“Everything,” Cinder added, “except the faulty personality chip that no one else wanted. No one except Linh Garan … and me.” She nodded at Iko. “The chip is inside my escort-droid friend here, and I have no doubt we’ll be able to extract the information stored there.”
“Huh,” said Iko, pressing her finger into her temple. “I remember when he uploaded those files. I thought they were for malware protection.”
“Of course,” said Cinder, “Linh Adri is the owner of the patent and the technology, so it’s fair she be compensated. I expect you can work out some sort of royalty from the manufacturing of the device.”
A round of agreement rumbled through the table—all but Adri. “Royalty?” Her gaze darted to Pearl, then back to Cinder. “How … how much of a royalty?”
Iko lowered her hand, grumbling, “Too much.”
Cinder bit back a smile. “That’s between you and the government entities you’re selling it to.” Leaning across the table, she fixed a glare on her stepmother. “I suggest you don’t get greedy.”
Scolded, Adri sank back in her chair. But there was a brightness in her eye, as someone across the table mentioned the potential market for such a device. Millions, possibly billions could be reproduced over the next decade …
Adri reached for her daughter’s hand. Pearl glanced at her mother, and she, too, seemed to finally understand.
Linh Garan’s device had the potential to make them very, very wealthy.
Cinder realized, with some surprise, that she didn’t feel as bitter about it as she’d thought she would. Let Adri have her riches and royalties, her daughter and her life. After this day, Cinder intended never to think of either of them again.
Her only regret was that Peony wasn’t here to see it. She would never play dress-up with Iko in the royal closets. Her eyes wouldn’t sparkle as Cinder put on her crown for the first time. She had never met Kai, who had become so much more to Cinder than her prince or her emperor or an impossible dream.
“That brings me to my final request,” Cinder said, determined to get through this meeting before any emotions, good or bad, overwhelmed her. “This one relates to only two of you. President Vargas and Governor-General Williams.” Cinder adjusted herself in her chair. “It involves a man named Carswell Thorne.”
Ninety-Five
The nurse kept apologizing as she escorted Cress from the med-clinic to the palace. Far from being fully healed, Cress had to be transported on a maglev chair, which was the oddest floating contraption she’d ever seen. Not quite a gurney, but not a wheelchair, either. For the moment in which Cress let her imagination carry her away, she’d been an exotic first-era princess being carried around on a lavish throne on the shoulders of very strong men.
Then the nurse had launched into her apologies again, destroying the daydream. The clinic was so overcrowded, she explained, the doctors spread so thin, and now that Cress was out of critical status …
Cress didn’t mind the change. She was glad to be out of the sterile clinic.
Though Cress had only been brought out of suspended animation four hours ago, she’d already seen Iko, Scarlet, Wolf, and even a weary Jacin, who told her of their victory and how Cinder had signed the Treaty of Bremen and how the shells had been awakened and how researchers were figuring out the best way to get them adjusted to life on Luna while also meeting Earth’s antidote needs. It left Cress’s head spinning.
At the top of her thoughts, however—always, always—was Thorne.
He hadn’t been there.
No one had even mentioned his name, and Cress had felt like they were all holding their breath. Wanting to say something, but waiting, uncertain.
She’d shot off two of his fingers. It may have been a minor injury compared with what she and Cinder had suffered, but still—she had done it. Of her own will and volition.
The nurse guided her into a familiar guest wing. This was where she had run into Kai.
“Here we are,” said the nurse, opening a door. “If you need anything at all—”
“I’m fine.” Cress used the controls on the chair’s arm to guide it into the room. A canopied bed was covered in shining silks, the stone floors were polished to a glossy finish. The window looked out on some of the palace’s flowering gardens, full of gazebos and statues. “Thank you.”
“We’ve taken care to make sure you’re close to your friends,” said the woman. “Mr. Kesley and Miss Benoit are two doors down on the left, and Emperor Kaito is around the corner. Mr. Thorne is staying across the hall.”
Cress spun her chair around. Her door was still open and she could see Thorne’s closed door from where she sat. “He is?”
“Would you like me to see if he’s in?”
Cress flushed. “Oh. No, that’s all right. Thank you.”
“Then I should be getting back to the clinic. Would you like to be helped into bed before I go?”
“No, I think I’m going to sit and enjoy the view for a while. Thank you.”
The nurse left, shutting the door behind her.
Cress took in a deep breath. The fine guest quarters smelled of lemon cleaner and a bouquet of white lilacs that sat on a desk. They were already wilting, though, and Cress wondered how long they’d been there. Perhaps this room had been set up for someone else, perhaps one of the Earthen diplomats who had already gone home.
Mr. Thorne is staying across the hall.
She stared at the door, willing him to appear.
Her stomach was throbbing where Thorne had stabbed her, when he’d been under Levana’s control. She pressed her fingers against the bandages over her stitches, trying to ease the ache. She wondered if she should have asked the nurse to leave her some pain medicine.
She took in a deep breath, feeling the sting in her ribs as her lungs pressed against them. She would be brave. She would be heroic. She would make her own destiny.
She urged her floating chair to the door and yanked it open.
Thorne stood in the hallway.
He jumped, clasping his hands behind his back, a rigidly formal stance. He was clean-shaven with his hair neatly combed, and he was wearing brand-new clothes: a blue collared shirt rolled to the elbows and khaki pants tucked into brown boots.
Cress squeezed herself against the back of the chair, feeling inadequate. Though she’d showered away the suspension tank’s goop, she still wore the paper-thin gown from the clinic and hadn’t even had a chance to comb her hair.
“Captain,” she breathed.
“Sorry,” he said, clicking his heels. “Were you leaving?”
“No. I … I thought I’d come see you.”
Thorne looked caught off guard, but then an edge of relief turned up one side of his mouth. He leaned down and placed his hands on her armrests. His right hand was cocooned in a cast. “You’re supposed to be resting,” he said, pushing her backward and shutting the door with his foot. He took her back to the window, then glanced around. “What can I get you? A portscreen? A masseuse? Whiskey on the rocks?”
She couldn’t take her eyes off him. Even knowing he was alive, she hadn’t completely believed it until then. “You look…” She couldn’t finish. Her eyes started to water.