The other two hesitated, seeing their companion with his club held halfway through a swing. The woman’s face was contorted in concentration.
“Unlawful use of manipulation,” bellowed another guard. He grabbed the woman and pulled her arms behind her back. Before he could bind them, though, another miner had stepped forward—an elderly man with his back bent under years of work. His gaze was sharp, though, as he raised one hand.
The guard’s body turned to stone.
Another civilian stepped forward. Then another, their expressions made of grim determination. One by one, the guards dropped their clubs. One by one, their bodies were claimed by the people.
A young boy rushed toward the man who had been beaten. He lay limp on the ground, groaning in pain.
The woman who had stepped forward first snarled at the guards. “I don’t know if that girl was Princess Selene or not, but I do know she’s right. This might be our only chance to stand together, and I, for one, refuse to be afraid of you anymore!” Her face was strained, full of resentment.
As Cinder watched, the guard she was controlling reached for the knife at his belt and lifted it, pressing the blade against his own throat.
Horror cascaded over her like ice water.
“No!” Cinder screamed. She ran forward, releasing the glamour of the plain girl. “Don’t! Don’t kill them!” Barreling into the center of the crowd, Cinder held her hands toward the gathered civilians. Her pulse was racing.
She was met first with rage, the remnants of years of tyranny and yearning for revenge turned to disgust at her interruption.
But then, slowly, there was recognition, matched with confusion.
“I understand these men have been the queen’s weapons. They have abused and degraded you and your families. But they are not your enemies. Many guards were removed from their loved ones and forced into the queen’s employment against their will. Now, I don’t know about these guards, specifically, but killing them without offering a fair trial or showing any mercy will only further the cycle of distrust.” She met the eyes of the woman who held the guard and his knife in thrall. “Don’t become like the queen and her court. Don’t kill them. We’ll take them prisoner until further notice. We might still find a use for them.”
The guard’s arm began to lower, removing the knife’s imminent threat. He was watching Cinder, though, not the woman. Maybe he was relieved that she’d intervened. Maybe he was embarra.s.sed at his lack of power. Maybe he was plotting to kill all of these rebellious citizens the moment he had a chance.
It occurred to her that this same scenario could be playing out in countless other sectors, without her there to stop it. She wanted the people to defend themselves from Levana’s regime but she hadn’t considered how she might also be sentencing thousands of guards to death.
She tried to tamp down the sting of guilt, telling herself this was war now, and wars came with casualties. But it didn’t make her feel much better.
She approached the fountain and stepped up onto the edge. The water sprayed against her calves.
The crowd around her had grown and was still growing. People who had wandered off to their residences returned in force, drawn by the commotion and the spreading whispers of rebellion. With the guards subdued, their heads were lifted.
She imagined hundreds of thousands, even millions of Lunars gathering together like this, daring to envision a new regime.
Then a man’s voice shouted, “It’s a trick! This is Levana testing us! She’ll slaughter us all for this.”
The crowd rustled, made nervous by the accusation. Their eyes roved over Cinder’s face, her clothes, the metal hand she wasn’t hiding. She felt like she was at the ball again, the center of unwanted attention, forging ahead with single-minded resolve and the knowledge that she couldn’t turn back now, even if she wanted to.
“This isn’t a trick,” she said, loud enough that her words echoed off the nearest factory walls. “And it isn’t a test. I am Princess Selene, and the video you just saw was broadcast to almost every sector on Luna. I am organizing a rebellion that will span the entire surface of Luna—starting here. Will you join me?”
She hoped to be met with cheers, but uncomfortable silence greeted her instead.
The elderly man she’d seen before c.o.c.ked his head. “But you’re only a kid.”
She glared at him, indignant, but before she could speak a familiar face emerged in the crowd. Maha came to stand before her. Despite her small stature, she carried every ounce of Wolf’s fearlessness in her stance.
“Didn’t you hear the video? Our true queen has returned! Will we cower in fear and ignore this one chance we have to make a better life for ourselves?”
The old man gestured toward the sky. “One pretty speech will not make for an organized rebellion. We have no training and no weapons. We have no time to prepare. What do you expect us to do—march into Artemisia with shovels and pickaxes? We’ll be slaughtered!”
It was clear from the scattered frowns and bobbing heads that he wasn’t alone in his thoughts.
“What we lack in training and time,” said Maha, “we’ll make up for in numbers and determination, just like Selene said.”
“‘Numbers and determination’? You’ll take two steps into Artemisia and her thaumaturges will have you cutting open your own throats before you even see the palace.”
“They can’t brainwash all of us!” someone yelled from the crowd.