The Invasion of the Tearling

“I understand it was gutted by an accidental fire.”


“Many of my congregation believe that fire to be no accident, Majesty. Indeed, the prevailing belief is that the fire was set by one of your own guards.”

“Prevailing belief is very convenient. Have you any proof?”

“I do.”

Kelsea drew a sharp breath. Mace, on her right, had frozen, but the Holy Father only continued to stare blandly at Kelsea; he seemed to have no fear of Mace at all. Kelsea considered asking the Holy Father to produce his proof, but discarded the idea. If he really did have something linking Mace to the fire, there was nowhere else to go. She shifted ground.

“An assassination attempt on the Queen is treachery. I believe the common law states that treachery renders the traitor’s lands forfeit.”

“So it does.”

“Lord Graham put a knife to my throat, Your Holiness. Even in the unlikely event that one of my Guard was involved with that fire, his property was mine to burn.”

“But not the people inside, Majesty.”

“If they were on my property, they were trespassing.”

“But your ownership of that property depends entirely on your own accusations of treachery.”

“My accusations,” Kelsea repeated. “What else would you call Lord Graham’s actions?”

“I don’t know, Majesty. As you say, there’s so little proof. What do we know? Only that you had a young, attractive lord in your chamber in the early evening, and you killed him.”

Kelsea’s mouth dropped open.

“Perhaps you had your eye on his lands all along.”

Pen pushed back from the table, but Kelsea grabbed his arm and whispered, “No.”

“Lady—”

“Do nothing.” Meeting Pen’s gaze was a mistake; in that moment, Kelsea seemed to live her humiliation all over again. This was her oldest friend, the guard who had been kind to her long before any of the others, but all Kelsea could see was the man who had turned her down. How could they ever get back to where they had been before? She turned back to the Holy Father and found him watching her and Pen with an interested gaze.

“So this is the story your priests tell from the pulpit, Your Holiness? Young Lord Graham was a victim of my wanton sexuality?”

Elston and Dyer began sniggering.

“Majesty, you misunderstand me. I am only a mouthpiece for my congregation’s concerns.”

“I thought you were the mouthpiece for God.”

The shorter acolyte gasped.

“Such a statement would be blasphemous, Majesty,” the Holy Father replied, his tone gently reproving. “No man can speak for God.”

“I see.”

She didn’t see, but at least she had gotten him off the subject of Mace and the fire. Milla took the pause in conversation as an opportunity to bring the main course: roast chicken with potatoes. Kelsea snuck a glance at Pen and found him staring with cold fury at the Holy Father. All of her Guard were angry now, even Mace, whose mouth had tightened. Kelsea tapped her nails on the table, and they returned their attention to the food, though some of them appeared to have difficulty swallowing.

“Have you heard the reports from the Fairwitch, Majesty?” the Holy Father asked.

“I have. Children disappearing and some invisible murderer that stalks in the night.”

“How do you plan to address the matter?”

“Difficult to say, until I get some hard evidence of what’s going on.”

“While you wait, Majesty, the problem grows worse. Cardinal Penney tells me that several families have disappeared in the foothills. The Cardinal himself has seen dark shadows in the night around his castle. It’s the devil’s work, for certain.”

“And how would you suggest that I fight the devil?”

“Prayer, Majesty. Devotion. Have you never considered that this might be God’s vengeance on the Tearling?”

“For what?”

“For laxity of faith. For backsliding.”

Father Tyler dropped his fork. It hit the ground with a clatter, and he crawled under the table to retrieve it.

“Prayer will not save us from a serial killer, Your Holiness.”

“Then what will?”

“Action. Judicious action, taken after all the consequences are weighed.”

“Your faith is weak, Majesty.”

Kelsea put down her fork. “You will not goad me.”

“I had no thought to goad, only to offer spiritual advice. Many of your actions subvert God’s will.”

Kelsea saw where this was going now, and she leaned her chin on both hands. “Do tell, Your Holiness.”

The Holy Father raised his eyebrows. “You wish me to list your transgressions?”

“Why not?”

“Fine, Majesty. I will. Three heretics and two homosexuals were in Crown custody at the start of your reign, and you have freed them all. Worse, you tolerate open homosexuality in your own Guard.”

What was this? Kelsea fought down the urge to look at Mace, or at any other member of her Guard. She had never heard a whisper of any such thing.