Merecot drew a dagger from within her robes. Daleina tried to send the command Choose . . . But Merecot was striking at her, filled with as much fury as a spirit. “Listen to me!” Daleina cried, dodging. “The land was dying! Your plan was failing!”
Merecot was beyond listening. She was as consumed with the same rage as a spirit. As she hacked at Daleina, Daleina dodged as well as she could even as she reached for her own knife, the one that Ven always insisted she carry.
She fought back.
Merecot was swinging wildly—she was untrained. But Daleina had been trained by the best champion alive. Kicking, dodging, twisting, and striking, she used what Ven had taught her as both Merecot and the spirits attacked her.
Choose, she thought at the spirits. But she couldn’t hold on to the thought, not with Merecot striking at her and the spirits diving for her. Caught in the swirl of spirits, she couldn’t see Hamon and Garnah.
“Merecot, stop!” She struck hard, knocking Merecot backward.
A spirit wrapped its vinelike arms around Merecot.
Across the grove, Daleina heard Hamon scream, and she ran for him—in time to see a fire spirit drive its fist through his shoulder.
She ran faster and knew she’d be too late. And knew without a doubt that spirits everywhere were attacking across both Aratay and Semo, and people in both lands were dying. “Hamon!” she screamed. And a thought flashed through her mind: of Arin and her parents, who should have been safe, but now weren’t, because of what she and Merecot had done.
We failed . . .
In Semo, people were dying.
The earth spirits shook the mountains, and the water spirits overflowed the rivers. Entire towns slid down the slopes in rivers of water, fire, mud, ice, as air spirits plucked men, women, and children from the rocks as they tried to flee.
Inside the castle, Ambassador Hanna wheeled through the corridors while her four guards fended off earth spirits who were tunneling through the floor both behind and in front of them. Evenna was in the lead, with Serk behind Hanna and the other two on either side of her. Their swords were sticky with blood, sap, and dirt. They fought well, but they were tiring too. She could see it. And yet, what really worried her was why they were fighting in the first place.
What, by all the spirits, has Merecot done?
She’d received Queen Daleina’s letter, and she’d been impressed with the audacity of the plan. For Merecot to believe she could do what the Great Mother, the creator of all, could not . . . The arrogance was mind-boggling, but the theory had been sound. She’d told Daleina that in her reply. She’d also told her that the most probable outcome was Daleina’s death, with Merecot left as queen of both countries and the spirits unchanged.
Still, though, Hanna had honored Daleina’s request. In fact, she’d just come from identifying several possible successors, before earth spirits caused half the castle to slide down the mountain. She didn’t know if the heirs had survived.
Hanna called the command as loudly as she could, Choose! and hoped that the heirs and other women of power were doing the same—and hoped there were enough of them to be heard. She didn’t want to think about what would happen if there weren’t. “Get to the other Aratayians,” Hanna ordered her guards.
Jogging ahead, Evenna yanked open one of the doors, then another.
Champion Havtru, Cajara, and Arin burst out into the corridor. Havtru’s sword was drawn. “It’s happening again,” Arin said, her voice shrill, near panic. “Like before. When Daleina . . .” Her eyes were bright, as if she were on the verge of tears, but she blinked them back.
“Not Daleina,” Hanna corrected. These are Semoian spirits. “Merecot.”
“We have to get somewhere safe, the heart of the castle,” Havtru said. He issued orders to Hanna’s four guards, directing Coren to scout ahead and Serk to watch their backs.
Arin ran to Hanna’s chair and began pushing her faster through the corridor. Havtru and Cajara ran on beside her. Folding her hands on her lap with her knives, Hanna concentrated on projecting the command. Choose, choose, choose! Please . . . choose.
A fire spirit raced through the hall toward them. Shaped like a dog, it was made of pure flame. It slammed into Evenna, and Tipi yanked her back, smothering the flames. Howling, the spirit flew toward Hanna. Havtru leapt in front of her, his sword drawn, but his sword sliced harmlessly through the fire.
“Cajara!” Arin cried. “Stop the spirit! You can do it!”
Spreading her hands in front of her, Cajara concentrated—and the fire dog yelped and pivoted, racing in the opposite direction.
“Brilliant!” Arin cheered. She hugged Cajara.
Cajara looked startled, then pleased—a small smile touched her lips.
I was right, Hanna thought. She does have power. And an idea occurred to her. Either a terrible idea, or a brilliant one. “Wheel me around,” Hanna ordered. “We have to go out.”
All her guards protested.
Hanna overrode them. “Candidate Cajara, you have affinity for all types of spirits, yes?”
“Yes.” Her voice was so soft that Hanna could barely hear her over the shrieks of the palace people and the rage-filled cries of the spirits.
That shyness could be a problem, Hanna thought. The girl would need strength and confidence, in addition to power. “Tell me about yourself, girl.”
Havtru broke in. “Ambassador Hanna, I don’t think this is the time—”
“I am not speaking to you, Champion Havtru,” Hanna said in the same voice she would use to berate a first year trying to make an excuse for not turning in their homework. No, she didn’t have time for anyone else’s nonsense—at this moment, the only thing that mattered was Cajara. As she focused on the girl, she also continued to issue the “choose” command to the spirits. At some point, her command would converge with others, and it would be multiplied until it impacted into the consciousness of the raging spirits. Until then, they had to survive. “There’s an air spirit up ahead. Do something about that, Champion.”
“Cajara isn’t . . .” he began.
“Cajara is not your concern right now. That spirit is.”
Arin sprinted ahead. “I’ll get it!” As she ran toward the air spirit, she drew a charm out of her pocket and threw it at a flicker of light. It caught the spirit square in the forehead. The air spirit squealed, then dropped to the floor.
“Help her,” Hanna ordered Havtru.
With one more glance at his candidate, Havtru sprinted ahead. Before them, Hanna saw a body in Aratayian colors, slumped on the floor: the young guard Coren. It was a sharp pain, seeing him dead, but she kept her focus on Cajara. If I don’t find a way to end this, he won’t be the only one to die.
“Answer me, girl! Why do you want to be queen?” Hanna was aware she was yelling, but she could feel air spirits closing in around them. She knew there must be others. Just because she lacked the affinity to sense them, it didn’t mean they weren’t there. Aiming one of her knives, Hanna threw it at a torch on the wall—a fire spirit squealed.
Staring at the wounded fire spirit, the girl didn’t answer at first, and Hanna was about to bark at her again. Then at last she said, “I love the forest.”
“Yes. And?”
“My family . . . we lived on the forest floor. Berry-pickers. That is how we knew Champion Havtru. Or knew of him, I mean.”
Hanna was aware of the champion’s past. He’d been a berry-picker, though he’d lived midforest, before his wife was killed by spirits and Ven recruited him. She readied another knife. “You said ‘lived.’ Past tense. Family dead?”
“Oh, no, Ambassador. They’re well. But the forest . . . It died around us. I felt it die. I knew the spirit who was tied to our land. I used to play . . .” She trailed off.
“You befriended a spirit?” This didn’t bode well. Or did it? “And the spirit never tried to harm you or your family?”