Winter

Sixty-Eight

“Why does Cress always get to wear the best clothes?” Iko whined, crossing her arms while Cress practiced walking back and forth in the ridiculously tall platform shoes. “Cress gets to go to a royal wedding. Cress gets to go to a coronation. Cress has all the fun.”

“I’m not going to the coronation,” said Cress, trying to look at her feet without falling over. “We’re just impersonating guests so we can hack into the palace broadcast system.”

“Cress gets to hack into the palace broadcast system.”

“Cress is risking her life to do this.” Cinder threw a pile of shimmering accessories onto the bed. “Do any of these match?”

Iko flopped onto the bed and started pawing through the accessories with desire-filled eyes. “I think these gloves attach to the wing-things,” she said, followed by a pitiful sigh. “I wish my outfit came with fingerless orange elbow-length gloves.”

“These shoes are like stilts,” said Cress, wobbling. “Isn’t there something more practical?”

“I don’t think practical is in the Lunar vocabulary,” said Cinder, diving back into the closet, “but I’ll look.”

They’d managed to find a new pair of boots for Cinder, at least, who had lost hers in the lake. They’d found them stacked in a utility closet along with miscellaneous sporting equipment, or what Cress thought was sporting equipment. Unfortunately, there’d been nothing small enough to fit her, and Iko had insisted they wouldn’t have matched her aristocratic outfit anyway.

“Tell me I don’t look as ridiculous as I feel.” Thorne appeared in the doorway, fidgeting with his cuffs.

Startled, Cress tripped and crashed into Iko, sending them both tumbling onto the floor.

Cinder poked her head out of the closet, surveyed the scene, and bunched up her lips. She disappeared again, muttering, “I’d better find some different shoes.”

Thorne helped Cress and Iko back to their feet. “Maybe ridiculous is the theme of the day,” he said, tilting his head to survey Cress’s outfit, which was part cocktail dress, part butterfly costume. An orange tutu barely reached her mid-thigh and was gaudy enough when paired with a glitz-covered, form-fitting bodice. Two sheer swaths of material had been sewn onto the bodice’s back and did in fact connect to the fingerless orange elbow-length gloves Iko relinquished, so when Cress spread her arms it gave the effect of a pair of black-and-yellow butterfly wings opening up behind her. To top it off, Iko had found a tiny blue hat in the accessories chest that had a pair of springs and feathered balls on top—what Cress assumed were meant to be the antennae.

“I do feel a little better now that I see what you’re wearing.” Thorne adjusted his bow tie. He was in a lean plum-toned suit that was surprisingly flattering on him despite having been dragged out of a stranger’s closet. The bow tie had tiny threaded lights running through the fabric, making the collar of his white shirt glow in different shades of neon. He’d left on his own black military boots.

He looked absurd and sexy, and Cress had to force herself to look away.

“You’ll fit right in, from what I could tell at the feast.” Cinder emerged with a pair of more user-friendly shoes. “They were all wearing crazy things like this at the feast. I don’t doubt that a lot of the clothing was glamour-made, but the fewer elements of your appearance you have to glamour, the easier it is to hold the illusion.”

“Hey, Captain,” said Iko, “stop checking out her legs.”

Cress turned in time to see Thorne’s appreciative grin. Shrugging, he adjusted the cuffs of his jacket. “I’m a connoisseur, Iko. Look how tall those shoes make her look.” He hesitated. “Well, tall-ish.”

Flushing, Cress inspected her bare legs.

Cinder rolled her eyes. “Here, Cress, try these on.”

“Hm? Oh, right.” She removed the torture devices and tossed them to Iko, who was all too thrilled to slip them onto her feet.

Within seconds, Iko was waltzing around the room’s perimeter as if she’d been designed with those exact shoes in mind. “Oh, yes,” she said. “I’m keeping these.”

When Cress had fitted the replacement shoes onto her feet, Thorne flicked one of her antenna puff balls and draped an arm over her shoulders. “How do we look?”

Cinder scratched the back of her neck. Iko tilted her head from one side to the other, as if their appearance might improve from a different angle.

“I guess you look Lunar?” Cinder ventured.

“Nice.” Thorne held up a hand for a high five. Cress awkwardly complied.

Cinder adjusted her ponytail. “Of course, any Lunar who’s paying attention will be able to tell you’re an Earthen and she’s a shell. So be careful.”

Thorne scoffed. “Careful is my middle name. Right after Suave and Daring.”

“Do you even know what you’re saying half the time?” asked Cinder.

Thorne picked up the chip that they’d transferred Cinder’s video onto and handed it to Cress. “Put this somewhere safe.”

She stared, not sure what constituted safe. She had no pockets, no bag, and very little clothing in which to hide anything. Finally she tucked it inside her bodice.

Grabbing Cress’s portscreen off the vanity, Thorne slid it into a pocket on the inside of his jacket, where she could also see the outline of his handgun. A small knife they’d taken from the kitchen vanished in his hands, so quick she wasn’t sure where he’d put it.

“I guess that’s it,” said Cinder, scanning over Thorne’s and Cress’s outfits again. “Are we ready?”

“If anyone answers no to that question,” said Jacin, appearing in the hallway with a scowl and tapping fingers, “I’m leaving without you.”

Cress cast her gaze over her friends, realizing they were about to be separated. Again. Trepidation curled in the pit of her stomach.

She and Thorne would go off to the palace, while Cinder, Iko, and Jacin tried to save Winter and Scarlet and organize the people who would soon be infiltrating Artemisia.

She didn’t want to leave them. She didn’t want to say good-bye.

But Thorne’s arm was over her shoulders, comfortable and solid. When he tugged on his lapel with his free hand and told the others, “We’re ready,” Cress didn’t argue.

* * *

“There’s the back entrance,” said Jacin, pointing at a near-invisible door in the back of the medical and research clinic, half-hidden behind overgrown shrubberies. Iko popped up beside him in an attempt to see, but he flattened a hand on her head and forced her to duck down as two men in lab coats strolled by, both of them with their attention stuck to their portscreens.

Jacin scanned the yard one more time before darting out from their cover and ducking into the building’s shadow. Through the dome’s wall he could see the desolate landscape of Luna stretching into the distance.

He waved his arm, and Cinder and Iko scurried after him, crowding together in the shadows.

The door opened easily—no reason to lock doors in a building that was open to the public—but Jacin refused to feel relieved. There would be no relief for him until he knew Winter was safe.

They scurried into a dim corridor, the walls in need of a coat of paint. Jacin listened, but all he heard was a squeaky wheel and a clattering cart in some distant hallway.

“There’s a maintenance room down there,” he said, pointing, “and a janitorial closet on each floor. That door takes you to the main part of the building.”

“How do you know all this?” Cinder whispered.

“I interned here for a few months before the queen decided I would make a decent guard.”

He felt Cinder peering up at him, but he didn’t meet the look.

“That’s right,” she murmured. “You wanted to be a doctor.”

“Whatever.” He paced to the screen beside the maintenance room and pulled up a mapped diagram of the clinic. A few red exclamation points glowed in different areas, with inserted notes. PATIENT RM 8: NON-TOXIC SPILL ON FLOOR. LAB 13: FAULTY LIGHT SWITCH.

“Here,” said Cinder, pointing at the fourth floor of the diagram. DISEASE RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENT.

There was a back staircase on the opposite side of the building—it would get them to the right floor, at least. Jacin hoped the research team had taken the day off to enjoy the coronation festivities. He didn’t want any more complications, and he’d like to avoid killing anyone else if he could.

That didn’t stop him from loosening his gun, though.

The climb to the fourth floor came with no surprises. Jacin cracked open the door and scanned the well-lit corridor. He could hear the gurgle of water tanks and the hum of computers and the constant growl of machinery, but no people.

Indicating for the others to stay close, he slipped out of the stairwell. Their shoes squeaked and thumped on the hard floors. Beside each door a screen lit up as they passed, indicating the purpose for each room.

AGRICULTURE: GEN MOD DEVELOPMENT AND TESTING

BIOELECTRICAL MANIPULATION: STUDY #17 (CONTROL AND GROUPS 1–3)

GENETIC ENGINEERING: CANIS LUPUS SUBJECTS #16–20

GENETIC ENGINEERING: CANIS LUPUS SUBJECTS #21–23

GENETIC ENGINEERING: SURGICAL ALTERATION

“… increased manufac…”

Jacin froze. The feminine voice was from somewhere down the hallway, and was followed by the slamming of a door or cupboard.

“… be possible to sustain … resources…”

Another door opened, followed by footsteps.

Jacin grabbed for the nearest door, but it was locked. Behind him, Cinder tested another handle, sneering when it didn’t open either.

“Here,” Iko whispered, pulling open a door down the hall. Jacin and Cinder ducked in after her and shut the door, careful to not make a sound.

The lab was empty—or at least, empty of people. Conscious people. The walls were lined with shelves of suspended-animation tanks, filling up the space from floor to ceiling. Each tank hummed and gurgled, their insides lit with faint green lights that made the bodies look like frozen corpses. The far wall was full of even more tanks layered like shut drawers, making it a checkerboard of screens and statistics, glowing lights and the soles of feet.

Cinder and Iko ducked behind two of the tanks. Jacin backed himself against the wall so he would be hidden if the door opened and able to take anyone by surprise.

The first voice was met with another, male this time. “… plenty in stock, but it would be nice if they gave us some indication that this was going to…”

Jacin inhaled as the voice grew louder, until footsteps were right outside the door. But the footsteps and voices soon faded in the other direction.

Iko peeked around the base of the tank, but he held a finger to his lips. Cinder’s face appeared a second later, questioning.

Jacin gave a cursory glance to the rest of the lab. Each of the suspension tanks had a small tube that connected it to a row of holding containers. Though most of the tubes were clear, a few of them were tinted maroon with slow-flowing blood.

“What is this place?” Cinder whispered. Her face was twisted with horror. She was staring at the unconscious form of a child, maybe a few years old.

“They’re shells,” he said. “She keeps them here for an endless supply of blood, which is used in producing the antidote.”

When a shell was born and taken away, their families were told they were being killed as part of the infanticide laws. Years ago they had actually been kept in captivity—secluded dormitories where they were regarded as little more than useful prisoners. But one day those imprisoned shells had raised a riot and, unable to be controlled, managed to kill five thaumaturges and eight royal guards before they’d been subdued.

Since then they’d been considered both useful and dangerous, which had led to the decision to keep them in a permanent comatose state. They were no longer a threat and their blood could more easily be harvested for the platelets that were used for the letumosis antidote.

Few people knew the infanticide laws were fake and that their lost children were still alive, if barely.

Jacin had never been in this room before, though he’d known it existed. The reality was more appalling than he’d imagined. It occurred to him that if he’d succeeded in becoming a doctor and escaped his fate as a palace guard, he may have ended up in this same lab. Only, instead of healing people, he’d be using them.

Iko had gone back to the door. “I don’t hear anyone in the hallway.”

“Right. We should go.” Cinder brushed her fingertips over the tank of the young child, her eyes crinkled with sadness, but also—if Jacin knew anything about her—a touch of determination. He suspected she was already planning the moment when she would come back here, and see them all freed.