The Invasion of the Tearling

There was an insult wrapped in the last statement, but Kelsea made no attempt to unpack it. She needed help from the Cadarese king, and she could not offend the ambassador by questioning him in front of his aides, but neither did she have time to engage in the lengthy and circuitous prelude to serious discussion that was fashionable in Cadare. This morning, a message had arrived from Hall, with bad news: General Ducarte had taken command of the Mort army. Everyone in the Queen’s Wing seemed to know a horror story about Ducarte, and although the border villages had already been evacuated and Bermond was now beginning to clear out the eastern Almont, even a successful evacuation would accomplish nothing if Ducarte got to New London. The city’s defenses were weak. The eastern side had a high wall, but that wall was too close to the Caddell River, built on watery ground. The western side of the city had nothing. Her mother had trusted the natural defense of the Clayton Mountains to protect the west against a prolonged siege, but Kelsea was not so sanguine. She wanted a western wall around the city, but Mace estimated that they had less than two months until the Mort reached the city. Even if she conscripted every stonemason in New London, they would never build it in time.

But Cadare had many masons, the best stoneworkers in the New World. Even if the King was unwilling to supplement the Tear army with his own forces, perhaps Kelsea could get him to lend her some of his craftsmen. At the very least, she needed him to stop sending horses to Mortmesne; there was a saying, only lightly exaggerated, that a sick Cadarese mare could outrun a healthy Tear yearling. Better horses weren’t much use to the Mort up in the Border Hills, but once they got down into the Almont, superior cavalry would be a crushing advantage. She needed these negotiations to bear fruit.

“Shall we get down to business, Ambassador?”

Kattan’s eyebrows rose. “You move quickly, Majesty.”

“I’m a busy woman.”

Kattan settled in his chair, looking a bit disgruntled. “My master wishes to discuss an alliance.”

Kelsea’s heart leapt. A murmur ran through the audience chamber, but Mace did not react; he was too busy staring at the ambassador with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

“My master likewise wishes to reduce his tribute to the Mort,” Kattan continued. “But neither Cadare nor the Tearling is strong enough to do so alone.”

“I agree. What would the terms of this alliance be?”

“Slowly, slowly, Majesty!” Kattan insisted, waving his hands, and that was Kelsea’s real clue that she would not like what was coming: the ambassador felt the need to wend his way into it. “My master recognizes your bravery in defying the Mort, and would reward you accordingly.”

“Reward me how?”

“By making you first among his wives.”

Kelsea froze, dumbfounded, hearing several of her Guard mutter around her. She swallowed hard and managed to reply, though it felt as though her throat were full of moths. “How many wives does your King have?”

“Twenty-three, Majesty.”

“Are they all Cadarese?”

“All but two, Majesty. Those two are Mort, gifts from the Ageless Queen.”

“What are the ages of these wives?”

The ambassador looked away and cleared his throat. “I am not sure, Majesty.”

“I see.” Kelsea wanted to kick herself. She should have seen it coming. Mace had told her that the Cadarese were isolationists, that their assistance would come with heavy strings. But she didn’t think that even Mace had foreseen such an offer. She scrambled to think of a counterproposal. “What is the value of being the first wife?”

“You sit immediately beside the master at table. You have first pick of all gifts delivered to the palace. Once you have produced a healthy son, you have the right to refuse the master’s attentions if you wish.”

Coryn had begun tapping his fingers on his sword. Elston appeared to be thinking of creative ways to disembowel the ambassador, and Kibb placed a warning hand on his shoulder. But Mace … Kelsea was glad that Kattan could not see Mace’s expression, for there was murder there.

“What of an alliance without marriage?”

“My master is not interested in such an alliance.”

“Why not?”

“The King of Cadare cannot have an alliance on an equal footing with a woman. Marriage ensures that Your Majesty is seen to submit her will to my master in all things.”

Mace moved in sharply, blocking off Kelsea’s right side. She blinked in surprise, for she had sensed no threat from the ambassador or his guards. It took a few moments for her to see it: Mace had actually moved to protect the ambassador. Some of Kelsea’s anger ebbed away then; she smiled at Mace, and felt a rush of affection when he smiled back.

Turning back to Kattan, she asked, “Would your master expect to share my throne?”

“It is difficult for one man to govern two kingdoms, Majesty. Rather, my master would appoint a”—Kattan paused for a moment, searching for language—“castellan, yes? A castellan, to oversee your throne on his behalf.”

“And I would live in Cadare?”

“Yes, Majesty, with my master’s other wives.”

Elston had begun to crack his knuckles now, slowly and obtrusively, one at a time. Kattan, clearly sensing the thin ice beneath him, did not elaborate on the further joys of living in the King’s harem, but merely waited silently for Kelsea’s response.

“This is the only offer you bring?”

“My master has not empowered me to make any other offer, Majesty.”

Kelsea smiled gently. If she were the ruler Carlin had been trying to train, she might have taken Kattan’s deal, distasteful as it was. But she could not. An entire life seemed to flash before her eyes, the life of a Cadarese concubine outlined clearly, before she pushed the thought out of her head. If it would save the Tearling, she would gladly give up her own life, stick a knife in her heart tomorrow. But this … she could not.

“I refuse.”

“Yes, Majesty.” Kattan looked up, his black eyes twinkling with sudden amusement. “I cannot say that I am surprised.”

“Why not?”

“We have heard all about Your Majesty, even in Cadare. You have a will.”