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.