Crier's War (Crier's War, #1)

by Nina Varela

Justice was a god, and Ayla didn’t believe in such childish things. She believed in blood.

Like she was more than a human girl. Like she was a summer storm made flesh.

Ayla’s face was fascinating. Crier had seen her barely twice and she already knew this like she knew the constellations.

For some reason, Ayla’s outrage—over a story, over her words, over, maybe her—made Crier smile. A thought came to her: a story of its own, one that had only just begun writing itself in her mind: a story of two women, one human, one Made, who told ancient faerie stories to each other. Who splashed each other at the edge of the water. Who whispered the beauty of snow and the fear of death into the darkness of a late autumn evening.

A drop of water gleamed on Ayla’s lower lip. Strangely, it made Crier want to—drink.

“It means I saw the way your Lady Crier looks at you,” said Storme. “It means I saw the way you look at her. The way you spoke to her. The way you almost touch her, sometimes.”

“I know you’re looking at me,” Crier said, and Ayla looked away so quickly that she nearly knocked her head against the carriage window. “I can tell. I can always tell.”

Crier moved at the exact same time, hands flying up to frame Ayla’s face, and they were kissing.

Crier had been Designed. Crier was Made. But in the moment Ayla first touched her, Crier had learned what it felt like to be born.

“Humanity is how you act, my lady,” said Jezen. “Not how you were Made.”