The Legend Trilogy Collection

by Lu, Marie

  First things first. I try to formulate the best way to warn Anden now that we’re finally alone. There’s not much I can safely say. Tell him too much and he might do something that tips off the Patriots. Still, I decide to try my best. At the very least, I need him to trust me without question. I need him behind me when I sabotage the Patriots’ detour.

  “Do you believe in me?” This time I do brush his hand with my own.

  Anden stiffens, but doesn’t pull away. His eyes search my face, perhaps wondering what had gone through my mind when I closed my eyes. “Perhaps I should ask you the same question,” he replies, a hesitant smile on his lips.

  Both of us are speaking on two levels, referring to secrets shared. I nod at him, hoping he’ll take my words seriously. “Then do what I say when we get to Pierra. Promise? Everything I say.”

  He tilts his head, his eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement, then shrugs and nods yes. He seems to understand that I’m trying to tell him something without saying it aloud. When the time comes for the Patriots to act, I hope Anden remembers his promise.

  ME, PASCAO, AND THE OTHER RUNNERS SPEND A full half day aboveground after the train job, huddled in alleys or on top of abandoned roofs, dodging the soldiers that comb the streets near the station. Not until the sun begins to set do we finally get a chance to return, one by one, to the Patriots’ underground quarters. Neither Pascao nor I bring up what happened by the train. Jordan, the shy Runner with the copper braids, asks me twice if I’m okay. I just shrug her off.

  Yeah, something’s wrong. Isn’t that the understatement of the year.

  By the time we make our way back, everyone is getting ready to leave for Pierra—some are destroying documents, while others are wiping the comps clean of data. Pascao’s voice is a welcome distraction.

  “Well done, Day,” he says. He’s sitting at a table against the shelter’s back wall. He opens the side of his jacket, where he’s stashed dozens of packed grenades stolen from the train. He carefully packs each one into a box stacked with empty egg crates. He gestures up at a monitor on the far right of the back wall. It’s showing footage from a large city square, where a group of people have crowded around something spray-painted against the side of a building. “Check it out.”

  I read what the people have painted on the wall. Day lives! is scrawled across the building at least three or four times. The onlookers are cheering—some are even holding handmade signs with the same phrase written on them.

  If my thoughts weren’t on Eden’s whereabouts or June’s cryptic signal or Tess, I would be excited to see what I’ve stirred up.

  “Thanks,” I reply, maybe a little too sharply. “Glad they liked our stunt.”

  Pascao hums cheerfully under his breath, oblivious to my tone. “Go see if you can help Jordan.”

  As I make my way to the hall, I pass Tess. Baxter is walking beside her—it takes me a second to realize that he’s trying to put an arm around her neck and murmur something in her ear. Tess brushes him away when she sees me. I’m about to say something to her when Baxter bumps me hard in the shoulder, hard enough to knock me back a couple of steps and send the cap flying off my head. My hair tumbles down.

  Baxter smirks at me, the black soldier stripe still obscuring most of his face. “Make some room,” he snaps. “Think you own this place?”

  I clench my teeth, but Tess’s wide eyes make me hold back. He’s harmless, I tell myself. “Just get the hell out of my way,” I reply stiffly, turning away.

  Behind me I hear Baxter mutter something under his breath. It’s enough to make me stop and face him again. My eyes narrow. “Say that again.”

  He grins, shoves his hands into his pockets, and lifts his chin. “I said, jealous that your girl’s whoring around with the Elector?”

  I’m almost able to swallow that. Almost. But at that moment, Tess breaks her silence and shoves Baxter with both hands. “Hey,” she says. “Leave him alone, all right? He’s had a rough night.”

  Baxter grunts something in irritation. Then he shoves Tess unceremoniously back. “You’re an idiot for believing in this Republic lover, little girl.”

  My rage explodes. I’ve never been fond of fistfights—I always tried to steer clear of them on the streets of Lake. But all the anger that’s been building inside me floods my veins when I see Baxter lay hands on Tess.

  I lunge forward and punch him in the jaw as hard as I can.

  He crashes into one of the tables and onto the ground. Instantly the others nearby burst into whoops and hollers, forming a makeshift circle around the two of us. Before Baxter can get to his feet, I leap on him. My fist connects twice with his face.

  He lets out a snarl. Suddenly his weight advantage takes over. He pushes me hard enough to send me flying into the side of a comp desk, then pulls me up, grabs my jacket, and slams me against the wall. He lifts me clear off my feet, then drops me and smashes his fist into my stomach, knocking the breath out of me. “You ain’t one of us. You’re one of them,” he hisses. “Did you detour from our train mission on purpose?” I feel a knee ram into my side. “Well, I’m gonna kill you, you dirty damn trot. I’m gonna skin you alive.”

  I’m too furious to feel the pain. I manage to tuck one of my legs up, then kick him in the chest as hard as I can. From the corner of my eye I notice some Patriots quickly exchanging bets. An improvised Skiz duel. For an instant Baxter reminds me of Thomas, and suddenly all I see is my old street in Lake, with Thomas pointing his gun at my mother and soldiers dragging John away into a waiting jeep. Strapping Eden into that lab gurney. Arresting June. Hurting Tess. The edges of my vision turn scarlet. I lunge for him again and swing at his face.

  But Baxter’s ready for me. He knocks my arm out of the way and throws his full weight against me. My back slams down hard on the ground. Baxter grins, then grabs my neck and gets ready to shove his fist into the side of my face.

  Abruptly he lets go. I suck in a deep breath as his weight leaves my chest, then clutch my head as one of my headaches erupts in full-scale agony. Somewhere above me I can hear Tess, then Pascao shouting at Baxter to back off. Everyone’s talking at once. One . . . Two . . . Three . . . I count off numbers in my head, hoping this little exercise distracts me from the pain. It used to be so much easier to ward off these headaches. Maybe Baxter had hit me in the head and I don’t even know it.

  “Are you okay?” Now Tess’s hands are on my arm and pulling me to my feet.

  I’m still dizzy with pain from my headache, but the rage has passed. Abruptly I’m aware of the burning soreness in my side. “Fine,” I reply hoarsely, inspecting her face. “Did he hurt you?” Baxter is glaring at me from where Pascao’s trying to talk him down. Already the others around us have returned to their business, probably disappointed that the fight didn’t last longer. I wonder who they’ve decided the winner is.

  “I’m okay,” Tess says. She runs a hand hurriedly through her bobbed hair. “Don’t worry.”

  “Tess!” Pascao calls out to us. “See if Day needs any patching up. We’re on a schedule here.”

  Tess leads me down the hall and away from the common room. We walk into one of the bunker rooms that’s been turned into a makeshift hospital, then shut the door. We’re surrounded by shelves piled high with an assortment of pill bottles and boxes of bandages. A table sits in the middle of the room, leaving only a narrow space to walk around. Now I lean against the table as Tess rolls up her sleeves. “Do you hurt anywhere?” she asks.

  “I’m fine,” I repeat. But the moment I say that, I wince and clutch at my side. “Okay, maybe a little banged up.”

  “Let me see,” Tess says firmly. She bats my hand aside, then unbuttons my shirt. It’s not like Tess has never seen me shirtless (I’ve lost count of how many times she’s had to patch me up), but now there’s an awkwardness that hangs heavily between us. Her cheeks burn bright pink as she runs her hand across
my chest, along my stomach, then presses her fingers against my sides.

  I inhale sharply when she touches a sensitive spot. “Yeah, that’s where his knee got me.”

  Tess studies my face. “Feel nauseous?”

  “No.”

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” she says as she works. “Say ‘ah.’” I open my mouth for her. She touches a tissue to my nose, inspects both my ears, and then hurries out for a moment. She comes back with an ice pack. “Here. Hold this on the spot.”

  I do what she tells me. “You’ve become very professional.”

  “I’ve learned a lot from the Patriots,” Tess replies. When she stops inspecting my chest long enough to face me, she holds my gaze with her own. “Baxter just doesn’t like your . . . attraction to a former Republic soldier,” she mutters. “But don’t let him get to you like that, okay? No point in getting yourself killed.”

  I remember Baxter’s arm around Tess’s neck; my temper flares again, and suddenly I feel a need to guard Tess the way I did back on the streets. “Hey, cousin,” I say softly. “I’m really sorry about what I said to you. About . . . you know.”

  Tess’s blush deepens.

  I struggle to find the right words. “You don’t need me to take care of you,” I say with an embarrassed laugh, then tap her nose once. “I mean, you’ve probably fussed over me a thousand times. I’ve always needed your help more than you’ve needed mine.”

  Tess draws closer and lowers her eyes shyly, a gesture that helps me forget my troubles. Sometimes I forget how nice Tess’s steady devotion is, a rock I could always lean on during the worst of times. Even though our days in Lake were a struggle, right now they seem so much simpler. I catch myself wishing we could go back to that, sharing scraps of food and whatever else we could scrounge up. If June were here, what would’ve happened? She probably would’ve attacked Baxter herself. And she probably would’ve done a hell of a better job than I did, just like everything else. She wouldn’t have needed me at all.

  Tess’s hand lingers on my chest, but she’s not checking for bruises anymore. I become aware of how close she is. Her eyes wander back up to mine, large and liquid brown . . . and unlike June’s, so easy to read. The image of June kissing the Elector pops into my mind again, a recollection that twists in my stomach like a knife. Before I can think about anything else, Tess leans forward and presses her lips against mine. My mind is blank, completely taken aback. A brief tingle runs through me.

  In my numbness, I let her linger.

  Then I wrench away. My palms break out in a cold sweat. What was that? I should have seen this coming and stopped myself right away. I put my hands on her shoulders. When I see the hurt pass across her eyes, I realize just how big of a mistake I’ve made.

  “I can’t, Tess.”

  Tess blows out an irritated breath. “What, are you married to June now?”

  “No. I just . . .” My words flitter away, sad and powerless. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that—at least, not now.”

  “What about the fact that June is kissing the Elector? What about that? Are you really going to be so loyal to someone you don’t even have?”

  June, always June. I hate her for a moment, and wonder if everything would’ve been better if we’d never met. “This isn’t about June,” I say. “June is playing a role, Tess.” I edge away from Tess until we’re separated by a good foot. “I’m not ready for this to happen between us. You’re my best friend—I don’t want to mislead you when I don’t even know what I’m doing.”

  Tess throws up her hands in indignation. “You kiss random girls on the street without a second thought. But you won’t even—”

  “You’re not a random girl on the street,” I snap. “You’re Tess.”

  Her eyes flash at me and she takes her frustration out on her lip, biting it so hard that she draws blood. “I don’t understand you, Day.” Each word hits me with measured force. “I don’t understand you at all, but I’m going to try to help you anyway. Can you really not see how your precious June has changed your life?”

  I shut my eyes and press both hands against my temples. “Stop.”

  “You think you’re in love with a girl you’ve known for less than a month, a girl who—who’s responsible for your mother’s death? For John’s?”

  Echoes of what she’d said to me in the bunker room. “Damn it, Tess. It wasn’t her fault—”

  “Wasn’t it?” Tess spits out. “Day, they shot your mother because of June! But you act like you love her? I’ve done nothing but help you—I have been at your side ever since the day we met. You think I’m being childish? Well, I don’t care. I’ve never said a word about the other girls you’ve been with, but I can’t bear to watch you choose a girl who has done nothing but hurt you. Has June even apologized to you for what happened, has she had to work for your forgiveness? What’s the matter with you?” At my silence, she puts her hand on my arm. “Well, do you love her?” she says more quietly. “Does she love you?”

  Love her? I’d told her so in that Vegas bathroom, and I’d meant it. But she didn’t say it back, yeah? Maybe she never felt the same way—maybe I’m just deluding myself. “I don’t know, okay?” I reply. My words sound angrier than I actually am.

  Tess is trembling. Now she nods, silently takes the ice pack from my side, and buttons my shirt back up. The chasm between us widens. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to reach the other side again. “You should be fine,” she says in a monotone as she turns her back on me. She stops in front of the door, her back to me. “Trust me, Day. I’m saying this for your sake. June will break your heart. I can see it already. She’ll shatter you into a million pieces.”

  PIERRA’S OLAN COURT HALL.

  SOMETIME AROUND 0900 HOURS.

  29°F OUTSIDE.

  THE DAY HAS FINALLY ARRIVED FOR ANDEN’S ASSASSINATION, and I have three hours before the Patriots make their move.

  The night before, I had another visit from the same guard who had once given me a message from the Patriots. “Good work,” she whispered in my ear as I lay in bed, wide awake. “Tomorrow you’ll be pardoned by the Elector and his Senators, and they’ll release you at Pierra’s Olan Court Hall. Now, listen closely. When you’re all finished at the court hall, the Elector’s jeeps will escort all of you back to Pierra’s main military quarters. The Patriots will be waiting along that route.”

  The soldier paused to see if I had any questions. But I just stared straight ahead. I could guess what the Patriots wanted me to do, anyway—they’ll want me to separate Anden from his guards. Then the Patriots will drag him out of his jeep and shoot him. They’ll record it, then announce it to the whole Republic using the rewired speakers and JumboTrons on Denver’s Capitol Tower.

  When I didn’t say anything, the soldier cleared her throat and went on in a hurried voice, “Watch for an explosion on the road. When you hear it go off, have Anden order his convoy to take a different route. Make sure you separate the Elector from his guards—tell him to trust you. If you’ve done your job, he’ll follow your lead.” The soldier smiled briefly at me. “Once Anden is separated from the other jeeps, leave the rest to us.”

  I spent the rest of that night in a fitful state.

  Now, as I’m escorted into the main court hall building, I check the rooftops and alleys of the other buildings along the street, watching for Patriot eyes, wondering if one pair of them will be bright blue. Day will be amongst the Patriots out here today. Inside my black gloves, my hands are cold with sweat. Even if he saw my signal, will he understand what I meant by it? Will he know to drop what he’s doing and make a run for it? As I head toward the courtroom’s grand arched entrance, I memorize street names and locations out of habit—where the main military base is, where Pierra’s hospital rises in the distance. I feel like I can sense the Patriots getting into position. There’s a stillness in the air, even tho
ugh the buildings here are tightly packed and the streets are narrow; both soldiers and civilians (most of them poor and assigned to tend to the troops) bustle noisily along the roads. Some of the uniformed soldiers on the street look at us a little too long. I note them carefully. There must be Patriots watching us. Even inside the hall, it’s cold enough for my breath to cloud, and I tremble nonstop. (The ceiling’s at least twenty feet high, and the floors are polished synthetic—judging from the sound of boots against it—wood. Not very conducive to retaining heat in winter.)

  “How long is this going to take?” I ask one of the guards as they escort me to my seat at the front of the courtroom. My boots (warm, waterproof leather) echo harshly against the floors. I shiver in spite of the double-breasted coat I have on.

  The guard I spoke to gives me an uncomfortable nod. “Not long, Ms. Iparis,” she replies with practiced politeness. “The Elector and Senators are in final deliberations. Probably going to take at least another half hour.” It’s interesting, really. Because the Elector himself will be pardoning me today, the guards aren’t sure exactly how to behave. Guard me like a criminal? Or kiss up like I’m a high-ranking Agent in one of the capital’s patrols?

  The waiting drags on. I feel slightly dizzy. I’d been given some medicine after finally mentioning my symptoms to Anden earlier in the day, but it hasn’t helped. My head still feels warm, and I’m having trouble keeping count of the time in my head.

  Finally, when I’ve counted off twenty-six minutes (possibly off by three or four seconds), Anden emerges from the doors at the far end of the room with a team of officials behind him. It’s clear that not everyone is happy; some Senators hang back, their mouths pulled into tight lines. I recognize Senator Kamion amongst them, the man Anden had been arguing with on the train here. His graying hair looks disheveled today. Another Senator I remember from occasional headlines, Senator O’Connor, a blubbery woman with limp red hair and a mouth not unlike a frog’s. I don’t know the others. Aside from the Senators, two young journalists flank Anden’s sides. One has his head down, taking dictation furiously on a notepad, while the second struggles to keep his voice recorder close enough to Anden.