“Regarding Her Majesty, Queen Levana, has she or any of the Lunar court commented on the escape of the convict?”

Kai’s jaw tensed. “Oh, she’s had a thing or two to say about it.”

Behind Kai, a government official cleared his throat. The irritation quickly evaporated from Kai’s face, replaced with tactful vacancy.

“Queen Levana wants Linh Cinder to be found,” he amended, “and brought to justice.”

“Your Majesty, do you think these events may have harmed the diplomatic proceedings between Earth and Luna?”

“I don’t think they helped.”

“Your Majesty.” A man stood, three rows back. “Witness accounts from the ball seem to indicate that Linh Cinder’s arrest was part of an agreement between yourself and the queen, and that letting her go could be cause for war. Is there reason to believe the cyborg’s escape could lead to a greater threat to our national security?”

Kai moved to scratch behind his ear, but caught the nervous tick and placed his hand back on the podium. “The word war has been thrown around between Earth and Luna for generations. It is my prerogative, as it was always my father’s, to avoid that at all costs. I assure you, I am doing everything in my power not to further unravel our fragile relationship with Luna, starting with finding Linh Cinder. That’s all, thank you.”

He stepped off the stage to a wave of unanswered questions, and was pulled into a whispered conversation with a group of officials.

Pouting, Thorne slumped into the copilot’s seat. “He didn’t mention me. Not once.”

“Me either,” said Iko, without pity.

“You’re not an escaped convict.”

“True, but His Majesty and I met once, at the market. I felt like we had a really strong connection. Didn’t you think so, Cinder?”

The words slipped meaninglessly through Cinder’s audio interface. She didn’t respond, unable to tear her focus away from Kai.

He was being forced to take responsibility for her actions. He was being unfairly faced with the repercussions of her decisions. In the aftermath of her escape, he alone had to deal with Queen Levana.

Shutting her eyes against the sight of him, she rubbed her throbbing temple.

“But I’m a wanted fugitive, like Cinder,” Thorne continued. “They do realize I’m missing, don’t they?”

“Maybe they’re grateful,” Cinder muttered.

Thorne grumbled something incoherent, followed by a long silence during which Cinder massaged her brow and tried to convince herself she’d done the right thing.

Spinning, Thorne kicked his feet onto the armrest of Cinder’s chair, nudging her elbow off it. “Now I understand why you’ve been so immune to my charms. I had no idea I was competing with an emperor. That’s a tough hand to beat, even for me.”

She snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. I hardly know him, and now he despises me.”

Thorne laughed, hooking his thumbs behind his belt loops. “I have great instincts when it comes to amore, and he does not despise you. Plus, he asked a cyborg to the ball? That takes guts. I generally dislike royalty and government officials on principle, but I have to give him credit for that.”

Standing, Cinder shoved Thorne’s feet off her chair, freeing her path to the door. “He didn’t know I was cyborg.”

Thorne tilted his head as she passed. “He didn’t?”

“Of course not,” she said, marching out of the small cockpit.

“But he knows you’re cyborg now and he still likes you.”

She spun back to him, pointing toward the screen. “You got that from a ten-minute conference in which he said he’s doing everything in his power to hunt me down and turn me over for execution?”

Thorne smirked. In a terrible, snotty voice that Cinder guessed was meant to be a Kai impersonation, he said, “‘I don’t see that her being cyborg is relevant.’”

Rolling her eyes, Cinder spun away.

“Hey, come back!” Thorne’s boots hit the ground behind her. “I have something else to show you.”

“I’m busy.”

“I promise not to make fun of your boyfriend anymore.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!”

“It’s about Michelle Benoit.”

Cinder sucked down a slow breath, and turned back around. “What?”

Thorne hesitated, as if afraid to move in case he set her off again, before inclining his head toward the cockpit’s dash behind him. “Come take a look at this.”

Heaving a sigh, Cinder trudged back toward him. She settled her elbows on the back of Thorne’s chair.

Thorne dismissed the news channel. “Did you know that Michelle Benoit has a teenage granddaughter?”

“No,” said Cinder, bored.

“Well, she does. Miss Scarlet Benoit. Supposedly she just turned eighteen, but—brace yourself—she doesn’t have any hospital records. Get it? Holy spades, I’m a genius.”

Cinder scowled. “I don’t get it.”

Tilting back, Thorne peered at her upside down. “She doesn’t have any hospital records.”

“So?”

He spun the chair to face her. “Do you know a single person who wasn’t born in a hospital?”

Cinder considered. “Are you suggesting that she could be the princess?”

“That’s precisely what I’m suggesting.”

The netscreen turned to a profile and picture of Scarlet Benoit. She was pretty, with pronounced curves and fiery red curls.

Cinder squinted at the image. A teenage girl without a birth record. A ward of Michelle Benoit.

How convenient.

“Well, then. Excellent detective work, Captain.”

Twenty-Five

Scarlet dreamt that a blizzard had covered all of Europe in neck-deep snow. A child again, she came downstairs to find her grandmother kneeling in front of the wood stove. “I thought I’d found someone who would take you in,” her grandma said. “But they’ll never come for you in all this snow. I guess I’ll have to wait until spring now to be rid of you.”

She stoked the fire. The sparks flew into Scarlet’s eyes, stinging, and she woke up with wetness on her cheeks, her fingers like ice. For a long time she couldn’t sort out what was a dream and what was a memory. Snow, but not so much snow. Her grandmother wanting to send her away, but not when she was a child. A teenager. Thirteen.

Had it been January, or later still in the winter? She struggled to piece together thawing memories. She’d been sent out to milk the cow, a chore she’d despised, and her hands were so numb she was afraid she would squeeze the udders too tight.

Why hadn’t she been in school that day? Was it a weekend? A vacation?

Oh—right. She’d been visiting her father, just come back the day before. She was supposed to stay with him for a full month, but she couldn’t stand it. The drinking, the coming back to the apartment in the middle of the night. Scarlet had taken the train home without telling anyone, surprising her grandmother with her arrival. Rather than happy to see her, her grandmother had been angry that Scarlet hadn’t commed to tell her what was happening. They’d had a fight. Scarlet was still mad at her, milking the cow, fingers freezing.

It was the last time she’d ridden the maglev. The last time she’d seen her father.

She remembered hurrying through her chores, desperate to be finished with them so she could go inside and get warm. It wasn’t until she was rushing back to the house that she saw the hover out front. She’d seen plenty hovers when she lived in the city, but they were rare out in the country, where the farmers preferred larger, faster ships.

She’d sneaked in through the back door and heard her grandmother in the kitchen, and a man, their voices muffled. She inched her way around the staircase, her feet silent on the terra-cotta tiles.

“I can’t imagine what a burden she’s been for you all these years,” said the man in an eastern accent.

Scarlet frowned, sensing the kitchen’s warmth upon her cheeks as she peered through the cracked door. He was at the table, a mug in his hands. He had silk-black hair and a long face. Scarlet had never seen him before.