The Invasion of the Tearling

  “May we inspect your find?”

  Bennett looked back to his miners, who gave grudging nods. He moved forward a few feet and held the jewel out to Kibb, who took it and brought it to Kelsea.

  She held up one of her own sapphires to inspect them side by side. Bennett’s jewel was rough, chipped directly from the vein, and had seen no polishing, but it was also enormous, almost the size of Kelsea’s palm, and there was no mistaking the quality of the stone. She waited a moment, struck by a ridiculous hope that the new sapphires would react to her jewels, wake them up somehow. But nothing happened.

  “Lazarus?”

  “Looks the same stone to me. But what of it?”

  “You say you found a lot of this stuff, Bennett?”

  “Yes, Majesty. We had to dig deep for the vein in the foothills, but I would guess it’s shallower up in the Fairwitch proper. We just didn’t dare go up there after . . . after Tober.”

  “What happened to Tober?”

  “Gone, Majesty.”

  “He deserted?”

  “To where?” an old miner in the back asked scornfully. “We had all the supplies.”

  “Well, what do you think happened then?”

  “I don’t rightly know. But we heard noises out there in the night sometimes, like some big animal.”

  “Only some of us heard it, Lady,” Bennett cut in, glaring at the old miner. “Out in the woods and away up in the higher Fairwitch. It was a big thing, but it moved too stealthy to be an ordinary animal. It took Tober, we’re sure of it.”

  “Why?”

  “We found his clothing, Lady, and his boots, a few days later, at the bottom of a ravine. They was all torn up and stained with blood.”

  Arliss snorted quietly, a sound of disbelief.

  “Three other men disappeared also, Lady, before we learned to tighten up our camp at night and work only in groups. We never found a trace of them.”

  Kelsea turned the sapphire over in her hand. Arliss couldn’t know it, but this wasn’t the first such story she’d heard lately. Now that there was no shipment, the Census people stationed in every village were anxious to prove that they were still relevant, and information of all sorts poured in to Mace from every corner of the kingdom, including the tiny villages at the base of the Fairwitch. There had been three complaints of missing children in the foothills, as well as several men and women disappeared on the fells. No one had seen anything. Whatever the predator was, it came in the night and then simply vanished with its prey.

  “Kibb, return this, please.” Kelsea handed him the stone and leaned back against the throne, thinking. “Lazarus, there have always been disappearances in the Fairwitch, yes?”

  “Plenty of them, Lady. It’s a dangerous place, particularly for children. Scores of young ones disappeared before Tear families simply stopped settling in the mountains. The Mort more or less avoid their portion of the Fairwitch as well.”

  “Majesty?” Father Tyler spoke up tentatively, raising his hand in the air, and Kelsea bit back a grin.

  “Yes?”

  “The old Holy Father believed the Fairwitch to be cursed.”

  Mace rolled his eyes, but Father Tyler plowed on. “I don’t believe in curses, but I will tell you: in the late first century, the Arvath sent missionaries up into the Fairwitch, looking for those who’d drifted up there after the Crossing and settled in the mountains. None of the missionaries ever returned. This isn’t merely rumor; the report is part of the Arvath records.”

  “Hasn’t anyone ever found any bodies?” Kelsea asked.

  “Not to my knowledge. This is the first I’ve heard of any remains at all, blood or clothing.”

  This made Kelsea even more uneasy. If people had disappeared, where were the bones? She turned back to the miners. “Bennett, do you plan to return to the Fairwitch?”

  “We haven’t decided yet, Majesty. The sapphire is good quality, but the risk . . .”

  Arliss tapped Kelsea’s shoulder and leaned forward to murmur in her ear. “The Cadarese value sapphire highly, Majesty. This stuff would be a good investment.”

  Kelsea nodded, turning to the miners. “Your choice is your own. But should you go back, I’ll buy your haul at . . .”

  She looked to Arliss.

  “Fifty pounds per kilo.”

  “Sixty pounds per kilo. I’ll also pay extra for any information on what stalks up there.”

  “How much extra?”

  “It depends on the quality of the information, doesn’t it?”

  “Give us a moment, Majesty.”

  Bennett led his crew to the far side of the room, where they gathered into a huddle. The old miner, on the outskirts, prepared to spit on the floor and was forestalled only when Wellmer grabbed his shoulder and gave him a forbidding shake of the head.

  “Sixty pounds per kilo?” Arliss moaned in an undertone. “You’ll make no money that way.”

  “I know you, Arliss. Your markup is ruthless.”

  “The right price is whatever the market will bear, Queenie. The ruler of a poor kingdom should remember that.”

  “Just do your job and make sure the taxes come in on time, old man.”

  “Old man! You’ve never had a better tax collector. Ten thousand pounds this month alone.”

  “Majesty!” Bennett stood at the foot of the dais. “It’s a fair deal. We’ll leave next Friday.”

  “Good,” Kelsea replied. “Arliss, give them each five pounds’ bonus in advance.”

  “Five pounds each, Queenie!”

  “Goodwill, Arliss.”

  “Much appreciated, Majesty,” said Bennett. The rest of the miners grunted agreement, crowding around Arliss with hungry expressions. Arliss pulled out his little book and bag of coins, grumbling the entire time, but Kelsea considered the money well spent. The Tearling didn’t have enough metal in the ground to support more than a handful of mining crews. If miners disappeared from the Tear, the kingdom would be forced to get the bulk of its metal from Mortmesne . . . which meant there would be no metal at all.

  A loud yawn came from Kelsea’s left: Pen. He was very tired; his eyes had a dark, hollow look about them, and he seemed to have lost weight.

  “Pen, are you ill?”

  “No, Lady.”

  For a moment, Kelsea was reminded of Mhurn, whose chronic exhaustion had hidden an addiction to morphia. She blinked and saw deep scarlet blood, dripping over her knife hand, then shook her head to clear it. Pen would never be so stupid. “Well, have you been sleeping enough?”

  “Certainly.” Pen smiled, a private type of smile that had nothing to do with the conversation, and in that moment Kelsea became sure of something she’d only suspected: Pen had a woman somewhere. Two weekends a month, Mace took Pen’s place in the antechamber; Queen’s Guards didn’t usually get time off, but a close guard was a special matter, since he had no downtime. Mace was good company, but Kelsea could always sense Pen’s absence. She’d been wondering lately what he did in his spare time, and now, somehow, she knew.

  A woman, Kelsea thought, a trifle bleakly. She could ask Mace about it—surely he would know—but then she cut that impulse off at the knees. It wasn’t her business, no matter how curious she was. She didn’t know why she felt so unhappy, for it wasn’t Pen she thought of at night. But he was always there, and she had grown to depend on him. She didn’t like the idea of him spending time with anyone else.

  She’d been staring at Pen so long and so alertly that he straightened up in his chair now, looking alarmed. “What?”

  “Nothing,” Kelsea muttered, ashamed of herself. “Get more sleep if you can.”

  “Yes, Lady.”

  Once the miners had received their coin, they bowed and followed Bennett away. The money had enlivened them, for they chattered like children as they headed for the doors. Kelsea leaned back in her chair and found a steaming mug of tea sitting on the table beside her.

  “You’re a wonder, Andalie.”

  “Not really,
Lady. I’ve yet to see the moment when you don’t want tea.”

  “Sir.” Kibb appeared in front of the throne, an envelope in his hand. “Colonel Hall’s latest report from the border.”

  Mace took the envelope and offered it to Kelsea, who had just picked up her tea. “I don’t have hands. Just read it to me, Lazarus.”

  Mace nodded stiffly, then began to open the envelope. Kelsea noticed small red spots blooming in his cheeks, and wondered if she should have said please. Mace stared at the message for a very long time.

  “What is it?”

  “Majesty!” Father Tyler jumped forward, so unexpectedly that several of Kelsea’s Guard moved forward to intercept him, and he backed off, hands in the air. “I’m sorry, I’d forgotten. I have a message from the Holy Father.”

  “Can it wait?”

  “No, Lady. The Holy Father wishes to have dinner with Your Majesty.”

  “Ah.” Kelsea narrowed her eyes. “I thought he might have some complaints.”

  “I wouldn’t know, Lady,” Father Tyler replied, but his eyes darted away from hers. “I’m only the messenger. But I wondered if the Mace and I might sort it out now, before I need to leave.”

  Kelsea was not anxious to meet the new Holy Father, whose priests had already begun to give entire sermons on her shortcomings: her lack of faith; her socialist taxation policies; her early failure to get married and begin breeding an heir. “What if I don’t want to dine with him?”

  “Lady.” Mace shook his head. “The Holy Father’s a bad enemy to have. And you may need the Arvath if it comes to siege.”

  “For what?”

  “Housing, Lady. It’s the second largest building in New London.”

  He was right, Kelsea realized, though the idea of requesting assistance from God’s Church made her skin break out in gooseflesh. She put down her tea. “Fine. Give me that letter, Lazarus, and work it out with the good Father. Let’s have His Holiness in here as soon as possible.”

  Mace gave her the paper and then turned to Father Tyler, who visibly quailed, backing away. Kelsea scanned the letter and then looked up, pleased. “We’ve scored a tactical victory on the Mort flats. The Mort camp is disbanded. Colonel Hall estimates their recovery time at two weeks.”

  “Good news, Majesty,” Elston remarked.

  “Not all good news,” Kelsea replied, reading further. “The Mort supply route remains intact. The cannons are undamaged.”

  “Still, you’re playing for time,” Pen reminded her. “Delay is important.”

  Playing for time. Kelsea looked around the room and saw, or fancied she saw, the same question in every face. When the time ran out, what then? There was no anxiety here; her Guard clearly expected her to produce another miracle, as she had in the Argive. Kelsea wished she could hide from them, from the calm trust in their eyes.

  Mace finished up with Father Tyler and returned to his place beside the throne. The priest raised his hand in farewell to Kelsea, and she waved back as he headed off toward the doors.

  “What’s next?” she asked Mace.

  “A group of nobles is waiting outside to see you.”

  Kelsea closed her eyes. “I hate nobles, Lazarus.”

  “That’s why I thought it best to deal with them quickly, Lady.”

  When the nobles entered, Kelsea was struck first by their clothing, ostentatious as ever. Now, in summer, there were no hats or gloves, but they all displayed a new fashion that Kelsea had seen before: what appeared to be gold and silver, melted down and allowed to run in rivulets across the fabric so that shirts and dresses seemed to be dripping with precious metal. To Kelsea’s eye, the effect was merely sloppy, but clearly they thought otherwise. Carlin would have had much to say about this bunch; despite the fact that she had been a noble herself, she loathed conspicuous consumption. Kelsea was not surprised to see the tall, wasplike figure of Lady Andrews near the front of the group, cloaked in red silk. She looked, if possible, even more fleshless than before, but that might only have been the look in the woman’s eyes, a loathing for Kelsea that seemed to dwarf everything else in her face.

  “Majesty.” The man in front, a tiny creature with an enormous beer belly, bowed before her.

  “Lord Williams,” Mace murmured.

  “Greetings, Lord Williams. What can I do for you?”

  “We come with a common grievance, Majesty.” Lord Williams swept an arm toward the group behind him. “All of us hold property in the Almont.”

  “Yes?”

  “The evacuation is already incredibly destructive. Soldiers and refugees march across our lands, flattening the crops. Some of the refugees even loot in our fields. The soldiers do nothing.”

  Kelsea bit down on her tongue, realizing that she should have foreseen this issue. These people, after all, had nothing to do but sit and count every last penny of profit.

  “Do you have complaints of violence, Lord Williams? Armed thievery, harassment of your farmers?”

  Lord Williams’s eyes widened. “No, Lady, of course not. But we lose money on the damaged and stolen crops, as well as lost work time.”

  “I see.” Kelsea smiled, though it hurt her face. “What would you suggest?”

  “Majesty, it’s not really my place—”

  “Speak plainly.”

  “Well, I . . .”

  Another noble stepped forward, a taller man with a tightly clipped mustache. After a moment’s thought, Kelsea placed him: Lord Evans, who owned vast fields of corn north of the Dry Lands. “I have reports, Lady, that while your soldiers protect the refugees on their journey, they make no attempt to supervise them. You could order better enforcement.”

  “I will do that. Anything else?”

  “My farmers can’t work with an army of vagrants marching across their fields. Why not conduct the evacuation at night? That way, it won’t interrupt production.”

  Something flared behind Kelsea’s ribs. “Lord Evans, I suppose you have a residence in New London?”

  “Why, yes, Majesty. My family owns two.”

  “So long before the Mort come, you will simply move your household and all your valuables into town.”

  “For certain, Majesty.”

  “How convenient for you. But these people are being transplanted from their homes with no such ease. Some of them have never left their villages before. Most will be on foot, and many are carrying infants and young children. Are you honestly suggesting that I force them to cross unfamiliar territory in the dark?”

  “Of course—of course not, Your Majesty,” Evans replied, his mustache twitching in alarm. “I only meant—”

  “I am suggesting it,” Lady Andrews announced, stepping forward. “Property rights have always been inviolate in the Tearling.”

  “Be careful, Lady Andrews. No one is violating your property rights.”

  “They cross our lands.”

  “So did the shipment, once a month. It must have done a good bit of damage to your roadways. But you did not complain then.”

  “I profited!”

  “Precisely. So let’s talk about what’s really at stake here. Not right to property, but right to profit.”

  “Profit is where we find it, Majesty.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “No one is threatening Your Majesty!” Lord Williams cried. He looked around to the group behind him, and several of them nodded frantically. “Lady Andrews does not speak for all of us, Majesty. We simply wish to minimize the damage to our lands.”

  Lady Andrews rounded on him. “If you had any balls at all, Williams, I would not have needed to attend this farce!”

  “Keep it civil!” Mace barked. But the admonishment sounded automatic, and Kelsea suspected that Mace was enjoying himself.

  “At some point, Majesty,” Lady Andrews continued, “the Mort will have to cross my lands. I can make it difficult for them, or I can stand aside.”

  Kelsea stared at her. “Did you just tell me you mean to commit treason? Here, in
front of thirty witnesses?”

  “I have no such intention, Majesty. Not unless I am forced to it.”

  “Forced to it,” Kelsea repeated, grimacing. “I know how you conduct yourself in wartime, Lady Andrews. You’ll probably greet General Genot himself with a glass of whisky and a free fuck.”

  “Lady!” Mace pleaded.

  “Majesty, I beg you!” Lord Williams interrupted. “Please do not take Lady Andrews’s words as representative of—”

  “Be quiet, Williams,” Kelsea replied. “I understand what Lady Andrews is about here.”

  Lady Andrews had begun to examine her nails, as though she found Kelsea uninteresting.

  “You all have property rights, for certain. But property rights are not inviolate, not in my Tear. These people must be evacuated, and their safety is more important than your profit. Try to stand on your rights in this matter, and watch me bring out the principle of eminent domain.”

  Several of the nobles gasped, but Lady Andrews merely looked up at Kelsea, bewildered. Lord Williams grabbed Lady Andrews’s arm and began to hiss in her ear. She shook him off.

  “I will do my best to curtail the looting,” Kelsea continued. “But if any of you”—she looked around the group of nobles—“any of you hinder the evacuation in any way, I will not even think twice before I seize your lands for the greater good. Do you understand me?”

  “We understand, Majesty!” Lord Williams bleated. “Believe me. Thank you for doing what you can.”

  He tugged Lady Andrews away from the throne, but she shook him off again, staring up at Kelsea with eyes like daggers. “She’s bluffing, Williams. She wouldn’t dare. Without the support of the nobles, she has nothing.”

  Kelsea smiled. “What do I care for your support?”

  “If we abandon the monarchy, Kelsea Raleigh—”

  “My name is Glynn.”

  “If we abandon you, then you have no money, no protection, no structure. Even your army is shaky. Without us, what do you have?”

  “The people.”

  “The people!” Lady Andrews mimicked. “They’d as soon kill any highborn as look at us. Without force or arms or gold, you’re as vulnerable as the rest.”

  “My heart flutters.”