The Queen of the Tearling Read Online Free PDF Page B

body. She held her toes for perhaps five seconds and then released them. When she looked up at Elston again, she found him still smiling his jagged smile. He didn’t say anything else, only stood there until it was time for them to mount up again.
    They made camp near sunset. Kelsea had barely dropped to the ground when her reins were plucked from her hand; she turned and found Mace guiding the mare away. She opened her mouth to protest, but thought better of that and turned back to the rest of the Guard, who were also going about their various tasks. She noticed the youngest guard pulling the makings of her tent from his saddlebags.
    â€œI’ll do it!” she called and strode across the clearing, holding out her hand for some tool, perhaps some weapon, she didn’t care which. She’d never felt more useless.
    The guard handed her a flat-headed mallet and remarked, “The tent does require two people, Highness. May I help you?”
    â€œOf course,” Kelsea replied, pleased.
    Given one person to hold things and one to pound them in, the tent was a simple enough business, and Kelsea talked to the guard as she moved along with the mallet. His name was Pen, and he was indeed relatively young; he appeared to be no more than thirty, and his face held none of the wrinkles or wear that seemed tunneled into the faces of the rest of the guards. He was handsome, with dark hair and an open, good-natured face. But then again, they were all handsome, her mother’s guards, even those over forty, even Elston (when his mouth was closed). Surely her mother wouldn’t have chosen her guards only for their looks?
    Kelsea found Pen easy to talk to. When she asked his age, he told her he’d just had his thirtieth birthday four days since.
    â€œYou’re too young to have been in my mother’s guard.”
    â€œThat’s right, Lady. I never knew your mother.”
    â€œThen why did they bring you on this errand?”
    Pen shrugged and made a self-explanatory gesture toward his sword.
    â€œHow long have you been a guard?”
    â€œMace found me when I was fourteen years old, Lady. I’ve been in training ever since.”
    â€œWith no ruler in residence? Have you been guarding my uncle?”
    â€œNo, Lady.” A shadow of distaste crossed Pen’s face, so quickly Kelsea might have imagined it. “The Regent keeps his own guard.”
    â€œI see.” Kelsea finished pounding a stake into the ground, then stood up and stretched with a grimace, feeling her back pop.
    â€œAre you adjusting to the pace, Highness? I assume you’ve undertaken few long journeys on horseback.”
    â€œThe pace is fine. And necessary, I understand.”
    â€œTrue enough, Lady.” Pen lowered his voice, glancing around them. “We’re being tracked hard.”
    â€œHow do you know?”
    â€œThe hawks.” Pen pointed skyward. “They’ve been behind us since we left the Keep. We arrived late yesterday because we took several detours to throw off pursuit. But the hawks can’t be fooled. Whoever controls them will be behind us now—”
    Pen paused. Kelsea reached out for another stake and remarked casually, “I heard no hawks today.”
    â€œMort hawks make no sound, Lady. They’re trained for silence. But every now and again, you might see them in the sky if you’re looking out for them. They’re devilish quick.”
    â€œWhy don’t they attack?”
    â€œOur numbers.” Pen spread out the last corner of the tent so that Kelsea could stake it. “The Mort train their hawks as you would soldiers, and they won’t waste themselves by attacking a superior force. They’ll try to pick us off one by one if they can.”
    Pen paused again, and Kelsea waved the mallet at him. “You needn’t worry about frightening me. I must fear death no matter which stories you choose to tell.”
    â€œPerhaps, Lady,