The Queen of the Tearling by Erika Johansen Page A

not wanting them to think she was a glutton. Not wanting him to think so. He sat beside her, and there might as well have been an invisible cord that tugged at her when he smiled or laughed.
    The Fetch urged Kelsea to tell them of her childhood in the cottage. She couldn’t imagine why he would be interested, but he pressed her, and so she told them, blushing occasionally at the intensity of their gazes. The mead must have loosened her tongue, for she suddenly had many things to say. She told them about Barty and Carlin, about the cottage, about her lessons. Every day, Barty had her in the morning until lunch, and then Carlin had her until dinnertime. Carlin taught her from books, Barty taught her outside. She told them that she knew how to skin a deer and smoke the meat to last for months, that she could snare a rabbit in a homemade cage, that she was handy with her knife but not fast enough. She told them that every night after dinner, she began a book of fiction, reading just for herself, and usually finished it before bedtime.
    â€œA fast reader, are you?” Morgan asked.
    â€œVery fast,” Kelsea replied, blushing.
    â€œIt doesn’t sound like you’ve had much fun.”
    â€œI don’t think the point was for me to have fun.” Kelsea took another sip of mead. “I’m certainly making up for it now, anyway.”
    â€œWe’ve rarely been accused of being fun,” the Fetch remarked. “You clearly have no head for alcohol.”
    Kelsea frowned and put her cup back down on the table. “I do like this stuff, though.”
    â€œApparently. But slow down, or I’ll have How cut you off.”
    Kelsea blushed again, and they all laughed.
    At the urging of the others, the black man, Lear, stood up and told the tale of the White Ship, which had sunk in the Crossing and taken most of American medical expertise with it. Lear told the tale well, much better than Carlin, who was no storyteller, and Kelsea found herself with tears in her eyes as the ship went down.
    â€œWhy did they put all of the doctors in one ship?” she asked. “Wouldn’t it have made more sense for each ship to have its own doctor?”
    â€œThe equipment,” Lear replied, with a slight sniff that told Kelsea he liked to tell stories, but didn’t appreciate having to answer questions afterward. “Lifesaving medical equipment was the one technology that William Tear allowed them to bring on the Crossing. But it was lost all the same, along with the rest of medicine.”
    â€œNot entirely lost,” Kelsea replied. “Carlin told me that there’s birth control available in the Tear.”
    â€œIndigenous birth control. They had to rediscover it when they landed, mostly by trial and error with local plant life. Real science has never existed in the Tearling.”
    Kelsea frowned, wondering why Carlin hadn’t told her that. But of course, to Carlin, birth control was just one of many figures to take into account on a population chart. The Fetch sat down beside her and she felt blood rush to her cheeks. It was a dangerous subject to think about while he was next to her in the dark.
    After dinner was cleared, they pushed two tables together and taught her how to play at poker. Kelsea, who had never even seen playing cards before, took a pure pleasure in the game, the first time she’d taken real pleasure in anything since the Queen’s Guard had come to Carlin’s door.
    The Fetch sat beside her and peered at her cards. Kelsea found herself blushing from time to time, and prayed that he wouldn’t notice. He was undeniably attractive, but the real source of his charm was something very different: he obviously didn’t care one whit what Kelsea thought of him. She wondered if he cared what anyone thought.
    After a few hands, she seemed to be getting the hang of the game, though it was difficult to remember the many ways to get the high hand. The