The Invasion of the Tearling

Kelsea raised her eyebrows. The tone had been judgmental, but she could not interpret the remark. “Well, I don’t need help tonight. You should go to bed.”


Andalie nodded and left, carrying her small daughter with her. Once she was gone, Pen bowed and said, “Good night, Lady.”

“You don’t have to bow to me, Pen.”

Humor sparked in Pen’s eyes, but he said nothing, only bowed again before retreating into his anteroom and drawing the curtain.

Kelsea took off her dress and tossed it into the clothes hamper. She was glad that Andalie had gone so easily. Sometimes Andalie seemed to feel that it was her duty to help Kelsea get undressed. But Kelsea didn’t think she would ever be comfortable being naked in front of others. Andalie had hung a full-length mirror on the wall beside Kelsea’s dresser, but if she was trying to quietly cure Kelsea of her physical shyness, she had picked the wrong tack. Even this simple device created myriad challenges: Kelsea wanted to look in the mirror, but she didn’t want to, and she always ended up looking, and then hated herself. Her reflection did not please her, especially since moving into the Queen’s Wing, where it seemed she was surrounded by beautiful women. But even stronger was distaste for her mother, Queen Elyssa, who had reportedly spent half of her life preening in front of the glass. So Kelsea had made a compromise: whenever she passed the mirror, she would glance at herself quickly, just long enough to determine that her hair was all right and that she hadn’t wiped ink on her face during the day. Anything more than a peek would be vanity.

Now, catching sight of herself in the mirror, Kelsea froze.

She had dropped weight.

This seemed impossible, for Kelsea was even less active now than when she had first come to the Keep. There was too much to do every day, and most of it involved sitting, either on her throne or at her desk in the library. She hadn’t exercised in weeks, and all of her plans to eat less, which seemed so attainable in the morning, were inevitably wrecked by nightfall. But she could not deny what she was seeing now. Her thick legs had slimmed down, and her hipbones were more pronounced. Her stomach, which had always been a special source of embarrassment due to the dimpling that showed just above her abdomen, had retreated to only a slight, rounded protrusion. Kelsea tiptoed closer to the mirror, peering at her arms. They, too, seemed thinner. The thick meat had disappeared from her biceps, and now they tapered neatly down to her forearms. But when had all of this happened? Less than a week ago, certainly, for she had peeked into the mirror before her last meeting with Hall and seen none of these changes. Staring at her face, Kelsea got a nasty shock, for it seemed that something was different there, too … but a moment later she realized that it had been only a trick of the firelight.

What’s wrong with me?

Should she ask Mace to get the doctor? She shrank from the idea. Mace didn’t think anyone needed a doctor unless he was bleeding to death, and the Mort doctor favored by Coryn was wildly expensive. Was Kelsea really going to demand him now, simply because she had lost some weight? She wasn’t wounded or bleeding. She felt fine. She could afford to watch and wait, and if anything else happened, then she would tell Mace or Pen. She had been under a great deal of stress lately, after all.

The fire snapped behind her, and Kelsea whirled around. For a moment she was certain that someone was standing in front of the fireplace, watching her. But there was nothing, only shadows. Despite the fire’s warmth, her chamber suddenly seemed cold; after a final, uneasy look in the mirror, Kelsea put on her nightgown and climbed into bed. She blew out her candle, then dug her feet deep into the warm pile of blankets, pulling the covers all the way up to cover her cold nose. She tried to relax, but behind her closed eyes, unbidden, came the same image that had tormented her for weeks now: the Mort army, a poisonous black tide that poured down over the Border Hills into the Almont, leaving devastation behind. The Mort had not entered the Tear, not yet, but they would. Mace and Arliss had been stocking for siege and building reinforcements around the city, but unlike Bermond, Kelsea didn’t deceive herself; when the Mort really came for the city and put all of their efforts into breaching the walls, no amount of last-minute fortification would keep them out. Her mind turned again to Lily Mayhew, who lived in a town surrounded by walls. There must be some lesson in Lily’s life, something helpful … but nothing came.

Kelsea rolled onto her back, staring into the darkness. Her mother had faced the same no-win scenario, and ended up selling out the Tearling. Kelsea hated her for it, yes, but what could she do differently? She clutched her sapphires, willing them to give her answers, but they were silent, imparting only a feeling of doomed certainty: Kelsea had judged her mother harshly, and this was the inevitable punishment, to be dealt the same hand.