The Legend Trilogy Collection (30 page)

Day gives me a weak smile. “Thanks. Feels good to be clean.”

His pain seems to bring back the worst of his memories from the last few weeks, and now all his emotion plays out plainly on his face. His smiles have become half of what they used to be. It’s as if most of his happiness had died the night he lost John, and only a tiny slice of it remains—mostly a piece that he saves for Eden and Tess. I secretly hope he saves a part of his joy for me too. “Turn around and change into your clothes,” I say. “And wait outside the bathroom for me. I’ll be quick.”

*   *   *

We get back to the living room seven minutes late. Razor and Kaede are waiting for us. Tess sits alone on a corner of the couch, her legs folded up to her chin, watching us with a guarded expression. An instant later, I smell the aromas of baked chicken and potatoes. My eyes dart to the dining room table where four dishes loaded with food sit neatly, beckoning to us. I try not to react to the smell, but my stomach rumbles.

“Excellent,” Razor says, smiling at us. He lets his eyes linger on me. “You two clean up nicely.” Then he turns to Day and shakes his head. “We arranged for some food to be brought up, but since you’re having surgery within the next few hours, you’re going to have to keep your stomach empty. I’m sorry—I know you must be hungry. June, please help yourself.”

Day’s eyes are also fixed on the food. “That’s just great,” he mutters.

I join the others at the table while Day stretches out on the couch and makes himself as comfortable as he can. I’m about to pick up my plate and sit next to him, but Tess beats me to it, seating herself on the edge of the couch so her back touches Day’s side. As Razor, Kaede, and I eat in silence at the table, I occasionally steal glances at the couch. Day and Tess talk and laugh with the ease of two people who have known each other for years. I concentrate on my food, the heat of our bathroom encounter still burning on my lips.

I’ve counted off five minutes in my head when Razor finally takes a sip of his drink and leans back. I watch him closely, still wondering why one of the Patriots’ leaders—the head of a group that I’d always associated with savagery—is so polite. “Ms. Iparis,” he says. “How much do you know about our new Elector?”

I shake my head. “Not much, I’m afraid.” Beside me, Kaede snorts and continues digging into her dinner.

“You’ve met him before, though,” Razor says, revealing what I’d hoped to keep from Day. “That night at the ball, the one held to celebrate Day’s capture? He kissed your hand. Correct?” Day pauses in his conversation with Tess. I cringe inwardly.

Razor doesn’t seem to notice my discomfort. “Anden Stavropoulos is an interesting young man,” he says. “The late Elector loved him a great deal. Now that Anden is Elector, the Senators are uneasy. The people are angry, and they couldn’t care less if Anden is different from the last Elector. No matter what speeches Anden gives to please them, all they’re going to see is a wealthy man who has no idea how to heal their suffering. They’re furious with Anden for letting Day’s execution go through, for hunting him down, for not saying a word against his father’s policies, for putting a price on finding June . . . the list goes on. The late Elector had an iron grip on the military. Now the people just see a boy king who has the chance to rise up and become another version of his father. These are the weaknesses we want to exploit, and this brings us to the plan we currently have in mind.”

“You seem to know a great deal about the young Elector. You also seem to know a great deal about what happened at the celebratory ball,” I reply. I can’t hold in my suspicion any longer. “I suppose that’s because you were also a guest that night. You must be a Republic officer—but without a rank high enough to get you an audience with the Elector.” I study the room’s rich velvet carpets and granite counters. “These are your
actual
office quarters, aren’t they?”

Razor seems a little put off by my criticism of his rank (which, as usual, is a fact that I hadn’t meant as an insult), but quickly brushes it off with a laugh. “I can see there’ll be no secrets with you. Special girl. Well, my official title is Commander Andrew DeSoto, and I run three of the capital’s city patrols. The Patriots gave me my street name. I’ve been organizing most of their missions for a little over a decade.”

Day and Tess are both listening intently now. “You’re a Republic officer,” Day echoes uncertainly, his eyes glued to Razor. “A commander from the capital. Hm.
Why
are you helping the Patriots?”

Razor nods, resting both of his elbows on the dinner table and pressing his hands together. “I suppose I should start by giving you both some details about how we work. The Patriots have been around for thirty or so years—they started as a loose collection of rebels. Within the last fifteen years, they’ve banded together in an attempt to organize themselves and their cause.”

“Razor’s coming changed everything, so I hear,” Kaede pipes up. “They’d rotated through leaders all the time, and funding had always been a problem. Razor’s connections to the Colonies have been bringing in more money for missions than ever before.”

Metias
had
been busier over the last couple of years in dealing with Patriot attacks in Los Angeles, I recall.

Razor nods at Kaede’s words. “We’re fighting to reunite the Colonies and the Republic, to return the United States to its former glory.” His eyes take on a determined gleam. “And we’re willing to do whatever it takes to achieve our goal.”

The old United States,
I think, as Razor continues. Day had mentioned the United States to me during our escape from Los Angeles, although I was still skeptical. Until now. “How does the organization work?” I ask.

“We keep an eye out for people who have the talents and skills we need, and then we try to recruit them,” Razor says. “
Usually
we’re good at getting people on board, although some people take longer than others.” He pauses to tip his glass in Day’s direction. “I am considered a Leader in the Patriots—there are only a few of us, working from the inside and architecting the rebels’ missions. Kaede here is a Pilot.” Kaede waves a hand around as she continues to inhale her food. “She joined us after she was expelled from an Airship Academy in the Colonies. Day’s surgeon is a Medic, and young Tess here is a Medic in training. We also have Fighters, Runners, Scouts, Hackers, Escorts, and so on. I would place you as a Fighter, June, although your abilities seem to cross into several categories. And Day, of course, is the best Runner I’ve ever seen.” Razor smiles a little and finishes his drink. “The two of you should technically be a new category altogether. Celebrities. That’s how you’re going to be most useful to us, and that’s why I didn’t throw you both back out on the street.”

“So kind of you,” Day says. “What’s the plan?”

Razor points at me. “Earlier, I asked you how much you knew about our Elector. I heard a few rumors today. They say Anden was quite taken with you at the ball. Someone heard him asking if you could be transferred to a patrol in the capital. There’s even a rumor that he wanted you tapped to train as the Senate’s next Princeps.”

“The next Princeps?” I shake my head automatically, overwhelmed with the idea. “Probably nothing more than a rumor. Even ten years of training wouldn’t be enough to prepare me for that.” Razor just laughs at my declaration.

“What’s a Princeps?” Day speaks up. He sounds annoyed. “Some of us aren’t versed in the Republic’s hierarchy.”

“The leader of the Senate,” Razor replies casually, without turning in his direction. “The Elector’s shadow. His, or her, partner in command—and sometimes
more
. It frequently turns out that way in the end, after a requisite decade of training. Anden’s mother was the last Princeps, after all.”

I glance instinctively toward Day. His jaw is tight and he’s holding very still, little signs that say that he’d rather not be hearing what the Elector thinks of me or that he might want me as a future
partner.
I clear my throat. “Those rumors are exaggerated,” I insist again, just as uncomfortable as Day is with this conversation. “Even if that
were
true, I’d still be one of several Princeps-in-training, and I can guarantee you that their other choices would be experienced Senators. But how are you planning to use that information in your assassination? Do you think I’m going to—”

Kaede breaks through my words with a loud laugh. “You’re blushing, Iparis,” she says. “Do you like the idea that Anden’s crushin’ on you?”

“No!” I say, a bit too quickly. Now I feel the heat rising on my face, although I’m pretty sure it’s because Kaede is irritating me.

“Don’t be so goddy arrogant,” she says. “Anden is a handsome guy with a lot of power and a lot of options. It’s okay to feel flattered. I’m sure Day understands.”

Razor saves me from responding by frowning in disapproval. “Kaede. Please.” She makes a pouty face at him and returns to her meal. I glance at the couch. Day is staring up at the ceiling. After a short pause, Razor goes on. “Even now, Anden can’t be sure that you did everything against the Republic on
purpose.
For all he knows, you may have been taken hostage when Day escaped. Or forced to join Day against your will. There’s enough uncertainty for him to insist that the government list you as a missing person instead of a wanted traitor. My point is this: Anden is interested in you, and that means he can be influenced by what you tell him.”

“So you want me to go back to the Republic?” I say. My words seem to echo. From the corner of my eye, I see Tess shift unhappily on the couch. Her mouth quivers with some unspoken phrase.

Razor nods. “Exactly. Originally, I was going to use spies from my own Republic patrols to get close to Anden—but now we have a better alternative.
You.
You tell the Elector that the Patriots are going to try to kill him—but the plan you tell him about will be a decoy. While everyone’s distracted with the fake plan, we’ll strike with the real one. Our goal is not only to kill Anden, but to turn the country completely against him, so that his regime will be doomed even if our plan fails. That’s what you two can do for us. Now, we’ve heard reports that the new Elector is going to be heading for the warfront within the next couple of weeks, to get updates and progress reports from his colonels. The RS
Dynasty
airship launches toward the warfront early tomorrow afternoon, and all of my squadrons will be on it. Day will join me, Kaede, and Tess on that ride. We’ll organize the real assassination, and you’ll lead Anden to it.” Razor crosses his arms and studies our faces, waiting for our reactions.

Day finally finds his voice and interrupts him. “This is going to be incredibly dangerous for June,” he argues as he props himself up straighter on the couch. “How can you be sure she’ll even reach the Elector after the military gets her back? How do you know they won’t just start torturing information out of her?”

“Trust me, I know how to avoid that,” Razor replies. “I haven’t forgotten about your brother, either . . . If June can get close enough to the Elector, she may find out where Eden is on her own.”

Day’s eyes light up at that, and Tess squeezes his shoulder.

“As for you, Day, I’ve never seen the public rally behind
anyone
the way they have for you. Did you know that streaking your hair red has become a fashion statement overnight?” Razor chuckles and waves a hand at Day’s head. “That’s power. Right now, you probably have just as much influence as the Elector. Maybe more. If we can find a way to use your fame to work the people up into a frenzy, by the time the assassination happens, Congress will be powerless to stop a revolution.”

“And what do you plan to
do
with that revolution?” Day asks.

Razor leans forward, and his face turns determined, even hopeful. “You want to know why I joined the Patriots? For the same reasons
you’ve
been working against the Republic. The Patriots know how you’ve suffered—we’ve all seen the sacrifices you’ve made for your family, the pain the Republic has caused you. June,” Razor says, nodding at me. I cringe; I don’t want a reminder of what happened to Metias. “I have seen your suffering too. Your whole family destroyed by the nation you once loved. I’ve lost count of the number of Patriots who have come from similar circumstances.”

Day turns his stare back up at the ceiling at the mention of his family. His eyes stay dry, but when Tess reaches out and grabs his hand, he tightens his fingers around hers.

“The world outside of the Republic isn’t perfect, but freedoms and opportunities
do
exist out there, and all we need to do is let that light shine into the Republic itself. Our country is on the brink—all it needs now is a hand to tip it over.” He rises halfway off his chair and points at his chest. “
We
can be that hand. With a revolution, the Republic comes crashing down, and together with the Colonies we can take it and rebuild it into something great. It’ll be the United States again. People will live freely. Day, your little brother will grow up in a better place. That’s worth risking our lives for. That’s worth
dying
for. Isn’t it?”

I can tell Razor’s words are stirring something in Day, coaxing out a gleam in his eyes that takes me aback with its intensity. “Something worth dying for,” Day repeats.

I should be excited too. But somehow,
still,
the thought of the Republic crashing down sends a pulse of nausea through me. I don’t know if it’s brainwashing, years of Republic doctrine drilled into my brain. The feeling lingers, though, along with a flood of shame and self-hate.

Everything I am familiar with is gone.

THE MEDIC SHOWS UP IN A QUIET FLURRY SOMETIME after midnight. She preps me. Razor drags a table from the living room to one of the smaller bedrooms, where boxes of random supplies—food, nails, paper clips, canteens of water, you name it, they got it—are stacked in the corners. She and Kaede lay a sheet of thick plastic under the table. They strap me down to the table with a series of belts. The Medic carefully prepares her metal instruments. My leg lies exposed and bleeding. June stays by my side while they do all this, watching the Medic as if her supervision alone will ensure that the woman makes no mistakes. I wait impatiently. Every moment that passes brings us closer to finding Eden. Razor’s words stir me each time I think about them. Dunno—maybe I should’ve joined the Patriots years ago.

Tess bustles efficiently about the room as the Medic’s assistant, putting gloves on her hands after scrubbing up, handing her supplies, watching the process intently when there’s nothing for her to do. She manages to avoid June. I can tell by Tess’s expression that she’s nervous as hell, but she doesn’t utter a word about it. The two of us had chatted with each other pretty easily during dinner, when she’d sat on the couch beside me—but something has changed between us. I can’t quite put my finger on it. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that Tess was
into
me. But it’s such a weird thought, I quickly push it away.
Tess,
who’s practically my sister, the little orphan girl from Nima sector?

Except she’s
not
just a little orphan girl anymore. Now I can see distinct signs of adulthood on her face: less baby fat, high cheekbones, eyes that don’t seem quite as enormous as I remember. I wonder why I never noticed these changes before. It only took a few weeks of separation to become obvious. I must be dense as a goddy brick, yeah?

“Breathe,” June says beside me. She sucks in a lungful of air as if to demonstrate how it’s done.

I stop puzzling over Tess and realize that I’ve been holding my breath. “Do you know how long it’ll take?” I ask June. She pats my hand soothingly at the tension in my tone, and I feel a pinch of guilt. If it wasn’t for me, she’d still be on her way to the Colonies right now.

“A few hours.” June pauses as Razor takes the Medic aside. Money exchanges hands—they shake on it. Tess helps the Medic put on a mask, then gives me a thumbs-up. June turns back to me.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d met the Elector before?” I whisper. “You always talked about him like he was a complete stranger.”

“He
is
a complete stranger,” June replies. She waits for a while, like she’s double-checking her words. “I just didn’t see the point in telling you—I don’t
know
him, and I don’t have any particular feelings toward him.”

I think back to our kiss in the bathroom. Then I picture the new Elector’s portrait and imagine an older June standing beside him as the future Princeps of the Senate. On the arm of the wealthiest man in the Republic. And what am I, some dirty street con with two Notes in his pocket, thinking I’ll actually be able to hang on to this girl after spending a few weeks with her? Besides, have I already forgotten that June once belonged to an elite family—that she was mingling with people like the young Elector at fancy dinner parties and banquets back when I was still hunting for food in Lake’s trash bins? And this is the
first
time I’ve pictured her with upper-class men? I suddenly feel so stupid for telling her that I love her, as if I’d be able to make her love me in return like some common girl from the streets.
She didn’t say it back, anyway.

Why do I even care? It shouldn’t hurt this much. Should it? Don’t I have more important stuff to worry about?

The Medic walks over to me. June squeezes my hand; I’m reluctant to let go. She
is
from a different world, but she gave it all up for me. Sometimes I take this for granted, and then I wonder how I have the nerve to doubt her, when she’s so willing to put herself in danger for my sake. She could easily leave me behind. But she doesn’t.
I chose this,
she’d told me.

“Thanks,” I say to her. It’s all I can manage.

June studies me, then gives me a light kiss on the lips. “It’ll all be over before you know it, and then you’ll be able to scale buildings and run walls as fast as you ever did.” She lingers for a moment, then stands up and nods to the Medic and Tess. Then she’s gone.

I close my eyes and take a shuddering breath as the Medic approaches. From this angle, I can’t see Tess at all. Well, whatever this’ll feel like, it can’t be as bad as getting shot in the leg. Right?

The Medic covers my mouth with a damp cloth. I drift away into a long, dark tunnel.

*   *   *

Sparks. Memories from some faraway place.

I’m sitting with John at our little living room table, both of us illuminated by the unsteady light of three candles. I’m nine. He’s fourteen. The table is as wobbly as it’s ever been—one of the legs is rotting away, and every other month or so, we try to extend its life by nailing more slabs of cardboard to it. John has a thick book open before him. His eyebrows are scrunched together in concentration. He reads another line, stumbles on two of the words, then patiently moves on to the next.

“You look really tired,” I say. “You should probably go to bed. Mom’s going to be mad if she sees you’re still up.”

“We’ll finish this page,” John murmurs, only half listening. “Unless
you
need to go to bed.”

That makes me sit up straighter. “I’m not tired,” I insist.

We both hunch over the pages again, and John reads the next line out loud. “‘In Denver,’” he says slowly, “‘after the . . . completion . . . of the northern Wall, the Elector Primo . . . officially . . . officially . . .’”

“‘Deemed,’” I say, helping him along.

“‘Deemed . . . it a crime . . .’” John pauses here for a few seconds, then shakes his head and sighs.

“‘Against,’” I say.

John frowns at the page. “Are you sure? Can’t be the right word. Okay then. ‘Against. Against the state to enter the . . .’” John stops, leans back in his chair, and rubs at his eyes. “You’re right, Danny,” he whispers. “Maybe I should go to bed.”

“What’s the matter?”

“The letters keep smearing on the page.” John sighs and taps a finger against the paper. “It’s making me dizzy.”

“Come on. We’ll stop after this line.” I point to the line where he had paused, then find the word that was giving him trouble. “‘Capital,’” I say. “‘A crime against the state to enter the capital without first obtaining official military clearance.’”

John smiles a little as I read the sentence to him without a hitch. “You’ll do just fine on your Trials,” he says when I finish. “You and Eden both. If
I
squeaked by, I know
you’ll
pass with flying colors. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, kid.”

I shrug off his praise. “I’m not
that
excited about high school.”

“You should be. At least you’ll get a chance to go. And if you do well enough, the Republic might even assign you to a college and put you in the military. That’s something to be excited about, right?”

Suddenly there’s pounding on our front door. I jump. John pushes me behind him. “Who is it?” he calls out. The knocking gets louder until I cover my ears to block out the noise. Mom comes out into the living room, holding a sleepy Eden in her arms, and asks us what’s going on. John takes a step forward as if to open the door—but before he can, the door swings open and a patrol of armed street police barge in. Standing in front is a girl with a long dark ponytail and a gold glint in her black eyes. Her name is June.

“You’re under arrest,” she says, “for the assassination of our glorious Elector.”

She lifts her gun and shoots John. Then she shoots Mom. I’m screaming at the top of my lungs, screaming so hard that my vocal cords snap. Everything goes black.

A jolt of pain runs through me. Now I’m ten. I’m back in the Los Angeles Central Hospital’s lab, locked away with who knows how many others, all strapped to separate gurneys, blinded by fluorescent lights. Doctors with face masks hover over me. I squint up at them.
Why are they keeping me awake?
The lights are so bright—I feel . . . slow, my mind dragging through a sea of haze.

I see the scalpels in their hands. A mess of mumbled words passes between them. Then I feel something cold and metallic against my knee, and the next thing I know, I arch my back and try to shriek. No sound comes out. I want to tell them to stop cutting my knee, but then something pierces the back of my head and pain explodes my thoughts away. My vision tunnels into blinding white.

Then I’m opening my eyes and I’m lying in a dim basement that feels uncomfortably warm. I’m alive by some crazy accident. The pain in my knee makes me want to cry, but I know I have to stay silent. I can see dark shapes around me, most of them laid out on the ground and unmoving, while adults in lab coats walk around, inspecting the bundles on the floor. I wait quietly, lying there with my eyes closed into tiny slits, until those walking leave the chamber. Then I push myself up onto my feet and tear off a pant leg to tie around my bleeding knee. I stumble through the darkness and feel along the walls until I find a door that leads outside, then drag myself into a back alley. I walk out into the light, and this time June is there, composed and unafraid, holding her cool hand out to help me.

“Come on,” she whispers, putting her arm around my waist. I hold her close. “We’re in this together, right? You and me?” We walk to the road and leave the hospital lab behind.

But the people on the street all have Eden’s white-blond curls, each with a scarlet streak of blood cutting through the strands. Every door we pass has a large, spray-painted red
X
with a line drawn through its center. That means everybody here has the plague. A mutant plague. We wander down the streets for what seems like days, through air thick as molasses. I’m searching for my mother’s house. Far in the distance, I can see the glistening cities of the Colonies beckoning to me, the promise of a better world and a better life. I’m going to take John and Mom and Eden there, and we’ll be free from the clutches of the Republic at last.

Finally, we reach my mother’s door, but when I push it open, the living room is empty. My mother isn’t there. John is gone.
The soldiers shot him,
I remember abruptly. I glance to my side, but June has vanished, and I’m alone in the doorway. Only Eden’s left . . . he’s lying in bed. When I get close enough for him to hear me coming, he opens his eyes and holds his hands out to me.

But his eyes aren’t blue. They’re black, because his irises are bleeding.

*   *   *

I come to slowly, very slowly, out of the darkness. The base of my neck pulses the way it does when I’m recovering from one of my headaches. I know I’ve been dreaming, but all I remember is a lingering feeling of dread, of something horrible lurking right behind a locked door. A pillow is wedged under my head. A tube pokes out of my arm and runs along the floor. Everything’s out of focus. I struggle to sharpen my vision, but all I can see is the edge of a bed and a carpet on the floor and a girl sitting there with her head resting on the bed. At least, I
think
it’s a girl. For an instant I think it might be Eden, that somehow the Patriots rescued him and brought him here.

The figure stirs. Now I see that it’s Tess.

“Hey,” I murmur. The word slurs out of my mouth. “What’s up? Where’s June?”

Tess grabs my hand and stands up, stumbling over her reply in her rush. “You’re awake,” she says. “You’re—how are you feeling?”

“Slow.” I try to touch her face. I’m still not entirely convinced that she’s real.

Tess checks behind her at the bedroom door to make sure no one else is there. She holds up a finger to her lips. “Don’t worry,” she says quietly. “You won’t feel slow for long. The Medic seemed pretty happy. Soon you’ll be better than new and we can head for the warfront to kill the Elector.”

It’s jarring to hear the word
kill
come so smoothly out of Tess’s mouth. Then, an instant later, I realize that my leg doesn’t hurt—not even the smallest bit. I try to prop myself up to see, and Tess pushes the pillows up behind my back so I can sit. I glance down at my leg, almost afraid to look.

Tess sits beside me and unwraps the white bandages that cover the area where the wound was. Under the gauze are smooth plates of steel, a mechanical knee where my bad one used to be, and metal sheets that cover half my upper thigh. I gape at it. The parts where metal meets flesh on my thigh and calf feel molded tightly together, but only small bits of redness and swelling line the edges. My vision swims.

Tess’s fingers drum expectantly against my blankets, and she bites her round upper lip. “Well? How does it feel?”

“It feels like . . . nothing. It’s not painful at all.” I run a tentative finger over the cool metal, trying to get used to the foreign parts embedded in my leg. “She did all this? When can I walk again? Has it really healed
this
quickly?”

Tess puffs up a little with pride. “I helped the Medic. You’re not supposed to move around much over the next twelve hours. To let the healing salves settle and do their work.” Tess grins and the smile crinkles up her eyes in a familiar way. “It’s a standard operation for injured warfront soldiers. Pretty awesome, yeah? You should be able to use it like a regular leg after that, maybe even better. The doctor I helped is really famous from the warfront hospitals, but she also does black-market work on the side, which is lucky. While she was here, she showed me how to reset Kaede’s broken arm too, so it’d heal faster.”