Free The Queen's Necklace by Teresa Edgerton Page B

that Madame Solange had not given in to a last frugal impulse and neglected to pay the fortuneteller so handsomely the thought of treachery never even entered her mind.
    As the ugly cart continued its awkward, lurching progress, Ysglanced back at her disreputable companions. They had little enough, it was true. Yet, unlike Ys, they seemed to value what they had, to get the most enjoyment possible out of their rude, uncertain existence. She did not know whether to pity or to despise them.
    Then she remembered something else Madame had said, the last words her governess whispered as Ys climbed into the cart. “ After all, any humiliation you suffer tonight can be easily erased. Just as soon as the first part of our plan is successfully completed, once Jarred falls in love with you and makes you his queen, we’ll make certain nobody remembers .”
    Ys knew what that meant: that tools once used may then be discarded, that those who knew the degrading details—Madam Zaphir, the seamstress, these other nameless wretches, even Lord Vif—could be ruthlessly and permanently eliminated.
    But O Madame Solange , Ys thought with a shudder, be careful what kind of monster you are raising me to be. Be careful lest someday I grow so heartless, I decide I can just as easily dispose of you!
    There was an uneasy silence in the clock tower workshop, as the king and Purcell, temporarily forgetting the ball and the guests so soon to arrive, sat and considered what Lucius had just said.
    â€œYour arguments are tortuous,” said Jarred at last. “And I wonder if you mean half you say. Or rather, I’m certain you mean every word of it now, but what will you mean tomorrow?”
    The philosopher gave another dry little cough. “You said something; I am not quite certain if I heard or understood you correctly. You said, ‘We are the Maglore.’”
    Lucius tossed off the contents of his glass. “And when I said ‘we,’ I was naturally referring to all Mankind. I ask you to consider what we know about Goblins. Take any Ouph or Padfoot: bones brittle, sinews ropey, hair like straw, skin dry and cold, the whole combination highly combustible. They burn like paper at the touch of a flame, they can’t eat more than minute quantities of salt orthey die in agonies, and there’s something in the blood that boils if it comes into contact with seawater. But what do the stories say of the Maglore? Why, that they were outwardly indistinguishable from Men. It seems likely that the Maglore were no more Goblins than you and I, and it is only the passage of time that has embellished their legend.”
    Jarred toyed with the remains of game-pie on his plate. “Stories do tend to alter with every telling.”
    â€œConsider this too: they say the Maglore had lost the ability to look more than a few days or weeks forward in time, and it was Man’s own ability to imagine a future full of changes that finally gave him the advantage. But how far and fearlessly do we look ahead? How many months? How many years? It seems our vision grows shorter with every passing generation. If the Maglore were not Men to begin with, I very much fear that Men are becoming Maglore.”
    â€œBut,” said Francis Purcell, again with a troubled frown, “there are the Goblin Jewels. The Crystal Egg, with its delicate interior machinery, which His Majesty uses to regulate the volcanic fires under this city. The Orb of Mountfalcon. The great Silver Nef belonging to the King of Rijxland, which prevents the sea from breaking through the dikes and flooding a hundred miles of farmland, sweeping away a dozen villages and at least one great city. And all the others, equally miraculous. Could Human sorcerers have invented such wonders?”
    â€œWhy not?” Lucius leaned back in his chair. “We have no way of knowing the capabilities of our distant ancestors. We can only know what they chose for us to know