The Fate of the Tearling (The Queen of the Tearling #3)(3)

Row hesitated, his dark eyes unreadable. “Been where?”

“To the past. She’s seen Lily, she’s seen Tear.”

“How do you know?”

“She told me, and she’s no liar. It’s only a matter of time before she gets to Jonathan. To us.”

Row didn’t answer. His eyes darted from rock to rock. The Fetch, sensing that he had finally broken through the wall of indifference, swallowed his anger and pressed forward. “Do you not see, Row, how this changes things?”

“It changes nothing.”

The Fetch sighed. He had held back a last bit of information, tucked it away, to be used only in case of direst need. This was a desperate gambit, one that would put Row on the hunt. But these were desperate times. The Queen was in Mort custody, and without her, the Fetch feared that the Tearling would tear itself to pieces, Row or not.

“The crown’s been spotted.”

Row’s head snapped up, like the head of a dog scenting something on the wind.

“The crown?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

The Fetch did not answer.

“How do you know it’s not the Raleigh crown?”

“Because I destroyed the Raleigh crown, years ago, to make sure Thomas could never wear it. This is the real crown, Row.”

“My crown.”

The Fetch’s heart sank. Once upon a time he had helped this man, not just willingly but eagerly. They had both committed terrible crimes, but only the Fetch had repented. Row grabbed and took and never looked back. For a moment the Fetch wondered why he had even bothered to come up here, but he pushed the thought aside and plowed onward.

“If we got hold of the crown, Row, we could give it to the girl, fix things. We could make up for the past.”

“You spend all of your years tortured by guilt and assume that others do the same. Don’t imbue me with a conscience. If my crown is out there, I will take it back.”

“And then what? All the kingdoms in the world won’t change what’s happened to us.”

“I see your idea now. You think the girl can end you.”

“It’s possible.”

“Will she do it, though?” Row’s mouth crimped in a malicious grin. “She’s an easy child to read, and she’s besotted with you.”

“She sees only a handsome young man.”

“Why did you come up here, really?” Row asked, and the Fetch caught a gleam of red in his eyes as he moved closer. “What did you hope to accomplish?”

“I hoped to come to an agreement. Help me find the crown. Help me repair the Tearling. It’s never too late, Row, even now.”

“Too late for what?”

“To atone for our crimes.”

“I have committed no crime!” Row hissed, and the Fetch was pleased to see that he had touched a nerve. “I wished for better, that was all.”

“And Katie?”

“You should leave.” Row’s eyes were burning brightly now, the flesh of his face turning pale.

At least he still feels, the Fetch told himself, then realized how little that meant. There was no emotion in the world that would ever outweigh Row’s hunger.

“And if I don’t leave?”

“Then I will let my children have you.”

The Fetch glanced at the girl who perched on the nearby rock. Her eyes shone almost feverishly, and against his will he found himself uneasy. The child’s bare feet, her toes clenched on the frozen rock, bothered him deeply, for no reason he could ever articulate.

“What are they, Row?”

“You were never a reader, Gav. This is old magic, older than the Crossing, even older than Christ. Ancient creatures, these, but they serve my will.”

“And you let them loose in the Glace-Vert?”

“They have just as much right as the next animal.”

This statement was so much in character that the Fetch nearly laughed. He and Row might have been right back on the banks of the Caddell, fourteen and fifteen years old, each holding a fishing pole.

“Go, now.” Row’s voice was low and venomous, his skin so white now that it seemed bleached. “Do not get in my way.”

“Or what, Row? I long for death.”

“Do you long for the deaths of others? The girl?”

The Fetch hesitated, and Row smiled.

“She has freed me, Gav, broken my curse. I have no use for her anymore. If you get in my way, if she gets in my way, I will finish her. It will be the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Row.” He found himself suddenly pleading. “Don’t do this. Think of Jonathan.”

“Jonathan’s dead, Gav. You helped me kill him.”

The Fetch hauled back and swung. Row went flying, crashing into a nearby rock, but the Fetch knew that when Row got up, there would be nothing, not even a mark.

“Ah, Gav,” Row whispered. “Have we not done this enough already?”

“Not enough.”

“You make your new world, and I make mine. We’ll see who comes out on top.”

“And the crown?”

“My crown. If it’s out there, I will have it.”

The Fetch turned and stumbled away, nearly losing his footing on the slope. Ten steps downward, he found that his eyes were blurred with moisture. The wind bit through him. He could not think of Tear without crying, so he turned his mind to what came next.