The Queen of the Tearling by Erika Johansen

price on my head. But what has he done to the Tearling?”
    â€œPick something, Lady. Your uncle’s probably done it.”
    â€œExplain.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œI won’t have this discussion with you, Lady.”
    â€œWhy? Were you in my uncle’s guard?”
    â€œNo.”
    She waited for him to elaborate, but he merely lay there. Somehow Kelsea knew that his eyes were shut tightly, even beneath the blindfold, like a man under heavy interrogation. She bit down on her cheek, hard, trying to keep a rein on her temper. “I don’t understand how I’m supposed to make smart decisions without knowing everything.”
    â€œWhy dwell on the past, Lady? You have the power to make your own future.”
    â€œWhat of my dolls and dresses?”
    â€œI poked you with a stick to see if you’d fight back. And you did.”
    â€œWhat if I order you to tell me?”
    â€œOrder away, Lady, and see how far you get.”
    She thought for a moment, then decided not to. It was the wrong road to take with Mace; order though she might, he would be guided by his own judgment. After watching him shift restlessly in his bindings for another minute, Kelsea felt the last of her annoyance give way to pity. They’d trussed him up very hard; he barely had room to stretch.
    â€œHow’s your head?”
    â€œIt’s fine. Bastard hit me just hard enough, in just the right place. A good shot.”
    â€œHave they fed you?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œCarroll told me that you were the one who smuggled me from the Keep when I was a baby.”
    â€œI was.”
    â€œHave you always been a Queen’s Guard?”
    â€œSince my fifteenth year.”
    â€œHave you ever regretted choosing this life?”
    â€œNot once.” Mace moved again, his legs stretching and then relaxing, and Kelsea watched, astonished, as one foot slipped free of its coil of ropes.
    â€œHow did you do that?”
    â€œAnyone can do it, Lady, if they take the trouble to practice.” He flexed his foot, working the stiffness out. “Another hour and I’ll have a hand out as well.”
    Kelsea stared at him for a moment, then scrambled to her feet. “Do you have family, Lazarus?”
    â€œNo, Lady.”
    â€œI want you for my Captain of Guard. Think on it while you escape.”
    She left the tent before he could reply.
    The sun was beginning to sink, leaving only a dark line of cloud topped with orange on the horizon. Looking around the camp, Kelsea found the Fetch leaning against a tree, staring at her, his gaze flat and speculative. When she met his eye, he smiled, a dark and frozen smile that made her flinch.
    Not just a thief, but a murderer as well . Beneath the handsome man, Kelsea sensed another man, a terrible one, with a life as black as the water in an ice-covered lake. A murderer many, many times.
    The idea should have brought horror. Kelsea waited for a long moment, but what came instead was an even worse realization: it didn’t matter at all.
    Â 
    D inner was an unexpectedly lavish affair. The meat Kelsea had smelled earlier turned out to be venison, and a much better specimen than she’d eaten several days ago. There were boiled eggs, which surprised Kelsea until she caught sight of a small chicken coop out behind her own tent. Morgan had been baking bread over the fire pit for most of the day, and it turned out perfect, crusted on the outside and soft on the inside. The sandy-haired man, Howell, poured her a cup of mead, which Kelsea had never tasted and treated with great wariness. Alcohol and governing went together badly; her books seemed to indicate that alcohol went badly with everything.
    She ate little. For the first time in a very long while, she was conscious of her weight. The cottage had always been well stocked with food, and Kelsea usually had second helpings at dinner without a thought. But now she pecked at her meal,