Marissa Meyer - Cress

She was a famous net-drama actress making a big debut, and Wolf was her bodyguard. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her. She simply had to hold her head high and be brave and be graceful and be confident. Her fine ball gown became a costume. The media became her adoring fans. Her spine straightened, millimeter by trembling millimeter, as the tingling darkness began to recede from her vision.

“All right?” Wolf murmured.

“I am a famous actress,” she whispered back.

She dared not look up at him, afraid it would ruin the spell her imagination had cast.

After a moment, his grip loosened.

The noise of the crowd behind them faded away, replaced with the calm serenity of bubbling streams and the whisper of bamboo in the palace gardens. Cress stared straight ahead at the looming entrance, flanked by crimson pergolas. Two more courtiers waited at the top of the steps.

Wolf produced the two embossed invitations. Cress was perfectly still as the scanner light flickered over the tiny chip that was embedded in the paper. She and Wolf wouldn’t have fit the roles of Linh Adri and her daughter, but it had been child’s play to change the ID profiles coded on each chip. According to the portscreen, Wolf was now Mr. Samhain Bristol, parliament representative from Toronto, East Canada Province, UK, and she was his young wife. The actual Mr. Bristol was, to Cress’s knowledge, still safe at home and unaware that he had a body double negating the political point he was trying to make by not attending the royal wedding. Cress hoped it would stay that way.

She released a breath as the courtier returned the invitations to Wolf without a hint of hesitation. “We are so pleased you could join us after all, Bristol-dàren,” he said. “Please proceed to the ballroom, where you will be escorted to your seats.” By the time he finished, he was already reaching for the invitations of the couple behind them.

Wolf guided her forward, and if he was sharing any of her anxiety, he didn’t show it.

The main corridor was lined with palace guards in fine red coats and tasseled epaulets. Cress recognized a painted screen on one wall—mountains standing over misty clouds and a crane-filled lake. Her gaze instinctively flitted up to one of the ornate chandeliers that lined the corridor, and though it was too small for her to see, she knew that one of the queen’s cameras was there, watching them even now.

Though she doubted the queen or Sybil or anyone who could possibly have recognized Cress was bothering to watch the surveillance feeds at that moment, she nevertheless turned her head away and started laughing as if Wolf had made a joke.

He frowned at her.

“These chandeliers are extraordinary, aren’t they?” she said, putting as much lightness into her tone as she could.

Wolf’s expression remained unfazed, and after a blank moment, he shook his head and resumed his steady pace toward the ballroom.

They found themselves on a landing that swooped down a grand staircase and opened up into an enormous, beautiful room. The mere size of it reminded her of the desert’s expansiveness and she was overwhelmed by the same awe and dizziness she’d had before. She was glad they weren’t the only ones lingering at the top of the stairs and watching as the crowd drifted in and filled up rows of plush seats beneath them. There was at least an hour before the ceremony would officially begin, and many of the guests were using the time to mingle and take in the beauty of it all.

Many pillars throughout the room were carved with gold-tinted dragons, and the walls were filled with so many bouquets of flowers, some as tall as Cress, that it was like the gardens had begun to grow wild inside. Half a dozen birdcages stood beside the floor-to-ceiling windows, displaying doves and mockingbirds and sparrows, which sang a chaotic melody that rivaled the beauty of the orchestra.

Cress turned to face Wolf so that, should anyone look at them, it would seem as though they were in deep conversation. He bent his head toward her to complete the masquerade, though his focus was on the nearest guard.

“You don’t suppose we should … mingle, do you?”

He screwed up his nose. “I think we’d better not.” Glancing around, he held his elbow toward her. “But perhaps we could go sympathize with some caged birds.”

After passing through the dank cellar, Cinder was glad to discover that the escape tunnel was, well, fit for an emperor. The floor was tiled and the walls were smooth concrete with dim lightbulbs set every twenty steps. They could walk without fear of Thorne tripping on jagged rocks.

Nevertheless, they were making painfully slow progress, and more than once Cinder considered leaving them behind. Thorne did a decent job of keeping up, but Dr. Erland’s age combined with his short legs made his pace feel like an agonizing crawl. If she didn’t think it would offend him, she would have offered him a piggyback ride.

She kept reminding herself that they had planned for this. They were right on schedule.

It would all be fine.

She told herself again and again.

Eventually she began to notice signs that they were approaching the palace. Stockrooms filled with nonperishable goods and jugs of water and rice wine. Power generators that sat silent and unused. Large rooms, empty but for enormous round tables and uncomfortable-looking chairs, black netscreens and switch panels and processors—not state of the art, but new enough that it was clear these escape tunnels would be ready for use if they were ever needed. Should the royal family ever need to go into hiding, they would be able to stay down here for a long time.

And not just the royal family, Cinder realized as they trudged on, passing more stockrooms and hallways that branched in every direction. This was a labyrinth. It seemed that there was enough space for the entire government to come live down here, or at least everyone who worked in the palace.

“We’re almost there,” she said, tracking their position through satellite navigation and the map on her retina display.

“Wait, where are we going again? It’s been so long since we left the ship, I can’t remember.”

“Very funny, Thorne.” She glanced back. Thorne was walking with one palm on the wall, and Dr. Erland was using his cane. She wondered how long it had been since Thorne had given it to him, and how long it had been since the doctor’s breathless wheezing had begun in earnest. She’d hardly noticed it, too preoccupied with the plan that filled up her head.

Now, seeing beads of sweat on the doctor’s brow, dripping down from the brim of his hat, she paused. “Are you all right?”

“Dreamy,” he breathed, his head lowered. “Just holding on … to a comet’s tail. Stardust and sand dunes and … why is it so … blasted hot in here?”

Cinder rubbed the back of her neck. “Right. Um. We made good time,” she lied. “Maybe we should rest for a minute?”

The doctor shook his head. “No—my Crescent Moon is up there. We stick to the plan.”

Thorne inched toward them, looking equally perplexed. “Isn’t it a full moon tonight?”

“Doctor, you’re not having hallucinations, are you?”

Dr. Erland narrowed his blue eyes at her. “ Go. I’m right behind. I’m … I’m better already.”

Part of her wanted to argue, but she couldn’t deny that there wasn’t a whole lot of time to waste even if he wanted to. “Fine. Thorne?”

He shrugged and swung his hand toward her. “Lead the way.”

Cinder double-checked the map and moved forward, waiting for one of the corridor offshoots to line up with the instructions Cress had given her. When she spotted a stairwell curling up out of view, she slowed down, and checked their location with the palace blueprint. “I think this is it. Thorne, watch your step. Doctor?”