“Reading what?”
“Your books, Lady. I’ve read nine of them now.”
Kelsea stared at him, genuinely surprised.
“They’re good, these stories,” Mace continued, his cheeks stained with light color. “They teach the pain of others.”
“Empathy. Carlin always said it was the great value of fiction, to put us inside the minds of strangers. Lazarus, what of my library?”
“Still in the Queen’s Wing, Lady, and under siege as well.”
Kelsea’s hands balled into fists. The idea of the Holy Father touching her books—for a moment, she thought that she would be sick all over the bedspread.
“Anyway,” Mace continued, clearing his throat, “I see the value of such a press. If we ever get past this, Arliss and I will help Simon acquire his parts.”
Kelsea smiled, moved. “I missed you, Lazarus. More than I missed the sunlight, even.”
“Did they harm you, Lady?”
She grimaced, thinking of the jailor, the beating. Then she was ashamed. There had been plenty of other people in that dungeon. As a queen with something to trade, Kelsea had enjoyed a privileged position. Those others had had nothing.
My suffering was real, she insisted.
Perhaps. But do not let it blind you to those who suffer worse.
“No permanent harm, Lazarus,” she finally replied. “I will put it behind me.”
She looked around the room, at the candlelit shadows that flickered on the wall. Somewhere, very distant, she heard people talking.
“Lady Chilton’s house, you said? I don’t know her.”
Mace sighed, and Kelsea saw that he was framing his words very carefully. “She is not . . . well, Lady. It will not be a risk-free accommodation.”
“What’s wrong with her? Is she mentally unstable?”
“That would be a kind word for it, Lady.”
“Then why are we here?”
“Because we needed a place to wait out your fugue, and Lady Chilton was willing to take us in. We couldn’t stay in that damned border town; too much attention. This house is large enough to house the people we brought with us, and there are plenty of supplies. Lady Chilton was well prepared for siege when the Mort came through. Mostly, though, we’re here because she owes me a great debt.”
“What sort of debt?”
“I saved her life once. She still remembers it.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“Her malady is not our business, Lady. She has promised to stay in the upper floors, away from you. I hope to be out of here by tomorrow.”
Kelsea was still uneasy at this, but she had no options to offer. She looked down at herself and saw that she was still wearing the filthy clothes she had worn out in the desert.
“I need some clothes.”
Mace gestured toward the dresser. “Lady Chilton has loaned you a dress.”
Thinking of the desert reminded Kelsea of the rest of that strange night as well, and she asked, “Is Ewen here?”
“Yes, Lady. We met up with him in Gin Reach, and a very strange tale he told us too.”
“Strange, but true.”
“Ewen torments himself with the idea that he’s not a real Queen’s Guard; ‘mascot’ was the word he used. I sent him to Gin Reach only as a precaution. Never thought anything would happen to him there.”
“He saved my life, Lazarus. More, perhaps.” Kelsea closed her eyes and saw Brenna’s face, an inch from her own, her gaze digging into Kelsea’s mind, into Lily’s mind beneath.
We were both there, Kelsea realized suddenly. Both there at once, Lily and I. How can that be?
“Well, I will tell the rest of the Guard, Lady. If Ewen played the part of a hero, they will honor him for it.”
“He did.” She pushed back the covers. “Toss me that dress.”
A few minutes later, Mace led her out into a long hallway lit by torches. The walls were constructed not of the light grey stone that held up the Keep but of deep, sand-colored blocks that appeared to have been etched by wind and time. A draft whipped down the hallway, ruffling Kelsea’s hair and causing her to shiver.
“Poor insulation,” Mace commented. “This place should have been upgraded at least ten years ago, but Lady Chilton has let it go to ruin.”
“Did she come to my coronation? Why do I—”
But she got no further, for Elston and Kibb suddenly came skidding around the corner, half the Guard behind them. Before Kelsea could even greet them, her hand was crushed in Elston’s massive grip.
“Are you well, Lady?” he asked.
“Fine, El.”
“I prayed for you, Lady,” Dyer told her, and grinned as she slapped him lightly on the cheek. The sight of them made Kelsea smile, but at the same time, she felt uneasy. Mace, Elston, Kibb, Coryn, Galen, Dyer, Cae . . . all around her were glad faces, beloved faces, people she had missed, but beneath her joy at seeing them again lay a feeling of doom, delayed and distant but real all the same. If the Keep was truly under siege, they were all exiles now, people without a home.
“Are you in pain, Lady?” Coryn asked. “I have my kit.”
“I’m fine,” she replied, accepting handshakes from Kibb and Galen. Looking around, she found one face conspicuously absent.