three of them parted ways.
Winter,
Year 47 AE
17
What if Queen Junn hadn’t received her letter?
It was all Crier could think about in the week since Ayla had been caught in her bed, and then released by Kinok without so much as a word of reprimand or concern on his part—in the week since she’d sent the coded missive to Queen Junn, pledging her secret allegiance.
Well, it wasn’t all she thought of. It required a strength she didn’t know she had to avoid Ayla’s eyes all week, to not replay the way she’d turned toward Crier in her sleep. Though Ayla would never admit it, and though Crier had no proof of it, she believed it—Ayla had at least started to trust her. Had started to open up to her.
But now—the risks were too high. Everyone was watching her next move. She couldn’t afford to let Ayla come under Kinok’s scrutiny again. Which meant she couldn’t give him any reason to. She couldn’t pay extra attention to Ayla. Couldn’t allow the darkness of her gaze to call out to Crier like it had so often in the last month.
And in the meantime, the need to slow Kinok down, to intercept his efforts and delay her marriage, was only growing in urgency. She’d sent Queen Junn information in the hope that it would show her loyalty—that in return, Junn would offer a strategy for the alliance she’d talked about. A way to eliminate the “problem” of Kinok for good.
Now: she’d been lying awake for hours, thoughts circling like vultures. Had Queen Junn even received it? She must have—unless the letter had been intercepted.
If the letter hadn’t been intercepted—if it was in Queen Junn’s hands—what was the queen going to do? Was it wrong of Crier to name Foer, Councilmember Laone, Councilmember Shasta as Kinok’s supporters? What if she’d misunderstood Rosi’s words? What if she’d put Rosi in danger by naming her fiancé? What if Queen Junn decided Crier wasn’t helpful enough and cut off communication, and Crier was once again alone?
She was just about to hit hour number three of panicked, pointless thought when she heard footsteps in the corridor outside her door. Lots of them, quick and human.
Voices, barked orders. Someone sending for a carriage?
Crier didn’t wait for Ayla to arrive—dawn was still a quarter hour away—and didn’t even change out of her nightgown before hurrying out of her room and calling after the first servant she saw. “Has something happened? What is the carriage for?”
“The sovereign is leaving for Bell-run, my lady. Short notice.”
“What—today? Why?” The small town of Bell-run was a day’s ride to the west. Her father usually visited only once or twice per year, perfunctory, just to show his face to the people.
“Yes, my lady. This morning. As soon as possible. Been some killings in the night,” said the servant, hushed, in the way humans had when they spoke about the dead.
Killings. A mass execution? A quashed rebellion? “Who was it?” Crier demanded. “Who’s been killed? Human rebels?”
“No, my lady.” The servant shifted. “They were Automae.”
“. . . What were their names?” A sick feeling of disbelief was beginning to move through her, making her sway.
Maybe some part of her already knew. But she had to hear it aloud.
“Two were Red Hands, my lady. Councilmembers Laone and Shasta. The other was the lord of a southern estate. Lord Foer.”
Stars and skies.
“Pardon, my lady?”
She’d spoken aloud. “Nothing,” Crier managed, and turned away before the servant could say anything else—or worse, catch the look on Crier’s face and call for a physician.
I killed them, Crier thought dully, moving in a trance back down the hallway. I named them, and now they are dead.
Queen Junn might have given the order—because of course it was Queen Junn, there was no way this was a coincidence. Crier had given three names to her, and now the owners of all three names were dead.
But it was Crier who had caused this.
She couldn’t believe how quickly Junn had acted. With no warning, no hesitation—just swift deliverance.
It meant the queen must have mercenaries all over Rabu.
Crier’s temples were pounding; she felt starved of oxygen even though her intake was unchanged.
Oh, gods, Rosi. Rosi’s fiancé was dead and it was Crier’s fault.
Well, what were you expecting? she asked herself furiously, pausing for a moment to rest her forehead against the cool stone wall of the corridor. Did you think the Mad Queen would send Kinok’s supporters a kindly worded letter? Did you think she’d be forgiving?
She thought