she crawled out of bed, threw on a coat over her sleeping tunic, and moved toward the door.
But just as she stepped outside into the cool night air, she heard someone call her name, softly, from inside. “Ayla.”
It was Benjy. He slipped out of the servants’ building and stood there in the darkness of the night, his curly hair lined in moonlight, his jaw cut by shadows. “Where are you going?” he whispered. “Not visiting the lady at this hour, I hope. . . .”
Ayla stopped short. “What exactly are you trying to say?”
Benjy put up his hands, as if in surrender. “Nothing. Only that people will talk. She does seem to have . . . I don’t know. Some sort of fondness for you. Or that’s what they say, anyway.”
“People always talk, Benjy. But they know nothing. And, and . . . no. I wasn’t going to see Cri—the lady. I . . .”
Where to begin? So much had happened in this one day—she’d seen Storme, alive again after so many years believing he was dead, was lost to her forever. Then there was the strangeness of the queen herself. And the disturbing encounter with Faye in her new private room. And the way Crier had glanced back at her all day as Ayla walked just a few steps behind her, with something like curiosity—or more—in her eyes.
But how could she explain all this to Benjy?
Instead, all she said was, “I left out a dress that needs ironing before tomorrow. I know I won’t sleep if I keep thinking about the grief I’ll get in the morning.”
Benjy tilted his head at her. “I’ve missed you, you know,” he said softly.
Her chest thudded with a painful pang. She couldn’t look into his dark, glossy eyes. “Me too.”
He stepped toward her and she could see his face better now. His lips were parted, once again as if he planned to tell her something important. But all he said was, “Well, hurry up and don’t let the Varnian Queen eat your bones.”
Ayla let out a small laugh. “She’s not the monster everyone says. Or if that is her true nature, she keeps it well hidden.”
“As only the most dangerous monsters do,” Benjy said.
“True. . . . Listen, Benjy. I did learn something strange today. I can’t quite understand it. It’s about Faye.”
“Did something happen? I heard the gossip, that she was promoted to a guest room. Do you know about it?”
Ayla shivered as a cool breeze lifted at the edges of her coat. She wrapped her arms around herself. “I saw her. And . . . there’s definitely something . . . wrong with her. She kept mentioning the sun apples. I think Kinok had her managing the sun apple shipments. I can’t quite figure what that has to do with anything, whether it’s connected to Luna’s death, or why Faye has unraveled. I just . . . wanted you to know. In case you hear anything.”
Benjy nodded. “I’ll see if I can find out anything on my end.”
“Great.” It felt good to be working together, even if her pulse sang with worry. “Now get back to sleep. I’ll return in a few minutes, but don’t wait up for me.”
“Need my beauty rest anyway,” Benjy said, and slipped back inside the sleeping quarters without another word.
Once he was gone, Ayla hurried up the muddy path to the palace. The night was harsh and windy.
She hadn’t told him about Storme. She couldn’t. Not yet, anyway. She didn’t know what to think of it herself.
First, she had to see her brother—alone.
To get her questions answered.
Her ears hadn’t stopped ringing all day, her mind buzzing with a hornet’s nest of memories: Storme, young and scrawny and grinning in the dusty sunlight; Storme, sitting at their father’s elbow, whittling a new handle for his knife; Storme, standing beside their mother, laughing as she ruffled his dark curls.
Storme, shoving her down into the dark; Storme, his mouth twisted into a furious snarl, I’ll kill them, I’ll kill every single one of them; Storme, peering out the front door during one of the first raids, I hate those leeches more than anything; Storme, knife flashing in his hand, I’ll cut their dead hearts from their chests.
Storme, right hand to the leech queen.
There was no way he was serving her of his own free will. The queen must be hanging something over his head—the life of a friend, a lover, a child, someone, anyone. Whatever the blackmail, Ayla intended