Cinder coughed. “Unnecessary information.”
“Really? You weren’t curious?”
“I’d been trying not to think about it.”
“Well—think no more. I’m still thanking all the stars, one by one.”
Cinder would have laughed, except it hurt too much.
Pacing around the bed, Kai claimed the doctor’s stool. The wheels clacked on the floor as he pulled himself so close his knees pressed against the bed frame. “What else do you need to know before I let you get some rest?”
She ran her tongue against the roof of her mouth, wishing she would have drank more water. “Am I … do they think I’m…?”
“The queen?”
She nodded.
“Yes, Cinder. You’re the queen of Luna.” The words were unrelenting. So unapologetic. “They ran your DNA while you were unconscious and you’re definitely Selene. According to Lunar law, that means you were the princess regent until your thirteenth birthday, at which time you became the queen of Luna. Levana was the impostor. They’re calling you ‘the lost queen.’ They’ve been celebrating your return since the night of the battle. Of course, they will want to have a ceremony eventually—more for tradition than anything else.”
Cinder bit her lip, thinking of the years she’d spent under Adri’s care. A mechanic, a servant, a piece of property. All that time she’d been royalty, and she had no idea.
“Even the thaumaturges, the ones who are still alive, say their loyalty is to the Lunar throne and whoever sits on it. At least, that’s what they’re saying now. We’ll see how they feel once things start to change around here.” Kai scratched behind his ear. “The army is being problematic. We’re recalling all those who were sent to Earth, but some of the soldiers are … well, not convinced the war is over. Some have gone rogue on Earth and the Earthen militaries are doing their best to track them down, but we’re hoping to—”
She reached for his hands, silencing him.
She was still working through the fact that she was the queen.
She was the queen of Luna.
She reminded herself that this was what she wanted. This responsibility, this duty, this right was what she’d been fighting for all along. The chance to rid the world of Levana and change the country she’d been born to. To change it for the better.
Kai’s fingers covered hers. Only then did she realize she’d grabbed him with her cyborg hand.
“I’m sorry,” said Kai. “You don’t need to worry about all that right now. Torin and I are taking care of everything. Making sure the injured are taken care of, getting the city cleaned up … oh, and the antidote. We’re preparing some big shipments for Earth, and the technicians have been working to produce more batches. We’ve already sent more than a thousand doses home with the diplomats and they say we’ll have triple that amount ready to go out tomorrow evening, although…” He hesitated, a shadow crossing his face. “The antidote is produced using shell blood, and there’s a whole complicated mess of laws surrounding the shells, and the antidote, and I didn’t feel comfortable doing anything without you. That’s something we’re going to have to deal with, when you’re ready.” He trailed off, though Cinder could see the struggle warring in his eyes. The relief of having the antidote at his disposal, coupled with the horrible things Levana had been doing to obtain it.
She tried to smile, but she knew how drained she must look. “Thank you, Kai.”
He shifted his head, chunks of hair falling across his brow. “I’m sorry. I should let you sleep. It’s just … it’s really good to see you awake. To talk to you about all this.”
“How long was I out?”
“Almost three days.”
She turned her eyes toward the ceiling. “Three days. What a luxury.”
“A much deserved one.” Kai lifted her hand and pressed his lips against her knuckles. “Take your time recovering. The hard part is over.”
“Is it?”
He hesitated. “Well. The dangerous part is over.”
“Can you do something for me?”
Kai frowned, like he didn’t want to encourage any crazy ideas, but the moment was brief. “Anything.”
“Have all the Earthen leaders gone back to Earth?”
“No. We were able to sneak all the Earthens out of Artemisia during the fighting, once we got the ports open, but most of them came back after they learned you succeeded. I think they’re all waiting to meet you.”
“Can you call a meeting? You, me, the Earthen leaders … and … does Luna … do I have a cabinet, or a prime minister or anything?”
His lip twitched like he wanted to tease her, but he withheld the urge. “Normally the head thaumaturge would act as second in command, but Thaumaturge Aimery is dead. Your court is in sad disarray right now, I’m afraid.”
“Well, whoever you think should be invited then, to an official meeting. An important one.”
“Cinder…”
“And my stepmother. Is she still here?”
He frowned. “Actually, yes. She and her daughter have been given a spot aboard one of our representatives’ ships, but it won’t be leaving until tomorrow.”
“Bring her too. And maybe that doctor that was just here.”
“Cinder, you need to rest.”
“I’m fine. I have to do this—as soon as possible, before anyone else tries to kill me.”
He grinned, but it was a tender look. “You have to do what, exactly?”
“Sign the Treaty of Bremen.” Saying the words brought a real smile to her lips. “I want to make our alliance official.”
Ninety-Three
Jacin slumped in the visitor chair, watching the doctor check Winter’s vitals with no small amount of envy. He wished he was the one to administer to her needs, to know from a readout of life statistics how she was faring and what he could do to make her better. Instead he had to sit there and pretend to be patient and wait for the doctor to inform him, once again, there was nothing to be done. They just had to wait and see if she would recover.
Recover.
Jacin hated the word. Every time it was said he could hear Winter’s voice, haunted and afraid. I do not know that even a sane person could recover from this. So how can I?
“Her heartbeat is still accelerated,” said the doctor, putting away his portscreen, “but at least she’s sleeping. We’ll check on her again when she wakes up.”
Jacin nodded, holding back any of the multiple retorts he had. When she wakes up kicking and screaming. When she wakes up crying. When she wakes up howling again like a sad, lonely wolf. When she wakes up and nothing has changed.
“I don’t get it,” Jacin grumbled, letting his gaze rest on Winter’s forehead—at least she was calm in her sleep. “It should have made her better, using her gift. Not worse. She shouldn’t be like this, after so many years of fighting it.”
“All those years are precisely what caused it.” The doctor sighed, and he too looked wistfully down on the princess. Too wistfully. Jacin bristled. “It might help to think of the brain and our gift like a muscle. If you don’t use that muscle for many years, and then one day you decide to push it to its full potential, you’re more likely to strain it than strengthen it. She did too much, too quickly, and it … damaged her mind, quite extensively.”