“Three years ago, Majesty, there was an incident,” the page replied in her poor Mort. “I was not here, but heard it told of. A female prisoner.”
“Ahhh.” The Red Queen grimaced, gesturing toward Kelsea. “Did he do that to her face?”
“And elsewhere, Majesty.”
The Red Queen shook her head and turned back to Kelsea. “That should not have happened. I will give you another jailor, a woman with no such tendencies.”
“Why do you keep a jailor with such tendencies at all?”
The Red Queen waved Emily away, and waited until the doors closed to answer.
“Because he is good at his job. Prisoners do not escape.”
Kelsea thought of Ewen in the Keep, who had never let a prisoner escape either, who would hurt no one by his choosing. “That’s no excuse.”
“Who are you to judge? A mad dog captains your Guard.”
“Another word about Lazarus, and I help you with nothing, jailor or no.”
The Red Queen’s eyes lit with anger, and Kelsea realized how novel this must be for her, to seek aid. With her temperament, it must be nearly intolerable.
“If you want me to help you with Row Finn, then the exchange goes both ways. You must tell me what you know about him.”
The Red Queen nodded, and Kelsea was astonished to see that her hands were trembling.
I’m not the only one who fears the past, she thought. She has even more to regret than I do.
“And I want my sapphires back.”
“Not yet.”
“Why not? They’re of no use to you.”
“But of great use to you, Glynn. We must have some basis for trust first.”
Kelsea laughed. “There can be no trust, Lady Crimson, only mutual self-interest.”
The Red Queen frowned, and Kelsea had the odd feeling that the woman wanted to trust her. Clearly, she had missed much on her brief venture through the Red Queen’s mind. There were still many things here that she did not understand, but beneath the woman’s superficial poise, Kelsea sensed a desperate unhappiness.
Could she be lonely? Kelsea wondered, and then: Is that even possible?
The Red Queen held out a hand. Kelsea stared at the offering for a moment, feeling uneasy. If the recent past had made anything clear, it was her inability to recognize a bad bargain.
“Well?”
Instinct is your best adviser. Barty’s voice in her head, calm and undemanding, the very opposite of Carlin’s. Learn all the knowledge in the world, but your gut will always know best.
“Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair,” Kelsea murmured. She grasped the Red Queen’s hand and shook.
Chapter 4
Brenna
No more tears now. I will think upon revenge.
—Mary Stuart (pre-Crossing Angl.)
There was blood on her hands.
She stared at her palms, trying to remember. The past few days were a blur, but then everything had been a blur since her master had died. From that moment on, she did not remember time as a concrete thing, only a river in which she occasionally bumped against the shore. She remembered killing the Queen’s Guard, but not how she had escaped afterward. She did not know how she had gotten here.
To her left was a small stream. Brenna bent and rinsed her hands, scrubbing at her nails to get rid of the dried blood. She had killed a man in Burns Copse, she remembered now, killed him for food and coin. She had caught him before he had time to pull a weapon, and he had merely stared at her, hypnotized, until she slipped a knife between his ribs. He had a horse as well, but she could not ride, and there would be no way to sell the horse without attracting attention. The entire Tear thought her albino, and the master had said that was a good thing, a good secret to keep. But she was no more albino than she was madwoman, and since the master had died, she had already begun to recover some of her color, her life. But not enough to sell a horse without anyone noticing, not yet. Not enough to blend into a crowd.
The master.