Iko sensed the chatter of the catering staff grow more nervous as the hover began to slow.
She heard some gates being opened and then the hover came to a gradual stop and the staff began to file into a commercial loading dock. It was not the fancy entryway that Iko had always envisioned entering the palace through, but she tried not to let her disappointment show as she fell into line behind her stiff cohorts.
Two women were standing by the delivery entrance. One, wearing a jewel-toned sari, was notating something on her portscreen, while the other scanned ID chips, ensuring that the staff had been preapproved to work at this crucial event. When she’d finished with the humans, she ordered the escort-droids into two single-file lines. Iko slipped into the back as they were ushered inside.
They were marched through to the drab service halls, their shoes clicking in perfect synchronization. Iko kept careful track of their progress, counting doors and comparing it with the blueprint that had been downloaded to her memory. The kitchen was precisely where she expected it and even more massive in person than it had appeared on-screen, with eight industrial-size ovens, countless burners, and three counters that ran the length of the room where dozens of chefs were chopping, kneading, whisking, and measuring as they prepared to feed twelve hundred of the galaxy’s most-honored guests.
The woman in the sari pulled a man in a chef’s coat aside. “The androids,” she yelled over the din, gesturing to Iko and the others. “Where do you want them?”
He scanned the line, his attention briefly snagging on Iko’s blue hair. Evidently he determined that it wasn’t in his job description to care, and he let his gaze slide past her. “Leave them there for now. We’ll send them out with the regular staff during the first course. All they have to do is carry a tray and smile. Think they can handle it?”
“We’ve been ensured that their programming is immaculate. It would be best if they could focus on our Lunar guests. I want them alert in case anything … untoward happens.”
He shrugged. “No one on my staff wants anything to do with the Lunars.”
The man returned to his work, organizing gold trays at different workstations, and the woman left without another look at the androids.
Iko stood very, very still, and she was very, very well behaved, and she waited. And waited. And tried to imagine what was happening with Cinder and Cress and the others. None of the kitchen staff paid them any attention other than to shoot them the occasional glare for taking up too much space in the overcrowded kitchens.
Iko waited until she was confident no one was looking, before she inched her hand behind the escort beside her. The android didn’t even twitch as Iko sought out the latch on her neck, opened it, and ran her fingers over the control panel. She pushed up a switch.
“Now accepting input commands,” said the android in a voice that was not quite human, not quite robot.
Iko dropped her hand to the side, and scanned the nearby chefs.
The kitchen was too loud. No one had heard.
“Follow me.”
Then, when she was again sure no one was watching, she ducked into the nearest corridor.
The android followed like a trained pet. Iko took them down two hallways, listening for voices or footsteps but finding these lesser-used areas abandoned. As expected, all available staff was preparing for the ceremony and the reception, no doubt measuring the distance between plates and soup spoons at that very moment.
When they reached a maintenance closet, Iko ushered the escort-droid inside.
“I want you to know that I hold nothing against you,” she said, by way of introduction. “I understand that it isn’t your fault your programmer had so little imagination.”
The escort-droid held her gaze with empty eyes.
“In another life, we could have been sisters, and I feel it’s important to acknowledge that.”
A blank stare. A blink, every six seconds.
“But as it stands, I’m a part of an important mission right now, and I cannot be swayed from my goal by my sympathy for androids who are less advanced than myself.”
Nothing.
“All right then.” Iko held out her hands. “I need your clothes.”
Forty-Seven
Cress dug her fingers into the hover’s seat, leaning into the window until her breath fogged against the glass. She couldn’t open her eyes wide enough, not when there was so much to see, not when she could barely take it all in. The city of New Beijing was endless. To the east, a cluster of skyscrapers rose up out of the earth, silver and glass and sparkling orange under the late afternoon sun. Beyond the city center were warehouses and arenas, parks and suburbs, rolling on and on. Cress was glad for the distraction of all the new sights, the buildings, the people … Otherwise she thought she would be sick.
She gasped as the palace came into view atop its cliff, recognizing it from countless pictures and vids. Still, it was so different in real life. Even more magnificent and imposing. She splayed her fingers on the window, framing it in her vision. She could make out a line of vehicles and a mass of people outside the gates, winding down the cliff side and into the city below.
Wolf also had his fierce eyes focused on the approaching palace, but she could sense no amount of awe from him, only impatience. His knee wouldn’t stop bouncing and his fingers kept flexing and tightening. Watching him was making her nervous. He’d been so subdued back at the Rampion, so impossibly motionless. She wondered if this burst of energy was the first sign that the bomb inside him had started to tick.
Or maybe he was just anxious, like she was. Maybe he was tracing over their plan in his mind. Or maybe he was thinking about that girl. Scarlet.
Cress was sad that she hadn’t met her. It was as if the crew of the Rampion were missing a vital piece, and Cress didn’t understand how she fit. She tried to think of the things she knew about Scarlet Benoit. She’d researched her a little when Cinder and Thorne had landed the ship on her grandmother’s farm, but not very much. At the time, she’d had no idea that Scarlet had joined them.
And Cress had only spoken with her once, when the whole crew had contacted her and asked for her help. She’d seemed nice enough, but Cress had been so focused on Thorne she could hardly remember anything other than curly red hair.
Fidgeting with the straps of her dress, she glanced at Wolf again, catching him in an attempt to loosen his bow tie.
“Can I ask you a question?”
His eyes swept over to her. “It’s not about hacking security systems, is it?”
She blinked. “Of course not.”
“Then fine.”
She smoothed her skirt around her knees. “This Scarlet … you’re in love with her, aren’t you?”
He froze, becoming stone still. As the hover climbed the hill to the palace, his shoulders sank, and he returned his gaze to the window. “She’s my alpha,” he murmured, with a haunting sadness in his voice.
Alpha.
Cress leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees. “Like the star?”
“What star?”
She stiffened, instantly embarrassed, and scooted back from him again. “Oh. Um. In a constellation, the brightest star is called the alpha. I thought maybe you meant that she’s … like … your brightest star.” Looking away, she knotted her hands in her lap, aware that she was blushing furiously now and this beast of a man was about to realize what an over-romantic sap she was.
But instead of sneering or laughing, Wolf sighed. “Yes,” he said, his gaze climbing up to the full moon that had emerged over the city. “Exactly like that.”
With a quick twist to her heart, Cress’s fear of him began to subside. She’d been right back at the boutique. He was like the hero of a romance story, and he was trying to rescue his beloved. His alpha.
Cress had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep her imagination from skittering away with her. This wasn’t some silly story. Scarlet Benoit was a prisoner on Luna. It was very likely that she was already dead.
It was a thought that settled heavy in Cress’s gut as the hover pulled in front of the palace gates.
A greeter opened the door, and thousands of voices crowded in around them. With a shudder, Cress gave the greeter her hand as she’d seen girls do on the net dramas. Her heel hit the tiled drive and she was suddenly surrounded. Crowds of journalists and onlookers—both peaceful and angry—flocked around the courtyard, snapping photos, calling out questions, holding up signs that urged the emperor not to go through with this.