Stars Above: A Lunar Chronicles Collection (The Lunar Chronicles) (30 page)

Cinder followed her look. Liam Kinney was hovering in the doorway, arms folded over his chest. Kinney had been one of the royal guards who had sided with Cinder during the revolution, and she’d come to consider him a friend since then. He was no longer a
royal
guard—there wasn’t any
royalty
to protect—but he had been keen to take the position of protecting the new Grand Minister and his parliament of elected representatives, and Cinder had been happy to recommend him.

“With pleasure,” Kinney deadpanned. “In fact, I was hoping that if I came to see you off, I would be asked to do manual labor.”

Iko shrugged. “If you don’t want to do any heavy lifting, then stop having such impressive muscles.”

Cinder stifled a laugh as Kinney stepped forward to haul the suitcase off her bed. Though he was pretending to scowl, she could detect redness around his ears. “At least yours is about half the weight of Iko’s,” he said, casting Cinder a grateful look.

“I had only your comfort in mind,” said Cinder. “Thanks, Kinney.”

He gave her a bow, a habit that had been impossible to break him of. “My shift starts in an hour, so I won’t be at the dock to say good-bye, but I wanted to wish you both safe travels.”

“Try to keep that new Grand Minister out of trouble while I’m gone.”

“I’ll do my best.” He headed back for the door, and a smile so quick and secretive passed between him and Iko that Cinder almost missed it. Iko didn’t take her gaze from him until he was gone.

“He could have come with us, you know,” said Cinder, glancing around the room one last time.

Iko shook her head. “He has a painfully strong work ethic. It’s one of his more annoying characteristics.”

Cinder chuckled. “Well, nobody’s perfect.”

“Speak for yourself.” Iko spun back to her and clapped her hands excitedly. “Are you ready? Can we go?”

Cinder sucked in another breath. “Yes, I think so.” She frowned. “You don’t think it’s a mistake to leave, do you?”

“Mistake?”

“It’s just … the new parliament only took office six weeks ago. What if something goes wrong? What if they need me?”

“Then they can send you a comm.” Iko settled her hands on Cinder’s shoulders. “You’re an ambassador to Earth now, Cinder. So it’s time you got yourself to Earth and started doing some ambassadorizing.”

Cinder cocked her head to one side. “That’s not a word.”

“It should be. Besides, the Grand Minister has had more assistance and transition into his gig than you had when you took the throne. He’ll be fine.” She locked her elbow with Cinder’s and dragged her toward the door. “Now, come on. Paris awaits!”

“We’re not going to Paris.”

“It’s close enough for me.”

Cinder set aside her resistance as she and Iko made their way through the palace-turned-government-headquarters. The white marble. The towering glass windows. The sea of stars in the black sky beyond.

She couldn’t decide if she was sad or thrilled to be leaving. Iko kept up enough enthusiastic chatter that her worries began to calm, and she was right. Though Cinder had been heavily involved in the transition to the new governmental system—advising the elected leaders as much as she could once they’d taken office—her role was already becoming moot. It had been decided early on that she would continue to be involved in Lunar politics, but as an advisor and ambassador, like Winter. She was in a unique position to continue smoothing the relations between Earth and Luna, after all, and …

Kai.

She was desperate to see Kai again. To kiss him. To be in his arms. To laugh at his ironic jokes and watch his eyes crinkle when he laughed at hers.

It was easy for Cinder to justify the desperation because—unromantic as it may have been—she knew that together, she and Kai had the power to do more for the prejudices between their people than any amount of political discussions could hope to accomplish.

When she and Iko entered the spaceship docks that were located beneath the palace, the Rampion was the first thing she saw. It was enormous compared to most of the small royal podships lined up in neat rows. Its metal plating was beat-up and dingy, its cargo-toting body almost cumbersome when compared to the sleek designs that surrounded it. But it was beautiful, and its lowered cargo ramp was more welcoming than any red carpet.

Thorne and Cress were waiting for them at the bottom of the ramp, and when Cress and Iko spotted each other they shared a squeal. Thorne and Cinder shared a cringe, and then they were all smiling and embracing as if they hadn’t seen each other in years—even though they still got together with some regularity. Thorne and Cress’s role in distributing the letumosis antidote to Earth brought them to Artemisia every time there was a new breakout, and it was those intermittent moments of easy friendship that had helped to keep Cinder sane as she struggled to grasp the intricacies of Lunar transportation systems, trade policies, and educational mandates.

With his arms draped over Cinder’s and Iko’s shoulders, Thorne guided them up the ramp. “How does it feel to be a layperson again, Miss Linh?”

“Wonderful,” she said. “I never want to hear the words
Your Majesty
ever again.”

“Never? Never ever?” Thorne quirked an eyebrow at her. “What if there was an
Imperial
thrown in between them? Would that change your mind?”

Cinder clenched her jaw, glad that his teasing couldn’t rile a blush from her. With a sharp elbow jab to his side, she extricated herself from beneath his arm. “How’s the ship been holding up?”

“Nice dodge,” said Thorne, dropping his other arm from Iko and hooking a thumb over his belt. “But as your question is pertinent, I’ll allow it. There’s actually been a rattle in the compression system for the past month or so.”

Cinder glanced up at the ceiling of the cargo bay, even though she couldn’t hear anything with the systems powered down.

“I told him to take it to a mechanic when we were in Dublin last week,” said Cress.

“And I told her that I already have a mechanic,” said Thorne, pointing at Cinder.

Cress shrugged apologetically.

“It’s fine,” said Cinder. “I kind of miss the work, actually. I’ll check it out when we’re in the air.”

Thorne clapped his hands. “Great, then let’s get this diplomatic envoy started. Ship, raise the ramp! You all just sit back and relax and we’ll be on Earth in no time.” He turned to head for the cockpit, adding over his shoulder, “I’ve been practicing takeoffs, by the way. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

As soon as he was out of earshot, Cress turned back to Iko and Cinder with a grimace. “He hasn’t really gotten any better,” she whispered. “Let’s go back to the crew quarters. There’s more to hold on to back there.”

Cress took the lead, walking the narrow corridor of the Rampion with the air of a hostess welcoming important guests into her home. Cinder grinned at her back, thinking of what a change it was from the first time Cress had been aboard the Rampion—all meek and awkward and barely able to say more than two words without hiding behind Thorne.

She took them to one of the small crew quarters—a room long left empty. In fact, as Cress was opening the door, it occurred to Cinder that this had been
her
room for the brief time she’d sought sanctuary on the ship. She stepped inside with a sense of nostalgic awe … and promptly began to laugh.

The room was full of white crepe paper and tulle, unburned candles and glass lanterns, streamers and small silk bags overflowing with sugared almonds.

Iko gasped and trailed a finger over an enormous tulle bow. “Is this all for the wedding?”

Cress nodded, but her expression was worried as she looked around at the scattered decorations. “Wolf told us to bring whatever we thought might be needed, so we stopped at a wedding supply store in the Republic and just about cleaned out their stock.” Chewing on her lower lip, she glanced back at Iko. “Once we got it all piled in here, though, I started to wonder if it was maybe all a bit on the gaudy side?”

Iko shrugged. “We can work with gaudy.”

The Rampion began to rumble. Cress and Iko each took a spot on the lower bunk bed that took up one wall of the cabin, but Cinder made her way through the jumble of rose-petal-stuffed baskets and empty glass vases and stacked ivory linens until she came to the round window at the back of the room.

Cress was right. Thorne’s takeoffs were still horrendous. But Cinder didn’t move away from that window until the white city of Artemisia was nothing but a glint of light on the moon’s cratered surface.

*   *   *

The landing was better, maybe because Cinder was so entertained by Iko’s bubbling monologue about European wedding traditions that she hardly noticed the rocks and sways of the ship. While in space, she had fixed the loose fitting that had caused the rattle and spent the rest of the long flight catching up with Thorne and Cress, learning of all the sightseeing and adventures they’d had in between antidote runs. Thorne, it seemed, had made it a personal goal to ensure that Cress got to see and experience everything she’d ever dreamed of seeing and experiencing, and it was a personal goal he was taking seriously. Cress didn’t seem to be complaining, though it was clear from the way they leaned into each other that it was his company, more than the museums and monuments, that really mattered to her.

“How often have you been to visit Wolf and Scarlet?” Iko asked, kicking her feet against a storage crate in the cargo bay as Thorne powered down the ship’s engines.

“A few times a year,” said Cress. “Scarlet finally built us a landing pad beside the hangar so Thorne would stop flattening her crops.” She glanced toward the cockpit. “I hope he didn’t miss it.”

They could hear Thorne’s growl from the cockpit. “I didn’t miss it!”

The ramp roared and creaked as it began to lower, and Cinder stood, surprised at how her heart started to thunder.

First there was the sky—a strip of impossible blue along the ramp’s edge. Then her first full breath of air. Air that came from trees and plants, not a recycling tank, and it was coupled with the aroma of fresh-churned earth and sweet hay and not-so-sweet animals. There were so many noises, too, distantly familiar. Birds chirping. Chickens clucking. A breeze whistling through the opening the ramp had created. And also … voices. A cacophony of voices.
Too many
voices.

It wasn’t until the ramp was halfway lowered that Cinder saw them. Not Wolf and Scarlet and their friends, but …
journalists.

“It’s her! Selene! Your Majesty!”

Cinder took a step back and felt her serenity slough away, leaving behind the same tension she’d lived with for two long years. That feeling of being in the spotlight, of having responsibilities, of needing to meet
expectations …

“Why did you abdicate the throne?” someone yelled. And another: “How does it feel to be back on Earth?” And “Will you attend the Commonwealth ball again this year?” And “Is the upcoming Lunar-Earthen wedding a political statement? Do you want to say anything about the union?”

A loud gunshot blared across the gravel driveway. The journalists screamed and dispersed, some cowering behind the Rampion’s landing gear, others rushing back to the safety of their own hovers.

“I’ll give you a statement,” said Scarlet, reloading the shotgun in her arms as she marched toward them. She sent a piercing glare at the journalists who dared to peek out at her. “And the statement is, Leave my guests alone, you pitiful, news-starved vultures.”

With a frustrated huff, she looked up at Cinder, who had been joined by the others at the top of the ramp. Scarlet looked much the same as Cinder remembered her, only more frenzied. Her eyes had an annoyed, bewildered look to them as she gestured haplessly at the farmland behind her.

“Welcome to France. Let’s get you inside before they send out the android journalists—
they’re
not as easy to scare off.”

*   *   *

Scarlet released a groan as she shut the front door behind her guests. “They started showing up two weeks ago,” she said. “They tried camping out in the sugar beet fields, like they owned the place! I’ve had to call the police four times for trespassing, but honestly, I think the police are about as dumbfounded by all this media attention as I am.” She sighed and slumped against the door. “I wanted a quiet, intimate wedding, not a
circus.
”

Thorne leaned against the staircase rail. “It’s the first known Lunar-Earthen wedding in generations, the groom is a bioengineered wolf-human hybrid, and you invited the emperor of the Eastern Commonwealth
and
an ex–Lunar Queen. What did you expect?”

Scarlet glared at him. “I am marrying the man that I love, and I invited my
friends
to celebrate with us. I expected a little bit of privacy.”

“I’m sorry,” said Cinder. “We should have tried to be more discreet with our plans.”

Scarlet shook her head. “It’s not your fault. Kai’s travel schedule is pretty much public knowledge, so there was no stopping this, I’m afraid.” She snorted. “Just be glad you weren’t here to see the hoard of screaming girls when
he
arrived.”

Cinder stood straighter. “He’s here already?”

Scarlet nodded. “He arrived last night. And Winter and Jacin flew over from Canada this morning. Everyone’s here, so now I just need to survive the next three days of chaos until the wedding, and then it will all be over.” She massaged her brow. “At least, that’s assuming the bloodsucking heathens out there don’t try to crash the ceremony. You know, the worst part of it is that they keep trying to make this out to be some big political statement. ‘Earth and Luna, united at last!’ ‘Earthen girl tortured by Levana agrees to marry Lunar soldier!’ It’s revolting.” She sighed before adding, “He’s not
here
, Cinder.”

Cinder snapped her attention back to Scarlet, realizing she’d been ignoring most of her diatribe while she peered through the doorways into the kitchen and sitting room and tried to listen for footsteps coming from the floor above. “What?”