Cress (The Lunar Chronicles #3) - Marissa Meyer Page 0,34
her when she didn’t respond, his eyes sharp as ice picks. “Maybe someplace your friend can get help. As a thought.”
She shook her head. “I can’t. We just lost both of our pilots and I can’t fly … I don’t know how…”
“I can fly.”
“But Scarlet…”
“Look. Thaumaturge Mira will be contacting Luna and sending for reinforcements, and the queen’s fleet isn’t as far away as you might think. You’re about to have an army on your trail.”
“But—”
“But nothing. You can’t help that other girl. Consider her dead. But you might be able to help him.”
Cinder dropped her chin, curling in on herself as the warring decisions in her head threatened to tear her apart. He was being logical. She recognized that. But it was so hard to admit defeat. To give up on Scarlet. To make that sacrifice and have to live with it.
With every passing second, though, she was closer to losing Wolf too. She glanced down. Wolf’s face was scrunched in pain, his brow beaded with sweat.
“Ship,” said the guard, “calculate our location and relative trajectory over Earth. Where is the closest place we can get to? Someplace not too populated.”
There was a hesitation before Iko said, “Me?”
He squinted up at the ceiling. “Yeah. You.”
“Sorry, right. Calculating now.” The lights brightened. “Following a natural descent to Earth, we could be in central or north Africa in approximately seventeen minutes. A loose thousand-mile radius opens us up to the Mediterranean regions of Europe and the western portion of the Eastern Commonwealth.”
“He needs a hospital,” Cinder murmured, knowing as she said it that there wasn’t a hospital on Earth that wouldn’t know he was one of the queen’s wolf-hybrids as soon as he was admitted. And the risk she posed to take him there herself, and how recognizable the Rampion would be … where could they possibly go that would offer them sanctuary?
Nowhere was safe.
Beneath her, Wolf moaned. His chest rattled.
He needed a hospital, or … a doctor.
Africa. Dr. Erland.
She peered up at the guard and for the first time struggled through the sluggish mess inside her head to wonder why he was doing this. Why hadn’t he killed them all? Why was he helping them?
“You serve the queen,” she said. “How can I trust you?”
His lips twitched, like she’d made a joke, but his eyes were quick to harden again. “I serve my princess. No one else.”
The floor dropped out from beneath her. The princess. His princess.
He knew.
She waited a full breath for her lie detector to recognize his falsehood, but it didn’t. He was telling the truth.
“Africa,” she said. “Iko, take us to Africa—to where the first outbreak of letumosis occurred.”
Twelve
The fall was slow at first, gradual, as the pull of the satellite’s orbit was overpowered by the pull of Earth’s gravity.
Thorne hiked up his pant leg, using his toe to pry off his left boot. The knife he’d stashed there clattered onto the floor and he grabbed for it, awkwardly trying to angle the blade toward the blanket that was knotted around his wrists.
The girl murmured around her gag and shifted toward him. Her binds were much more secure and complex than his own. The thaumaturge had only bothered to have Thorne tie his hands in front of him, but this girl had binds all down her legs, in addition to having her wrists fastened behind her and the gag over her mouth.
With no leverage to press the knife against his own binds, he nodded at the girl. “Can you turn around?”
She flopped and rolled onto her side, pushing off the wall with her feet to turn herself so her hands were toward him. Thorne hunkered over her and sawed at the sheet that was cutting into her arms. By the time he’d hacked it off, there were deep red lines carved into her skin.
She ripped the gag off her mouth, leaving it to hang around her neck. A knot of her frayed hair caught in the fabric. “My feet!”
“Can you untie my hands?”
She said nothing as she snatched the knife from him. Her hands were shaking as she angled the blade toward the binds around her knees, and Thorne thought maybe it was best for her to practice on herself anyway.
Sawing through the sheet, she looked like a madwoman—her brow wrinkled in concentration, her hair knotted, her complexion damp and blotchy, red lines drawn into her cheeks from the gag. But the adrenaline had her working quickly and soon she was kicking away the material.