The Hunt (21 page)

Cora

CORA SLAMMED THE DOOR
of her cell closed.

She mussed her hair to make it look as if she'd slept, and kicked around her blanket, seconds before the morning lights flickered on. The clock above the doorway clicked onto Morning Prep.

She sank against the bars, chest rising and falling hard. She had made it.
They
had made it. It was all she could do, once the lights flickered all the way on, not to laugh out loud in joy. She pressed a hand over her mouth and whirled toward Lucky's cell.

But the joy on her face died.

He looked awful. Dark circles around his eyes, hair tangled, like he hadn't slept at all. As soon as the lightlocks clicked off, she pushed open the door. The other kids all tumbled out of their cells, trying to beat one another to the feed room. Cora bided her time until they cleared.

“What's wrong?” she asked Lucky.

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and glanced at
the fox. Their argument from the night before flooded back to her, his assertions that he'd do anything—even stay behind—to protect the animals, and that it was her responsibility to do the same for the kids.

“The others know,” he said.

She jerked back in surprise. “How much?”

“Not everything, but enough. They've been protecting us.” He glanced toward the medical room, tucking a few torn-out journal pages into his pocket. There was handwriting on them, but it wasn't his. “Did you get Anya?”

“Yeah. She's safe, but . . .” She remembered the gun floating in the air. “I'm not sure anyone around her is. She's delirious. She isn't going to be able to train me like that.”

“It must be the drugs,” Lucky said. “They'll have to leave her system before she can tell you how to control minds.”

The clock clicked over to Showtime, and Cora's stomach grumbled, but she ignored it. Lucky rubbed his shoulder uneasily as he watched the backstage kids tumble out of the feed room, Shoukry and Christopher arguing over half a breakfast cake. His fingers fumbled again with the torn-out pages.

“What are those?” she asked.

He didn't answer. She was tempted to probe inside his mind and see what was bothering him. She went so far as to send her thoughts just to the edge of his, but flinched when she saw images of guns, darts, dead animals—all surrounded by an overwhelming feeling of sadness.

“Don't worry about it.” When he met her eyes, he blinked and his weariness vanished. He gave her half a smile. “We're getting close. You're going to beat this thing, I know it.”

His words bolstered her hope.

That morning, she raced through her songs as if she'd chugged ten cups of coffee. Her limbs felt light and jittery. Arrowal and the Council members hadn't come today. Roshian was rotting where no one would ever find him. For the first time in days, Cora let herself revel in a sense of hope, as she pulled Shoukry onstage and they belted out the refrain together.

“I haven't thought of that song in years!” Shoukry said with a laugh. “We used to listen to it at the roller-skating rink. It played at my fifth birthday party.”

Cora squeezed his hand, beaming.

Shoukry leaned in close. “Whatever you're planning,” he whispered, “we're with you.”

Shocked, Cora couldn't form words to answer until Shoukry was already stepping off the stage, and by then, the front door was opening.

Cassian entered, and any words vanished in her mind.

His eyes met hers and he stopped. Suddenly she was back in his quarters, and it made goose bumps erupt on her arms. They were in this together now. No more secrets. No more lies.

He nodded toward the alcove.

Once they were in the solitude behind the wooden screen, she thought her racing heart would slow, but it only beat faster.

“We freed Anya,” she said.

“Where is she?”

“With the Mosca.” Cora picked up one of the cards on the table, the queen of diamonds, turning it anxiously between her fingers.

“It will take a while for the drugs to clear her system,”
Cassian said. “A full day, perhaps longer. The Gauntlet arrives tomorrow, and the tests begin the day after that. That does not leave us much time. How much progress have you made teaching yourself to read minds?”

A
thump
sounded from beyond the alcove. The music outside stopped halfway through a song. Cora glanced at the slats, but dismissed it. Makayla must be taking her break early.

“I can see images sometimes in people's heads, sense the feelings that go with them.”

“I don't know how Anya goes about controlling minds, but my guess is you'll need more than that. You'll need to extract specific words, as a starting point. It isn't like levitating dice, because there are no amplifiers built into the mind. You must probe beneath consciousness, like reaching into a murky pond and finding a stone at the bottom.” He took her hands, and she flinched at the sudden contact. He placed her palms on either side of his head, just above his ears. “Tell me what I am thinking.”

He closed his eyes.

She scanned his face, looking for any tells or clues that might give away his thoughts. The scar Mali had given him. The bump in his nose.

She concentrated on piercing his mind's natural shield. She had only ever intentionally read humans' minds before, and by contrast Cassian's felt surprisingly chaotic. Thoughts were stacked in haphazard piles that must make sense only to him.

Out of the chaos, she sensed an image of his quarters, bare. The book he liked to read,
Peter Pan and Wendy
. Then a memory of the cage, of watching her from behind a panel as she found the bone he had planted in the desert. That memory
seemed stronger than the others.

“The bone,” she whispered, and felt his head nod in her hands.

“Good. And what am I thinking now?”

She concentrated again, and pictured a black sky. A snow-covered hill that would have made her shiver, but in his memory, he didn't feel the cold. One by one, lights appeared in the dark.

“Stars.”

“Yes. And now?”

He had tipped his head down, so their foreheads were pressed together. She pictured an image of her own face. She was driving in her dad's car down country roads, singing softly to the radio. Her cheeks started to warm. His memories felt different when they were about her. They crackled at the edges, more alive. The image changed to waves lapping in the ocean, the two of them standing in the surf. In the memory, they were arguing. He was confused, frustrated, desperate. She had started to speak, but then he'd kissed her.

Her lips parted in surprise. “You're thinking . . . of that day—”

And then, he was kissing her again. Not in a memory—in real life.

They were so close already that it had taken just a tilt of his head for their lips to meet. A current spread to her toes, and her hands instinctively slipped from the sides of his head to his shoulders. He kissed her deeper and she slid her arms around his neck. It was wrong, she knew. She'd sworn not to do this again. And yet ever since that day they'd pretended to dance together, she'd been unable to forget it.

Her hip bumped the table, and the cards fluttered to the
floor. She broke the kiss and twisted to pick them up, but he held her tightly.

“Cora. Please. Do not push me away again.”

But it was too much—the kiss, what it meant, everything. She crouched down, hair falling over her face, thankful for the excuse to catch her breath. Her fingers curled around the fallen cards. She'd stand up. She'd face him. She'd tell him it couldn't happen again. . . .

And then she realized that the Hunt had gone completely silent on the other side of the screen. No clinking glasses, no announcements from the stage. She glanced at Cassian and saw the same realization reflected in his own face.

The wooden screen jerked open.

Arrowal stood on the other side. “You. Girl. Come with us.”

The blood drained from her face. Surely he hadn't seen the kiss. Behind him, Fian stood with two Kindred guards. When his eyes met hers, they flamed with warning.

Cassian was rapidly cloaking himself. “I have reserved this girl's entertainment for the rest of the quarter rotation.”

“That is inconsequential,” Fian said. “There has been a murder.”

Cold fear crept up her body until she was nearly blinded by it. Arrowal didn't take his eyes off Cora. “The boy Tessela arrested, Dane, revealed it during his interrogation. We scanned the environment and found high traces of carbon. A body. Roshian's body. And according to Dane, this girl was the only one present at the time of his death.”

Her lips parted, but she couldn't think of a thing to say to clear her name.

“Take her to an interrogation room,” Arrowal ordered.

The two guards stepped forward. Fian's eyes—looking for instruction—flashed toward Cassian, but Cassian seemed at a loss too, his face returned to a mask to hide whatever it was he was truly feeling.

“Wait.” Fian stepped in front of one of the guards. “
I
will interrogate her. This matter is too important to entrust to the guards alone.”

Relief flowed into her heart. Fian would protect her, just as he had before.

Arrowal nodded. “I agree. Which is why I will interrogate her personally. The mind cannot hide the truth for long. We will soon know everything.”

Everything.

If they probed her mind, they'd learn about more than just Roshian's murder. They'd learn about her abilities and the training sessions with Cassian and the Fifth of Five, and god, even the kiss.

Cassian blocked the door. “No.”

His command was sharp. The guards obeyed by instinct, taking a step back as though he was their commander, not Arrowal. Cora's heart pounded wildly.

What was he doing?

Arrowal seemed to tower even a few inches higher. “You question me, Warden?”

“You only saw a portion of the truth in Dane's mind,” Cassian said. “You saw the events that led up to the murder, but not the crime itself. You couldn't have, because Dane was not present when it happened.”

There was a subtle shift in the air that left Cora baffled. Why was he saying all this?

For a second, Cassian's eyes shifted to Fian, and Fian gave a slight nod. Cora had no idea what silent message had just transpired between the two of them.

“And how do you know that?” Arrowal countered.

Cassian didn't immediately answer.

Cora willed herself to keep breathing steadily. Fian's hand was flexing a few inches from his apparatus belt, almost like he was preparing for something. Was that what the look between them had meant? That Cassian was going to try to fight his way out of this? Enact the Fifth of Five's secondary plan that he'd told her about, launching a war?

They wouldn't last ten minutes.

“You are always trying to protect the lesser species,” Arrowal said, a hint of condescension in his voice. “But this girl is no longer a ward in one of your environments. You cannot protect her against her own crimes. Now tell me how you know Dane was not present, if you were not present yourself.”

Cora tossed a look at Cassian, but his face revealed nothing. She tried to probe into his thoughts, but her own mind was too fractured, her thoughts too scattered to concentrate. All she glimpsed was a shadowy image of his quarters again. She was there, her mouth moving, a card in her hand. He was thinking of the lesson where she had taught him to cheat.

“I know,” he said calmly, “because I
was
present.”

A lie.

Her lips parted. Fian's hand flexed again, and it all seemed to happen so fast. She pressed deeper into Cassian's head, and
suddenly his head turned toward her, as though he could feel her there. The sensation of his thoughts changed. That brighter, more alive feeling came. Images of her flashed through his head. Her, standing on a beach. Her, looking out her bedroom window. Her, when she had first felt the electricity of their touch. A feeling of love was wrapped around each one, but there was something darker too.

“Why exactly were you present at a murder scene?” Arrowal asked, and for a second the room was silent.

Cassian glanced down at the queen of diamonds on the floor. As though the world had suddenly turned on its side, Cora realized what he was about to do. It didn't have anything to do with the Fifth of Five or any secondary plans. It was why he'd shown her all the images, surrounded by love.

He was going to sacrifice himself for her.

Words rose up her throat, about to tell him that he was making a terrible mistake. She hadn't taught him to lie so he could lie
about
this
.

At the same time, Fian took a sharp step right behind her, as though sensing what she was about to do.

“Because it was me,” Cassian said. “I killed Roshian.”

Cora

“NO!”

The words rushed up Cora's throat, but Fian's hand crushed against her mouth. She screamed into his palm but he didn't let go, and her words became muffled protests. It made sense now.
This
was the secret look he and Cassian had exchanged. At some point they must have made plans for a worst-case eventuality like this. Cassian would confess, and Fian would prevent her from telling the truth.

“Guards,” Fian commanded. “Take the Warden into custody.”

Cora bucked against his hand, but it was like fighting a riptide. She met Cassian's eyes. They had gone black now.

Cloaked.

Which meant he could read her thoughts.

“Don't do this,”
she urged with her mind.
“You did nothing wrong.”

His face was a mask, but she could see in the flicker of his eyes that he understood.

“Take the two of them to separate holding rooms.” Arrowal seemed coldly pleased by her anguish. “And watch him closely,” he added. “Summon me once the interrogations are ready to begin.”

Arrowal left, but Cora hardly noticed. The room kept spinning around a common point: Cassian. The heat of his gaze was nearly scalding. It was like standing too close to a bonfire, eyelashes getting singed, cheeks burning.

If anything ever happens to me,
he had said,
go to Fian or Tessela. They are ready at all times to enact the secondary plan, should it
come to that.
But the secondary plan was the last resort. Destroying enclosures, breaking humans out of menageries, launching an all-
out war where a few hundred were pitted against an entire station.

It was madness.

“Let me confess,”
she urged in her head.
“Please.”

His head jerked, just the slightest movement.
No.

The guards twisted his hands behind his back to bind his wrists with cuffs. He closed his eyes.

Suddenly her mind was flooded with an image of home. Her house with the oak tree, and the iron fence around it, feeling so real she could almost smell the fresh-cut grass. Cassian had to be projecting it there. This wasn't a training exercise anymore. This was real, and she
had
to read the words in his head.

“Home.”

It came to her as clearly as it had the first time she'd heard him in her head.

“Home,”
his thoughts urged again.
“The POD30.1 was
right—I found the original algorithm predictions. Fian will try to
get you back to where you belong. To Earth.”

Her mind ached with the strange sensation of speaking in
thoughts.
“But the Gauntlet—”

“Forget the Gauntlet,”
he thought.
“You can't run the Gauntlet if you've been arrested for murder. They would use it to take away even more rights. Say you are too violent. Say you are unpredictable.”
Across the room, their eyes met.
“This is where you give up.”

Suddenly Charlie's voice was in her memory again, telling her that there was a time for giving up and a time for persevering.

“No!” But Fian clamped his hand harder against her mouth. Tears were rolling down her cheeks now.

Give up? She pushed the tears out of her eyes, attempting to shake her head. Not giving up was the one thing Cassian valued most about humanity.

“Take him away,” Fian ordered.

She sobbed harder, fighting against Fian, even though she knew he was only playing the role he had to.

They started to lead Cassian away, but he tossed one last look over his shoulder. For a second, it felt like it was only the two of them in the room, and she remembered the first time she'd seen him. Even then—as terrified as she had been—she'd been entranced.

“I meant everything I said,”
his voice said in her mind.
“We
could have changed the world together, you and I.”

And then he was gone.

She stared at the empty alcove doorway. The lights stung her eyes, but she didn't want to look away. This might be the last time she would ever see him. Never again to feel that spark. Never to stay up late, talking about the stars. The Kindred claimed they didn't incarcerate their own kind, but the shackles spoke otherwise. He'd be locked away forever.

For
her
crime.

She was alone now with Fian, who leaned close to speak quietly in her ear. “I will release you, but you must not run.”

She gave the ghost of a nod.

Fian's face was the same indifferent mask as always. “Cassian's lies will only hold up for a few days. They will probe his mind in an interrogation and soon discover the truth. When they do, they'll come for you.”

She stared at him. “So that's it? We just give up on the Gauntlet? You put me on a ship back home and then go to
war
? It's madness. You'll all be killed.”

He gave her a long look she couldn't read. That wrinkle between his eyes deepened, and for a chilling second, she remembered how he had tried to strangle her. She pressed a hand against her neck, reminding herself that hadn't been real.

“There will be no war,” he said. “There will be no ship back to Earth either.”

Her throat threatened to close up further. “But Cassian said the secondary plan was—”

“Yes, that was his secondary plan. It doesn't mean it was
my
plan.”

The chill spread up her arms as her breath came faster. She blinked at him, all her fears becoming real. “It was you,” she whispered. “You were the watcher. You told the Council about my escape attempt.” Anger flooded her. “Cassian trusted you!”

“That is his major fault—he trusts the wrong people. He was a fool to trust me. To trust you as well. You never would have beaten the Gauntlet, cheating or otherwise.” He straightened. “But that is over now. There will be no signal to go to war. Tessela and the others within the Fifth of Five will be investigated and, in
time, arrested. I shall take you to Arrowal. If you think you are safe because of the moral code, you are wrong. Arrowal has ways around it.”

He pressed a hand against her mouth before she could scream. He dragged her from the alcove, kicking and tearing at his hand. The Hunt lodge had been cleared of guests. The lights were low, and the savanna's artificial sun was extinguished for the night.

Give up,
Cassian had said. But he hadn't counted on this.

Cora spotted one of the baskets of jacks on the nearest table. She concentrated on moving the basket, inch by inch, until it spilled onto the floor. She threw her weight so that Fian tripped over the jacks and they both fell downward. Pain ripped through her, but she scrambled to her feet. Right behind the bar there was an entrance to the drecktube tunnels that they used for dirty napkins and empty bottles. It was small—too small for a Kindred to squeeze into, but she might be able to. She raced for it, just as Fian sprang to his feet.

Please have left it propped open, Leon,
Cora begged. Her fin
gers connected with it just as Fian rounded the corner of the bar. She ripped at the door with her nails until it pulled open; the latch had been kept from closing by a crumpled bag of potato chips, and she gasped at this good luck. She wriggled through the gap, twist
ing until her hips were through. She tumbled into the darkness of the tunnel just as Fian reached for her foot, but his fingers glided off her heel.

She scrambled back. Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed the glittering line of a cleaner trap, and froze just two seconds before she would have sprung it.

Fian pressed his face against the gap. “Those tunnels are filled with safeguards. If the shipping crates don't crush you, a cleaner trap will burn you alive.”

Heart racing, she glanced again at the cleaner trap two inches from her toe. Beside it on the wall was one of Leon's chalk drawings to indicate danger.

She'd never been so thankful for Leon's artistic nature.

She crawled without looking back, stumbling as fast as she could, scanning the walls for more of Leon's markings. The air was so thin she could hardly breathe. Part of her wanted to go back to an hour ago, so that she could take back what had just happened, confess before Cassian could, tell him sooner of her suspicions that Fian couldn't be trusted.

She leaned against the side of the tunnel. She couldn't shake that last look at Cassian's face—still trying to protect her, after everything.

Somewhere on the station, it would be Free Time. Lucky would be anxiously waiting for her. Mali too. Did she dare risk seeking them to tell them what had happened? It would be nearly impossible to find the Hunt again without Leon to guide her, and besides, Fian would probably be with them already, anticipating that it might be her plan to return.

The last remnant of strength dissipated from her legs. She collapsed on the tunnel floor. Fear and regret twisted her stomach. Images of Cassian's beaten and bloody face crept into view, but no—that wasn't how the Kindred operated. Whatever plan they had for him would involve less blood, but more pain.

What about everything she had learned?

What about proving their worth?

“Little rabbits are no use if they're dead,”
a familiar voice said.

Anya.

Cora dried her face on her arm and told herself to breathe. To count to ten. Leon and Anya were ahead, somewhere. By now, Leon would be halfway to that deranged dollhouse to rescue Nok and Rolf. But once word got out that Cassian had been arrested, the Council would surely suspect Serassi too. Leon might be walking straight into a trap.

“Follow the trail of bread crumbs,”
Anya's voice said.
“You'll find us.”

Bread crumbs?

And then Cora noticed another mark at the corner of the tunnel. A dollhouse, with an arrow.

Anya was telling her to follow Leon's markings.

Cora started to crawl faster.

Cassian had told her now was the time to give up, but there were some people she could never give up on. She crawled onward and hoped she wasn't too late.