Marissa Meyer - Cress

“I anticipate the criticism and backlash that this decision will cause,” Kai continued. “I am fully aware that letumosis is a problem that affects every one of us, and that my decision to end the cyborg draft without first conferencing with my cabinet and your representatives is both unexpected and unconventional. But I could not stand by while our citizens were being forced to sacrifice their lives under a mistaken belief that their lives are less valuable than those of their peers. The letumosis research team will be developing new strategies for the continuation of their research, and we at the palace are optimistic that this change will not hinder our ongoing search for an antidote. We will continue accepting test subjects on a volunteer basis. There is a comm link below for anyone wanting more information on the volunteer process. Thank you. I will not be taking questions today.”

As Kai left the stage and was replaced with the press secretary, already trying to calm a boisterous crowd, Cinder sank to the floor.

She could hardly believe what she’d heard. Kai’s speech was not only about letumosis and research and medical procedures. His speech had been about equality. Rights. Moving past the hatred.

With one speech—not three minutes spent behind the podium—Kai had begun to unravel decades of cyborg prejudice.

Had he done it for her?

She grimaced, wondering whether it was absurdly self-absorbed for her to even think that. After all, this declaration would save countless cyborg lives. It would set a new standard for cyborg rights and treatment.

It wouldn’t solve everything, of course. There was still the Cyborg Protection Act that claimed cyborgs as property of their guardians and limited their freedoms. But it was something. It was a start.

And the question came back again and again. Had he done it for her?

“I know,” said Iko with a dreaminess in her tone, though Cinder hadn’t said anything. “He’s fantastic.”

When she could focus her thoughts enough to skim through the rest of the article, Cinder saw that Kai was right. The hostility had already begun. This particular journalist had written a scathing criticism piece, defending the cyborg draft and accusing Kai of unjust preferential treatment. Though he didn’t mention Cinder directly, it would only be a matter of time before someone did. Kai had invited a cyborg to the annual ball, and they would use it against him. He would be attacked for this decision. Viciously.

But he had done it anyway.

“Cinder?” said Iko. “Have you moved on to the escort-droids yet?”

She blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

The screen changed, pulling the first document to the forefront. Cinder shook her head to clear it. She’d forgotten all about the second item that Iko had wanted to tell her about—the order form labeled “Confidential.”

“Oh, right.” She pulled herself to her feet. She would think about Kai and his decision later. After she had found a way to keep him from marrying Levana. “What is this?”

“It’s an order placed by the palace two days ago. I stumbled on it by accident when I was trying to figure out their florist order. Turns out the queen is having her bouquet made of lilies and hosta leaves. Boring. I would have gone with orchids myself.”

“You found a confidential order form from the palace itself?”

“Yes, I did, thank you for noticing. I’m turning into quite the savvy hacker. Not that I have anything better to do.”

Cinder scanned the form. It was a rental agreement placed with the world’s largest escort-droid manufacturer, which was headquartered just outside New Beijing. The palace wanted sixty escorts for the day of the wedding, but only those from the “Reality” line, which included models with average eye colors and varying body types. The idea was that such imperfections (as the company called them) gave a more life-like experience with your escort.

It took her about four seconds to grasp the order’s purpose.

“They’re going to use them as staff during the wedding,” she said, “because Lunars can’t manipulate them. Smart.”

“That’s what I thought too,” said Iko. “The agreement states that they’ll be delivered to the florist and catering companies the morning of the wedding and that they’ll be smuggled into the palace along with the human staff. Well, it doesn’t use the word smuggle. ”

It didn’t exactly make Cinder feel better about the wedding, but she was glad that the palace was taking some precautions against their Lunar guests.

Then, as she read through the order form and the delivery instructions, she gasped.

“What is it?” said Iko.

“I just had an idea.” She took a step back, running it through in her head. The idea was too raw and messy for her to be certain, but on the surface … “Iko, that’s it. That’s how we’re going to get onto Luna.”

The lights flickered. “I don’t compute.”

“What if we hid on a ship that was already going to Luna? We could be smuggled in, just like these androids are being sneaked into the palace.”

“Except all the ships that go to Luna are Lunar ships. How will you get aboard one of them?”

“ Right now they’re all Lunar ships. But I might know how we can change that.”

The feeds on the netscreen shifted, bringing the ticking clock front and center. “Does it still involve stopping the wedding?”

“Yes. Sort of.” Cinder held up a finger. “If we can delay the wedding, and persuade Queen Levana to host the ceremony on Luna instead of Earth, then all the Earthen guests will have to go there, just like all those Lunar aristocrats are coming here.”

“And then you’ll be on one of their ships?”

“If we can make it work.” She started to pace back and forth through the cargo bay, her thoughts burning with the start of a new plan. “But I have to get Kai to trust me first. If he can persuade Levana to change the location…” Chewing the inside of her cheek, Cinder glanced at the video of the press conference, the headline confirming that he really had ended the draft. “We still need to get into the palace, but no more big distractions or hijacking the media. We need to be subtle. Sneaky.”

“Oh! Oh! You should pose as a guest! Then you would have an excuse to buy a fancy dress too.”

Cinder tried to protest, but hesitated. The idea had potential, if she could keep her glamour up long enough so that no one would recognize her. “I would have to be wary of those escorts. Plus, we would need invitations.”

“I’m on it.” The order form disappeared, replaced with a streaming list of names. “A gossip newsfeed posted a list of all the guests a few days ago. Did you know they’re sending actual paper invitations? Very classy.”

“Sounds wasteful,” Cinder murmured.

“Maybe so,” said Iko. “But also easy to steal. How many do we need? Two? Three?”

Cinder ticked her fingers. One for her. One for Wolf … hopefully. If not, would it be better for her to go alone or to bring the doctor? Or even Jacin? Levana and her entourage would recognize any one of them, and she didn’t trust that they were capable of creating strong enough glamours for themselves.

She would just have to hope that Wolf was better by then.

“Two,” she said. “Hopefully.”

Names and titles dragged down the screen. Diplomats and political representatives, celebrities and media commentators, entrepreneurs and the very, very rich. She couldn’t help thinking that it sounded like a really dull party.

Then Iko shrieked. An ear-splitting, metal-on-metal, overheated-processor and wires-on-fire shriek.

Cinder covered her ears. “What? What’s wrong?”