“You deserve worse,” Crier spat. The word wedding brought up all the memories of that day: sitting in silence as handmaidens flitted around her, ornamenting her. Summoning Faye, begging her to deliver a hopeless letter. Crier felt the anger inside her solidifying, molten steel shaped into a blade. “I know everything you’re up to, Kinok. I know you’re looking for Tourmaline. I know you’ve been poisoning your own followers with Nightshade—although that was a mistake, wasn’t it? A failed experiment?” His face remained impassive, but Crier didn’t think she imagined the flicker of annoyance in his eyes. “I know you want to destroy the Iron Heart. To make our Kind dependent on you and you alone. I won’t let you do it.”

Would she?

Yesterday, she would have done anything to stop him. But . . .

That room.

The bodies.

The blood siphoned slowly from their veins.

Heartstone was a red gemstone, mined from the earth and imbued with alchemical energy. Everyone knew that.

“You won’t let me? Bold words from a girl in chains,” Kinok said lazily. “Your naivete continues to disappoint me, Lady Crier. Such a waste of your intelligence. Such a waste of your Reason. You could have joined me, you know. You still can. I’m very forgiving.” He crouched down, eye level with her, that dissecting gaze again. “I know you, Lady Crier. I have read every essay you’ve ever penned. You wanted so desperately to join the Red Council, didn’t you? To eventually take your father’s throne? We are more alike than you think. We both want power, Lady Crier. The difference is that I know how to take it.”

Crier bit her tongue. She watched him steadily, refusing to show weakness; she would not give him the satisfaction.

“It is not too late for you,” he continued. “Join me, and you will be so much more powerful than your father ever was. That old fool, making his nest in the bones of a dead civilization. Traditionalism.” He spoke it like a curse, like it tasted foul. “He had no vision. No concept of innovation. Imagine what we could create together, Lady Crier. Imagine it: Beautiful Automa cities free of filth. Our Kind, ruling as we were meant to. Humans are such base creatures. Dogs rolling in their own excrement. There is no hope for them; their growth has long since stagnated; their age has ended. But for our Kind . . . there is nothing but glory in our future. Eternal glory. Immortal glory.”

“You want to kill them all,” she said, hollow. And then be king. Forever.

“No, not all. And I don’t need to kill them. Banishment would be enough. Let the Mad Queen take them in; she loves them so.”

“You’re disgusting,” she said, meeting his eyes. “You’re nothing like me.”

“Oh?” He feigned surprise. “Please, enlighten me.”

“I don’t want power,” Crier said. “That’s not why I wanted to join the Red Council. I don’t care about being powerful. I want to make things better. I want to create a kinder world.” Her hands were trembling, her mind clear. “Your dream is monstrous. You don’t care how many die, you don’t care who you crush underfoot. I will never join you. I will fight you until my last breath.”