The Legend Trilogy Collection

by Lu, Marie

  What happens now? Where do we go from here?

  2012 hours. Day’s late. I keep my eyes glued to the door, unable to do anything else, afraid I’ll miss him if I blink.

  2015 hours. A soft bell echoes through the apartment. Ollie stirs, perks up his ears, and whines. He’s here. I practically leap off the couch. Day is so light on his feet that even my dog can’t hear him walking down the hall outside.

  I open the door—then freeze. The hello I’d prepared halts in my throat. Day is standing before me, hands in his pockets, breathtaking in a brand-new Republic uniform (black, with dark gray stripes running down the sides of his trousers and around the bottoms of his sleeves, a thick diagonal collar on his military coat that’s cut in the style of Denver’s capital troops, and elegant white neoprene gloves that I can see peeking out from his trouser pockets, each decorated with a thin gold chain). His hair spills past his shoulders in a shining sheet and is sprinkled with the delicate spring snow falling outside. His eyes are bright, startlingly blue, and lovely; a few snowflakes glimmer on the long lashes that fringe them. I can hardly bear the sight. Only now do I realize that I’ve never actually seen him dressed up in any kind of formal attire, let alone formal soldier attire. I hadn’t thought to prepare myself for a vision like this, for what his beauty might look like under circumstances that would actually show it off.

  Day notices my expression and offers me a wry grin. “It was for a quick photo,” he says, pointing at his outfit, “of me shaking hands with the Elector. Not my choice. Obviously. I better not regret throwing my support behind this guy.”

  “Evaded the crowds gathered outside your place?” I finally say. I compose myself long enough to quirk my lips into a return smile. “Rumor has it that people are calling for you to be the new Elector.”

  He scowls in exasperation and makes a grumpy sound. “Day for Elector? Right. I don’t even like the Republic yet. That’ll take some getting used to. Now, the evading I can do. I’d rather not face people right now.” I hear a hint of sadness there, something that tells me he did indeed visit Kaede’s grave. He clears his throat when he notices me studying him, then hands me a small velvet box. There’s a polite distance in his gesture that puzzles me. “Picked it up on my way here. For you, sweetheart.”

  A small murmur of surprise escapes me. “Thanks.” I take the box gingerly, admiring it for a moment, and then tilt my head at him. “What’s the occasion?”

  Day tucks his hair behind one ear and tries to appear uncaring. “Just thought it looked pretty.”

  I open the box carefully, then take a sharp breath when I see what’s inside—a silver chain with a small teardrop-shaped ruby pendant bordered with tiny diamonds. Three slender silver wires are wrapped around the ruby itself. “It’s . . . gorgeous,” I say. My cheeks burn. “This must have been so expensive.” Since when did I start using cordial social niceties when talking to Day?

  He shakes his head. “Apparently the Republic is throwing money at me to keep me happy. Ruby’s your birthstone, yeah? Well, I just figured you should have a nicer keepsake from me than a ring made out of goddy paper clips.” He pats Ollie on the head, then makes a show of admiring my apartment. “Nice place. A lot like mine.” Day’s been given a similar, heavily guarded apartment a couple of blocks down the same street.

  “Thank you,” I say again, gingerly setting the box on my kitchen counter for the time being. Then I wink at him. “I still liked my paper clip ring best, though.”

  For a split second, happiness crosses his face. I want to throw my arms around him and pull his lips to my own, but—there’s a weight to his posture that makes me feel like I should keep my distance.

  I venture a hesitant guess at what’s bothering him. “How’s Eden?”

  “He’s doing well enough.” Day gazes around the room one more time, then lets his eyes settle on me again. “All things considered, of course.”

  I lower my head. “I’m . . . sorry to hear about his vision. He’s—”

  “He’s alive,” Day cuts me off gently. “I’m happy enough about that.” I nod in awkward agreement, and we lapse into a long pause.

  Finally, I say, “You wanted to talk.”

  “Yes.” Day looks down, fidgets with his gloves, then shoves his hands into his pockets. “I heard about the promotion Anden offered you.”

  I turn away and sit on my couch. It hasn’t even been forty-eight hours and already I’ve seen the news pop up twice on the city’s JumboTrons:

  JUNE IPARIS TAPPED TO TRAIN FOR PRINCEPS POSITION

  I should be happy that Day’s the one who brought it up—I’d been trying to figure out a good way to approach the subject, and now I don’t have to. Still, my pulse quickens and I find myself feeling as nervous as I feared. Maybe he’s upset that I didn’t mention it right away. “How much have you already heard?” I ask as he comes over to sit beside me. His knee gently grazes my thigh. Even this light touch sends butterflies dancing in my stomach. I glance at his face to see if he did it on purpose, but Day’s lips are drawn into an uncomfortable line, as if he knows where he’s going to take this conversation but doesn’t want to do it.

  “I heard through the grapevine that you’d have to shadow Anden’s every step, yeah? You’d train to become his Princeps. That all true?”

  I sigh, slump my shoulders, and let my head sink into my hands. Hearing Day say this makes me feel the gravity of the commitment I’d have to make. Of course I understand the practical reasons why Anden would tap me for this—I hope I am someone who can help transform the Republic. All of my military training, everything Metias ever told me—I know I’m a good fit for the Republic’s government. But . . . “Yes, all true,” I reply, then add hastily, “It’s not a marriage proposal—nothing like that. It’s a professional position, and I’d be one of several competing for the position. But it’d mean weeks . . . well . . . months away at a time. Away from . . .” Away from you, I want to say. But it sounds too cheesy, and I decide not to finish the sentence. Instead, I give him all the details that have been running through my mind. I tell him about the grueling schedule of a Princeps-Elect, how I’d plan to give myself breathing room if I were to agree to it all, that I’m unsure how much of myself I want to give to the Republic. After a while I know I’ve started rambling, but it feels so good to get everything off my chest, to bare my troubles to the boy I care about, that I don’t try to stop myself. If anyone in my life deserves to hear everything, it’s Day.

  “I don’t know what to tell Anden,” I finish. “He hasn’t pressured me, but I need to give him an answer soon.”

  Day doesn’t reply. My flood of words hangs in the silence between us. I can’t describe the emotion on his face—something lost, something ripped from his gaze and strewn across the floor. A deep, quiet sadness that tears me apart. What’s going through Day’s mind? Does he believe me? Does he think, like I did when I first heard it, that Anden is offering this because of a personal interest in me? Is he sad because it would mean ten years of barely seeing each other? I watch him and wait, trying to anticipate what he’ll say. Of course he’s going to be unhappy with the idea, of course he’ll protest. I’m not happy myself with—

  Day suddenly speaks up. “Take the offer,” he murmurs.

  I lean toward him, because I don’t think I heard him correctly. “What?”

  Day studies me carefully. His hand twitches a little, as if he wants to lift it and touch my cheek. Instead, it stays at his side. “I came here to tell you to take his offer,” he repeats softly.

  I blink. My throat hurts; my vision swims in a haze of light. That can’t be the right response—I had expected a dozen different answers from Day except for that one. Or perhaps it’s not his answer that shocks me so much as the way he said it. Like he’s letting go. I stare at him for a moment, wondering if I’ve imagined it. But his expression—sad, distant—stays the same. I turn away and
shift to the edge of the couch, and through the numbness in my mind I can only remember to whisper, “Why?”

  “Why not?” Day asks. His voice is detached, crumpled like a dead flower.

  I don’t understand. Maybe he’s being sarcastic. Or maybe he’s going to say that he still wants to find a way to be together. But he doesn’t add anything else to his answer. Why would he ask me to accept this offer? I’d thought he would be so happy that all this was finally over, that we could try our hand at some semblance of normal life again, whatever that is. It’d be so easy for me to figure out some compromise with Anden’s offer, or even to just turn it down altogether. Why didn’t he suggest that? I thought Day was the more emotional of the two of us.

  Day smiles bitterly when I don’t respond right away. We sit with our hands separated, letting the world hang heavily between us, hearing the seconds tick soundlessly by. After a few minutes, he takes a deep breath and says, “I, ah . . . have something else I should tell you too.”

  I nod quietly, waiting for him to continue. Afraid of what he’ll say. Afraid he’ll explain why.

  He hesitates for a long time, but when he does speak, he shakes his head and gives me a tragic little laugh. I can tell he’s changed his mind, taking a secret and folding it back into his heart. “You know, sometimes I wonder what things would be like if I just . . . met you one day. Like normal people do. If I just walked by you on some street one sunny morning and thought you were cute, stopped, shook your hand, and said, ‘Hi, I’m Daniel.’”

  I close my eyes at such a sweet thought. How freeing that would be. How easy. “If only,” I whisper.

  Day picks at the gold chain on his glove. “Anden is the Elector Primo of the entire Republic. There might never be another chance like this.”

  I know what he’s trying to say. “Don’t worry, it’s not like I can’t influence the Republic if I turn this offer down, or find some middle ground. This is not the only way—”

  “Hear me out, June,” he says softly, holding up both hands to stop me. “I don’t know if I’ll have the guts to say all this again.” I tremble at the way his lips form my name. He gives me a smile that shatters something inside me. I don’t know why, but his expression is as if he were seeing me for the last time. “Come on, you and I both know what needs to happen. We’ve only known each other for a couple of months. But I’ve spent my entire life fighting the system that the Elector now wants to change. And you . . . well, your family suffered as much as mine did.” He pauses, and his eyes take on a faraway appearance. “I might be okay at spewing speeches from the top of a building, and at working a crowd. I don’t know anything about politics. I can only be a figurehead. But you . . . you’ve always been everything that the people need. You have the chance to change things.” He takes my hand and touches the spot on my finger where his ring used to sit. I feel the calluses on his palms, the aching gentleness of his gesture. “It’s your decision, of course, but you know what it has to be. Don’t make up your mind just because you feel guilty or something. Don’t worry about me. I know that’s why you’re holding back—I can see it on your face.”

  Still, I say nothing. What is he talking about? See what on my face? What do I look like right now?

  Day sighs at my silence. His face is unbearable. “June,” he says slowly. Behind his words, his voice sounds like it might break at any moment. “It will never, ever work out between us.”

  And here is the real reason why. I shake my head, unwilling to hear the rest. Not this. Please don’t say it, Day, please don’t say it. “We’ll figure out a way,” I begin to say. The details come pouring out. “I can work in the capital’s patrols for a while. That would be a more feasible option, anyway. Shadow a Senator, if I really want to go into politics. Twelve of the Senators—”

  Day can’t even look at me. “We weren’t meant to be. There are just . . . too many things that have happened.” He grows quieter. “Too many things.”

  The weight of it hits me. This has nothing to do with the Princeps position, and everything to do with something else. Day would be saying all this even if Anden never offered anything. Our argument in the underground tunnel. I want to say how wrong he is, but I can’t even argue his point. Because he’s right. How could I possibly think that we’d never suffer the consequences of what I’d done to him? How could I be so arrogant to assume it would all work out for us in the end, that my doing a couple of good deeds could make up for all the pain I caused him? The truth will never change. No matter how hard he tries, every time he looks at me, he’ll see what happened to his family. He’ll see what I did. It will always haunt him; it will forever stand between us.

  I need to let him go.

  I can feel the tears threatening to spill from my eyes, but I don’t dare let them fall. “So,” I whisper, my voice trembling from the effort. “Is that it? After everything?” Even as I say it, I know there’s no point. The damage has already been done. There is no turning back.

  Day hunches over and presses his hands against his eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

  Long seconds pass.

  After an eternity, I swallow hard. I will not cry. Love is illogical, love has consequences—I did this to myself, and I should be able to take it. So take it, June. I am the one who should be sorry. Finally, instead of saying what I want to say, I manage to wrestle down the tremor in my voice and give a more appropriate answer. What I should say.

  “I’ll let Anden know.”

  Day runs a hand through his hair, opens his mouth to say something, and closes it again. I can tell there’s another part of this whole scenario that he’s not telling me, but I don’t press it. It wouldn’t make a difference, anyway—there are already enough reasons why we weren’t meant to be. His eyes catch the moonlight spilling in from the windows. Another moment passes between us, filled with nothing but the whisper of breathing. “Well, I—” His voice cracks, and he clenches his hands into fists. He stays there for a second, steeling himself. “I should let you get some sleep. You must be tired.” He rises and straightens his coat. We exchange a final, parting nod. Then he gives me a polite bow, turns around, and starts walking away. “Good night, June.”

  My heart is ripped open, shredded, leaking blood. I can’t let him leave like this. We’ve been through too much to turn into strangers. A farewell between us should be more than a polite bow. Suddenly I find my feet and rush toward him right as he reaches the door. “Day, wait—”

  He spins around. Before I can say anything else, he steps forward and takes my face in his hands. Then he’s kissing me one last time, overwhelming me with his warmth, breathing life and love and aching sorrow into me. I throw my arms around his neck as he wraps his around my waist. My lips part for him and his mouth moves desperately against mine, devouring me, taking every breath that I have. Don’t go, I plead wordlessly. But I can taste the good-bye on his lips, and now I can no longer hold back my tears. He’s trembling. His face is wet. I hang on to him like he’ll disappear if I let go, like I’ll be left alone in this dark room, standing in the empty air. Day, the boy from the streets with nothing except the clothes on his back and the earnestness in his eyes, owns my heart.

  He is beauty, inside and out.

  He is the silver lining in a world of darkness.

  He is my light.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Writing Prodigy was a thoroughly different experience from writing Legend, one that involved many panic attacks and much desperate sobbing in front of my laptop, and one that involved digging much deeper into my characters’ cores and unearthing their darkest thoughts and memories. Luckily for me, I have the support of an amazing group of people who helped me put this book together:

  To my literary agent Kristin Nelson, for being the first set of eyes on this manuscript. I would die in a quicksand swamp without your advice and feedback. To the entire team at NLA, for always getting my back.
To beta reader extraordinaire Ellen Oh, for seeing an early draft of Prodigy and knocking some sense into me on some very crucial scenes. To JJ, for being my freakishly sharp sounding board and beta reader as Prodigy gradually formed.

  To my unbelievable pair of editors, Jen Besser and Ari Lewin, for taking the first draft of Prodigy and transforming it into something much greater than I could create on my own. Thanks for pushing me hard to strengthen my characters, world, and plot; anyone who thinks that books don’t get edited anymore has clearly never worked with either of you. You are amazing. (Special shout-out to Little Primo!)

  To the entire team at Putnam Children’s and Penguin Young Readers for their never-ending support—Don Weisberg, Shauna Fay, Anna Jarzab, Jessica Schoffel, Elyse Marshall, Scottie Bowditch, Lori Thorn, Linda McCarthy, Erin Dempsey, Shanta Newlin, Emily Romero, Erin Gallagher, Mia Garcia, Lisa Kelly, Courtney Wood, Marie Kent, and everyone else who has helped give life to both Legend and Prodigy. No author could ask for a greater support group.

  To the awesome teams at CBS Films, Temple Hill, and UTA for the continued dedication to Legend: Wolfgang Hammer, Grey Munford, Matt Gilhooley, Ally Mielnicki, Christine Batista, Isaac Klausner, Wyck Godfrey, Marty Bowen, Gina Martinez, Kassie Evashevski, and Wayne Alexander. I can’t believe how much I lucked out.

  To all of the bloggers, reviewers, and media who covered Legend and Prodigy, and to the booksellers around the nation who put both books into the hands of shoppers. Thank you so much—I am so grateful for all that you do in connecting the right books to the right readers.

  To my amazing readers and fans, for the enthusiastic letters and kind encouragement. Every time I saw your messages about Legend, I became that much more motivated to make Prodigy as good as I possibly could. Thank you for taking the time to read my books.