Now, it reflected the sunlight streaming in through the high windows, flashing gold. Over the last month or so, Ayla’s visits to Jezen had changed from visits to a sort of . . . apprenticeship, almost. Like Siena before her, Ayla found herself wanting to learn more and more about Making. As she grew steadier on her new leg, she began to wonder: What else could Automa technology, the science and magick of the Makers, do for her Kind? And Jezen had said: Let’s find out.

With Crier’s help, they’d been trying to learn more about the mysterious H. Thomas Wren had stolen her work and buried her name; history had forgotten her. She’d been lost. But Crier believed she could be found.

“Hey,” Ayla said. “Hey, Just Crier.”

Crier made a small noise of acknowledgment and did not look up from her book.

Ayla sighed wistfully. “Remember the old days, when I’d walk into a room and you’d just stare?” she asked. “You couldn’t take your eyes off me, and I tried so hard to keep mine off you. If only I’d known your attention would be so fleeting.” She flung an arm across her face, the picture of melodrama. “I can’t believe I lost you to books. Well—maybe I can.”

The corner of Crier’s mouth twitched. She still didn’t look up.

“I told you once I’m not a book to be read,” Ayla continued. “I take it back. I’m a book. Read me.”

Crier looked up. “We are in the library,” she hissed.

“Then read me a story.”

Crier’s eyes narrowed. It was lovely, the expression on her face. It made Ayla want to do and say a lot of things, most of them soft. Mostly she was grateful all over again that Crier’s eyes had shifted back to brown. It had taken ages for the sheen of silver to go away entirely, mist dissolving in the morning sun. Yora’s heart had been even more powerful, more potent, than any of them could have predicted; Siena had Designed it for a creature who required much more energy than the average Automae, and besides, magick that did not rely on human sacrifice was purer, undiluted by evil. As Kinok thought, it could have powered a physical vessel for much longer than heartstone—but that kind of energy took its toll. The glow, the burn, the silver eyes. The Midwives predicted the vessel would remain alive, but at a cost: the pain of a soul on fire. Scyres and Midwives from Rabu and Varn alike plus human alchemists from Tarreen had worked together to create a more functional Tourmaline: deep blue hearts that powered Automae like heartstone, but without the use of blood. Without the weight of human suffering. Without the lightning strike of too much power all at once. Right now, the Tourmaline was mined from the caves of Tarreen as per the treaty, but the Makers aimed to create an artificial version. An infinite source.

Eventually, like the rest of her Kind, Crier had been given a new heart.