Cress (The Lunar Chronicles #3) - Marissa Meyer Page 0,28
the screens.
Coughing, Thorne rocked back on his heels. Somehow he’d expected that a girl with no prior human interaction would be a lot easier to impress.
“Are you all packed up? We don’t like to loiter in one spot for long.”
Her eyes flickered to him, hinting at annoyance. “No matter,” she murmured to herself. “Jacin and I will go to her then.”
Thorne frowned, feeling a twist of regret at his previous mocking, even if it had only been in his own head. What if the solitude really had driven her crazy? “Jacin?”
She stood up, her hair swinging against her ankles. He hadn’t been able to tell how tall she was before, but now seeing that she couldn’t have been much more than five feet, he felt comforted. Crazy or not, she was harmless.
Probably.
“Jacin, my guard.”
“Right. Well, why don’t you invite your friend Jacin to join us, and let’s get going?”
“Oh, I don’t think you’ll be getting far.”
She stepped toward him, and in that movement, she changed. The nest of hair grew dark and silky as a raven’s wing. Her eyes changed from sky blue to slate gray, her pale skin turned golden, and her body stretched upward, becoming tall and graceful. Even her clothes changed, from the plain, worn day dress to a dove-white coat with long sleeves.
Thorne was quick to bury his surprise.
A thaumaturge. Figured.
Not one for denial, he accepted the immediate resignation with a stiffening of his shoulders. It had all been a trap then. The girl had been bait, or perhaps she’d been in on it all along. Funny—he usually had better instincts when it came to these sorts of things.
He stole another glance around the room, but there was no sign of the girl.
Something clanged outside the second entry hatch, shaking the satellite. Hope. His crew must have noticed something was wrong. That would be them now, aboard the second podship.
He called up his most practiced, most charming grin, and reached for his gun. He even felt a sting of pride when he managed to get it all the way out of its holster before his arm froze of its own accord.
Thorne shrugged with the one uncontrolled shoulder. “You can’t blame me for trying.”
The thaumaturge smirked and Thorne’s fingers loosened. The gun clattered to the ground.
“Captain Carswell Thorne, is it?”
“That’s right.”
“I’m afraid you won’t have claim to the title for long. I’m about to commandeer your Rampion for the queen.”
“I am sorry to hear that.”
“Additionally, I assume you are aware that assisting a wanted fugitive, such as Linh Cinder, is a crime punishable by death on Luna. Your sentence is to be carried out immediately.”
“Efficiency. I respect that.”
The second entry door opened behind her. Thorne tried to send mental warnings to his companions—it was a trap! Be ready!
But it was not Cinder or Scarlet or Wolf who stood in the second entry hatch, but a Lunar guard. Thorne’s hope began to wither.
“Jacin, we will be boarding the Rampion using its own podship.”
“Aah, you’re Jacin,” said Thorne. “I thought she was making you up.”
They ignored him, but he was rather used to that.
“Go see that it’s ready to disembark as soon as I’m finished here.”
The guard respectfully inclined his head and moved to follow her commands.
“Careful,” said Thorne. “It wasn’t an easy connection. Required some real precise maneuvering. In fact, would you like me to come disconnect the ship for you? Just to make sure you do it right?”
The guard eyed him smugly as he passed, not as empty-eyed as he’d appeared before. But he didn’t respond as he slipped into the corridor, heading toward Thorne’s podship.
The thaumaturge grabbed a blanket from the bed and tossed it at Thorne. He would have caught it on reflex, but it wasn’t necessary—his hands did all the work without him. Soon he found himself wrapping the blanket around his own wrists and tying it into intricate knots, giving the blanket a final yank with his teeth to tighten it into place.
“I look forward to returning to Luna aboard your ship and spreading the good news that Linh Cinder is no longer a threat to our crown.”
His eyebrow twitched. “Anything I can do to assist Her Majesty’s benevolent cause.”
The thaumaturge strode to a screen beside the hatch and entered a command—a security code followed by a complicated set of instructions. “I had at first considered turning off the life support and letting you and Crescent gasp for air as the oxygen was used up. But that could take too long, and I