“Boss?” the boy called out. “Got something you might wanna see.”

Footsteps, then the blanket lifted and another boy slipped into the room. Half his face was pockmarked with what looked like burn scars. He glanced between Crier and Ayla, taking stock of the situation, and then nodded at Fen. “Girl can stay,” he said. “The leech goes.”

Crier’s heart plummeted, an overripe sun apple falling to the ground, bursting upon impact. Already half rotted, a pulp. She held her breath, refusing to show any emotion, waiting for Ayla to nod and say, All right, then. The leech goes—

“No.”

Surely she’d misheard.

“You can let us go, or we can fight our way out,” said Ayla. “Or, if you’re who I think you are, we can stay and work together. I saw the green feather at your campsite. We’re allies of Queen Junn too.”

Both Fen and the scarred boy remained silent.

“Hm.” Ayla took a step sideways, pressing closer to Crier. “Well, either we’re going or we’re staying, but either way, we’re not separating. Make your decision, then. I’ve made mine.”

“Work together?” said the scarred boy. “With the leech?”

“She’s on our side,” said Ayla.

Crier’s heart was—

Her heart was—

The boy snorted. “You’re a fool. You think you can trust anything she says? There’s a reason they’re such good liars: they feel no guilt. She’s deceiving you. To her Kind, we’re either servants or we’re corpses.” He addressed Crier, eyes cold. “What’s your ulterior motive, huh? I assume you’re gathering information on the Revolution, reporting back to someone. Who are you working for? The Scyre himself?”

“No,” Crier said. “I’m not a spy. I would never align with Kinok. I want to stop him.”

“She defected,” Ayla said loudly. “She defied her own Kind. She risked everything to escape, to find me, to fight at my side. She is our ally. I—” She faltered, then seemed to rally, drawing herself up to her full height, squaring her shoulders and giving the boy the fiercest look Crier had ever seen. “I trust her with my life.”

“Oh, do you,” said the boy. “And why should I—”

“Stand down, Edrid.”

Ears ringing, the words I trust her with my life repeating over and over in her head, Crier turned toward this new voice. It was a girl, tall and solid-looking, thickly muscled. Even though they were in the middle of the wilderness, and it looked and smelled like half these humans hadn’t bathed for a week, this girl’s lips were painted dark blue and her cheekbones shimmered with something like fine stardust. A sword was sheathed at her hip, a bow and quiver strapped to her back. The leader, Crier realized.

Edrid opened his mouth to protest, but the girl held up a hand and he shut it again, scowling.

“Come with me,” the girl said, meeting first Crier’s eyes and then Ayla’s. To Fen and Edrid, she said, “Get back to your duties, will you? Show’s over, go on.”