“Whose,” said Queen Junn.

“Reyka’s!” Crier snapped. “The missing red hen, Reyka, Councilmember Reyka. You killed her for no reason!”

“I did what was necessary,” said Junn.

“Killing her wasn’t necessary,” Crier hissed. She knew she was being disrespectful, and if she wasn’t careful she’d be the next Reyka. But the grief was still fresh, and, perhaps even stronger: the sense of betrayal. “She was on our side. She’d been working against Kinok in secret for years. She was our ally and you killed her. Why?”

“She was careless,” said Junn, still so terribly calm. Her countenance was a lake, the surface unruffled, smooth as glass. “Kinok was onto her. He was tracking her movements, and I’m sure he had already identified a number of her contacts. Even the sovereign was catching on, and he has always been blinded by his own arrogance. Foolish man. So convinced of his own authority, he dismisses even the most obvious signs of defiance. I suppose you already know that.”

Crier didn’t answer.

“This is a war, Crier,” Junn said. “Your only true ally is yourself. The moment Reyka started trusting the wrong people—or putting too much trust in the right people—she became a threat. Because even the right people are still people, Crier. And everyone, everyone, has a breaking point. Kinok is exceptionally good at finding them. Reyka’s breaking point was a person, and that person was more vital than Reyka herself. That person had to be protected.”

Dinara. She had to mean Dinara, but the memory that flickered behind Crier’s eyes like a guttering candle wasn’t of Reyka’s daughter. It was of the sword at Ayla’s throat. The trickle of blood. Scyre, I will bargain with you.

Yes. Everyone had a breaking point.

Crier felt . . . embarrassed, or ashamed. She’d broken so quickly. One threat to Ayla, and Crier would have given anything to make it stop. And she knew that if it happened again, right now, her reaction would not change.

“Reyka was a threat. I eliminated her. I took no pleasure in giving the order, but I did not hesitate to give it. This is not a game. One leak, one slip of the tongue, could result in so much more than a single death.” Junn closed her eyes and tipped her head back, moonlight softening the planes of her face. With her eyes closed, she looked her age. Seventeen, maybe eighteen now. “I have always been willing to trade one life for thousands,” she murmured. “I am the Mad Queen. I am Junn the Bone Eater. Funny, isn’t it, considering I am not the ruler who burns villages to the ground. I am not the ruler who slaughters humans for fun. What is it they say about me? That I bathe in human blood—is that rumor still circulating? I like that one.”

“How did the rumors begin?” Crier couldn’t help but ask, anger bending to curiosity. She’d never given much thought to the origin of the whispers, despite always suspecting they were exaggerated at best.