The Invasion of the Tearling

“Thank God for small favors,” Thorne muttered. He collapsed into the chair, tipped his head back, and closed his eyes.

Kelsea was disturbed. The conversation had taken a sharp turn into uncharted territory. Mace had given her the impression that the albino was an odd remnant of Thorne’s past, a fetish that he carried around with him like a good-luck charm. But unless Thorne was playing some deeper game here—and Kelsea couldn’t imagine what it might be—what she was seeing now was a wholly altruistic act, one that did not accord with Arlen Thorne at all.

“Where did you grow up, Arlen?”

“You will execute me next Sunday, Majesty. I don’t owe you a biography.”

“Perhaps not. But if something terrible was truly done to you as a child, perhaps I could prevent it from happening to others.”

“What happens to others is their own concern. I only care what happens to Brenna.”

Kelsea sighed. The altruism, if that was what it was, would clearly extend no further. “Assuming that I like what you’re selling, what is it that you want me to do with her?”

“I want a place for Brenna here.”

“In the Keep?” Kelsea asked incredulously.

“There’s nowhere else she would be safe, Majesty. You cannot hide her; she’s too recognizable. I want her in a safe structure, decently fed and clothed, and protected by a loyal guard who cannot be suborned with bribes.”

“Even the most loyal guard can be turned, Arlen. You destroyed one of mine.”

“Morphia destroyed Mhurn, Lady, just as it has destroyed so many fools who try to hide from the here and now. I am merely the man who found the corpse, dusted it off, and made of it what I could.”

“God, you’re cold, Arlen.”

“So I’m told, Majesty. But the fact remains that only a fool blames the dealer.”

Kelsea took a deep breath and blanked all thoughts of Mhurn out of her mind. “What makes you think Brenna would accept my protection? She doesn’t seem to care for me much.”

“An understatement, Lady, I’m sure. But she will accept.”

“And what do you offer in return?”

“A bargaining chip against the Red Queen.”

Kelsea eyed him skeptically.

“Ours has been a long acquaintance, Majesty. No one knows the Red Queen well, but I venture to say I know her better than most men who live to tell the tale.”

“Is your bargaining chip one that would turn her away from us, send her army home?”

“No, Majesty. If it were, we would be dickering for my life as well as Brenna’s.”

“If your information won’t save the Tearling, then what do I care?”

“Only you can say, Lady.” Thorne shrugged. “But I myself have never regretted acquiring a piece of leverage. Such things often come in handy when we least expect it.”

Kelsea winced, feeling herself maneuvered. This man was a liar, one of the best in the Tear … and yet she believed him. He seemed resigned to his fate. And in the scheme of things, what he asked was very small.

“I don’t break my word, Majesty, and I’ve heard tell that you don’t either.” Thorne’s bright blue eyes glimmered through the bars of the age. “I’m not trying to cheat you. An honest bargain: the safety and care of my Brenna for a good piece of information. Do you accept?”

Dealing with the devil, Kelsea thought. She should call Mace in here, get his opinion. But somehow this seemed like a decision that should belong to her alone. She considered for a moment longer, then sighed and nodded. “We have a bargain, Arlen.”

Thorne offered a hand through the bars for her to shake, but Kelsea shook her head. “Not a chance. What’s your information?”

“Your two sapphires, Majesty. She wants them, more than you can possibly imagine.”

“These?” Kelsea looked down, but her hand had already gone instinctively to clutch the sapphires, and now they were hidden from view. “Why didn’t she simply demand them from my mother as part of the Treaty? She could have done so.”

“I don’t think she wanted them so badly in those days, Majesty. At any rate, she wanted slaves more. But she and I have had a long and fruitful business relationship, and while you were in hiding, I saw her longing for those jewels grow like a fever. She was just as desperate for news of them as she was for your head, and each year that your uncle failed to lay hold of them, she held him in more contempt.”

“What does she want with them, exactly?”

“She never told me, Majesty.”

“Care to hazard a guess?”