The Invasion of the Tearling

  “On whose orders?”

  “Special orders from Major Langer.” But the assistant’s voice was unsteady, and the guard wasn’t buying it, even Lily could tell. Dimly, outside the glow of their flashlights, she spotted someone moving down the hallway wall, a sliding shadow in the darkness.

  “Where is Langer?”

  “He’s writing his report.” The assistant licked his lips, and Lily heard the dry rasp of his tongue. “I’m supposed to take her outside to the car.”

  “Who are these others?”

  The shape on the wall launched itself onto the guard, knocking him to the ground. The gun chattered as the guard went down, bullets pinging off the walls and floors. Jonathan’s arm dropped away from Lily’s back, and she heard the thud of his body hitting the ground. Jonathan’s flashlight had fallen to the concrete, and in the dim light she saw William Tear, his knee planted in the guard’s stomach, both thumbs jammed into the man’s eyes. Lily grabbed the discarded flashlight and shone it around until she found Jonathan’s feet. The guard screamed, making her jump, and the light jigged crazily around the hallway. For a moment Lily was back in her nightmares, in that other hallway with its endless doors.

  “Shine it up.” Dorian grabbed the flashlight from her, focusing it on Jonathan’s stomach. “Ah, damn.”

  A narrow trench of blood, sparkling almost black, stained Jonathan’s shirt just above his belt buckle. Lily’s vision crystallized, the warm bubble around her mind evaporating.

  “Help me pick him up.”

  Lily wrapped an arm around Jonathan’s waist and helped Dorian haul him from the floor. Ahead, in the darkness, the guard’s screams ended suddenly, a strangled sound that cut off in a grunt.

  “Move!” William Tear shouted.

  “Jonathan needs a doctor,” Dorian panted. “Gutshot.”

  “There’s no time. Parker’s people will already be started.”

  “I’m fine,” Jonathan wheezed, his breath whistling against Lily’s neck.

  “Come on, South Carolina.” Dorian hauled him forward and Lily followed suit, trying not to jostle him.

  “You, Salter!” Tear snapped. “Get the door open!”

  The assistant rushed past Lily, his flashlight bobbing with each stride, toward the door at the end of the hallway. Just as he reached it, the lights came back on in a bright flash, blinding them all. Lily stumbled, nearly pitching Jonathan forward to the floor.

  “Move!” Tear roared. “We’re out of time!”

  The assistant had the door open. Lily and Dorian hauled Jonathan forward, out into the cool night, and up the long metal staircase. It seemed like years since Lily had arrived at this place, and for a moment she wanted nothing so much as to sink down and fall asleep on the steps, better world be damned. But then she felt resistance, even from her own limbs: the other woman was there, pushing her up the steps.

  At the top was a parked car, a sleek silver Lexus with the Security shield on the hood. The rest of the buildings in the compound were still dark, but even as Lily watched, one bank of lights came back on, far across the pavement.

  “Boss,” Dorian muttered. “She’s still tagged.”

  “We’ll deal with it in the car. Get Jonathan in.”

  The assistant, Salter, was waiting by the open passenger-side door, his face both terrified and pathetically eager. As they approached, he bugled, “The better world!”

  “Shut up!” Tear hissed.

  “I helped!”

  “So you did.” Tear passed Jonathan to Lily. She saw the glint of murder in Tear’s eyes, but said nothing, merely opened the rear door and helped Dorian maneuver Jonathan into the backseat. “You helped us at the eleventh hour, wanting to get to the better world.”

  “Yes!”

  In one quick movement, Tear grabbed the back of Salter’s head and smashed his face into the hood of the car. When he pulled Salter back up, the man’s features were nothing but a bloody mask.

  “Think on them, Salter,” Tear murmured. “All of my people you’ve helped to break over the years. I wouldn’t let you within a hundred miles of the better world.”

  He flung Salter away. Lily looked across the compound, at the miles of fencing that seemed to surround everything. If the power came back on, how were they going to get out?

  “This was going to be a trick, even with Jonathan behind the wheel.” Tear shook his head, biting at the inside of his cheek. “I need to work on Jonathan, take out her tag. Dori, can you drive?”

  “I’ll get us there.”

  “Get in.” Tear slipped into the backseat. Lily opened the passenger door, then froze as an explosion ripped through the tree line on her left, several miles beyond the Security compound. An orange fireball bloomed in the dark, illuminating the silhouettes of infinite trees before they were consumed in flame.

  “Into the car, now!”

  She got in and slammed the door. Dorian floored it, and the Lexus roared forward across the pavement. Tear turned on the overhead light.

  “Twenty degrees left, Dori. The fifth segment from the end.”

  “I know, boss, I know.” Dorian nudged the wheel to the left. Another bank of lights came on above them, and Lily saw that they were heading toward the perimeter fence, doing forty now, their speed still increasing. Lily thought of electrocution, then dismissed it from her mind. Tear would take care of these things, the way he seemed to take care of everything. Metal hammered behind her: bullets, puncturing the trunk and back bumper. The car skewed, and Dorian fought with the steering wheel, cursing, a steady slew of profanity that would have made Maddy proud.

  A groan came from the backseat. Tear had produced his little black bag and was kneeling on the floorboards, bent over Jonathan’s midsection. Lily was glad she couldn’t see the wound, for she already sensed how things would play out. Jonathan had saved her—twice now—and in return, she had gotten him killed.

  “It’s bad.” Tear shook his head. “Have to wait until we’re on the highway, until we’re steady.” He moved Jonathan’s legs and perched on the seat. “Lily. Lean forward.”

  Lily started, realizing that he had used her first name, carelessly, just the way he would speak to Dorian or Jonathan. She wanted to smile, but then she felt Tear rip her shirt down the back.

  The car hit the fence. All Security fences were supposed to be titanium, but this section seemed to crumple away from the posts, as though it had been weakened somehow. Dorian yanked the wheel left and the car peeled sideways, skidding, and then they were on the egress road, speeding away. Lily turned and saw the compound through the rear windshield, a wide wash of light and stone and steel, shrinking behind them. Then she jumped, startled, as something cold was smeared across her shoulder blade.

  “I usually give a local for this, Lily, but I’m going to need my whole supply for Jonathan. Can you be brave?”

  Lily giggled, but it came out as a croak. Brave had been many, many hours ago. She didn’t know where she was now, wandering in uncharted territory. She gritted her teeth, readying herself, and tried to think of something else. “Why did you kill the assistant?”

  “Salter? You know men like Salter, Lily. He’s the sort who can think of an excuse for almost anything he’s done. Salter thought that one good deed could make up for a lifetime of terrible acts.”

  “Can’t it?” Lily shut her eyes, tight, as something thin and cold pierced the skin of her shoulder blade. She didn’t know why they had rescued her. Would they let her come with them to the better world? She hadn’t even done one good deed, not really. The pain was bad, but she pursed her lips—what if even a small wrong move could tip the balance?—holding them shut.

  “Depends on the deed and the lifetime. In this case, no. Salter’s been Langer’s right-hand man for nearly twenty years.”

  Major Langer, Lily realized. The man in charge. The accountant.

  “No roadblocks yet,” Dorian remarked, her gaze pinned straight ahead. “That’s something. But there’s a lot of fire.” br />
  “Parker,” Tear replied dismissively. “That bunch is ridiculously impressed by loud noises.” The sharp instrument worked inside Lily’s shoulder. She couldn’t stop a small moan from escaping her throat.

  “Not much longer, Lily.” A spray can hissed, and burning cold spread across her open shoulder. “Thank Christ Parker and his crew never knew what else we had. But I’d bet a hundred quid most of the eastern seaboard’s on fire before the night is through.”

  “Why?” Lily gasped, as another sharp point sank into the muscle of her shoulder. “Why would you let him do that?”

  Tear grunted. “Hold very still, Lily. Tricky fucker.” Lily thought he had ignored her question, but a moment later he replied, “This country is diseased. The fortunate celebrate on the backs of the starving, the ill, the terrorized. The law affords no recourse to the disadvantaged. That’s a historical sickness, and there’s only one cure. But I won’t lie to you, Lily; we need the diversion as well.” Tear left her shoulder for a moment, and there was a clink of metal. “Little fucker’s buried deep in the muscle. Inept doctor . . . must have hurt like mad when they put it in.”

  Lily blinked in surprise, realizing that she didn’t remember having her tag implanted. It had been done sometime during her childhood, she knew, but now the tag seemed like something that had always been there, a natural part of her anatomy. She had learned to be tagged, in the same way they had all learned to be under constant surveillance, not to speak of the disappeared.

  A historical sickness.

  “Why did you get me out?”

  “The better world’s not free, Lily. I test my people. Dori, keep it steady here.”

  “Sir.”

  There was a final deep stab into Lily’s muscle, and she screeched against her clamped teeth. Another cold tug, and the invasion finally withdrew. Tear presented the tag for Lily’s inspection: a tiny piece of metal, so tiny that it would have fit comfortably on her pinkie fingernail. Marveling, Lily held out her hand, and Tear dropped the tag into her palm.

  “Controls your whole life, Lily. Do us a favor and toss it out the window.”

  After staring at the tiny metal ellipse for another moment, Lily rolled the window down and threw her tag into the night.

  “Feel better, Mrs. M.?”

  She turned to stare at Jonathan, ignoring the fierce pain in her shoulder. He was smiling, but his face was pale beneath its dark skin, and his entire shirtfront gleamed with blood.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Jonathan waved his hand. “I’ll be fine.”

  But Lily knew better. Saying sorry again seemed ridiculously inadequate, and so she didn’t repeat it, only turned to stare out the windshield, hating herself. The night landscape bloomed with fire from horizon to horizon, many towns burning behind their walls. Something else was different, but it wasn’t until they got on the freeway, heading south, that Lily was able to pinpoint the difference: she hadn’t seen a single electric light since they’d left the Security compound.

  “You shut down the power.”

  “Every cell,” Tear replied, digging in his medical bag. “It’s not coming back on, either. The east is dark, all the way from New Hampshire to Virginia. How’s our time, Dori?”

  “Ten minutes ahead of schedule.”

  “Stay on public highways. With any luck, Parker’s people will be looking for bigger game on the private roads.” Tear began to bandage Lily’s shoulder, applying some sort of salve. It stung, but Lily barely noticed. She was too busy staring out the window, her eyes full of orange flame.

  Carnival, she thought. She didn’t want to imagine what was happening out there, in the world beyond this car. Everyone she knew lived behind a wall, her mother, her friends . . . Lily suddenly felt that she was staying afloat atop a pile of corpses, that this guilt would stay with her, with all of them, even Tear, poisoning what it touched . . . poisoning the better world.

  None of us escape, Lily realized bleakly, then shut her eyes, wincing at the sounds from the backseat, as Tear went to work on Jonathan.

  None of us is clean.

  Kelsea woke to find herself in the dark, lying on a cold stone floor. Her shoulder was aching, but whether it was Lily’s memories or her own old wound, she didn’t know. She felt cheated. How could she be here now, without seeing the end of the story?

  “Lazarus?”

  There was no answer. Kelsea scrambled to her feet and then fell down again, scraping her knees on the stone. The darkness felt as though it stretched forever around her.

  “Lazarus!” she screamed.

  “Thank fucking Christ!” Mace shouted. His voice was distant, muted by dead space. “Keep talking, Lady!”

  “Here!”

  The glimmer of a torch appeared, far off, and Kelsea pulled herself to her feet, wandering toward it, her hands outstretched against obstacles. But there was nothing, only the vast dark space around her. As Mace approached, she saw that his face was white and strained, his eyes wide in the torchlight.

  “I thought I’d lost you, Lady.”

  “What?”

  “One moment you were on the ground, making a racket, and the next you were just gone. I’ve been looking for you for at least half an hour.”

  “Maybe I rolled away in the dark.”

  Mace laughed bitterly. “No, Lady. You were gone.”

  Then why am I back? she nearly asked, but held quiet, recognizing the selfishness of the question. She was back because there were things to do before the morning, before she walked into death.

  “Only crossing,” she whispered, taking comfort in the words, though she didn’t know what they meant.

  It was time to talk to Row Finn.

  All was quiet as they approached the Queen’s Wing. Kelsea hoped that everyone had gone to bed, for it would make this easier if she only had to say good-bye to the night guard. But here she was mistaken, for when the double doors opened, she found her entire Guard, more than thirty of them, still awake, with Pen in front. Andalie was waiting, too, as neatly put together as though she’d had a full night’s sleep. Even Aisa was there, though Kelsea noted that she did not stand with her mother. She stood with the Guard.

  Kelsea took a deep breath. The rest of them would be easier to lie to than Mace, but she worried about Andalie, who always saw through everything.

  “At dawn, I’m going down to the bridge, to try and open negotiations with the Mort.”

  “With what, Lady?” Coryn asked. “You have nothing to offer.”

  “Lazarus will decide who comes with me,” she continued, ignoring him. “Four guards, no more.”

  “Elston,” Mace announced. “Myself.” His eyes roamed the room for a moment before fixing on Aisa. “And you, hellcat. The Mort are tricky bastards. I want your knife.”

  This was nonsense, but seeing the way Aisa’s face lit up in the torchlight, Kelsea said nothing, recognizing Mace’s words as a gift, a kindness, just as she had shown to Ewen. She scanned the rows of guards and found Ewen stationed near one end. She had been prepared to send him back down to the dungeon if Mace demanded it, but he had not. The Guard could have reacted to Ewen in many different ways, but they had taken him in, much in the manner of a mascot, giving him responsibility in minor matters, innocuous errands where he could do no harm. Venner clapped Aisa on the back and murmured in her ear, and she scampered off down the hallway.

  “And Coryn.”

  Several guards gasped. Pen stared at Mace, his face turning pale. Kelsea’s heart ached for him, but she understood that she could not get involved in this. More, as Pen began to argue with Mace in furious whispers, she saw that she was being handed an opportunity. She turned and hurried down the hall to her chamber, relieved when no one tried to follow, and bolted the door shut behind her.

  The fire in her chamber was still going; Andalie, thorough as ever, had tended it throughout the night. Kelsea sat down on the hearth, staring into the flames, willing Row Finn to come. But where would he come from? Kelsea
wished she understood, for it seemed like it might matter. She felt exhausted, as though she had traveled countless miles, the weight of Lily’s life on top of her own. She longed to go back to Lily, to see the rest of the story, but there was no time. It was four fifteen, and dawn was coming. Kelsea balled her hand into a fist, digging the nails in until thin blood emerged beneath their crescents, until she felt vaguely awake.

  Tear heir.

  She looked up and found him standing beside the fireplace. He was not so pale as she remembered; now his cheeks were ruddy and his eyes gleamed with a sparkle that seemed unnatural. Her earlier dreams recurred: this man, buried inside her, while all around them the fire burned and burned . . . Kelsea stood up, wiping her bloody hand on her dress.

  “You want your freedom.”

  Yes.

  “Speak!” she snapped. “I’m tired of silence.”

  “I want my freedom.”

  “How do I kill the Red Queen?”

  “Are you ready to bargain, Tear heir?” His eyes gleamed redly. A trick of the light, Kelsea had once assumed . . . and now she remembered Marlowe’s old fool, who had decided to make a bargain with the devil. But even the lessons of a good book could not stand up against the weight of the tide that stood outside the city walls. The Mort were the only issue; all other considerations had become secondary.

  “I’m ready to bargain.”

  Finn approached, and Kelsea saw hunger burning in his eyes, a great excitement held in check. Whatever freedom meant to him, he had waited a long time.

  “What do I do?”

  “Take your sapphires in your hand.”

  Kelsea did.

  “Now say, ‘I forgive you, Rowland Finn.’”

  “Forgive you for what?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes.”

  “You are difficult, Tear heir.”

  “How is it true forgiveness, if I don’t know what I’m forgiving you for?”

  Finn paused, his face thoughtful, and Kelsea felt a moment’s satisfaction. For months she had been flying blind in regard to her sapphires. Finn might know more than she did, but he didn’t have all of the information either.