end. She had to find the source of Tourmaline before he did.
She already had her first lead: Siena’s locket. And Ayla was her second. There was no other human alive who could trace the locket’s history, help her find out more about where exactly it had come from. There was a possibility Ayla wouldn’t be able to help at all—she hadn’t even known about the locket’s properties—but she was Crier’s best bet. Crier’s only hope.
Find Ayla.
Find Tourmaline.
Only then could she stop Kinok.
Crier pressed both hands to her sternum and breathed in deep. Find Ayla. The idea brought forth so many emotions, she didn’t know how to sort through them, which ones to focus on. It made Crier shiver and close her eyes and take another deep breath, trying to calm herself.
She had to find Ayla. Had to warn her—
“My lady,” said her driver, knocking on the carriage door.
Gods, had they stopped moving? She hadn’t even noticed.
“We were intercepted by a messenger from Varn. There’s an urgent message for you.”
A message. From Varn. Crier flung the carriage door open and the driver handed her a letter. The wax used to seal it was green, the seal itself forming the imprint of a single, tiny feather.
Crier shut the door again and tore open the envelope with shaking hands, heart pounding. . . .
Fox—
Don’t worry about the missing red hen. I took care of her.
I know it pains you, but you must go through with the wedding. Trust me, little Fox. The Wolf, his followers, and all of the corrupt Red Hands in one place . . . I can think of no greater opportunity to eliminate the worst of what stands in our way.
Be brave. Have faith. You’ve done so well.
Crier let the letter slip from her fingers, fluttering to the floor of the carriage.
Reyka was dead, and it wasn’t Kinok who had killed her.
It was Queen Junn.
The Mad Queen of Varn.
And now Crier saw the cold truth: she was more trapped than ever. Kinok was after Yora’s heart, which meant he was after Ayla. But if Crier ran away to find Ayla, to warn her, she’d be a threat to Queen Junn just like Reyka had been. The queen didn’t like loose ends, uncontrolled variables. Didn’t like people who talked.
No matter how useful she’d been, she recalled all the rumors she’d ever heard about the Mad Queen and she knew, deep in her bones: Junn would show the Fox no mercy.
Crier could risk her life to save Ayla, who had tried to kill her. Or she could stay put. Go through with the wedding, if that was what Junn wanted. Take down Kinok and his movement from the inside out.
It was a terrible set of choices, and Crier had to choose one.
But for now, the only thing she could do was pull aside the velvet curtains, let the evening light spill into the carriage, and allow a second, more private truth to make its presence known inside her heart. No matter what she chose—whether she abandoned her life and duties to chase after a human traitor, or married Kinok for the sole purpose of destroying the Anti-Reliance Movement—it would be a direct rebellion against her father. Against the Red Council. Against her nation. Crier would become just as much a traitor as Ayla was. Just as much a fugitive.
Just as much a revolutionary.
No matter what Crier chose, there would be a battle to win. No, not just a battle.
A war.
Acknowledgments
Kieryn. You are my person. It is an honor to know you. Knowing you has made me kinder—to everyone, to myself. Knowing you has changed how I write and think about love; it has changed how I love. It is an honor to love you. The next time you’re trying to talk about feelings and I’m breaking out in hives, you can point to this. A paragraph isn’t enough. My acknowledgment to you is everything I’ve written over the past six years. Everything I’m writing, everything I will write, that’s your acknowledgment. Your existence informs and transforms every page. My person, my writing partner, my QPLP, my soul mate, coparent of the beastling, rescuer of plots, creator of worlds and apocalypse escape plans and regular escape plans. I’d fry up twenty pounds of latkes with you any day. I hope that says it all.
Mama and Papa, I have wanted to be a writer since I was, what, four?—and your belief in me has never once wavered. You never once doubted I could