He huffed, sounding so much like the young Storme who used to scowl and roll his eyes whenever Ayla tried to boss him around. “Fine, come along, then.”

“I will,” she said. “Let’s go, brother.”

Queen Junn’s solarium was a large many-windowed room with a massive hearth and walls lined with portraits of what must be the royal lineage. Seated around a low wooden table with Benjy and Junn, studying the portraits while she waited for someone to speak, Ayla was reminded again how young Junn had been when her father, the king, had been murdered, and she’d been forced to take the throne. It was difficult to tell an Automa’s age after they hit twenty or so; in accordance with their longer lifespans, the physical effects of aging were far subtler on their Made faces. Still, the Automae in the portraits were clearly older than Junn by a few decades at least. In Rabu, they called her the Bone Eater but also the Child Queen. Ayla had always found it ridiculous: Automae were never children, not really. But the more time she spent around Junn, the more she understood the title. For all Junn’s cleverness and authority, she was still only a couple years older than Ayla and Storme. It showed on her face, sometimes. It showed on her face now.

“What do you mean, monsters?” Junn said, staring at Storme. Like Ayla, she’d come straight from the ball, which was still going on in the courtyard far below. Even this high up in one of the palace towers, Ayla could hear voices and music floating through the night. She kept waiting for Junn to send her away, because Ayla clearly didn’t belong in this meeting, but it hadn’t happened. Perhaps that was another benefit of being Storme’s sister.

When Junn had visited the sovereign’s palace, Ayla had noticed a familiarity in the way she spoke to Storme. An odd warmth in the way he looked at her. Somehow they’d seemed more like friends than queen and adviser.

“I don’t know how else to describe them,” said Storme. In the lanternlight, it was even more obvious how disheveled he was. He glanced at Ayla. “Two weeks ago, we received disturbing messages from two of our largest heartstone traders, alerting us to an ‘ongoing threat’ along the border we share with Rabu. I arrived expecting bandits, human rebels, perhaps some trouble from the sovereign . . . but that’s not what I found. I understand now why the traders were reluctant to describe the threat in detail. It sounds unbelievable. But I saw it with my own eyes.”

“Get to it,” said Ayla and Junn at the same time, and then blinked at each other across the table.

“The trading caravans keep getting attacked by these . . . creatures,” said Storme.

“What, like animals?” Junn asked.

“No. They are wild like animals, vicious like starving wolves, but they are Automae. Or at least something close.” Storme’s gaze was fixed on the lantern in the center of the table, on the tiny flame trapped like a firefly within the glass. “The creatures look like Automae, but—Made wrong. Their eyes and veins are pure black. Their mouths, too—it always looks like they’ve been drinking ink. At first I thought perhaps they were victims of some sort of plague that affects Automae. But they aren’t weakened by this—affliction. The opposite, actually. They’re almost unstoppable. They don’t seem to feel pain. If they attack something, they will not stop until that thing is destroyed. I have seen them keep fighting with all four limbs broken. With swords sticking out of their bellies. With their faces blown off by powder bombs.”