The Queen of the Tearling

  “Ducarte’s actual title is Chief of Internal Security, Lady. And like so many treasures from the Lady Glynn, that statement sounds remarkably naive in this day and age.”

  “The Lady Glynn?” Kelsea forgot all about Ducarte. “Carlin was a noble?”

  “She was.”

  “How did you know her?”

  Mace raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. “Did she never tell you, Lady? She was your mother’s governess. We all knew her, perhaps better than we’d wish to.”

  A governess! Kelsea considered this for a moment, picturing Carlin here, in the Queen’s Wing, teaching a child Elyssa. It was surprisingly easy. “How does a noblewoman become a governess?”

  “Lady Glynn was one of your grandmother’s closest friends, Lady. I’d imagine it was a favor. Queen Arla considered Lady Glynn extremely clever, and she did have a lot of books.”

  “But why did my mother give me to Carlin? Were they friends?”

  Mace’s jaw firmed in a mulish way that Kelsea knew well by now. “We were speaking of a bodyguard for you, Lady.”

  Kelsea glared at him for a moment before returning to her armor. She ran over the list of guards in her mind. “Pen. Can I have Pen?”

  “Christ, what a relief. Pen wants the job so badly that I don’t know what I’d do with him otherwise.”

  “Is he the best choice?”

  “Yes. If you can’t have me, you want Pen’s sword.” He picked up the breastplate and carried it to the door, then paused. “The priest who conducted your coronation, Father Tyler. He requested a private audience with you.”

  “Why?”

  “My guess is the Arvath wants to keep an eye on you. The Holy Father’s a crafty old man.”

  Kelsea thought of the Bible in the priest’s hand, impossibly ancient. “Bring him on Sunday; the Church should like that. And extend him every courtesy. Don’t frighten him.”

  “Why?”

  “I think the Church must have books.”

  “So?”

  “So I want them.”

  “You know, Majesty, there are places down in the Gut that cater to all tastes.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “It means a fetish is a fetish.”

  “You really don’t see any value in books?”

  “None.”

  “Then we’re different. I want all the books we can put our hands on, and that priest might be useful.”

  Mace gave her an exasperated look, but picked up her armor and carried it out the door. Kelsea sat back down on the bench, exhausted. Her mind returned to Venner’s words, and she found herself blushing again. She was carrying too much weight, she could feel it. She’d always been thick, but now she’d been indoors too long, and between that and her injuries, whatever physical condition she might have had was gone. No queen in a storybook ever had to deal with such a problem. She would speak to Milla, but tomorrow, when she didn’t feel so sweaty and wretched. Besides, after Venner’s workout she needed a good meal.

  She gave a nod to Cae, who was stationed on the door to one of the rooms along the corridor. This room was a security concern, for it gave access to a wide balcony with a magnificent panoramic view of the city and the Almont Plain beyond. Kelsea had taken to going out there whenever she missed the outdoors, but it wasn’t at all the same as the forest, and sometimes Kelsea felt a rogue urge to run a long way, to be under trees and sky.

  This is how women are trained to stay indoors, she thought, the idea echoing in her mind like a gravesong. This is how women are trained not to act.

  She plodded down the hallway and into the audience chamber, where the guards on duty stood at respectful attention. Today it was Pen, Kibb, Mhurn, and a new man whom Kelsea had never seen before. From overheard conversations, she understood that they’d picked up a few more recruits; these men faced a truly fearsome interrogation from Mace upon volunteering, but once they passed, they took vows and became Queen’s Guards for life. The annoying practice of refusing to meet her eyes continued, but today Kelsea was grateful for it. She knew she looked a mess, and she felt too tired to maintain anything resembling a conversation. All she wanted was a hot bath.

  Andalie stood in her accustomed spot at the door of Kelsea’s chamber, holding out a clean towel. Kelsea had made it clear that she didn’t require help with her bath (her mind boggled at the sort of woman who would), but still, Andalie always seemed to know when to have things ready. Kelsea took the towel, meaning to head on into her chamber, but then stopped. Something in Andalie’s face was different, not her normal inscrutable expression. Her brow was furrowed, and her hands betrayed a slight flutter.

  “What is it, Andalie?”

  Andalie opened her mouth and then closed it. “Nothing, Lady.”

  “Has something happened?”

  Andalie shook her head, her forehead wrinkling further in frustration. Looking closely, Kelsea saw that there was a burning whiteness about Andalie’s face, bright circles around her eyes. “Something’s wrong.”

  “Yes, Lady, but I don’t know what it is.”

  Kelsea stared at her in confusion, but Andalie didn’t elaborate, so Kelsea gave up and went into her chamber, breathing a sigh of relief when the door was shut. Her bath was ready; tendrils of steam rose from the tub and obscured the mirror. Kelsea left a trail of damp clothes behind her and climbed into the hot water. Tipping her head back against the rim of the tub with a contented sigh, she shut her eyes. She meant to relax and think of nothing, but her restless mind returned to Andalie, Andalie who knew things without being told. If Andalie was worried, Kelsea knew she needed to worry as well.

  Arliss and Mace made an efficient machine. They’d already managed to suborn someone in the Census Bureau, and information was beginning to trickle into the Queen’s Wing. Even these isolated facts were frightening: the average Tear family had seven children. God’s Church railed against contraception, and the Regent had backed this view, his own quiet use of contraceptives notwithstanding. Charges of abortion, once proven, carried a death sentence for both mother and surgeon. The wealthy could buy their way around these rules, as always, but the poor were stuck, and it aggregated into an old problem: there were simply too many poor children. When the current generation grew to adulthood, it would further strain the resources of the kingdom.

  If any of them even lived to adulthood. The lack of affordable doctors was a problem with no clear solution. Pre-Crossing America had reached a height of medical miracle that the world was unlikely to see again, not after the disaster of the White Ship. Now the Tear’s poor died regularly from botched appendectomies conducted at home.

  But water filtration, even of the most subtle impurities, was gradually being perfected. Hat making continued to advance, and agricultural traditions remained strong. Kelsea supposed these were portable skills. She washed her arms, her eyes on the ceiling. Andalie had found her some good soap, of a light vanilla scent rather than the heavy florals apparently favored by the rich. Andalie at least had the good fortune to be able to go down to the market every day, although she went always with the same heavy guard of five. Kelsea hadn’t forgotten about Andalie’s burly husband, and she didn’t trust him not to snatch Andalie right off the streets of the city. That would be a disaster. Kelsea could no longer deny that Andalie was worth her weight in gold, for Kelsea had only to think of something she wanted and Andalie would have it there at hand. Pen said that Andalie’s quality of anticipation was the mark of a seer, and Kelsea was sure he was right.

  Her sapphire had begun to burn against her chest. She lifted it, dripping, and found that it was glowing again, a bright blue gleam that reflected off the sides of the bathtub. The jewel was magical, all right, but what purpose did it really serve? Kelsea made a face at it, dropped it back against her chest, and sank deeper into the vanilla-scented water, her mind skipping onward to bigger issues.

  After medicine, education was another problem. More than two decades had passed since children were
last required to attend school in the Tearling. Even before the entire literate population had been conscripted into the Census, the state’s interest in education had been steadily diminishing. And who had finally repealed mandatory schooling? The illustrious Queen Elyssa, of course. Even Mace had looked ashamed when he admitted this fact. It was an excellent system to increase productivity: allow children to stay home so they could learn to work in the fields for nobles. Every day Kelsea seemed to learn something new about her mother’s government, and each revelation was worse than the last.

  The heat from the sapphire flared suddenly, searing her chest. Kelsea’s body jerked and her eyes flew open.

  A man stood over her, less than a foot away.

  He was dressed all in black, masked but for his eyes. He wore thick leather gloves and held a long, tapered knife. Perhaps he was Caden, perhaps not, but the figure he cut was unmistakable: an executioner. Before Kelsea could draw breath, he placed the knife against her throat. “Not a sound, or you die.”

  Kelsea looked around the room, but there was no help. The door, which she never locked behind her, was locked now. If she screamed, they would come, but not in time.

  “Out of the tub.”

  Grasping the sides, Kelsea hauled herself up, splattering water to the floor. The assassin backed up slightly, allowing her to climb out, but the knife never left her throat. She stood shivering beside the tub, dripping water on the cold stone. She flushed at her own nakedness, and then stuffed that impulse. A voice spoke up in her head; she didn’t know if it was Barty or Mace.

  Think.

  The assassin took the knife from her throat and placed the tip of it against her left breast.

  “Move very slowly.” The cloth of the mask muffled his voice, but Kelsea thought he must be fairly young. She shivered more violently now, and the tip of the knife pricked her, hard.

  “Reach up with your right hand, take off your necklace, and hand it to me.”

  Kelsea stared at him, bewildered, though she could see nothing but a shadowed pair of eyes behind the black mask. Why not just kill her and take the necklace himself? He meant to kill her anyway, no doubt of that.

  He can’t take the necklace off himself. Or at least he thinks he can’t.

  “It takes both hands to remove it,” Kelsea replied carefully. “There’s a clasp.”

  Three hard knocks sounded on the door, making Kelsea jump. Even the assassin was startled; the knife dug deeper into Kelsea’s breast, and she hissed with pain, feeling a trickle of blood work its slow way toward her nipple.

  “Answer very carefully,” the assassin whispered. His eyes were cold pinpoints of light.

  “Yes?”

  “Lady?” It was Andalie. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” Kelsea replied easily, steeling herself to feel the knife go in. “I’ll ring when it’s time to wash my hair.”

  The assassin’s eyes glinted behind the mask, and Kelsea worked to keep her face expressionless. The pause outside the door seemed very long.

  “Yes, Lady,” Andalie replied. Then there was silence.

  The assassin listened for perhaps a minute, but there was no sound from outside. Finally he relaxed, easing the pressure of the knife. “The necklace. You can use both hands, but slow. Take it off and hand it to me.”

  Kelsea reached up, so slowly that she felt as though she were engaged in some sort of performance. She grabbed the clasp of the necklace and pretended to work at it, knowing that if she took it off, she was dead. Looking past the man in front of her, she saw that one of the flagstones had been lifted up and out of its groove so that a square of darkness broke the smooth pattern of the floor. Time, she needed time.

  “Please don’t kill me.”

  “The necklace. Now.”

  “Why?” From the corner of her eye, Kelsea saw movement at the door, the lock, but kept her gaze on his mask. “Why can’t you simply take it?”

  “Who knows? But I get less money for the necklace than I do for cutting your throat, so don’t play with me. Take it off.”

  The lock clicked.

  At the sound, the assassin whirled, a graceful movement of feet and limbs. He materialized behind her, pressing an arm to her waist and his knife hand against her throat, so quickly that Kelsea was helpless in front of him before the door even opened.

  Mace moved slowly into the room. Kelsea glimpsed some ten guards behind him, peering in, then the assassin dug the knife against her throat and her vision blurred.

  “No closer, or she dies.”

  Mace paused. His face and eyes were wide, disingenuous, almost blank.

  “Close and lock the door.”

  Mace reached behind him, never taking his eyes from the assassin, and closed the door gently, leaving the rest of the guards outside. He flipped the lock.

  “You may reach me, Queen’s Guard,” the assassin continued in a low, almost conversational tone, “but not before she dies. Remain where you are, answer my questions, and you prolong her life. Understand?”

  Mace nodded. He didn’t even look at Kelsea, who gritted her teeth. The assassin took a step backward, pulling her with him, the knife digging deeper into her throat.

  “Where’s the companion necklace?”

  “Only Carroll knew.”

  “You lie.” Another step backward. “Both necklaces went with the girl. We know that.”

  “Then you know more than me.” Mace splayed his hands. “I delivered the baby with only one necklace on her.”

  “Where’s the crown?”

  “Same answer. Only Carroll knew.”

  Another step backward.

  The hole in the floor, Kelsea thought. Did he mean to take her with him? Of course not; they couldn’t both fit in there. He meant to cut her throat and then escape. Mace had clearly arrived at the same conclusion, for his eyes flickered between the assassin and the hole in the floor with increasing speed. “You can’t hope to escape.”

  “Why?”

  “I know every hidden passage through this wing.”

  “Apparently not.”

  Beyond the wall, Kelsea heard the rumble of many voices, the ring of weapons. But they might as well have been a world away. In here, there was only the cool whistling of the man’s breath in her ear, shallow and even, without even a hint of anxiety.

  “This is your last chance to take off the necklace,” he murmured, digging the knife farther into her throat, forcing her to back up against him. “I might let you live.”

  “Piss off,” Kelsea snarled. But beneath her anger she felt a deep throb of despair; had she really gone through everything only to be taken naked and defenseless like this? Was this how history would say she’d died?

  The assassin tugged at the sapphire pendant between her breasts, but the chain refused to give. He pulled harder and the chain bit into the back of Kelsea’s neck. Kelsea stiffened, fury blooming from nowhere. It was a gift; her fear melted quickly and silently away. She could feel the sapphire now, a throbbing pressure that burned like a pulse inside her mind. With every jerk on the chain, Kelsea became angrier. The sapphire didn’t want to be removed.

  Why not? she asked. And although she had not expected an answer, one came smoothly, bubbling up from some dark place inside her mind. Because I have so much to show you, child.

  The voice was alien, incredibly far away. It seemed to be coming to her from a place beyond distance. Kelsea blinked in surprise. The chain wasn’t cooperating, and the assassin began to exert more force. His attention was divided now, and Mace knew it; he’d begun circling to the left, his flat gaze moving swiftly between Kelsea, her captor, and the hole in the floor. Kelsea’s midriff was smeared with blood, and the arms around her felt like they might have some give. But the knife at her throat remained steady, and Mace was still ten feet away. She didn’t dare try to break free.

  The assassin gave a tremendous yank at the sapphire now, so hard that the clasp bit cleanly through the flesh at the nape of Kelsea’s nec
k. Her temper snapped and something seemed to break open inside her; heat welled up in her chest, a small explosion of force that pushed her backward. Mace drew his sword with a dry rasp, but he seemed miles away, not a part of this at all. The assassin gave a grunt and the arm around her loosened; a moment later, she heard his body crash to the floor.

  “Lady!”

  Mace grabbed her, kept her from falling. She opened her eyes and found his face inches away.

  “I’m fine, Lazarus. Only a few pinpricks.”

  The assassin lay motionless on his back, his limbs sprawled out wildly. Mace let her go and dropped to a crouch over the assassin’s body, moving carefully in case of a trick. When he pulled the knife from the man’s clenched hand, the fingers didn’t even twitch. Kelsea couldn’t see a wound, but she knew he was dead. She’d killed him . . . the jewel had killed him. Or was it both? “What happened?”

  “Blue light, Lady, from your jewel. I’d never have believed it unless I saw it myself.”

  Kelsea suddenly realized that she was stark naked, and Mace seemed to notice only a moment later, tossing her the large white towel that hung beside the bathtub. Kelsea wrapped it around her, ignoring the blood that began to soak through from her left breast, and studied her sapphire. The heat that had flared so suddenly was gone and now the jewel merely hung there, sparkling, a low, deep blue.

  Contented with itself, Kelsea thought.

  Mace had bent to the assassin again. He seemed to have no natural revulsion for the corpse, his hands moving over the body, testing, checking for a pulse. “Dead, Lady. Not a mark on him, either.”

  Fumbling at the man’s neck, he pulled off the black mask to reveal a dark-haired young man with an aristocratic profile and deep red lips. With an inarticulate mutter, Mace rolled the body over, produced a knife from his belt, and cut through the corpse’s clothing, ripping the fabric off to reveal a mark branded into the shoulder blade: a hound, its legs outstretched as though running. With a shudder, Kelsea realized that the mark was in the exact same location as her own wound.

  “Caden,” Mace muttered.

  The din outside had grown louder, and they both seemed to notice it at once; Mace popped up from his crouch and went to the door, knocking softly. “It’s Mace. Hold your weapons.”