The Invasion of the Tearling

“I fixed the tag on this car a long time ago. It was in the garage most of the night, until you called and I came to pick you up.”


Lily nodded slowly. It boggled her mind, the world of hidden things that had undoubtedly been going on around her for years. Outside the window, another green sign flashed by: Tolland. The horizon was lightening, blush pink eating its way into the dark sky overhead. Lily stared at the pink haze, wishing she could see much farther east, all the way to the Atlantic, where the sun would already be up. She leaned against the window, enjoying its coolness on her cheek, and behind her eyes she saw the half-finished ship. There must be many more ships, she realized, hidden … where? All over New England? She thought she knew, now, what would happen on September first: they would leave, Tear and his people, and more than anything, Lily wanted to go with them, to that wide-open place covered in water and trees. In the distance, outside the glass, she heard a voice.

“Kelsea.”

Lily shook herself awake, but it was a losing battle. Half of her body was already fast asleep.

“Kelsea.”

“Mrs. M.?”

“Who’s Kelsea?” Lily murmured. The glass felt so cool, pillowing her cheek. She wanted to stay there forever, wanted—

KELSEA!”

She opened her eyes to a moving world, Pen shaking her shoulders. The hallway jumped wildly around her. For a moment she was back in the car, then she was back with Pen. Her head throbbed wildly. She felt sick.

“Lady, I had to wake you. It’s important.”

“What time is it?”

“Eleven in the morning.”

Kelsea shook her head, trying to clear it, trying to get her bearings. She was standing in the hallway, just outside the balcony room. The early sunrise was still bright in her mind, bruised pink. She could feel cool window glass on her cheek. “Well, what couldn’t wait?”

“The Mort, Lady. They’ve reached the walls.”

Kelsea’s heart sank. “We knew this was coming.”

“Yes, but Lady—”

“What?”

“The Red Queen. She’s come with them.”





BOOK III





CHAPTER 12


NIGHT


You cannot bargain with the tide.

—TEAR PROVERB OF UNVERIFIED ORIGIN,

GENERALLY ATTRIBUTED TO THE GLYNN QUEEN

THE MORT ARMY covered both sides of the Caddell, spread north and south across the Almont and even curving around the southern edge of New London. Dusk was coming down on the city, and in the fading light the Mort camp was an impenetrable dark sea.

In front of the black tents stood more than fifty neatly ordered lines of soldiers. To the naked eye, they seemed to be covered in glittering iron. It was an ostentatious display, clearly designed to frighten Kelsea, and it worked. She was terrified, both for herself and for the people behind her, almost her entire kingdom now crammed inside New London’s walls. How could they resist the force assembled down there? Behind the tents, Kelsea glimpsed a line of siege towers, and somewhere out there, hidden from view, were the cannons. Assuming that the cannons worked—and Kelsea did—the Mort wouldn’t even need their siege towers. They could simply smash the walls of New London to rubble.

Glee stirred in Kelsea’s arms, making her jump. The child was so easy to hold that Kelsea had forgotten she was there. Andalie had opted to come on this outing, and Kelsea had taken the girl to give her a rest. But the people in the streets had murmured in astonishment when they saw the small child in Kelsea’s arms, and now Kelsea worried that she might have called too much attention to both Andalie and Glee. They were valuable, just as Andalie had said, and their best hope seemed to be in anonymity. Glee had fallen asleep on the way to the wall, but now she was awake, staring up at Kelsea, her gaze contemplative. Kelsea put a finger to her lips, and Glee nodded solemnly.

Mace had picked Andalie’s other daughter, Aisa, to accompany them. She remained several feet behind Kelsea, almost like a second Pen, holding a knife in her hand. Mace had taken a liking to the girl, but then so had many of the Guard. Coryn said she had the best knife hand since Prasker—whoever that was—and Elston deemed her a tough piece of business, which was the highest praise he could give. Aisa was taking this expedition very seriously, never loosening her grip on the knife, her thick brows lowered over a face that was both solemn and grim. The heroism of her small, determined form, now, when it could make no difference, only made Kelsea feel worse.