so sorry, Thorne.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”
Twenty-Three
Jacin was extra broody as Winter led him into the elevator.
“Why do I have a bad feeling about this?” he grumbled, eyeing Winter suspiciously.
“You have a bad feeling about everything,” she said, nudging him with her shoulder. It was a playful gesture, one that always made her giddy to have returned. This time, it was not returned. She frowned. “I forgot something down in the ports. It will only take a moment.”
She fluttered her lashes at him.
He scowled and looked away. He was in guard mode. Uniform. Posture. Inability to hold eye contact for more than half a second.
Guard Jacin was not her favorite Jacin, but she knew it was only a disguise, and one that was forced upon him.
She was itching to tell him the truth from the instant they’d left the ports. She was stricken with anxiety over the fate of the girl she’d ushered into that crate. Was she still in hiding? Did she try to run and rejoin her friends? Had she been found? Captured? Killed?
This girl was an ally of Linh Cinder’s, and perhaps a friend of her Scarlet’s as well. Fear for her life turned Winter into a pacing, fidgety mess for the two hours that she’d forced herself to wait in her chambers, so as not to draw attention to her return to the docks. Her awareness of the palace surveillance system kept her from telling the secret to even Jacin. It had been a difficult secret to retain.
But if she’d been acting odd, even Jacin didn’t ask her about it. No doubt the day’s excitement was plenty reason enough for her agitation.
“What was it?” Jacin asked.
Winter peeled her focus from the descending indicator above the elevator door. “Pardon?”
“What did you forget in the ports?”
“Oh. You’ll see.”
“Princess—”
The doors swished open. She grabbed his arm and pulled him through the lavish gallery where Artemisians could await their transport. This level was abandoned, just as she’d hoped. Though it had been easy for Winter to gain access to the ports from the guard in the palace above—it had taken little more than a pout and defiantly ignoring Jacin’s groan—the ports were supposed to be off-limits for the duration of the Earthens’ visit. For the security of their ships and belongings, Levana had said, but Winter knew it was really to prevent anyone from trying to leave.
The ports were quiet when they stepped onto the main platform. The glowing floor made the ships’ shadows appear monstrous on the high ceilings, and the cavernous walls echoed every footstep, every breath. Winter imagined she could hear her own thunderous heartbeat ricocheting back to her.
She took off around the platform with Jacin following at a fast clip. She couldn’t help glancing toward the control booth, and though there remained a broken screen and a few dark stains on the wall, the technician’s body was gone. To her knowledge, his replacements were still in the palace’s main control center trying to regain access to the malfunctioning system.
Her attention swept down to the lower level and endless relief filled her to see the cargo untouched. Though the ambassadors’ personal luggage had been taken to their suites, their gifts and trade goods had been left behind for retrieval at a later date.
Winter spotted the box of Argentinian wine. Her pace quickened.
“Stars above,” Jacin grumbled. “If you dragged me down here for more packing paper—”
“Paper,” said Winter, scrambling unladylike over the cargo boxes, “is a most difficult resource to obtain. The lumber sectors have enough demand for building supplies. I once had to trade a pair of silk slippers for half a dozen greeting cards, you know.”
It was only partly true. Most of the paper goods available in Artemisia’s shops were made from pulped bamboo, which was one of the few resources that grew with abundance in the agriculture sectors. But bamboo also contributed to textile and furniture manufacturing, and even that paper was in limited supply.
Winter was fond of paper. She liked the crisp, tactile way it crinkled beneath her fingers.
Jacin sat down on a plastic bin, his legs dangling over the edge. In the serene solitude of the docks, Guard Jacin had withdrawn. “You want to turn packing paper into greeting cards?”
“Oh, no,” she said. “I have no interest in the paper.”
One eyebrow rose. “The wine, then?”
Winter unlatched the shipping crate. “Not the wine, either.”
She held her breath and heaved open the lid. It clattered against the next bin and Winter found herself staring into