obtain information from Miss Benoit, gone so above the call of duty. That is precisely why I’ve chosen you to lead tomorrow’s attack.”
Jael paced to the row of shelves and ran a finger along them, dust collecting pale and gray against his skin. Ze’ev kept his expression blank, trying not to think what sacrifices Jael thought he had made, so far above the call of duty.
But she was there in his mind. The pad of her thumb brushing against his scars. Her arms wrapping around his neck.
He swallowed hard. Every muscle drew tight against his bones in an effort to block out the memory.
“Now it is only a question of what to do with the girl. How frustrating that we finally find someone who might lead us closer to Princess Selene, just when we no longer have use of the information.”
Ze’ev’s fingernails bit into his palms. Frustrating seemed laughable. If Her Majesty had changed her focus away from the princess three weeks ago, Scarlet and her grandmother never would have been involved in any of it.
And he never would have known the difference.
A clamp squeezed in on his chest.
“But I am optimistic,” Jael continued, speaking absently. “We may still find a use for the girl, if she can persuade her grandmother to talk. The madame tries to play at ignorance, but she knows why she is able to resist control. I’m sure of it.” He fidgeted with the cuff of his sleeve. “Which do you suppose will be more important to the old lady? Her granddaughter’s life, or her own secrets?”
Ze’ev had no response.
“I guess we will see,” said Jael, returning to his desk. “At least now I’ll have some power over her.” His lips parted, showing perfect white teeth in a pleasant smile. “You still have not answered my question, Alpha. Will you accept the role of leading our most important battle in the European Federation?”
Ze’ev’s lungs burned. He wanted to ask more, to know more—about Scarlet, her grandmother, what Jael would do to her.
But the questions would not be acceptable. His mission was complete. He no longer had any tie to Mademoiselle Benoit.
He clasped a fist to his chest. “Of course, Master Jael. It would be an honor.”
“Good.” Opening a drawer, Jael pulled out a plain white box and slid it across the desk. “On that, we’ve just received this shipment of ID chips from the Paris quarantines. I hope it won’t be too out of your way to take them down for wiping and reprogramming? I want them to be ready for the new recruits I expect to arrive tomorrow morning.” He tilted back in his chair. “We will want as many soldiers available as we can manage. It is imperative that the people of Earth be too terrified to even consider fighting back.”
Thirty-One
Cinder peered out the cockpit window at a crop of leafy plants. The fields stretched out in every direction, the view of the flat horizon broken only by a stone farmhouse nearly a mile away.
A house. A lot of vegetables. And a giant spaceship.
“This isn’t conspicuous at all.”
“At least we’re in the middle of nowhere,” said Thorne, peeling himself out of the pilot seat and sliding on his leather jacket. “If anyone calls the police, it will take them a while to get here.”
“Unless they’re already on their way,” Cinder muttered. Her heart had been drumming throughout their eons-long descent down to Earth, her brain skimming over a thousand different fates that could await them. Though she’d kept up the ridiculous chanting as long as she could, they still had no way of knowing how effective she was being, and she still had the sinking feeling that her attempts to disguise their ship using Lunar magic were pathetically futile. She couldn’t understand how she could manipulate radars and radio waves with nothing but her own muddled thoughts.
Nevertheless—the fact remained that no one had discovered them in space, and so far their luck was holding. Benoit Farms and Gardens appeared to be wholly deserted.
The ramp began to lower off the cargo bay and Iko chirped, “You two go off and have fun now. I’ll be sitting here, by myself, all alone, checking for radar interference and running diagnostics. It’s going to be fantastic.”
“You’re getting really good at your sarcasm,” said Cinder, joining Thorne at the top of the ramp as it smashed a very fine row of hearty foliage.
Thorne squinted at the glare on his portscreen. “Bingo,” he said, pointing at the two-story house that