Prodigy (14 page)

I shake my head. “I was never supposed to find out. I haven’t spoken to Day since
I left.”

“Would you say that you’re friends with him?”

A bit of an odd question. Maybe he wants to find Day? “Yes,” I reply, trying not to
distract myself with memories of Day’s hands entwined in my hair. “He has his reasons
for staying—I have mine for leaving. But yes, I think so.”

Anden nods his thanks. “You said there are people in my inner circle that I need to
know about. Who?”

I put my fork down and lean forward across the table. “There are two soldiers in your
personal guard who are going to make an attempt.”

Anden blanches. “My guards are carefully chosen for me. Very carefully.”

“And who chooses
them
?” I cross my arms. My hair falls over one shoulder, and I can see the pearls gleaming
from the corner of my eye. “It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not. Investigate.
Either I’m right, and you won’t be dead, or I’m wrong, and then
I’ll
be dead.”

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?”