Thorne didn’t look comforted, but he didn’t argue.
Kneeling at Cinder’s feet, Cress watched in silence as Jacin started the compressions again. She remembered net dramas where the heroine was revived by the hero with mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. It had seemed so romantic. Cress had even had fantasies about drowning, dreams in which the press of a man’s lips could breathe life back into her lifeless form.
The dramas had lied. There was a violence to this they hadn’t shown. She grimaced as Jacin’s hands flattened against Cinder’s sternum for a third time, imagining she could feel the bruises on her own chest.
She felt suspended in time. Thorne took up sentinel by the doorway, peering out through a small, filthy window to keep watch. Iko wrapped her arms around her body and looked about ready to dissolve into impossible tears.
Cress was about to take Iko’s hand again when Cinder jerked. She started to gag.
Jacin eased her head over to the side and water burbled out of her mouth, though not as much as Cress expected. Jacin held Cinder in place, keeping her airway clear, until she had stopped hacking. She was breathing again. Weak and shaky, but breathing.
Cinder opened her eyes and Jacin eased her into a sitting position. Her right arm flopped. Her hand found Jacin’s arm and squeezed. She spat a few more times. “Good timing,” she croaked.
Water was glistening on her lips and chin until Iko reached forward and wiped it away with her sleeve. Cinder looked at her and her eyes lightened, though her eyelids still drooped with exhaustion.
“Iko? I thought…” With a groan, she fell onto her back.
Iko squealed and made to collapse onto Cinder, but reconsidered. Instead, she scurried around Jacin so she could lift Cinder’s shoulders and cradle her head in her lap. Smiling wearily, Cinder reached up to pet Iko’s braids. Her cyborg hand was missing one of its fingers.
“We can’t stay here,” said Jacin, rubbing water droplets from his cropped hair. “They’ll start the search closer to the palace, but it won’t be long before they barricade the whole lake. We need to find someplace for her to recover.”
“Any ideas?” asked Thorne. “We’re not exactly in friendly territory.”
“I need medical supplies,” said Cinder, her eyes shut. “A soldier bit me. Should clean the wound before it’s infected.” She sighed, too exhausted to go on.
“I wouldn’t mind a warm meal and a clothes dryer so long as we’re making demands,” said Thorne. Leaning forward, he stripped off his soaking wet shirt.
Cress’s eyes widened, glued to him as he wrung the lake out of the shirt, water splattering on the concrete.
Jacin said something, but she didn’t catch what.
Thorne pulled his shirt on again, a little more dry and wrinkled now, and Cress was able to breathe again.
“That might work,” said Thorne, nodding at Cinder. “Think you can make it?”
“No,” said Cinder. “I can’t walk.”
“It’s not far,” said Jacin. “I thought you were supposed to be tough.”
Cinder scowled up at him. “I can’t walk. The water did something to my interface.” She paused. Wheezed. “My leg and hand aren’t functioning. Lost net access too.”
Four pairs of eyes shifted to the glistening metal foot. Cress was not in the habit of thinking of Cinder as cyborg—as something other. As someone who could just … stop functioning.
“Fine,” said Jacin, turning to Thorne. “You want to carry her first, or shall I?”
Thorne raised an eyebrow. “Do you know how heavy she is?”
Cinder kicked him.
He huffed. “Fine. You first.”
*
“Are we sure about this?” Cress whispered. She was crouched behind a trellis covered in ivy, along with Cinder, Thorne, and Jacin, watching as Iko lifted the shining gold door knocker for the third time.
“I told you, they aren’t home,” said Jacin, annoyed at the precaution of having Iko scout out the pillared mansion before they went in. “This family is popular at court. They’ll be staying at the palace all week.”
After a fourth knock bore no result, Iko turned to them and shrugged.
Cress wrapped an arm around Cinder’s waist—she was a good height to act as a crutch for her as they hobbled through the garden. Cinder’s dead metal foot dragged a groove into the pathway of tumbled blue glass.
“What if it’s locked?” asked Cress, glancing down the street, although they hadn’t seen a single person. Perhaps this entire neighborhood was made up of popular members of the court. Perhaps this whole city was off having a raucous celebration at the palace.
“Then I’ll pick it,” said Thorne.
The door wasn’t locked. They found themselves in a grandiose entryway with a curved staircase and a sea of gold and white tiles.
Thorne let out a low whistle. “This place is ripe for plundering.”