What do you want? she asked him.
Only to help you, Tear heir. Do you wish to know of the Mort Queen? Of the movements of her army? Where she is weak? I can tell you all of these things.
Free of charge, I suppose.
Wise child. Everything has a price.
What’s the price?
He pointed to her hand, which had crept up, almost unconsciously, to clutch her two sapphires. You hold jewels of enormous power, Tear heir. You could do me a great service.
Enormous power? After the Argive, Kelsea supposed that was true, but what good was all the power in the world if she couldn’t control it, couldn’t summon it on command? Inconsistent power would not mitigate the Mort army’s massive advantage in size and weaponry.
What power?
I have seen one jewel alter time and create miracles. But the other has the power of flesh, and you have a strong will, Tear heir. You will be able to flay skin and crush bones.
Kelsea considered this idea for a moment, darkly fascinated. She closed her eyes and saw it suddenly: the Almont, stretched between horizons, and the Mort army cowering, fleeing before her … was it possible?
The man in front of her smiled, as though he had read her mind, and gestured toward the fireplace. Look and see.
Kelsea found a wide mirage in front of the flames, a broad vista of salt flats and black water that could only be western Mortmesne. Lake Karczmar, it must be, where the Mort army lay massed at the base of the Border Hills. But now the hillside was in chaos, treetops aflame and men in black uniforms fighting wildly. A pall of smoke covered the trees.
Here are your soldiers, Tear heir. They will fall.
The Tear were being pressed back now, overwhelmed by superior numbers and forced back up the hillside. Hall’s battalion, Kelsea realized, and they were going to die. Pain sliced through her, and she reached out toward the mirage, wanting to grasp them, to carry them away.
The man snapped his fingers and the mirage winked out, leaving only firelight. She thought of calling for Pen, but the stranger’s gaze seemed to hold her frozen.
The Mort Queen has vulnerabilities. They are exploitable. And the service I ask in return is very small.
Thinking of Andalie’s warning, Kelsea shook her head. I want no part of you.
Ah, but that’s not true, Tear heir. I have watched you for some time. You long to be an adult, but those around you often treat you like a child. Is it not so?
Kelsea didn’t reply. The man stepped forward, giving her every chance to back away, and placed a hand around her waist. His hand was warm, and Kelsea immediately felt the skin beneath turn hot and feverish. Pressure echoed deep in the pit of her stomach.
I will never treat you as a child, Tear heir. I have never cared whether you were pretty or plain. I have known myriad women, but I will treat you as unique.
Kelsea believed him. It was the voice, its hollow tones so smoothly confident that they seemed to weave certainty out of thin air. She met his eyes and found them understanding, full of some sort of dark knowledge of Kelsea that he had no business having. For a moment she was tempted, so strong was the pull of being an adult with a life of her own, of making terrible mistakes the way everyone else was allowed to. And this man would be a good choice, for he had been the ruination of many women, she had no doubt.
But weaker women than me, a voice spoke up quietly inside her. I’m not one to be taken in.
Carefully, she removed his hand from her waist. His skin was oddly dry, but even this was exciting in its own way; she couldn’t help wondering what such dry hands would feel like between her legs, whether they would elicit the same sensations as her own. She backed away from him, trying to regain some control of herself, some equilibrium.
What do you want? she demanded. Be explicit.
Freedom.
Who imprisons you?
Mine is not a dungeon of walls, Tear heir.
Speak more plainly or get out.
Admiration sparked in the man’s eyes. He moved closer, but stopped when Kelsea held up a hand.
I am imprisoned, Tear heir. And you have the power to set me free.
In exchange for what?
I offer you a chance to defeat the Mort Queen and achieve greatness. You will sit on your throne long after all you know has crumbled into dust.
Did you promise her the same thing?
This time it was his turn to blink. A stab in the dark, but a good one. The Red Queen’s extraordinary age had never been explained. And it stood to reason that a man—is he a man? Kelsea wondered for the first time—who would try this with one queen would certainly try it with another.
I have no wish to emulate the Red Queen.
You will say so, he replied, until the moment when her legions smash your army into rubble. The words were so close to what Kelsea had seen in her mind that she shivered, and saw that this gave him pleasure somehow. You’ll beg for the opportunity to be cruel.
I will not, she replied. And if you seek cruelty in me, you won’t find it.
Cruelty is in everyone, Tear heir. It takes only the right application of pressure to coax it out.
Leave, now, or I will call my guard.
I have no fear of your guard. I could wring his neck with little effort.
The words froze Kelsea, but she merely repeated, Leave. I am not interested.
He smiled. But you are, Tear heir. And I will be waiting when you call.
The man’s form dissolved suddenly, coalescing into a black mass that seemed to hover in the air. Kelsea stumbled backward, her heart thudding. The mass streamed like shadow into the fireplace, falling on the flames like a curtain, dimming them and then putting them out entirely, leaving the room cold and dark. In the sudden blackness, Kelsea lost her balance and landed against her bedside table, knocking it over.
“Shit,” she muttered, feeling her way around on the floor.
“Lady?” Pen asked from the doorway, and she gasped; for a moment she had forgotten the existence of anyone but her visitor, and that seemed the most dangerous development of all. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Pen. Just stupid.”
“What happened to your fire?”
“A draft.”
Even in the dark, she could hear Pen’s silent skepticism. His soft, catlike tread moved across the chamber toward the fireplace.
“Don’t bother.” She fumbled on the floor among the items that had fallen off the bedside table. “I’ll just light a candle.”
“Have you been practicing sorcery, Lady?”
Kelsea paused in the act of striking a match. “Why do you ask?”
“We’re not blind. We see what’s happening to you. Mace has forbidden us to speak of it.”
“Then perhaps you’d better not.” Kelsea lit the candle and found Pen a few feet away, concern in his face. “I’m not practicing sorcery.”