Cress (The Lunar Chronicles #3) - Marissa Meyer Page 0,71
face.
“I guess so.”
“Perhaps your friend was brave enough to join her guard. My son was brave enough not to.”
Rubbing absently at her wrist, Cinder leaned against the counter. “Did something happen? Afterward?”
“Of course.” There was still pride on her face, but also anger, and also sadness. “Three days after my son died, two men came to our house. They took my husband out into the street and forced him to beg the queen’s forgiveness for raising such a disloyal child. And then they killed him anyway, as punishment. And as a warning to any other conscripts who were thinking of disobeying the crown.” Her eyes were beginning to water, but she held on to a pained smile. “It took me almost four years to find a ship that was coming to Earth and willing to accept me as a stowaway. Four years of pretending that I didn’t hate her. Of pretending to be one more loyal citizen.”
Cinder gulped. “I’m so sorry.”
Reaching forward, the woman cupped Cinder’s cheek. “Thank you for defying her in a way that I never could.” Her voice turned to steel. “I hope you kill her.”
“Do you carry fentanyl-ten?” asked Jacin, returning to the counter and dropping three small boxes onto it.
Pressing her lips, the woman took the portscreen out of his hand. “I will do this,” she said, slipping around the counter and heading toward the front corner of the store.
“That’s what I thought,” he muttered.
Cinder propped her chin on her metal fist, eyeing him. “I never realized royal guard was a mandatory position.”
“Not for everyone. A lot of people want to be chosen. It’s a big honor on Luna.”
“Did you?”
He slid his gaze to her. “Naw. I always wanted to be a doctor.”
His tone was thick with sarcasm, and yet Cinder’s optobionics didn’t peg it as a lie. She crossed her arms. “So. Who were you protecting?”
“What do you mean?”
Something scraped against the floor—the shopkeeper shoving around dusty bins.
“When you were conscripted to be a royal guard. Who would Levana have murdered if you’d refused?”
His pale eyes frosted over. Reaching past the counter, he angled the fan toward himself. “Doesn’t matter. They’re probably going to end up dead anyway.”
Cinder looked away. Because he’d chosen to join her side, his loved ones could suffer. “Maybe not,” she said. “Levana doesn’t know that you betrayed her yet. She could think I glamoured you. That I’m forcing you to help us.”
“And you think that will make a difference?”
“It might.” She watched as the shopkeeper dug through a bin. A fly buzzed near her head and Cinder batted it away. “So how does one get chosen to be a royal guard anyway?”
“There are certain traits they look for.”
“And loyalty isn’t one of them?”
“Why would it be? She can fake loyalty. It’s like with your special-op friend. He would have shown fast reflexes, good instincts, and some amount of common sense. Match him up with a thaumaturge who can turn him into a wild animal, and it no longer matters what he thinks or wants. He just does what he’s told.”
“I’ve seen Wolf fight it,” Cinder said, feeling compelled to defend him now that Scarlet wasn’t here to do it. The first time Cinder had seen Wolf, he’d been covered in blood and crouched threateningly over Scarlet, although Scarlet had always insisted that he wouldn’t have hurt her. That he was different from the others—stronger.
Of course, that was before Wolf had gotten himself shot taking a bullet for a thaumaturge, moments before Scarlet was kidnapped.
“It’s obviously not easy to do,” she amended. “But it is possible for them to fight against the mind control.”
“Lots of good that seems to have done him.”
Locking her jaw, Cinder pressed her metal hand against the back of her neck, letting it cool her down. “He’d rather fight, and lose, than become another one of her pawns. We all would.”
“Good for you. Not everyone’s given that option.”
She noticed that his hand had settled comfortably on the knife sheathed against his thigh. “Clearly Levana didn’t want you for your chattiness. So what were the traits you possessed, that made her think you’d be a good guard?”
That look of smug amusement returned, like he was letting her in on a private joke. “My pretty face,” he said. “Can’t you tell?”
She snorted. “You’re starting to sound like Tho-Thorne.” She stumbled over his name. Thorne, who would never make jokes about his own charisma again.
Jacin didn’t seem to notice. “It’s sad, but true.”
Cinder swallowed her sudden remorse. “Levana chooses