Scarlet slid down in the seat. Her eyes darted to the door on the other side of the podship. She considered starting the engine, but she had no chance of escaping in the Rampion’s shuttle. They had to be underground, and the port’s exit probably required special authorization to open.
But if she could reach one of those other ships …
Trying to take calming breaths, she inched herself over the central console, into the copilot’s seat.
She braced herself, her heart pummeling against her collarbone. She counted down from three in her head, before unlatching the door. Prying it open at glacial speeds, so the movement wouldn’t be noticed by the Lunars behind her. Slipping out and settling her sneakers onto the floor. Now she could tell where the peculiar light was coming from—the entire floor was set in glowing white tiles, making it feel as if she were walking on …
Well, the moon.
She paused to listen. The doctors were discussing entrance wounds, the assistant was listing times for a meeting with the queen. For once, the thaumaturge had gone silent.
Breathe, breathe …
Scarlet stepped away from the podship. Her hair was clinging to her damp neck and she was trembling with fear and building adrenaline and the encroaching knowledge of how this would never work. She wouldn’t be able to get into the Lunar ship. They would shoot her in the back at any moment. Or she would get in the ship but not know how to fly it. Or the port’s exit wouldn’t open.
But the Lunars were still carrying on behind her and she was so close and this could work, this had to work …
Crouching against the Lunar ship’s shimmering white body, she licked her lips and inched her fingers toward the door panel—
Her hand froze.
Her heart plummeted.
The air around her fell silent, charged with an energy that made every hair stand up on Scarlet’s arms. Her mind stayed sharp this time, fully aware of how close she had come to getting inside that ship and making a mad dash for her safety, and at the same time fully aware that she’d never had a chance.
With a snap, her hand unfroze and she dropped it to her side.
Scarlet forced her chin up and, using the side of the podship for balance, she stood and turned to face the thaumaturge. Sitting on the hovering gurney, Sybil Mira had been stripped down to a light undershirt and was leaning to one side so the doctors could have access to the bullet wound. There was blood speckled on her cheek and brow and her hair was tangled and clumped haphazardly with yet more blood, but she still managed to look intimidating as her gray eyes held Scarlet pinned against the ship.
The doctors were hunkered over her thigh, working intently, as if they were afraid she would notice they were there as they cleaned and inspected and stitched. The two guards had their guns in hand, though their stances were relaxed as they awaited orders.
The assistant, who had been middle-aged and plain in every way before, had changed. Though he still wore the belted robe, he himself had become unearthly handsome. Early twenties, strong jawed, with pitch-black hair slicked neatly back from a widow’s peak on his brow.
Scarlet clenched her jaw and forced her brain to remember what he looked like before. To not give any weight to his imposed glamour. It was only a small rebellion, but she embraced it with all the mental strength she had left.
“This must be the hostage taken from the cyborg’s ship,” the assistant said. “What shall I have done with her?”
The thaumaturge’s gaze narrowed on Scarlet, with a hatred that could have melted skin off bones.
The feeling was mutual. Scarlet glared right back.
“I need time to brief Her Majesty about her,” said Sybil. “I suspect she will want to be present when the girl is questioned.” She twitched as pain flickered across her face. Scarlet could see the moment when the thaumaturge lost interest in Scarlet’s fate, when her shoulders slumped and she drew on whatever energy she had left to lower herself fully onto the gurney. “I don’t care what you do with her in the meantime. Give her to one of the families if you want.”
The assistant nodded and gestured to the guards.
Within seconds, they had stepped forward and pulled Scarlet away from the podship, locking her hands behind her with some sort of binding that dug into her forearms. By the time they began marching her toward the enormous arched doors, the doctors and the thaumaturge were already gone.
Twenty-Seven
Time passed in a haze, dreams and reality blurring together. Being pulled from her sleep, forced to sit up and drink some water. Snips of muddled conversations. Shivering. Hot and sweating and kicking off the thin blankets. Thorne beside her, tying a blindfold around his head. Hands holding the water bottle to her lips. Drink. Drink. Drink. Eat this soup. Drink some more. Unfamiliar laughter making her curl up into a ball and burrow beneath the blankets. Thorne’s silhouette in the moonlight, rubbing his eyes and cursing. Gasping for breath in the hot air, sure that she was going to suffocate beneath the blankets and that all the oxygen would be sucked up into the dark night sky. Desperate for water. Itchy from the sand still in her clothes and hair.
Light. Darkness. Light again.
Finally Cress awoke, groggy but lucid. Saliva was thick and sticky in her mouth and she was lying on a mat inside a small tent, alone. It was dark beyond the thin fabric walls and the moonlight spilled over the pile of clothing at her feet. She felt for her hair, meaning to strangle her wrists with it, but found it chopped beneath her ears.
The memories returned, lazy at first. Thorne in the satellite, Sybil and her guard, the fall and the knife and the cruel desert stretching to the ends of the earth.
She could hear voices outside. She wondered whether the night had just begun or was already ending. She wondered how long she’d slept. She seemed to recall arms around her, soft knuckles brushing sand off her face. Had it been a dream?
The tent’s flap opened and a woman appeared with a tray, the older woman from the fire. She beamed and set down the food—some sort of soup and a canteen of water.
“Finally,” she said in that thick, unfamiliar accent, crawling over the mounds of disheveled blankets. “How do you feel?” She pressed a palm to Cress’s forehead. “Better. Good.”
“How long was I…?”
“Two days. We’re behind schedule now, but no matter. It’s good to see you awake.”
She sat down beside Cress. It was a snug fit in the tent, but not uncomfortable.
“You will have a camel to ride when we leave. We need to keep your wounds clean. You were lucky we got you before the infection.”
“Wounds?”
The woman gestured to her feet and Cress bent over. It was too dark to see, but she could feel bandages. Even two days later they were sore to the touch and her leg muscles tingled from exertion.
“Where’s—” She hesitated, unable to remember if Thorne had given himself a fake name. “My husband?”
“By the fire. He’s been entertaining us with talk of your whirlwind romance. Lucky girl.” She gave a sly wink that made Cress withdraw, then patted Cress’s knee. She handed the bowl of soup to her. “Eat first. If you’re strong enough, you can come join us.” She scooted back toward the entrance.
“Wait. I have to—um.” She blushed, and the woman gave her an understanding look.
“I’m sure you do. Come along, I’ll show you where to do your business.”
There was a pair of boots by the tent’s opening that were far too big for her. The woman helped Cress stuff them with cloth until they bordered on comfortable, though the bottoms of her feet still stung, and then she led her away from the fire, to a hole they’d dug into the sand at the edge of the oasis. Two sheets had been hung up for privacy and there was a young palm tree to balance on while Cress relieved herself.
When she was done, the woman guided her back to the tent and then left her alone to savor the soup. Her appetite had returned tenfold since her first meal in the oasis. Her gut felt hollow, but the broth soothed her as she listened to the chatter of strangers. She tried to pick out Thorne’s voice, but couldn’t.
When Cress crawled out of the tent again, she saw eight forms seated around the fire. Jina was stirring a pot half buried in the sand, and Thorne sat relaxed and cross-legged on one of the mats. He had a bandanna around his eyes.
“She rises!” yelled the hunter, Kwende.
Thorne raised his head, and his surprise broke into a toothy grin. “My wife?” he said, louder than necessary.
Cress’s nerves crawled to find so many strangers staring at her. Her breathing became erratic and she considered feigning a dizzy spell to seek solace back in the tent.
But then Thorne was standing, or trying to, wobbling on one knee like he might tip right over into the fire. “Uh-oh.”
Cress darted to his side. With her help, he heaved himself up to his feet and grasped her hands, still shaky.
“Cress?”
“Yes, Cap—um—”
“You’re awake, finally! How do you feel?” He sought out her forehead, his palm landing first on her nose before sliding up to her forehead. “Oh, good, your fever’s gone down. I was so worried.” He pulled her into an embrace, dwarfing her in his arms.
Cress squeaked, but the sound was muffled in the cotton of his shirt. He released her just as quickly and cupped her face in both hands. “My dear Mrs. Smith, never scare me like that again.”
Although his act was overdone, Cress felt a jolt behind her sternum at seeing his mouth set just so, feeling his hands so tender against her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I feel much better now.”
“You look much better.” His lips quirked. “At least, I’m assuming you do.” Thorne dug his toes into the sand and flicked up one end of a long stick, catching it easily. “Come on, let’s go for a walk. Try to get some real alone time on this honeymoon of ours.” He twisted his face into a wink that was obvious even beneath the blindfold.
The crowd around the fire hollered as Thorne took Cress’s hand. She guided him away from the taunts, glad that the night’s darkness hid her burning cheeks.
“You seem to be getting around well,” she said when they’d gone some distance from the fire, though she was glad when Thorne didn’t release her hand.
“I’ve been practicing walking with the new cane. One of the guys made it for me, and it’s a lot nicer than that metal one. The camp setup still confuses me, though. I swear they keep moving stuff around every time I think I’ve got it figured out.”
“I should have been there to help you,” she said as they neared the small lake. “I’m sorry I slept so long.”
He shrugged. “I’m just glad you’re all right. I really was worried.”
Her attention caught on their entwined fingers like a beacon. Every twitch, every heartbeat, every step was broadcast through her entire body.
It wasn’t long before her imagination had them lying together in the warm sand, his fingers stroking through her hair, his lips working their way along her jaw.
“So listen,” said Thorne, snapping her away from the dream. “I told everyone that once we get to town, we’re going to call up my uncle in America and have him send transportation, so we won’t be continuing on with them.”
Cress tucked her hair behind her ears, still shaking off the tendrils of the fantasy. The touch of night air on her neck was unexpectedly pleasant. “And you think we’ll be able to contact your crew?”
“That’s my hope. The ship doesn’t have any tracking equipment, but given that you were able to find our location before, I thought maybe you could think of some way to at least get a message to them.”
They made a full circle around the camels, who eyed them with blatant disinterest, while Cress’s brain started rummaging through a dozen possible means of communicating with an untraceable ship, and what she would need to accomplish it. She hadn’t been able to do it from the satellite, but with the right net access …
She was grateful when they arrived at their little tent. Though the walk had been short, the large boots had already begun to burn. She sank down on the mat and pulled one off, inspecting the bandages as well as she could in the dark. Thorne settled down beside her.
“Everything all right?”
“I hope we can find some shoes when we get to this town.” She sighed dreamily. “My first pair of real shoes.”
He smirked. “Now you’re sounding like a true Earthen lady.”
She glanced toward the fire to make sure no one overheard them. “Can I ask why you’re wearing a blindfold?”
His fingers skimmed the material. “I think it was making people uncomfortable—my staring into space all the time, or looking right through them.”
She dipped her head, pulling off the second boot. “It didn’t make me uncomfortable. I think your eyes are … well, dreamy.”
His lips quirked. “So you have noticed.” Pulling off the bandanna, he tucked it into a pocket, before stretching his legs out in front of him.
Cress fidgeted with the blunt ends of her hair, staring at his profile with a longing that made her entire body ache. Finally, after an agonizing minute of gathering her courage, she shifted closer to him and leaned her head against his shoulder.
“Good idea,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist. “How could they not think that we’re in love?”
“How couldn’t they?” she murmured. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to memorize the exact feel of him.
“Cress?”
“Mm?”
“We’re good, right?”