Blinking rapidly, Cinder turned back to Kai, stunned. “Ship, turn on cargo bay netscreen, Commonwealth newsfeed.”
Kai frowned. “What’s going on?”
The netscreen flickered to life. It showed Kai’s chief adviser—Konn Torin—standing at a podium. Before the audio signal could connect, though, Cinder said, “I’m so sorry, Kai. Your palace is under attack.”
Ten
They watched the newsfeed in silence, the cameras trembling as android-manned hovers circled the palace below. Many of the gardens were smoking from fires set by the queen’s soldiers, statues toppled and the massive gate torn to shreds, but the palace itself remained untouched. So far the single regiment of the Commonwealth’s military stationed at the palace had kept the enemy at bay while they waited for reinforcements to arrive.
The siege on New Beijing Palace went against the strategies the wolf soldiers had been using throughout the war. They had become infamous for their guerilla attacks and scare tactics, as concerned with making the people of Earth terrified of them as they were with winning actual battles. To date, there had been no real battles at all—only skirmishes and surprise attacks, resulting in too much bloodshed and too many nightmares.
The wolf soldiers moved in packs, stealthy and quick. They caused havoc and destruction wherever they went, then disappeared before the Earthen military could catch up to them. There was speculation that they were moving through the sewers or disappearing into the wilderness, leaving a trail of blood and severed limbs in their wake. They were fond of leaving at least one witness alive in the aftermath to report on their brutality.
Again and again, their message was clear. No one is safe.
Earth had killed their share of the Lunar soldiers, as well as some of the thaumaturges that led each pack. They weren’t invincible, as Earthen leaders pointed out again and again. But after 126 years of peace, the Earthen Union was unprepared to wage a war, especially one so unpredictable. For generations, their militaries had become more decorated social service workers than anything else, providing manual labor in impoverished communities and running supplies when natural disasters struck. Now, every country was scrambling to conscript more soldiers into their forces, to train them, to manufacture weaponry.
All the while, the Lunar soldiers decimated whole neighborhoods, leaving only the echo of their bloodthirsty howls behind.
Until now.
This attack on New Beijing Palace was the first time, as far as anyone could tell, multiple packs had come together in one orchestrated attack, and in broad daylight too. Cinder wondered if they were getting cocky, or if they were trying to make a statement. She tried to take solace in the fact that there were more wolf-mutant bodies lying on the palace grounds than she’d ever seen in one place—surely this battle would hurt their numbers, at least in New Beijing. But it was little comfort, when their blood was mixed with that of Earthen soldiers and one of the palace’s towers was smoldering.
“The palace has been evacuated,” said a journalist, speaking over the catastrophe in the video, “and all human officials and servants have been moved to safety. The secretary of defense commented in a speech only twenty minutes ago that they are not speculating at this time how long this siege might last, or how much destruction might be incurred. So far, military experts estimate upward of three hundred Commonwealth soldiers have been lost in this attack, and close to fifty Lunars.”
“I feel so useless,” Iko said, her tone deep with a misery only an android could understand. Iko was by no means a typical android, but she still managed to harbor one distinguishable trait all androids had been programmed with: the need to be useful.
On Cinder’s other side was Kai, stricken. No doubt he was experiencing his own sense of uselessness. No doubt it was tearing him apart.
“The military will hold them,” Cinder said.
He nodded, but his brow was drawn.
Sighing, she let her gaze travel from Kai to Wolf, Thorne to Cress to Iko. All watching the screen, determined and angry and horrified. Her attention swung back to Kai. He was veiling his emotions well, but she knew it was killing him. Watching his home burn. Having never had a home she cared about, at least not until she’d come aboard the Rampion, Cinder couldn’t imagine the pain he was in.
She clenched her teeth, thinking of all their calculations, all their plans.
Kai was right. She would never feel ready, but they couldn’t sit around doing nothing forever.
Thorne had his sight back.
Wolf had told her about his parents—laborers who had worked in factories and regolith mines all their lives. If they were alive, he thought they might be willing to offer them shelter on Luna. They might be allies.
The queen was making the boldest move she’d made since the war started, which either meant she was getting overconfident or she was getting desperate. Either way, Cinder didn’t want Luna to win this battle. She didn’t want them to have control of New Beijing Palace, even if it was merely symbolic. It was the home of the Commonwealth’s royal family. It belonged to Kai, not Levana. Never Levana.
“We have had word,” said the journalist, “that the radical political group calling themselves the Association for Commonwealth Security has issued yet another statement calling for the forced abdication of Emperor Kaito, once again insisting that he cannot be the ruler we need in these troubled times, and that so long as he remains in the hands of terrorists, it is impossible for him to have the country’s welfare as his primary concern. Though the ACS ideology has been largely ignored in mainstream politics, a recent net-based poll has indicated that their opinions are growing in popularity among the general public.”