Cress

by Marissa Meyer

  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 u
p 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?”

  She peeled her eyes open. A crop of palm trees in front of her glowed orange in the fluttering firelight and she heard the burst and crackle of sparks, but the noise seemed far away.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was just thinking about, you know, what you said out in the desert. I figured it was mostly the fever speaking, but even still, I have this habit of saying things without really thinking about them, and with you being new to this whole socializing thing…” He trailed off, his arm tightening around her waist. “You’re awfully sweet, Cress. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She gulped, her mouth feeling suddenly chalky. Never had she thought that such kind words could sting, but she couldn’t help feeling that his compliment didn’t mean what she wanted it to mean.

  She peeled her head off his shoulder. “You think I’m naïve.”

  “Sure, a little,” he said, so matter-of-factly that it seemed less of an insult than being called sweet. “But mostly I just think I’m not the best person to demonstrate all the goodness humanity has to offer. I don’t want you to be too disappointed when you realize that.”

  Cress knotted her fingers in her lap. “I know you better than you think, Captain Thorne. I know that you’re smart. And brave. And thoughtful and kind and—”

  “Charming.”

  “—charming and—”

  “Charismatic.”

  “—charismatic and—”

  “Handsome.”

  She pressed her lips and glared at him, but his mocking grin had swept away any hints of sincerity.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Please, continue.”

  “Perhaps more vain than I’d realized.”

  He threw his head back and laughed. Then, to her surprise, he reached over and took her hand, his other arm still around her waist. “For having such limited social experience, you, my dear, are an excellent judge of character.”

  “I don’t need experience. You can try to hide it behind your bad reputation and criminal escapades, but I can see the truth.”

  Still beaming, he nudged her with his shoulder. “That on the inside, I’m really just a sappy, lovelorn romantic?”

  She dug her toes into the sand. “No … that you’re a hero.”

  “A hero? That’s even better.”

  “And it’s true.”

  He hid his face behind his hand, dragging Cress’s hand along with it. It occurred to her that this entire conversation was a joke to him. But how could he not see it?

  “You’re killing me, Cress. When have you ever seen me do anything that would be considered heroic? Rescuing you from the satellite was all Cinder’s idea, you’re the one who kept us from crashing and got us through the desert—”

  “I’m not talking about any of that.” She yanked her hand out of his grip. “What about when you tried to raise money to help pay for android assistance for the elderly? That was heroic, and you were only eleven!”

  His smile slipped away. “How did you know about that?”

  “I did my research,” she said, crossing her arms.

  Thorne scratched his jaw, his confidence momentarily thrown. “All right,” he said slowly. “I stole a necklace from my mom and tried to sell it. When I got caught, I figured they wouldn’t punish me if they thought I’d been trying to do a good thing, and since I had to give the money back either way it didn’t really matter. So I made up the story about giving the money to charity.”

  She frowned. “But … if that’s the case, what were you really going t
o do with it?”

  He sighed dreamily. “Buy a hover-racer. The Neon Spark 8000. Man, I really wanted that.”

  Cress blinked. A hover-racer? A toy? “Fine,” she said, smothering the twinge of disappointment. “What about when you released that tiger from the zoo?”

  “Really? You think that was heroic?”

  “He was a poor, sad animal, locked up his whole life! You must have felt bad for him.”

  “Not exactly. I grew up with robotic cats instead of real pets, so I thought that if I let him out he would bow to my every whim and I could take him to school and be ridiculously popular because I was the kid with the pet tiger.” He waved his hand through the air, as if he could illustrate his story as he spoke. “Of course, the second he was out and everyone went running for their lives I realized how stupid that was.” He rested his elbow on his knee, cupping his chin. “This is a fun game. What else do you have?”

  Cress could feel her worldview crumbling. All those hours of scouring his records, justifying his mistakes, certain that she alone knew the true Carswell Thorne …

  “What about Kate Fallow?” she said, almost dreading his response.

  He cocked his head. “Kate Fallow … Kate Fallow…”

  “When you were thirteen. Some classmates stole her portscreen and you stood up for her. You tried to get it back.”

  “Oh, that Kate Fallow! Wow, when you research, you really research, don’t you?”

  She chewed on her lip, watching him for a reaction, something to say that in this one instance, at least, she had been right. He’d rescued that poor girl. He’d been her hero.

  “Actually, I did have a little bit of a crush on Kate Fallow,” he said distractedly. “I wonder what she’s up to these days.”

  Her heart fluttered, grasping at the slim strings of hope. “She’s studying to be an architect.”

  “Ah. That makes sense. She was really good at math.”

  “So? Don’t you see how heroic that was? How selfless, how valiant?”

  The corner of his lips twitched, but it was halfhearted and quickly faded as he turned his face away from her. He opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated, before, finally, he sought out her hand again.