Текст книги "Scarlet"

Автор книги: Marissa Meyer

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Seventeen

The train’s corridor was buzzing with activity. Making her way to the dining car, Scarlet passed servant androids delivering boxed lunches, a woman in a stiff business suit talking sternly at her port, a waddling toddler curiously opening every door he passed.

Scarlet dodged them all, through half a dozen identical cars, past the myriad passengers who were on their way to normal jobs, normal vacations, normal shopping trips, perhaps even going back to normal homes. Her emotions gradually started to fall away from her—her irritation with the media for demonizing a sixteen-year-old girl, only to discover that girl had escaped from prison and was still on the loose. Her sympathy for Wolf’s violent childhood, followed by the unexpected rejection when he chose not to come with her. The fluctuating terror over her grandmother and what could be happening to her now, while the train careened too slowly through the countryside, tempered only by the knowledge that at least she was on her way. At least she was getting closer.

Her mind still spinning like a kaleidoscope, she was glad to find the dining car relatively empty. A bored-looking bartender stood inside a circular bar, watching a netscreen talk show that Scarlet had never liked. Two women were drinking mimosas at a small table. A young man was sitting with his legs up in a booth, tapping furiously on his port. Four androids loitered beside the wall, waiting to make deliveries out to the private cars.

Scarlet sat down at the bar, setting her port beside a glass of green olives.

“What will you have?” asked the bartender, still focused on the interview between the host and a washed-up action star.

“Espresso, one sugar, please.”

She settled her chin on her palm as he punched her order into the dispenser. Sliding her finger across the portscreen, she typed,

THE ORDER OF THE PACK

A listing of music bands and netgroups spilled down the page, all calling themselves wolf packs and secret societies.

LOYAL SOLDIER TO THE ORDER OF THE PACK

Zero hits.

THE WOLVES

She knew as soon as she’d entered it that the term was far too broad. She quickly amended it to THE WOLVES GANG.

Then, when 20,400 hits blinked back up at her, she added PARIS.

One music band who had toured in Paris two summers ago.

WOLF STREET GANG. WOLF VIGILANTES. SADISTIC KIDNAPPERS PARADING AS RIGHTEOUS LUPINE WANNABES.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Frustrated, she tucked her hair into her hood. Her espresso had appeared in front of her without her notice and she brought the small cup to her mouth, blowing away the steam before taking a sip.

Surely if this Order of the Pack had been around long enough to recruit 962 members, there must be some record of them. Crimes, trials, murders, general mayhem against society. She strained to think of another search term, wishing she would have questioned Wolf more.

“That’s quite the specific search.”

She swiveled her head toward the man seated two stools away, who she hadn’t heard sit down. He was giving her a teasing, droopy-eyed smile that hinted at a dimple in one cheek. He struck her as vaguely familiar, which startled her until she realized she’d only seen him an hour ago on the station’s platform at Toulouse.

“I’m looking for something very specific,” she said.

“I should say. ‘Righteous Lupine Wannabes’—I can’t even begin to imagine what that entails.”

The bartender frowned at them. “What’ll you have?”

The stranger swiveled his gaze. “Chocolate milk, please.”

Scarlet chuckled as the bartender, unimpressed, took down an empty glass. “Would not have been my first guess.”

“No? What would you have guessed?”

She scrutinized him. He couldn’t have been much older than she was and, though not classically handsome, with that much confidence he undoubtedly had never had much trouble with women. His build was stocky but muscular, his hair combed neatly back. There was a keenness in the way he carried himself, a certainty that bordered on arrogance. “Cognac,” she said. “It was always my father’s favorite.”

“I’m afraid I’ve never tried it.” The dimple deepened as a tall glass of frothing chocolate milk was set in front of him.

Scarlet clicked off her port and picked up her espresso. The scent seemed suddenly too strong, too bitter. “That actually looks pretty good.”

“Surprisingly high in protein,” he said, taking a drink.

Scarlet took another sip from her cup and found that her taste buds disapproved. She set it back down on the saucer. “If you were a gentleman, you would offer to buy me one as well.”

“If you were a lady, you would have waited for me to make the offer.”

Scarlet smirked, but the man was already beckoning to the bartender and ordering a second chocolate milk.

“I’m Ran, by the way.”

“Scarlet.”

“Like your hair?”

“Oh, wow, I’d never heard that one before.”

The bartender set the new drink on the bar, then turned away and upped the volume on the screen.

“And where are you traveling to, Mademoiselle Scarlet?”

Paris.

The word clunked into her head, filling up her thoughts with its weight. Her attention danced to the netscreen on the wall, checking the time, calculating their distance, their arrival.

“Paris.” She took a long drink. It wasn’t fresh like the milk she was used to, but the thick sweetness was a rare treat. “I’m going to visit my grandmother.”

“That so? I’m heading to Paris too.”

Scarlet nodded vaguely, suddenly wanting the conversation to be over. Sipping at the thick beverage, it occurred to her that she’d gotten it through manipulation, subconscious as it may have been. She wasn’t interested in this man, had no curiosity about why he was going to Paris or if she would ever see him again after this moment. She had only needed to prove that she could garner his interest, and now she was annoyed that she’d captured it so easily.

It was just like something her father would do, and that realization turned her stomach. Made her want to shove the chocolate milk away.

“Are you traveling alone?”

She tilted her head toward him and smiled apologetically. “No. In fact, I should be getting back to him.” She emphasized him more than was necessary, but he didn’t flinch.

“Of course,” he said.

They finished their drinks at the same time and Scarlet swished her wrist over the scanner on the bar before the stranger could object, paying for her own.

“Bartender,” she said, sliding off the stool. “Do you have orders to go? Some sandwiches or anything?”

The bartender jerked his thumb at the screens inset into the bar. “Menus.”

Scarlet frowned. “Never mind, I’ll order something back at the room.”

The bartender showed no sign of having heard her.

“It was nice to meet you, Ran.”

He propped an elbow on the counter, twisting his stool toward her. “Perhaps our paths will cross again. In Paris.”

Hair prickled on her neck as he settled his chin onto his palm. She noticed with a jolt of disgust that each of his fingernails had been filed into a sharp, perfect point.

“Perhaps,” she said, her tone suffused with politeness.

The instinctual alarm hung with her for two whole cars as she made her way back through the train, a warning buzzing in the air. She tried to shake it off. This was her own nerves playing tricks on her, paranoia finally catching up to her after what had happened to her grandmother, and her father. It was amazing she could carry on a conversation at all with all the panic that was residing just beneath the surface of her skin.

He’d been polite. He’d been a gentleman. Maybe talon-like nails were a growing trend in the city.

Just as she’d determined that nothing about Ran had been deserving of the sudden, ardent distrust, she remembered.

She had seen him on the platform in Toulouse, stepping off the escalator in his ratty jeans and no luggage, when Wolf had become so on edge. When it seemed like Wolf had heard something, or recognized someone.

A coincidence?

The speaker overhead crackled. Scarlet barely heard it over the noise of the corridor, until the repeated words gradually silenced the chatter around her. “—experiencing a temporary delay. All passengers are to return to their private quarters immediately and stay clear of the corridors until further notice is given. This is not a test. We are experiencing a temporary delay…”

Eighteen

Scarlet shut the door behind her, relieved that Wolf was still there. Pacing. He swiveled toward her.

“I just heard the announcement,” she said. “Do you know what’s going on?”

“No. I wondered if you might.”

She wrapped her fingers around the portscreen in her pocket. “Some sort of delay. It seems odd to clear the corridors, though.”

He didn’t respond. His scowl became fierce, almost angry. “You smell…”

When he didn’t continue, an offended laugh erupted out of her. “I smell?”

Wolf roughly shook his head, hair whipping across his creased brow. “Not like that. Who did you talk to out there?”

Frowning, she fell back against the door. If Ran had been wearing cologne, it had been too faint for her to pick up.

“Why?” she snapped, annoyed as much with his accusation as with the unexpected sting of guilt it caused. “Is it any of your business?”

His jaw tensed. “No, that’s not what I—” He paused, eyes flickering past her.

A knock startled Scarlet away from the wall. She turned and yanked open the door.

An android rolled into the room, scanner at the end of its wiry arm. “We are performing an identity check for the safety of all passengers. Please show your ID for scanning.”

Scarlet raised her hand on instinct. She didn’t think to question the order until a red light passed over her skin, beeped, and the android turned to Wolf.

“What’s going on?” she said. “We scanned our tickets when we boarded.”

Another beep. “You are not to leave this room until further instructions are given.”

“That wasn’t an answer,” said Scarlet.

A panel opened in the android’s torso and a third limb reached out to greet them, this one fitted with a slender syringe. “I must now conduct a mandatory blood check. Please extend your right arm.”

Scarlet gawked down at the gleaming needle. “You’re running blood tests? That’s ridiculous. We’re just going to Paris.”

“Please extend your right arm,” the android repeated, “or I will be forced to report you for failure to comply with maglev rail safety regulations. Your tickets will be considered invalid and you will be escorted off the train at the next station.”

Scarlet bristled and glanced at Wolf, but he had eyes only for the syringe. For a moment Scarlet thought he was going to smash in the robot’s sensor, before he reluctantly stretched out his arm. Wolf’s expression became distant while the needle punctured his skin.

The moment the android had withdrawn a blood sample and retracted the skeletal limb, Wolf backed away and folded his arm against his chest.

A fear of needles? Scarlet squinted at him, holding out her own elbow as the android produced another syringe. She couldn’t imagine it hurt any more than that tattoo had.

Scowling, she watched as the syringe filled with her own blood. “What exactly are you looking for?” she said as the android finished and both syringes disappeared into its body.

“Initiating blood scan,” said the android, followed by a clatter of humming and beeps. Wolf had just tucked his arm against his side when the android pronounced, “Scan complete. Please shut the door and remain in this room until further instructions are given.”

“You already said that,” Scarlet said to the android’s back as it retreated into the hall.

Pressing a thumb against the small puncture wound, Scarlet slammed the door shut with her foot. “What was that all about? I have half a mind to comm the maglev customer service and issue a complaint.”

Turning, she found Wolf already at the window—his steps had been soundless. “We’re slowing down.”

It was a silent, agonizing moment before Scarlet felt it too.

Through the window, she could see a thick canopy of forest choking off the midday sun. There were no roads, no buildings. They weren’t stopping at a station.

She opened her mouth, but Wolf’s expression stopped her question before it could form. “Do you hear that?”

Scarlet tugged the zipper of her hoodie down to let air on her neck, and listened. The hum of the magnets. The whistle of air passing through an open window in the next cabin. The rattle of luggage.

Wailing. So distant it sounded like a fading nightmare.

Cold goose bumps grazed her arms. “What’s going on out there?”

The wall speaker clattered. “Passengers, this is your conductor speaking. There has been a medical emergency aboard the train. We will be experiencing a delay while we wait for medical authorities. We ask that all passengers remain in their private quarters and comply with any requests from the staff androids. Thank you for your patience.”

The speaker fell silent, leaving Scarlet and Wolf staring at each other.

Scarlet’s throat constricted.

A blood test. Crying. A delay.

“The plague.”

Wolf said nothing.

“They’ll put the whole train on lockdown,” she said. “We’ll all be quarantined.”

Out in the hall, doors were slamming, neighbors yelling questions and speculations at each other, ignoring the conductor’s request to stay in their own rooms. The android must have moved on to the next car.

Scarlet heard the rushed words: letumosis outbreak, posed as a question, a fear.

“No.” She spat the word like a bullet. “They can’t keep us here. My grandma—!” Her voice hitched, a tide of panic overwhelming her.

Someone down the hall pounded erratically on a door. The distant wailing grew louder.

“Get your things,” said Wolf.

She and Wolf moved at the same time. She threw her portscreen into her pack while Wolf crossed to the window and flung it open. The ground raced beneath them. Beyond the tracks, a dense forest stretched out, dissolving into shadows.

Scarlet checked the pistol in her waistband. “Are we jumping?”

“Yes. But they might be expecting it, so we have to do it before the train slows too much. They’re probably prepping enforcement androids right now to round up runaways.”

Scarlet nodded. “If it is letumosis, we’ve probably already become a quarantine.”

Wolf thrust his head out the window, looking both ways down the length of the train. “Now’s our best chance.”

Pulling inside, he heaved the bag onto one shoulder. Scarlet peered down at the ground fleeing beneath them, dizzied by a moment of vertigo. It was impossible to focus on any one spot as the speckled sun flashed against the trees. “Well. This seems dangerous.”

“We’ll be fine.”

She peered up at him, for a moment expecting to meet that crazed madman again, but his expression was stone-cold and clinical. He was focused hard on the landscape that whizzed by them. “They’re braking,” he said. “We’ll start slowing down faster now.” Again, it was a few seconds before Scarlet sensed it too, the subtle shift of speed, the way they were decelerating fast, no longer just coasting to a steady stop.

Wolf inclined his head. “Climb onto my back.”

“I can jump myself.”

“Scarlet.”

She met his eyes. His youthful curiosity from before was gone, replaced with a sternness she hadn’t expected.

“What? It’ll be just like jumping off the barn into a haystack. I’ve done that a hundred times.”

“A haystack? Honestly, Scarlet, it’ll be nothing like that.”

Before she could argue, before she could cement her defiance, he bent over her and scooped her into both arms.

She gasped and had just enough time to open her mouth, ready to demand he put her down, before Wolf was on the windowsill, the wind whipping Scarlet’s curls against her neck.

He jumped. Scarlet yelped and grabbed on to him, her stomach somersaulting, and then the shock of landing jogged up her spine.

She dug her fingers into his shoulders. Every limb trembled.

Wolf had landed in a clearing eight steps beyond the tracks. He staggered into the tree line and hunkered into the shadows.

“All right?” he asked.

“Just like”—she caught her breath—“a haystack.”

A laugh reverberated through his chest, into her, and before she was ready Wolf settled her feet onto a patch of squishy moss. She scrambled out of his hold, caught her balance, then punched him squarely in the arm. “Never do that again.”

He looked almost pleased with himself, before he tilted his head toward the forest. “We should move farther in, in case someone saw us.”

She listened to the train zipping by, her pulse heavy and erratic, and followed Wolf into the trees. They hadn’t gone a dozen steps when the thrumming of the train disappeared, fading away down the tracks.

Scarlet dug her port out of the bag on Wolf’s shoulder and checked their location.

“Great. The nearest town is twenty miles east of here. It’s out of our way, but maybe someone can give us a ride to the next maglev station.”

“Because we seem so trustworthy?”

Scarlet peered up at him, noting the pale, scattered scars and the faded black eye. “What’s your idea?”

“We should stay on the tracks. Another train will be by eventually.”

“And they’ll give us a lift?”

“Sure.”

This time, she was sure she caught mischief in his eye as he started back down the rails. But they hadn’t gone a dozen steps when he halted mid-step.

“What—”

Wolf spun on her, clamping one hand behind her head, the other firmly over her mouth.

Tensing, Scarlet moved to shove him away, but something gave her pause. He was staring off into the forest, brow furrowed. Tilting his nose up, he sniffed the air.

When he was sure she wouldn’t make a sound, he snatched his hands away as if something had stung him. Scarlet stumbled back, surprised by the sudden release.

They lingered, still and silent, Scarlet straining to listen for what had Wolf on edge. Slowly reaching behind her, she pulled the gun from her waistband. The click as she released the safety echoed off the trees.

Off in the woods, a wolf howled. The lonely cry sent a shiver down Scarlet’s spine.

Wolf didn’t seem surprised.

Then, behind them, another howl, this one farther away. Then another to the north.

Silence crept around them as the howls faded longingly into the air.

“Friends of yours?” Scarlet asked.

Clarity returned to Wolf’s expression and he glanced at her, then down at the gun. It struck her as odd that he could be startled by it, when the howls had garnered no reaction at all.

“They won’t bother us,” he said finally, turning and heading down the tracks.

With a snort, Scarlet trotted after him. “Well, isn’t that a relief. We’re stranded in wild wolf territory, but as long as you say they’re not going to bother us…” She clicked the gun’s safety back on and was tucking it back in her waistband when Wolf’s gesture gave her pause.

“They won’t bother us,” he said again, almost smiling. “But you might want to keep that out anyway, just in case.”

Nineteen

“What is all this junk?” Cinder locked her jaw, straining to push a plastic crate that was almost as tall as she was.

Thorne grunted beside her. “It’s—not—junk.” The tendons in his neck bulged as the crate collided with the cargo bay wall.

Thorne tossed his arms over the top with a groan and Cinder collapsed against it. Her shoulders ached, as tense as the metal that made up her left leg, and her arms felt like they were about to fall off. But when she allowed herself to look around the cargo bay, a sense of accomplishment settled around her.

All the crates had been slid to the walls, clearing an actual path from the cockpit to the living quarters. The smaller, lighter ones had been stacked on top of one another and some were left out as makeshift furniture in front of the main netscreen.

It bordered on cozy.

The next job would be to actually unpack the crates—the ones that were worth unpacking—but that would be a job for another day. “No, really,” she said when she’d found her breath. “What is all this?”

Thorne slid down beside her and wiped his brow with his sleeve. “I don’t know,” he said, eyeing the stamped labels on the side of the nearest crate: an unhelpful code. “Supplies. Food. I think there are some guns in one of them. And I know I had a few sculptures from this really collectible second-era artist—I was going to make a fortune off of them, but I got arrested before I had a chance.” He sighed.

Cinder squinted at him. Sure that the sculptures were stolen, she found it difficult to muster any sympathy. “Shame,” she muttered, thumping her head back against the crate.

Thorne pointed at something on the far wall, his forearm jutting beneath Cinder’s nose. “What’s that?”

She followed his gesture, frowned, and with a cranky moan pushed herself back to her feet. The corner of a metal frame could be seen behind a tall stack of crates they’d left against the wall. “A door.” She drew up the ship’s blueprint on her retina display. “The medbay?”

Realization brightened Thorne’s face. “Oh, right. This ship does have one of those.”

Cinder settled her fists on her hips. “You covered up the medbay?”

Thorne pulled himself up. “Never needed it.”

“Don’t you think it might be good to have access to, just in case?”

Thorne shrugged. “We’ll see.”

Rolling her eyes, Cinder reached for the uppermost crate and hauled it down onto the floor, already disrupting their hard-won pathway. “How can we be sure there’s nothing in these boxes that can be tracked?”

“What do you think I am, an amateur? Nothing entered this ship without being thoroughly inspected. Otherwise the Republic would have reclaimed it all a long time ago rather than let it idle in that warehouse.”

“There may not be any trackers,” said Iko, making Cinder and Thorne both jump. They still weren’t used to their invisible, omnipresent companion. “But we can still be detected on radar. I’m doing my best to keep us out of the path of any satellites or ships, but it’s surprisingly crowded up here.”

Thorne unrolled his sleeves. “And it’s next to impossible to re-enter Earth’s atmosphere without detection. That’s how they nabbed me last time.”

“I thought there was a trick to it,” said Cinder. “I’m sure I heard once about a way people could sneak into Earth’s atmosphere without notice. Where did I hear that?”

“News to me. I got pretty good at sweet-talking my way into public hangars, but I don’t think that’s going to work with such a high-profile convict on the loose.”

Having found an old rubber band in the galley, Cinder fished it from her pocket and tossed her hair up in a ponytail. Her brain ticked through her memories until, with a snap, it came to her. Dr. Erland had told her that there were more Lunars on Earth than people suspected, and that they had a way of getting to Earth without the government taking notice.

“Lunars know how to cloak their spacecrafts.”

“Huh?”

She pulled herself from the daze, blinking at Thorne. “Lunars can cloak their spacecrafts. Keep Earthen radars from picking up on them. That’s how so many are able to make it to Earth, if they manage to get away from Luna in the first place.”

“That’s terrifying,” said Iko, who had acknowledged the truth of Cinder’s race much as she’d acknowledged Thorne’s convict status: with loyalty and acceptance, but without changing her opinion that Lunars and convicts remained untrustworthy and unredeemable as a general rule.

Cinder had not yet figured out how to tell her that she also happened to be the missing Princess Selene.

“I know it is,” said Cinder, “but it would be awfully convenient if I knew how they did it.”

“Do you think it’s with their”—Thorne rolled his wrist toward her—“crazy Lunar magic stuff?”

“Bioelectricity,” she said, quoting Dr. Erland. “Calling it magic only empowers them.”

“Whatever.”

“I don’t know. It could be some special technology they install on their ships.”

“Optimistically hoping it’s magic, maybe you should start practicing?”

Cinder bit the inside of her cheek. Start practicing what?

“I guess I can try.” Turning her attention back to the crate, she pulled up the lid and was met with a box of packing chips. She stuffed her metal hand into it and emerged with a skinny wooden doll bedecked in feathers and painted with six eyes. “What is this?”

“Venezuelan dream doll.”

“It’s hideous.”

“It’s worth about twelve thousand univs.”

Heart skipping, Cinder lowered the doll back into the protective packaging. “You don’t think you might have something useful in all of these? Like, I don’t know, a fully charged power cell?”

“Doubtful,” said Thorne. “How much longer will ours hold out?”

Iko chimed, “Approximately thirty-seven hours.”

Thorne gave Cinder a thumbs-up. “Plenty of time to learn a new Lunar trick, right?”

Cinder shut the crate’s lid and slid it back against the others, trying not to show panic at having to use her new gift for anything, much less something as huge as disguising a cargo ship.

“In the meantime, I’ll do a little research, try to determine the best place for us to land. Not the Commonwealth, obviously. I hear Fiji’s nice this time of year.”

“Or Los Angeles!” Iko practically sang. “They have a huge escort-droid outlet store there. I wouldn’t mind having an escort-droid body. Some of the newer models come with color-changing fiber-optic hair.”

Cinder slumped onto the floor again and scratched at her wrist—a tick that was becoming awkward now that she had no gloves to fiddle with. “We’re not landing a stolen American ship in the American Republic,” she said, fixing her attention on the netscreen, where her own prison picture hovered in the corner. She was so sick of that picture.

“Do you have any suggestions?” said Thorne.

Africa.

She heard herself saying it, but nothing came out.

That’s where she was supposed to go. To meet Dr. Erland, so that he could tell her what to do next. He had plans for her. Plans to make her a hero, a savior, a princess. Plans to overthrow Levana and instate Cinder as the true queen.

Her right hand started to shake. Dr. Erland had set up the cyborg draft and treated dozens, perhaps hundreds of cyborgs like throwaways, all for the sake of finding her. And then, when he found her, he kept the secret of her identity until he had no other choice but to tell her, all the while planning out the rest of her life. He had made his need for revenge the highest priority.

But what the doctor hadn’t considered was that Cinder had no desire to be queen. She didn’t want to be a princess or an heir to anything. All her life—at least, all the life she could remember—all she’d ever wanted was freedom. And now, for the first time, she had it, however tenuous it was. There was no one telling her what to do. No one to judge or criticize.

But if she went to Dr. Erland, she would lose all that. He would expect her to reclaim her rightful place as the queen of Luna, and that struck her as the most binding shackles of all.

Cinder gripped her shaking hand with the steady cyborg one. She was tired of everyone deciding her life for her. She was ready to figure out who she really was—not what anyone else told her to be.

“Uh … Cinder?”

“Europe.” She pressed her back into the crate, forcing herself to sit straight, to feign certainty. “We’re going to Europe.”

A brief silence. “Any reason in particular?”

She met his gaze and pondered a long moment, before choosing her words. “Do you believe in the Lunar heir?”

Thorne propped his chin on both palms. “Of course.”

“No, I mean, do you believe she’s still alive?”

He peered at her as if she were being cute. “Because it was so vague the first time. Yes, of course I think she’s alive.”

Cinder drew back. “You do?”

“Sure. I know some people think it’s all conspiracy theories, but I’ve heard that Queen Levana was really paranoid for months after that fire, when she should have been ecstatic because she was finally queen, right? It’s like she knew the princess had gotten away.”

“Yeah, but … those could only be stories,” Cinder said, not knowing why she was trying to dissuade him. Perhaps because she’d never believed any of it, until she’d known the truth.

He shrugged. “What does this have to do with Europe?”

Cinder shifted to face him more fully, crisscrossing her legs. “There’s a woman who lives there, or at least, she used to live there. She used to be in their military. Her name is Michelle Benoit, and I think she might be connected to the missing princess.” She took in a slow breath, hoping she hadn’t said anything that could give her secret away.

“Where did you hear this?”

“An android told me. A royal android.”

“Oh! Kai’s android?” Iko said, excitedly changing the screen to one of Kai’s fan pages.

Cinder sighed. “Yes, His Majesty’s android.”

Unbeknownst to her at the time, her cyborg brain had recorded every word that the android, Nainsi, had spoken, as if it had known that Cinder would someday need to draw on this information again.

According to Nainsi’s research, a Lunar doctor named Logan Tanner had brought Cinder to Earth when she was still a child, after Levana’s murder attempt had failed. He’d eventually been incarcerated in a psychiatric hospital and committed suicide, but not before passing her off to someone else. Nainsi had thought that someone else was an ex–military pilot from the European Federation.

Wing Commander Michelle Benoit.

“A royal android,” Thorne said, showing the first sign of speculation. “And how did it get this information?”

“That, I have no idea. But I want to find this Michelle Benoit and see if it was right.”

And hope that Michelle Benoit had some answers that Dr. Erland didn’t. Perhaps she could tell Cinder about her history, about those eleven long years lost to her memory, about her surgery and the surgeons and Linh Garan’s invention that had kept Cinder from using her Lunar gift until Dr. Erland had disabled it.

Perhaps she had her own ideas about what Cinder should do next. Ideas that left her some choices for the rest of her life.

“I’m in.”

She started. “You are?”

“Sure. This is the biggest unsolved mystery of the third era. There’s got to be someone out there offering a reward for finding this princess, right?”

“Yeah, Queen Levana.”

Thorne tilted toward her, nudging her with his elbow. “In that case, we already have something in common with the princess, don’t we?” He winked, setting Cinder’s nerves on edge. “I just hope she’s cute.”