“He did it,” Crier said. Her eyes were glassy. “Those explosions. All that smoke. I can’t believe he really did it. Destroyed it. Oh gods.” She looked to Ayla, searching. “Oh gods, what now?”

What now? Where the hell do we go from here?

“I don’t know,” Ayla whispered. “I don’t know.”

“Do we know which vein that was?” Storme asked the woman Rina about an hour later, as their party picked their way farther down the mountainside, away from the still-rising smoke. Rina had a map, was holding it up to catch the moonlight. A map of the Iron Heart, Ayla thought, and wanted to laugh. She and Benjy had spent so much time obsessing over such a thing back in the sovereign’s palace, convinced it was the key to the Revolution. The key to everything. Well, here it was. Newly obsolete.

“Hey,” Crier murmured.

They were still holding hands. They hadn’t let go, not even once. Ayla’s hand was sweaty; there was dirt and sweat and probably blood slicking their palms, but she didn’t want to lose this point of contact. This point of warmth, solidity, in the middle of a huge and frightening thing. The machinery of war. Kinok versus Queen Junn versus—the sovereign? The human rebellion? Both?

Ayla looked up at Crier, who was already looking back. “Hey.”

“I am glad we made it out alive,” said Crier.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you did,” Ayla said quietly. “Offering up your life in exchange for mine. I’m gonna give you hell for it later. After I’ve had a good sleep.”

“I would expect nothing less.” Her mouth twitched, a tiny crooked not-quite-smile, and Ayla felt her own heart move in her chest.

She shifted her grip, interlacing their fingers. “I could’ve taken him. Bastard’s lucky the chime went off when it did. I was two seconds away from unveiling my incredibly advanced combat skills.”

“Yes. I’m disappointed I lost a chance to witness your signature move, ‘Aggressive Squirming.’”

Ayla couldn’t help it. She laughed, exhausted but true. When she quieted, Crier was watching her.

Then Crier went tense, hand twitching in Ayla’s grip. “Adviser Storme,” she said. “Someone’s coming.”

Storme looked up from the map, but he didn’t seem at all concerned. “I know,” he said. “I’m expecting her.”

Her?

No, it can’t be, not out here—

But when a figure on horseback melted out of the shadows, Ayla knew exactly who it was.

Unlike the rest of their party, Queen Junn looked perfectly pristine, as if she were sitting in her own throne room instead of on the back of a shaggy mountain pony in the middle of the Aderos Mountains. She wore a cloak of silver silk; it looked like she was wrapped in moonlight. Her hair was twisted into a crown of glossy black braids. There were pearls in her ears.

“Handmaiden Ayla,” Queen Junn said lightly, as if continuing a recent conversation.

“It’s just Ayla, thanks,” said Ayla. “I’m getting very tired of everyone calling me that, I haven’t been a handmaiden for ages.” Storme coughed pointedly, and she rolled her eyes. “Hello, your majesty.”