“Why does everyone think I’m such a bad pilot?”
“Cinder told me as much.”
“Well, tell Cinder I’m perfectly capable of flying a blasted podship without killing anyone. My flight instructor at Andromeda—which is a very prestigious military academy in the Republic, I will have you know—”
“I know what Andromeda Academy is.”
“Yeah, well, my flight instructor said I was a natural.”
“Right,” Kai drawled. “Was that the same flight instructor who wrote in your official report about your inattentiveness, refusal to take safety precautions seriously, and overconfident attitude that often bordered on … what was the word she used? ‘Foolhardy,’ I think?”
“Oh, yeah. Commander Reid. She had a thing for me.” The radar blinked, picking up a cruiser in the far distance, and Thorne deftly changed directions to keep them out of its course. “I didn’t realize I had a royal stalker. I’m flattered, Your Majesty.”
“Even better—you had an entire government team assigned to digging up information on you. They reported twice daily for over a week. You did run off with the most-wanted criminal in the world, after all.”
“And your girlfriend.”
Kai smothered both a smile and a glare. “And my girlfriend,” he conceded.
“It took them a week, huh? Cress could have laid out my whole biography within hours.”
Kai pondered this. “Maybe I’ll offer her a job when this is all over.”
He expected it, and he wasn’t disappointed—the irritated twitch beneath Thorne’s eye. He hid it easily, though, his expression morphing into nonchalance. “Maybe you should.”
Kai shook his head and looked away. Earth filled up the viewing window, a kaleidoscope of ocean and land. He gripped his harness, knowing they were hurtling through space at terrifying speeds, yet feeling like he was suspended in time for one still, quiet moment.
He let his shoulders settle, awed by the sight. The next time he would be up here—if all went according to plan—he’d be on his way to Luna.
“You know what’s really strange to think about?” Kai said, as much to himself as to Thorne. “If Levana hadn’t tried to kill Cinder when she was a kid, I might be engaged to her right now. She would already be queen. We could be plotting an alliance together.”
“Yeah, but she would have been raised on Luna. And from what I can tell, being raised on Luna really messes people up. She wouldn’t be the cuddly cyborg we’ve all come to adore.”
“I know. I could have despised her as much as I despise Levana, though it’s difficult to imagine.”
Thorne nodded, and Kai was relieved he didn’t say something obnoxious as the podship slipped into a bank of clouds. The light around them began to bend and brighten as they entered the first layers of Earth’s atmosphere. The friction made the ship tremble and beads of water slicked back off the view window, but it wasn’t long before they’d broken through. The Pacific Ocean sparkled beneath them.
“I suppose this is all pretty weird for you too,” said Kai. “A wanted criminal, piloting a kidnapped political leader back to the country you first escaped from.”
Thorne snorted. “The weird part is I’m not getting any ransom money out of it. Although, if you’re feeling generous…”
“I’m not.”
Thorne scowled.
“Well, maybe a little. You’re set to serve time in three countries, right? The Commonwealth, America, and Australia?”
“Don’t remind me. One would think the whole unionization thing would mean we could have a little consistency in our judicial systems, but, no, you commit crimes in three different countries and everyone wants to help dole out the punishment.”
Kai pinched his lips, giving himself one last chance to reconsider. He’d only had the idea a few days ago, and his word would be gold once he said it aloud. He didn’t want to set an unfair precedent as his country’s leader, but at the same time—this felt right. And what was the point of being emperor if he couldn’t sometimes do something just because it felt right?
“I might come to regret this,” he said, dragging in a deep breath, “but, Carswell Thorne, I pardon all of your crimes against the Eastern Commonwealth.”
Thorne whipped his focus toward Kai. The podship surged forward and Kai gasped, grabbing hold of his harness.
“Whoops, sorry.” Thorne leveled the ship’s nose and resumed their steady flight. “That was a, uh … an air … doldrum. Thing. But you were saying?”
Kai exhaled. “I’m saying you can consider your time served, for the Commonwealth, at least. If we both survive this, when it’s all over, I’ll make it official. I can’t do anything about the other countries, though, other than put in a good word for you. And to be honest, they’ll probably think I’m crazy. Or suffering from Stockholm syndrome.”
“Oh, you are definitely suffering from Stockholm syndrome, but I won’t hold it against you. So—right. Great. Can I get this in writing?”
“No,” said Kai, watching the podship controls as Thorne had his attention pinned on him again. “And the deal is only valid if we both survive.”
“Mutual survival. Not a problem.” Grinning, Thorne checked their course and made a few adjustments to his flight instruments as Japan appeared on the horizon.
“Also, I have one condition. You have to return everything you stole.”
Thorne’s grin started to fizzle, but he locked his hands around the console and brightened again. “Dream dolls and some surplus uniforms? Done.”
“And?”
“And … and that’s pretty much it. Aces, you make it sound like I’m a kleptomaniac or something.”
Kai cleared his throat. “And the ship. You have to give back the ship.”
Thorne’s knuckles whitened. “But … she’s my ship.”
“No, she belongs to the American Republic. If you want a ship of your own, then you’re going to have to work for it and buy one like everybody else.”
“Hey, Mr. Born-into-Royalty, what do you know about it?” But Thorne’s defensiveness faded as quickly as it had come, ending in a grumpy sulk. “Besides, I did work for it. Thievery isn’t easy, you know.”
“You’re not really arguing with me about this, are you?”
Thorne clenched his eyes shut, and every muscle in Kai’s body tensed, but then Thorne sighed and opened them again. “You don’t get it. The Rampion and I have been through a lot together. I may have stolen her at first, but now it does feel like she belongs to me.”
“But she doesn’t belong to you. And you can’t expect the rest of your crew to want to stay on in a stolen ship.”
Thorne guffawed. “My crew? Let me tell you what’s going to become of my crew when this is over.” He ticked off on his fingers. “Cinder will be the ruling monarch of a big rock in the sky. Iko will go wherever Cinder goes, so let’s assume she becomes the queen’s hairdresser or something. You—are you a part of the crew now? Doesn’t matter, we both know where you’re going to end up. And once we get Scarlet back, she and Wolf are going to retire to some farm in France and have a litter of baby wolf cubs. That’s what’s going to become of my crew when this is done.”
“It sounds like you’ve put some thought into this.”
“Maybe,” said Thorne, with a one-shoulder shrug. “They’re the first crew I’ve ever had, and most of them even call me Captain. I’m going to miss them.”
Kai squinted. “I notice you left out Cress. What’s going on between you two, anyway?”
Thorne laughed. “What? Nothing’s going on. We’re … I mean, what do you mean?”
“I don’t know. She seems more comfortable around you than anybody else on the ship. I just thought…”
“Oh, no, there’s nothing like … we were in the desert together for a long time, but that’s it.” He ran his fingers absently over the podship controls but didn’t touch anything. “She used to have a crush on me. Actually”—he chuckled again, but it was more stra
ined this time—“she thought she was in love with me when we first met. Funny, right?”
Kai watched him from the corner of his eye. “Hilarious.”
Thorne’s knuckles whitened on the controls, then he glanced at Kai and started to shake his head. “What is this, a therapy session? It doesn’t matter.”
“It sort of matters. I like Cress.” Kai shifted in the harness. “I like you too, despite my better judgment.”
“You’d be surprised how often I hear that.”
“Something tells me Cress might still like you too—against her better judgment.”
Thorne sighed. “Yeah, that pretty much sums that up.”
Kai cocked his head. “How so?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Oh, it’s complicated. Because I have no idea what that’s like.” Kai snorted.
Thorne glared at him. “Whatever, Doctor. It’s just, when Cress thought she was in love with me, she was actually in love with this other guy she’d made up in her head, who was all brave and selfless and stuff. I mean, he was a real catch, so who could blame her? Even I liked that guy. I kind of wish I was that guy.” He shrugged.
“Are you so sure you’re not?”
Thorne laughed.
Kai didn’t.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Not really.”
“Um, hi, I’m Carswell Thorne, a convicted criminal in your country. Have we met?”
Kai rolled his eyes. “I’m saying maybe you should stop putting so much energy into lamenting the fact that Cress was wrong about you, and start putting your energy into proving her right, instead.”
“I appreciate the confidence, Your Imperial Psychologist, but we’re way beyond that. Cress is over me and … it’s for the best.”
“But you do like her?”
When Thorne didn’t respond, Kai glanced over to see Thorne’s attention fixed on the cockpit window. Finally, Thorne responded, “Like I said, it doesn’t matter.”
Kai looked away. Somehow, Thorne’s inability to talk about his attraction to Cress spoke so much louder than an outright confession. After all, he had no trouble making suggestive commentary about Cinder.
“Fine,” he said. “So what is Cress going to do once this is all over?”
“I don’t know,” said Thorne. “Maybe she will go work for you on your royal stalking team.”
Below, the blur of land became beaches and skyscrapers and Mount Fuji and, beyond it, an entire continent, lush and green and welcoming.
“I don’t think that’s what she would want, though,” Thorne mused. “She wants to see the world after being trapped in that satellite her whole life. She wants to travel.”
“Then I guess she should stay with you after all. What better way to travel than by spaceship?”
But Thorne shook his head, adamant. “No, believe me. She deserves a better life than this.”
Kai leaned forward to better get a view of his home spreading out before them. “My point exactly.”
Thirteen
“When did you learn to embroider?” Jacin said, picking through the basket that hung on Winter’s elbow.
She preened. “A few weeks ago.”
Jacin lifted a hand towel from the collection and eyed the precise stitches that depicted a cluster of stars and planets around the towel’s border. “Were you getting any sleep?”
“Not very much, no.” She riffled through the basket and handed him a baby blanket embroidered with a school of fish swimming around the border. “This one’s my favorite. It took four whole days.”
He grunted. “I take it the visions were bad that week.”
“Horrible,” she said lightly. “But now I have all of these gifts.” She took the blanket back from him and tucked it among the rest of the colorful fabrics. “You know keeping busy helps. It’s when I’m idle the monsters come.”
Jacin glanced at her from the corner of his eye. He had been her guard for weeks now, but rarely did they get to talk so casually or walk side by side like this—it was expected that guards keep a respectful distance from their charges. But today Winter had dragged him along to AR-2, one of the domes adjacent to the central sector. It was mostly high-end shops set among residential neighborhoods, but this early in the day all of the shops were still closed and the streets empty and peaceful. There was no one to care about propriety.
“And all these gifts are for the shopkeepers?”
“Shopkeepers, clerks, household servants.” Her eyes glimmered. “The overlooked machine of Artemisia.”
The lower classes, then. The people who dealt with the trash and cooked the food and ensured all the needs of Luna’s aristocracy were met. They were rewarded with lives much more enviable than the laborers in the outer sectors. Full stomachs, at the least. The only downfall was that they had to live in Artemisia, surrounded by the politics and mind games of the city. A good servant was treated like a prized pet—spoiled and fawned over when they were wanted, beaten and discarded when they’d overstayed their usefulness.
Jacin had always thought that, given a choice, he’d rather take his luck to the mines or factories.
“You’ve been visiting them a lot?” he asked.
“Not as much as I’d like to. But one of the milliner’s assistants had a baby and I’ve been meaning to make her something. Do you think she’ll like it?”
“It’ll be the nicest thing the kid has.”
Winter gave a joyful skip as she walked. “My mother was a great seamstress, you know. She was becoming quite popular among the dress shops when—well. Anyway, she embroidered my baby blanket. Levana tried to throw it out, but Papa was able to stash it away. It’s one of my most prized possessions.” She fluttered her lashes and Jacin felt his lips twitch at her, rather against his will.
“I knew she was a seamstress,” he said, “but how come I’ve never seen this special blanket of yours?”
“I was embarrassed to tell you about it.”
He laughed, but when Winter didn’t join him, the sound fizzled away. “Really?”
Winter shrugged, grinning her impish grin. “It’s silly, isn’t it? Holding on to a baby blanket, of all things?” She took in a deep breath. “But it’s also my namesake. She embroidered a scene from Earth’s winter, with snow and leafless trees and a pair of little red mittens. Those are like gloves, but with all the fingers joined together.”
Jacin shook his head. “Embarrassed to show me. That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Fine. I’ll show you, if you want to see it.”
“Of course I want to see it.” He was surprised how much her confession stung. He and Winter had shared everything since they were kids. It had never occurred to him she might harbor something like this, especially something so important as a gift from her mother, who had died in childbirth. But his mood brightened when he remembered—“Did I tell you I saw snow when I was on Earth?”
Winter stopped walking, her eyes going wide. “Real snow?”
“We had to hide the spaceship in Siberia, on this enormous tundra.”
She was staring at him like she would tackle him if he didn’t offer up more details.
Smirking, Jacin hooked his thumbs over his belt and rocked back on his heels. “That was all.”
Winter smacked him in the chest. “That is not all. What was it like?”
He shrugged. “White. Blinding. And really cold.”
“Did it glisten like diamonds?”
“Sometimes. When the sun hit it right.”
“What did it smell like?”
He cringed. “I don’t know, Win—Princess. Sort of like ice, I guess. I didn’t spend much time outside. Mostly we were stuck on the ship.”
Her gaze flickered with the almost slip of her name, something like disappointment that gave Jacin a shot of guilt.
So he smacked her back lightly on the shoulder. “Your parents did well. You’re named after something beautiful. It’s fitting.”
/> “Winter,” she whispered. Her expression turned speculative, the lights from a dress shop highlighting the specks of gray in her eyes.
Jacin tried not to be awkward when he looked away. There were times when she stood so close that he was amazed at his own ability to keep his hands to himself.
Moving the basket to her other arm, Winter started walking again. “Not everyone thinks I’m beautiful.”
He scoffed. “Whoever told you that, they were lying. Or jealous. Probably both.”
“You don’t think I’m beautiful.”
He snorted—somewhat uncontrollably—and laughed harder when she glared at him.
“That’s funny?”
Schooling his expression, he mimicked her glare. “Keep saying things like that and people will start to think you’ve gone crazy.”
She opened her mouth to refute. Hesitated. Nearly ran into a wall before Jacin scooped her back into the center of the narrow alley.
“You’ve never once called me beautiful,” she said after his hand had fallen back to his side.
“In case you haven’t noticed, you have an entire country of people singing your praises. Did you know they write poetry about you in the outer sectors? I had to listen to this drunk sing a whole ballad a few months back, all about your goddess-like perfection. I’m pretty sure the galaxy doesn’t need my input on the matter.”
She ducked her head, hiding her face behind a cascade of hair. Which was just as well. Jacin’s cheeks had gone warm, which made him both self-conscious and irritated.
“Your input is the only input that matters,” she whispered.
He stiffened, cutting a glance to her that she didn’t return. It occurred to him that he may have led them into a topic he had no intentions of exploring further. Fantasies, sure. Wishes, all the time. But reality? No—this was taboo. This would end in nothing good.
She was a princess. Her stepmother was a tyrant who would marry Winter off to someone who was politically beneficial for her own desires.
Jacin was the opposite of politically beneficial.
But here they were, and there she was looking all pretty and rejected, and why had he opened his big, stupid mouth?
Jacin sighed, exasperated. With her. With himself. With this whole situation. “Come on, Princess. You know how I feel about you. Everyone knows how I feel about you.”
Winter Page 9