Champion: A Legend Novel

by Marie Lu

  “‘Good,’ she said. ‘Tell me when you’re ready—I’ll send in separate orders to the rest of your patrol to be at a different location during that time. Make it quick and clean.’

  “That’s when my hand began to shake. I tried to argue with the Commander, but her voice only turned colder. ‘If you don’t do it, I will. Believe me, I will be messier about it—and no one’s going to be happy that way. Understood?’

  “I didn’t answer her right away. Instead I watched your brother as he shook hands with the nurse. He turned around, searching for me, and then spotted me by the jeeps. He waved me over, and I nodded, careful to keep my face blank. ‘Understood, Commander,’ I finally answered.

  “‘You can do it, Bryant,’ she told me. ‘And if you’re successful, consider yourself promoted to captain.’ The call cut off.

  “I joined Metias and another soldier at the hospital entrance. Metias smiled at me. ‘Another long night, eh? I swear, if we’re stuck here until dawn again, I’ll whine to Commander Jameson like there’s no tomorrow.’

  “I forced myself to laugh along. ‘Let’s hope for an uneventful night, then.’ The lie felt so smooth.

  “‘Yes, let’s hope for that,’ Metias said. ‘At least I have you for company.’

  “‘Likewise,’ I told him. Metias glanced back at me, his eyes hovering for a beat, then looked away again.

  “The first minutes passed without incident. But then, moments later, a ragged slum-sector boy dragged himself up to the entrance and stopped to talk to a nurse. He was a mess—mud, dirt, and blood smeared across his cheeks, dirty dark hair pulled away from his face, and a nasty limp. ‘Can I be admitted, cousin?’ he asked the nurse. ‘Is there still room tonight? I can pay.’

  “The nurse just continued scribbling on her notepad. ‘What happened?’ she finally asked.

  “‘Was in a fight,’ the boy replied. ‘I think I got stabbed.’

  “The nurse glanced over at your brother, and Metias nodded to two of his soldiers. They walked over to pat down the boy. After a while, they pocketed something and waved the boy inside. As he staggered past, I leaned closer to Metias and whispered, ‘Don’t like the look of that one. He doesn’t walk like someone who’s been stabbed, does he?’

  “Your brother and the boy exchanged a brief look. When the boy had disappeared inside the hospital, he nodded at me. ‘Agreed. Keep an eye on that one. After our rotation’s done, I’d like to question him a bit.’”

  Thomas pauses here, searching my face, perhaps for permission to stop talking, but I don’t give it.

  He takes a deep breath and continues. “I blushed then at his nearness. Your brother seemed to sense it too, and an awkward silence passed between us. I’d always known about his attraction to me, but tonight it seemed particularly naked. Maybe it had something to do with his weary day, your university antics throwing him off, his usual air of command subdued and tired. And underneath my calm exterior, my heart hammered against my ribs. Find a way to get Captain Iparis to a private spot tonight. I don’t care how you do it. This vulnerability would be my only chance.”

  Thomas looks briefly down at his hands, but carries on.

  “So, sometime later, I tapped Metias on the shoulder. ‘Captain,’ I murmured. ‘Can I speak to you in private for a moment?’

  “Metias blinked. He asked me, ‘Is this urgent?’

  “‘No, sir,’ I told him. ‘Not quite. But . . . I’d rather you know.’

  “Your brother stared at me, momentarily confused, searching for a clue. Then he motioned for a soldier to take his place at the entrance and the two of us headed into a quiet, dark street near the back of the hospital.

  “Metias immediately dropped some of his formal pretense. ‘Something wrong, Thomas? You don’t look well.’

  “All I could think was treason against the Republic. He would never do it. Would he? We’d grown up together, trained together, grown close. . . . Then I remembered my commander’s orders. I felt the sheathed knife sitting heavily at my waist. ‘I’m fine,’ I told him.

  “But your brother laughed. ‘Come on. You’ve never needed to hide anything from me before. You know that, right?’

  “Just say it, Thomas, I told myself. I knew I was teetering between the familiar and the point of no return. Force the words out. Let him hear it. Finally, I looked up and said, ‘What is this between us?’

  “Your brother’s smile wavered. He grew very silent. Then he took a step back. ‘What do you mean?’

  “‘You know what I mean,’ I told him. ‘This. All these years.’

  “Now Metias was studying my face intently. Long seconds passed. ‘This,’ he finally replied, emphasizing the word, ‘can’t happen. You’re my subordinate.’

  “Then I asked, ‘But it means something to you, sir. Doesn’t it?’

  “Something joyful and tragic danced across Metias’s face. He drew closer. I knew that a wall between us had finally formed a crack. ‘Does it mean something to you?’ he asked me.”

  Again, Thomas pauses. Then, in a softer voice, he says, “A blade of guilt twisted painfully in my chest, but it was too late to turn back. So I took a step forward, closed my eyes, and—I kissed him.”

  Another pause. “Your brother froze, like I thought he would. There was complete stillness. We drew apart, the silence heavy around us, and for a moment I wondered whether I’d made a huge mistake, whether I’d simply misread every signal from the past few years. Or perhaps, perhaps he knew what I was up to. I felt a strange sense of relief at that thought. Maybe it’d be better if Metias figured out Commander Jameson’s plans for him. Maybe there’s a way to get out of this.

  “But then he leaned forward and returned the kiss, and the last of that wall crumbled away.”

  “Stop,” I suddenly say. Thomas falls silent. He tries to hide his emotions behind some semblance of nobility, but the shame is plain on his face. I lean back, turn my face away from him, and press my hands to my temples. Grief threatens to overwhelm me. Thomas hadn’t just killed Metias knowing that my brother loved him.

  Thomas had taken that knowledge and used it against him.

  I want you to die. I hate you. The tide of my anger grows stronger until finally I hear the whisper of Metias’s voice in my head, the faint light of reason.

  It’s going to be okay, Junebug. Listen to me. Everything is going to be okay.

  I wait, my heart beating steadily, until his gentle words bring me back. My eyes open, and I give Thomas a level stare. “What happened after that?”

  It takes Thomas a long moment before he speaks again. When he does, his voice trembles. “There was no way out. Metias had no idea what was going on. He’d fallen into the plan with blind faith. My hand crept to the knife at my waist, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I couldn’t even breathe.”

  My eyes fill with tears. I want so desperately to hear every detail and at the same time for Thomas to stop talking, to shut this night away and never return again.

  “An alarm cut through the air. We jumped apart. Metias looked flushed and confused—only a second later did we both realize that the alarm came from the hospital.

  “The moment broke. Your brother snapped back into captain mode and ran toward the hospital entrance. ‘Get inside,’ he shouted over his earpiece. He didn’t look back. ‘I want half of you in there—pinpoint the source. Gather the others at the entrance and wait for my command. Now!’

  “I started running after him. My chance to strike had vanished. I wondered whether Commander Jameson had somehow been able to see my failure. The Republic’s eyes are everywhere. They know everything. I panicked. I had to find another moment, another chance to get your brother alone. If I couldn’t do it, then Metias’s fate would fall into much harsher hands.

  “By the time I caught up with him at the entrance, his face was dark with anger. ‘Break-in,’ he said. ‘It was that boy we saw. I’m sure of it. Bryant, get five and circle east. I’ll go the other way.’ Already your brother
was on the move, gathering his soldiers. ‘He’s going to have to get out of the hospital somehow,’ he told us. ‘We’ll be waiting for him when he tries.’

  “I did as Metias commanded—but the instant he was out of earshot, I ordered my soldiers to head east and then snuck away into the shadows. I have to follow him. This is my last chance. If I fail, I’m as good as dead, anyway. Sweat trickled down my back. I melted into the shadows, reminding myself of all the lessons Metias had taught me about subtlety and stealth.

  “Then from somewhere in the night I heard glass shatter. I hid behind a wall as your brother raced past, alone and unguarded, toward the source of the sound. Then I followed. The night’s darkness swallowed me whole. For a moment, I lost Metias in the back alleys. Where is he? I whirled around in an alley, trying to figure out where your brother had gone.

  “Just then, a call came through. Commander Jameson barked at me. ‘You’d better find a second chance to take him down, Lieutenant. Soon.’

  “Finally, minutes later, I found Metias. He was alone, struggling up from the ground with a knife buried in his shoulder, surrounded by blood and broken glass. A few feet from him lay a sewer cap. I rushed to his side. He smiled briefly at me, while clutching the knife in his shoulder.

  “‘It was Day,’ he gasped. ‘He escaped down the sewers.’ Then he reached out to me. ‘Here. Help me up.’

  “This is your chance, I told myself. This is your only chance, and if you can’t do it now, it will never happen.”

  Thomas’s voice falters as I search for my own. I want to stop him again, but I can’t. I’m numb.

  Thomas lifts his head and says, “I wish I could tell you all the images whirling through my mind—Commander Jameson interrogating Metias, torturing information out of him, tearing off his nails, slicing him open until he screamed for mercy, killing him slowly in the way that she did to all prisoners of war.” As he speaks, the words come faster, tumbling from his mouth in a frantic jumble. “I pictured the Republic’s flag, the Republic’s seal, the oath I’d taken on the day Metias accepted me into a patrol. That I would forever remain faithful to my Republic and my Elector, until my dying day. My eyes darted to the knife buried in Metias’s shoulder. Do it. Do it now, I told myself. I seized his collar, yanked the knife from his shoulder, and plunged it deep into his chest. Right up to the hilt.”

  I hear myself gasp. As if I expected a different ending. As if once I hear it enough times, the story will change. It never does.

  “Metias let out a broken shriek,” Thomas whispers. “Or perhaps it came from me—I can’t remember anymore. He collapsed back onto the ground, his hand still clutching my wrist. His eyes were wide with shock.

  “‘I’m sorry,’ I choked out.” Thomas looks at me as he continues, his apology meant for both me and my brother. “I knelt over his trembling body. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ I told him. ‘I had no choice. You gave me no choice!’”

  I can barely hear Thomas as he continues. “A spark of understanding appeared in your brother’s eyes. With it came hurt, something that went beyond his physical pain, a bleeding moment of realization. Then revulsion. Disappointment. ‘Now I know why,’ he whispered. I didn’t have to ask to know that he was referring to our kiss.

  “No! I meant it! I wanted to scream. It was a good-bye, the only one I could give. But I meant it. I promise.

  “Instead I said, ‘Why did you have to cross the Republic? I warned you, over and over again. Cross the Republic too many times, and eventually they’ll burn you. I warned you! I told you to listen!’

  “But your brother shook his head. It’s something you’ll never understand, his eyes seemed to say. Blood leaked from his mouth, and his grip tightened on my wrist. ‘Don’t hurt June,’ he said. ‘She doesn’t know anything.’ Then a fierce, terrified light appeared in his eyes. ‘Don’t hurt her. Promise me.’

  “So I told him, ‘I’ll protect her. I don’t know how, but I’ll try. I promise.’

  “The light gradually faded from his eyes, and his grip loosened. He stared at me until he couldn’t stare anymore, and then I knew that he was gone. Move. Get out of here, I told myself. But I stayed crouched over Metias’s body, my mind blank. His sudden absence hit me. Metias was gone, Metias was never coming back, and it was all my fault. No. Long live the Republic. That’s what really mattered, I told myself, yes, yes, that was the important thing. This—whatever this was between Metias and me—wasn’t real, could never have happened anyway. Not with Metias as my captain. Not with Metias as a criminal working against the country. It was for the best. Yes. It was.

  “Eventually I heard shouts from approaching troops. I picked myself up. I wiped my eyes. I had to carry through now. I’d done it, I’d stayed faithful to the Republic. Some survival instinct kicked in. Everything seemed muted, like a fog had settled over my life. Good. I needed the strange calm, the absence of everything, that it brought. I folded my grief carefully back into my chest, as if nothing had happened, and when the first troops arrived on the scene, I placed a call to Commander Jameson.

  “I didn’t even need to say a word. My silence told her everything she needed to know. ‘Fetch Little Iparis when you get a chance,’ she said to me. ‘And well done, Captain.’

  “I didn’t reply.”

  Thomas stays silent; the scene fades. I find myself back in his prison cell, my cheeks streaked with tears, my heart sliced open as if he had stabbed me in the chest as surely as he’d stabbed my brother.

  Thomas stares at the floor between us with hollow eyes. “I loved him, June,” he says after a moment. “I really did. Everything I did as a soldier, all my hard work and training, was to impress him.” His guard is finally down, and I can see the true depth of his torture now. His voice hardens, as if he is trying to convince himself of what he’s saying. “I answer to the Republic—Metias himself trained me to be what I am. Even he understood.”

  I’m surprised by how much my heart is breaking for him. You could have helped Metias escape. You could have done something. Anything. You could have tried. But even now, Thomas doesn’t budge. He will never change, and he will never, ever know who Metias really was.

  I finally realize the true reason he requested this meeting with me. He wanted to give a real confession. Just like during our conversation when he first arrested me, he is fishing desperately for my forgiveness, for something to justify—in any small way—what he did. He wants to believe what he did was warranted. He wants me to sympathize. He wants peace before he goes.

  But he’s wasted his efforts on me. I cannot give him peace, even on his final day. Some things cannot be forgiven.

  “I feel sorry for you,” I say quietly. “Because you’re so weak.”

  Thomas tightens his lips. Still searching for some bit of validation he says, “I could’ve chosen Day’s route. I could have become a criminal. But I didn’t. I did everything right, you know. That was what Metias loved about me. He respected me. I followed all the rules, I obeyed all the laws, I worked my way up from where I started.” He leans toward me; his eyes grow more desperate. “I took an oath, June. I am still bound by that oath. I will die with honor for sacrificing everything I have—everything—for my country. And yet, Day is the legend, while I am to be executed.” His voice finally breaks with all his anguish and inner torment, the injustice he feels. “It makes no sense.”

  I stand up. Behind me, the guards move toward the cell door. “You’re wrong,” I say sadly. “It makes perfect sense.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Day chose to walk in the light.” I turn my back on him for the last time. The door opens; the cell’s bars make way for the hall, a new rotation of prison guards, freedom. “And so did Metias.”

  1532 HOURS.

  That afternoon, I head to Denver University’s track with Ollie in an attempt to clear my thoughts. Outside, the sky looks yellow and hazy with the light of the afternoon sun. I try to picture the sky covered with the Colonies’ airships, ablaze with t
he fire from aerial dogfights and explosions. Twelve days before we need to offer something to the Colonies. Without Day’s help, how are we ever going to do that? The thought troubles me, but thankfully it helps keep the memories of Thomas and Commander Jameson out of my head. I pick up my pace. My running shoes pound against the pavement.

  When I arrive at the track, I notice guards stationed at every entrance. At least four soldiers per gate. Anden must be doing his exercise routine somewhere out here too. The soldiers recognize me, let me through, and usher me into the stadium, where the track wraps around a large, open field. Anden’s nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he’s down in the stadium’s underground lockers.

  I do a quick round of stretches while Ollie waits impatiently, dancing from paw to paw, and then I begin making my way down the track. I run faster and faster along the curved path until I’m sprinting around the turns, my hair streaming out behind me, Ollie panting at my side. I imagine Commander Jameson sprinting after me, gun in hand. Better be careful, Iparis. You might turn out just like me. When I loop around to the side of the track with targets set up, I skid to a halt, whip out the gun at my belt, and shoot at each of the targets in rapid succession. Four bull’s-eyes. Without pause, I loop around the track again and repeat my routine three times. Ten times. Fifteen times. Finally I stop, my heart beating a frantic tune against my chest.

  I shift to a walk, slowly catching my breath, my thoughts whirling. If I had never met Day, could I have grown up to become Commander Jameson? Cold, calculating, merciless? Hadn’t I turned into exactly that when I first figured out who Day was? Hadn’t I led the soldiers—led Commander Jameson herself—to his family’s door, without a second thought for whether or not his family might be harmed? I reset my gun, then aim at the targets again. My bullets thud into the centers of the boards.