Elston cast a murderous look at the Fetch, but followed Mace back through the glassed-in doors that gave egress to the balcony. Pen and Dyer went with them. Pen showed no reluctance at all, and Kelsea felt a slight twinge, then shelved it. She would learn to live with Pen’s indifference. There were more important matters to hand. At a signal from the Fetch, his four men followed, Morgan tipping an imaginary hat to Kelsea as he went.
As the doors closed, she turned back to the Fetch. She had not seen him for a very long time—or so it seemed—and he was as handsome as ever, but even so, she was surprised to find that his hold on her had diminished. She might be looking at the man, but she couldn’t help seeing the boy, Gavin: arrogant and careless, an easy mark for Row Finn. Seeing the foolish boy that he had been was a lessening of the man, and though Kelsea’s first reaction was disappointment, she found it followed quickly by relief.
“You look well, Tear Queen,” he remarked. “Very well, for a girl who’s been in prison.”
“I am well.”
“And what became of the Mort Queen?”
“I killed her.”
The Fetch made a sound of amusement.
“You don’t believe me.”
“I believe you. I’m laughing at myself.”
“Why?”
“Once, I thought that was what you were here for: to rid us of the Mort Queen once and for all. Now you’ve done it, and we’re no better off than we ever were. The Tear still fails.”
“You had a hand in that failure, Gavin.”
His breath caught, but a moment later he said, “I knew that you would eventually find me out. Row knew it too.”
“What does he want?”
“What he always wanted. A crown.”
“What crown?”
“The Tear crown. Row made it, silver and sapphire, but it was no ordinary piece of jewelry. Row said it would allow him to fix the past.”
“Fix the past,” Kelsea repeated, wide awake now. She had spent months trying to figure out how to fix the past. “How?”
“I don’t know. He always thought he had been robbed, that chance had stolen something from him. He was too smart to merely be Sarah Finn’s son.”
“Where is this crown?”
“Somewhere in New London. I’ve been hunting it for months, with no luck. The priest stole it from the Arvath when he fled—”
“Father Tyler?”
“Yes, but we can’t find him. I traced him as far as the Creche, but then lost the scent.”
Kelsea nodded, though her heart ached at the idea of the old priest down there. Mace might be able to find him, but she couldn’t ask Mace to go back into that hellhole. He had told her of his Creche project over dinner the night before, and though she was pleased that he had taken her words to heart, she had wondered why he would hire the Caden for such a job. Now she knew, and how bad would such a place have to be, to frighten Mace off? He would surely scoff at all of this, crowns and magic; Kelsea could almost hear the dry skepticism in his voice. But the siren song of that idea—fix the past, fix the past—echoed in her head. She turned back to the Fetch.
“Did you kill Jonathan Tear?”
“No.”
“You and Row were friends.”
He blinked, startled by the question, and then replied, “Yes. We were. I thought we were.”
“Why did he hate the Tears so much?”
“Row always said that his birth was a great error.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. But he said the crown would correct the error.” The Fetch turned away, his voice cracking. “We only wanted to rebuild a decent society, like they had before the Crossing—”
“What are you talking about?” Kelsea hissed. “The world before the Crossing was even worse than ours!”
“But we didn’t know that!” The Fetch looked at her, his face almost pleading. “They never told us. We only knew what Row said. He said it was a better world, where smart people who worked hard were rewarded with a better life. Better houses, more food, a brighter future . . . that’s what he offered us.”
Kelsea clenched her fists. Once upon a time, she had thought herself in love with this man, but now it seemed like an episode from someone else’s life. The boy, Gavin, overshadowed everything. If the Fetch had declared undying love for her in that moment, she would have spat in his face.
“Why in God’s name didn’t you tell me all of this before?” she demanded. “What did you hope to gain by keeping so much from me?”
“You credit me with more purpose than I had, Tear Queen. The answer is much simpler: I was ashamed. Would you find it so easy, to lay your worst moments bare before a stranger?”
“No,” she replied after a moment. “But nor would I put my pride before the good of the kingdom.”
“What good? All of that is done, three hundred years done. What can it possibly matter now?”
“The past always matters, you fool,” Kelsea snarled. “Once and for all, who killed Jonathan Tear?”
“Oh, Row killed him,” the Fetch replied wearily. “He killed all of them, Dorian and Virginia and Evan Alcott, anyone who would have been a problem. He even killed Ms. Ziv, the librarian, but that was too late; she had already sent most of the books from the library into hiding.”
“He didn’t kill all of those people alone.”
The Fetch looked up at her, his gaze stony. “Are you trying to shame me further, Tear Queen? I was a fool, but done is done. I have shed my tears for the past.”