“She’s waking up,” said the doctor.
Jacin swiveled back around in time to see her eyelashes twitch.
The doctor had one hand on Winter’s shoulder, the other holding a portscreen over her body to monitor her systems. “Organs are reacting normally to the reanimation process. Her throat and lungs will be sore for a while, but I suggest we go ahead and give her the antidote now.”
Winter’s eyes opened, her pupils dilated. Jacin gripped the edge of the tank. “Princess?”
She blinked rapidly a few times, as if trying to shake the remnants of oil from her lashes. She focused on Jacin.
Though he tried to stifle it, Jacin grinned, overwhelmed with relief. There had been so many moments when he’d been sure he would never see her again.
“Hey, Trouble,” he whispered.
Her lips stretched into a tired smile. Her hand bumped into the walls of the tank as if she wanted to reach for him, and Jacin scooped it up and squeezed. With his other hand, he lifted the vial of antidote. His thumb unscrewed the top.
“I need you to drink this.”
Seventy-Four
Winter vaguely recalled Jacin helping her sit up and tipping a vial against her mouth and a tasteless liquid spilling in. It was difficult to swallow, but she squeezed Jacin’s hand and forced her throat muscles to cooperate. The world smelled like chemicals and her skin felt oily and she was sitting on a bed of some sort of slimy gel.
Where was she? She remembered the regolith caves and the wolf soldiers, the thaumaturges and Scarlet. She remembered the people and the trees. She remembered a crooked old woman and a box of candies.
“Princess? How do you feel?”
She slumped against Jacin’s arm. “Hungry.”
“Right. We’ll get you some food.” It was strange to see him showing so much concern. Usually his emotions were written in a code she couldn’t break. But now he looked past her and asked, “What does it say?”
Following the look, Winter saw an old man wearing a face mask and holding a portscreen. “Her vitals are returning to normal, but it’s too early to tell if this is a result of being awoken from stasis or because of the antidote.”
It occurred to her, like a muddled puzzle fitting together, that they were outside and surrounded by people. Winter listed her head and a curl of damp hair slithered across her shoulder. There was vivacious Scarlet and there were the wolf soldiers that had failed to eat them and there were many, many strangers, all curious and worried and hopeful.
And there was her cousin, her metal hand gleaming.
“Hello, friends,” she whispered, to no one in particular.
It was Scarlet who smiled first. “Welcome back, crazy.”
“How long before we know for sure if it worked?” asked Jacin.
The doctor glided the portscreen back and forth above Winter’s arm. She followed the device, noting how it seemed to be scanning the rash of bumps and blisters on her skin. “It shouldn’t be long now.”
Running her tongue around her parched mouth, Winter lifted her hand toward the false daylight. False now—but not for long. Sun rays could be seen brightening the horizon. Sunrise was upon them.
The rash was thick on her skin, rings of raised flesh piled on top of one another, some ready to burst. It was horrifying and grotesque.
If her lungs had been functioning, she might have laughed.
For the first time in her life, no one could say she was beautiful.
Her attention caught on a particularly large spot, as wide as her thumb was long, situated between her wrist and the base of her palm. It was wiggling. As she stared, it grew little legs and crawled up her arm, dodging its brethren like an obstacle course, skittering over the tender skin of her inner elbow. A fat spider scurrying up her flesh.
“Winter.”
She jumped. Scarlet had moved closer and was standing at the foot of the tank, arms akimbo. She, too, had dark spots, and though there were not as many of them as Winter had, they stood out more on her pale skin.
“The doctor asked you a question.”
“Don’t snap at her,” said Jacin.
“Don’t coddle her,” snapped Scarlet.
Winter glanced down to check that the rogue spot had returned to her wrist before looking up at the masked doctor.
“I apologize, Your Highness. May I take a sample of your blood?”
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.