The Invasion of the Tearling

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.”