The Legend Trilogy Collection (39 page)

To my surprise, Anden gets out of his chair, straightens, and walks over to my end of the table. He sits in the chair next to mine and scoots it closer to me. I blink as he studies my face.

“June.” His voice is so soft, barely above a whisper. “I want to trust you . . . and I want you to trust me.”

He knows I’m hiding something.
He can see through my deception, and he wants me to know it. Anden leans against the table and tucks his hands into his trouser pockets. “When my father died,” he begins, saying each word slowly and very quietly, as if he were treading dangerous waters, “I was completely alone. I sat at his bedside as he passed. Still, I’m grateful for it—I never had that chance with my mother. I know how it feels, June, being the only one left.”

My throat tightens painfully.
Win his trust.
That’s my role, my sole reason for being here. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I whisper. “And about your mother.”

Anden inclines his head, accepting my condolences. “My mother was the Senate’s Princeps. My father never once talked about her . . . but I’m glad they’re together now.”

I’d heard rumors about the late Princeps. How she’d died of some autoimmune disease right after giving birth. Only the Elector can name a leader for the Senate—so there hasn’t been one in two decades, not since Anden’s mother died. I try to forget the comfort I’d felt while talking to him about Drake, but it’s harder to do than I thought.
Think of Day.
I remind myself how excited he’d been about the Patriots’ plan, and about a new Republic. “I’m glad your parents are at peace,” I say. “I
do
understand how it feels to lose loved ones.”

Anden contemplates my words with two fingers pressed to his lips. His jaw looks tight and uncomfortable.
He may have taken ownership of his role, but he’s still a boy,
I realize. His father cut a fearsome figure, but Anden?
He’s not strong enough to hold this country together by himself.
Suddenly I’m reminded of the early nights after Metias’s murder, when I wept until the dark hours before dawn with my brother’s lifeless face burned into my thoughts. Does Anden have the same sleepless nights? What must it feel like to lose a father that you aren’t allowed to publicly mourn, however evil that father was?
Did
Anden love him?

I wait as he watches me, my dinner long forgotten. After what feels like hours, Anden lowers his hands and sighs. “It’s no secret that he’d been ill for a long time. When you’ve been waiting for a loved one to die . . . for years . . .” He winces visibly here, allowing me to see very naked pain. “Well, I’m sure it is a different feeling from when that passing comes . . . unexpectedly.” He looks up at me right as he says the last word.

I’m not sure whether he’s referring to my parents or to Metias—perhaps to both—but the way he says it leaves little doubt in my mind. He’s trying to say that he knows what happened to my family. And that he
disapproves.

“I know what your experience with
assumptions
is. Some people think I poisoned my father, so I could take his place.”

It’s almost like he’s trying to talk to me in code.
You’d once assumed that Day had killed your brother. That your parents’ deaths were accidents. But now you know the truth.

“The people of the Republic
assume
that I’m their enemy. That I’m the same man my father was. That I don’t want this country to change. They think I’m an empty figurehead, a puppet who simply inherited a throne through my father’s will.” After a brief hesitation, he turns his eyes on me with an intensity that takes my breath away. “I’m
not.
But if I stay alone . . . if I remain the only one left, then I can’t change anything. If I stay alone, I
am
the same as my father.”

No wonder he wanted to have this dinner with me. Something groundbreaking is stirring in Anden.
And he needs me.
He doesn’t have the people’s support, and he doesn’t have the Senate’s. He needs someone to win over the people for him. And the two people in the Republic with the most power over the people . . . are me and Day.

The turn in this conversation confuses me. Anden isn’t—
doesn’t seem to be
—the man the Patriots described; a figurehead standing in the way of a glorious revolution. If he actually wants to
win over
the people, if Anden is telling the truth . . . why would the Patriots want him dead?
Maybe I’m missing something. Maybe there’s something about Anden that Razor knows and that I don’t.

“Can I trust you?” Anden says. His expression has changed into something earnest, with lifted eyebrows and widened eyes.

I lift my chin and meet his gaze. Can
I
trust
him
? I’m not sure, but for now, I whisper the safe answer.
“Yes.”

Anden straightens and pushes away from the table. I can’t quite tell if he believes me. “We’ll keep this between us. I’ll tell my guards about your warning. I hope we find your pair of traitors.” Anden smiles at me, then tilts his head and smiles. “If we do find them, June, I’d like for us to talk again. We seem to have a lot in common.” His words make my cheeks burn.

And that’s it. “Please, finish dinner at your leisure. My soldiers will bring you back to your cell quarters when you’re ready.”

I murmur a quiet thanks. Anden turns away and heads out of the chamber as soldiers file back inside, the echoing clatter of their boots breaking the silence that had permeated this space only moments earlier. I turn my head down and pretend to pick at the rest of my food. There’s more to Anden than I’d first thought. Only now do I realize that my breath is coming out shorter than usual, and that my heart is racing. Can I trust Anden? Or do I trust Razor? I steady myself against the edge of the table. Whatever the truth is, I’ll have to play this all very carefully.

*   *   *

After dinner, instead of being taken to a typical prison cell, I’m delivered to a clean, luxurious apartment, a carpeted chamber with thick double doors and a large, soft bed. There are no windows. Aside from the bed, there’s no furniture in the room at all, nothing for me to pick up and turn into a weapon. The only decoration is the ever-present portrait of Anden, embedded into the plaster of one wall. I locate the security cam immediately—it’s right above the double doors, a small, subtle knob in the ceiling. A half-dozen guards stand ready outside.

I doze fitfully throughout the night. Soldiers rotate shifts. Early in the morning a guard taps me awake. “So far, so good,” she whispers. “Remember who the enemy is.” Then she steps out of the chamber and a new guard replaces her.

I dress silently in a warm velvet nightgown, my senses now on high alert, my hands shaking ever so slightly. The shackles on my wrists clank softly. I couldn’t have been sure before, but now I
know
that the Patriots are watching my every step. Razor’s soldiers are slowly getting into position and closing in. I might never see that guard again—but now I study the face of every soldier around me, wondering who is loyal, and who is a Patriot.

ANOTHER DREAM.

I’m up
way
too early on the morning of my eighth birthday. Light has just started filtering in through our windows, chasing away the navy and gray of a disappearing night. I sit up in bed and rub my eyes. A half-empty glass of water balances near the edge of the old night table. Our lone plant—an ivy that Eden dragged home from some junkyard—sits in the corner, vines snaking across the floor, searching for sun. John’s snoring loudly in his corner. His feet stick out from under a patched blanket and hang off the end of the cot. Eden’s nowhere to be seen; he’s probably with Mom.

Usually if I wake up too early I can lie back down and think of something calming, like a bird or a lake, and eventually relax enough to snooze a little longer. But it’s no good today. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and pull mismatched socks over my feet.

The instant I step into the living room, I know something’s off. Mom lies asleep on the couch with Eden in her arms, the blanket pulled up to her shoulders. But Dad isn’t here. My eyes dart around the room. He just got back from the warfront last night, and he usually stays home for at least three or four days. It’s too soon for him to be gone.

“Dad?” I whisper. Mom stirs a little and I fall silent again.

Then I hear the faint sound of our screen door against wood. My eyes widen. I hurry over to the door and poke my head outside. A rush of cool air greets me. “Dad?” I whisper again.

At first, no one’s there. Then I see his shape emerge from the shadows.
Dad.

I start running—I don’t care if the dirt and pavement scratch me through the threadbare fabric of my socks. The figure in the shadows walks a few more steps, then hears me and turns around. Now I see my father’s light brown hair and narrow, honey-colored eyes, that faint scruff on his chin, his tall frame, his effortlessly graceful stance. Mom always said he looked like he stepped right out of some old Mongolian fable. I break into a sprint.

“Dad,” I blurt out when I reach him in the shadows. He kneels down and scoops me into his arms. “You’re leaving already?”

“I’m sorry, Daniel,” he whispers. He sounds tired. “I’ve been called back to the warfront.”

My eyes well up with tears. “Already?”

“You need to get back in the house right now. Don’t let the street police see you causing a scene.”

“But you just got here,” I try to argue. “You—it’s my birthday today, and I—”

My father puts a hand on each of my shoulders. His eyes are two warnings, full of everything he wishes he could say out loud.
I want to stay,
he’s trying to tell me.
But I have to go. You know the drill. Don’t talk about this.
Instead, he says, “Go back home, Daniel. Kiss your mother for me.”

My voice starts to shake, but I tell myself to be brave. “When will we see you again?”

“I’ll come back soon. I love you.” He puts a hand on my head. “Keep an eye out for when I come back, all right?”

I nod. He lingers with me for a moment, then gets up and walks away. I go home.

That was the last time I ever saw him.

*   *   *

A day’s passed. I’m sitting alone on my assigned Patriot bed in one of the bunk rooms, studying the pendant looped around my neck. My hair falls around my face, making me feel like I’m looking at the pendant through a bright veil. Before my shower earlier, Kaede had given me a bottle of gel that stripped the fake color from my hair.
For the next part of the plan,
she’d told me.

Someone knocks on the door.

“Day?” The voice sounds muffled from the other side of the wood. It takes me a second to reorient myself and recognize Tess. I’d woken up from a nightmare about my eighth birthday. I can still see everything like it happened yesterday, and my eyes feel red and swollen from crying. When I woke up, my mind started producing images of Eden strapped to a gurney, screaming as lab techs inject him with chemicals, and John standing blindfolded before a squad of soldiers. And Mom. I can’t stop all this goddy stuff from replaying in my head, and it pisses me off so much. If I find Eden, what then? How the hell do I take him from the Republic? I have to assume that Razor will be able to help me get him back. And in order to get him back, I’ve absolutely
got
to make sure Anden dies.

My arms are sore from spending most of the morning under Kaede’s and Pascao’s supervision, learning how to shoot a gun. “Don’t worry if you miss the Elector,” Pascao said as we worked on my aim. He ran his hands along my arm enough to make me blush. “Won’t matter. There will be others with you who will finish the job, regardless. Razor just wants the
image
of you pointing a gun at the Elector. Isn’t it perfect? The Elector, at the warfront to give morale-boosting speeches to the soldiers, gunned down with hundreds of troops in the vicinity. Oh, the irony!” Pascao then gave me one of his signature grins. “The people’s hero kills the tyrant. What a story that will be.”

Yeah—what a story, indeed.

“Day?” Tess says from behind the door. “Are you in there? Razor wants to talk to you.” Oh, right. She’s still out there, calling for me.

“Yeah, you can come in,” I reply.

Tess pokes her head inside. “Hey,” she says. “How long have you been in here?”

Be good to her,
Kaede had told me.
You two match.
I shoot Tess a small smile in greeting. “No idea,” I reply. “I was getting some rest. Couple hours, maybe?”

“Razor’s asking for you out in the main room. They’re running a live feed of June. I thought you might be—”

Live feed?
She must have made it. She’s still okay.
I jump to my feet. Finally, an update on June—the thought of seeing her again, even if it’s on a grainy security cam, makes me dizzy with anticipation. “I’ll be right out.”

As we head down the short hall toward the main room, a number of other Patriots greet Tess. She smiles each time, exchanging gentle jokes and laughs as if she’s known them forever. Two boys give her good-natured pats on her shoulder.

“Hurry the hell up, kids. Don’t wanna keep Razor waiting.” We both turn to see Kaede jog past us in the direction of the main room. She pauses to swing one arm around Tess’s neck, then ruffles her hair lovingly and plants a playful kiss on her cheek. “I swear—you’re the slowest of the bunch, sweetheart.”

Tess laughs and shoves her off. Kaede winks back before picking up her pace, disappearing around the corner into the main room. I look on, a little surprised at Kaede’s display of affection. Not something I’d expect from her. I’d never thought about it before, but now I realize just how good Tess is at forming new bonds—I sense the Patriots’ ease around her, the same ease I’d always felt with her on the streets. That’s her strength, no doubt. She heals. She’s comforting.

Then Baxter passes us. Tess turns her eyes downward as he brushes her arm, and I notice him give her a brief nod before glaring at me. When he’s out of earshot, I lean over to Tess. “What’s his deal?” I whisper.

She just shrugs and brushes my arm with her hand. “Don’t mind him,” she replies, repeating what Kaede had said back when I first arrived at the tunnel. “He has mood swings.”

Tell me about it,
I think darkly. “If he gives you a hard time, let me know,” I mutter.

Tess shrugs again. “It’s okay, Day. I can handle him.”

I suddenly feel a little stupid, offering my help like an arrogant knight in shining armor when Tess probably has dozens of new friends eager to help her out. When she can help herself.

By the time we’ve made it out to the main room, a small crowd has gathered in front of one of the larger wall screens, where a tape of security cam footage is playing. Razor is near the front of the crowd with his arms casually crossed, while Pascao and Kaede stand beside him. They see me and motion me over.

“Day,” Razor says, clapping me on the shoulder. Kaede gives me a quick nod in greeting. “Good to see you here. Are you okay? I heard you’ve been a little down this morning.”

His concern’s actually kinda nice—it reminds me of the way my father used to talk to me. “I’m fine,” I reply. “Just tired from the trip.”

“Understandable. It was a stressful flight.” He gestures up to the screen. “Our Hackers got us footage of June. The audio’s separated out, but you’ll get to hear it soon enough. I thought you’d want to see the video regardless.”

My eyes are glued to the screen. The images are crisp and colorful, as if we’re hovering right there in the corner of the room. I see an ornate dining chamber with an elegantly decorated dinner table and soldiers lining the walls. The young Elector is seated at one end of the table. June sits at the other, wearing a gorgeous dress that makes my heartbeat speed up. When
I’d
been the Republic’s prisoner, they’d beaten me to a pulp and thrown me in a dirty cell. June’s incarceration seems more like a vacation. I’m relieved for her, but at the same time, I’m a little bitter. Even after betraying the Republic, people with June’s pedigree get to coast, while people like me suffer.

Everyone watches me watching June. “Glad she’s doing good,” I say to the screen. Already I’m disgusted with myself for dwelling on such mean thoughts.

“Clever of her to start talking to the Elector about their college years at Drake,” Razor says, summarizing the audio as the video plays. “She planted the story. They’re going to have her take a lie detector test next, I’d imagine, and we’ll have a straight path to Anden if she’s good enough to pass it. Our next phase tomorrow night should run smoothly.”

If
she’s good enough to pass it.
An early bond. “Good,” I reply, trying not to let my face betray my thoughts. But as the footage continues, and I see Anden order the soldiers out of the chamber, I feel a knot tighten in my throat. This guy’s all sophistication, power, and authority. He leans close to say something to June, and they laugh and drink champagne. I can picture them together. They match.

“She
is
doing a good job,” Tess says, tucking her hair behind her ears. “The Elector’s completely into her.”

I want to dispute this, but Pascao chimes in brightly. “Tess’s totally right—see that glow in his eyes? That’s a man won over right there, I can tell you that. He’s head over heels for our girl. She’ll have him completely hooked in a couple days.”

Razor nods, but his enthusiasm is more subdued. “True,” he says. “But we’ll need to make sure Anden doesn’t get into June’s head too. He’s a born politician. I’ll find a way to have a word with June.”

I’m glad that Razor speaks sense and caution during a time like this, but I have to turn away from the screen now. I never considered the idea that he might be able to get into June’s head.

Everyone’s comments fade as I stop listening. Tess is right, of course; I can see the desire on the Elector’s face. He gets up now and walks to where June sits shackled to the chair, then leans in close to talk to her. I wince. How could anyone resist June? She’s perfect in too many ways. Then I realize that I’m not upset over Anden’s attraction to her—he’s gonna be dead soon anyway, right? What makes me sick is that June doesn’t look like she’s faking her laughter in this video. She almost seems to be having a good time. She’s on par with men like him: aristocrats. Made for the Republic’s upper-class life. How can she ever be happy with someone like me, someone with nothing but a handful of paper clips in his pockets? I turn and start to walk away from the crowd. I’ve seen all I want to see.

“Wait up!”

I look over my shoulder to see Tess hurrying after me, her hair flying into her face. She skids into step beside me. “Are you okay?” she asks, studying my expression as we head back down the hall toward my room.

“I’ll be fine,” I reply. “Why shouldn’t I be? Everything’s going just . . . perfectly.” I give her a tense smile.

“Okay. I know. I just want to make sure.” Tess gives me a dimpled grin, and I soften toward her again.

“I’m fine, cousin. Seriously. You’re safe, I’m safe, the Patriots are on track, and they’ll help me find Eden. That’s all I can ask for.”

Tess brightens at my words, and her lips curl up into a teasing smirk. “There’s been some gossip about you, you know.”

I lift my eyebrows playfully. “Oh, really? What kind of gossip?”

“Rumors that you’re alive and well are spreading like wildfire—it’s all anyone’s talking about. Your name’s spray-painted on walls all over the country, even over the
Elector’s
portraits in some places. Can you believe that? Protests are popping up everywhere. They’re all chanting your name.” Tess’s energy wanes some. “Even the quarantined folks in Los Angeles. I guess the whole city’s under quarantine now.”

“They’ve sealed
Los Angeles
?” This takes me aback. We’d learned about the gem sectors being fenced off, but I’ve never heard of such a large-scale quarantine. “What for? The plagues?”

“Not for the plagues.” Tess’s eyes get wider with excitement. “For
riots.
The Republic’s broadcasting it officially as a plague quarantine, but the truth is that the whole city’s rebelling against the new Elector. Rumors are spreading that the Elector is hunting you down with everything he’s got, and some Patriots are telling people that Anden was the one who ordered—er, who ordered your family’s . . .” Tess hesitates, turning bright red. “Anyway, the Patriots are trying to make Anden sound bad, worse than his father. Razor says the LA protests are a great opportunity for us. The capital has had to call in thousands of extra troops.”