“Things Your Majesty doesn’t wish to know about.”
Kelsea looked sharply at him. “What does that mean?”
“You don’t need to know every detail of how we defend your life.”
“I don’t want my own Ducarte.”
Mace looked surprised, and Kelsea felt a small glow of triumph; she rarely surprised Mace in anything.
“Who told you about Ducarte?”
“Carlin told me he was the Mort chief of police, but he really has an umbrella license for torture and murder. Carlin says everything done by a chief of police reflects on the ruler he serves.”
“Ducarte’s actual title is Chief of Internal Security, Lady. And like so many treasures from the Lady Glynn, that statement sounds remarkably naive in this day and age.”
“The Lady Glynn?” Kelsea forgot all about Ducarte. “Carlin was a noble?”
“She was.”
“How did you know her?”
Mace raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. “Did she never tell you, Lady? She was your mother’s governess. We all knew her, perhaps better than we’d wish to.”
A governess! Kelsea considered this for a moment, picturing Carlin here, in the Queen’s Wing, teaching a child Elyssa. It was surprisingly easy. “How does a noblewoman become a governess?”
“Lady Glynn was one of your grandmother’s closest friends, Lady. I’d imagine it was a favor. Queen Arla considered Lady Glynn extremely clever, and she did have a lot of books.”
“But why did my mother give me to Carlin? Were they friends?”
Mace’s jaw firmed in a mulish way that Kelsea knew well by now. “We were speaking of a bodyguard for you, Lady.”
Kelsea glared at him for a moment before returning to her armor. She ran over the list of guards in her mind. “Pen. Can I have Pen?”
“Christ, what a relief. Pen wants the job so badly that I don’t know what I’d do with him otherwise.”
“Is he the best choice?”
“Yes. If you can’t have me, you want Pen’s sword.” He picked up the breastplate and carried it to the door, then paused. “The priest who conducted your coronation, Father Tyler. He requested a private audience with you.”
“Why?”
“My guess is the Arvath wants to keep an eye on you. The Holy Father’s a crafty old man.”
Kelsea thought of the Bible in the priest’s hand, impossibly ancient. “Bring him on Sunday; the Church should like that. And extend him every courtesy. Don’t frighten him.”
“Why?”
“I think the Church must have books.”
“So?”
“So I want them.”
“You know, Majesty, there are places down in the Gut that cater to all tastes.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means a fetish is a fetish.”
“You really don’t see any value in books?”
“None.”
“Then we’re different. I want all the books we can put our hands on, and that priest might be useful.”
Mace gave her an exasperated look, but picked up her armor and carried it out the door. Kelsea sat back down on the bench, exhausted. Her mind returned to Venner’s words, and she found herself blushing again. She was carrying too much weight, she could feel it. She’d always been thick, but now she’d been indoors too long, and between that and her injuries, whatever physical condition she might have had was gone. No queen in a storybook ever had to deal with such a problem. She would speak to Milla, but tomorrow, when she didn’t feel so sweaty and wretched. Besides, after Venner’s workout she needed a good meal.
She gave a nod to Cae, who was stationed on the door to one of the rooms along the corridor. This room was a security concern, for it gave access to a wide balcony with a magnificent panoramic view of the city and the Almont Plain beyond. Kelsea had taken to going out there whenever she missed the outdoors, but it wasn’t at all the same as the forest, and sometimes Kelsea felt a rogue urge to run a long way, to be under trees and sky.
This is how women are trained to stay indoors, she thought, the idea echoing in her mind like a gravesong. This is how women are trained not to act.
She plodded down the hallway and into the audience chamber, where the guards on duty stood at respectful attention. Today it was Pen, Kibb, Mhurn, and a new man whom Kelsea had never seen before. From overheard conversations, she understood that they’d picked up a few more recruits; these men faced a truly fearsome interrogation from Mace upon volunteering, but once they passed, they took vows and became Queen’s Guards for life. The annoying practice of refusing to meet her eyes continued, but today Kelsea was grateful for it. She knew she looked a mess, and she felt too tired to maintain anything resembling a conversation. All she wanted was a hot bath.
Andalie stood in her accustomed spot at the door of Kelsea’s chamber, holding out a clean towel. Kelsea had made it clear that she didn’t require help with her bath (her mind boggled at the sort of woman who would), but still, Andalie always seemed to know when to have things ready. Kelsea took the towel, meaning to head on into her chamber, but then stopped. Something in Andalie’s face was different, not her normal inscrutable expression. Her brow was furrowed, and her hands betrayed a slight flutter.
“What is it, Andalie?”
Andalie opened her mouth and then closed it. “Nothing, Lady.”
“Has something happened?”
Andalie shook her head, her forehead wrinkling further in frustration. Looking closely, Kelsea saw that there was a burning whiteness about Andalie’s face, bright circles around her eyes. “Something’s wrong.”
“Yes, Lady, but I don’t know what it is.”
Kelsea stared at her in confusion, but Andalie didn’t elaborate, so Kelsea gave up and went into her chamber, breathing a sigh of relief when the door was shut. Her bath was ready; tendrils of steam rose from the tub and obscured the mirror. Kelsea left a trail of damp clothes behind her and climbed into the hot water. Tipping her head back against the rim of the tub with a contented sigh, she shut her eyes. She meant to relax and think of nothing, but her restless mind returned to Andalie, Andalie who knew things without being told. If Andalie was worried, Kelsea knew she needed to worry as well.
Arliss and Mace made an efficient machine. They’d already managed to suborn someone in the Census Bureau, and information was beginning to trickle into the Queen’s Wing. Even these isolated facts were frightening: the average Tear family had seven children. God’s Church railed against contraception, and the Regent had backed this view, his own quiet use of contraceptives notwithstanding. Charges of abortion, once proven, carried a death sentence for both mother and surgeon. The wealthy could buy their way around these rules, as always, but the poor were stuck, and it aggregated into an old problem: there were simply too many poor children. When the current generation grew to adulthood, it would further strain the resources of the kingdom.
If any of them even lived to adulthood. The lack of affordable doctors was a problem with no clear solution. Pre-Crossing America had reached a height of medical miracle that the world was unlikely to see again, not after the disaster of the White Ship. Now the Tear’s poor died regularly from botched appendectomies conducted at home.
But water filtration, even of the most subtle impurities, was gradually being perfected. Hat making continued to advance, and agricultural traditions remained strong. Kelsea supposed these were portable skills. She washed her arms, her eyes on the ceiling. Andalie had found her some good soap, of a light vanilla scent rather than the heavy florals apparently favored by the rich. Andalie at least had the good fortune to be able to go down to the market every day, although she went always with the same heavy guard of five. Kelsea hadn’t forgotten about Andalie’s burly husband, and she didn’t trust him not to snatch Andalie right off the streets of the city. That would be a disaster. Kelsea could no longer deny that Andalie was worth her weight in gold, for Kelsea had only to think of something she wanted and Andalie would have it there at hand. Pen said that Andalie’s quality of anticipation was the mark of a seer, and Kelsea was sure he was right.
Her sapphire had begun to burn against her chest. She lifted it, dripping, and found that it was glowing again, a bright blue gleam that reflected off the sides of the bathtub. The jewel was magical, all right, but what purpose did it really serve? Kelsea made a face at it, dropped it back against her chest, and sank deeper into the vanilla-scented water, her mind skipping onward to bigger issues.
After medicine, education was another problem. More than two decades had passed since children were last required to attend school in the Tearling. Even before the entire literate population had been conscripted into the Census, the state’s interest in education had been steadily diminishing. And who had finally repealed mandatory schooling? The illustrious Queen Elyssa, of course. Even Mace had looked ashamed when he admitted this fact. It was an excellent system to increase productivity: allow children to stay home so they could learn to work in the fields for nobles. Every day Kelsea seemed to learn something new about her mother’s government, and each revelation was worse than the last.
The heat from the sapphire flared suddenly, searing her chest. Kelsea’s body jerked and her eyes flew open.
A man stood over her, less than a foot away.
He was dressed all in black, masked but for his eyes. He wore thick leather gloves and held a long, tapered knife. Perhaps he was Caden, perhaps not, but the figure he cut was unmistakable: an executioner. Before Kelsea could draw breath, he placed the knife against her throat. “Not a sound, or you die.”
Kelsea looked around the room, but there was no help. The door, which she never locked behind her, was locked now. If she screamed, they would come, but not in time.
“Out of the tub.”