Crier didn’t answer.

“Rosi of House Emiele,” Ayla murmured. She had no sympathy for Rosi, who worshipped Kinok and had once referred to Ayla as Crier’s pet. But Crier had known her for years, and Crier had just watched her die. “From light you were born, and to light you shall return. Go now into the stars. They’ve been . . . they’ve been waiting for you.”

She tapped two fingers to her forehead. Crier did the same, and in the sunlight her eyes burned gold, and her lashes were wet with tears.

By the time they’d dragged themselves back up the mountainside, the Watchers had come.

“Stay down,” Ayla hissed. They crouched behind one of the stone sentinels, watching in horror as the rebels, alive but clearly injured, many of them slumped over as if unconscious, were bound together at the wrists by Automae in black robes, their faces hidden with silvery metal masks. The Watchers of the Heart. Ayla had never seen one, never met anyone who’d seen one; the whole point was that the Watchers never, ever left.

Until one.

Crier cocked her head, listening intently. “Someone just said Kinok’s name,” she whispered. “He’s—he’s here. Inside the Heart. The Watchers are saying—‘Bring them to Scyre Kinok. Await his orders.’” She sucked in a breath. “One just said, ‘The lady and the handmaiden aren’t here. Keep searching the mountains.’”

Ayla cursed. “How in all hells does he know we’re nearby?”

“Shouldn’t we do something?” Crier whispered. “You still have the powder bomb, we could create a diversion. . . .”

“There are six Watchers, and Dinara’s people are tied up,” Ayla whispered back. “One powder bomb wouldn’t give us enough time to untie them all, and anyway, there’s no way we could fight off six Watchers.”

“But—”

“Just Crier,” Ayla said, nudging her. “I’m not saying we’re not going to save them. I’m just saying we’re not going to do it right now.” She narrowed her eyes, trying to make out what exactly was happening. One of the Watchers was sort of . . . running their hand over a large boulder in the mountainside, where the walls of the bowl rose up. “Trust me, I’d love an explosion, I’m really looking forward to using that bomb, but we have to be smart about this.”

Crier nodded. “All right, that’s— Wait. Look.”

The Watcher had stopped running their hand over the boulder. Instead, they were pressing their hand to a specific spot. They were leaning forward a little, as if putting some effort into it. At first, nothing happened—and then the stone beneath the Watcher’s hand shifted, solid granite rippling like water, and a seam appeared in the very center of the boulder. A fracture, then an opening, the boulder itself splitting apart like an oyster shell. Revealing . . . darkness. Black rock?

No. The mouth of a tunnel.

“There it is,” Ayla breathed, more to herself than Crier.

The Watchers moved quickly. It took only a couple minutes for them to herd the rebels into the tunnel, into the darkness. Then the last two Watchers were following them through, and the boulder shifted back, the two halves rejoining, completely seamless. Ayla had just witnessed it, and still it seemed impossible that the boulder could really open like that, a door hidden in plain sight.