safe, that could hold Kinok’s secrets. Information about the Iron Heart.
Maybe even the compass Crier had mentioned.
As sick and terrified as she felt, there was something too perfect about where she’d ended up.
She followed a guard through the stone door and into a small room lined with so many carpets and maps and tapestries that almost nothing of the floor and walls was visible.
To muffle sound, Ayla thought, and clenched her teeth.
The guards shut the door behind her, and she was alone, with Kinok.
He sat behind a large desk against one wall, the surface heaped with papers, books, more maps. A pot of ink, a quill. Beside it a bookshelf filled with leather-bound books. All of them fat and ancient-looking, the spines emblazoned with gold-stamped titles, long strings of words that Ayla couldn’t read, and—
This time, Ayla really did curse.
Because that was her necklace.
Her Made object. It was sitting in plain sight on Kinok’s bookshelf, between an odd little glass ball and a bunch of used nibs.
How did he get it so quickly, when she’d only just noticed it was missing? It seemed impossible. That his reach was so swift, that it was everywhere.
She tore her eyes away, but not fast enough. When she looked at Kinok he was already looking back at her, his own gaze flicking between her face and the bookshelf.
He knew. That’s why he brought her down here. This is a death sentence. Between the necklace and getting caught in Crier’s bed, she was as good as dead.
Or if not her, then Benjy. The chart. The red thread.
Her heart skittered in her chest as she met Kinok’s eyes, waiting for the sentence. For the noose, the knife, the great blade of the guillotine, the thing lurking in Kinok’s eyes. Whatever he said, she would fight it. Whatever he wanted to do to Benjy, she would stop it. She would—
“Where were you born, handmaiden?”
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t, not yet. Her body was tense as a harp string, blood pounding at her temples.
Was this a game?
Kinok snapped his fingers, a crack of sound, and she jolted.
“I asked you a question, handmaiden. Where were you born?”
“The village of Delan,” Ayla said. Her voice came out hoarse. “To the north.”
“You grew up there?”
Her stomach twisted. Yes, and no. She nodded.
“When did you first come to the palace?”
Her mind reeled. What was this line of questioning? Why are you doing this, she wanted to say, Why are you drawing it out, just get it over with, but instead she tried to calm down. Deep breaths.
“I came here five years ago,” she said.
“As a child, then.”
“No.” She hadn’t been a child anymore. That had been robbed from her long before.
His eyes flickered. “I see. And your family? Your parents—did they come with you? Do they work here as well?”
“Dead.”
“What were their names?”
“Why?” Ayla countered. “What does it matter?”
“I don’t think it’s your place to ask the questions.”
“Their names were Yann and Clara.”
“And your parents’ parents? What were their names?”
“My mother’s parents were Leo and Siena,” said Ayla. “But—my parents didn’t speak of them. Most in my village were like that about the past.” She tried and failed to keep the bitterness from her voice. “I’ve never known a bloodline that got out of the War unscathed. Never known a family tree that wasn’t missing most of its branches.”
“Humans don’t keep records?” He seemed casually intrigued, like they were at market discussing the rising prices of tea. “You don’t copy down your own history? Your own blood?”
“We did,” said Ayla. “And then Sovereign Hesod burned my village to the ground.”
She and Kinok met each other’s eyes and neither of them blinked.
“Very well,” said Kinok. He still looked perfectly pleasant, but his jaw was perhaps a little tighter than it had been before they started talking, and that fact made a wicked tendril of satisfaction break through the fog of Ayla’s suspicion and fear. It seemed that whatever he was looking for, he hadn’t found.
What would he do now? Dispose of her? Refer to his handy chart and trace the line straight to Benjy? What if this was her only chance?
“I was wondering something,” she said boldly, trying to keep her shaky voice still. “I hear you were a Watcher. But Watchers never leave the Heart, do they?”
It was more than bold. It was ridiculous. The desperate act of someone who knew she was at her last shot.
He smiled. “I don’t remember granting you permission to ask any questions.”