Punishment.
“Sir!”
Mace leaned over the edge of the staircase. “What?”
“Messenger from General Bermond.”
“Send him up.”
Kelsea turned away from the Almont as Bermond’s messenger reached the top of the stairs. Army messengers really were extraordinary; the man had run up five flights of stairs, but he was barely even out of breath. He was young and lithe, a sergeant by the copper pin at his collar, and his eyes widened as he caught sight of Kelsea. But this effect was no longer gratifying, if it ever had been. She signaled the man to speak, then turned back to the Almont.
“Majesty, the general wishes to report that the Argive Pass has fallen.”
Mace grunted beside her, but Kelsea kept her gaze pinned on the black cloud on the horizon, trying not to blink.
“The Mort have already begun to bring supplies through the Argive; this will cut their resupply time considerably. Last night over a thousand reinforcements also came down the Pass. They will reach the Mort line by tomorrow. The entire Mort army has now crossed the Crithe and taken the north bank of the Caddell, and the vanguard will soon push the Tear away from the southern bank as well. The general estimates that this will happen in no more than three days. He believes they mean to follow the Caddell all the way to New London.”
The messenger paused, and Kelsea heard the gulp of his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.
“Continue.”
“General Bermond wishes me to report that the Tear army has now lost over two thousand men, more than a third of its forces.”
Kelsea’s eyes refused to stay open any longer, and she blinked, momentarily blotting out the horizon. But when she opened her eyes, the cloud was still there.
“What else?”
“This is all I have to report, Majesty.”
No good news. Of course not. “Lazarus, how long until the Mort reach the walls?”
“My guess, less than a week. Don’t let the distance deceive you, Lady. Even with Bermond doing all he can, the Mort are capable of advancing two or three miles a day. They’ll be here by the end of the month, no later.”
Kelsea looked down at the refugee camp, that sprawling mess of hardship, inadequate shelter, the beginnings of starvation. That responsibility lay at her feet as well. She turned back to the messenger. “Advise Bermond that we’ll move the refugees inside the city. It will take at least five days. Bermond is to hold the Mort off the camp until evacuation is complete, then retreat and hold the bridge.”
The messenger nodded.
“Well done. Dismissed.”
He scampered down the stairs and out of sight. Kelsea turned back to the Almont. “Arliss should be in charge of evacuating the camp. His people know names and faces down there.”
“Lady, I assure you—”
“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out, Lazarus? His little minions are all over that camp, dealing narcotics like there’s no tomorrow.”
“There is no tomorrow for these people, Lady.”
“Ah. I knew it.” Kelsea turned to face him, feeling her temper grind into terrible life. But beneath was something even worse than anger: shame. She craved Mace’s approval, always had, in the same way she had always longed for accolades from Barty. But Barty had approved of her without reservation. Mace made his approval more valuable, forcing Kelsea to earn it, and the knowledge that she had failed cut very deep. “I knew that sooner or later you would tell me that I fucked it all up.”
“Done is done, Lady.”
This was worse; not only did Mace not approve, he didn’t even want to discuss it. Kelsea’s eyes watered, but she forced the tears back, furious. “I suppose you think I’m just like her.”
“You spend too much time dwelling on your mother, Lady. That’s always been a weakness of yours.”
“Of course it has!” Kelsea shouted, mindless of the guards nearby. “She overshadows everything I try to do here! I can’t make a move without being hampered by her mistakes!”
“Perhaps, Lady, but don’t deceive yourself. You make your own mistakes as well.”
“Is this about Thorne?”
His gaze slid away from hers, and Kelsea narrowed her eyes. “You cannot be serious.”
“Listen to me, Lady. Listen very carefully.” Mace’s face had paled, and Kelsea suddenly realized that the granite expression she had mistaken for resignation was actually anger, a deep, quiet anger that was somehow worse than the blustering rage she had seen from Mace once or twice before. “You have done many things that I would not have done. You are reckless. You do not consider all consequences, nor do you take advice from people who are more informed than you. And yet I have never condemned any of your actions, until now.”
“Why?” she hissed. “What makes Thorne so important?”
“It’s not Thorne!” Mace roared, and Kelsea shrank back. “Stop being a child for once! It’s you, Lady. You have changed.”
“This?” Kelsea ran a hand down her face and neck. “This is what concerns you?”
“I wouldn’t care if you transformed into the Beautiful Queen herself, but your new face is not the issue, Lady. You are different.”
“Less naive.”
“No. More brutal.”
Kelsea’s jaw clenched. “And what of that?”
“Think it over, Lady. There are worse things than becoming your mother.”
Kelsea’s temper snapped, and for several seconds, she hovered within inches of picking Mace up and heaving him over the wall. She could do it, she knew…. Thorne’s execution had awakened something inside her, some creature that stalked through her daily life, looking for any excuse to spring. This creature was predatory, implacable, and it did not want to go back to sleep.
Mace stepped forward, reaching out to take her shoulder. Mace never touched her unless there was a security issue, and Kelsea was so surprised that she stilled immediately, feeling her anger retreat.
“Take your jewels off, Lady,” Mace pleaded. “Let them go. For all the good they’ve done, it’s not worth what’s happening to you. I’ll hide them away. No one will ever find them. Build your throne, your legacy, on something else.”
For a moment, Kelsea wondered whether he was right, whether the jewels were the real problem. The dreams, the voices, Lily’s inexorable invasion … some part of Kelsea’s own life seemed to have gotten lost en route. The way her guards eyed her now, when they thought she wasn’t looking: tentative, suspicious, sometimes even fearful. The feeling of helplessness when she looked in the mirror and found Lily’s face staring back at her. Everything had gone bad somehow, and Kelsea wasn’t even sure when it had happened.
But the sapphires … what Mace asked was impossible. It didn’t even matter that the sapphires did nothing anymore, that they seemed to be lifeless. They were hers, and now Kelsea found herself staring a hard truth in the face: she had her own narcotics. They merely took a different form.
“No,” she finally replied. “You can’t ask me for that.”
She felt his eyes on her, their weight nearly physical.
“Are we going to have a problem, Lazarus?”
“I suppose that depends on you, Lady. I’m a Queen’s Guard. I’m sworn.”
A throat cleared behind Kelsea, and she whirled, furious that anyone dared to interrupt. But it was only Coryn, standing at the top of the steps.
“We’ll continue this at a later time,” she told Mace.
“I can hardly wait.”