Ayla coughed. “You can, um. I think your clothes are dry.”

“Right,” said Crier. She stood, swayed, and fell, ground lurching up to meet her. She landed hard on her side.

“Hey!” Ayla yelped, and Crier heard footsteps. A hand on her shoulder, a tight grip. “What—are you sick? Can you get sick? Is it your injuries? I thought they were healing, you said they were—”

“Heartstone,” Crier mumbled, blinking hard. The world swam, refocused. “Haven’t had . . . heartstone. Two days now.” She pushed herself upright. “It’s fine. Still a few days before the need becomes dire.”

Ayla gave her a doubtful look. “You just collapsed.”

“I didn’t collapse. I lost my balance. Like you said this morning—lightheadedness. It’s fine.” She took a deep, steadying breath, trying to clear away the fog behind her eyes.

“Does human food help?” Ayla asked. “You should’ve told me.” An odd note in her voice. “I wouldn’t have just eaten everything myself.”

“Human food doesn’t help. It would alleviate the empty feeling, but only for a few minutes. I cannot absorb energy from it.”

“Oh.”

Crier nodded, pressing the backs of her hands to her cheeks. “It’s fine,” she said again. “I just feel weaker than usual. I apologize for concerning you.” No, too much. She winced, waiting for the inevitable I wasn’t concerned!, but it didn’t come.

“Okay,” Ayla said instead. “Before anything else, we need to get you more heartstone.” She caught Crier’s expression and huffed. “Don’t look so shocked! We can’t do anything if you’re going to fall over every time you stand up. Today we filled my belly, tomorrow we’ll fill yours.”

“Buying heartstone is more dangerous than foraging for mushrooms,” Crier said. “We’ll have to find a village or town, we’ll have to disguise ourselves, we’ll have to find a way to pay for it. . . .”

“Or,” said Ayla.

Crier raised her eyebrows. Ayla’s face was doing something decidedly shifty. Fox-like. It felt like the kind of expression that could only preclude a terrible idea. “Or . . . ?” she prompted.

“Or . . . A lot of this farmland belongs to Varnian nobles, right? Like the southern estates up in Rabu. Lots of rich Automae around here. Lots of estates. It’s better for us to stay out of the open anyway, right? I don’t know if there are any Shades around here, but I don’t want to risk it.”

“True,” Crier said slowly.

“Bet we could trick some nobleman into feeding us for a night.”

She was still crouched in front of Crier, though she’d long since let go of Crier’s shoulder. A tiny pathetic thought: the warmth of Ayla’s touch rivaled the afternoon sun. Crier imagined her skin turning gold, a patch of gold in the shape of Ayla’s hand, gold sinking beneath her skin, into her bones. How ridiculous: needing heartstone after a touch like that.

“Do you—?” Ayla started, then made a face. The concern had faded from her features; now she was looking skyward, lips pressed into a thin line. “Do you think . . . maybe . . . you want to put some clothes on?”