“I understand, Father,” she said, bowing her head. “You’re right, of course. I apologize for my stupidity.”

“You test my patience, child,” said Hesod. Then, before her eyes, the cold mask fell away; he became charming, jovial Sovereign Hesod again, entertained by his daughter’s naivete. “But you are forgiven, as long as you head to the ballroom at once. The ceremony will begin soon, and the handmaidens will be wondering where you are.”

“Yes, Father,” she said. “I’ll see you there.” And she left him.

Inside her chest, there was a hollow where her heart should be. Perhaps there was one thing Crier had in common with Kinok. From this day forward, she no longer believed in family.

From this day forward, Hesod was not her father.

Her mind had gone strangely quiet. She felt so removed from her body, as if she had retreated into some faraway corner of her own head, somewhere soft and soundless. Her body was doing things and she was only watching, a distant observer, curious to see what happened next.

Her body waited until she and her guards were out of earshot of her father’s guards. Then her body told her guards to go to the ballroom ahead of her, as her father had instructed her to take a few minutes alone. Her last minutes as a maiden, unbound. When her guards hesitated, her body said, Sovereign’s orders. Would you like to go back there and challenge him yourselves?

Once alone, her body made its way through the palace to Kinok’s quarters. She walked at a steady pace, chin held high, through gilded hallways, down a flight of marble stairs and passed by many guards, and none of them dared to approach her. She reached Kinok’s quarters, and her body picked the lock on the door to his study. It was easy; she had done it before. And he would be upstairs, greeting all the guests, charming and lovely to everyone.

Her body slipped inside. There was a bookshelf behind the desk. On one of the shelves, beside a little glass ball, there was a heavy gold locket set with a red jewel. It looked exactly like the one currently hidden inside her mattress, one story up and two wings over. Her body took it, slipping it down the front of her gown, and left the study.

Her body, moving faster now, traveled back to her room.

Faye was still there, sitting on Crier’s bed, staring off into space, and it took her a long moment to react when Crier entered. Like she, too, was here and not-here at the same time.

“My lady,” said Faye. “Aren’t you getting married soon?”

“No,” said Crier. “No, I don’t think I am. I need your help, Faye.”

Faye gave her a long look. It was so strange, the way she slipped in and out of lucidity, the way she was sometimes reachable and sometimes lost. Maybe it wasn’t so strange. “Seems dangerous.”

“It is dangerous,” said Crier.