“I’d let you stay here either way,” said Junn. “I think you could be of great use to me.”

Ayla opened her mouth. Shut it again. Considered the risks of telling Junn everything she knew about Scyre Kinok instead of waiting for Storme. A fortnight was so much lost time. But for all she knew, she could have told Storme and he’d say, We can’t tell the queen, she’s secretly working with him. Queen Junn could send out all the green feathers in the world and Ayla still wouldn’t trust her one bit. What if she talked and all it got her was a stay in the dungeon?

Queen Junn raised her teacup to her lips, steam curling before her face like the tail of a white cat. “You’re clever,” she said, taking a sip of liquid heartstone. “If you are anything like your brother, you possess a sharp mind, one for science, for strategy. It’s tragic, really, when great minds are limited only by circumstance. You’re not a handmaiden anymore, Ayla. Your circumstances have changed, and so have your limits.” Her lips, stained deep red with heartstone, curved into a small private smile. “That, and . . . I once knew someone like you. A girl who spent many years trapped in a gilded birdcage, expected only to perform, to sing when urged, to serve, to otherwise be silent. She was never a servant, but that didn’t make her free. Her only escape was . . . books. Letters. The outside world existed only in fragments, only behind windowpanes. Except when she read, and when she wrote.”

“That’s all very pretty,” Ayla said. “But there’s no shortage of people who are clever or caged. What’s the real reason?”

Queen Junn’s smile sharpened. “See? Clever girl. For the past year, I have been closely monitoring Sovereign Hesod’s correspondences. My spies have intercepted hundreds of letters, documents, and coded messages between him and various members of the Red Council, plus a web of other contacts throughout Zulla. I have read all of them a thousand times over, searching for information on Scyre Kinok and the sovereign’s own underground dealings, for any potential threats against Varn. However, I am an outsider. I have found much of the sovereign’s coded language impenetrable. Even your brother and other Rabunians couldn’t help. But you, Ayla . . . you lived within the palace walls. You were handmaiden to the sovereign’s daughter.”

“I can’t read,” Ayla said bluntly. “I don’t think I’ll be able to decode anything.”

“You can be taught.”

“So you want to teach me to read so I can . . . ,” Ayla started, then trailed off. No, this still wasn’t the real reason the queen thought her useful. This was an excuse, or a test, or just a way to keep Ayla busy; keep her from asking questions. The queen wanted something else from her. Ayla just didn’t know what.

Well, if it meant seeing Storme, Ayla could play student. For now.