Cress (Lunar Chronicles 3)

Iko wasn’t far from him, the only one of them not panting.

Cress and Thorne were to Cinder’s left. Thorne had a cane and, she thought, he might still have his gun too. But he and Wolf could easily become liabilities, weapons to be toyed with by the thaumaturge, unlike Cress and Iko, who couldn’t be controlled.

“How many?” Thorne asked.

“Mistress Sybil in front of us,” said Cress, “and six Lunar guards behind.”

After the slightest hesitation, Thorne nodded. “I accept those odds.”

“So charming,” said Sybil, tilting her head. “My little protégé has been embraced by cyborgs and androids and criminals—the scum of Earthen society. Quite fitting for a useless shell.”

From the corner of her eye, Cinder noticed Thorne easing himself as a shield between Cress and the thaumaturge, but it was Cress who lifted her chin, with a look more confident than Cinder had ever seen on her.

“You mean the useless shell that just disconnected the link to all your palace surveillance equipment?”

Sybil clicked her tongue. “Arrogance doesn’t suit you, dear. What do I care if the connection has been severed? Soon this palace will be the home of Queen Levana.” She nodded. “Guards, leave His Majesty and the special operative unharmed. Kill the rest.”

Cinder heard the thunk of boots, the rustle of uniforms, the click of guns being released from their holsters.

She opened her thoughts to them.

Six Lunar men. Six royal guards who, just like Jacin, had been trained to keep their minds open. Trained to be puppets.

She sought out the electric pulses around them. In unison, all six guards turned toward the edge of the rooftop and threw their guns as hard as they could. Six handguns sailed out of sight, clattering somewhere on the tiled rooftops below.

Sybil let out a screech of laughter, the most unrestrained Cinder had ever witnessed from her. “You have learned a few things since last we saw each other, haven’t you?” Sybil paced down the ramp. “Not that controlling a handful of guards is any impressive feat.” Her gaze flickered to Wolf.

Abandoning the guards, Cinder reached out for him instead, bracing herself for the sharp burst of pain inside her head that happened every time she took control of Wolf.

But the pain didn’t come. Wolf’s mind was already closed to her, as if someone had locked his writhing energy up in a vault.

Then he swiveled toward Cinder, his face contorting with a feral hunger.

Cursing, Cinder took half a step back. Her memory flashed to all the duels inside the cargo bay—and then Wolf launched himself at her.

Ducking, Cinder held her hands toward his abdomen and used his momentum to flip him over her head. He landed lithely on his feet and spun back, aiming a right hook for her jaw. Cinder deflected with her metal fist, but the force drove her off balance and she fell onto the hard asphalt of the landing pad. Planting both hands on the ground, she drove her heel up toward Wolf, catching him in the side—his wounded side. She hated herself for it, but he grunted in pain and stumbled half a step back.

She sprang back to her feet. She was already panting. Warnings flooded her retina display.

Wolf licked his lips as he prepared to charge for her a second time, revealing the glint of his sharp teeth.

Smothering her panic, Cinder tried to reach for him again. If only she could break Sybil’s mental hold. If only she’d gotten to him first. She searched for some flicker of the Wolf she knew was encased inside all that fury and bloodlust. Some vulnerable spot in his mind.

She was so distracted by her attempts to dislodge Sybil’s control that she didn’t notice the roundhouse kick until it had crashed into the side of her head and sent her reeling halfway across the platform.

She lay on her side, dizzy, white sparks flashing in her vision and her left arm burning from skidding across the ground. Breath wouldn’t come into her lungs. She couldn’t lift her head. Programming diagnostics were going berserk and it took her a moment to remember how to send them away so she could focus.

As her vision cleared, she noticed shapes moving against the twilit sky. People and shadows. Fighting. Brawling. The hazy images were eventually coupled with grunts of pain.

The guards had attacked. Thorne had gotten a knife from somewhere, Cress was wildly swinging his cane, and Iko was using her metal and silicon limbs as best she could to defend herself. But Thorne was blind and Iko wasn’t programmed with fighting skills and as soon as one of the guards grabbed the cane out of Cress’s hands, she fell to her knees, paralyzed, cowering behind her arms.

As Cinder watched, a guard caught Thorne’s wrist and yanked it behind his back. He cried out. The knife fell. Another guard landed a punch to his stomach.

Then Cinder heard a growl. Wolf was crouched, ready to come at her again.

Cinder resisted the urge to close her eyes and brace for impact, instead letting a slow breath out through her nose. She urged her muscles to relax with it.

Your mind and body have to work together.

For a moment, it was like being two people at once. Her eyes were open, focused on Wolf as he lunged for her, and her body—loose and relaxed—instinctively rolled away, before she bounded back to her feet.

At the same time, her Lunar gift sought out the pulses of energy around her, targeted the six guards, and wrapped so tightly around them it was like clasping them in enormous metal fists.

There was a jolt of surprise from the guards. One crashed to his knees. Two fell onto their sides, convulsing.

Cinder dodged another punch, blocked another kick. Her instincts yearned to use the knife inside her finger, but she refused.

Wolf wasn’t the enemy.

She landed an uppercut to his jaw—her first solid strike—as those words infiltrated her brain.

Wolf isn’t the enemy.

A blur of blue caught her eye. Iko jumped onto Wolf’s back with a battle cry, wrapping her legs around his waist. Her arms surrounded his head, trying to blind or suffocate or distract him any way she could.

She was successful for 2.3 seconds before Wolf reached behind him, grabbed hold of her head, and twisted with such force the skin ripped around her throat. The wiring along her upper spine popped and sparked.

Iko slipped off him, crumpling to the ground. Her legs were twisted awkwardly beneath her. The external plating that protected her collar structure was peeled back on one side, revealing disconnected wires and a torn muscle pad, already leaking thick yellow silicon down her shoulder.

Cinder stumbled and crashed to her knees, staring at the crooked form. Her internal audio latched on to that awful sound and began replaying it over and over—that same brutal snap. That same heavy thud as Iko’s body hit the ground.

Her stomach heaved once, but she kept it down as she peeled her gaze away from Iko and looked, not at Wolf, but at Sybil.

The thaumaturge was standing at the base of the ramp now. Her beautiful face was pinched in concentration.

In her distant thoughts, Cinder could tell that the guards were picking themselves off the ground. Rounding on her friends again.

Snarling, she ignored them all. She ignored Wolf.

Sybil was the enemy.

Wolf turned back to face her. His feet pounded on the pavement.

But Cinder was too focused on the bioelectricity rolling off Sybil to care. Sybil’s energy was twisted and arrogant and proud, and Cinder had just slipped into the cracks of her thoughts when the impact came.

Wolf crashed into her, knocking her over, but Cinder barely felt it.

While Wolf pinned her to the ground, Cinder was working her way around Sybil’s gift. Becoming intimately acquainted with how the energy rippled along her limbs and fingers. How it was so different from the way that same energy churned and throbbed inside her brain.

As Wolf revealed his sharp canines, Cinder discovered where Sybil’s gift was boiling hot in her attempts to control Wolf, leaving the rest of her brain cool and vulnerable.

When Wolf lowered his fangs toward Cinder’s unprotected throat, Cinder seized Sybil’s mind and attacked.

Fifty-Five

Crack.

Cress glanced up just as Iko slid off Wolf’s back, landing broken and mangled on the hard ground. A shudder tore through her. Even from this distance she could see the torn flesh and sparking wires.

“What was that?”

She returned her attention to Thorne. She was still kneeling beside him, trying to steady him as best she could. He’d taken a hard punch to his stomach that had knocked the wind from him, but at least he was breathing and talking again.

“I think we just lost Iko,” she said. “Can you stand?”

Thorne groaned, still clasping one hand to his stomach. “Yeah,” he said, sounding none too convinced.

Something shuffled. Glancing up, Cress squeaked and dug her fingers into Thorne’s arms. The guards, having been paralyzed and empty faced for the past few moments, were twitching. One of them groaned.

Beside her, Thorne pulled himself to his feet. “There. Better,” he said, though he was still grimacing. “Do you see my cane anywhere? Or my knife?”

She spotted the cane behind one of the guards, whose furious gaze was no longer empty or harmless.

“Cress?”

“Guards are up again,” she said.

Thorne flinched. “All six of them?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “And Cinder’s on the ground—she might be unconscious. And Wolf’s still under Sybil’s control and I … I think he’s going to…” She squeezed Thorne’s arm, horrified at the sight of Wolf pinning Cinder to the ground. She wanted to look away, but couldn’t, like being stuck in a bad dream.

“That all sounds very dire,” said Thorne.

Shivering, she pressed her back against him, wondering how her death was going to come. Her skull crushed against the concrete? Her neck snapped like Iko’s?

“I guess it’s time.”

While Cress’s thoughts continued to churn through the horrible things that could happen to her, she felt herself being suddenly spun around and dipped backward, a supportive arm scooping beneath her back. She yelped and caught herself on Thorne’s shoulder.

Then he was kissing her.

The battle became a hurricane, with them caught in the eye—his arms cradling her against the wind, her skirt billowing around his legs, his lips gentle but coaxing as if they had all the time in the world.

Warmth overtook her and Cress closed her eyes. She thought her arms wanted to wrap around his neck, but her whole body was vibrating and dizzy and she could barely keep her fingers clutched around the fabric of his shirt.

She had just finished melting when she was suddenly righted again.

The world flipped. Thorne spun, embracing her against his chest with one arm while the other reached for his waist. Cress heard the gunshot and screamed, pressing herself against him, before she realized that Thorne was the one who had fired.

A guard grunted.

Another guard grabbed Thorne by the collar and he turned, elbowing the guard in the jaw.

“Cress, do me a favor.” He twirled her around so that her back was against him—she was beginning to feel like a satellite being constantly spun out of orbit, but she had no time to think as Thorne settled his arm on her shoulder. “Make sure I don’t shoot anyone we like.”

He fired again and the bullet clipped a guard’s bicep. The guard barely flinched, and lunged toward them.

Gasping, Cress wrapped her hands around Thorne’s and aimed. He fired again, this time hitting the guard in the chest. He stumbled backward and fell.

Cress swiveled, pulling Thorne’s hand toward the next guard. Another shot to the chest. A third shot hit the next guard’s shoulder. She aimed for the fourth—

Click. Click.

Thorne cursed. “Well, that was fun while it lasted.”

The guard laughed. He was tall and made of muscle, with orange-red hair that swept nearly straight up, and he was the only guard that Cress recognized. She’d seen him on the surveillance footage before, usually along with the rest of the queen’s entourage, which meant he was probably the highest-ranking guard among them.

“If it’s all right with you,” he said, “I’ll be killing you now.”

“Aren’t you a gentleman?” Thorne said, pulling Cress behind him and raising his fists.

A scream split through the wind.

Not just a scream, but a scream made up of pain and delirium, torture and agony.

Cress and Thorne both ducked and covered their ears, and at first Cress was terrified that it was Cinder. But when she looked, Mistress Sybil had fallen on the ground and was twitching and digging her nails into her scalp. The scream went on and on as she twisted and flailed, craning her head so fast it smacked against the asphalt, then curling up on herself like a fetus, searching for relief that wasn’t coming.

Cinder still appeared unconscious, with Wolf hovering over her. But then he whipped his head like a bedraggled dog and sprang away from Cinder with wild, remorseful eyes.

Cinder stayed corpse-like on the ground.

“Stop!” the red-haired guard yelled. He grabbed Cress, yanking her away from Thorne and wrapping one hand around her throat. She screamed and clawed at his wrists, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I said stop, or I’ll crush her throat!” Though he was yelling, he could hardly be heard over Sybil, and either Cinder didn’t hear him or she didn’t care … or she couldn’t stop. Cress tried to kick behind her, but her legs were too short and already darkness was encroaching on her vision.…

Crack.

The guard’s fist loosened and he toppled over, unconscious. Cress stumbled away from him, rubbing her neck. Spinning around, she saw Thorne holding his cane like a club.

“I found my cane,” he said, tossing it once with a twirl and trying to catch the other end, but missing. The cane clattered to the floor. Thorne flinched. “Are you all right?”