“What have I got to lose?” said Faye, and Crier heard: I have already lost what mattered most.

Within minutes, Faye had stripped off her clothing and Crier was wriggling out of her wedding gown, frantic, an insect caught in a gossamer spiderweb. She scrambled into Faye’s scullery maid uniform: a loose shirt and pants made of rough red fabric, scratchy against her skin, smelling of lye soap and human sweat. Instead of soft slippers, she crammed her feet into Faye’s tattered leather shoes. She scrubbed all the makeup off her face, removed all her ceremonial jewelry—keeping only the set of twin lockets—then, with shaking hands, finger-combed her hair out of the ornate crown of braids and tied it back in a single, messy braid, tucked down the back of her shirt.

Finished, Crier glanced at herself in the mirror. She didn’t look human. She was still taller than most human girls, and her face was unmistakably Made. But she also didn’t look like Lady Crier, daughter of the sovereign.

Good.

“All done, lady,” said Faye, turning around. She’d changed into the plainest clothing Crier owned, a simple blue cotton dress. Hopefully simple enough to not draw attention until she could make it back to the servants’ quarters and change into another uniform. When she saw Crier, transformed, she snorted. “I’ve never seen one of your Kind look so . . . ordinary.”

“Blue suits you,” Crier replied. “Let’s go. Before the guards come looking for me.”

Together, they hurried out of the bedroom. Heads bent, Crier hoped they just looked like a couple of house servants. The plan was that Crier would make it to the stables, to a horse. Most of the palace guards would be stationed in and around the ballroom by now. If she was going to escape, the window of time was now. If she was going to outrun the guards, she needed something faster than an Automa.

They started down the main hallway, but Faye quickly ducked down another, much smaller and less decorated passageway, used only by the servants. Crier had lived in this palace all her life and had never used any of these passageways. Her eyes always skipped right over them. Now, they were her only chance of escape. The ceremony was due to begin in less than half an hour; the guards had surely realized that her “few minutes alone” had been going on far too long. She calmed herself—she couldn’t think about that. She had to keep her heart rate down. The last thing she needed was her chime going off, alerting every guard in the palace that she was in distress.

After what seemed like ages, the passageway ended with a door. “Servants’ entrance,” Faye muttered, and pushed it open. Crier’s eyes adjusted to the sunlight immediately. They had exited the palace just off the north wing. To the east, there were the flower gardens and beyond those the sea. Directly in front of them, across a wide lawn of seagrass, were the stables. Crier could see a row of carriages and caravans belonging to the wedding guests, their horses being tended to by the stableboys.