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.
She felt again for the strings of power connecting her to the men and women she had taken control of. She had never controlled so many at once, and her grip felt delicate and weak.
“‘By this night, I will be your queen,’” Levana quoted, smiling her wicked smile, “‘and you will no longer be slaves.’ What spirited words from the girl who causes death and chaos everywhere she goes.” Levana held out her hands, like a peace offering that meant nothing. “Here I am, girl who claims to be Princess Selene. I will not make you go in search of me. Go ahead. Try to take my crown.”
Cinder’s eye twitched. Her pulse was racing beneath the surface, but there was calmness at the center of her mind. Maybe because, for the first time, her cyborg brain wasn’t breaking down the statistics of the world around her. She could guess that her adrenaline levels were spiking and her blood pressure was worrisome, but without the red stream of warning text, she didn’t care.
Arm still raised, she spread her fingers, indicating that her people should hold their attack.
Levana was betting on Cinder’s loyalty to Wolf. She must believe that Cinder would not attack so long as he could get caught in the crossfire. That she would not dare to put her friend in danger.
But she couldn’t even be sure he was her friend anymore. Was he still Wolf, or was he something else now? A monster, a predator?
She clenched her jaw, recognizing the hypocrisy of her thoughts. He was the same now as the soldiers who stood beside her, ready to fight and die for their freedoms. Whatever Wolf had become, she had to believe he was still her ally.
The true question was whether or not Wolf, her friend, her ally, her teacher, was a worthwhile sacrifice to win this war.
“Princess,” Strom growled, “she’s brought reinforcements.”
Cinder dared not take her gaze from Levana, though curiosity twitched inside her.
“I smell them approaching. A dozen packs, maybe more, along with their masters. We’ll soon be surrounded.”
Cinder kept her expression composed. “This is your last chance,” she said, holding her aunt’s gaze across the courtyard. “Proclaim before all these witnesses that I am Selene Blackburn, the rightful heir to the Lunar throne. Give me your crown, and I will let you and your followers live. No more lives have to be lost.”
Levana’s lips curved, bloodred against her pale skin. “Selene is dead. I am the queen of Luna, and you are nothing but an impostor.”
Cinder waited one full breath before she returned the smile. “I thought you’d say that.”
Then she let her arm fall.
Eighty-Two
Cinder’s army surged forward, the civilians pooling through the open gates while the soldiers ran for the fence, scaling to the top and hurling themselves into the gardens on the other side.
The queen did not flinch. Her thaumaturges did not stir.
They had reached the base of the marble steps when Levana raised her hand. Her thaumaturges closed their eyes.
It was a moment of contrasts.
The mutant soldiers, their first line of attack, fell as one. Their enormous bodies crumpled to the ground like forgotten toys, and a hundred men howled from what pain Cinder could only imagine. She had heard such inhuman noises only once, when she herself had tortured Thaumaturge Sybil Mira—driving her to insanity.
The civilians whose minds were protected by Cinder and those who were strongest with their gift pushed forward, heaving themselves over the wolf soldiers as well as they could. But the others began to stumble and halt as the queen claimed them. Many collapsed, their weapons thudding to the ground. Those under Cinder’s control swarmed around them and over them, tripping over fallen bodies, charging forward with weapons raised.
The thaumaturges, Cinder thought, mentally coaxing them toward the distinctive red and black coats. Every dead thaumaturge would equal a dozen soldiers or citizens returned to their side.
But the rush of civilians was met with resistance as the queen’s palace guards formed a wall, dividing the queen and her entourage from the attackers who barreled toward them.