was reacting so strongly. She had seen such things before, from afar: human servants embracing in the orchard when they thought no one was looking. But that was different. That was humans, who mated physically, who were not Made. That was humans, who were weak against their base temptations and desires. Like dogs in heat, her father had said once.
Automae did not—do that.
They did not need to.
But the voice she’d heard (the moan, her mind whispered) had definitely belonged to Queen Junn.
Crier pressed a hand to her face, touching her own hot skin, and made up her mind to wait out here. If she left now, she might never work up the courage to come back.
It took only a few more minutes before she heard the door to the queen’s bedchamber open and shut. Crier barely had enough time to shrink farther into the shadows before someone walked right past the corner she was hiding behind, making their way to another door down the hallway. It was dark, and their face was hidden by a mask, but the shape of their silhouette was unmistakable. The person sneaking out of the queen’s bedchamber was her human adviser.
A secret lover.
A secret human lover.
The young man whom she’d heard the queen refer to during the tour as Storme.
Crier slumped back against the wall, cool stone on the nape of her neck. Stars and skies. She thought of the queen and the adviser, the way they’d acted around each other today.
She tried to concentrate, to slow the frantic whir of her mind, but it flew uncontrollably to the place she knew it would—Ayla. Her lips. Her breath. Her skin. Darkness and touching and kissing and . . .
She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.
Head spinning, mouth filled with the heavy taste of her own blood, Crier ran away down the corridor and did not stop until she reached her own room, but even then, even with the door slammed shut, she was confronted with the heady darkness, her body, pulsing with new information, and above all, the thing she knew now she wanted, even though it was unnatural, even though it was wrong.
Passion.
She was called the Barren Queen, but I never met anyone less empty. For if one is wanting of a child, then by nature their heart is overfilled with love—overflowing, yearning for a new vessel to hold that love, like spilling water.
There are some who call her a monster. Some who call her mad.
If longing is madness, then none of us are sane.
—FROM THE PERSONAL RECORDS OF BRYN, BIRTH-WITCH TO QUEEN THEA OF ZULLA, E. 900, CIRCA Y. 40
14
Did you hear about Faye?
Yes. I heard she’s got her own private rooms in the palace now. I heard she’s got her own handmaiden, just like the lady.
Not just that. She’s living the golden life now. The leech life.
How did it happen? Last I heard she was mad. Wandering the halls like a ghost.
I’d kill for a bit of cake.
I’d kill for a private room.
I’d kill for a night in a real bed.
Makes you wonder what she did for it.
The whispers were unbearable.
Ayla had been listening to them all day: in the servants’ quarters, in the dining hall, in the hallways, one scullery maid to another, kitchen boys muttering to each other when they thought they were alone. Faye is a traitor, Faye is a lapdog. Ayla knew exactly who was behind Faye’s newfound lifestyle, and it made her want to shake that certain someone hard enough to rattle their teeth.
Of all the fool things to do.
She suspected that Crier had only been trying to help. But didn’t she see? It only made things worse. Drew attention, placed a target on Faye’s back . . . and soon enough, Crier’s attentions would put a target on Ayla’s back too, if they hadn’t already.
Not to mention, these little acts of . . . what . . . kindness? They made Ayla uncertain, made her question what she thought she know of Crier, of leeches in general. They didn’t have feelings. They didn’t act out of kindness. Crier was no different.
Was she?
As soon as darkness fell, the last of Ayla’s patience drained away. Her feet ached from the long day of managing the queen’s tour and racing about to help with the arrangement of her guest quarters and Crier’s dinner gown and—the list went on and on.
Still, she managed to wait just a few more minutes, until the other servants were asleep, and then