“But it’s not being used by the Rabunians,” Junn said slowly. “It didn’t come from the sovereign. The Tarreenians created it themselves.”

Storme nodded. “And if the sovereign wants it, he’ll have to take it by force. He might claim to rule over Tarreen, but he has no real foothold there. The Tarreenians are mostly human, after all. He provides nothing for them; he barely acknowledges their existence. The Tarreenians are few, but they rule themselves. And even the Automae among them despise Sovereign Hesod.” He met the queen’s eyes head-on, and Ayla had to admit he did look like someone who could advise a queen. Young as he was, obnoxious as he was when they argued, he was worthy of his title, and despite everything Ayla felt a rush of pride. “Your majesty,” he continued, “if we can forge an alliance with the Tarreenians, perhaps we can use this new weapon.”

“I need to think,” Junn said, sounding like the girl she was. “I need to think. And you need rest, adviser. When was the last time you slept?”

“Two days ago, I think,” said Storme, sounding almost sheepish.

The queen sighed. “Go to the marshal, and then to bed.”

Ayla glanced between them. They definitely seemed more familiar than queen and adviser. She could have sworn she’d seen a flicker of warmth in Junn’s eyes just now, even as she reprimanded Storme.

Then again, Ayla thought sourly, Junn had been dancing and laughing with Benjy just a couple hours ago. Maybe she was overly familiar with everyone.

The three of them parted. Ayla wanted so badly to grab Storme’s sleeve, to keep him close, to make sure he wouldn’t disappear again, but she knew that was a childish urge. It had been a long night, two days without rest for Storme, and they both needed sleep.

He’d promised they would talk tomorrow. Ayla would believe him. She had to. Her brother was back from the dead—she wouldn’t let him disappear a second time.

8

The humans’ camp was a ways down the river, hidden within a copse of fir trees. It was really just a small section of forest floor with the undergrowth cleared away, creating enough space for a campfire and a few sleeping mats. Another pony was tied nearby, a fat little roan. The humans rode ponies and workhorses, not thoroughbreds like Della. Crier was hoping they wouldn’t notice how fine Della was. During the short ride to the campsite, Crier came up with a backstory for herself. It was a welcome distraction from the horror of the past few hours: Rosi attacking her, the monsters on the riverbanks, their burning bodies. Crier decided she was a human girl from the northwest, the foothills of the Aderos Mountains—far from the capital city and the sovereign’s palace. Her parents were dead and she had no siblings. She was on her way to the port towns on the coast of the Steorran Sea, where she would board a ship for Thalen, the capital city of Varn. She was going to Varn because Rabu held nothing for her anymore.