She felt like she was playing one of Cress’s strategy games. All her pawns were in place and her final attack was about to begin.
A hand slipped into hers. Iko, offering one last moment of comfort.
A low howl echoed down the stifling tunnel.
The signal.
Cinder gave Iko’s hand a squeeze, then waved her arm. Time to move.
They slipped forward onto the empty platform, where the netscreens were announcing that the coronation had ended. Levana was empress.
They entered the stairwell, pushing toward the daylight. Though manufactured evening would soon be forced upon the domes, real daylight could be seen off the horizon, a faint sliver of their burning sun.
Sunrise.
It was beautiful.
Their footsteps pounded against the stone streets of Artemisia. She had expected the streets to be as empty as they had been before, but as the sound of their march echoed off the mansion walls and through the manicured gardens, silhouettes were drawn to the windows.
She tensed, readying for a surprise attack. But one of the wolves muttered, “Servants.”
Looking closer, she saw that he was right. Dressed in simple clothing, eyes overflowing with fear, these were the lower classes who lived in the shadows of the white city and attended to the needs and whims of their masters.
Cinder hoped some of them might be brave enough to fight. After all, now was the time to show it. But to her disappointment, most of the servants disappeared back into seclusion. She tried not to be resentful. No doubt they’d suffered from years of punishments and brainwashing.
It occurred to her that this might be the first they’d heard of the insurgence at all.
The palace came into view, shimmering and majestic.
“Alphas!” yelled Strom, his voice carrying over the clomping footsteps. “Spread out and surround the palace. We’ll come at it from every open street.”
They were a well-oiled machine, and watching the certainty with which the packs divided, each leading their regiment of civilians down various side streets, gave Cinder a chill. Though the people looked afraid, they also took confidence from the beastly men leading them. It was the type of confidence she wasn’t sure she could have inspired on her own.
As they reached the gates of the palace, the clomp of their footsteps halted.
No one was in sight. Even the guard tower was empty. The heavy iron gates were wide open, beckoning them forward. It was as if Levana had no idea she was under siege—or like she was too confident to heed Cinder’s threats.
Or maybe it was a trap.
The gilded doors of the castle were shut tight.
Cinder emerged from the front line of her army, stepping before the open gates. There was an energy coursing through her, an impatience humming across her skin. Strom and Iko stayed at her side, ready to protect her if an attack came from one of the palace windows.
Cinder scanned the sparkling windows but saw no sign of life. Anticipation wrapped around her body like a rope, growing tighter by the moment. She felt as if she were teetering on the edge of a cliff, waiting to be pushed off.
Glancing down the front line, she watched as the groups that had split off emerged, filling up the intersections of every city street. The soldiers waited in perfect military formation. Training and willpower turned them into ferocious statues, but she noticed the twitch of a muscle, the flexing of a fist, eagerness sizzling beneath their skin.
Behind them, thousands of civilians waited. Less intimidating, less prepared, but no less determined. She saw Scarlet’s red hair in the crowd.
Not everyone who had joined them had come from LW-12. Some had come on faith, because of a couple videos and a promise that their true queen had returned. Some had been encouraged by the messengers Cinder had sent. Some, she hoped, were still coming.
Inhaling deeply, Cinder stretched her thoughts thin, reaching for all the electrical pulses within her reach, and slipped her will into her allies. It was what she should have done in RM-9, before Aimery had seized control. She told herself it was a protection against Levana and her thaumaturges. So long as a civilian was under her control, then the queen could not have them.
But she also knew that she would use them, if she had to.
She would sacrifice them, even. If she had to.
She had ordered the strongest of her allies to do the same thing—to seize control of their comrades now, before Levana and her court had the chance. They couldn’t control everyone, but she had to believe that neither could Levana. Cinder needed enough people to overwhelm her defenses. It had to be enough. They had to be enough.
“If Levana does not surrender,” Cinder yelled into the eerie silence, “we will take the palace by force. There are multiple entrances on this main floor. Take them all. Break the windows. But do not forget that the queen and her entourage are inside.” She scanned the windows again, unnerved that there was still no sign of opposition. A feeling of dread stirred in the pit of her stomach.
She was confident in their plan, but not that confident. They had made it to the queen’s doorstep without a hint of resistance beyond the barricaded tunnels. Something should have happened by now.
“Thaumaturges will try to manipulate you,” she continued. “Kill them if you have the chance, as they will not hesitate to kill you, or use you to kill your own friends and neighbors. The queen’s guards are trained soldiers, but their minds are weak. Use that to your advantage. Above all else, remember why you are here today. By this night, I will be your queen, and you will no longer be slaves!”
A cheer pulsed through the courtyard, coupled with a bone-chilling howl that coursed through Cinder’s body. She raised an arm, telling her allies to hold. She prepared herself to let it fall—the signal to charge. She watched Iko from the corner of her eye, waiting for her to say that the ten minutes were up.
Her eye caught on movement.
The palace doors were opening.
The soldiers dropped into fighting stances. A low growl rumbled through the ground, shaking the soles of Cinder’s stolen boots. As the doors spread, they revealed a glowing silhouette. Not a long-coated thaumaturge or even the slender figure of the queen.
A mutant. One of the queen’s soldiers.
A hand grabbed Cinder’s elbow and hauled her back behind the front line.
The soldier stepped onto the palace steps. His movements were graceful and precise. There was a familiarity to him that Cinder struggled to place, something different from the soldiers surrounding her now. The same malformed face. The same protruding teeth. Angry eyes flashing at the crowd. He was dressed not in the drab, utilitarian uniforms of the regiment, but in a uniform more fitting to the royal guard—all decorum.
Her breath caught.
It was Wolf. Wolf, repugnant and beastly, who stopped at the edge of the steps.
Her thoughts darted to Scarlet, but she dared not turn to see Scarlet’s reaction.
Another form emerged from the castle. Queen Levana herself. Thaumaturge Aimery followed and, spilling out behind them, thaumaturges in red and black, forming a line of haughty expressions and amused sneers, hands tucked into their belled sleeves. The embroidered runes glinted in the first natural daylight they had seen in weeks.
For the first time, Cinder had no lie detector to tell her that the queen’s glamour was an illusion. She had no evidence that this was really Wolf, either, and not someone glamoured to look like him.
But she also had no reason to doubt it.