Winter

Fifty-Four

Cress and Iko stood gripping each other on the lakeshore, watching Thorne and Jacin dive beneath the surface. Cress was shivering—more from fear than cold—and while Iko’s body didn’t give off natural heat like a human being, there was a comfort that came from her solidarity. They waited, but there was no sign of Thorne or Jacin or Cinder. They’d been underwater for a long time.

Too long.

Cress didn’t realize she was holding her breath until her lungs screamed. She gasped, the sensation more painful because she knew her companions would have been holding their breath for that long too.

Iko squeezed her hand. “Why haven’t they—” She took a step forward, but paused.

Iko’s body wasn’t made for swimming and Cress had never been in a body of water larger than a bathtub.

They were useless.

Cress pressed a shaky hand over her mouth, ignoring the hot tears on her face. It had been far too long.

“There!” Iko cried, pointing. Two—no, three heads appeared over the dark, chopping waves.

Iko took another step. “She is alive, isn’t she? She … she doesn’t seem to be moving. Do you see her moving?”

“I’m sure she’s alive. I’m sure they’re all fine.”

She glanced at Iko, but couldn’t bring herself to ask the question she knew they’d all been thinking. The live broadcast of the wedding feast had shown them everything. The trial. The massacre. Cinder jumping from the ledge and plunging toward the lake below.

Could Cinder swim?

Everyone had thought it, but no one had asked.

Together, the four of them had sneaked through the city, grateful that the few Lunars they saw were too busy celebrating the queen’s marriage to pay them any attention. Jacin had led the way, familiar with the city and the patterns of the lake, knowing where the bodies that fell into it from the throne room occasionally surfaced. There had been no hesitation between them—they all knew they had to find Cinder while Levana was reeling from the attack.

When they had caught sight of Cinder’s dark form among the waves, there was a resounding gasp of joy and relief from the whole group, but they still had no idea what state Cinder would be in.

Was she alive? Was she injured? Could she swim?

When the trio in the water was close enough, Cress let go of Iko and waded out to join them. Together they pulled Cinder’s body ashore, laying her down on the white sand.

“Is she alive?” Iko asked, half-hysterical. “Is she breathing?”

“Let’s get her to that boathouse,” Jacin said. “We can’t stay out here.”

Thorne, Jacin, and Iko shared the job of carrying Cinder’s limp body while Cress ran ahead to hold the doors. Three rowboats were stacked on brackets against the two sidewalls, with a fourth laid out in the middle and covered with a tarp. She cleared a mess of oars and fishing equipment from the tarp, making a space for them to lay out Cinder’s body, but Jacin laid her on the hard floor instead. Iko closed the doors, shrouding the room in darkness. Cress scrambled to switch on her portscreen for its ghostly blue light.

Jacin didn’t bother to check for breath or a pulse before he leaned over Cinder and locked his hands together on top of her chest. His eyes hardened as he started to pump down on her sternum with quick, forceful movements. Cress winced at the sound of popping cartilage.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” said Thorne, crouched on Cinder’s other side. He coughed and wiped his mouth with his arm. “Do you need help? We learned this in boot camp … I remember … sort of…”

“I know what I’m doing,” said Jacin.

And he did seem to know, as he tilted Cinder’s head back and formed a seal over her mouth with his own.

Thorne didn’t look comforted, but he didn’t argue.

Kneeling at Cinder’s feet, Cress watched in silence as Jacin started the compressions again. She remembered net dramas where the heroine was revived by the hero with mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. It had seemed so romantic. Cress had even had fantasies about drowning, dreams in which the press of a man’s lips could breathe life back into her lifeless form.

The dramas had lied. There was a violence to this they hadn’t shown. She grimaced as Jacin’s hands flattened against Cinder’s sternum for a third time, imagining she could feel the bruises on her own chest.

She felt suspended in time. Thorne took up sentinel by the doorway, peering out through a small, filthy window to keep watch. Iko wrapped her arms around her body and looked about ready to dissolve into impossible tears.

Cress was about to take Iko’s hand again when Cinder jerked. She started to gag.

Jacin eased her head over to the side and water burbled out of her mouth, though not as much as Cress expected. Jacin held Cinder in place, keeping her airway clear, until she had stopped hacking. She was breathing again. Weak and shaky, but breathing.

Cinder opened her eyes and Jacin eased her into a sitting position. Her right arm flopped. Her hand found Jacin’s arm and squeezed. She spat a few more times. “Good timing,” she croaked.

Water was glistening on her lips and chin until Iko reached forward and wiped it away with her sleeve. Cinder looked at her and her eyes lightened, though her eyelids still drooped with exhaustion.

“Iko? I thought…” With a groan, she fell onto her back.

Iko squealed and made to collapse onto Cinder, but reconsidered. Instead, she scurried around Jacin so she could lift Cinder’s shoulders and cradle her head in her lap. Smiling wearily, Cinder reached up to pet Iko’s braids. Her cyborg hand was missing one of its fingers.

“We can’t stay here,” said Jacin, rubbing water droplets from his cropped hair. “They’ll start the search closer to the palace, but it won’t be long before they barricade the whole lake. We need to find someplace for her to recover.”

“Any ideas?” asked Thorne. “We’re not exactly in friendly territory.”

“I need medical supplies,” said Cinder, her eyes shut. “A soldier bit me. Should clean the wound before it’s infected.” She sighed, too exhausted to go on.

“I wouldn’t mind a warm meal and a clothes dryer so long as we’re making demands,” said Thorne. Leaning forward, he stripped off his soaking wet shirt.

Cress’s eyes widened, glued to him as he wrung the lake out of the shirt, water splattering on the concrete.

Jacin said something, but she didn’t catch what.

Thorne pulled his shirt on again, a little more dry and wrinkled now, and Cress was able to breathe again.

“That might work,” said Thorne, nodding at Cinder. “Think you can make it?”

“No,” said Cinder. “I can’t walk.”

“It’s not far,” said Jacin. “I thought you were supposed to be tough.”

Cinder scowled up at him. “I can’t walk. The water did something to my interface.” She paused. Wheezed. “My leg and hand aren’t functioning. Lost net access too.”

Four pairs of eyes shifted to the glistening metal foot. Cress was not in the habit of thinking of Cinder as cyborg—as something other. As someone who could just … stop functioning.

“Fine,” said Jacin, turning to Thorne. “You want to carry her first, or shall I?”

Thorne raised an eyebrow. “Do you know how heavy she is?”

Cinder kicked him.

He huffed. “Fine. You first.”

* * *

“Are we sure about this?” Cress whispered. She was crouched behind a trellis covered in ivy, along with Cinder, Thorne, and Jacin, watching as Iko lifted the shining gold door knocker for the third time.

“I told you, they aren’t home,” said Jacin, annoyed at the precaution of having Iko scout out the pillared mansion before they went in. “This family is popular at court. They’ll be staying at the palace all week.”

After a fourth knock bore no result, Iko turned to them and shrugged.

Cress wrapped an arm around Cinder’s waist—she was a good height to act as a crutch for her as they hobbled through the garden. Cinder’s dead metal foot dragged a groove into the pathway of tumbled blue glass.

“What if it’s locked?” asked Cress, glancing down the street, although they hadn’t seen a single person. Perhaps this entire neighborhood was made up of popular members of the court. Perhaps this whole city was off having a raucous celebration at the palace.

“Then I’ll pick it,” said Thorne.

The door wasn’t locked. They found themselves in a grandiose entryway with a curved staircase and a sea of gold and white tiles.

Thorne let out a low whistle. “This place is ripe for plundering.”

Iko responded, “Can I go plunder the master closet?”

Jacin found an enormous vase full of flowers and set it on the floor inside the front door, so anyone who opened it would knock it over and shatter the vase into a hundred tiny pieces. Fair warning that it was time for them to leave.

It didn’t take them long to find a kitchen that was bigger than Cress’s satellite. Cress and Iko maneuvered Cinder onto a stool and helped her prop up her leg while Jacin rummaged through the pantry, emerging with an assortment of nuts and fruits.

“What do you think is wrong with you?” Iko asked.

Cinder smacked her palm against the side of her head, like she hoped to jog something back into place. “It’s not a power issue,” she said. “My eyes are working, at least. It’s something in the connection between the brain-machine interface and my prostheses. It affected both my hand and leg at the same time, so it must be a primary connection. My control panel could have gotten waterlogged or something. Could be a few dead wires.” She sighed. “I guess I should feel lucky. If my power cell had died, I’d be dead with it.”

They mulled over this for a moment, picking at the food.

Thorne glanced back at the pantry. “Did you see any rice in there? Maybe we could fill Cinder’s head with it.”

Everyone stared at him.

“You know, to … absorb the moisture, or something. Isn’t that a thing?”

“We’re not pouring rice in my head.”

“But I’m pretty sure I remember someone putting a portscreen in a bag of rice once after they’d put it through a clothes washer and—”

“Thorne.”

“Just trying to be helpful.”

“What do you need to fix it?” asked Cress, then hunched down between her shoulders as all eyes turned toward her.

Cinder frowned, and Cress could see her working through different possibilities. Then she started to laugh, dragging her good hand through her tangled, still-damp hair. “A mechanic,” she said. “A really good one.”

Iko beamed. “That, we have. Plus, we’re in a mansion. They have tons of technology here. We just need to find you the parts and tools and you can talk me through fixing you. Right?”

Cinder pursed her lips. There were dark circles beneath her eyes and an unhealthy pallor to her skin. Cress had never seen her so worn down.

Iko cocked her head. She must have noticed it too, because she spent a moment studying Cinder, then everyone in their group. “You all look awful. Maybe you should rest for a while. I can keep watch.”

They mulled over the idea for a minute, before Thorne said, “That’s actually not a bad idea.”

Iko shrugged. “Someone has to stay clearheaded in an emergency situation.” Frowning, she added, “Although I never thought it would have to be me.”

Thorne turned to Cinder. “You’ll think more clearly after a nap.”

She ignored him, staring at the counter. There was a dejected slump to her shoulders, a hollowness in her gaze.

“I don’t think a nap is going to fix this,” she said, lifting her cyborg hand. It hung limply from her wrist, a hole where one finger had been removed. “I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t fight like this, or start a revolution, or be a queen. I can’t do anything like this. I’m broken. I’m literally broken.”

Iko settled a hand on Cinder’s shoulder. “Yeah, but broken isn’t the same as unfixable.”