The Invasion of the Tearling

“The little one seemed particularly sure of it. Vastly changed, she said you’ll be, but you will come back.”


Kelsea didn’t see how this could be. If she tried to kill the Red Queen, she would either succeed or fail, but either way, it seemed unlikely that she would live long after the attempt. But it was too late to change the bill now; they needed enough copies to distribute throughout New London. Kelsea sat down in the chair opposite Arliss and began to sign her way through the stack. The work was soothing, but monotonous, and Kelsea’s mind wandered back to the conversation with Row Finn. Again, the nagging question recurred: who had fathered her? If the Tear line had survived somehow, it could only be because someone had been hidden during the bloody period after Jonathan Tear’s assassination. A secret that old would be nearly impossible to discover … but Kelsea’s paternity might provide a start.

“Lady.”

Mace was in the doorway. Kelsea straightened automatically, drawing her arm over the bill she was signing. But Arliss was far ahead of her; he had already whisked the entire stack of copies out of sight.

“What is it?”

“I need you to weigh in on something.”

Kelsea got up from the desk, heard a slither of paper behind her as Arliss made her bill disappear as well. “What is it?”

Mace closed the door behind him. “Pen insists on accompanying you this morning. I’ve said no, but he won’t listen. I could have him restrained when we leave, but I don’t wish to do that.”

“What’s the question?”

“Do you think he should come?”

Kelsea nodded slowly. “It would be cruel to leave him behind.”

“All right.” Mace lowered his voice. “But when we get back, Lady, you and I will have to talk about Pen. He cannot be your close guard and your paramour, all at once.”

Paramour. It was such an antiquated concept that Kelsea almost laughed, but after a moment’s thought, she realized that Mace had chosen the right word. Paramour … that was exactly what Pen was.

“Fine. We’ll discuss it.”

Mace looked over her shoulder. “What goes on here?”

“We’re going over the tax situation.”

“That so?” Mace fixed his keen glance on Arliss. “Taxes a crucial issue right now?”

“Whatever Queenie wants to talk about is the issue on my desk, Mr. Mace.”

Mace turned back to Kelsea. He stared at her for a very long time.

“Spit it out, Lazarus.”

“Why not tell me what you’re planning to do, Lady? Don’t you think I could help?”

Kelsea looked down, blinking, suddenly near tears. He would not understand, she thought, not until it was all done, and at that point it would be too late to ask his forgiveness. But Mace was a Queen’s Guard right down to his core. He would knock her unconscious, if necessary, to keep her from her intended course, and so she could not explain to him, nor to the rest of the Guard. She would not be able to say good-bye to any of them. She thought of the day they’d all ridden up, tired and impatient, to collect her from the cottage. That departure had been terrible, just as this one would be. And yet the world had opened wide, from that day onward. She remembered riding down the length of the Almont, farms all around her, the Caddell still a blue twinkle in the distance. How she had been struck by the land, its vastness, its sweep … and remembering, she felt a tear slide down her cheek.

I can’t fail, or everything is lost.

“Get the other three together, Lazarus. It’s time to go.”

LATER, THINKING ON that ride, Aisa would only remember that it should have been raining. Rain would have been fitting, but instead the sky was a deep, clear blue, blushed with pinkish-orange clouds in the coming dawn, the light just bright enough to reveal the ocean of people on either side of the Great Boulevard. New London was bursting at the seams, and although it wasn’t yet six in the morning, the entire city seemed to have crowded into the streets.