your endeavors,” Hesod responded.
What were they talking about? What endeavors?
Hesod was still speaking, and now his tone had turned somewhat warning. “To have been a Watcher of the Heart is a great honor, and we must ensure that honor is not tarnished,” he was saying.
Ayla blinked. Kinok was a Watcher? She thought they weren’t allowed to ever leave the Heart. That was the whole point, the sacrifice. They guarded the location of the Heart for their entire lives.
“It was an honor, yes,” said Kinok. “And a position I did not take lightly. Nor do I take my current work lightly.”
“I’ve always considered myself a guardian of the Heart,” said Hesod, sounding far away, as if he wasn’t really listening to Kinok. “At least from afar. As head of the council, it is my duty to ensure that the trading routes are clear and well guarded to make way for the shipments of heartstone. One could say I protect the veins of this land.”
“And the Watchers are ever thankful, Sovereign. We know the Heart requires so much of so many to keep its secrets safe.” Kinok paused. “Though it might help if you allowed Varn to trade across your borders, instead of forcing them to take to the sea.”
Keep its secrets safe. Kinok had to mean the location of the Iron Heart. Ayla’s breath caught in her throat; as a Watcher, Kinok knew where the Iron Heart was . . . its exact location. How it worked. He knew everything.
And he was standing only a few paces away from Ayla.
Of course, everyone knew the Heart was somewhere to the west, somewhere deep within the Aderos Mountains. The vast mountain range hid a massive mine, which produced heartstone: the mysterious red jewel that, when crushed into a fine dust, fed all Automae. According to Rowan, human rebels had tried many times to attack the caravans that carried shipments of heartstone dust all over Zulla, and every single time they’d failed; they’d lost dozens, sometimes hundreds, of human lives for every stolen gem, making it both a risky and ultimately futile effort. The supplies of heartstone seemed limitless.
Here was the crux of it: if leeches didn’t ingest the dust every day, they’d stop functioning. It was their lifeblood. Depriving them of heartstone dust was the easiest way to kill them—faster, even, than depriving a human of food or water. So of course they guarded the dust, and the Aderos Mountains, more heavily than anything else.
That was why finding the Iron Heart had become the obsession of the Revolution.
The key to the rebellion, the one piece of information that Rowan had been searching for tirelessly for as long as Ayla had known her.
And now, it was only a few paces away.
This was bigger than any uprising. Bigger than any of Rowan’s full moons.
Ayla’s heart fluttered like a bird’s wings in her chest. Hesod’s next words, Automa-quiet, were lost to her, but then there was another sound. A footstep on wet rock.
Then rustling.
Ayla was not spying alone.
5
It had been so long since Crier had properly slept that she was shocked to awaken and find herself in the gardens hours later, her Design scrolls still tucked into her sleeve. Night had fallen, crickets chirped. She had heard voices—that’s why she’d woken up. Now she steadied herself against a branch, trying not to rustle the flowers and leaves as she inched closer to the sound.
It was her father.
And Kinok.
Having, apparently, some sort of private conversation.
Crier frowned. For all her political aspirations, she had always disliked the way her father would take private meetings, or would shut himself away in the north wing and shuffle around lives and livelihoods like pieces on a chessboard, arranging them like he had the gardens, and his estate, and Crier’s engagement: logically, masterfully, neatly sidestepping every possible obstacle months or years before it even began to form. And now, this—a secluded conversation with Kinok, out here, in the darkness of the gardens. Her special place, where she came to think and be alone.
She had not meant to listen in, and it was not like she could hear much of anything above the wind and the crashing sea—but now that she was here, she was curious.
“—and far be it from me to spill such secrets, Sovereign,” Kinok said.
Secrets. It was bad enough being excluded from her father’s work—Crier could not stand the idea of him having secrets with Kinok. Part of her thought it better that she could not hear what they were