The Invasion of the Tearling

“He’s all right?” Wellmer whispered. His face was pale and young, just as it had been months ago when Kelsea first met him, before life had begun to mature him a bit. Mace did not answer, only turned to Schmidt with a resigned expression, the face of a man waiting for a verdict who knows that he is already condemned.

The doctor wiped his forehead. “The swelling is gone. He appears to be completely healthy, but for the perspiration … and even that could be explained as the cauchemar, the night terror.”

Now they all turned to look at Kelsea, all of them except Elston, who continued to stare at Kibb.

“Are you all right, Lady?” Pen finally asked.

“I’m fine,” Kelsea replied. She thought of that first night when she had cut open her own arm. She had done so several times since; it was a coping mechanism, and her body was a good place to divert the rage. Her legs were better to cut than her arms, easier to hide. But was this a similar thing, or was it different? If it was her jewels, why didn’t they give any sign? Kelsea’s shoulders felt like brick. “I’m tired, though. I’ll need to sleep soon.”

Schmidt’s face was a portrait of upset, his eyes moving swiftly between Kelsea and Kibb. “Majesty, I do not know what I have just seen, but—”

Mace grasped the doctor’s wrist. “You saw nothing.”

“What?”

“None of you saw anything. Kibb was ill, but he took a turn for the better in the night.”

Kelsea found herself nodding.

“But—”

“Wellmer, use the brain God gave you!” Mace snapped. “What happens if word goes out that the Queen can heal the sick?”

“Oh.” Wellmer pondered this for a moment. Kelsea tried to think as well, but she was so tired. Mace’s words jangled in her mind: heal the sick …

What did I do?

“I see, sir,” Wellmer finally replied. “Everyone would have a sick mother, a sick child …”

“Kibb!” Mace bent down and shook Kibb’s shoulder, then slapped him lightly across the face. Elston winced, but said nothing. “Kibb, wake up!”

Kibb’s eyes opened, and by a trick of the torchlight Kelsea thought that the pupils seemed almost transparent, as though they had been cleaned out and replaced with … what? Light? She turned her senses inward and examined her own body, her own heartbeat. Everything was moving faster. She shook her head, trying to get rid of the rays that seemed to be shining through her mind. They went, but with a slight twinkle of mischief that did nothing to allay the feeling of unreality that swamped her.

“How do you feel, Kibb?” Mace asked.

“Light,” Kibb groaned. “All light.”

Kelsea looked up and found the doctor staring at her again.

“Do you remember anything?”

Kibb laughed softly. “I was on the edge of a cliff and sliding. The Queen grabbed me back. Everything was so clear—”

Mace crossed his arms, his jaw clenched in frustration. “He’s like a man on an opium binge.”

“Will he sober up, Lady?” asked Coryn.

“How would I know?” Kelsea demanded. All of them, even Pen, were looking at her with the same suspicion, as though she had hidden something from them, some longtime secret that had finally come to light. She thought of the cuts on her arms and legs again, but forced the thought away.

Mace grunted in exasperation. “We have to hope he’ll come out of it. Leave him in here and post a guard. No visitors. Lady, you should go on back to bed.”

This sounded so wonderful to Kelsea that she merely nodded and trudged away, ignoring Pen’s nearly silent tread behind her. She wanted to sort things out, but she was too exhausted to think. If she could heal the sick—but she shook her head, cutting off the rest. There was power there, yes, but it was a ruinous sort of power. Even now, she could feel the edges of the idea curdling inside her head.

Heal the sick, heal the sick.

Mace’s words rang like bells in her mind, no matter how she tried to push them away.