Winter

by Marissa Meyer

  Winter’s stomach dropped. She imagined she could feel the disease being absorbed through the lining of her stomach. Seeping into her veins. Each beat of her heart pushed it further through her system. It was a detached sort of knowledge. Of all the tortures she had seen her stepmother devise for others, there was something merciful about this death. A slow, calm acceptance.

  “You could have their adoration too, you know,” she said, watching as Levana’s condescending smile hardened to her face. “If you were kind to them, and fair. If you didn’t trick them into being your slaves. If you didn’t threaten them and their loved ones for every minor crime. If you shared the riches and the comforts we have in Artemisia—”

  Her tongue stilled.

  “I am queen,” Levana whispered. “I am the queen of Luna and I will decide the best way to rule my people. No one—not you, and not that hideous cyborg—will take this from me.” She lifted her chin, nostrils flaring. “I must go tend to my kingdom. Good-bye, Winter.”

  Stumbling back, Winter turned toward the people. If she could see just one person, get off one warning …

  But then the forest closed in around her and she collapsed, unconscious, to the ground.

  Sixty-Three

  “Have you seen Winter?”

  Alpha Strom finished demonstrating the upward-stab movement with the staff and handed it back to a young woman, before turning to face Scarlet. “I have not.”

  Scarlet scanned the hectic crowd for the thousandth time. “Me either, not for a long time. She has a tendency to wander off…”

  Tilting his head back, Strom sniffed a few times at the air, then shook his head. “It seems she hasn’t been around for a while now. Perhaps she’s found somewhere to rest.”

  “Or perhaps she’s poking out her own eye with a stick. I’m telling you, it’s not good for her to be left alone.”

  Grumbling, Strom gestured at one of the beta members of his pack, then shambled toward a bench. He paused to sniff again, sending his keen eyes into the crowd, before turning and gazing into the forest.

  “You’re being creepy,” said Scarlet.

  “You asked for my help.”

  “Not technically.”

  When Strom headed into the shadows of the not-really-a-forest, Scarlet followed, though she couldn’t imagine why Winter would have left everyone behind and wandered off all by her—

  Never mind. She could imagine it after all.

  “She came this way,” Strom said, running his fingers over a tree’s bark. He turned to the right and increased his speed. “I’ve picked up on her now.”

  Scarlet trotted along beside him.

  “There.”

  She saw her at the same moment, and broke into a run before Strom did.

  “Winter!” she screamed, dropping to her knees. Winter’s body was sprawled out in the patchy grass. Scarlet rolled the princess onto her back and checked for a pulse, relieved to find one fluttering at Winter’s neck.

  A hand grabbed Scarlet’s hood and dragged her back. She yelped, flailing to get away, but Strom ignored her pummeling fists. “Let me go! What are you doing?”

  “She is sick.”

  “What?” Unzipping her hoodie, Scarlet scrambled out of the sleeves and fell at Winter’s side again. “What are you talking about?”

  “I can smell it on her,” Strom growled. He didn’t come any closer. “Diseased flesh. Vile.”

  Scarlet frowned up at him before refocusing on the princess. “Winter, wake up,” she said, smacking the princess’s cheek a few times, but Winter didn’t even flinch. Scarlet pressed a hand to her forehead. She was clammy and hot. She felt the back of her head, wondering if the princess had hit her head again, but there was no blood and the only bump was from the fight at Maha’s house. “Winter!”

  Strom kicked something and it skipped through a tuft of grass and hit Scarlet’s knee. Scarlet blinked and picked it up. A sour apple petite, one of the candies Winter had often brought to her in the menagerie, usually laced with painkillers. It had a bite taken out of it. Picking up Winter’s hand, Scarlet found bits of melted candy shell stuck to her fingertips.

  “Poison?”

  “I don’t know,” said Strom. “She isn’t dead—just dying.”

  “With some sort of disease?”

  He gave a curt nod. “You should not be so close to her. It smells—” He looked like he might be sick.

  “Oh, pull yourself together. All those muscles and teeth and you’re afraid of a little cold?”

  His expression darkened, but he didn’t come any closer. In fact, after a second, he stepped back. “There is something wrong with her.”

  “Obviously! But what? And how?” She shook her head. “Look, I saw a little med-clinic on the main street. Can you carry her there? We’ll have a doctor check her out. She might need her stomach pumped or—”

  Scarlet’s gaze landed on Winter’s arm and she gasped. She skittered away from the princess’s unconscious form, every instinct telling her to hold her breath. To clean the skin that had come in contact with the princess. To run.

  “Now she listens.”

  Ignoring him, Scarlet cursed, loudly. “When you said she had a disease, I didn’t think you meant she had the plague!”

  “I do not know what this is,” said Strom. “I have never smelled this before.”

  Scarlet hesitated a moment more, then let out a painful, frustrated sound, and forced herself to crawl back to Winter again. She grimaced as she lifted Winter’s arm to inspect the dark spots scattered across her elbow. The red-tinged rings around the bruises had swollen above the skin, puffed and glossy like blisters.

  For as long as she could remember, the plague had worked in predictable stages, though how long they took to manifest varied by victim. Once the rash of bruise-colored rings marred a person’s skin, they may have three days or three weeks still to live. But given that Winter hadn’t been gone for more than an hour, the disease seemed to be working especially fast.

  She scrutinized Winter’s fingertips, relieved to see them pink and healthy—no tinge of blue. Blood loss to the extremities was the final symptom of the disease before death.

  She scowled. Hadn’t Cinder once told her that Lunars were immune to letumosis? This disease shouldn’t even be here.

  “It’s called letumosis,” she said. “It’s a pandemic on Earth. It acts fast and no one survives. But … Levana has an antidote. It’s half the reason Emperor Kai is marrying her in the first place. We just … we need to keep Winter alive long enough to get it. We have to keep her alive until the revolution is over. All right?”

  She dragged a hand through her hair, but it got caught in a tangle of curls and she gave up before she’d reached the ends.

  “That could be days, even weeks,” said Strom. “She does not smell as though she has that much time.”

  “Stop talking about how she smells!” she screamed. “Yes, the disease is bad. It’s—horrible. But we can’t just leave her here. We have to do something.”

  Strom rocked back on his heels, eyeing the princess with disgust. Which was still better than the ravenous glint his eyes had had before. “She needs a suspension tank.”

  “A what?”

  “We use them for healing after surgeries or severe injuries.” He shrugged. “It may slow the progression of the disease.”

  “Where do we get one?”

  “I expect they’ll have one here. Dangerous work in this sector.”

  “Great. Let’s go.” Pushing herself to her feet, Scarlet dusted off her hands. Strom stared at her, then down at Winter. He didn’t come any closer.

  “Ugh. Fine.” Crouching again, Scarlet grabbed Winter’s arms and was about to haul her over one shoulder when Strom lumbered forward and lifted the princess into his arms.

  “Well, aren’t you a perfect gentleman,” Scarlet muttered, grabbing her hoodie instead.

  “Just hurry,” he said, his face already strained in an effort to take shallow breaths.<
br />
  They practically ran back toward the residences.

  Scarlet burst out of the tree line, flushed and panting. Those who were gathered turned to watch as Strom emerged with Winter in his arms.

  “The princess has been poisoned,” said Scarlet. “She’s ill with a fatal disease called letumosis. The queen has an antidote, but Winter will likely die if we don’t slow the spread of the disease right away.” She spotted the bearded man who had acted as the leader before. “Is there a suspension tank in this sector?”

  “Yes, at the clinic. I don’t know…” He glanced at a white-haired man who was emerging from the crowd.

  The white-haired man approached Winter, felt for a pulse, and lifted her eyelids one at a time. A doctor, she guessed. “The tank isn’t in use,” he said, following his quick inspection. “It will take fifteen or twenty minutes to prep the tank and the girl for immersion.”

  Scarlet nodded. “Let’s get on it, then.”

  The doctor led them through the crowd. The people parted, watching the princess with distraught expressions.

  “Who would do such a thing?” someone whispered as Scarlet passed. “To the princess,” another voice added.

  “Does this mean we have a traitor among our people?” the doctor asked, his voice low.

  Scarlet shook her head. “I don’t think so. Whoever did this had to have access to the disease, somehow, and expensive candy. They must have sneaked in for Winter and left.”

  “Or they are still among us, wearing a glamour.”

  She sniffed. Stupid Lunars and their stupid glamours. Anyone could be an enemy. Anyone she passed could be a thaumaturge or one of those lousy aristocrats or the queen herself, and Scarlet wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

  Still, why would anyone come all the way out here just to attack Winter but leave the rest of them alone, knowing they were planning to join Selene’s revolution? Was this a warning? A threat? A distraction?

  A sinking thought occurred to her. Perhaps they weren’t leaving the rest of them alone at all. Letumosis was highly contagious, and it acted fast. In closed quarters, with recirculating air …

  “Here,” said the doctor, leading them into a building that was only slightly larger than the neighboring houses and just as run-down. A coffin-shaped tank stood against one wall, covered in dust and piled high with worn blankets. The doctor shoved the linens onto the floor. “There are beds in that room if you want to lay her down while I get it ready.”

  Strom seemed happy to do just that. His face was still contorted when he returned. “I am going to bring in some of my men to have the tank moved outside.”

  The doctor glanced up. “Outside?”

  “The people admire her. They should be able to see her—a reminder of what we’re fighting for.”

  The doctor blinked rapidly, but gave a small nod. “All right. It won’t affect the treatment.”

  Strom left the clinic, his footsteps pounding on the short wooden porch.

  “I am afraid,” said the doctor, sounding very afraid indeed, “that we have only the one tank.”

  Scarlet held his gaze. “So?”

  Lips tightening, he gestured at her. Scarlet followed the look to her own hands. Nothing. Nothing. Then she saw the red-ringed bruise on her upper arm and cursed.

  Sixty-Four

  He dreamed of Ran, his younger brother, after he’d become a monster. In the dream, he watched as Ran prowled around his prey, his muscles flexing beneath his skin, saliva gathering at the corners of his mouth. Ran’s hand curled into a fist, then sprang open, revealing the fingernails he’d filed into sharp points. His eyes glinted with the knowledge that his prey had nowhere to run.

  With a snarl, Ran dug his claws into the victim’s sides and tossed her—her. The dream sharpened, the blurred shadow turning into a girl as she was thrown into a statue at the center of a dried fountain basin. She was bleeding, her red hair dark with grime, her eyes bloodshot with panic.

  Wolf watched, but could do nothing. He was encapsulated in stone and only his thoughts were wild and alert, telling him again and again that he’d failed her.

  The scene switched, and he was a boy meeting his pack for the first time. He was still trying to get used to the fact that they had taken his Lunar gift away from him and turned it into something unnatural. Something that would make him a better soldier for their queen. The rest of the boys eyed him with loathing and distrust, though he didn’t know why. He was just like them. A pawn, a mutant.

  Just like them.

  The sound of a gunshot ricocheted in his head and he was standing in a crowded, dusty square. His mother collapsed beside him. Blood pooled under his feet. But they weren’t his feet. They were enormous paws, prowling back and forth, and the scent of his mother’s blood was in his nostrils—

  The dream ended the same way it had begun. With the girl, beaten and covered in blood. She was on her hands and knees, scrambling to get away. She rolled onto her back. He could smell the blood on her. He could feel the horror rolling off her in torrents. He could see the hatred in her eyes.

  This time, he was the predator. This time, she was looking at him.

  He jolted awake. Stop Ran. Kill the alpha. Run away. Save her. Find the old woman. Kill Jael and rip his still-beating heart from his chest. Find his parents. Join his pack. Tear their limbs from their sockets. Hide. Be brave. Protect her. Find her. Save her. Kill her—

  “A little help here!”

  His eyes were open, but he couldn’t see beyond blaring lights. Someone was holding down his arms. Multiple someones. Growling, he snapped his teeth at his captors, but caught only air.

  “Stars above,” someone grunted. “I’ve never seen one of them wake up like that before. Hand me that tranquilizer.”

  “No. Do not tranquilize him.” This second feminine voice was soft and calm, yet spoke in demands. “Her Majesty has requested his presence.”

  Wolf got one arm loose. Cords snapped around him. Something scraped beneath the skin of his forearm, but he was too frazzled to pay it much attention. He snagged one of the blurred shapes by the throat and tossed him overhead. A scream was followed by a crash of metal.

  “What—”

  Wolf found the second person and wrapped both hands around their throat. Just a snap …

  A shock of pain tore through his arms. He let go and the stranger stumbled back, gasping for air.

  Wolf collapsed back onto the table. Though the pain had been brief, his left hand continued to twitch.

  It wasn’t a table at all, he realized. Shallow walls surrounded him. Dozens of tubes, many of which were still buried in his flesh. The tugging sensation he’d felt before was from needles still half-buried under his skin. Grimacing, he turned his face away, the sight churning his stomach.

  Not more needles. Not another tank. Not more surgeries.

  Footsteps approached and he glanced toward his feet. A form was silhouetted in the bright lights. A female thaumaturge in red, with pitch-black hair pulled into a bun. “Welcome back, Alpha Kesley.”

  Wolf swallowed, though the movement hurt his throat. Something felt wrong. Many things felt wrong. Something was on his face. A mask, or—

  He reached for his mouth but the cords held him back, and this time he didn’t fight them.

  “Finish the reconstitution procedures,” said the thaumaturge. “He is quite amicable now.”

  Another woman crept into view, rubbing her neck. She eyed Wolf warily as she started to remove the needles from his arms, then disconnected some probes that had been stuck to his scalp. He flinched at each one.

  “Can you sit?” asked the lab technician.

  Wolf braced his muscles and pushed himself upward. The task was easier than he’d expected. His brain was telling him he was weak, confused, delirious. But his body felt ready to fight. His nerves hummed with unspent energy.

  The technician handed him a cup of orange liquid. He sniffed it first, his nose curling in distaste, then fit it to
his lips.

  He paused. Lowered the cup again.

  Raising his free hand, he pressed it against his mouth. His nose. His jaw.

  His body convulsed with horror.

  It was done. After years of fighting to avoid becoming one of the queen’s monsters, it had happened.

  “Is something wrong, Alpha Kesley?”

  He met the thaumaturge’s gaze. She was watching him like one might watch a ticking bomb. Wolf knew he had no words to express all the confusion and bewilderment and the savage needs pulsing through his brains, needs he couldn’t name. He didn’t think he was capable of speaking, anyway. He drank the orange liquid.

  The dream came back to him in sharp, scattered pieces. The girl’s red hair. His brother’s animalistic fury. His mother falling, dead, out of his reach.

  Always back to the beautiful, quick-tongued girl. The memory of her was sharpest of all, because he so clearly remembered how she loathed him.

  Memories and fears crowded together, shoving up against one another, and he could no longer tell truth from fiction. His head ached.

  “What did you say was different about him from the others?” said the thaumaturge, walking around to Wolf’s side.

  The technician analyzed a screen built into the tank’s side. “His brain patterns were more active than they usually are in the final stages of reengineering, and usually when they wake up they’re just … hungry. Not violent. That comes later, once they’ve gotten their strength back.”

  “He seems to have plenty of strength.”

  “I noticed.” The technician shook her head. “It could be from rushing the process. Normally we have them for at least a week. His mind and body have been through a lot in a short period of time, which could be causing the aggression.”