“And the only one who can keep our Kind alive,” Crier said, and reached up to undo the pin at her throat. Her shirt fell open where Ayla had made the cut, exposing Crier’s collarbone, the tip of her sternum—and the place where Yora’s heart beat within her chest. The epicenter, her new core. You could practically see the heart through her skin, like looking at the sun through a piece of parchment; the entire left side of Crier’s chest was pulsing with a pale blue glow. “See for yourselves,” she said, addressing the army, the Automae. “The power of Tourmaline.”

The murmurs were growing louder. More and more heads were turning in Kinok’s direction, but not because they were awaiting his orders. Crier saw the outrage on their faces, the suspicion, the mistrust, the burgeoning signs of dissent. It spurred her on.

“It’s over, Kinok,” she said. “Queen Junn’s army is waiting for you at the palace. They outnumber you by a thousand. It’s over. You failed to create a new life source. You failed to find Yora’s heart. You failed to transmute Tourmaline. This is your last chance to do something right. Will you march to certain death? Or will you surrender now and live?” She raised her voice. “Every single one of you has a choice. Death, or surrender?”

“And what happens if I surrender?” Kinok said, and his voice was high and raw. “Imprisonment? Public execution? That’s not a choice, you stupid girl.” He whirled around to face his followers. “With time, I can transmute Tourmaline. I can promise you eternal life. Eternal power. Cities free of human filth. Remember why you’re fighting with me, remember why you chose me. Because Traditionalism—her father’s doctrine—is holding you back. We can do away with it, we can create a new society. We can all be kings.”

“You would never share the throne,” said Crier.

“Shut up, you wretch—”

“Scyre.” It was Councilmember Paradem who had spoken. “If even half of what she says is true, you have already broken your promises.”

“It’s not true!” Kinok said. “Oh, you’re just as much a fool as she is. You’re all so weak, so easily swayed, I should have known you’d turn on me. You’re supposed to be the superior Kind, but you’re no better than humans. Made of nothing but filth and fear.” He turned his back on them—and started for Crier. He moved fluidly, first in a walk and then a run, closing the space between them in mere seconds. He stopped barely ten paces from her and drew his sword, moonlight catching the blade. The same sword, some part of Crier registered, that had only three days ago bitten into Ayla’s skin.

“Kinok,” Crier said, heartbeat quickening. “You can still surrender.”

“Shut up,” he sneered. “Shut your mouth, you’ve said enough. You won’t give me a Tourmaline heart? Fine. I’ll cut it out of your chest myself. Right after I cut out your lying tongue.”

Behind her, Crier heard Hook and the others shifting positions, readying their own weapons. Preparing to defend her. She tensed up, terrified that Kinok would attack them first just to get them out of the way, but his eyes never left Crier’s face. Oddly, he didn’t even seem to notice her companions. They were right there, all five of them right at her back, and it was like their presence didn’t even register in his mind. Because they’re humans, Crier realized.