Marissa Meyer - Cress

Thorne eased his tense knuckles off his own leg. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Glass on wood.

“So do you know where you’re taking her yet? Or are you still shopping around for a good price? I figured you were probably taking her to that old doctor in Farafrah, but I have to tell you, I think Jina’s interested. Could save you a lot of trouble.”

Thorne smothered his discomfort and tried to imagine they weren’t talking about Cress at all. They were business associates, discussing merchandise. He just had to figure out what Jamal knew that he clearly didn’t.

He slipped his finger beneath the blindfold, stretching the fabric away from his eyes. It was becoming too tight, and his cheek was throbbing more painfully than ever. “Interesting proposition,” he said slowly. “But why deal with a middleman when I can go straight to the end buyer?”

“Convenience. We’ll take her off your hands and you can be off on the next treasure hunt. Plus, we know this market better than anyone. We’ll make sure she ends up in a nice place—if you care about that sort of thing.” He paused. “What were you hoping to get for her, anyway?”

Merchandise. Business transactions. He attempted nonchalance, but his skin was crawling and he found it difficult to set aside the memory of Cress’s hand in his.

“Make me an offer,” he said.

There was a long hesitation. “I can’t speak for Jina.”

“Then why are we having this conversation? Sounds to me like you’re wasting my time.” Thorne reached for his cane.

“She did give me a number,” said Jamal. Thorne paused, and after a long silence, Jamal continued, “But I’m not qualified to finalize anything.”

“We could at least find out if we’re all playing the same game.”

More slurping, followed by a long sigh.

“We could offer you 20,000 for her.”

This time, the shock was impossible to hide. Thorne felt like Jamal had just kicked him in the chest. “20,000 univs ?”

A sharp laugh rang off the walls. “Too low? You’ll have to discuss it with Jina. But if you don’t mind me asking, what were you hoping to get for her?”

Thorne snapped his mouth shut. If their starting offer was 20,000 univs, what did they think she was really worth? He felt like a fool. What was this—Lunar trafficking? Some sort of weird fetishism?

She was a girl. A living girl, smart and sweet and awkward and unusual, and she was worth far more than they could ever realize.

“Don’t be shy, Mr. Smith. You must have had some number in mind.”

His thoughts started to clear, and it occurred to him that in many ways, he was just like these people. A businessman out to make a quick profit, who had been lucky enough to stumble onto a naïve, overly trusting Lunar shell.

Except, he had a bad habit of just taking the things that he wanted.

He dug his fingernails into his thighs. If she was worth that much, why wouldn’t they simply take her?

Panic swept through him, like a lightning bolt arcing through every limb. This wasn’t a negotiation—this was a distraction. He’d been right before. Jamal was wasting his time. Intentionally.

Thorne dropped the cooling pack and launched himself out of the chair, grabbing the cane. He was at the door in two strides, his hand fumbling for the knob, yanking open the door.

“Cress!” he yelled, trying to remember how many doors they’d passed to get to Jamal’s room. He was turned around, unable to remember which side of the hall his and Cress’s room had been on to begin with. “CRESS!” He stormed down the hall, pounding aimlessly on the walls and doors he passed.

“Can I help you, Master?”

He spun toward the female voice, his optimism thinking for a second that it was her, but no. The sound was too airy and fake, and Cress called him Captain.

Who would call him Master ?

“Who’s that?”

“My previous master called me Darling,” said the voice. “I’m your new escort-droid. The house rules gave my former master a choice of returning your earnings to you, or accepting your offered trade. He chose the trade, which means that I am now your personal property. You seem stressed. Would you like me to sing a relaxing song while I rub your shoulders?”

Realizing that he was gripping his cane like a weapon, Thorne shook his head. “Room eight. Where is it?”

He heard a couple doors open down the hallway.

“Cress?”

“What’s all the noise about?” said a man.

Someone else started talking in that language Thorne didn’t recognize.

“Here’s room eight,” said the escort. “Shall I knock?”

“Yes!” He followed the sound of her knocking and tested the knob. Locked. He cursed. “CRESS!”

“Can we keep it down out here?”

“I’m afraid I’m programmed to avoid destruction of property, so I am unable to break down this door for you, Master. Shall I go to the front desk and retrieve a key?”

Thorne pounded at the door again.

“She’s not in there,” said Jamal from down the hall.

That other language again, fast and annoyed.

“Shall I translate, Master?”

Growling, Thorne marched back toward Jamal, his cane whipping against the corridor walls. He heard yelps of surprise as people ducked back into their rooms to avoid being hit. “Where is she? And don’t try to tell me she’s out enjoying a pleasant meal in town.”

“And what will you do if I won’t tell you? Propose a staring contest?”

He despised that his alarm was showing, but every word raised his temperature, degree by boiling degree. It seemed like hours since he’d so flippantly said good-bye to Cress, when she was still in the bath, when her singing was still echoing in his ears. And he’d left her. He’d just left her—and why? To show off his gambling skills? To prove that he was still self-sufficient? To prove that he didn’t need anyone, not even her?

Every moment that stretched on was agony. They could have taken her anywhere, done anything to her. She could be alone and frightened, wondering why he hadn’t come for her. Wondering why he’d abandoned her.

He lashed out, his hand thwapping Jamal in the ear. Surprised, Jamal tried to duck away, but Thorne had already grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him closer. “Where is she?”

“She’s no longer your concern. If you were so attached, I guess you should have kept a better eye on her, rather than running off and flirting with the first steel-boned escort that passed by.” He placed a hand over Thorne’s. “She saw that, you know. Saw that escort hanging all over you downstairs. Looked pretty shaken up by the sight. Didn’t even hesitate when Jina offered to take her away.”

Thorne gritted his teeth as blood rushed to his face. He couldn’t tell whether Jamal was lying, but the thought of Cress seeing him gambling with that escort-droid, and having no idea what he was really doing …

“See, it’s all just business,” continued Jamal. “You lost her, we took her. At least you got a pretty new toy out of the deal, so try not to feel too upset.”

Grimacing, Thorne tightened his grip around the cane and brought it up as hard as he could, right between Jamal’s legs.

Jamal roared. Backing up, Thorne swung the cane toward his head. It cracked hard, but was quickly jerked out of his hand as Jamal let off a stream of curses.

Thorne reached for the gun that had been nearly forgotten since he and Cress had left the satellite. He pulled it from his waistband and took aim. Screams from the other people in the hall bounced down the corridors, followed by the slamming of doors and the pounding of feet on the stairway.

“From this distance,” he said, “I’m pretty sure I can hit you a few times. I wonder how many shots I can get in before I get a fatal one.” He listed his head. “Then I guess I’ll just take your portscreen, which probably has all your business contacts in it. You said something about a doctor in … Fara-whatta? I guess we’ll try him first.”