Winter

Scarlet’s gaze landed on Winter’s arm and she gasped. She skittered away from the princess’s unconscious form, every instinct telling her to hold her breath. To clean the skin that had come in contact with the princess. To run.

“Now she listens.”

Ignoring him, Scarlet cursed, loudly. “When you said she had a disease, I didn’t think you meant she had the plague!”

“I do not know what this is,” said Strom. “I have never smelled this before.”

Scarlet hesitated a moment more, then let out a painful, frustrated sound, and forced herself to crawl back to Winter again. She grimaced as she lifted Winter’s arm to inspect the dark spots scattered across her elbow. The red-tinged rings around the bruises had swollen above the skin, puffed and glossy like blisters.

For as long as she could remember, the plague had worked in predictable stages, though how long they took to manifest varied by victim. Once the rash of bruise-colored rings marred a person’s skin, they may have three days or three weeks still to live. But given that Winter hadn’t been gone for more than an hour, the disease seemed to be working especially fast.

She scrutinized Winter’s fingertips, relieved to see them pink and healthy—no tinge of blue. Blood loss to the extremities was the final symptom of the disease before death.

She scowled. Hadn’t Cinder once told her that Lunars were immune to letumosis? This disease shouldn’t even be here.

“It’s called letumosis,” she said. “It’s a pandemic on Earth. It acts fast and no one survives. But … Levana has an antidote. It’s half the reason Emperor Kai is marrying her in the first place. We just … we need to keep Winter alive long enough to get it. We have to keep her alive until the revolution is over. All right?”

She dragged a hand through her hair, but it got caught in a tangle of curls and she gave up before she’d reached the ends.

“That could be days, even weeks,” said Strom. “She does not smell as though she has that much time.”

“Stop talking about how she smells!” she screamed. “Yes, the disease is bad. It’s—horrible. But we can’t just leave her here. We have to do something.”

Strom rocked back on his heels, eyeing the princess with disgust. Which was still better than the ravenous glint his eyes had had before. “She needs a suspension tank.”

“A what?”

“We use them for healing after surgeries or severe injuries.” He shrugged. “It may slow the progression of the disease.”

“Where do we get one?”

“I expect they’ll have one here. Dangerous work in this sector.”

“Great. Let’s go.” Pushing herself to her feet, Scarlet dusted off her hands. Strom stared at her, then down at Winter. He didn’t come any closer.

“Ugh. Fine.” Crouching again, Scarlet grabbed Winter’s arms and was about to haul her over one shoulder when Strom lumbered forward and lifted the princess into his arms.

“Well, aren’t you a perfect gentleman,” Scarlet muttered, grabbing her hoodie instead.

“Just hurry,” he said, his face already strained in an effort to take shallow breaths.

They practically ran back toward the residences.

Scarlet burst out of the tree line, flushed and panting. Those who were gathered turned to watch as Strom emerged with Winter in his arms.

“The princess has been poisoned,” said Scarlet. “She’s ill with a fatal disease called letumosis. The queen has an antidote, but Winter will likely die if we don’t slow the spread of the disease right away.” She spotted the bearded man who had acted as the leader before. “Is there a suspension tank in this sector?”

“Yes, at the clinic. I don’t know…” He glanced at a white-haired man who was emerging from the crowd.

The white-haired man approached Winter, felt for a pulse, and lifted her eyelids one at a time. A doctor, she guessed. “The tank isn’t in use,” he said, following his quick inspection. “It will take fifteen or twenty minutes to prep the tank and the girl for immersion.”

Scarlet nodded. “Let’s get on it, then.”

The doctor led them through the crowd. The people parted, watching the princess with distraught expressions.

“Who would do such a thing?” someone whispered as Scarlet passed. “To the princess,” another voice added.

“Does this mean we have a traitor among our people?” the doctor asked, his voice low.

Scarlet shook her head. “I don’t think so. Whoever did this had to have access to the disease, somehow, and expensive candy. They must have sneaked in for Winter and left.”

“Or they are still among us, wearing a glamour.”

She sniffed. Stupid Lunars and their stupid glamours. Anyone could be an enemy. Anyone she passed could be a thaumaturge or one of those lousy aristocrats or the queen herself, and Scarlet wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

Still, why would anyone come all the way out here just to attack Winter but leave the rest of them alone, knowing they were planning to join Selene’s revolution? Was this a warning? A threat? A distraction?

A sinking thought occurred to her. Perhaps they weren’t leaving the rest of them alone at all. Letumosis was highly contagious, and it acted fast. In closed quarters, with recirculating air …

“Here,” said the doctor, leading them into a building that was only slightly larger than the neighboring houses and just as run-down. A coffin-shaped tank stood against one wall, covered in dust and piled high with worn blankets. The doctor shoved the linens onto the floor. “There are beds in that room if you want to lay her down while I get it ready.”

Strom seemed happy to do just that. His face was still contorted when he returned. “I am going to bring in some of my men to have the tank moved outside.”

The doctor glanced up. “Outside?”

“The people admire her. They should be able to see her—a reminder of what we’re fighting for.”

The doctor blinked rapidly, but gave a small nod. “All right. It won’t affect the treatment.”

Strom left the clinic, his footsteps pounding on the short wooden porch.

“I am afraid,” said the doctor, sounding very afraid indeed, “that we have only the one tank.”

Scarlet held his gaze. “So?”

Lips tightening, he gestured at her. Scarlet followed the look to her own hands. Nothing. Nothing. Then she saw the red-ringed bruise on her upper arm and cursed.

Sixty-Four

He dreamed of Ran, his younger brother, after he’d become a monster. In the dream, he watched as Ran prowled around his prey, his muscles flexing beneath his skin, saliva gathering at the corners of his mouth. Ran’s hand curled into a fist, then sprang open, revealing the fingernails he’d filed into sharp points. His eyes glinted with the knowledge that his prey had nowhere to run.

With a snarl, Ran dug his claws into the victim’s sides and tossed her—her. The dream sharpened, the blurred shadow turning into a girl as she was thrown into a statue at the center of a dried fountain basin. She was bleeding, her red hair dark with grime, her eyes bloodshot with panic.

Wolf watched, but could do nothing. He was encapsulated in stone and only his thoughts were wild and alert, telling him again and again that he’d failed her.