He sighed. Rubbed the wax between finger and thumb. “Yes, I was there. What of it? The villagers had been hoarding grain. I’d offered them a generous bargain: they were allowed to keep their land, and in exchange I collected a portion of each year’s harvest. But of course they became greedy. I discovered they had been falsifying their output, calculating my portion from barely two-thirds of the real harvest. They knew it was an act of treason and they did it anyway. Was I supposed to turn my back?”

“So you destroyed the entire village.”

“I believe in fairness and justice, daughter. Land in exchange for grain. If one side of the promise breaks, so too will the other.”

The candlelight was dying, the darkness growing. Crier couldn’t stand it. She needed to see his face for this. She needed to see the emptiness in his eyes, so she would not forget. She pushed off the wall and joined him at the wooden table, taking the seat opposite him. How many meals had they spent like this, facing each other across a table? But it had always been the table in the great hall, in the cavernous room that could have held fifty and instead held only two. Three, once Kinok came to the palace.

“I spent so long thinking I was Flawed,” Crier said, leaning into the light. She knew he would be able to see the tear tracks on her face, and he would think that made her weak. “Not just when Kinok tricked me. Before, too. Because I felt things. Because I wanted to feel things. I thought I had a poisonous seed inside me, and every day it grew, and someday it would kill me from the inside out.” Her voice was thick with tears, but steady. She was no longer shaking. “But I was never the one with the poisonous thing. I was never the one with the Flaw.”

A sound came from the hallway outside the room. Shuffling footsteps. Junn must have sent someone to collect Crier. It was startling—she’d forgotten there was a world outside this room, that she would leave this place and Hesod would stay.

“Of course you weren’t Flawed,” said Hesod, soft and sweet. Almost crooning. “Of course you weren’t. You are young and naive, you frustrate me, but you are still my greatest creation. My daughter. I Designed you to be my successor. To head the Red Council, to lead this nation, to take my throne. That is why I am being so harsh with you, child. It is important that you accept the reality of this world. Otherwise you will never be able to control it.”

Control. That was all leadership meant to him. How had she never seen it before?

She shook her head. “You’re lying. You were never going to let me lead. You appointed Kinok to the council over me.”

“Because the world isn’t ready for your ideas, Crier. I was trying to protect you.” He reached across the table and she jerked away, revolted at the idea of being touched by him. If she hadn’t been looking closely, she might not have seen the flicker of irritation in his eyes. “You need a few more years to grow. What kind of a father would I be if I threw you to the council unprepared? They would laugh you out of the room, you and your little essays. I couldn’t let that happen to you. I know you better than anyone else, Crier, and I knew you needed more time. All I wanted was to give you more time.”