“The Rabunian scandal?” They had to mean the assassination attempt.

“Scandals, I should say. The sovereign’s court must be in chaos. Things were bad enough before this whole mess with Lady Crier’s wedding. Or . . . lack thereof.”

Ayla went still. She stopped midstep, frozen as one of the obsidian statues on either side of the courtyard. “Cr—Lady Crier didn’t—get married?”

Wender’s eyebrow twitched. Automa surprise. “Have you been asleep for the past week?”

“I traveled here from the iron mines,” Ayla said. “Been in a carriage. She didn’t get married?”

“Even better,” said Wender, appearing to enjoy having the gossip. They nudged at Ayla’s waist, drawing her back into the dance, even as her thoughts roiled like a storm at sea. “Lady Crier ran away from her own wedding. She’s been missing for days now; the sovereign’s search parties keep returning empty-handed. I hear the sovereign is . . . well. First one of his Red Hands disappeared. Then another two were murdered overnight. Then a servant attacked the lady right under his nose. Now this latest humiliation. I wouldn’t be surprised if Sovereign Hesod loses his throne.”

Ayla was barely listening. She cast her gaze over the courtyard, trying not to let Wender see the shock in her eyes.

She ran away from her own wedding.

She’s been missing for days now.

You fool, Ayla thought senselessly. You’ve never left the palace. You think you can survive in this world, a fugitive from your own father? Crier, you fool. Crier, you—

A familiar face in the crowd. No, two of them.

There was Benjy, visible when the dancing couples shifted, in the very heart of the courtyard. He was dressed like a guard, in the queen’s colors, her crest glinting at his throat. He was grinning. He was waltzing.

With Queen Junn.

Ayla stared at them. Yes, that really was Benjy, her best friend Benjy, rebel Benjy, Resistance child Benjy, leech-hating Benjy, waltzing with the queen. And enjoying it, by the look on his face, the light in his eyes, his big toothy smile. A space was cleared around them, a loose circle of nobles and courtiers watching them dance. None of them looked surprised. Was it common for the Mad Queen to dance with humans like this?

The queen must have said something, because Benjy threw his head back, laughing like Ayla hadn’t seen him laugh in—she didn’t know how long. And that was what made the anger rise inside her. That was what kindled the embers. Because how dare he? How dare he, when just a few days ago he’d told her that he’d never understand how she could feel anything but hatred for a leech—how a leech had become her weak spot—how a leech had made her soft—

“Wender,” Ayla said. She knew the anger was leaking into her voice, but she couldn’t help it. “Thank you for the dance. I have to—I have to go.”

“Are you all right, Clara?” Wender asked, hands falling from her waist. They were staring at her with open curiosity, which, gods, that was the last thing she wanted, the last thing she needed; curiosity and suspicion were the same damn thing, in the end.