She nodded, and watched with interest as he inserted a needle into her arm and drew out a sample. Her manufacturing plant had been busy while she slept.

He put the sample into a specialized plug on the side of the portscreen. “Oh, and drink this,” he said, as an afterthought, gesturing to a paper cup with an orange liquid in it. “It should help with your throat.”

Jacin tried to hold the cup for her, but she took it from him. “I’m getting stronger,” she whispered.

He did not look comforted.

“Yes. Excellent,” said the doctor. “The pathogens appear to be neutralized. Your immune system is rebounding at an impressive rate.” He grinned. “I believe it’s safe to say the antidote worked. You should be feeling much better within … oh, an hour or two, I think, will make a notable difference, though it may take a few days to feel entirely yourself again.”

“Oh, do not worry,” Winter said, her voice faint even in her own head. “I never feel entirely myself.” She held up her arm. “Will I forever be a leopard?”

“The spots will fade with time.”

“Will they leave scars?”

He hesitated. “I don’t know.”

“It’s all right, Winter,” said Scarlet. “The important thing is that you’re alive.”

“I am not sad about it.” She traced a finger over the raised flesh. How alien it felt. How imperfect. She could get used to imperfection.

“That’s proof then,” said Cinder, appearing at Jacin’s side. “The antidote works. I need two volunteers to assist with the rest of the distribution. Anyone who’s showing symptoms can form a line over there—if anyone has blue fingers, they move to the front of the line. No running, and help people who are too weak to help themselves. Let’s move.” She clapped her hands and the people hurried to obey.

Jacin pulled some of the gunk out of Winter’s hair, his gaze absent like he wasn’t aware he was doing it. In response, Winter reached up and tugged at a clump of his own blond hair.

“Are you real?” she asked.

He smiled, but only a little. “Do I seem real?”

She shook her head. “Never.” Her attention darted to the crowd. “Has Selene had her revolution?”

“Not yet. The coronation is this evening. But we’re…” He paused. “Things are happening.”

She chewed her lip, fighting off the disappointment. This was not over. They had not yet won.

“Is there somewhere we can go to get this stuff off her?” Jacin asked.

“There are two washrooms inside the clinic, one down each hallway,” said the doctor.

Scooping Winter into his arms, Jacin carried her inside the clinic. She tucked her head beneath his chin, even though she was leaving slimy goop all over him. It felt good to be together, for a moment at least.

He found the washroom, which contained a toilet and a large utilitarian sink and a shallow bathtub. Jacin paused in the doorway, surveying his options with an unhappy look.

“Your face is bruised.” She brushed a knuckle against the wound. “Were you in a brawl?”

“Thorne hit me.” His lips twitched. “But I guess I deserved it.”

“It makes you look very tough. No one would ever suspect you’re just a gentle goose on the inside.”

He snorted and held her gaze. Suddenly she was feeling his heartbeat, but she didn’t know if it was beating harder, or if she’d just become attuned to it in that moment. She started to feel shy.

The last time she’d seen Jacin, she’d kissed him. She’d confessed her love for him.

She flushed. Losing her courage, she looked away first. “You can put me in the bathtub. I’m strong enough to wash myself.”

He reluctantly settled her on the edge of the metal tub and began fidgeting with the water controls. The water had a sulfuric smell. When the temperature was right, he searched through a cabinet and found a bottle of liquid soap. He set it within reaching distance.

Winter pulled at her hair, gathering a handful of chemical-scented grime in her palm. “You don’t see the disease when you look at me.”

Dipping his fingers into the tub, Jacin adjusted the waterspout again. He helped steady Winter with one hand as she spun on the tub’s edge and dunked her feet into the water.

“Have I ever seen the disease when I looked at you?”

She knew he was talking about Lunar sickness, not some engineered plague. The disease in her head came with its own scars.

Scars, scars. She was coming to have so many. She wondered if it was wrong to be proud of them.

“How does it feel?” Jacin asked, and it took her a moment to realize he was asking about the water.

She inspected the pocked, darkened base of the tub and the cloudy water. “Am I to bathe fully dressed?”

“Yes, you are. I’m not leaving you alone.”

“Because you can’t stand to be parted from me?” She fluttered her lashes at him, but the teasing suggestion was quickly replaced with a realization. “Oh. Because you think I’ll have a vision and drown.”

“It can’t be both? Come on, slide in.”

She held his neck while he lowered her into the water, just a few degrees above lukewarm and stinging against her raw skin. An oily film rose to the water’s surface.

“I’ll get a wash—”

Jacin paused, stuck in place when her arms didn’t unwind from his neck. He was kneeling on the other side of the tub, his arms elbow deep in water.

“Jacin. I’m sorry that I’m not sort of pretty anymore.”

One eyebrow lifted and he looked like he might laugh.

“I mean it.” Her stomach tightened with sadness. “And I’m sorry you have to worry about me all the time.”

His almost-smile faded. “I like worrying about you. It gives me something to think about during those long, boring shifts in the palace.” Tilting her chin down, Jacin pressed a kiss on top of Winter’s head. Her arms fell away from him.

He stood, giving her an illusion of privacy while he scrounged for more towels.

“Will you stay a royal guard after Selene becomes the queen?”

“I don’t know,” he said, tossing a washcloth at her. “But I’m pretty sure that as long as you’re a princess in need of protecting, you’re going to be stuck with me.”

Seventy-Five

It had grown hot inside the cabinet and Cress’s left leg was tingling from too little blood flow when she finally forced herself to move. She didn’t want to. Uncomfortable as the cabinet was, it felt safe, and she was convinced that the moment she moved someone would shoot her.

But she couldn’t stay there forever, and time was not going to move any slower to accommodate her failing courage. Wiping her nose with the faux butterfly wing, she forced herself to nudge open the door.

The hallway light blinded her and Cress shrank back, hiding behind her arm. She was drained of emotions as she crawled out of the cabinet, peering each way down the servants’ hall.

Her eye caught on a smear of blood not far from the cupboard. Thorne. She flinched away and tried to erase the sight from her memory before it paralyzed her.

Cress pounded life back into her leg and slowly stood. She listened, but heard nothing but distant machines and the hum of whatever heating and water systems were working in these walls.