach you how to make these.”
Arin swallowed hard once, then again. Her mouth felt so dry that she couldn’t remember ever having saliva. Her heart was thumping so fast and hard that she felt it throughout her body. She clutched the vials in her sweaty hands.