The Legend Trilogy Collection (29 page)

“That’s quite a list,” he says. “You should sit. You seem a bit unsteady on your feet.” He waits patiently for me to move, but when I don’t budge, he clears his throat. “Well, you’ve introduced yourselves—it’s only fair for me to do the same. My name is Razor, and I currently head the Patriots. I’ve been leading the organization for quite a few years, longer than you’ve been causing trouble on the streets of Lake. You want our help, Day, but I seem to remember your declining our invitations to join us. Several times.”

He turns to tinted windows that face the pyramid-shaped landing docks lining the strip. The view from here is amazing. Airships glide back and forth in the night sky, covered in lights, several of them docking right over the pyramids’ tops like puzzle pieces. Occasionally we see formations of fighter jets, black eaglelike shapes, taking off from and landing on the airship decks. It’s a never-ending stream of activity. My eyes dart from building to building; the pyramid docks in particular would be the easiest to run, with grooves cut into each side and steplike ridges lining their edges.

I realize that Razor is waiting again for me to respond. “I wasn’t entirely comfortable with your organization’s body count,” I offer.

“But now apparently you are,” Razor says. His words are scolding, but his tone is sympathetic as he puts his palms together and presses the fingertips to his lips. “Because you need us. Correct?”

Well, I can’t argue with that. “I’m sorry,” I say. “We’re running out of options. But believe me, I’ll understand if you turn us away. Just don’t turn us in to the Republic, please.” I force a smile.

He chuckles at my sarcasm. I focus on the crooked bump of his nose and wonder if he’d broken it before. “At first, I was tempted to let you both wander Vegas until you were caught,” he continues. His voice has the smoothness of an aristocrat, cultured and charismatic. “I’ll be blunt with you. Your skills are not as valuable to me as they used to be, Day. Over the years, we’ve recruited other Runners—and now, with all due respect, adding another one to our team isn’t a priority. Your friend already knows”—he pauses to nod at June—“that the Patriots are not a charity. You’re asking us for a great deal of help. What will you give us in return? You can’t be carrying much money.”

June gives me a pointed look. She may have warned me about this on our train ride, but I can’t give up now. If the Patriots turn us down, we’ll really be on our own. “We don’t have a lot of money,” I admit. “I’m not going to speak for June, but if there is
anything
I can do in exchange for your help, just say the word.”

Razor crosses his arms, then walks to the apartment’s bar, an elaborate granite counter embedded into the wall and shelving dozens of glass bottles of all shapes and sizes. He takes his time pouring a drink; we wait. When he finishes preparing it, he takes the glass in one hand and wanders back to us. “There
is
something you can offer,” he starts. “Fortunately, you’ve arrived on a very interesting night.” He takes a sip of the drink and sits down on the couch. “As you probably learned while down on the street, the former Elector Primo died today—something many in the Republic’s elite circles have seen coming. At any rate, his son, Anden, is now the Republic’s new Elector. Practically a boy, and
greatly
disliked by his father’s Senators.” He leans forward, saying each word carefully and with weight. “Rarely has the Republic been as vulnerable as it is now. There will never be a better time to spark a revolution. Your physical skills might be expendable to us, but there are two things you can give us that our other Runners can’t. One: your fame, your status as the people’s champion. And two”—he points his drink at June—“your lovely friend.”

I stiffen at that, but Razor’s eyes are warm as honey and I find myself waiting to hear the rest of his proposal.

“I’d be happy to take you in, and you’ll both be well cared for. Day, we can get you an excellent doctor, and pay for an operation that’ll make your leg better than new. I don’t know the whereabouts of your brother, but we can help you find him, and eventually, we can help you both escape into the Colonies if that’s what you want. In return, we’d ask for your help with a new project. No questions asked. But you’ll both need to pledge your allegiance to the Patriots before I’ll reveal any details about what you’ll be doing. These are my terms. What do you think?”

June looks from me to Razor. Then she lifts her chin higher. “I’m in. I’ll pledge allegiance to the Patriots.”

There’s a slight falter in her words, like she knows she’s truly turned her back on the Republic. I swallow hard. I hadn’t expected her to agree so quickly—I’d thought she would need some persuading before she committed herself to a group that she so obviously hated just a few weeks ago. The fact that she said yes tugs at my heart. If June is giving herself to the Patriots, then she must realize that we have no better choice. And she’s doing this for my sake. I raise my own voice. “Me too.”

Razor smiles, rises from the couch, and holds up his drink as if to toast us. Then he sets it down on the coffee table and comes over to give each of us a firm handshake. “It’s official, then. You’re going to help us assassinate the new Elector Primo.”

I
DON’T TRUST
R
AZOR.

I don’t trust him because I don’t understand how he can afford to hide out in such nice quarters. An officer’s quarters, in
Vegas
of all places. These rugs are each worth at least 29,000 Notes, made from some sort of expensive synthetic fur. Ten electric lights in one room—all switched on. His uniform is spotless and new. He even has a customized gun hanging on his belt. Stainless steel, probably lightweight, hand embellished. My brother used to have guns like that. Eighteen thousand Notes and up for a single one. What’s more, Razor’s gun must be hacked. No way the Republic is tracking those for fingerprints or locations. Where did the Patriots get the money and skills to hack such advanced equipment?

This all leads me to two theories:

One—Razor must be some sort of commander in the Republic, a double-crossing officer. How else can he stay in this barrack apartment without being detected?

Two—the Patriots are being funded by someone with deep pockets. The Colonies? Possibly.

In spite of all my suspicions and guesses, Razor’s offer is still as good as we’re going to get. We have no money to buy help on the black market, and without help, we have no chance of finding Eden
or
making it to the Colonies. Also, I’m not even sure we
could
have turned down Razor’s offer. He certainly hasn’t threatened us in any way, but I doubt he’d just let us walk back out onto the streets, either.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Day waiting for my response to Razor’s statement. All I need to see are the paleness of his lips and the pain laced across his face, just a few of the dozen signs of his fading strength. At this point, I think his life depends on our deal with Razor.

“Assassinating the new Elector,” I say. “Done.” My words sound foreign and distant. For a moment, I think back on meeting Anden and his late father at the ball celebrating Day’s capture. The thought of killing Anden makes my stomach churn.
He’s the Republic’s
Elector
now.
After everything that’s happened to my family, I should be happy for the opportunity to kill him. But I’m not, and it confuses me.

If Razor notices my hesitation, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he nods approvingly. “I’ll put out an urgent call for a Medic. They probably won’t be able to come until midnight—that’s when the shifts change. It’s the fastest we can be on such a tight schedule. Meanwhile, let’s get you two out of those disguises and into something more presentable.” He glances over at Kaede. She’s leaning against the couch with hunched shoulders and an irritated scowl, chewing absently on a lock of her hair. “Show them to the shower and give them a pair of fresh uniforms. Afterward, we’ll have a late supper, and we can talk more about our plan.” He spreads his arms wide. “Welcome to the Patriots, my young friends. We’re glad to have you.”

And just like that, we’re officially bound to them. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing, either—maybe I never should’ve argued with Day about this in the first place. Kaede motions for us to follow her into an adjoining hall in the apartment and guides us to a spacious bathroom, complete with marble tiles and porcelain sinks, mirror and toilet, bathtub and shower with frosted glass walls. I can’t help admiring it all. This is wealth beyond even what I had in my Ruby sector apartment.

“Don’t be all night about it,” she says. “Take turns—or get cozy and shower together, if that’s faster. Just be back out there in a half hour.” Kaede grins at me (although the smile doesn’t touch her eyes), then gives Day a thumbs-up as he leans heavily on my shoulder. She turns away and disappears back down the hall before I can reply. I don’t think she’s forgiven me entirely for breaking her arm.

Day slouches the instant Kaede’s gone. “Can you help me sit down?” he whispers.

I put the toilet cover down and ease him gently onto it. He stretches out his good leg, then tenses his jaw as he tries to straighten out the injured one. A moan escapes his lips. “I’ve gotta admit,” he mutters, “I’ve had better days.”

“At least Tess is safe,” I reply.

This eases some of the pain in his eyes. “Yes,” he echoes, sighing deeply. “At least Tess is safe.” I feel an unexpected twinge of guilt. Tess’s face had looked so sweet, so wholly
good.
And the two of them were separated because of
me.

Am
I
good? I don’t really know.

I help Day take off his jacket and cap. His long hair drapes in strings across my arms. “Let me see that leg.” I kneel, then pull a knife from my belt. I slice the fabric of his pant leg up to the middle of his thigh. His leg muscles are lean and tense, and my hands tremble as they brush up along his skin. Gingerly, I pull the fabric apart to expose his bandaged wound. We both suck in our breath. The cloth has a massive circle of dark, wet blood, and underneath it, the wound is oozing and swelling. “That Medic better get here soon,” I say. “Are you sure you can shower on your own?”

Day jerks his eyes away, and his cheeks turn red. “Of course I can.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “You can’t even stand.”

“Fine.” He hesitates, then blushes. “I guess I could use some help.”

I swallow. “Well. A bath instead, then. Let’s do what we have to do.”

I start filling up the bathtub with warm water. Then, I take the knife and slowly cut through the blood-soaked bandages wrapped around Day’s wound. We sit there in silence, neither of us meeting the other’s eyes. The wound itself is as bad as ever, a fist-size mass of pulped flesh that Day avoids looking at.

“You
don’t have to do this,” he mutters, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to relax.

“Right.” I give him a wry smile. “I’ll just wait outside the bathroom door and come help after you slip and knock yourself out.”

“No,” Day replies. “I mean, you don’t have to join the Patriots.”

My smile dies. “Well, we don’t have much of a choice, do we? Razor wants both of us on board, or he’s not going to help us at all.”

Day’s hand touches my arm for a second, stopping me in the middle of untying his boots. “What do you think of their plan?”

“Assassinating the new Elector?” I turn away, concentrating on unlacing, then loosening each of his boots as carefully as I can. It’s a question I haven’t figured out yet, so I deflect it. “Well, what do you think? I mean, you go out of your way to avoid hurting people. This must be kind of a shock.”

I’m startled when Day just shrugs. “There’s a time and place for everything.” His voice is cold, harsher than usual. “I never saw the point of killing Republic soldiers. I mean, I hate them, but they’re not the
source.
They just obey their superiors. The Elector, though? I don’t know. Getting rid of the person in charge of this whole goddy system seems like a small price to pay for starting a revolution. Don’t you think?”

I can’t help feeling some admiration for Day’s attitude. What he says makes perfect sense. Still, I wonder if he would’ve said the same thing a few weeks ago, before everything that had happened to his family. I don’t dare mention the time I’d been introduced to Anden at the celebratory ball. It’s harder to reconcile yourself to killing someone who you’ve actually met—and admired—in person. “Well, like I said. We don’t have a choice.”

Day’s lips tighten. He knows I’m not telling him what I really think. “It must be hard for you to turn your back on your Elector,” he says. His hands stay slack beside him.

I keep my head down and start pulling off his boots.

While I put his boots aside, Day shrugs out of his jacket and starts unbuttoning his vest. It reminds me of when I’d first met him back on the streets of Lake. Back then, he would take off his vest every night and give it to Tess to use as a pillow. That was the most I’d ever seen Day undress. Now he unbuttons his collar shirt, exposing the rest of his throat and a sliver of his chest. I see the pendant looped around his neck, the United States quarter dollar covered with smooth metal on both sides. In the quiet dark of the railcar, he’d told me about his father’s bringing it back from the warfront. He pauses when he finishes undoing the last button, then closes his eyes. I can see the pain slashed across his face, and the sight tears at me. The Republic’s most wanted criminal is just a boy, sitting before me, suddenly vulnerable, laying all his weaknesses out for me to see.

I straighten and reach up to his shirt. My hands touch the skin of his shoulders. I try to keep my breathing even, my mind sharp and calculated. But as I help him pull off the shirt and reveal his bare arms and chest, I can feel the corners of my logic growing fuzzy. Day is fit and lean under his clothes, his skin surprisingly smooth except for an occasional scar (he has four faint ones on his chest and waist, another one that’s a thin diagonal line running from left collarbone to right hip bone, and a healing scab on his arm). He holds me with his gaze. It’s hard to describe Day to those who have never seen him before—exotic, unique, overwhelming. He’s very close now, close enough for me to see the tiny rippled imperfection in the ocean of his left eye. His breaths come out hot and shallow. Heat rises on my cheeks, but I don’t want to turn away.

“We’re in this together, right?” he whispers. “You and me? You
want
to be here, yeah?”

There’s guilt in his questions. “Yes,” I reply. “I
chose
this.”

Day pulls me close enough for our noses to touch. “I love you.”

My heart flips in excitement at the desire in his voice—but at the same time, the technical part of my brain instantly flares up.
Highly improbable,
it scoffs.
A month ago, he didn’t even know I existed.
So I blurt out, “No, you don’t. Not yet.”

Day furrows his eyebrows, as if I’d hurt him. “I mean it,” he says against my lips.

I’m helpless against the ache in his voice. But still.
They’re just the words of a boy in the heat of the moment.
I try to force myself to say the same back to him, but the words freeze on my tongue. How can he be so sure of this?
I
certainly don’t understand all these strange new feelings inside me—am I here because I love him, or because I
owe
him?

Day doesn’t wait for my answer. One of his hands trails around my waist and then flattens against my back, pulling me closer so that I’m seated on his good leg. A gasp escapes me. Then he presses his lips against mine, and my mouth parts. His other hand reaches up to touch my face and neck; his fingers are at once coarse and refined. Day slowly moves his lips away to kiss the side of my mouth, then my cheek, then the line of my jaw. My chest is now solidly against his, and my thigh brushes against the soft ridge of his hip bone. I close my eyes. My thoughts feel muffled and distant, hidden behind a shimmery haze of warmth. An undercurrent of practical details in my mind struggles up to the surface.

“Kaede’s been gone for eight minutes,” I breathe through Day’s kisses. “They expect us back out there in twenty-two.”

Day twines his hand through my hair and gently pulls my head back, exposing my neck. “Let them wait,” he murmurs. I feel his lips work softly along the skin of my throat, each kiss rougher than the last, more impatient, more urgent, hungrier. His lips come back up to my mouth, and I can feel the remnants of any self-control slipping away from him, replaced with something instinctive and savage.
I love you,
his lips are trying to convince me. They’re making me so weak that I’m on the verge of collapsing to the floor. I’ve kissed a few boys in the past . . . but Day makes me feel like I’ve never been kissed before. Like the world has melted away into something unimportant.

Suddenly he breaks free and groans softly in pain. I see him squeeze his eyes shut, then take a deep, shuddering breath. My heart is pounding furiously against my ribs. The heat fades between us, and my thoughts snap back into place as I remember with a slow, sinking feeling where we are and what we still need to do. I’d forgotten that the water’s still running—the tub is almost full. I reach over and twist the faucet back. The tiled floor is cold against my knees. I’m tingling all over.

“Ready?” I say, trying to steady myself. Day nods wordlessly. Moment’s over; the brightness in his eyes has dimmed.

I pour some liquid bath gel into the tub and splash the water around until it froths up. Then I get one of the towels hanging in the bathroom and wrap it around Day’s waist. Now for the awkward part. He manages to fumble underneath the towel and loosen his pants, and I help him tug them off. The towel covers everything that needs to be covered, but I still avert my eyes.

I help Day—now wearing nothing except for the towel and his pendant—to his feet, and after some struggling, we manage to get his good leg into the tub so I can lower him gently into the water. I’m careful to keep his bad leg high and dry. Day clenches his jaw to keep from crying out in pain. By the time he settles into the bath, his cheeks are moist from tears.

It takes fifteen minutes to scrub him, and all of his hair, clean. When we’re finished, I help him stand and close my eyes as he grabs a dry towel to wrap around his waist. The thought of opening my eyes right now and seeing him naked before me sends blood coursing fiercely through my veins.
What
does
a naked boy look like, anyway?
I’m annoyed by how obvious the heat of my blush must be. Then the moment’s over; we spend another few minutes struggling to get him out of the tub. When he’s finally done and sitting on the toilet seat cover, I walk over to the bathroom door. I hadn’t noticed before, but someone had opened the door a crack and dropped off a new pair of soldier uniforms for us. Ground battalion uniforms, with Nevada buttons. It’s going to feel weird to be a Republic soldier again. But I bring them inside.