Winter

Seventy-Five

It had grown hot inside the cabinet and Cress’s left leg was tingling from too little blood flow when she finally forced herself to move. She didn’t want to. Uncomfortable as the cabinet was, it felt safe, and she was convinced that the moment she moved someone would shoot her.

But she couldn’t stay there forever, and time was not going to move any slower to accommodate her failing courage. Wiping her nose with the faux butterfly wing, she forced herself to nudge open the door.

The hallway light blinded her and Cress shrank back, hiding behind her arm. She was drained of emotions as she crawled out of the cabinet, peering each way down the servants’ hall.

Her eye caught on a smear of blood not far from the cupboard. Thorne. She flinched away and tried to erase the sight from her memory before it paralyzed her.

Cress pounded life back into her leg and slowly stood. She listened, but heard nothing but distant machines and the hum of whatever heating and water systems were working in these walls.

Steeling herself, she checked that the chip was still tucked in her dress before she picked up the gun. The antennae had fallen off again and she left them in the bottom of the cabinet.

Her stomach was in ropes, her heart in tatters, but she managed to backtrack to the corridor Thorne had mentioned. She paused at the corner, peeked her head around, and drew back, her heart pummeling her rib cage.

A guard was there.

She should have expected it. Would all of the elevators be under guard now? The stairwells too?

Hopelessness seeped into her already-delirious thoughts. They were looking for her, and she was vulnerable without Thorne, and she had no plan.

This wouldn’t work. She couldn’t do it alone. She was going to be caught and imprisoned and killed, and Thorne would be killed, and Cinder would fail, and they would all—

She balled her fists into her eyes, pressing them there until she felt the panic subside.

Be heroic, Thorne had said.

She had to be heroic.

Hardly daring to breathe for fear of drawing attention, she strained to think of another way to get to the fourth floor.

Footsteps approached. She scrambled behind a statue with a missing arm and curled into a ball.

Be heroic.

She had to focus. She had to think.

The coronation would begin soon. She had to be in the control center before it was over.

When the guard had gone, and she was relatively sure she wasn’t going to hyperventilate, Cress lifted her head and peeked around the statue. The hall wasn’t wide but it was crammed full of stuff, from cabinets and framed paintings to rolled area rugs and cleaning buckets.

An idea forming, she used the wall for support as she stood and took a few steps away from the statue. She braced herself, then ran at the statue and shoved her shoulder into it as hard as she could.

Her foot slipped from the force and she landed hard on one knee, clenching her teeth against a grunt. The statue tilted on its base. Back. Forth. Back—

Cress covered her head as the statue toppled toward her, hitting her on the hip before shattering on the floor. She pressed a silent scream into her knuckles, but forced herself to hobble back toward the elevator bank, crawling behind a stack of rolled-up area rugs.

It wasn’t long before the guard came running, darting past Cress’s hiding space.

She shoved down the pain in her bruised knee and hip and scurried out from behind the rugs. She ran as hard as she could toward the abandoned elevators. A yell of surprise echoed behind her. She collided into the wall and jabbed her finger into the call button. The doors slid open.

She stumbled inside. “Door, close!”

The doors drew shut.

A gun fired. Cress screamed as one bullet buried itself in the wall behind her. Another pinged off the closing doors before they clamped shut.

She fell against the wall and groaned, pressing her hand against her injured hip. She could already tell it was going to leave one enormous bruise.

The elevator started to rise and she realized after a moment that she hadn’t selected a floor. No doubt, the guard below would be monitoring it to see which floor she arrived at, anyway.

She had to be strategic. She had to think like a criminal mastermind.

Cress tried to prepare herself for whatever she would be faced with when the doors opened again. More guards. More guns. More endless corridors and desperate hiding places.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she struggled to picture the palace map she’d studied back at the mansion. She could envision the throne room easily, situated in the center of the palace, its balcony overhanging the lake below. The rest started to fill in as she focused. The private quarters for the thaumaturges and the court. A banquet hall. Drawing rooms and offices. A music room. A library.

And the queen’s system control center, including the broadcasting suite where the crown recorded their propaganda in comfort and security.

The elevator stopped at the third floor. Trembling, Cress hid the gun in the frilly folds of her skirt. The doors opened.

A crowd of strangers stood before her. Cress squeaked. Her feet itched to run, her brain screamed at her to hide—but there was no space to disappear into as the men and women eyed her with contempt and suspicion. Those closest to the elevator hesitated, like they were considering waiting for another. But then one person grumbled something and filed in, and the others followed.

Cress pressed her back against the far wall, but the crush of bodies didn’t come. Despite how crowded the elevator was, everyone was being careful not to get too close to her.

Her anxiety began to shrivel up. These people weren’t Lunar. These were the Earthen guests and, judging from their formal attire, they were heading down to the coronation.

The last thing she wanted was to be caught in a crowd of people heading to the coronation.

As the doors started to close, Cress cleared her throat. “Pardon me, but I’d like to get out here.”

She squeezed through, her crinkled skirt catching against the fine suits and gowns. Though there were many frowns cast in her direction, they gladly parted for her.

Because they thought she was Lunar. A real Lunar, with the ability to manipulate them, not just a shell.

“Thank you,” Cress muttered to the person who had stopped the doors from closing. She slipped into the elevator bank, pulse thumping.

Another beautiful hall. More striking views. A dozen pedestals showcasing statues and painted vases.

Cress found herself yearning for the rugged interior of the Rampion.

She tucked herself against a wall and waited until she was sure the elevator had gone before calling for a new one. She needed to go up one more floor. She had to find some stairs, or escape back into the servants’ halls. She felt too out in the open here. Too exposed.

A chime announced the arrival of a new elevator, and Cress spooked, darting out of sight. When the doors opened, they were filled with laughter and giggles, and Cress held her breath until the doors had closed again.

At the sound of voices coming from her left, Cress turned and headed right. She passed a series of black doors, their darkness sharply contrasted against the white walls. Each one was marked with a name and affiliation in gold script letters. REPRESENTATIVE MOLINA, ARGENTINA, AMERICAN REPUBLIC. PRESIDENT VARGAS, AMERICAN REPUBLIC. PRIME MINISTER BROMSTAD, EUROPEAN FEDERATION. REPRESENTATIVE ÖZBEK, SOUTH RUSSIA PROVINCE, EUROPEAN FEDERATION.

A door swung open and a woman with gray-blonde hair and a floor-length navy gown stepped out—Robyn Gliebe, Australia’s speaker of the house. When Cress had worked for Levana, she’d spent hours listening to Gliebe’s speeches regarding trade agreements and labor disputes. They had not been exciting hours.

Gliebe paused, startled to see Cress standing there. Cress hid the gun behind her back.

“Can I help you?” she said, asserting herself with narrowed, scolding eyes.

Of course, Cress would have to run into the only Earthen diplomat who wasn’t intimidated by a dodgy Lunar girl sneaking around her wing.

“No,” said Cress, ducking her head in apology. “You startled me, that’s all.” She moved past the woman, eyes lowered.

“Are you supposed to be up here?”

Hesitating, Cress glanced back. “I’m sorry?”

“Her Majesty guaranteed we would not be pestered during our stay. I think you should leave.”

“Oh. I’m … I have a message to deliver. I’ll just be a minute. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

Cress scooted backward, but the woman persisted, pulling her penciled eyebrows into a tight frown. Stepping forward, she held out her hand. “Who is your message for? I will see that he or she receives it.”

Cress stared down at the open palm, soft and wrinkled. “It’s … confidential.”

The woman pursed her lips. “Well, I’m afraid if you don’t leave immediately, I will have to call a guard to confirm your story. We were promised our privacy and I don’t—”

“Cress?”

Her heart hiccuped.

Kai.

He stood there blinking at her as if he thought she might be a trick.

An ocean’s worth of relief crashed into Cress, nearly knocking her off her feet. She braced herself with one hand against the wall. “Kai!” Shaking herself, she amended, “I mean, Emperor—Your Majesty.” She dipped into a flustered curtsy.

Brow drawn, Kai looked at the speaker. “Gliebe-dàren, you haven’t gone down yet?”

“I was just on my way,” said the woman, and though Cress didn’t meet her gaze, she could sense her distrust. “But I saw this girl and … as you know, we were guaranteed privacy on this floor, and I don’t think she should—”

“It’s all right,” said Kai. “I know this girl. I’ll take care of it.”

Cress studied the floor, listening to the crinkle of the taffeta skirt.

“With all due respect, Your Majesty, how can I be sure she isn’t manipulating you into siding with her?”

“With all due respect,” said Kai, sounding exhausted, “if she wanted to manipulate someone, why wouldn’t she have manipulated you into leaving her alone?”

Cress chewed on the inside of her cheek while a moment stretched out between them. Finally, the woman bowed. “Of course, you would know best. Congratulations on your forthcoming coronation.”

The woman’s footsteps clipped toward the elevator bank. When she had gone, Cress waited three whole seconds before launching herself into Kai’s arms with a sob she hadn’t known she’d been holding in.

Kai stumbled back in surprise, but returned the embrace, letting her cry into his very fine silk shirt.

The adviser made a strangled noise and Cress felt the handgun being lifted from her hand. She was glad to let it go.

“Calm down,” Kai said, stroking her hair. “You’re all right now.”

She shook her head. “They took Thorne. They shot him and they took him and I don’t know if he’s alive and I don’t know … I don’t know what they’re going to do to him.”

Cress gave up on speaking until the flood of sobs started to wane. Ducking her head, she pulled her hands back and swiped at her hot cheeks. “I’m sorry.” She sniffed. “I’m sorry. It’s just … really, really good to see you.”

“It’s all right.” Kai gently held Cress away so he could see her face. “Start from the beginning. Why are you here?”

She was trying to rein in the stampede of emotions when she saw the damp spot she’d left on his shirt. “Oh—aces. I’m so sorry.” She swiped at it with her fingers.

He gave her a little shake. “It’s fine. Cress. Look at me.”

She looked at him, rubbing her wrist across her eyes again. Despite the splotch she’d left, Kai was quite dapper in a cream-colored silk tunic. It was fastened with gold frogs and a sash striped with the colors of the Eastern Commonwealth flag: sea-foam green, teal blue, sunset orange. If the sash had been red, it would have been an exact replica of the outfit he’d been wearing when Cinder and the others had kidnapped him.

But no. He was already married. He was Queen Levana’s husband now, the man who was on his way to be crowned king consort of Luna.

Her focus darted to the side. Royal Adviser Konn Torin was wearing a basic black tuxedo and Cress could sense his concern despite his composure. He was holding the gun’s handle between two pinched fingers, looking about as comfortable with it as Cress had been.

“Cress?” said Kai, stealing back her attention.

She licked her lips. “Thorne and I were supposed to get to the system control center, but he was captured. They said something about taking him to a holding cell? And I got away, but now I—”

“Why are you trying to get to the control center?”

“To play another video Cinder recorded. It shows the queen—oh! You probably don’t know that Cinder is alive!”

Kai’s expression froze for a moment, before he tilted his head back and let out a long, slow breath. His eyes had a new light in them when he glanced at Konn Torin, but the adviser was watching Cress, unwilling to be relieved just yet.

“Cinder’s alive,” Kai repeated to himself. “Where is she?”

“She’s with Iko and Jacin and … it’s a long story.” Scrunching up her face, Cress felt the weight of time pressing down on her. She started to speak faster. “Jacin was going to see if he could find the letumosis antidote and distribute it to the outer sectors, because a lot of people are sick, including Princess Winter, and Scarlet too. Oh, and Levana took Wolf and we don’t know where he is, and now they have Thorne—!” Cress hid her face behind her hands in an effort to refrain from sullying Kai’s shirt any more than she already had. Kai rubbed her arms, but even in this sympathetic touch she could tell he was distracted.

Konn Torin cleared his throat. Sniffling, Cress lowered her hands and found a handkerchief being held out to her, extended at arm’s length as if Torin were afraid that her hysteria would rub off on him if he got much closer.

Cress took the handkerchief and held it to her nose. “Thank you.”

“What do you need?”

She dragged her attention back to Kai. “To rescue Thorne,” she said, without thinking. But then she remembered his last words to her. Be heroic. She gulped. “No, I … I need to get to the control center. I need to play this video over Levana’s broadcasting system. Cinder’s counting on it.”

Kai ran a hand through his hair. Cress flinched as he went from neat-and-tidy emperor to concerned teenage boy with that one movement. She could see his indecision. How badly he wanted to help, in contrast to how much danger his involvement could put his country in.

Cress felt time ticking away.

“Your Majesty.”

Kai nodded at his adviser. “I know. They’ll probably send a search party if I don’t show up soon. But I just need a minute to … to think.”

“What is there to think about?” said Torin. “You asked this girl what she needed, and she gave you a very concise answer. We all know you’re going to help her, so it seems like a waste of time to argue the pros and cons of such a decision.”

Cress fidgeted with her gloves, feeling the butterfly wings graze her arms. The adviser looked both stern and kind as he handed the gun back to her, handle first.

Cress shuddered. “You can keep it, if you want.”

“I don’t,” said Torin. “Neither do I intend to put myself into any situations in which I might want it.”

With a resigned sigh, Cress took it from him. She spent a moment considering where she might be able to store it, but her outfit didn’t offer any good solutions.

“Here.” Torin removed his tuxedo jacket and handed it to her. Cress hesitated, hearing Iko’s voice in her head—that doesn’t match at all!—before casting the voice away and allowing him to help her into the sleeves. She was drowning in the jacket, but already she felt more composed, less vulnerable.

“Thank you,” she said, finding an inside pocket and sliding the gun into it with an enormous sense of relief.

“His Majesty is expected to be in the main hall within the next two minutes,” Torin said, then passed his attention to a baffled Kai. “I’m confident I can delay them for at least fifteen more.”