The Invasion of the Tearling

“Lady!” Mace pleaded.

“Majesty, I beg you!” Lord Williams interrupted. “Please do not take Lady Andrews’s words as representative of–”

“Be quiet, Williams,” Kelsea replied. “I understand what Lady Andrews is about here.”

Lady Andrews had begun to examine her nails, as though she found Kelsea uninteresting.

“You all have property rights, for certain. But property rights are not inviolate, not in my Tear. These people must be evacuated, and their safety is more important than your profit. Try to stand on your rights in this matter, and watch me bring out the principle of eminent domain.”

Several of the nobles gasped, but Lady Andrews merely looked up at Kelsea, bewildered. Lord Williams grabbed Lady Andrews’s arm and began to hiss in her ear. She shook him off.

“I will do my best to curtail the looting,” Kelsea continued. “But if any of you”–she looked around the group of nobles–“any of you hinder the evacuation in any way, I will not even think twice before I seize your lands for the greater good. Do you understand me?”

“We understand, Majesty!” Lord Williams bleated. “Believe me. Thank you for doing what you can.”

He tugged Lady Andrews away from the throne, but she shook him off again, staring up at Kelsea with eyes like daggers. “She’s bluffing, Williams. She wouldn’t dare. Without the support of the nobles, she has nothing.”

Kelsea smiled. “What do I care for your support?”

“If we abandon the monarchy, Kelsea Raleigh–”

“My name is Glynn.”

“If we abandon you, then you have no money, no protection, no structure. Even your army is shaky. Without us, what do you have?”

“The people.”

“The people!” Lady Andrews mimicked. “They’d as soon kill any highborn as look at us. Without force or arms or gold, you’re as vulnerable as the rest.”

“My heart flutters.”

“You’re taking my threat lightly. That’s an error.”

“No, your threat is real enough,” Kelsea admitted, after a moment’s thought. “But your overestimation of your own importance is staggering. I knew it the first moment I ever laid eyes on you.”

She returned her attention to the rest of them. “I am sorry for the inevitable impact on your profits. You will simply have to content yourself with a bit less gold on your clothing this year, and hope the strain doesn’t become too much. Get out.”

The nobles turned and moved off toward the doors. Some of their faces betrayed anger, but most of them only looked a bit bewildered, as though the ground had shifted beneath their feet. Kelsea gave a great sigh of impatience, and that seemed to hurry them onward.

“Wondrous diplomacy, Lady,” Mace muttered. “You realize you only make my job more difficult.”

“I am truly sorry for that, Lazarus.”

“You need the support of your nobles.”

“I disagree.”

“They keep the public in line, Lady. The people blame the nobles and their overseers for their problems. Remove that buffer, and they might start looking higher up the chain.”

“And if their eyes come to rest on me, I will deserve that.”

Mace shook his head. “You’re too absolutist for power politics, Lady. Who cares if your nobles are hypocrites? They serve a function for you, and a useful one.”

“Parasites,” Kelsea remarked, but the retreating group had reminded her, again, of Lily Mayhew. Lily had lived in a town with walls, high walls built to keep out the poor. And yet both she and her husband still had to be afraid of the world outside. Was Kelsea any better? Mace and Arliss had ordered the construction of an enormous temporary camp just outside of New London’s walls to house the refugees, but if the Mort came, these refugees would have to be moved inside the city, probably into the Keep itself, since New London was already stuffed to bursting. Would Kelsea mind having them there? She thought for a moment and realized, with some relief, that she would not.

“Now I’ll have to keep an eye on all of these fops,” Mace continued, looking troubled. “I doubt any of them would open direct negotiations with Mortmesne, but they could do so through an intermediary.”

“What intermediary?”

“Most nobles are churchgoing folk, Lady. The Andrews woman is a regular guest in the Arvath, and the new Holy Father is no admirer of yours.”

“Are you spying on the Church?”

“I keep myself informed, Lady. The new Holy Father has already sent several messages to Demesne.”

“For what purpose?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“That Andrews bitch is no more devout than I am, Lazarus.”

“And when has that ever stopped anyone from being a pillar of the Church?”

Kelsea had no answer.

AISA?”