Chapter 8
The Queen’s Wing
It’s easy to forget that a monarchy is more than just the monarch. The successful reign is a complex animal, with countless individual pieces working in concert. Looking closely at the Glynn Queen, we find many moving parts, but one cannot overestimate the importance of Lazarus of the Mace, the Queen’s Captain of Guard and Chief Assassin. Remove him, and the entire structure collapses.
—The Tearling as a Military Nation, CALLOW THE MARTYR
Upon waking, Kelsea was pleased to find that all of the decorative pillows had been removed from her mother’s bed. Her bed; it was all hers now, and that thought brought her less pleasure. Her back was a mess of bandaging. When she ran a hand through her hair, it came away slicked with oil. She’d been asleep for some time. Mace wasn’t in the corner armchair, and there was no one else in the room.
It took a few minutes for Kelsea to raise herself to a sitting position; she felt no bleeding on her shoulder, but the wound pulled with every movement of her torso. Someone, undoubtedly Andalie, had placed a pitcher of water on the small table beside her bed, along with an empty glass. Kelsea drank and splashed some on her face. Andalie must have washed the blood from Kelsea as well, for which she was grateful. She thought of the man she’d killed, and was relieved to feel nothing.
She hauled herself to her feet and walked around the room, testing the wound. In her circuit, she discovered that a long rope now hung on the far side of her bed; it stretched to the ceiling, where it threaded through several hooks and then disappeared through a small opening carved in the antechamber wall. Kelsea smiled, tugging gently on the rope, and heard the muted sounds of a bell.
Mace opened the door. Seeing her standing beside the bed, he nodded in approval. “Good. The doctor said you were to stay in bed for at least another day, but I knew he was coddling you.”
“What doctor?” She’d assumed that Mace had patched her wounds.
“The doctor I got for the sick baby. I dislike doctors, but he’s a competent man, and it’s likely due to him that you haven’t taken infection. He said your shoulder will heal slowly, but clean.”
“Another scar.” Kelsea rubbed her neck gingerly. “Soon I’ll be a bundle of them. How’s the baby?”
“She fares better. The doctor gave the mother some medicine that seems to have quieted the baby’s stomach, though it cost the damned moon and stars. She’ll likely need more later.”
“I hope you paid him well.”
“Very well, Lady. But we can’t use him forever, nor the other doctor I know. Neither is trustworthy.”
“Then what do we do?”
“I don’t know yet.” Mace rubbed his forehead with his thumb. “I’m thinking on it.”
“How are the guards who were injured?”
“They’re fine. A couple will need to limit their duties for a time.”
“I want to see them.”
“I wouldn’t, Lady.”
“Why not?”
“A Queen’s Guard is a very proud creature. The men who took wounds won’t want you to notice.”
“Me?” Kelsea asked, puzzled. “I don’t even know how to hold a sword.”
“That’s not how we think, Lady. We just want to do our jobs well.”
“Well, what am I to do? Pretend they weren’t even injured?”
“Yes.”
Kelsea shook her head. “Barty always used to say there were three things men were stupid about: their beer, their cocks, and their pride.”
“That sounds like Barty.”
“I thought pride was the one he might be wrong about.”
“It’s not.”
“Speaking of pride, who threw the knife?”
Mace’s jaw clenched. “I apologize, Lady. It was my failure of security, and I take full responsibility. I thought we had you sufficiently covered.”
Kelsea didn’t know what to say. Mace was looking very hard at the ground, his lined face twisted up as though he were waiting for a lash to fall on his shoulders. Being caught off guard was intolerable to him. He’d told her that he’d never been a child, but Kelsea had her doubts; this particular effect looked like the result of some fairly harsh parenting. Kelsea wondered if she looked just as pained when she didn’t know the answer. Mace’s voice echoed in her head again: she was his employer, not his confessor. “You’re working on finding out, I trust?”
“I am.”
“Then let’s move on.”
Mace looked up, visibly relieved. “Typically, the first thing a new ruler would do is hold an audience, but I’d like to put that off for a week or two, Lady. You’re in no shape, and there’s plenty to do here.”
Kelsea picked up her tiara from the gaudy vanity table and considered it thoughtfully. It was a beautiful piece of jewelry, but flimsy, too feminine for her taste. “We need to find the real crown.”
“That’ll be difficult. Your mother set Carroll the task of hiding it, and believe me, he was clever that way.”
“Well, let’s make sure to pay that hussy for this thing.”
Mace cleared his throat. “There’s much to do today. Let’s get Andalie in here to fix your appearance.”
“How rude.”
“Forgive me, Lady, but you’ve looked better.”
A thud came against the outer wall, the impact so hard that it rattled the hangings on Kelsea’s bed. “What’s going on out there?”
“Siege supplies.”
“Siege? Are we expecting one?”
“Today is March the sixth, Lady. There are only two days left until the treaty deadline.”
“I won’t change my mind, Lazarus. That deadline means nothing to me.”
“I’m not sure you fully understand the consequences of your own actions, Lady.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sure you fully understand me, Lazarus. I know what I’ve loosed here. Who commands my army?”
“General Bermond, Lady.”
“Well, let’s bring him here.”
“I’ve already sent for him. It might take him another few days to return; he’s been on the southern border, inspecting garrisons, and he doesn’t ride that well.”
“The general of my army doesn’t ride well?”
“He’s lame, Lady: a wound he took defending the Keep from an attempted coup ten years ago.”
“Oh,” Kelsea murmured, embarrassed.
“I warn you, Lady: Bermond will be difficult. Your mother always left him to his own judgment, and the Regent hasn’t bothered him for years. He’s gotten used to having his own way. He’ll also loathe discussing military strategy with any woman, even a Queen.”
“Too bad. Where’s the Mort Treaty?”
“Outside, waiting for your inspection. But I think you will have to reconcile yourself.”
“To what?”
“War,” Mace replied flatly. “You’ve effectively declared war on Mortmesne, Lady, and believe me, the Red Queen will be coming.”
“It’s a gamble, Lazarus, I know.”
“Just remember, Lady: you’re not the only one gambling. You’re playing hazard with an entire kingdom. High dice, and you’d better be prepared to lose.”
He left to fetch Andalie, and Kelsea sat down on the bed, her stomach sinking. Mace was clearly beginning to understand her, for he’d thrust the sword right where it would have the most impact. She closed her eyes, and behind them she saw Mortmesne, a vast dark land in her imagination, awakened from long slumber, looming like a shadow over everything she wanted to build.
Carlin, what can I do?
But Carlin’s voice had fallen silent in her mind, and there was no reply.