“Brace yourselves,” Bree muttered. “Any second now, they’ll start firing arrows.”

“They won’t,” said Crier. “Not if you stay behind me. I told you. He wants me alive.”

She started forward again, and the five of them followed. Compared to the army before them, they were nothing. Six against two hundred. Not the best odds.

Though—in the end, wasn’t it six against one?

Crier only stopped when she could see the whites of Kinok’s eyes. Barely fifty paces between them now. And the strangest thing was happening: as Crier drew closer, Kinok’s army drew back. Not on Kinok’s orders, not on anyone’s orders. The councilmembers holding the front lines were breaking formation, backing into each other, exhibiting a kind of mass gracelessness Crier had never witnessed from her own Kind. At first, she didn’t understand why they were backing away. Why they were looking at her like that.

“They’re scared,” said Hook, as if listening to her thoughts. “Crier. They’re scared of you.”

Oh.

A voice rang out across the space between them. “Hold your ground!” Kinok ordered, and Crier’s attention was on him again, and, oh, oh, he looked furious. “I said hold your ground!”

His army went still. But the fear on their faces—cold fear, Automa fear, a slight widening of the eyes, a tightening of the jaw—remained. Kinok couldn’t order that away.

He couldn’t control it.

He couldn’t even keep it off his own face.

Crier squared her shoulders like Ayla did, holding her chin high. “Kinok,” she said, not bothering to raise her voice too much. They were Automae. They would hear her. She held out her arms, palms up, the glowing runes on full display. “Guess what I found.”

“You didn’t,” he said. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did. Yora’s heart. Tourmaline. I have it; I know how to create and activate it. I know how to turn Tourmaline into a life source. Our next life source.” Then, to his followers: “I am living proof that Kinok cannot give you what you seek,” she said. “He can’t even keep you alive. He’s the one who destroyed the Iron Heart!”

That got their attention. More than one head turned to look at Kinok, a ripple of movement.

“The days of heartstone are over,” Crier continued. “What can the Scyre offer you? Nightshade? The black dust that drives you mad, eats away at your body and mind without ever letting you die? The black dust he’s been using to poison his most loyal followers?” She took a shaky breath, thinking of Rosi, of the countless others who had died in one of the worst ways imaginable, Nightshade eating away at their minds. “Scyre Kinok is a traitor and a murderer. He is tricking you. He doesn’t care about Anti-Reliance—he doesn’t care about anything but power. He wants to kill my father and take the throne and you were just pawns in his game. He would kill all of you in a heartbeat.”

“I implore you, do not listen to this foolish little girl,” Kinok said lazily, all traces of fear replaced by arrogance. “You remember Lady Crier: a naive child with nothing better to do than spin stories. Every word from her mouth is a lie, same as her father. Look at her, look what she’s become!” He flung out an arm, gesturing at her, as if everyone wasn’t already looking. “She is a spineless, Reasonless human sympathizer! She is a traitor to her Kind!”