Текст книги "Cress"

Автор книги: Marissa Meyer

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“Wh-what do you want from me?”

“I suspect you have business to tend to?”

Standing, she stumbled a bit down the hill, the sand unstable beneath her. The man didn’t flinch. He jerked the barrel of the gun toward her feet. “Go on. It’ll be another few hours before we stop, so better get it out of the way now. Don’t want you losing your water in the back of that nice van. We wouldn’t get our security deposit back, and Jina hates that.”

Her lower lip trembled and she cast another glance around the desert, the wide openness of this barren landscape. She shook her head. “No, I can’t. Not with…”

“Ah, I won’t watch.” To prove his point, he spun around and scratched behind his ear with the gun. “Just make it quick.”

She spotted another man over the dune, faced away from her, and suspected he was relieving himself. Cress turned away, ashamed and embarrassed. She wanted to cry, wanted to beg the man to let her be, to just leave her here. But she knew it wouldn’t work. And she didn’t want to beg this man for anything.

Thorne would come for her, she thought as she stumbled to the base of the dune in search of what privacy she could find.

Thorne had to come for her.

Thirty-Four

“Fateen-jiĕ?”

The girl spun around, her long black braid swinging against her lab coat. “Your Majesty!”

A ghost smile flickered over Kai’s face. “Do you have a moment to assist us with something?”

“Of course.” Fateen tucked a portscreen into her coat pocket.

Kai moved toward the wall of the white corridor, allowing room for researchers and technicians to pass by. “We need access to some patient records. I realize they’re probably confidential, but…” Kai trailed off. There was no “but,” only a vague hope and a fair amount of confidence that his title was the only credential he needed.

But Fateen’s gaze darkened as they flickered between him and Torin. “Patient records?”

“A few weeks ago,” said Kai, “I came to check on Dr. Erland’s progress and Linh Cinder was here. The Lunar cyborg from—”

“I know who Linh Cinder is,” she said, her hardness fading as quickly as it had come.

“Right, of course.” He cleared his throat. “Well, at the time, the doctor told me she was there fixing a med-droid, but I was thinking about it, and I thought maybe she had actually been a…”

“A draft subject?”

“Yes.”

Fateen shrugged. “Actually, she was a volunteer. Come on, there should be a vacant lab you can use. I’m happy to pull up Linh Cinder’s records for you.”

He and Torin followed her, Kai wondering whether she would have been as accommodating had it been any other patient. Since the arrest, Linh Cinder had become a matter of public concern, and therefore her private records weren’t so private anymore.

“She was a volunteer? Really?”

“Yes. I was here the day she was brought in. They’d had to override her system to get her in here. I guess she put up quite a fight when they came for her.”

Kai frowned. “Why would a volunteer put up a fight?”

“I’m using volunteer in the official sense. I believe her legal guardian recommended her for the testing.” She swiped her wrist over an ID scanner, then ushered them into Lab 6D. The room smelled of bleach and peroxide and every surface glistened to a perfect shine. A counter along the far wall was set before a window overlooking a quarantine room. Kai grimaced, reminded of his father’s last days spent in a room not entirely unlike that one, although his had been equipped with blankets and pillows, his favorite music, a tranquil water fountain. The patients who came to these labs would not have received the same luxuries.

Fateen paced to the adjoining wall. “Screen, on,” she said, tapping something into her portscreen. “I do believe these records were a part of the investigation following her jailbreak, Your Majesty. Do you think the detectives may have missed something?”

He threaded his fingers through his hair. “No. I’m just trying to answer some of my own questions.”

The lab’s log-in screen faded, replaced with a patient profile. Her profile.

LINH CINDER, LICENSED MECHANIC

ID

#0097917305

BORN 29 NOV 109 T.E.

RESIDENT OF NEW BEIJING, EASTERN COMMONWEALTH. WARD OF LINH ADRI.

CYBORG RATIO: 36.28%

“Is there something specific you’re looking for?” Fateen asked, sliding her fingers along the screen so that the profile trekked down into blood type (A), allergies (none), and medications (unknown).

Then the plague test. Kai stepped closer. “What’s this?”

“The doctor’s notes from when we injected her with the letumosis microbe solution. How much we gave her and, subsequently, how long it took her body to rid itself of the disease.”

At the end of the study, the simple words.

CONCLUSION: LETUMOSIS IMMUNITY CONFIRMED

“Immunity,” said Torin, coming to stand beside them. “Did we know about this?”

“Perhaps the detectives didn’t think it was relevant to their search? But it’s common knowledge here in the labs. Many of us have theorized it’s a result of her Lunar immune system. There’s a long-held theory that letumosis was brought here by migrating Lunars, who are unaffected carriers of the disease.”

Kai fidgeted with his shirt’s collar. How many Lunars would have had to come to Earth to create such a widespread epidemic? If this theory was correct, they could have a lot more fugitives on the planet than he’d realized. He groaned at the thought—the mere idea of having to deal with more Lunars made him want to beat his head against a wall.

“What does this mean?” asked Torin, pointing to a box at the bottom of the profile.

ADDITIONAL NOTES: FINALLY. I’VE FOUND HER.

The words gave Kai a chill, but he wasn’t sure why.

Fateen shook her head. “Nobody knows. Dr. Erland entered it, but he gave no indication of what it meant. Probably it refers to her immunity—he finally found what he was looking for when she was brought in.” Her tone became bitter. “Though lots of good that did us when both of them decided to skip town.”

Fateen’s port pinged and she glanced down on it. “I’m so sorry, Your Majesty. It seems today’s draft subject has just arrived.”

Kai ripped his attention away from those haunting words. “The draft is still in effect?”

“Of course,” Fateen said with a smile, and Kai realized what a stupid question it was. Here he was, the emperor, and he had no idea what was going on in his own country. In his own research labs.

“With Dr. Erland gone, I just thought maybe it was over,” he explained.

“Dr. Erland may be a traitor, but there are still a lot of people here who believe in what we’re doing. We won’t quit until we’ve found a cure.”

“You’re doing great work here,” said Torin. “The crown appreciates all the advances that have been made already in these labs.”

Fateen tucked her port back into her pocket. “We’ve all lost someone to this disease.”

Kai’s tongue grew heavy. “Fateen-jiĕ, did Dr. Erland ever inform you that Queen Levana has developed an antidote?”

She blinked at him, confused. “Queen Levana?”

He glanced at Cinder’s chart, evidence of her immunity—and her Lunar biology. “A part of our marriage alliance will include the manufacturing and distribution of this antidote.”

Torin’s voice was terse. “Though His Majesty will require that this information remain confidential until the crown issues an official statement.”

“I see,” she said slowly, still watching Kai. “That would change everything.”

“It would.”

Her comm pinged again. Shaking off her surprise, Fateen bowed to Kai. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. If you would excuse me?”

“Of course.” Torin gestured toward the hall. “Thank you for your assistance.”

“My pleasure. Take all the time you need.”

She bowed and left the lab with her braid swinging. The moment the door closed behind her, Torin scowled at the emperor. “What reason did you have for giving her that information? Until the antidote is confirmed as both effective, harmless, and capable of reproduction, it’s foolhardy to spread such rumors.”

“I know,” said Kai. “It just seemed like she should know. She mentioned the draft and I realized how many people are still dying. Not just being killed by the disease, but being killed by us while we try to find a cure, and all the while an antidote is out there, just out of…” His eyes widened. Immunity confirmed. “Stars. The queen’s antidote!”

“Pardon me?”

“Cinder was here the day I gave the antidote to Dr. Erland. He must have given it to her, and she went straight to the quarantines, knowing that she was immune. She was taking it to her sister, trying to save her. But she must have been too late, so she gave the antidote to that little boy instead, Chang Sunto.” He shook his head, surprised at how light this realization made him. He found himself smiling. “Her guardian is wrong. Cinder didn’t take her sister’s ID chip because she was jealous or she wanted to steal her identity or anything like that. She took it because she loved her.”

“And you believe that cutting out a loved one’s ID chip is a healthy response?”

“Maybe she’d somehow figured out that the androids were harvesting them and giving them to Lunars. Or maybe she was just in shock. But I don’t think it was out of malice.”

He collapsed against the wall, feeling as if he’d just discovered an important clue in the mystery that was Linh Cinder. “We should let Fateen-jiĕ and the others know that Chang Sunto wasn’t a miraculous recovery. This confirms that the queen’s antidote is real, and maybe they can use that information in their research. It might be useful, or—”

His elbow bumped the netscreen and an image shimmered beside him. Kai jumped away as the holograph projected out of the screen, rotating within arm’s reach.

It was a girl, life-size, her different layers flickering and folding into one another. Skin and scar tissue melded with a steel hand and leg. Wires merged with her nervous system. Blue blood pumped through silicon heart chambers. All the inorganic tissue had a faint glow, as the holograph pinpointed what wasn’t natural about her so that even the untrained eye could comprehend.

Cyborg.

Kai backed away, feeling disoriented as he gaped at her. Even her eyes had that faint glow to them, along with the optic nerves that stretched to the back of her brain, where there was a metal plate fitted with ports and cables and wires and an access hatch that opened in the back of her skull.

He remembered her guardian saying that Cinder was unable to cry, but he’d never thought … never expected this. Her eyes, her brain …

He looked away and dragged a palm down his face. This was an invasion, a terrible kind of voyeurism, and the sudden guilt made him wish he could erase the sight from his mind forever. “Screen, off.”

A silence engulfed them, and he wondered if Torin felt the same guilt he did, or if he’d even been caught by the same morbid curiosity.

“Are you all right, Your Majesty?”

“Fine.” He gulped. “We knew she was cyborg. None of this should be a surprise. I just hadn’t expected it to be so much.”

Torin slid his hands into his pockets. “I’m sorry. I know I haven’t always been fair where Linh Cinder was concerned. From the moment I saw you talking to her at the ball, I’ve been worried she would be an unnecessary distraction to you, and you were already dealing with so much. But it’s obvious that you did have legitimate feelings for her, and I’m sorry for all that’s happened since then.”

Kai shrugged uncomfortably. “The problem with that is that even I don’t know if I had legitimate feelings for her, or if it was always just a trick.”

“Your Majesty. The Lunar gift has limitations. If Linh Cinder had been forcing these feelings onto you, then you wouldn’t still be feeling them.”

Starting, Kai met Torin’s gaze. “I don’t…” He gulped, heat climbing up his neck. “It’s that obvious?”

“Well, as Queen Levana likes to point out, you are still young and not yet adept at disguising your emotions like the rest of us.” Torin smiled, a teasing look that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “To be frank, I feel that it is one of your better qualities.”

Kai rolled his eyes. “Ironically, I think that might be why I liked Cinder so much in the first place.”

“That she couldn’t disguise her emotions?”

“That she didn’t try. At least, that’s how it seemed.” Kai leaned back against the exam table, feeling the sterile paper crinkle beneath his fingers. “Sometimes it just seems like everyone around me is pretending. The Lunars are the worst. Levana and her entourage … Everything about them is so fake. I mean, I’m engaged to Levana, and I still don’t even know what she really looks like. But it isn’t just them. It’s the other Union leaders, even my own cabinet members. Everyone is trying to impress everyone else. Trying to make themselves out to be smarter or more confident than they actually are.”

He raked his hand through his hair. “And then there was Cinder. This completely normal girl, working this completely mundane job. She was always covered in dirt or grease and she was so brilliant when she was fixing things. And she joked about stuff with me, like she was talking to a normal guy, not a prince. Everything about her seemed so genuine. At least, that’s what I’d thought. But then it turned out she was just like everyone else.”

Torin paced to the window overlooking the quarantine room. “And yet you’re still trying to find reasons to believe in her.”

It was true. This whole escapade had been sparked by Torin’s accusations that Kai didn’t know anything about Cinder. That even now, knowing that she was cyborg, knowing that she was Lunar, he still wanted to believe that not everything about her had been based on some complicated deception.

And in coming here, he had learned some things.

He’d learned that she was immune to letumosis, that maybe all Lunars were.

He’d learned that those brown eyes that kept infiltrating his dreams had been man-made, or had at least been tampered with.

He’d learned that her guardian had sold her body off for testing, and that she hadn’t hated her sister, and that the cyborg draft was still in effect. Still ordering cyborgs to the labs every day. Still sacrificing them in order to find an antidote that Queen Levana already had.

“Why cyborgs?” he murmured. “Why do we only use cyborgs for the draft?”

Torin sighed. “All due respect, Your Majesty. Do you really think this is the best issue to be concerning yourself with right now? With the wedding, the alliance, the war…”

“Yes, I do. It’s a valid question. How did our society decide that their lives are worth less? I’m responsible for everything that happens in this government—everything. And when something affects the citizens like this…”

The thought struck him like a bullet.

They weren’t citizens. Or, they were, but it was more complicated than that, had been since the Cyborg Protection Act had been instated by his grandfather decades ago. The act came after a series of devastating cyborg crimes had caused widespread hatred and led to catastrophic riots in every major city in the Commonwealth. The protests may have been prompted by the violent spree, but they were a result of generations of growing disdain. For years people had been complaining about the rising population of cyborgs, many of whom received their surgeries at the hands of taxpayers.

Cyborgs were too smart, people had complained. They were cheating the average man out of his wages.

Cyborgs were too skilled. They were taking jobs away from hardworking, average citizens.

Cyborgs were too strong. They shouldn’t be allowed to compete in sporting events with regular people. It gave them an unfair advantage.

And then one small group of cyborgs had gone on a spree of violence and theft and destruction, demonstrating just how dangerous they could be.

If doctors and scientists were going to continue to perform these operations, people argued, there needed to be restrictions placed on their kind. They needed to be controlled.

Kai had studied it all when he was fourteen years old. He had agreed with the laws. He’d been convinced, as his grandfather before him had been, that they were so obviously right. Cyborgs required special laws and provisions, for the safety of everyone.

Didn’t they?

Until this moment, he didn’t think he’d given the question a second thought.

Realizing that he’d been staring at an empty lab table with his knuckles pressed against his forehead, he turned around and stood a little straighter. Torin was watching him with that ever-present wise expression that so often drove him crazy, waiting patiently for Kai to form his thoughts.

“Is it possible the laws are wrong?” he said, peculiarly nervous, like he was speaking blasphemy against his family and his country’s age-old traditions. “About cyborgs?”

Torin peered at him for a long time, giving no hint to what he thought of Kai’s question, until finally he sighed. “The Cyborg Protection Act was written up with good intentions. The people saw a need to control the growing cyborg population, and the violence has never again reached the level it was at that time.”

Kai’s shoulders sloped. Torin was probably right. His grandfather had probably been right. And yet …

“And yet,” said Torin, “I believe it is the mark of a great leader to question the decisions that came before him. Perhaps, once we’ve solved some of our more immediate problems, we can readdress this.”

More immediate problems.

“I don’t disagree with you, Torin. But there’s a draft subject in this very research wing, at this very moment. I’m sure this seems like an immediate problem to him … or her.”

“Your Majesty, you cannot solve every problem in a week. You need to give yourself time—”

“You agree that it’s a problem then?”

Torin frowned. “Thousands of citizens are dying from this disease. Would you discontinue the draft and the research opportunities it provides on the basis that the Lunars are going to solve this for us?”

“No, of course not. But using cyborgs, and only cyborgs … it seems wrong. Doesn’t it?”

“Because of Linh Cinder?”

“No! Because of everyone. Because whatever science has made them, they were once human too. And I don’t believe—I can’t believe that they’re all monsters. Whose idea was the draft anyway? Where did it come from?”

Torin glanced toward the netscreen, looking strangely conflicted. “If I recall, it was Dmitri Erland’s idea. We had many meetings about it. Your father wasn’t sure at first, but Dr. Erland convinced us that it was for the best of the Commonwealth. Cyborgs are easy to register, easy to track, and with their legal restrictions—”

“Easy to take advantage of.”

“No, Your Majesty. Easy to convince both them and the people that they are the best candidates for the testing.”

“Because they aren’t human?”

He could see that Torin was growing frustrated. “Because their bodies have already been aided by science. Because now it’s their turn to give back—for the good of everyone.”

“They should have a choice.”

“They had a choice when they accepted the surgical alterations. Everyone is well aware what the laws are regarding cyborg rights.”

Kai thrust his finger toward the blackened netscreen. “Cinder became a cyborg when she was eleven, after a freak hover accident. You think an eleven-year-old had a choice about anything?”

“Her parents—” Torin paused.

According to the file, Cinder’s parents had died in that same hover accident. They didn’t know who had approved her cyborg surgery.

Torin set his mouth into a straight, displeased line. “She is an unusual circumstance.”

“Maybe so, but it still doesn’t feel right.” Kai paced to the quarantine window, rubbing a knot in his neck. “I’m putting an end to it. Today.”

“Are you sure this is the message you want to send to the people? That we’re giving up on an antidote?”

“We’re not giving up. I’m not giving up. But we can’t force people into this. We’ll raise the grant money for volunteers. We’ll increase our awareness programs, encourage people to volunteer themselves if they choose to. But as of now, the draft is over.”

Thirty-Five

Cinder stumbled up the ship’s ramp, pulling her shirt away from her hips in an effort to get some airflow against her skin. The desert heat was dry compared with the suffocating humidity of New Beijing, but it was also relentless. Then there was the sand, that annoying, hateful sand. She had spent what seemed like hours trying to clean it out from her cybernetic joints, discovering more nooks and crannies in her hand than she’d known existed.

“Iko, close ramp,” she said, sinking onto a crate. She was exhausted. All her time was spent worrying over Wolf and trying to be gracious to the townsfolk who had brought her so many gifts of sugar dates and sweet rolls and spiced curries that she wasn’t sure if they were trying to thank her, or fatten her up for a feast.

On top of that were the constant arguments with Dr. Erland. He wanted her to focus on finding a way to get onto Luna without being captured, and while she had conceded that that would have to happen eventually, she was still set on putting a stop to the royal wedding first. After all, what did it matter if she dethroned Levana on Luna after she was crowned empress of the Commonwealth? There had to be a way to do both.

But the royal wedding was only a week away, and Iko’s clock seemed to tick faster with every hour.

“How is he?” asked Iko. Poor Iko, who was stuck alone inside the spaceship’s system for hours at a time while Cinder was at the hotel.

“The doctor started weaning him off the sedatives this morning,” said Cinder. “He’s afraid that if Wolf wakes up again when no one is there, he’ll have a mental breakdown and reinjure himself, but I told him we can’t keep him unconscious forever.”

The ship sighed around her—oxygen hissing out of the life support system.

Reaching down, Cinder pulled off her boots and dumped the sand out onto the metal floor. “Has there been any news?”

“Yes, two interesting developments, actually.”

The netscreen on the wall brightened. On one side was a static order form with CONFIDENTIAL emblazoned across the top. Despite the spark of curiosity it caused, Cinder’s attention was drawn immediately to the other article, and a picture of Kai.

EMPEROR DEMANDS IMMEDIATE DISCONTINUATION OF CYBORG DRAFT

Heart skipping, Cinder hopped off the crate to get a better look. The very mention of the draft brought memories flooding back to her. Being taken by androids, waking up in a sterile quarantine room, strapped to a table, having a ratio detector forced into her head and a needle plunged into her vein.

The article opened with a video of Kai at a press conference, standing behind a podium.

“Play video.”

“This policy change in no way indicates a sense of hopelessness,” Kai was saying on the screen. “We are not giving up on finding a cure for letumosis. Please be aware that our team has made stunning progress in the past months and I am confident that we are on the verge of a breakthrough. I want all those who are suffering from this sickness or have loved ones who are battling it right now to know that this is not a sign of defeat. We will never give up until letumosis has been eradicated from our society.” He paused, his silence punctuated by flashes that bounced off the Commonwealth’s flag behind him.

“However, it recently came to my attention that the use of the cyborg draft to further our research was an antiquated practice that was neither necessary nor justifiable. We are a society that values human life—all human life. The purpose of our research facilities is to stanch the loss of that life as quickly and humanely as possible. The draft went against that value and, I believe, belittled all that we have accomplished in the one hundred and twenty-six years since our country was formed. Our country was built on a foundation of equality and togetherness, not prejudice and hatred.”

Cinder watched him with a weakness in her limbs. She yearned to reach into the screen and wrap her arms around him and say thank you—thank you. But, thousands of miles away, she found herself hugging herself instead.

“I anticipate the criticism and backlash that this decision will cause,” Kai continued. “I am fully aware that letumosis is a problem that affects every one of us, and that my decision to end the cyborg draft without first conferencing with my cabinet and your representatives is both unexpected and unconventional. But I could not stand by while our citizens were being forced to sacrifice their lives under a mistaken belief that their lives are less valuable than those of their peers. The letumosis research team will be developing new strategies for the continuation of their research, and we at the palace are optimistic that this change will not hinder our ongoing search for an antidote. We will continue accepting test subjects on a volunteer basis. There is a comm link below for anyone wanting more information on the volunteer process. Thank you. I will not be taking questions today.”

As Kai left the stage and was replaced with the press secretary, already trying to calm a boisterous crowd, Cinder sank to the floor.

She could hardly believe what she’d heard. Kai’s speech was not only about letumosis and research and medical procedures. His speech had been about equality. Rights. Moving past the hatred.

With one speech—not three minutes spent behind the podium—Kai had begun to unravel decades of cyborg prejudice.

Had he done it for her?

She grimaced, wondering whether it was absurdly self-absorbed for her to even think that. After all, this declaration would save countless cyborg lives. It would set a new standard for cyborg rights and treatment.

It wouldn’t solve everything, of course. There was still the Cyborg Protection Act that claimed cyborgs as property of their guardians and limited their freedoms. But it was something. It was a start.

And the question came back again and again. Had he done it for her?

“I know,” said Iko with a dreaminess in her tone, though Cinder hadn’t said anything. “He’s fantastic.”

When she could focus her thoughts enough to skim through the rest of the article, Cinder saw that Kai was right. The hostility had already begun. This particular journalist had written a scathing criticism piece, defending the cyborg draft and accusing Kai of unjust preferential treatment. Though he didn’t mention Cinder directly, it would only be a matter of time before someone did. Kai had invited a cyborg to the annual ball, and they would use it against him. He would be attacked for this decision. Viciously.

But he had done it anyway.

“Cinder?” said Iko. “Have you moved on to the escort-droids yet?”

She blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

The screen changed, pulling the first document to the forefront. Cinder shook her head to clear it. She’d forgotten all about the second item that Iko had wanted to tell her about—the order form labeled “Confidential.”

“Oh, right.” She pulled herself to her feet. She would think about Kai and his decision later. After she had found a way to keep him from marrying Levana. “What is this?”

“It’s an order placed by the palace two days ago. I stumbled on it by accident when I was trying to figure out their florist order. Turns out the queen is having her bouquet made of lilies and hosta leaves. Boring. I would have gone with orchids myself.”

“You found a confidential order form from the palace itself?”

“Yes, I did, thank you for noticing. I’m turning into quite the savvy hacker. Not that I have anything better to do.”

Cinder scanned the form. It was a rental agreement placed with the world’s largest escort-droid manufacturer, which was headquartered just outside New Beijing. The palace wanted sixty escorts for the day of the wedding, but only those from the “Reality” line, which included models with average eye colors and varying body types. The idea was that such imperfections (as the company called them) gave a more life-like experience with your escort.

It took her about four seconds to grasp the order’s purpose.

“They’re going to use them as staff during the wedding,” she said, “because Lunars can’t manipulate them. Smart.”

“That’s what I thought too,” said Iko. “The agreement states that they’ll be delivered to the florist and catering companies the morning of the wedding and that they’ll be smuggled into the palace along with the human staff. Well, it doesn’t use the word smuggle.”

It didn’t exactly make Cinder feel better about the wedding, but she was glad that the palace was taking some precautions against their Lunar guests.

Then, as she read through the order form and the delivery instructions, she gasped.

“What is it?” said Iko.

“I just had an idea.” She took a step back, running it through in her head. The idea was too raw and messy for her to be certain, but on the surface … “Iko, that’s it. That’s how we’re going to get onto Luna.”

The lights flickered. “I don’t compute.”

“What if we hid on a ship that was already going to Luna? We could be smuggled in, just like these androids are being sneaked into the palace.”

“Except all the ships that go to Luna are Lunar ships. How will you get aboard one of them?”

“Right now they’re all Lunar ships. But I might know how we can change that.”

The feeds on the netscreen shifted, bringing the ticking clock front and center. “Does it still involve stopping the wedding?”

“Yes. Sort of.” Cinder held up a finger. “If we can delay the wedding, and persuade Queen Levana to host the ceremony on Luna instead of Earth, then all the Earthen guests will have to go there, just like all those Lunar aristocrats are coming here.”

“And then you’ll be on one of their ships?”

“If we can make it work.” She started to pace back and forth through the cargo bay, her thoughts burning with the start of a new plan. “But I have to get Kai to trust me first. If he can persuade Levana to change the location…” Chewing the inside of her cheek, Cinder glanced at the video of the press conference, the headline confirming that he really had ended the draft. “We still need to get into the palace, but no more big distractions or hijacking the media. We need to be subtle. Sneaky.”

“Oh! Oh! You should pose as a guest! Then you would have an excuse to buy a fancy dress too.”