In the next room, she could hear Thorne mentioning Michelle Benoit, pleading with the girl to tell him something, anything useful, but all he got back were blubbery apologies.
Cinder sighed, wishing there were some way she could convince the girl they meant her no harm, that they were in fact the good guys.
Her body tensed.
She could convince the girl of that. Quite easily.
Guilt flooded her veins a moment later, but it didn’t quite dispel the temptation. She scanned the horizon, still seeing no sign of civilization beyond the fields.
She folded her fingers together, debating.
“You do know Michelle Benoit, don’t you?” Thorne said, his tone taking on an edge of pleading. “I mean, you are in her house. This is her house, isn’t it?”
Cinder massaged her thumbs over her temples.
She was not like Queen Levana and her thaumaturges and all the other Lunars who abused this gift—brainwashed and cajoled and controlled others for their own selfish gains.
But if controlling someone were for the greater good … and only for a short time …
“Émilie, please stop crying. It’s just a simple question, really.”
“Fine,” Cinder muttered, pushing herself off the stairs. “It’s for her own good, after all.”
Taking in a breath to dispel the guilt, she stepped back into the living room.
The girl’s gaze whipped toward her, eyes puffed. She cowered away.
Cinder forced herself to relax and let the gentle tingle slip down her nerves, thinking kind, friendly, welcoming thoughts. “We’re your friends,” she said. “We’re here to help you.”
Émilie’s eyes brightened.
“Émilie, can you tell us where Michelle Benoit is?”
A last tear slipped unnoticed down Émilie’s cheek. “I don’t know where she is. She disappeared three weeks ago. The police never found anything.”
“Do you know anything about her disappearance?”
“It happened in the middle of the day, when Scarling was out doing her deliveries. She didn’t have a hover or a ship. She didn’t seem to take any belongings with her. Her ID chip had been removed and left behind, along with her portscreen.”
It took all of Cinder’s focus to maintain the aura of friendliness and trust when disappointment started to settle in.
“But I think Scarlet may have known something.”
Cinder perked up.
“She was going to look for her. She left a couple days ago and asked me to watch the farm. It seemed she had some lead, but she didn’t tell me what it was. I’m so sorry.”
“Have you heard from Scarlet since?” asked Thorne, leaning forward.
Émilie shook her head. “Nothing. I’m worried about her, but she’s a tough girl. She’ll be all right.” Her expression brightened like a child’s. “Have I helped? I want to help.”
Cinder flinched at the girl’s eagerness. “Yes, you helped. Thank you. If you think of anything else—”
“One more question,” said Thorne, holding up a finger. “Our ship is in need of some repairs. Are there any good parts stores nearby?”
Thirty-Four
Scarlet’s sleep was restless, filled with thaumaturges and prowling wolves. When she managed to pull herself from the daze, she saw that two trays of food had been left for her. Her stomach growled upon seeing them, but she ignored it, instead rolling over and curling up on the filthy mattress. Many years ago, someone had sketched their initials on the dressing room wall and Scarlet traced her fingertips over them. Were they the work of a rising opera star in the second era or a prisoner of war?
Had they died in this room?
She leaned her forehead against the cool plaster.
The scanner beeped in the hallway and the door clanked open.
Scarlet rolled onto her back and froze.
Wolf was standing in the doorway, having to duck his head to keep from hitting the frame. His eyes pierced through the darkness but they were the only thing about him that hadn’t changed. His once messy, spiky hair had been combed off his brow, making his handsome features appear too sharp, too cruel. He’d washed the dirt from his face and now wore the same uniform she’d seen on the other soldiers: a maroon shirt and rune-decorated guards on his shoulders and forearms. A series of belts and sashes held empty holsters—she briefly wondered if Wolf preferred to fight without weaponry, or if he simply hadn’t been allowed to bring any guns into her cell.
She leaped off the bed, instantly regretting it as the world tilted beneath her and she had to brace herself against the wall. Wolf remained silent, watching, until their gazes clashed across the room—his dark and expressionless, hers growing more hateful, more angry by the second.
“Scarlet.” A hint of a struggle crossed his face.
Her revulsion tore through her and she screamed. She had no memory of crossing the room, but the crunch of her fists as they struck his jaw, his ear, his chest thundered up her arms.
He allowed her five strikes with nothing more than a grimace before stopping her. He caught her wrists mid-swing, holding them fast against his stomach.
Scarlet reeled back and aimed her heel for his kneecap, but he whipped her around so fast she lost balance and found herself facing away from him, her arms locked in his grip.
“Let go of me!” she screeched, aiming her foot for his toes, stomping and screaming and thrashing, but if she hurt him, he showed no sign of it. She craned her neck and snapped her teeth, though she had no hope of actually biting him. Instead, with a painful twist of her neck, she managed to land a gob of spit on his jaw.
He flinched again, but didn’t release her. Didn’t even look at her.
“You traitor! You bastard! Let go of me!”
She’d lifted her knee for another backward kick when he obeyed, releasing her. She collapsed forward with a yelp.
Scarlet scurried away, clenching her jaw. Her knees throbbed and she had to use the wall to pull herself back to standing. She swung around to face him. Her stomach roiled and she was sure she would be sick with loathing and disgust and fury.
“What?” she yelled. “What do you want?”
Wolf scrubbed the spit from his chin with his wrist. “I had to see you.”
“Why? So you could gloat over what a fool you made me out to be? How easy it was to convince me that you—” A shudder ripped through her. “I can’t believe I let you touch me.” She squirmed, wiping her hands down her arms to dispel the memory. “Go away! Just leave me alone!”
Wolf didn’t move, and didn’t speak again for a long time. Spinning away, Scarlet crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the wall, shaking.
“I lied to you about a lot of things,” he finally said.
She snorted.
“But I meant every apology.”
She scowled, seeing bright spots on the wall.
“I never wanted to lie to you, or frighten you, or … and I tried, in the train…”
“Don’t you dare.” She faced him again, digging her nails into her arms to keep from lashing out and making an idiot of herself again. “Don’t you even think about bringing that up, or trying to justify what you did to me. What your people have done to my grandmother!”