Lunar Chronicles #2 Scarlet - Page 42

Cinder shook her head. “You don’t understand. That thaumaturge had seven men under his control and I could barely manage one. I’m nowhere near as strong as them.”

“No, you don’t understand,” said Wolf. “Each pack is ruled by a thaumaturge who controls when our animal instincts take over, when all we can think about is killing. They’ve manipulated our Lunar gift and used it to turn us into these monsters instead—with some physical modifications. But it’s all connected to our master. Most Lunars couldn’t control us at all—we might as well be sh.e.l.ls to them—and even our masters, who could control hundreds of average citizens at once, can only keep hold of a dozen or so operatives. That’s why our packs are kept so small. Do you see?”

“No,” said Cinder and Thorne at once.

Wolf was still smiling. “Even the most talented of thaumaturges can only control a dozen operatives, fifteen at the most, and this after years of genetic modifications and training. And yet you manage to take one away from his master on your first attempt? With some practice…” He looked like he wanted to laugh. “I would not have thought it before, but now I think Her Majesty might actually have cause to be afraid of you, Princess.”

Cinder flinched. “Don’t call me that.”

“I am a.s.suming, of course, you do mean to fight against her,” continued Wolf, “judging from your response to your emperor’s announcement.”

Cinder shook her head. “I don’t have the first idea how to.… I don’t know anything about being a ruler or a leader or—”

“But plenty of people think you can stop her,” said Scarlet. “My grandmother died so you could have this chance. I’m not going to let her sacrifice be wasted.”

“And I would help you,” added Wolf. “You could practice your abilities, on me.” He slumped, his body tired from sitting up for too long. “Besides, if you are who you claim to be, that makes you my true queen. Therefore, you have my loyalty.”

Cinder shook her head and hopped off the crate again. “I don’t want your loyalty.”

Scarlet planted her hands on her hips. “What do you want?”

“I want—I want some time to think about this and figure out what to do next without everyone yapping in my ear!” Cinder stomped off toward the main corridor, every other step a loud clang as her metal foot struck the floor.

When she had gone, Thorne let out a low whistle. “I know, I know. She seems a little”—crossing his eyes, he swirled both fingers around his ears—“but it’s really part of her charm, once you get to know her.”

Forty-Five

She’d had the bridge built for herself out of very special gla.s.s, so that she could watch her soldiers from above—watch them train, watch them fight, watch them adapt to their new mutations—all without being observed herself. She was intrigued now by a new pack who had just completed the genetic transformation a few days ago. They were still so young. Mere boys—not one older than twelve years.

They were almost precious, the way some of them stood off from the group, constantly checking the fine fur on their knuckles, bouncing back and forth on their restructured limbs, while others were already brawling and taunting one another.

Making their place. Choosing their hierarchy.

Just like the animals they were.

Each thaumaturge beckoned to their a.s.signed subjects, leading them through various formations. This too always fascinated her. How some of them would force the control, while others tried to seduce it from their cubs, like tender mothers.

She watched the youngest faction with growing pleasure. Seven had lined up without question, leaving only one cub standing off from the rest. Crouched on all fours, he was snarling at his thaumaturge, fangs fully bared, more wolf-like than any of them. Rebellion and hatred glowed behind his golden eyes.

That one would make alpha. She could already tell.

“Your Majesty.”

She listed her head but didn’t take her eyes off the boy. “Sybil.”

Her head thaumaturge’s heels clicked on the gla.s.s floor. She detected the ruffle of fabric as Sybil bowed.

Down in the cave, the cub was prowling a circle around his mistress—a young, blonde-haired girl who looked ghastly pale in her black coat. Her expression held a trace of anxiety, a tinge of doubt that she would have the mental strength to control this one.

“All special operatives have been temporarily relieved from their missions and returned to concealment status. We estimate two hundred, sixty operative deaths.”

“The Earthens will notice the tattoos soon, if they haven’t already. Be sure they take care to mask them well.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. I’m afraid I also have one thaumaturge death to report.”

Levana looked up, for a moment expecting to catch Sybil’s reflection in the gla.s.s, but there was none, not in this window. Not in any of the royal windows. She’d made sure of that. And yet, after all these years, she still wasn’t entirely used to it.

She raised an eyebrow, prompting Sybil to continue.

“Thaumaturge Jael. He was shot in the chest.”

“Jael? It isn’t like him to abandon his sanctuary, even in battle.”

“One of his betas has informed me that Linh Cinder presented herself—it seems he was attempting to apprehend her personally.”

Levana’s nostrils flared and she turned back toward the training grounds, just as the young cub lunged for his mistress. The girl screamed and fell onto her back, before her entire body seized up in concentration. Even from her overlook, Levana could see beads of sweat forming on the girl’s brow, sliding across her temple.

The cub opened his mouth, teeth glinting, then hesitated.

Levana couldn’t tell what was fighting his animal instinct—the thaumaturge grasping for control, or the remnants of a Lunar boy still clinging to the thoughts in his head.

“Jael’s pack has already disbanded, except for the one beta who was found inside the Paris stronghold. I will send Thaumaturge Aimery to retrieve them.”

The cub fell off his mistress, curling into a ball on his side. Trembling. Whimpering. In obvious pain.

Unsteady herself, the thaumaturge climbed to her feet and brushed the black regolith dust from her jacket. The regolith dust was everywhere in these caves—naturally created lava tubes that would never be clear, no matter how long they continued to develop and build within them. Levana hated the dust, the way it clung to her hair and nails, filled up her lungs. She avoided the tubes whenever she could, preferring to stay in the bright, glistening dome that housed Luna’s capital and her palace.

“Your Majesty?” said Sybil.

“No, don’t send Aimery,” she said, her attention glued to the cub as he writhed in pain. Still fighting his mistress’s control. Still struggling to keep his own mind. Still wanting to be a little boy. Not a soldier. Not a monster. Not a p.a.w.n. “Let Jael’s pack go. The special operatives have served their purpose.”

Finally, the cub stopped twitching. The fine fur on his cheeks was wet with tears as he lay there, panting.

His mistress’s gaze was fierce, as animalistic as her charges. Levana could almost hear the woman’s orders, even though no words were being spoken. Telling him to get up. To join the line. To obey her.

The boy did. Moving slowly, painfully, he lifted himself up onto his slender legs and shuffled into the line. Head bowed. Shoulders hunched.

Like a scolded dog.

“These soldiers are nearly ready,” Levana said. “Their genetic modifications are complete, their thaumaturges are prepared. The next time we strike against Earth, these men will be leading the attack, and there will be no disguising them.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Sybil bowed—this time Levana felt the respect rolling off her as much as heard it. “And may I also wish you my warmest congratulations on your engagement, My Queen.”

Levana’s left hand curled, her thumb running over the polished stone band on her finger. She always hid it in her glamour. She wasn’t sure that anyone alive knew she still wore it. She herself so often forgot that it was there, but her finger was tingling tonight, since Emperor Kaito’s acceptance of a marriage alliance.

“Thank you, Sybil. That will be all.”

Another bow, then the retreating footsteps.

Below, the factions were beginning to disband, their training over for the day. The thaumaturges led them off through separate caves, into the natural labyrinth beneath Luna’s surface.

It was peculiar to watch these men and boys, these creatures that had been only an experiment in her parents’ time, but had become a reality under her rule. An army faster and stronger than any other army. The intelligence of men, the instincts of wolves, the pliability of children. They made her nervous, a feeling she hadn’t experienced for many years. So many Lunars, with such peculiar brainwaves, that even she could not control them all. Not all at once.

These beasts—these scientific creations—would never love her.

Not like the people of Luna loved her.

Not like the people of Earth would soon come to.

Forty-Six

Scarlet cried for hours, curled up on the bottom bunk of her new crew quarters. Each sob pulsed through her aching muscles, but the pain only made her cry harder with the memory of it all.

The adrenaline and anger and denial had fallen away while she’d been digging through the dresser and had found a military uniform folded neatly in the bottom drawer. Though the American uniform was all gray and white, instead of the mix of blues found on European pilots, it still looked remarkably like the clothes her grandma had worn in her military days.

She’d clutched the plain white T-s.h.i.+rt to her and cried into it for so long it was almost as soiled as the clothes she was supposed to be changing out of.

Her entire body was throbbing as the tears finally began to dry up. Gasping for breath, she rolled onto her back and wiped the last streaks away with the cotton. Every time her crying had started to subside before, the words would echo in her head, Grand-mère is gone, and send her into another torrent. But the words were becoming hollow, the sting fading into numbness.

Her stomach growled.

Groaning, Scarlet settled a hand on top of it, wondering if she just shut her eyes and went to sleep, would her body forget that it hadn’t eaten in more than a day? But as she lay there, willing the numbness to take over, her stomach rumbled again. Louder.

Scarlet sniffed, annoyed. Grabbing hold of the bunk overhead, she pulled herself to sitting. Her head swam with dizziness and dehydration, but she managed to stumble to the door.

She heard a crash from the galley as soon as she pulled it open. Peering down the hallway, she saw Wolf hunkered over a counter, holding a tin can.

Stepping into the galley’s light, Scarlet saw that the can was labeled with a picture of cartoon-red tomatoes. Judging from the enormous dents in its side, Wolf had been trying to open it with a meat tenderizer.

He glanced up at her, and she was glad that she wasn’t the only one red faced. “Why would they put food in here if they were going to make it so hard to open?”

She bit her lip against a weak smile, not sure if it was from pity or amus.e.m.e.nt. “Did you try a can opener?”

At Wolf’s blank expression, she stepped around the table and riffled through the top drawer. “We Earthens have all sorts of special tools like this,” she said, emerging with the can opener. She clamped it around the can’s lid and slowly twisted it open.

Wolf’s ears glowed pink as he curled back the lid and frowned down at the bright red goop. “That’s not what I was expecting.”

“They’re not farm fresh like you’ve become accustomed to, but we’re just going to have to make do.” Digging through the cabinet, Scarlet cobbled together a can of olives and a jar of marinated artichoke hearts. “Here, we’ll have an antipasto.”

She felt the lightest touch against her hair and ducked away. Wolf’s hand dropped down, gripping the edge of the counter. “I’m sorry. You had—your hair—”

Setting down the jars, Scarlet felt for the back of her hair, finding it knotted and tangled as a haystack. She shoved the olives at Wolf. “Why don’t you give the can opener a try?”

Mindlessly picking at the tangles, she found a fork and sat down at the long table. It had years of military personnel’s initials carved into the top, reminding her of her prison cell in the opera house. Though being on the s.h.i.+p was immeasurably better than being stuck in that bas.e.m.e.nt, the confinement of it still pressed in around her, almost suffocating. She knew that her grandma had probably been stationed on a similar s.h.i.+p during her time in the military. No wonder she’d retired to a farm, with all the sky and horizon a person could want.

She hoped that Émilie was still taking care of the animals.

When she couldn’t find any more knots, she smoothed down her hair with both hands, then twisted open the jar of artichokes. Glancing up, she saw that Wolf was still standing with the olives and tomatoes clasped in each hand.

“Are you all right?”

His eyes flashed. Panic, she thought. Maybe fear.

“Why did you bring me here?” he said. “Why didn’t you just leave me?”

Looking down, she speared an artichoke and watched the oil drizzle back into the jar. “I don’t know. I didn’t exactly stop to weigh the pros and cons.” She let the artichoke heart plop back down into the marinade. “But it didn’t feel right to leave you there.”

He turned his back on her, setting the cans on the counter, and picked up the can opener. On the third try, he managed to clip it to the olive can’s lid and twist it around the edge.