Winter (33 page)

“I don’t suppose you need help with that?” Iko said, sounding too hopeful as she watched Thorne work the guard’s limp arms out of his sleeves.

Thorne paused to glare at her and, remembering the cylinder, dug it out and pressed it into her fist. “You get to work.”

Iko gave him a quick salute and threw herself behind the desk. Soon, Thorne could hear her lighthearted humming as she found the universal port and inserted the cylinder. A screen pinged, and Iko proclaimed proudly, “Code word: Captain is King!”

Thorne’s lips twitched as he tugged the guard’s shirt over his head.

“It worked! I’m in!” said Iko. “Uploading the program now.”

Wolf helped Thorne tie on the awkward shoulder armor.

“Just about done and … that’s it. Selecting sectors to receive altered programming, and uploading Cinder’s video into the holding queue … Wow, Cress couldn’t have made this any easier.”

Thorne grunted, not wanting to hear how great of a job Cress had done in helping them from afar. He wished she would have just sent herself.

He dropped the dust mask over his face to hide his grimace and wedged his feet into the guard’s boots. He raised questionable eyebrows at Wolf.

Wolf nodded. “Passable.”

“Give me at least four more minutes,” said Iko.

“Got it. Two knocks means trouble, three means coast is clear.” Thorne grabbed the guard’s rifle. He heard Wolf cracking his knuckles as he slipped back through the door to take up the guard’s post. The grim-faced, shoulders-back posture came easily and he was glad that, for once, his military training was coming in handy.

He counted off six seconds before the guard patrolling this portion of the dome came into view. He strolled past Thorne with his own gun held over his shoulder, searching for errant civilians or laborers who should have been working.

If the guard looked at him, Thorne didn’t know it. He kept his own gaze pinned to the horizon, stoic and serious.

The guard passed by.

Behind the dust mask, Thorne smirked.

*   *   *

Cinder wished she had more floor space in which to pace. Her nerves were a wreck as she waited to hear from Iko.

“Are you all right?” Scarlet asked, sitting cross-legged on the rocking chair. She was fidgety too, toying with the drawstring of her freshly cleaned hoodie.

“I’m fine,” Cinder lied. The truth was that she was as tense as a coiled spring, but she didn’t want to talk about it. They’d already talked their strategy to death. Everything that could go right. Everything that could go wrong.

The people would answer her call, or they wouldn’t. Either way, she was about to show Levana her hand.

In the kitchen, Princess Winter was humming an unfamiliar song. She’d hardly stopped moving since her arrival the evening before. She’d dusted, swept, beat rugs, reorganized cabinets, and folded laundry, and done it all with the grace of a butterfly. All her work was making Cinder feel like a bad houseguest.

Cinder wasn’t sure what to make of the princess. She both admired and questioned Winter’s decision to not use her glamour. Life had been simpler before Cinder had use of her own gift, and she’d too often been terrified to think she was becoming more and more like Levana. But at the same time, now that she had her gift, she couldn’t imagine giving it up, especially seeing the toll it was taking on the princess’s sanity.

But to write off the princess as merely crazy didn’t feel right, either. She was quirky and strange and ridiculously charismatic. She also seemed to honestly care about the people around her and she showed glimpses of intelligence that would have been easy to overlook. While she exuded humbleness, Cinder didn’t think she was as ignorant of her own charms as she pretended to be.

She wished she could remember her from when they were children, but all her memories consisted of flames and burning coals and seared flesh. There was nothing about a friend, a cousin. It had never even occurred to her she might have such a connection from her brief life on Luna—she’d assumed everyone in the palace would be her enemy.

A comm popped up on her retina display.

Cinder froze, read it, and released a heavy breath. “They’re in position. The video is set to play one minute following the end of the workday announcement across all outer sectors. Thorne is standing watch. No alarms raised—yet.”

Cinder placed a hand over her knotted stomach. This was the moment all her preparations had been for.

A thousand horrors clouded her mind. That they wouldn’t believe her. That they wouldn’t follow her. That they wouldn’t
want
her revolution.

As far as she could tell, this would be the first time Luna’s outer sectors would be exposed to a message that wasn’t crown-sanctioned propaganda or fearmongering. Every bit of media they had came from the crown, from public executions that villainized anyone who dared criticize the queen, to documentaries on the royal family’s generosity and compassion. Sectors could be singled out for individual broadcasts or all set to receive one message at once, although Cinder suspected the queen rarely did mass communications. Rather, the rich communities of Artemisia might see coverage on the most elite parties of the season while laborers in the outer sectors saw reports on food shortages and reduced rations. Without any way to communicate between themselves, though, how were they to know any different?

Cinder was about to hijack Levana’s most valuable brainwashing tool—more powerful even than her glamour. For the first time, the people in the outer sectors would hear a message of truth and empowerment. For the first time, they would be united.

She hoped.

A familiar chime blared outside, followed by Luna’s anthem and the woman’s polite voice sending the workers home from the workday.

Cinder wrapped her arms around herself, squeezing tight in an effort to keep from dissolving. “That’s it,” she said, looking at Scarlet. They had discussed at length whether or not Cinder should risk being out in the sector when her message played. Her companions had all encouraged her to wait and let the video do its job without putting herself at risk, but she knew in that moment that waiting wasn’t an option. She had to be there to see their reaction, in this sector at least, if she couldn’t see the reactions anywhere else.

Scarlet’s lips turned down. “You’re going out there, aren’t you?”

“I have to.”

Scarlet rolled her eyes, though she didn’t look surprised. She stood and glanced toward the kitchen, where Winter’s humming had become dramatic and overwrought. “Winter?”

The princess appeared a moment later, her hands covered in wall putty.

Scarlet settled her hands on her hips. “What are you doing?”

“Patching up the house,” said Winter, as if it were obvious. “So it won’t fall apart.”

“Right. Well, good job. Cinder and I are going to watch the video. If anyone comes to the house, hide. Don’t leave, and try not to do anything crazy.”

Winter winked. “I shall be a vestibule of unhampered sanity.”

With an exasperated shake of her head, Scarlet turned back to Cinder. “She’ll be fine. Let’s go.”

The clock in Cinder’s head was counting down the minutes, and she and Scarlet had barely left the house when the dome darkened overhead. In the distance she could see the first laborers heading home from the factories. They all paused and looked up, waiting to hear whatever bad news the queen had for them now.

A series of building-size squares flickered across the surface of the dome and sharpened into one image, duplicated a dozen times in every direction—Cinder’s face plastered half a dozen times across the sky.

Cinder grimaced at the sight. When they had recorded the video aboard the Rampion, she felt bold and resolute. She hadn’t bothered to dress up, preferring the people to see her as she was. In the video she was wearing the same military-issued T-shirt and cargo pants she’d found aboard the Rampion ages ago. Her hair was in the same ponytail she always wore it in. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her cyborg hand on full display.

She looked nothing at all like her regal, glamorous, powerful aunt.

“Cinder,” Scarlet hissed. “Shouldn’t you be using your glamour?”

She started and called up the glamour of the plain teenage girl she’d used during the trek from Artemisia. It would keep anyone in the sector from recognizing her at least, though it wouldn’t protect her from camera footage.

She hoped Levana would have a lot of footage to be examining after this.

Her likeness in the sky began to speak.

“Citizens of Luna, I ask that you stop what you’re doing to listen to this message. My name is Selene Blackburn. I am the daughter of the late Queen Channary, niece to
Princess
Levana, and the rightful heir to Luna’s throne.” She had practiced the words a thousand times and Cinder was relieved she didn’t sound like a complete idiot saying them. “You were told that I died thirteen years ago in a nursery fire, but the truth is that my aunt, Levana, did try to kill me, but I was rescued and taken to Earth. There, I have been raised and protected in preparation for the time when I would return to Luna and reclaim my birthright.

“In my absence, Levana has enslaved you. She takes your sons and turns them into monsters. She takes your shell infants and slaughters them. She lets you go hungry, while the people in Artemisia gorge themselves on rich foods and delicacies.” Her expression turned fierce. “But Levana’s rule is coming to an end. I have returned and I am here to take back what is mine.”

Chills skittered down Cinder’s arms at hearing her own voice sound so capable, so confident, so
worthy.

“Soon,” the video continued, “Levana is going to marry Emperor Kaito of Earth and be crowned the empress of the Eastern Commonwealth, an honor that could not be given to anyone less deserving. I refuse to allow Levana to extend her tyranny. I will not stand aside while my aunt enslaves and abuses my people here on Luna, and wages a war across Earth. Which is why, before an Earthen crown can be placed on Levana’s head, I will bring an army to the gates of Artemisia.”

Above, her smile turned devious and unflinching.

“I ask that you, citizens of Luna, be that army. You have the power to fight against Levana and the people that oppress you. Beginning now, tonight, I urge you to join me in rebelling against this regime. No longer will we obey her curfews or forgo our rights to meet and talk and be heard. No longer will we give up our children to become her disposable guards and soldiers. No longer will we slave away growing food and raising wildlife, only to see it shipped off to Artemisia while our children starve around us. No longer will we build weapons for Levana’s war. Instead, we will take them for ourselves, for
our
war.

“Become my army. Stand up and reclaim your homes from the guards who abuse and terrorize you. Send a message to Levana that you will no longer be controlled by fear and manipulation. And upon the commencement of the royal coronation, I ask that all able-bodied citizens join me in a march against Artemisia and the queen’s palace. Together we will guarantee a better future for Luna. A future without oppression. A future in which any Lunar, no matter the sector they live in or the family they were born to, can achieve their ambitions and live without fear of unjust persecution or a lifetime of slavery.

“I understand that I am asking you to risk your lives. Levana’s thaumaturges are powerful, her guards are skilled, her soldiers are brutal. But if we join together, we can be
invincible.
They can’t control us all. With the people united into one army, we will surround the capital city and overthrow the impostor who sits on my throne. Help me. Fight for me. And I will be the first ruler in the history of Luna who will also fight for you.”

The video focused on Cinder’s indomitable expression for a heartbeat and cut out.

Thirty-Six

“Wow,” Scarlet whispered. “Good speech.”

Cinder’s heart was thundering. “Thanks. Kai wrote most of it.”

She peered down the empty row of houses. The few people she had spotted before were still milling around, staring up at the dome. More miners and factory workers should have returned by now, but the streets stayed empty. The dome was a vacuum of silence.

It should have frightened Cinder, knowing that she had made her first move. She had been running for so long. Levana had kept her on the defensive since the moment she’d seen her at the Commonwealth ball.

No more. She felt energized.
Ready.
Far from looking like a fool in the video, she had sounded like a queen. She sounded like a
revolutionary.
She sounded like she could actually pull this off.

“Come on,” said Scarlet, marching ahead. “Let’s go see what’s happening.”

Cinder hurried after her. They heard shouting coming from the central square and the distant citizens were drifting toward the residential streets, though they frequently paused to look back. As Cinder and Scarlet got closer, the shouting turned into barking orders.

The sector guards had shoved their way into the loitering crowd, gripping long, slender clubs in their fists.

“Move along,” a guard shouted. All but his eyes were concealed beneath his helmet and face mask. “Four minutes to curfew! Loitering is strictly prohibited, and no video is changing that.”

Cinder and Scarlet ducked behind a delivery cart.

The citizens were clustered into small groups, their hair and uniforms covered in regolith dust. A few had their sleeves rolled up, revealing the RM-9 tattoos on their forearms. Most lowered their eyes when the guards approached them, recoiling at the prospect of those clubs being turned on them. But few seemed to be leaving.

One guard grabbed a man by his elbow and shoved him away from the bubbling fountain at the dome’s center. “Get along, all of you. Don’t make us file a report of misconduct.”

Gazes shifted between the tired workers. The crowd was thinning. Their tired shoulders drooping as they dispersed. Groups dissolved without even an angry word shouted back at the guards.

Cinder’s heart squeezed.