“That’s not going to happen,” said Benjy, but there was a hint of doubt in his voice. “And—either way, I don’t think you have any right to preach about pure intentions.”

“Neither do you, after last night.”

He sneered at her. “Oh, screw off, Ayla. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You are so naive, you’ve always been so damn naive.”

“If you think I’m the naive one, you’re mad,” she spat. “But fine. Go ahead, make nice with her majesty. Just don’t let yourself grow soft, Benjy.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got a spine,” he said, and stormed out of the library.

The door fell shut behind him. Ayla stayed where she was for a few minutes, trying to get herself under control. Her hands were shaking. She’d never fought with Benjy like this before. They’d had disagreements, petty arguments, childhood spats, but never a fight like this.

What, are you jealous?

No.

But whenever she closed her eyes, she saw Benjy and Junn dancing. Junn tipping her head back to look up at the night sky, the curve of her throat gleaming bronze in the candlelight. In that moment, Junn hadn’t looked like the Mad Queen. She hadn’t even looked like a leech.

She’d just looked like a girl.

No, Ayla couldn’t think like that. Because if she did, she’d think of—

That one night. Curled up in Crier’s bed, in Crier’s bedroom, in the place where she slept. Or more often read, or simply lay awake, staring up at the ceiling for hours. Big four-poster bed. Canopied in delicate white gossamer, like cobwebs. It should have felt like sleeping in a spider’s nest. It didn’t. Nothing with Crier ever felt like it was supposed to feel. Moonlight spilling in through the windows, blue blue blue. The night air and the blankets and the halls of Ayla’s heart, all blue.

A whispered question. How can I help?

This isn’t a game, Crier, Ayla had whispered back. Soft words into the blue between them. This isn’t a faerie story in one of your books. This is life and death.

I’m serious. Let me prove it to you.

And another night. Same place. But this time, Ayla was standing over the bed with one arm raised.

If Ayla thought of Crier as just a girl, it would mean she’d brought a knife into that soft blue room for absolutely nothing. So she couldn’t think like that. She couldn’t.

Blue-smoke weapons forgotten, Ayla left the library and navigated the hallways back to her room.

“Ayla!”

As she turned the corner, she heard Storme call her name. He caught up to her, falling into step beside her.

“I’ve been looking for you. Thought maybe you were avoiding me,” she said.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” he said. “Come, follow me. I’ve been cooped up in the strategy room all day, I need fresh air and sunlight. Maybe some wine. Maybe an entire roasted chicken. But I think we should start with the sunlight.”