Thorne wasted no time in ripping off the itchy linen shirt he’d been wearing to fit in with the miners. Squatting beside the guard, he started unb.u.t.toning the uniform’s shirt. Though the guard was a bit stockier than he was, it looked like it would fit.
“I don’t suppose you need help with that?” Iko said, sounding too hopeful as she watched Thorne work the guard’s limp arms out of his sleeves.
Thorne paused to glare at her and, remembering the cylinder, dug it out and pressed it into her fist. “You get to work.”
Iko gave him a quick salute and threw herself behind the desk. Soon, Thorne could hear her lighthearted humming as she found the universal port and inserted the cylinder. A screen pinged, and Iko proclaimed proudly, “Code word: Captain is King!”
Thorne’s lips twitched as he tugged the guard’s shirt over his head.
“It worked! I’m in!” said Iko. “Uploading the program now.”
Wolf helped Thorne tie on the awkward shoulder armor.
“Just about done and … that’s it. Selecting sectors to receive altered programming, and uploading Cinder’s video into the holding queue … Wow, Cress couldn’t have made this any easier.”
Thorne grunted, not wanting to hear how great of a job Cress had done in helping them from afar. He wished she would have just sent herself.
He dropped the dust mask over his face to hide his grimace and wedged his feet into the guard’s boots. He raised questionable eyebrows at Wolf.
Wolf nodded. “Pa.s.sable.”
“Give me at least four more minutes,” said Iko.
“Got it. Two knocks means trouble, three means coast is clear.” Thorne grabbed the guard’s rifle. He heard Wolf cracking his knuckles as he slipped back through the door to take up the guard’s post. The grim-faced, shoulders-back posture came easily and he was glad that, for once, his military training was coming in handy.
He counted off six seconds before the guard patrolling this portion of the dome came into view. He strolled past Thorne with his own gun held over his shoulder, searching for errant civilians or laborers who should have been working.
If the guard looked at him, Thorne didn’t know it. He kept his own gaze pinned to the horizon, stoic and serious.
The guard pa.s.sed by.
Behind the dust mask, Thorne smirked.
* * *
Cinder wished she had more floor s.p.a.ce in which to pace. Her nerves were a wreck as she waited to hear from Iko.
“Are you all right?” Scarlet asked, sitting cross-legged on the rocking chair. She was fidgety too, toying with the drawstring of her freshly cleaned hoodie.
“I’m fine,” Cinder lied. The truth was that she was as tense as a coiled spring, but she didn’t want to talk about it. They’d already talked their strategy to death. Everything that could go right. Everything that could go wrong.
The people would answer her call, or they wouldn’t. Either way, she was about to show Levana her hand.
In the kitchen, Princess Winter was humming an unfamiliar song. She’d hardly stopped moving since her arrival the evening before. She’d dusted, swept, beat rugs, reorganized cabinets, and folded laundry, and done it all with the grace of a b.u.t.terfly. All her work was making Cinder feel like a bad houseguest.
Cinder wasn’t sure what to make of the princess. She both admired and questioned Winter’s decision to not use her glamour. Life had been simpler before Cinder had use of her own gift, and she’d too often been terrified to think she was becoming more and more like Levana. But at the same time, now that she had her gift, she couldn’t imagine giving it up, especially seeing the toll it was taking on the princess’s sanity.
But to write off the princess as merely crazy didn’t feel right, either. She was quirky and strange and ridiculously charismatic. She also seemed to honestly care about the people around her and she showed glimpses of intelligence that would have been easy to overlook. While she exuded humbleness, Cinder didn’t think she was as ignorant of her own charms as she pretended to be.
She wished she could remember her from when they were children, but all her memories consisted of flames and burning coals and seared flesh. There was nothing about a friend, a cousin. It had never even occurred to her she might have such a connection from her brief life on Luna—she’d a.s.sumed everyone in the palace would be her enemy.
A comm popped up on her retina display.
Cinder froze, read it, and released a heavy breath. “They’re in position. The video is set to play one minute following the end of the workday announcement across all outer sectors. Thorne is standing watch. No alarms raised—yet.”
Cinder placed a hand over her knotted stomach. This was the moment all her preparations had been for.
A thousand horrors clouded her mind. That they wouldn’t believe her. That they wouldn’t follow her. That they wouldn’t want her revolution.
As far as she could tell, this would be the first time Luna’s outer sectors would be exposed to a message that wasn’t crown-sanctioned propaganda or fearmongering. Every bit of media they had came from the crown, from public executions that villainized anyone who dared criticize the queen, to doc.u.mentaries on the royal family’s generosity and compa.s.sion. Sectors could be singled out for individual broadcasts or all set to receive one message at once, although Cinder suspected the queen rarely did ma.s.s communications. Rather, the rich communities of Artemisia might see coverage on the most elite parties of the season while laborers in the outer sectors saw reports on food shortages and reduced rations. Without any way to communicate between themselves, though, how were they to know any different?