the chaos, amid the fires, the man called Leo—had allowed his memories to be recorded by the locket, and now they were trapped within it.
She didn’t know what it meant, only that Ayla’s history was full of violence and sadness.
And now, her future would be too, if Crier didn’t do something about it.
She turned on her heel and ran in the opposite direction of the guards. She tore down the dark hallways, the wall sconces smearing in yellow parallax, and did not slow down until the door of her father’s chambers loomed before her through the gloom. She was running so fast that it was hard to stop; her feet actually skidded on the flagstones. Then she was scrabbling at the door, shoving it open, tumbling inside. “Father!”
He was already awake. He was standing by the hearth, gazing into the flames.
“Father,” she gasped, “Father, they took her, the guards took her but it wasn’t her fault—”
Slowly, he turned to face her. “You speak of the handmaiden. The human.”
“Yes, yes, but she didn’t make my chime go off, it was me, I was distressed, and the guards—”
“Daughter.”
Her mouth snapped shut.
“First Guard Lakell reported to me that when his men entered your room, the human was in your bed. Is that true?”
A hot, prickling flush spread from Crier’s face all the way down her body.
“Father, I—”
“Was the human in your bed?”
Mute, Crier nodded.
Hesod turned away, looking into the flames again. “You nearly fall to your death, and the human girl is there. You have some sort of—fit—in the middle of the night, and the human girl is there in your bedchamber, in your bed. Are you trying to tell me that it is a coincidence? That your chime only goes off in her presence?”
So he knew about what had happened at the cliffs, too. Even though she’d begged the guards not to tell him.
He knew everything, it seemed.
But he couldn’t know what was in Crier’s mind—how she felt. And he didn’t know about her Flaw. Not yet, anyway.
We were just sleeping, Crier wanted to say, but she didn’t even know what she was defending herself against. We weren’t doing anything. What would they have been doing?
The flush grew deeper.
“The handmaiden has never harmed me,” she insisted, as calmly as possible. “She has never touched me. I was awake, thinking—about the queen’s visit—and became distressed.”
“What thoughts could cause such distress?”
“The queen is . . . very commanding,” she stalled, trying to come up with an excuse.
“Well, you can be reassured, then. The queen and her entire retinue have already departed. It is a good thing, too, as this situation would have caused quite the scandal had she been around to witness it.”
The queen was gone.
And Crier had missed her chance to deliver the green feather. To take her side.
“There are whispers, daughter,” Hesod went on. “I hear them in the corridors, in the kitchens. The servants of this palace are under the impression that their lady has become attached to the human girl who serves her.”
Crier shook her head. “They are mistaken, Father.”
“I know,” Hesod said gently. “I know that no child of mine, no child created by my hand, would commit such a heinous betrayal against their own Kind. I know the servants are mistaken, daughter. But humans, once convinced of an idea, are difficult to persuade otherwise. Their minds are not complex and malleable like ours. And you do not want them to continue spreading such dangerous lies, do you?”
“No,” Crier whispered.
“Then I will offer you a deal,” said Hesod, “because I believe that you are telling the truth, even if no one else does. I shall give the handmaiden one last chance. She will be allowed to remain at your feet, serving you.” He paused. “Unless, of course, there is another incident. Then she will be removed.”
“Yes, Father.”
“In the meantime, you will wear the black armband that symbolizes the Anti-Reliance Movement. As a gesture of goodwill, peace, and tolerance between Traditionalism and Anti-Reliance.”
“Yes, Father,” Crier said numbly. “I will do as you’ve asked.”
Hesod finally looked at her again, and his eyes glinted in the firelight. “I am pleased,” he said, “to have raised such an obedient child.”
Crier didn’t let herself second-guess the message she had penned the moment she left her father’s side. She would not marry Kinok. Nor would she abide her father’s decisions any longer.
The words flowed out of her pen with little effort, even the coded names coming easily.