Winter felt her resolve crumbling. “You came with me because it was the quickest path to death, then.”
A crease formed between Scarlet’s eyebrows. “I’m not suicidal,” she said, the sharpness returning to her tongue. “I came with you because—” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Because ever since my grandma took me in, I’ve heard people tell me she was crazy. A kooky, belligerent old woman, always good for a joke around town. They had no idea how brilliant she was. That crazy old woman risked everything she had to protect Cinder when she was a baby, and in the end, she sacrificed her own life rather than give up Cinder’s secret. She was brave and strong, and everyone else was too closeminded to see it.” She rolled her eyes, annoyed with her own frustration. “I guess I’m just hoping that despite all the absurd things you say, you might also be a little bit brilliant. That this time, you might be right.” She held up her finger. “That said, if you’re going to tell me how stupid this idea was to begin with and we should run like hell, then I’m right behind you.”
Beyond the doors, something crashed, and there was a round of boisterous laughter. Then, a howl. A chorus of a dozen other voices rose up to meet it, sounding victorious.
A muscle twitched in Winter’s jaw, but her lip had stopped trembling. She hadn’t cried. She’d been too focused on Scarlet’s words to remember to be upset. “I believe they were boys once and they can be boys again. I believe I can help them, and they will help me in return.”
Scarlet sighed, sounding a little disappointed and a little resigned, but not surprised. “And I believe you’re not as crazy as you want everyone to think you are.”
Winter’s gaze flitted toward Scarlet, surprised, but Scarlet didn’t return it. She stepped forward and placed her palm on one of the heavy doors. “So, do we knock?”
“I do not think they would hear us.” Another round of howls echoed through the cavern. Winter swiped her fingers across the screen, and the text changed.
SECURITY CLEARANCE IDENTIFICATION REQUIRED
She pressed the pads of her fingers onto the screen and it brightened, welcoming her. The doors began to open, creaking on ancient hinges. When Winter turned back, Scarlet was staring at her, aghast.
“You do realize you just alerted the queen to where you are, right?”
Winter shrugged. “By the time she finds us, either we will have an army to protect us, or we will have already become meat and marrow and bone.”
She drifted through the doors and instantly froze.
Scarlet had been right. There were about a hundred men in the 117th Regiment of Levana’s army, though men was a general term for what they’d become. Soldiers felt inadequate too. Winter had been hearing stories of her stepmother’s army for years, but they were far more beastly than she had ever imagined, with malformed bodies, fur down the sides of their faces, and snarled lips curved around enormous teeth.
This storeroom, which had begun life as housing for the first colonists, was equipped to hold many more than a hundred people. The ceiling reached three stories high and was rough with divots and stalactites where air bubbles had formed and lava had dripped eons ago. Though the cavern was ancient and impenetrable, someone long ago had had the foresight to reinforce it with interspersed stone columns. Countless alcoves and more corridors stretched in every direction, leading to additional barracks or training grounds.
Around the exterior were dingy lockers and open crates, many of which had been left wide-open and neglected. Benches and exercise equipment filled the remaining space: freestanding punching bags, chin-up bars, weights. Many of them had been shoved aside to make room for the main entertainment in the room’s center.
The howls dissolved into cheering and whooping again. Canine teeth flashed. Most of them were in some state of undress—missing shirts, bare feet, a stunning amount of hair in places that Winter wasn’t certain were natural or not.
A shudder danced over her skin. Scarlet’s words rang back to her: They will do what they’re told, and that will be to eat us.
Scarlet was right. This had been a mistake. She was not brilliant. She was losing her mind.
The doors slammed shut, making her jump. One man jerked around to face them. His gaze fell on Winter, skipped to Scarlet, then returned. First curious, then—inevitably—ravenous.
A sly smile curled one side of his mouth.
“Well, well,” he mused. “Feeding time already?”
Fifty-Seven