The night watchman looked like he wanted to find a deep pit to jump into.

“Forgive me, Your Highness.” He fumbled for his keys.

The door slid open on a shadowy entry. Two men were seated at a table. One wore military dress and the other the blue robes of a doctor. They looked a bit bleary, as if they’d been woken from their rest. They had a stack of papers before them—and a vial of some rusty orange liquid.

“Princess Ehri Kir-Taban brings word from her most exalted sister,” said the watchman breathlessly.

The soldier and the doctor rose and bowed, but their expressions were confused.

“My sister has had second thoughts about deploying the khergud for this particular mission,” said Ehri.

The doctor raised the vial of liquid. “We haven’t woken them yet. Should we scrap the whole thing?”

Ehri clasped her fingers together and Mayu knew it was to stop herself from fidgeting. “Yes. Yes, scrap the whole thing. But, while we’re here, we’d like to have a look around.”

The men exchanged an uncertain glance.

“My sister said I would be most impressed by the work you’ve accomplished here.”

“The queen spoke of me to you?” the doctor said in surprise. “I’m honored.”

Ehri smiled her warmest smile. “Then will you show my guards and me your remarkable project?”

The soldier eyed Tamar and Mayu in their black uniforms. “It might be best if they remained here. This is a top secret facility.”

The princess gave an amused laugh. “You think my sister doesn’t know that? She would never send me here without my guards.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why would you ask me to make myself defenseless?”

“I … I would never—”

“I have enemies in the government. All of the Taban do. Perhaps you see this as an opportunity to strike at my family?”

“We should take him in for questioning,” said Tamar.

“No!” The soldier held up his hands. “I have only loyalty for the Taban. Your guards are most welcome.”

Now Ehri smiled again. “Very good.” She gave a wave of her hand and the doctor scurried to a big metal door that had no business in a barn.

Mayu felt a chill move through her as the door creaked open. The room beyond was large and dimly lit.

“What is that smell?” Tamar asked. It was sweet, cloying.

“The sedative we use. It’s necessary to control the volunteers once they’re under the influence of parem. But they cannot do the work of creating khergud without it.”

The volunteers. He meant Grisha.

“We also use it on our khergud. They tend to get restless at night, since they have no real need for sleep anymore.”

What did he mean? Why would Reyem have no need for sleep?

The former dairy had been divided into three large areas. On the left was a kind of dormitory, a row of bunk beds and washbasins. Most of the occupants rested atop their blankets, their wasted chests rising and falling in rapid pants, their bodies little more than bones and waxen skin.

“How long—” Tamar swallowed. “How long can the volunteers be kept alive like this?”

“It varies,” said the doctor. “The older subjects have a harder time of it, but sometimes it just seems to be a question of will.”

A young man on a lower bunk lifted his head and looked at them with hollow eyes. He had flaxen hair, ruddy pink skin. He didn’t look Shu at all. Mayu nudged Ehri.

“Where do they come from?” Ehri asked.

“Oh, that’s Bergin. He’s from Fjerda.”

“And he came here willingly?” Tamar asked.

The doctor had the grace to look sheepish. “Well. Willingly enough after his first taste of parem.” He gestured to Bergin and the Grisha rose. He wore a kind of uniform—loose gray trousers and a tunic of the same fabric. Mayu saw desperation in his face, the same helplessness the other prisoners shared. But there was something else there too: rage. He was still angry. He was still fighting. “Bergin was a translator working for a shipping concern in Fjerda, but when his powers were discovered, he tried to flee the country. Our troops intercepted him and offered sanctuary.”

Fury flared in Bergin’s blue eyes. Mayu doubted the doctor’s story bore much resemblance to the truth. Bergin had probably been dosed by Shu troops and taken captive to serve as a “volunteer.”

“We’ve had him working on Locust.”

“Locust?” asked Tamar.

“The conversion from ordinary soldier to khergud is incredibly complicated, so we pair each volunteer with a soldier candidate for the duration. Of course, sometimes the volunteer dies before the work is complete, but we’re getting better at managing doses to prolong their lives.”

“Remarkable,” Tamar said, her voice sharp as a blade begging to draw blood. The doctor didn’t seem to notice, but Bergin did, his blue eyes suddenly more alert. He was leaning on one of the huge, slablike tables that took up the center of the room.

“This is where the great work is done,” said the doctor.

Mayu saw drills, bone saws, long pieces of brass and steel, a contraption that looked like it had been welded into the shape of a wing. The floor was made of some kind of metal and punctuated by large drains. To make it easy to wash away the blood. This isn’t an old dairy, she realized. It’s a slaughterhouse. This is the killing floor.

On the far right was a different kind of dormitory. The beds here were more like coffins, sealed brass sarcophagi.

“And these are our ironhearted children, the khergud.”

Here was the proof of Makhi’s program, of the torture of Grisha, of the abominations they’d created. But was her brother among them?

Tamar laid a hand on Mayu’s shoulder, and Mayu realized she was shaking.

“What are their names?” asked Ehri.

“Locust, Harbinger, Scarab, Nightmoth—”

“No,” said Mayu, unable to tamp down her anger. “Their real names.”

The doctor shrugged. “I don’t actually know.”

Mayu gripped the pommel of her talon sword, trying to control her frustration. She looked at the princess, willing Ehri to understand her need. Yes, they had their proof, but where was her brother?

“I’m curious,” said Ehri. “Is it safe to open the … containers?”