Too many unknowns here, Kelsea, Carlin whispered, and Kelsea knew she was right.
I will consider it, she told the man before her. He blinked, as though fatigued, and Kelsea realized that he looked less substantial, somehow…. Squinting, she saw that the fire behind him was clearly visible, flames flickering dimly through both his clothing and the area where his rib cage should have been. His face, too, had turned pale with fatigue.
Noticing the direction of Kelsea’s gaze, the man frowned. He closed his eyes for a moment, seeming to solidify right in front of her, becoming more opaque. When he opened his eyes, he was smiling again, a smile of such warm, calculating sensuality that Kelsea took a step back. Her arousal instantly darkened, became tinged with an edge of fright.
What are you?
His gaze darted behind Kelsea, over her left shoulder, and his face compacted into a snarl, lips drawing back from his white teeth. His eyes gleamed red, burning with a sudden, blazing hatred that made Kelsea stumble backward, her feet tangling in her dress. She braced herself to land on her tailbone with a hard thud, but before she could, someone caught her beneath the arms. When Kelsea looked up, the last of the fire had gone out and the man was gone, but arms remained around Kelsea from behind, and she struggled, kicking against the floor.
“Easy, Tear Queen,” a voice murmured in her ear, and Kelsea quieted.
“You. How did you get past Pen?”
“He’s unconscious.”
“Is he all right?”
“Of course. I put him out for a bit, only long enough for us to do some business.”
Business. Of course it would be business. “Let me go. I’ll light a candle.”
The Fetch released her, giving her a firm push up, and Kelsea shuffled her way to the bedside table. Her cheeks were still flushed, and she could feel the blood burning there. She took her time about lighting the candle, trying to get some control back, but as she fumbled around on the table for her matches, his voice echoed behind her.
“Two inches to your left.”
So he does see in the dark, Kelsea thought, irritated. When she finally lit the candle and turned to face him, she expected to see the man she remembered, all amused mouth and dancing eyes. But his face was grave in the candlelight.
“I knew he would come here, sooner or later. What did he ask for?”
“Nothing,” Kelsea replied. But she knew that the blush on her cheeks would give her away. She had never been able to lie well, and certainly not to the Fetch.
He stared at her for a long moment. “Let me give you some friendly advice, Tear Queen. I have known this creature for a very long time. Don’t give him anything. Don’t even converse with him. He will only lead you to grief.”
“Who is he?”
“Once he was a man, a powerful man. You would know him as Rowland Finn.”
The name rang a bell, deep in Kelsea’s mind. Carlin had mentioned Finn once, something to do with the Landing … what had it been?
The Fetch stepped closer. He was staring at her face, Kelsea realized, cataloguing the changes, and she dropped her chin, peeking up at him as she pretended to study the floor. He looked healthy, if somewhat leaner than the last time Kelsea had seen him. His face was slightly tanned, as though he’d been in the south. He still pulled at her, as much as he ever had, and the pull was accompanied by a sick sense of loss, deep in Kelsea’s stomach. All the lust that had governed her body in the last few minutes had transferred easily to the Fetch, and now she realized how hollow her earlier reactions had been; what she felt for this man dwarfed anything she would ever feel for anyone else. She had dreamed of the day when she would see the Fetch again, when she would greet him not as a round-faced girl but as a pretty woman, perhaps even a beautiful one. But she didn’t like the way he was staring at her, not at all.
“Who are you, Fetch? Do you have a real name?”
“I have many names. All are useful.”
“Why not tell me the real one?”
“A name is power, Tear Queen. Your name was once Raleigh, and now it’s Glynn. Did the change mean nothing to you?”
Kelsea blinked, for his question made her think not of Barty and Carlin, nor even of her own mother, but of the Mort Treaty, the signature in red ink at the bottom. The Queen of Mortmesne, her true name hidden from the world. Why did she hide it so closely? Kelsea was Glynn now, but she had also been Glynn as a child, because the entire world was looking for a girl child named Raleigh. But why would a woman as powerful as the Red Queen need to hide her birth name from anyone? Was she so anxious to leave the past behind?
Who is she, really?
The Fetch had wandered over to her desk, fingering the papers there. “You’ve lost weight, Tear Queen. Don’t you eat enough?”
“I eat plenty.”
“Then stop trying to hide your face. Let me see what you’ve done to yourself.”
There was no help for it. Kelsea turned for his inspection, keeping her eyes on the floor.
“You have transformed,” the Fetch stated flatly. “Is this what you wanted?”
“What do you mean?”
He pointed to her sapphires. “My knowledge of those things is not extensive. But this isn’t the first time I’ve seen them grant a wish. You performed a great feat in the Argive. What else have you been able to do?”
Kelsea firmed her jaw. “Nothing.”
“I know when you’re lying, Tear Queen.”
Kelsea recoiled. His tone was eerily reminiscent of Carlin’s when she caught Kelsea committing minor infractions: sneaking an extra cookie from the kitchen, or dodging chores. “Nothing! I have dreams sometimes. Visions.”
“About what?”
“The pre-Crossing. A woman. What does it matter?”
His eyes narrowed. “When, in our acquaintance, have you ever been the one to decide what matters?”
Kelsea’s composure seemed to buckle beneath her, like a beam made of weak wood. “I’m not a child in your camp anymore! Don’t talk to me like that!”
“In my eyes, Tear Queen, you are a child. An infant, even.”
Angry tears sprung to Kelsea’s eyes, but she fought them, swallowing great gulps of air, the bleak thought recurring in her mind: This isn’t how it was supposed to go.
“What does she look like, this pre-Crossing woman?” the Fetch asked.
“She’s tall and pretty and sad. She hardly ever smiles.”
“Her name?”
“Lily Mayhew.”
The Fetch smiled then, a slow, genuine smile that undermined Kelsea’s anger, washing away its foundations like the tide. “Is there a girl there? A girl with long reddish hair?”
Kelsea blinked. Running quickly through Lily’s memories, she shook her head, and was shocked by the disappointment in the Fetch’s face. He had needed her to say yes, needed it badly.
“Who is Lily Mayhew?”
The Fetch shook his head. His eyes glimmered, almost with tears, though Kelsea refused to believe that, when she had never seen this man moved by anything. “Only a woman, I suppose.”
“If you’re only going to ask questions and give no answers, then fuck off.”
“The mouth on you, Tear Queen.”
“I mean it. Speak plainly or get out.”
“All right.” He sat down in her armchair and leaned back, crossing his legs, all trace of emotion gone. “There is a protest movement growing in Mortmesne.”
“I’ve heard about it. Lazarus has sent them some goods.”
“They need more support.”
“Support them, then. My kingdom barely has the cash to arm itself.”
“I do support them. I’ve funneled a considerable amount of my own wealth in that direction.”
“Ah. So it is you. Levieux, is it? The old? Did you never think of funneling some of that wealth into the Tear?”