Crier lay in bed, intensely aware of the fact that Queen Junn herself lay in her own chamber not more than four hallways and two stairwells from here. She couldn’t get the sounds of moaning, of breath against skin, out of her head, even as she read and reread Rosi’s letter, which had been waiting for her in her room when she returned. She turned to it once again.
To the Attention of Lady Crier, Family Hesod:
To the first of your questions—no, I have not heard word of any new updates on the vanishing of Councilmember Reyka. But allow me to congratulate you and your fiancé on Scyre Kinok’s new seat on the Red Council! He will make a wonderful Hand to the sovereign, your father, and I’m sure it must be such a great honor to you.
I have never been modest about my support for, and appreciation of, your fiancé. Scyre Kinok has done so much for myself and Foer! I hope you do not find it too forward of me to say: we are more than willing to help Scyre Kinok with his research again, should the need arise.
And even without that, we know we have Kinok to thank for our very lives. If he hadn’t warned us about the human violence brewing in the south, so close to our estate, we would not have been so safe. The two of us, and the southern Hands Laone and Shasta as well. We are all grateful. We consider ourselves Scyre Kinok’s most loyal supporters!
I’m sending you a little Nightshade as a sign of my “affection”—I haven’t touched heartstone in weeks, thanks to this!—and I hope to hear from you again soon.
Yours,
Rosi of House Emiele
Crier swallowed.
Queen Junn had said it herself: Kinok was a problem. A threat. Already too powerful, and growing more powerful by the day.
Queen Junn. Should Crier tell her about this? She still had the green feather, but . . . her stomach twisted. She was more than a little reluctant to go seek out the queen in her quarters again. Not after the . . . sounds she’d overheard just an hour or two ago. She couldn’t—get them out of her head. Not the adviser’s grunting but Junn’s low, breathy little noises, half-formed words. Crier felt warm all over, her skin prickling, a sensation almost like the pang of hunger in her lower belly, like when she didn’t have heartstone for more than a few hours, but also not. She didn’t understand it. She didn’t want to understand it. No, she would stay away from the queen’s quarters for now.
And, gods, what of Reyka? She’d been missing for weeks, and there was still no sign of her, and now Rosi claimed to know nothing. Crier wanted to remain hopeful—wanted to believe that maybe Reyka was lying low for her own reasons; maybe she’d gone into hiding of her own volition and didn’t want to be found—but her mind was working against her, churning out worst-case scenarios. Reyka was a Red Hand, a powerful political figure. With the title came enemies. Crier had been hoping so hard that Rosi would know something. Anything.
After all, she’d been staying at Foer’s estate, which was only a few leagues from the village of Elderell. The last place anyone had seen Reyka alive.
But Rosi knew nothing. She didn’t even seem to care about Reyka’s disappearance at all. Crier reread the letter a tenth time, jaw tight. Kinok this, Kinok that. And—Nightshade? There was a tiny paper packet attached to the letter, filled with a thumbnail-sized sampling of an unfamiliar powder. It had the same texture as heartstone dust, but instead of red it was a deep obsidian black.
I haven’t touched heartstone in weeks, thanks to this!
But what was it?
Crier’s thoughts were interrupted by a sound so faint she wondered if she was imagining it at first. But then it came again: the sound of someone softly breathing right outside the door to her bedchamber, followed by a timid tap of knuckles on wood.
She sat upright.
There was no one else it could be.
She climbed out of bed, the flagstones cold on her bare feet, and tucked the tiny packet of dark dust beneath it, then opened the door. And yes, it was Ayla on the other side, a dark shape against the lamplight from the wall sconces. Her eyes were oddly wide, her body even tenser than usual. Her lips were a thin line.
Wordless, Crier stepped back and let her inside, closing