So her suspicions were correct. This was the end result of Kinok’s Nightshade. This was what had happened to Rosi. And this had to be why Kinok was so desperate to find Tourmaline. His experiment had failed.

He must be furious.

Crier almost smiled, until she remembered the Shades were her own Kind. Those two Shades from the river—who were they? Nobles from the southern estates? Travelers? Just two Automae from a nearby town? They had to be Kinok’s followers, supporters of the Anti-Reliance Movement, but still. Nobody deserved a fate like that.

Kinok does, Crier thought, surprising herself.

“Where does Nightshade come from?” she asked Hook, still trying to figure out how much these humans knew.

He exchanged a glance with one of the others—the one who’d said Hurrah. She was either Bree or Mir, one of the two who had retrieved the second monster’s body and dragged it across the river to be burned. Unlike the others, she looked more Varnian than Rabunian, with curly hair the color of summer wheat.

Bree-or-Mir leaned forward, the glowing embers casting odd shadows across her face. “If you’ve been traveling alone for so long . . . how much do you know about the Scyre called Kinok?”

How much would Ayla, the runaway human from the northwest, know?

No, that wasn’t the right angle to take. Crier wanted as much information about Kinok as she could get, anything she could use to take him down, and she had no interest in protecting any of his secrets. As long as she didn’t say anything that incriminated her as Lady Crier, she could tell these humans anything. They wanted the same thing she did, in the end.

“The last time I stopped in a village,” Crier said, choosing her words carefully, “I spoke with a servant girl who had escaped the sovereign’s palace.”

Now she had everyone’s attention. Eight pairs of eyes were fixed on her.

“I’ll trade my information for yours,” she said.

Hook snorted. “Fair enough, my friend. But all we know is Scyre Kinok’s connected to Nightshade. We’ve got a contact—well. We had a contact.” He closed his eyes, tapping his sternum with two fingers, and the other rebels did the same. Crier quickly copied them. “May the stars find you well, Rowan,” Hook said softly.

“Stars find you well,” the humans murmured in unison, but Crier was too stunned to do the same. Rowan. She knew that name. Rowan, the woman from the riot at Elderell—a village barely a day’s journey from here. The woman Ayla knew. The woman who had been killed right in front of them, throwing Ayla into a silent, blank-eyed grief.

“Before she died, Rowan was the best contact we had. The best any of us had. She said the Scyre created this Nightshade. As a backup plan, maybe. The leeches know if the Iron Heart runs out of heartstone—or, better, we’re finally able to destroy it—they’re doomed. They’re probably terrified.” He sounded quite pleased about it.