His stomach dropped.
Suddenly shaking, he inched away from Thorne and set the vial and the dropper on the counter.
Thorne lowered his chin. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Dr. Erland murmured as he reached for a drawer and pulled out a face mask, snapping it on over his mouth and nose. “Just … double-checking something.”
He grabbed a sterilizer wash and wiped down the vial and the eyedropper, then wrapped them up in a cloth. He was feeling weak already, but that was no doubt all in his head.
Even with the mutated disease, victims still survived anywhere from twenty-four to forty-eight hours after showing symptoms. At least.
But he was an old man. And he’d been overexerting himself all day, with the walk through the escape tunnels and rushing through the palace. His immune system may already be strained.
He glanced at Thorne, who had begun to whistle to himself.
“I need to take a blood sample.”
Thorne groaned. “Please don’t tell me something got messed up.”
“No. Just taking precautions. Your arm, please.”
Thorne didn’t look happy about it, but he rolled up his sleeve nevertheless. It was a quick test, one Dr. Erland had done a thousand times—drawing the blood and running it through the diagnostic module to check for letumosis-carrying pathogens—yet he found himself distracted by the warmth of his breaths as they caught inside the face mask.
Thorne. And—if he returned with the others—Cinder.
And his Crescent Moon.
He gripped the side of the counter to keep his hands from shaking. Why hadn’t he told her the truth before? He’d assumed they would have time. He’d believed there would be years, after Selene was crowned and Levana was gone. Years to tell her the truth. To embrace her. To tell her how much he loved her. To apologize again and again for ever letting her go.
He stared down at the bruise-like rash. Only a single bruise so far. It wasn’t spreading, at least not on his arms. But his analytical brain, having seen this same rash on the wrists of so many victims, had already set a timer ticking.
He was going to die.
The module dinged, making him jump.
LETUMOSIS RESULTS: NEGATIVE
He shut his eyes in relief.
“How’s everything going over there, Doctor?”
He cleared his throat. “I’ve … I’ve determined it would be best to let the stem cell solution sit for a few hours. You can apply the drops when you’re back on the ship.” He picked up a stylus and began to type a message into the portscreen. “I’ll put the instructions on this portscreen. Just in case.”
“Instructions for who?”
His gut twisted as he wrote. “I won’t be returning with you.”
There was silence, punctuated by the tapping of the stylus and his own breaths, suddenly labored.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m too old. I’ll just slow you down. When the others arrive, I want you to go on without me.”
“Don’t be stupid. We have a plan. We’re sticking to it.”
“No. You’ll be leaving me behind.”
“Why? So Levana can get her hands on you and torture you for information? Great idea.”
“She won’t have time to torture me. I’m already dying.”
The words pinched something inside him and suddenly his spectacles were steaming up. There wasn’t time. After all these years, there was never enough time.
“What are you talking about?”
He didn’t respond until he’d finished typing into the portscreen. Shoving the stylus behind his ear, he walked over to the door and peered through the small window into the laboratory corridor.
Outside, dozens of guards had crowded into the hallway, stretching out in each direction with their guns raised.
“All is indeed going according to plan,” he muttered.
A hand landed on his shoulder and he pulled away so fast he nearly collapsed into the counter. “Don’t touch me.”
“What is going on?” said Thorne, growing impatient.
Ducking around him, Dr. Erland paced to the other end of the room. “There is a quarantine room attached to this lab facility. I’ll be quarantining myself. Don’t worry—no one will dare come in to question me.” He removed his spectacles and rubbed the lenses on his shirt. “I’ve just diagnosed myself with letumosis.”
Thorne launched himself away as if he’d been burned, planting his back against the wall so that there couldn’t have been any more space between them. Cursing, he wiped the palm that had touched the doctor on his pants.
“Don’t worry. Your results are negative. There is a very slim chance that you’ve caught it in the last two minutes.” He slid his spectacles back on. “Your stem cell solution is on the counter to your left, wrapped in a cloth. There is a portscreen beside it. Give them to Cress—she can help you.” His voice clogged and he felt for the keypad. The code hadn’t changed since he’d left.
As he pulled open the door, the lights in the quarantine flickered on. The window that divided the room was one-way, so that the patients couldn’t see the technicians while they were running tests.
He had never been on that side of the glass before.
“Carswell Thorne?”
Glancing back, he saw that Thorne was still plastered against the wall, but the fear had left his expression, replaced with determination, and sympathy. “Yes?”
“Thank you. For keeping her safe in the desert.” He knit his brows. “Although you still don’t deserve her.”
Before Thorne could respond, Dr. Erland stepped into the quarantine and shut himself in. His captivity was instant, airtight and suffocating and final.
Fifty-Three
She was glad that Wolf seemed to have memorized the palace blueprint better than she had, because with all this running up and down stairwells, around corners, and down countless corridors, Cress was completely lost. Wolf, however, hadn’t shown a moment’s hesitation as they ran down the abandoned halls.
“Perfect timing,” Wolf muttered under his breath as they swung around another corner. He grabbed Cress’s elbow and yanked her back before she could collide with Cinder and Iko and the unconscious man hanging between them.
“Well, hello there, strangers,” said Iko.
Wolf nodded, first at Cinder, then the unconscious emperor. “I thought that might be his cologne. Need help?”
Neither Cinder nor Iko objected when he stooped down and swung Kai over one shoulder.
If Cress hadn’t been panicked and flustered and running on eight quarts of throbbing adrenaline, she would have been much more impressed.
“Labs are this way,” Cinder said, taking the lead. Cress picked up her skirt and hurried after her. “Any surprises?”
“Not so far,” Cress answered. “You?”
Cinder shook her head as they darted across the sky bridge into the research wing. “Not really. Just a lot of … this.”
A palace guard appeared in front of them, gripping his gun. “Stop ri—!”
The word became a strangled gasp as his face went blank. His hands fell slack at his sides, the gun dropping to the floor.
Cress gasped, but Cinder pulled her around his dazed form without breaking pace.
“Wow,” said Cress between her panting. “Good thing you’ve been practicing, right?”
“I wish that were the reason it’s so easy,” she said, shaking her head as they rounded another corner. “With Wolf, at least there was some struggle. Some effort involved. But with Earthens … it’s too easy.” She gulped. “If she becomes empress, Earth doesn’t stand a chance.”
They arrived at an elevator bank and Cress punched in the override code.
“Well then,” she said, flashing a weary smile. “Good thing she’s not going to be empress.”
There seemed to be a mutual sigh as they crowded into the elevator. Cress’s nerves were sparking like a million electrodes. Sweat was soaking into the back of her expensive dress. She was frazzled from all the running and the stairs and the panic, but at least they had a brief moment to pause and breathe and prepare themselves for what came next. Cress couldn’t help sneaking a curious glance at the man draped over Wolf’s shoulder. The emperor.
Of all the times she’d imagined meeting him, after years of spying on him and his father, she’d never imagined their first meeting would be quite like this.
Wolf stiffened as the elevator began to slow. “There’s a lot of them out there.”
“We knew there would be,” said Cinder. “Thorne and the doctor had better be ready.”
Cress shifted back, happy to keep Cinder and Wolf between her and whatever awaited them in the hall.
Iko bent toward her. “That dress looks amazing on you,” she said. “Cinder, doesn’t she look amazing?”
Cinder sighed as the elevator came to a full stop. “Iko, after this we’re going to start working on occasion appropriateness.”
The doors slid open and dozens of palace guards in red and gold uniforms stood before them.
“And not an android among them,” Cinder muttered. “Kai and I are going to have a long talk about palace security.” She marched into the corridor. “You,” she ordered, without gesturing to anyone in particular as far as Cress could tell, “are now our personal guard. Form a barrier.”
Eight guards shuffled forward and, in robotic unison, formed a wall between them and their peers. Confusion flashed through the eyes of the others.
Cinder held her palm out and one of the guards set a gun into it, handle first.
She aimed it at Kai’s head, her expression the picture of cold neutrality. “If anyone thinks of getting in our way, your emperor is dead. Now, move.”
With their eight personal guards acting as a protective bubble around them, Cress found herself being herded along with the others toward the lab rooms. When they reached the sixth door, Cinder knocked, using the special rhythm they’d devised.
The door swung open a beat later. Thorne was flushed and scowling. He had his cane in one hand, a cloth bundle in the other, and his blindfold still on.
“Doctor’s not coming,” he said.
A hesitation, before Cinder said, “What do you mean he’s not coming?”
He gestured toward the back of the lab and they all pushed inside, leaving Cinder’s brainwashed puppets to linger, baffled, in the hallway. A window was set into the wall, showing a sterile quarantine room. The doctor was seated on top of a lab table, his head hanging down, his fingers fidgeting with his hat.
With a growl, Cinder marched up to the window and pounded on it with her fist.
The doctor lifted his head, messy gray hair sticking out in all directions.
Grabbing a microphone from the desk, Cinder pushed a button and screamed, “We don’t have time for this! Get out here.”
The doctor only smiled, sadly.
“Cinder,” said Thorne, his tone heavy in a way Cress had rarely heard. “He has the plague.”
Cress’s stomach dropped, as Cinder reeled back from the window.
The doctor smoothed down his hair. “Has everyone made it back safely?” he asked, his voice coming through some speaker in the wall.
It took Cinder a moment, but then she stammered, “Yes. Everyone but you.”
A hand landed on Cress’s head. She gasped and recoiled, but Thorne was already wrapping his arm around her shoulders and squeezing her against him. “Just checking it was you,” he whispered.
She blinked up at his profile. The hours they’d spent apart suddenly felt like days, and she realized it could as easily have been him that was being left behind, instead of the doctor. She dug herself further into his embrace.
“I am sorry,” said Dr. Erland, the words crisply spoken, like he’d been waiting to say them. He looked more fragile than ever sitting on that lab table, his face carved with wrinkles. “Miss Linh. Mr. Wolf.” He sighed. “Crescent.”