Winter

Ninety-One

“I told you, I’m fine,” Scarlet insisted, though her tone was weary. “It’s just been a really long few months.”

“‘Fine’?” Émilie screeched. By the way her eyes blurred and her blonde curls took up the screen, Scarlet could tell that the waitress—the only friend she had back in Rieux—was holding her port far too close to her face. “You have been missing for weeks! You were gone during the attacks, and then the war broke out, and I found those convicts in your house and then—nothing! I was sure you were dead! And now you think you can send me a comm and ask me to go throw some mulch on the garden like everything is … is fine?”

“Everything is fine. Look—I’m not dead.”

“I can see you’re not dead! But, Scar, you are all over the news down here! It’s all anyone will talk about. This … this Lunar revolution, and our little Scarling in the center of it all. They’re calling you a hero in town, you know. Gilles is talking about putting up a plaque in the tavern, about how Rieux’s own hero, Scarlet Benoit, stood on this very bar and yelled at us all, and we’re so proud of her!” Émilie craned her head, as if that would allow her to see more in Scarlet’s background. “Where are you, anyway?”

“I’m…” Scarlet glanced around the lavish suite of Artemisia Palace. The room was a thousand times more extravagant than her little farmhouse, and she hated it with a great passion. “I’m still on Luna, actually.”

“Luna! Can I see? Is it even safe up there?”

“Ém, please stop screaming.” Scarlet rubbed her temple.

“Don’t you tell me to stop screaming, Mademoiselle Too-Busy-to-Send-a-Comm-and-Let-Me-Know-You’re-Not-Dead.”

“I was a prisoner!” Scarlet yelled.

Émilie gasped. “A prisoner! Did they hurt you? Is that a black eye or is it just my port, because my screen’s been acting up lately…” Émilie scrubbed her sleeve over the screen.

“Listen, I promise I will tell you the whole story when I get home. Just, please tell me you’re still watching the farm. Please tell me I have a home to go back to?”

Émilie scowled. Despite her hysteria, she’d been a welcome sight. Pretty and bubbly and so far removed from everything Scarlet had been through. Hearing her voice reminded Scarlet of home.

“Of course I’m still watching the farm,” said Émilie, in a tone that suggested she was hurt Scarlet had doubted it. “You asked me to, after all, and I didn’t want to think you were dead, even though … even though everyone believed it, and I did too for a while. I’m so glad you’re not dead, Scar.”

“Me too.”

“The animals are fine and your android rentals are still coming … you must have paid them very far in advance.”

Scarlet smiled tightly, recalling something about how Cress had set up a few payments in her absence.

“Scar?”

She raised her eyebrows.

“Did you ever find your grand-mère?”

Her heart had built up a strong-enough wall that the question didn’t knock the breath out of her, but Scarlet still felt the pang of remembering. It was impossible to keep away the memories of the prisons beneath the opera house. Her grandmother’s broken body. Her murder, as Scarlet watched and could do nothing.

This and this alone was the one thing she dreaded about returning home. The house wouldn’t be the same without her grandmother’s bread rising in the kitchen or her muddy boots left in the entry.

“She’s dead,” Scarlet said. “She died in the first attacks on Paris.”

Émilie’s face pinched. “I’m so sorry.”

A silence crept in, that moment when there was nothing appropriate to say.

Scarlet straightened her spine, needing to change the subject. “Do you remember that street fighter who was coming into the tavern for a while?”

Émilie’s expression lit up. “With the eyes?” she asked. “How could a girl forget?”

Scarlet laughed. “Yeah, well. It turns out he’s Lunar.”

Émilie gasped. “No.”

“Also, I’m kind of dating him.”

The view on the screen shook as Émilie clasped a hand over her mouth. “Scarlet Benoit!” She stammered for a moment, before—“It’s going to take weeks for you to explain this all to me, isn’t it?”

“Probably.” Scarlet brushed her hair over one shoulder. “But I will. I promise. Look, I should go. I just wanted you to know I’m all right, and to check on the farm—”

“I’ll tell everyone you’re safe. But when are you coming home?”

“I don’t know. Soon, I hope. And, Ém? Please don’t let Gilles put up a plaque about me.”

The waitress shrugged. “I make no promises, Scarling. You are our little hero.”

Scarlet clicked off the portscreen and tossed it onto the bed. Sighing, she glanced out the window. Below, she could see the destruction of the courtyard and hundreds of people trying to put it back together.

Artemisia was beautiful in its own way, but Scarlet was ready for fresh air and home-cooked food. She was ready to go home.

A knock sounded at the door and it opened, just a bit at first, Wolf hesitant on the other side. Scarlet smiled and he dared to come in, shutting the door behind him. He was holding a bouquet of blue daisies and looking immensely guilty.

“I was eavesdropping,” he confessed, hunching his shoulders beside his ears.

She smirked, teasingly. “What’s the point of superhuman hearing if you don’t eavesdrop once in a while? Come in. I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

Wolf took another step and paused. He had a slight limp from the bullet that had hit his side, but it was healing fast. That was one thing to be said for the alterations—Wolf had certainly been made to be tough.

On the outside, at least.

He frowned at the flowers, his ferocious teeth digging into his lower lip.

He’d left to go back to the house that morning—his childhood home. Though his mother’s body had already been taken out to one of the great graveyards in the wasteland of Luna, it had been important to him that he see the house one last time. To see if there was anything worth saving there, anything to remember his parents by, or even his brother.

Scarlet had offered to go with him but he wanted to do it alone.

She understood. Some things had to be done alone.

“Did you … find anything?”

“No,” he said. “There was nothing I wanted. Everything from my childhood was gone, and … she didn’t have much, you know. Except these.”

He approached her, unable to hold eye contact, and handed her the bouquet of flowers. Over half of their delicate stems had been crushed or snapped in Wolf’s indelicate fists.

“When I was a kid, I used to pick wildflowers for my grand-mère. She would keep them in a jar until they started to wilt, then press them between parchment paper so they’d last forever. I bet she has an entire box full of dried flowers somewhere.” She trailed a finger around some of the soft petals. “That’s what we’ll do with these. In honor of Maha.” She arranged the flowers in a half-full water glass that had been brought with her breakfast.

When she turned back, Wolf had nudged aside the portscreen and lowered himself onto the edge of the enormous bed. Scarlet was pretty sure the linens had been made by slave labor, and the thought made her uncomfortable every time she crawled into them.

As soon as he was sitting, Wolf’s leg started bouncing with anxious energy. Scarlet squinted at it. This wasn’t mourning.

He was nervous.

“What is it?” she said, sinking beside him. She set her hand on his knee and it froze.

His bright eyes found her. “You told your friend we’re dating.”

Scarlet blinked, and a sudden laugh tickled her throat, but at Wolf’s distraught face she held it back. “It seemed easier than trying to explain the whole alpha mate system.”

He looked down at his fidgeting hands. “And … you told her you’ll be going back to the farm.”

“Of course I’m going back to the farm.” She cocked her head, starting to grow anxious herself. “I mean, not tomorrow, but once things have calmed down.”

Wolf’s opposite knee started to bounce instead.

“Wolf?”

“Do you still—” He scratched behind his ear. “Do you still want me to come back with you? Now that I’m … that I…” He sucked in a quick breath. “Do you still want me?”

Wolf seemed like he was in pain. Actual pain. Her heart softened.

“Wol—” She paused and swallowed. “Ze’ev.”

His eyes snapped to her, surprised. The portscreen chimed, but Scarlet ignored the comm. She shifted on the bed so she could face him and tucked one foot beneath his thigh. She said firmly, “I still want you.”

His jogging leg slowly stilled. “It’s just … I know I’m not what you had in mind.”

“Is that so? Because I was envisioning a big strapping fellow who can chop firewood and master the post-hole digger, and you certainly fit that description. I mean, my grandma and I got along just fine, but honestly … I’m looking forward to having the help.”

“Scarlet—”

“Ze’ev.” She tilted his face toward her. She didn’t flinch when she looked at him. Not at his enormous teeth or his monstrous hands. Not at the inhuman slope to his shoulders or the way his jaw protruded from his cheekbones. It was all superficial. They hadn’t changed him. “You’re the only one, Ze’ev Kesley. You’ll always be the only one.”

His eyebrows rose in recognition of the words he’d once said to her.

“I’m not going to say it won’t take some getting used to. And it might be a while before we can convince the neighbor kids not to be terrified of you.” She smoothed down a lock of his hair. It popped right back up. “But we’ll figure it out.”

His body sagged. “I love you,” he whispered.

Scarlet slipped her hands through his crazy hair. “Really? I couldn’t tell.”

The portscreen chimed again. Scowling, she reached over and silenced it, then leaned into Wolf, nudging his nose with hers. Wolf hesitated for only a moment before kissing her. Scarlet sank against him. It was as tender a kiss as any half-man, half-wolf mutant had ever given.

When he pulled away, though, he was frowning. “Do you really think the neighbor kids will be afraid of me?”

“Definitely,” she said. “But I have a feeling you’ll win them over in the end.”

His eyes crinkled. “I’ll do my best.” Then his smile turned wicked. His hand gathered the material at the small of Scarlet’s back and he fell back on the bed, pulling her down beside him.

“Scarlet! Scar—oh.”

They both froze. Groaning, Scarlet pushed herself up onto her elbows. Iko was half inside her suite, gripping the door handle. Her android body was covered in bandages, which were purely aesthetic, but there weren’t a whole lot of android supply shops on Luna and she’d told Scarlet she was sick of everyone staring at her.

“Sorry! I should have knocked. But you weren’t answering your comms and—” Iko beamed, with more happiness than a person who ran on wires and power cells should have possessed. “Cinder’s awake!”