AT 0810 HOURS ON THE MORNING AFTER THE EMERGENCY banquet, Anden calls me. “It’s Captain Bryant,” he says. “He has put in his last request, and his last request is to see you.”
I sit at the edge of my bed, blinking away a night of fitful sleep, trying to work up the energy to understand what Anden is telling me.
“Tomorrow we transfer him to a prison on the other side of Denver to prepare for his final day. He’s asked if he can see you before then.”
“What does he want?”
“Whatever he has to say, he wants it heard by your ears alone,” Anden replies. “Remember, June—you have the option to refuse him. We don’t have to grant this last request.”
Tomorrow, Thomas will be dead. I wonder whether Anden feels any guilt over sentencing a soldier to die. The thought of facing Thomas alone in a jail cell sends a wave of panic through me, but I steel myself. Maybe Thomas has something to say about my brother. Do I want to hear it?
“I’ll see him,” I finally reply. “And hopefully this is the last time.”
Anden must hear something in my voice, because his words soften. “Of course. I’ll arrange for your escort.”
0930 HOURS.
DENVER STATE PENITENTIARY.
The hall where Thomas and Commander Jameson are being held is lit with cold, fluorescent light, and the sound of my boots echoes against the high ceiling. Several soldiers flank me, but aside from us, the hall feels empty and ominous. Portraits of Anden hang at sporadic intervals along the walls. My eyes stay focused on each of the cells we pass, studying them, details running through my mind in an effort to keep myself calm and focused. (32 × 32 feet in size, smooth steel walls, bulletproof glass, cams mounted outside of the cells instead of inside. Most of them are empty, and the ones that are filled hold three of the Senators who had plotted against Anden. This floor is reserved for prisoners associated specifically with Anden’s attempted assassination.)
“If you experience any trouble at all,” one of the soldiers says to me, tapping his cap in a polite bow, “just call us in. We’ll have that traitor down on the ground before he can make a move.”
“Thank you,” I reply, my eyes still fixed on the cells as we draw closer. I know I won’t need to do what he just said, because I know Thomas won’t ever disobey the Elector and try to hurt me. Thomas is many things, but he isn’t rebellious.
We reach the end of the hall where two adjacent cells sit, each one guarded by two soldiers.
Someone stirs in the cell closest to me. I turn toward the movement. I don’t even have time to study the cell’s interior before a woman raps her fingers against the steel bars. I jump, then swallow the cry that rises up in my throat as I stare into the face of Commander Jameson.
As she fixes her eyes on mine, she gives me a smile that makes me break out in a cold sweat. I remember this smile—she’d smiled like this on the night Metias died, when she approved me to become a junior agent in her patrol. There is no emotion there, nothing compassionate or even angry. Few things frighten me—but facing the cold, merciless expression of my brother’s true killer is one of them.
“Well,” she says in a low voice. “If it isn’t Iparis, come here to see us.” Her eyes flicker to me; the soldiers gather closer to me in a protective gesture. Don’t be afraid. I straighten as well as I can, then clench my jaw and force myself to face her without flinching.
“You’re wasting my time, Commander,” I say. “I’m not here for you. And the next time I see you will be the day you stand before the firing squad.”
She just smiles at me. “So brave, now that you have your handsome young Elector to hide behind. Isn’t that so?” When I narrow my eyes, she laughs. “Commander DeSoto would’ve been a better Elector than that boy could ever be. When the Colonies invade, they’ll burn this country to the ground. The people will regret ever putting their support behind a little boy.” She presses against the bars, as if trying to edge as close to me as possible. I swallow hard, but even through my fear, my anger boils under the surface. I don’t look away. It’s strange, but I think I see a sheen of gloss across her eyes, something that looks disconcerting above her unstable smile. “You were one of my favorites. Do you know why I was so interested in having you on my patrol? It’s because I saw myself reflected in you. We’re the same, you and I. I would’ve been Princeps, too, you know. I deserved it.”
Goose bumps rise on my arms. A memory flashes through my mind of the night Metias died, when Commander Jameson escorted me to where his body lay. “Too bad that didn’t work out, isn’t it?” I snap. This time I can’t keep the venom out of my words. I hope they execute you as unceremoniously as they did Razor.
Commander Jameson only laughs at me. Her eyes dilate. “Better be careful, Iparis,” she whispers. “You might turn out just like me.”
The words chill me to the bone, and I finally have to turn away and break my stare away from hers. The soldiers guarding her cell don’t look at me; they just keep staring forward. I continue walking. Behind me, I can still hear her soft, low chuckle. My heart pounds against my ribs.
Thomas is being held inside a rectangular cell with thick glass walls, thick enough that I can’t hear anything of what’s happening inside. I wait outside, steadying myself after my encounter with Commander Jameson. For an instant I wonder whether I should have stayed away and turned down his final request; maybe that would have been for the best.
Still, if I leave now, I’ll have to face Commander Jameson again. I might need a little more time to prepare myself for that. So I take a deep breath and step toward the steel bars lining Thomas’s cell door. A guard opens it, lets two additional guards in after me, and then closes it behind us. Our footsteps echo in the small, empty chamber.
Thomas gets up with a clank of his chains. He looks more disheveled than I’ve ever seen him, and I know that if his hands were completely free, he’d go about ironing his rumpled uniform and combing his unruly hair right away. But instead, Thomas clicks his heels together. Not until I tell him to relax his stance does he look at me.
“It’s good to see you, Princeps-Elect,” he says. Is there a hint of sadness in his serious, stern face? “Thank you for indulging my final request. It won’t be long now before you’re rid of me entirely.”
I shake my head, angry with myself, irritated that in spite of everything he has done, Thomas’s unshakable loyalty to the Republic still stirs a drop of sympathy from me. “Sit down and make yourself comfortable,” I tell him. He doesn’t hesitate for a second—in a uniform motion, we both kneel down onto the cold cell floor, him leaning against the cell wall, me folding my legs underneath me. We stay like that for a moment, letting the awkward silence between us linger.
I speak up first. “You don’t need to be so loyal to the Republic anymore,” I reply. “You can let go, you know.”
Thomas only shakes his head. “It’s the duty of a Republic soldier to be loyal to the end, and I’m still a soldier. I will be one until I die.”
I don’t know why the thought of him dying tugs on my heartstrings in so many strange ways. I’m happy, relieved, angry, sad. “Why did you want to see me?” I finally ask.
“Ms. Iparis, before tomorrow comes . . .” Thomas trails off for a second before continuing. “I want to tell you the full details of everything that happened to Metias that night at the hospital. I just feel . . . I feel like I owe it to you. If anyone should know, it’s you.”
My heart begins to pound. Am I ready to relive all of that again—do I need to know this? Metias is gone; knowing the details of what happened will not bring him back. But I find myself meeting Thomas’s gaze with a calm, level look. He does owe it to me. More importantly, I owe it to my brother. After Thomas is executed, someone should carry on the memory of my brother’s death, of what really happened.
Slowly, I steady my heartbeat. When I open my mouth, my voice cracks a little. “Fine,” I reply.
His voice grows quieter. “I remember everything about that night. Every last detail.”
“Tell me, then.”
Like the obedient soldier he is, Thomas begins his story. “On the night of your brother’s death, I took a call from Commander Jameson. We were waiting with the jeeps outside the hospital’s entrance. Metias was chatting with a nurse in front of the main sliding doors. I stood behind the jeeps some distance away. Then the call came.”
As Thomas speaks, the prison around us melts away and is replaced by the scene of that fateful night, the hospital and the military jeep and the soldiers, the streets as if I were walking right beside Thomas, seeing all that he saw. Reliving the events.
“I whispered a greeting to Commander Jameson over my earpiece,” Thomas continues. “She didn’t bother greeting me back.
“‘It has to be done tonight,’ she told me. ‘If we don’t act now, your captain may plan an act of treason against the Republic, or even against the Elector. I’m giving you a direct order, Lieutenant Bryant. Find a way to get Captain Iparis to a private spot tonight. I don’t care how you do it.’”
Thomas looks me in the eye now and repeats, “An act of treason against the Republic. I tightened my jaw. I’d been dreading this inevitable call, ever since I’d first learned about Metias’s hacking into the deceased civilians’ databases. Keeping secrets from Commander Jameson was damn near impossible. My eyes darted to your brother at the entrance. ‘Yes, Commander,’ I whispered.
“‘Good,’ she said. ‘Tell me when you’re ready—I’ll send in separate orders to the rest of your patrol to be at a different location during that time. Make it quick and clean.’
“That’s when my hand began to shake. I tried to argue with the Commander, but her voice only turned colder. ‘If you don’t do it, I will. Believe me, I will be messier about it—and no one’s going to be happy that way. Understood?’
“I didn’t answer her right away. Instead I watched your brother as he shook hands with the nurse. He turned around, searching for me, and then spotted me by the jeeps. He waved me over, and I nodded, careful to keep my face blank. ‘Understood, Commander,’ I finally answered.
“‘You can do it, Bryant,’ she told me. ‘And if you’re successful, consider yourself promoted to captain.’ The call cut off.
“I joined Metias and another soldier at the hospital entrance. Metias smiled at me. ‘Another long night, eh? I swear, if we’re stuck here until dawn again, I’ll whine to Commander Jameson like there’s no tomorrow.’
“I forced myself to laugh along. ‘Let’s hope for an uneventful night, then.’ The lie felt so smooth.
“‘Yes, let’s hope for that,’ Metias said. ‘At least I have you for company.’
“‘Likewise,’ I told him. Metias glanced back at me, his eyes hovering for a beat, then looked away again.
“The first minutes passed without incident. But then, moments later, a ragged slum-sector boy dragged himself up to the entrance and stopped to talk to a nurse. He was a mess—mud, dirt, and blood smeared across his cheeks, dirty dark hair pulled away from his face, and a nasty limp. ‘Can I be admitted, cousin?’ he asked the nurse. ‘Is there still room tonight? I can pay.’
“The nurse just continued scribbling on her notepad. ‘What happened?’ she finally asked.
“‘Was in a fight,’ the boy replied. ‘I think I got stabbed.’
“The nurse glanced over at your brother, and Metias nodded to two of his soldiers. They walked over to pat down the boy. After a while, they pocketed something and waved the boy inside. As he staggered past, I leaned closer to Metias and whispered, ‘Don’t like the look of that one. He doesn’t walk like someone who’s been stabbed, does he?’
“Your brother and the boy exchanged a brief look. When the boy had disappeared inside the hospital, he nodded at me. ‘Agreed. Keep an eye on that one. After our rotation’s done, I’d like to question him a bit.’”
Thomas pauses here, searching my face, perhaps for permission to stop talking, but I don’t give it.
He takes a deep breath and continues. “I blushed then at his nearness. Your brother seemed to sense it too, and an awkward silence passed between us. I’d always known about his attraction to me, but tonight it seemed particularly naked. Maybe it had something to do with his weary day, your university antics throwing him off, his usual air of command subdued and tired. And underneath my calm exterior, my heart hammered against my ribs. Find a way to get Captain Iparis to a private spot tonight. I don’t care how you do it. This vulnerability would be my only chance.”
Thomas looks briefly down at his hands, but carries on.
“So, sometime later, I tapped Metias on the shoulder. ‘Captain,’ I murmured. ‘Can I speak to you in private for a moment?’
“Metias blinked. He asked me, ‘Is this urgent?’
“‘No, sir,’ I told him. ‘Not quite. But . . . I’d rather you know.’
“Your brother stared at me, momentarily confused, searching for a clue. Then he motioned for a soldier to take his place at the entrance and the two of us headed into a quiet, dark street near the back of the hospital.
“Metias immediately dropped some of his formal pretense. ‘Something wrong, Thomas? You don’t look well.’
“All I could think was treason against the Republic. He would never do it. Would he? We’d grown up together, trained together, grown close. . . . Then I remembered my commander’s orders. I felt the sheathed knife sitting heavily at my waist. ‘I’m fine,’ I told him.
“But your brother laughed. ‘Come on. You’ve never needed to hide anything from me before. You know that, right?’
“Just say it, Thomas, I told myself. I knew I was teetering between the familiar and the point of no return. Force the words out. Let him hear it. Finally, I looked up and said, ‘What is this between us?’
“Your brother’s smile wavered. He grew very silent. Then he took a step back. ‘What do you mean?’
“‘You know what I mean,’ I told him. ‘This. All these years.’
“Now Metias was studying my face intently. Long seconds passed. ‘This,’ he finally replied, emphasizing the word, ‘can’t happen. You’re my subordinate.’
“Then I asked, ‘But it means something to you, sir. Doesn’t it?’
“Something joyful and tragic danced across Metias’s face. He drew closer. I knew that a wall between us had finally formed a crack. ‘Does it mean something to you?’ he asked me.”
Again, Thomas pauses. Then, in a softer voice, he says, “A blade of guilt twisted painfully in my chest, but it was too late to turn back. So I took a step forward, closed my eyes, and—I kissed him.”
Another pause. “Your brother froze, like I thought he would. There was complete stillness. We drew apart, the silence heavy around us, and for a moment I wondered whether I’d made a huge mistake, whether I’d simply misread every signal from the past few years. Or perhaps, perhaps he knew what I was up to. I felt a strange sense of relief at that thought. Maybe it’d be better if Metias figured out Commander Jameson’s plans for him. Maybe there’s a way to get out of this.
“But then he leaned forward and returned the kiss, and the last of that wall crumbled away.”
“Stop,” I suddenly say. Thomas falls silent. He tries to hide his emotions behind some semblance of nobility, but the shame is plain on his face. I lean back, turn my face away from him, and press my hands to my temples. Grief threatens to overwhelm me. Thomas hadn’t just killed Metias knowing that my brother loved him.
Thomas had taken that knowledge and used it against him.
I want you to die. I hate you. The tide of my anger grows stronger until finally I hear the whisper of Metias’s voice in my head, the faint light of reason.
It’s going to be okay, Junebug. Listen to me. Everything is going to be okay.
I wait, my heart beating steadily, until his gentle words bring me back. My eyes open, and I give Thomas a level stare. “What happened after that?”
It takes Thomas a long moment before he speaks again. When he does, his voice trembles. “There was no way out. Metias had no idea what was going on. He’d fallen into the plan with blind faith. My hand crept to the knife at my waist, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I couldn’t even breathe.”
My eyes fill with tears. I want so desperately to hear every detail and at the same time for Thomas to stop talking, to shut this night away and never return again.
“An alarm cut through the air. We jumped apart. Metias looked flushed and confused—only a second later did we both realize that the alarm came from the hospital.
“The moment broke. Your brother snapped back into captain mode and ran toward the hospital entrance. ‘Get inside,’ he shouted over his earpiece. He didn’t look back. ‘I want half of you in there—pinpoint the source. Gather the others at the entrance and wait for my command. Now!’
“I started running after him. My chance to strike had vanished. I wondered whether Commander Jameson had somehow been able to see my failure. The Republic’s eyes are everywhere. They know everything. I panicked. I had to find another moment, another chance to get your brother alone. If I couldn’t do it, then Metias’s fate would fall into much harsher hands.
“By the time I caught up with him at the entrance, his face was dark with anger. ‘Breakin,’ he said. ‘It was that boy we saw. I’m sure of it. Bryant, get five and circle east. I’ll go the other way.’ Already your brother was on the move, gathering his soldiers. ‘He’s going to have to get out of the hospital somehow,’ he told us. ‘We’ll be waiting for him when he tries.’
“I did as Metias commanded—but the instant he was out of earshot, I ordered my soldiers to head east and then snuck away into the shadows. I have to follow him. This is my last chance. If I fail, I’m as good as dead, anyway. Sweat trickled down my back. I melted into the shadows, reminding myself of all the lessons Metias had taught me about subtlety and stealth.
“Then from somewhere in the night I heard glass shatter. I hid behind a wall as your brother raced past, alone and unguarded, toward the source of the sound. Then I followed. The night’s darkness swallowed me whole. For a moment, I lost Metias in the back alleys. Where is he? I whirled around in an alley, trying to figure out where your brother had gone.
“Just then, a call came through. Commander Jameson barked at me. ‘You’d better find a second chance to take him down, Lieutenant. Soon.’
“Finally, minutes later, I found Metias. He was alone, struggling up from the ground with a knife buried in his shoulder, surrounded by blood and broken glass. A few feet from him lay a sewer cap. I rushed to his side. He smiled briefly at me, while clutching the knife in his shoulder.
“‘It was Day,’ he gasped. ‘He escaped down the sewers.’ Then he reached out to me. ‘Here. Help me up.’
“This is your chance, I told myself. This is your only chance, and if you can’t do it now, it will never happen.”
Thomas’s voice falters as I search for my own. I want to stop him again, but I can’t. I’m numb.
Thomas lifts his head and says, “I wish I could tell you all the images whirling through my mind—Commander Jameson interrogating Metias, torturing information out of him, tearing off his nails, slicing him open until he screamed for mercy, killing him slowly in the way that she did to all prisoners of war.” As he speaks, the words come faster, tumbling from his mouth in a frantic jumble. “I pictured the Republic’s flag, the Republic’s seal, the oath I’d taken on the day Metias accepted me into a patrol. That I would forever remain faithful to my Republic and my Elector, until my dying day. My eyes darted to the knife buried in Metias’s shoulder. Do it. Do it now, I told myself. I seized his collar, yanked the knife from his shoulder, and plunged it deep into his chest. Right up to the hilt.”
I hear myself gasp. As if I expected a different ending. As if once I hear it enough times, the story will change. It never does.
“Metias let out a broken shriek,” Thomas whispers. “Or perhaps it came from me—I can’t remember anymore. He collapsed back onto the ground, his hand still clutching my wrist. His eyes were wide with shock.
“‘I’m sorry,’ I choked out.” Thomas looks at me as he continues, his apology meant for both me and my brother. “I knelt over his trembling body. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ I told him. ‘I had no choice. You gave me no choice!’”
I can barely hear Thomas as he continues. “A spark of understanding appeared in your brother’s eyes. With it came hurt, something that went beyond his physical pain, a bleeding moment of realization. Then revulsion. Disappointment. ‘Now I know why,’ he whispered. I didn’t have to ask to know that he was referring to our kiss.
“No! I meant it! I wanted to scream. It was a good-bye, the only one I could give. But I meant it. I promise.
“Instead I said, ‘Why did you have to cross the Republic? I warned you, over and over again. Cross the Republic too many times, and eventually they’ll burn you. I warned you! I told you to listen!’
“But your brother shook his head. It’s something you’ll never understand, his eyes seemed to say. Blood leaked from his mouth, and his grip tightened on my wrist. ‘Don’t hurt June,’ he said. ‘She doesn’t know anything.’ Then a fierce, terrified light appeared in his eyes. ‘Don’t hurt her. Promise me.’
“So I told him, ‘I’ll protect her. I don’t know how, but I’ll try. I promise.’
“The light gradually faded from his eyes, and his grip loosened. He stared at me until he couldn’t stare anymore, and then I knew that he was gone. Move. Get out of here, I told myself. But I stayed crouched over Metias’s body, my mind blank. His sudden absence hit me. Metias was gone, Metias was never coming back, and it was all my fault. No. Long live the Republic. That’s what really mattered, I told myself, yes, yes, that was the important thing. This—whatever this was between Metias and me—wasn’t real, could never have happened anyway. Not with Metias as my captain. Not with Metias as a criminal working against the country. It was for the best. Yes. It was.
“Eventually I heard shouts from approaching troops. I picked myself up. I wiped my eyes. I had to carry through now. I’d done it, I’d stayed faithful to the Republic. Some survival instinct kicked in. Everything seemed muted, like a fog had settled over my life. Good. I needed the strange calm, the absence of everything, that it brought. I folded my grief carefully back into my chest, as if nothing had happened, and when the first troops arrived on the scene, I placed a call to Commander Jameson.
“I didn’t even need to say a word. My silence told her everything she needed to know. ‘Fetch Little Iparis when you get a chance,’ she said to me. ‘And well done, Captain.’
“I didn’t reply.”
Thomas stays silent; the scene fades. I find myself back in his prison cell, my cheeks streaked with tears, my heart sliced open as if he had stabbed me in the chest as surely as he’d stabbed my brother.
Thomas stares at the floor between us with hollow eyes. “I loved him, June,” he says after a moment. “I really did. Everything I did as a soldier, all my hard work and training, was to impress him.” His guard is finally down, and I can see the true depth of his torture now. His voice hardens, as if he is trying to convince himself of what he’s saying. “I answer to the Republic—Metias himself trained me to be what I am. Even he understood.”
I’m surprised by how much my heart is breaking for him. You could have helped Metias escape. You could have done something. Anything. You could have tried. But even now, Thomas doesn’t budge. He will never change, and he will never, ever know who Metias really was.
I finally realize the true reason he requested this meeting with me. He wanted to give a real confession. Just like during our conversation when he first arrested me, he is fishing desperately for my forgiveness, for something to justify—in any small way—what he did. He wants to believe what he did was warranted. He wants me to sympathize. He wants peace before he goes.
But he’s wasted his efforts on me. I cannot give him peace, even on his final day. Some things cannot be forgiven.
“I feel sorry for you,” I say quietly. “Because you’re so weak.”
Thomas tightens his lips. Still searching for some bit of validation he says, “I could’ve chosen Day’s route. I could have become a criminal. But I didn’t. I did everything right, you know. That was what Metias loved about me. He respected me. I followed all the rules, I obeyed all the laws, I worked my way up from where I started.” He leans toward me; his eyes grow more desperate. “I took an oath, June. I am still bound by that oath. I will die with honor for sacrificing everything I have—everything—for my country. And yet, Day is the legend, while I am to be executed.” His voice finally breaks with all his anguish and inner torment, the injustice he feels. “It makes no sense.”
I stand up. Behind me, the guards move toward the cell door. “You’re wrong,” I say sadly. “It makes perfect sense.”
“Why?”
“Because Day chose to walk in the light.” I turn my back on him for the last time. The door opens; the cell’s bars make way for the hall, a new rotation of prison guards, freedom. “And so did Metias.”
1532 HOURS.
That afternoon, I head to Denver University’s track with Ollie in an attempt to clear my thoughts. Outside, the sky looks yellow and hazy with the light of the afternoon sun. I try to picture the sky covered with the Colonies’ airships, ablaze with the fire from aerial dogfights and explosions. Twelve days before we need to offer something to the Colonies. Without Day’s help, how are we ever going to do that? The thought troubles me, but thankfully it helps keep the memories of Thomas and Commander Jameson out of my head. I pick up my pace. My running shoes pound against the pavement.
When I arrive at the track, I notice guards stationed at every entrance. At least four soldiers per gate. Anden must be doing his exercise routine somewhere out here too. The soldiers recognize me, let me through, and usher me into the stadium, where the track wraps around a large, open field. Anden’s nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he’s down in the stadium’s underground lockers.
I do a quick round of stretches while Ollie waits impatiently, dancing from paw to paw, and then I begin making my way down the track. I run faster and faster along the curved path until I’m sprinting around the turns, my hair streaming out behind me, Ollie panting at my side. I imagine Commander Jameson sprinting after me, gun in hand. Better be careful, Iparis. You might turn out just like me. When I loop around to the side of the track with targets set up, I skid to a halt, whip out the gun at my belt, and shoot at each of the targets in rapid succession. Four bull’s-eyes. Without pause, I loop around the track again and repeat my routine three times. Ten times. Fifteen times. Finally I stop, my heart beating a frantic tune against my chest.
I shift to a walk, slowly catching my breath, my thoughts whirling. If I had never met Day, could I have grown up to become Commander Jameson? Cold, calculating, merciless? Hadn’t I turned into exactly that when I first figured out who Day was? Hadn’t I led the soldiers—led Commander Jameson herself—to his family’s door, without a second thought for whether or not his family might be harmed? I reset my gun, then aim at the targets again. My bullets thud into the centers of the boards.
If Metias were alive, what would he have thought of what I did?
No. I can’t think about my brother without remembering Thomas’s confession from this morning. I fire my last bullet, then sit down in the middle of the track with Ollie and bury my head in my hands. I’m so tired. I don’t know if I can ever outrun how I used to be. And now I’m doing it all over again—trying to persuade Day to give up his brother again, trying to use him to the Republic’s advantage.
Finally I pick myself up, wipe the sweat from my brow, and head to the underground lockers. Ollie settles down to wait for me under the cool overhang near the doors; he laps hungrily at a pouch of water I set before him. I head down the stairs, then turn the corner. The air is humid from the showers, and the lone screen embedded at the end of the hall has a light film of mist over it. I walk down the corridor that splits off into the men’s and women’s locker rooms. A few voices echo from farther down the hall.
A second later, I see Anden emerge from the locker room with two guards walking alongside him. I blush in embarrassment at the sight. Anden looks like he just stepped out of the shower a few minutes ago, shirtless and still toweling off his damp hair, his lean muscles tense after his workout. He has a crisp collar shirt swung over one shoulder, the white of the fabric a startling contrast against the olive of his skin. One of the guards talks to him in hushed tones, and with a sinking feeling, I wonder whether it has something to do with the Colonies. A moment later, Anden glances up and finally notices me staring at them. The conversation pauses.
“Ms. Iparis,” Anden says, a polite smile covering up whatever might have been bothering him. He clears his throat, hands his towel to one of the guards, and pulls one arm through the sleeve of his collar shirt. “I apologize for my half-dressed state.”
I bow my head once, trying hard to look unfazed as all of their eyes fixate on me. “No worries, Elector.”
He nods at his guards. “Go ahead. I’ll meet you both at the stairs.”
The guards bow in unison, then leave us alone. Anden waits until they’ve disappeared around the corner before turning back to me. “I hope your morning went well enough,” he says as he starts buttoning up his shirt. His eyebrows furrow. “No trouble?”
“No trouble,” I confirm, unwilling to dwell on my conversation with Thomas.
“Good.” Anden runs a hand through his damp hair. “Then you’ve had a better morning than I. I spent several hours in a private conference with the President of Ross City, Antarctica—we’ve asked them for military help, in case of an invasion.” He sighs. “Antarctica sympathizes, but they aren’t easy to please. I don’t know whether we can get around using Day’s brother, and I don’t know how to persuade Day to allow it.”
“No one will be able to convince him,” I reply, crossing my arms. “Not even me. You say that I’m his weakness, but his greatest weakness is his family.”
Anden stays quiet for a moment. I study his face carefully, wondering what thoughts are going through his mind. The memory comes back to me of how merciless he can be when he chooses, how he didn’t flinch when sentencing Thomas to death, how he’d thrown Commander Jameson’s insult right back in her face, how he never hesitated to execute every single person who tried to destroy him. Deep underneath the soft voice and kind heart lies something cold. “Don’t force him,” I say. Anden looks at me in surprise. “I know that’s what you’re thinking.”
Anden finishes buttoning his shirt. “I can only do what I have to do, June,” he says gently. It almost sounds sad.
No. I will never let you hurt Day like that. Not the way I’ve already hurt him. “You’re the Elector. You don’t have to do anything. And if you care about the Republic, you won’t risk angering the one person who the public believes in.”
Too late, I bite my tongue. The people believe in Day, but they don’t believe in you. Anden winces visibly, and even though he doesn’t comment on it, I silently curse myself for my notorious turns of phrase. “I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
A long pause drags on before Anden speaks again. “It’s not as easy as it seems.” He shakes his head. A tiny bead of water drops from his hair onto his collar. “You would do differently? Risk an entire nation instead of one person? I can’t justify it. The Colonies will strike if we don’t give them an antidote, and this whole mess stemmed from something that I’m responsible for.”
“No, your father was responsible. That doesn’t mean you are.”
“Well, I’m my father’s son,” Anden replies, his voice suddenly stern. “What difference does it make?”
The words surprise both of us. I tighten my lips and decide not to comment on it, but my thoughts churn frantically. It does make a difference. But then I think back on what Anden had once told me about the Republic’s founding, how his father and the Electors before him had been forced to act in those dark, early years. Better be careful, Iparis. You might turn out just like me.
Perhaps I’m not the only one who needs to be careful.
Something showing on the screen at the end of the hall distracts me. I look toward it. There’s some news about Day; the footage shows some old video close-up of him and then a brief shot of the Denver hospital, but even though most of the video’s cut off, I can catch glimpses of crowds gathered in front of the building. Anden turns to look at the screen too. Are they protesting? What could they be protesting?
Daniel Altan Wing admitted to hospital for standard medical exam, to be released tomorrow
Anden presses a hand to his ear. An incoming call. He glances briefly at me, then clicks on his mike and says, “Yes?”
Silence. As the screen’s broadcast continues, Anden’s face turns pale. It reminds me for an instant of how pale Day had looked while at the banquet, and the two thoughts converge into a single, frightening thought. I suddenly know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that this is the secret Day’s been keeping from me. A horrible feeling builds in my chest.
“Who approved this footage’s release?” Anden says after a moment, his voice now a whisper. I hear anger in it. “There won’t be a next time. Inform me first. Is that understood?”
A lump rises in my throat. When his call finally ends, he drops his hand and gives me a long, grave look.
“It’s Day,” he says. “He’s at the hospital.”
“Why?” I demand.
“I’m so sorry.” He bows his head in a tragic gesture, then leans forward to whisper in my ear. He tells me. And suddenly I feel light-headed, like the entire world has funneled into a blur of motion, like none of this is real, like I’m standing right back at the Los Angeles Central Hospital on the night I knelt before Metias’s cold, lifeless body, staring into a face that I no longer recognized. My heartbeat slows to a stop. Everything stops. This can’t be real.
How can the boy who stirred an entire nation be dying?