The Queen of the Tearling (27 page)

You've done plenty already
, Barty's voice whispered in her mind.

A panoply of images poured from Kelsea's memory. The cages burning. Marguerite, tied before her uncle's throne. The old woman in the crowd who'd wept on the ground. Andalie, shrieking in front of the cage. The row of children seated in the nursery. Kelsea shifted beneath the sheets, trying to feel comforted, but she couldn't. She sensed her kingdom around her, beneath her, stretching for miles in all directions, its people in extraordinary danger from the Mort cloud on the horizon, and she knew that her first feeling was true.

It's not enough
, she thought bleakly.
Not nearly enough.

Chapter 9

The Jewel

So many forces were at work against the Glynn Queen that she might have been a rock outcropping in God's Ocean, worn down by the inexorable tide. Instead, as history shows, she shaped herself.

—
The Glynn Queen: A Portrait
, K
ARN
H
OPLEY

F
aster, Lady! Move faster!” Venner barked.

Kelsea danced backward, trying to remember the careful footwork Venner had taught her.

“Keep the sword up!”

Kelsea raised the sword, feeling her shoulder protest. The thing was incredibly heavy.

“You need to move quicker,” Venner told her. “Your feet must be faster than your opponent's. Even a clumsy swordsman could outmaneuver you at this point.”

Kelsea nodded, blushing slightly, and readjusted her grip. Being quick with a knife was very different from being quick with a sword. The width of her body, combined with the unwieldy appendage of the sword itself, was a hindrance. When Kelsea twisted around, she found her own limbs blocking her passage. Venner refused to let her work against anyone but himself until she moved faster, and Kelsea knew he was right.

“Again.”

Kelsea readied herself, cursing inside. They hadn't even gotten to what she was supposed to do with the sword; her job right now was to keep it raised in front of her. Between her shoulder wound, her lack of muscle tone, and Pen's heavy armor, holding the weapon was a daunting task in itself, and remembering the intricate footwork at the same time was nearly impossible. But Venner was a demanding teacher, and he wanted his full hour. He would doubtless keep her working for the remaining fifteen minutes. She raised the sword, sweat running down her cheeks.

“Dance, Lady, dance!”

She stepped backward, then forward, anticipating an imaginary opponent. She didn't stumble this time, an improvement, but she could tell from Venner's sigh that she'd moved no faster. She turned to him, panting, and raised the sword helplessly. “Well, what more am I to do?”

Venner shifted from one foot to another.

“What?”

“You require conditioning, Lady. You'll never be as lithe as a dancer, but you'd move faster if you carried less weight.”

Kelsea flushed and quickly turned away. She knew she was heavier than she should be, but there was a big difference between knowing something and hearing it spoken out loud. Venner was old enough to be her father, but she didn't like hearing criticism from him. If Mace was in the room, she knew, he would never have let Venner get away with it. But she also knew that she invited impertinence by her casual manner, her refusal to punish anyone for speech.

“I'll speak to Milla about it,” she replied after a long moment. “Maybe she can change my diet.”

“I meant no disrespect, Lady.”

Kelsea gestured him to silence, hearing a soft movement outside the door. “Lazarus, is that you?”

Mace entered with a perfunctory rap on the door frame. “Majesty.”

“Are you spying on my lessons?”

“Not spying, Lady. Merely protecting an interest.”

“So say all spies.” Kelsea took a small cloth from the bench and wiped the worst of the sweat from her face. “Venner, I believe we're done.”

“We've ten more minutes to go.”

“We're done.”

Venner put his sword back in its scabbard, his face disgruntled.

“Only three days till you can torment me further, arms master.”

“I torment you for your own good, Lady.”

“Tell Fell I'll expect a report tomorrow on my armor.”

Venner nodded, visibly uncomfortable. “I apologize for the delay, Lady.”

“You may also tell Fell that if there's been no demonstrable progress by tomorrow, I may have only one arms master from now on. A man who can't procure a suit of armor after two weeks can hardly be trusted with anything else.”

“One man can't adequately cover everything, Lady.”

“Then make him understand, and quickly. I'm tired of his delays.”

Venner departed, his face troubled. With Mace's help, Kelsea began to remove Pen's breastplate from her sweaty torso, breath hissing through her teeth as it came loose. Her breasts ached while she had the thing on, but they ached even worse when she took it off.

“He's right, Majesty,” Mace told her, laying the breastplate on the bench. “You need two arms masters; that's how it's always been. One for training, one for procurement.”

“Well, neither of mine will be this slow.” Kelsea fiddled with the buckles that held armor to her calf. The things had clearly been made for men, men with short fingernails. Tugging against the thin leather, Kelsea felt the nail of her index finger bend back, and snarled under her breath.

“The Regent left the Keep this morning.”

“Really? Before the deadline?”

“I believe he means to avoid pursuit.”

“Where will he go?”

“Mortmesne, perhaps. Though I doubt he'll get the sort of welcome he expects.” Mace leaned back against the wall, inspecting Pen's breastplate. “But really, who cares?”

“You came to talk to me about something else, Lazarus. Let's hear it.”

The ghost of a smile crossed Mace's face. “I need to change your guard, Lady.”

“Change it how?”

“In our present position, I can't see to everything and be a shield to Your Majesty as well. You need an actual bodyguard, a protector constantly at your side.”

“Why is this only coming up now?”

“No reason.”

“Lazarus.”

Mace sighed, his face tightening. “Lady, I have been over and over what happened at your crowning. I've discussed it with the others. They were placed to guard you from every angle.”

“Someone shouted. I heard it right before the knife hit.”

“To create a distraction, Lady. But we're all too well trained for that. A Queen's Guard might turn his head, but he wouldn't move.”

“Someone in the crowd, then? Arlen Thorne?”

“Possible, Lady, but I don't think so. You were covered from a straight assault. The knife could have come from the gallery above us, but . . .”

“What?”

Mace shook his head. “Nothing, Majesty. I'm still uncertain, that's the point. You need a close guard, one whose loyalty is beyond question. Then I can be free to investigate this matter, to do other things.”

“What things?”

“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.