But they were wrong. Nainsi was not easily replaced. The information she had—or that Kai hoped she had—was not easily replaced at all.
He returned the portscreen to his belt and pulled the android toward him, peering into the sensor light that had been black for days. Once again, he sought out the minuscule power button. Once again, nothing happened.
He sighed, though he’d long given up hope that Nainsi would just wake up and spill all her secrets. Her power cell was fully charged, and according to the diagnostics tests, everything was working properly. No one could figure out what was wrong, and the timing couldn’t have been worse.
“We’re so close,” he whispered to himself. Leaning back against the bench, he dragged a hand through his hair. Frustration had been growing behind his rib cage for weeks now, ever since that Lunar thaumaturge, Sybil Mira, had come to visit for her “ambassadorial mission.” She was a witch. A creepy, mind-controlling witch. Just knowing that she was in the palace set Kai’s teeth on edge. It was like he could feel her eyes following him, or sense her breathing down the back of his neck, even when she wasn’t in the same room. He didn’t know if it was his own paranoia or some Lunar trick, but he did know that he couldn’t wait for her to leave him and his family and his country alone.
Then his father had become ill.
No, not ill. His father had the plague. His father was dying, and there was absolutely nothing Kai could do to stop it.
And now this. Nainsi malfunctioning right when he was sure she’d found something useful, something priceless.
Something regarding the whereabouts of Princess Selene.
He knew it was a risk. If Sybil Mira, or any Lunar, learned that he was trying to find the lost princess, it could lead to a political catastrophe between Earth and Luna. He knew that Queen Levana wouldn’t be quick to forgive the fact that Kai was adamantly attempting to usurp her.
But it was a risk worth taking. Finding Selene and putting her back on the Lunar throne was his best chance—and possibly his only chance—of ridding himself of Queen Levana and her threats toward the Commonwealth. Threats of war. Threats of mass enslavement.
Almost worse—threats of a marriage alliance.
It could not be allowed. He had to find the true Lunar heir before it was too late.
He and Nainsi had been researching for months, and though there had been countless false claims and dead ends, lately he’d been sure they were getting somewhere. Nainsi had heard about a Lunar doctor who was suspected of having an involvement with the lost princess’s disappearance, and also a potential relationship with an Earthen woman years before.
It was a thin hope—the thinnest of hopes—but Kai’s instincts told him there was more to it. He’d ordered Nainsi to find out as much information as she could on the doctor and this Earthen woman and then, two days later—nothing.
Nainsi was dead to the world.
It was enough to make him want to put his head through the hover car’s control board.
“Approaching the city center,” lilted the robotic voice, snapping Kai from his thoughts. “Where would you like to deboard?”
He glanced out the window. The streets were cast in shadow from the high-rise buildings in every direction. Storefronts sparkled with netscreen advertisements and pristine escort-droids modeling the latest fashions and gadgets. A block away he could see the edge of the market, all tight-squeezed booths and bustling crowds.
“Here is fine,” he said, reaching into the pack and pulling out the gray hooded sweatshirt he’d smuggled from the palace—the most discreet item of clothing he owned.
The hover swooped to the edge of the street. The magnets hummed as it lowered itself to the ground. “Shall I wait here for your return?”
“Please,” he said, threading his arms through the sleeves and tugging up the zipper. “I shouldn’t be long.”
He considered giving a specific time—If I’m not back in an hour, then I’ve probably been cornered by paparazzi and screaming girls and you should send the royal security squad after me. But even thinking it made him feel melodramatic, so he just pulled the hood over his brow and stepped out of the hover, dragging Nainsi’s pear-shaped body after him.
He hadn’t gone far when his senses were assaulted by the chaos of the market. The smell of lemongrass, ginger, and sizzling meat. The sounds of laughing children and roaring shopkeepers and chiming sales announcements. The sweltering heat that, even in the shade, soaked straight through his sweatshirt and wrapped him in a suffocating cocoon. He unzipped the sweatshirt slightly as he walked, but dared not take down the hood. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself.
And the problem with being the crown prince was that he always drew attention.
Crown prince, and soon-to-be emperor.
No, he couldn’t think of that now. It would cripple him. The thought of losing his father, and to the same devastating plague that had taken his mother years ago. The thought of ascending to the throne. The thought of all the people who would be relying on him to do the right thing, to make the best decisions. It was too much. He wasn’t ready. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
He swallowed the rising bile in his throat. He had only one prerogative today: confirm that Linh Cinder was capable of fixing Nainsi.
Once Nainsi was repaired he could proceed with his search for the princess.
He let out a slow breath, and when he inhaled again, he let the aromas of street food and incense ground him back in the market. He dared to lift his head enough to get his bearings. Though his mother had brought him to the market sometimes when he was young, it had been years since he’d been there, and it took him a moment to pick out the faded booth numbers stenciled on canopies and metal frames. He turned to the right and weaved through the crowd, past barrels of rice and tables of mangoes, handwoven rugs, and bargain-price netscreens and portscreens—likely name-brand imitations.
Finally, he saw it. He knew it was the mechanic’s booth even before he checked for the stenciled number: 771. A labyrinth of storage shelves filled the space, cluttered with rusted android prongs, dented hover car panels, bins of bolts and screws, and a thousand different tools whose uses Kai couldn’t even fathom. A table sat across the booth’s entrance, draped in a grease-covered cloth and scattered with an assortment of wires and screwdrivers. A small metal foot, for an escort-droid, or maybe even a cyborg, sat amid the mess. It seemed so unexpected and random that Kai almost laughed.
His amusement was tempered by disappointment, though.
Despite the rolling door being wide-open, there was no one tending the booth.
Frowning, he dropped Nainsi onto the table with a loud thud.
He heard a gasp and another thunk, then a girl appeared from beneath the table, rubbing the top of her head. She looked up at Kai, her expression dark with annoyance.
Then she froze.
He could tell the precise moment when she recognized him.
His smile was instinctive. A little bit apology, a little bit politeness. And a little bit of charm because, of all the things he’d expected to come from his trip to the market, meeting a cute girl with messy hair and dirty work gloves had definitely not been one of them.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize anyone was back there.”
She gaped at him for another heartbeat, then two, then three, before launching herself to her feet and lowering her head in an awkward bow. “Your Highness.”
Grimacing, Kai glanced behind him at the milling crowd. No one else had recognized him yet. He hastily turned back and tilted toward the girl. “Maybe, um”—he drew his fingers across his lips—“on the Highness stuff?”
She nodded, but there was still that baffled expression on her face, and he wasn’t entirely sure she had grasped the importance of his remaining incognito.
“Right. Of course. How—can I—are you—” She paused, pressing her lips tight, and lowered her gaze to his chest. He could tell she was embarrassed by her own re
action, but she wasn’t blushing. At least, not yet.
“I’m looking for a Linh Cinder,” said Kai, still feeling bad for startling her. “Is he around?”
She fidgeted with the hem of her left glove. He thought she was going to take the gloves off—they must have been as hot and uncomfortable as his sweatshirt—but she didn’t. “I—I’m Linh Cinder.”
Kai’s eyebrows jumped in surprise. That couldn’t be right. Maybe he’d misheard. Maybe Linh Cinder was a family name, taken from her mechanical-minded uncle or some such.
This girl was maybe Kai’s age, but he guessed she was even younger.
He settled a hand on Nainsi’s head, shifting forward. “You’re Linh Cinder?”
“Yes, Your High—” She hesitated again, biting her lower lip to stifle the royal title. That small, embarrassed gesture was surprisingly charming.
“The mechanic?”
The girl—Cinder—nodded. “How can I help you?”
Kai stared at the top of her head.
Linh Cinder.
The renown. The reputation. The approval rating.
New Beijing’s best mechanic was … a teenager?
Kai was intrigued. He was amused, but more than that, he was impressed. After all, he still needed help installing the software every time he upgraded to a new port. Meanwhile, this girl ran her own mechanic business.
Kai had always been curious about people in general. Torin said it was one of the qualities that would someday make him a strong emperor. And now he was eager to know more. How did she get into this business? Where did she learn to do all this? How old was she?
But Linh Cinder, ignorant of his astonishment, was still staring at his chest. Still gnawing at her lower lip.
Kai leaned down, putting himself directly into her line of sight, and forced her to meet his eyes. Only when he was sure she would see it did he smile at her again. He meant it to be friendly, even comforting, but by the way her eyes widened he thought it might have served to startle her even more.
At least when he straightened again, her gaze stayed on him.
Her hair was pulled into a ponytail high on her head, with unkempt bangs feathered over her brow and ears. She looked like she hadn’t given a passing thought to her hair or clothes that day, maybe ever. She was pretty, but not exceptionally so. Not noticeably so, until you bothered to look.
Kai realized, with some surprise, that he was looking.
Which was how he noticed a splotch of grease on her brow, half covered beneath her bangs.
Another laugh caught in his lungs.
It was so endearing, and such a far cry from the perfectly coiffed and bejeweled girls who he normally met, that it made his fingers itch to reach across the table and rub it away.
He scolded his fingers. He scolded himself. He needed to pull himself together.
“You’re not quite what I was expecting,” he said, hoping she didn’t pick up on what an enormous understatement that was.
“Well, you’re hardly—what I—um.” Cinder cleared her throat and dropped her gaze again, this time to Nainsi. She pulled the android toward her. “What seems to be wrong with the android, Your Highness?”
Kai’s shoulders fell slightly and he wasn’t sure if it was due to disappointment or relief or a little bit of both. Nainsi. He had come here for Nainsi. And Princess Selene. And saving the blasted world from Queen Levana and her entire cruel, hateful race.
“I can’t get her to turn on. She was working fine one day, and the next, nothing.”
Cinder turned the android around on the table. “Have you had problems with her before?”
“No.” Tearing his gaze from the mechanic, Kai glanced back down at the table. His attention caught again on the small mechanical foot, and he picked it up. “She gets a monthly checkup from the royal mechanics, and this is the first real problem she’s ever had.”
The foot was petite—shorter than his hand from palm to fingertips—and looked like it should have been thrown into a trash compactor ages ago. The joints were stiff and squeaky as he fidgeted with the toes, and the seams between the plating were packed with grease. A cluster of baffling wires erupted from the ankle cavity, and he couldn’t help wondering what each of them did. How could a handful of wires mimic small motor skills? It amazed him every time he thought of it, though if he were being honest, he hadn’t given it all that much thought before.
He noticed a fingerprint smudge on one side of the foot and rubbed it away with his sleeve, then realized that Cinder was watching him.
He froze, unsure why he felt like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t be.
But instead of telling him to leave her stuff alone, Cinder said simply, “Aren’t you hot?”
He blinked. He’d almost forgotten the heat and humidity, but her words brought it rushing back. He could feel the sweat on the back of his neck, his hair clinging to his neck.
“Dying,” he confessed. “But I’m trying to be inconspicuous.”
After a moment in which he thought she might say more, Cinder looked down at Nainsi again and opened the panel on her back. “Why aren’t the royal mechanics fixing her?”
“They tried but couldn’t figure it out. Someone suggested I bring her to you.” Kai set the foot back on the table, then let his focus travel over the shelves that filled up the booth behind her. So many tools and pieces and parts. So many mysteries. “They say you’re the best mechanic in New Beijing. I was expecting an old man.”
He sort of meant it as a joke, but she didn’t laugh. “Do they?” she said, without removing her attention from Nainsi’s innards. He wanted her to say something, to give some indication as to how she had managed to earn such a reputation so quickly, but she just said, “Sometimes they just get worn out. Maybe it’s time to upgrade to a new model.”
It took him a second to realize she was talking about Nainsi.
Kai shook his head, but she wasn’t looking at him. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. She contains top-secret information. It’s a matter of national security that I retrieve it … before anyone else does.” He wanted to sound mysterious. He wanted to sound witty, even if it was the truth.
Cinder looked up, speculation scrawled across her face.
He aimed for nonchalant as he continued, “I’m just joking. Nainsi was my first android. It’s sentimental.”
Her brief silence was disconcerting. “National security. Funny.”
It was the most deadpan compliment he’d ever heard. She wasn’t amused. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she knew he was lying.
Maybe, a small voice whispered in his head, he wanted her to think he was lying. He wanted her to believe he had some life-or-death agenda that required her assistance. Maybe he was trying to impress her, at least a little.
Which was absurd.
He was a prince.
He was the prince.
Perhaps the title itself didn’t count for much, but Kai had spent his life making it more than just a title. He had studied his country’s history and politics, sat in on state dinners, and quizzed his father’s cabinet members on aspects of public policy. He’d watched his father’s speeches over and over until he could write a perfectly crafted speech of his own—it wasn’t until he was a teenager that he’d realized his father had speechwriters to do that for him. He had long ago determined that he would not let his birthright go unearned, that the history texts would not condemn him as an unworthy emperor. And while he may still have been plagued with doubts every single day, he knew, deep down, that he was doing his very best.
And it had been a long, long time since he had met someone who wasn’t impressed by that.
It had also been a long, long time since he had cared.
“Tutor8.6 model,” said Cinder, reading off Nainsi’s panel. “She looks to be in pristine condition.”
Kai opened his mouth to agree, but before he could, Cinder raised a fist and brought it hard against the side of Nainsi’s spherical head. Kai
jumped in surprise. The android began to topple off the table, but Cinder caught her easily and set her back on her treads. She seemed almost—almost—sheepish when she said, “You’d be surprised how often that works.”
Kai laughed, a little awkwardly. He was no longer sure exactly who was trying to impress who … or if either of them were succeeding. “Are you sure you’re Linh Cinder? The mechanic?”
A high-pitched voice interrupted them, along with the crunch of android treads on the street. “Cinder! I’ve got it!”
Kai turned to see a servant android rolling toward them, its blue sensor light flashing excitedly.
The android slammed a second robotic foot onto the table, its plating shiny and clean compared with the old one’s. “It’s a huge improvement over the old one, only lightly used, and the wiring looks compatible as is. Plus, I was able to get the dealer down to just six hundred univs.”
The mechanic grabbed the new foot and dropped it behind the table. “Good work, Iko. Nguyen-shìfu will be delighted to have a replacement foot for his escort-droid.”
“Nguyen-shìfu?” said the android. “I don’t compute.”
With a nervous smile, Cinder tilted her head toward Kai. “Iko, please pay your respects to our customer … His Imperial Highness.”
The android tilted back her bulbous head. Though androids didn’t have genders, many personality chips were programmed to identify more male or female, and it was clear from the high voice that this was a she. It was an easy connection for Kai to make—after all, this Iko had a similar body style to Nainsi, who he’d always thought of as a she as well.
The android’s sensor flashed as she scanned Kai’s face. “Prince Kai,” she said, her voice taking on the unexpected tinge of a sigh. “You are even more handsome in person.”
Kai laughed—a sudden, uncontrollable laugh that burst out of him before he could reel it back.
“That’s enough, Iko,” said Cinder. “Get in the booth.”
The android obeyed, ducking under the tablecloth.
Still grinning, Kai leaned against the sturdy frame of the booth’s rolling door. “You don’t see a personality like that every day. Did you program her yourself?”