Champion: A Legend Novel

by Marie Lu

  Day is sitting at the living room table with his head in his hands. Even though it’s too dark inside for me to make out his features, I can hear him crying. His silhouette trembles with grief, and his anguish is etched into every single crumpled, devastated muscle of his body. The sound is so foreign that it tears at my heart; I’ve seen Day cry, but I’m not used to it. I don’t know whether I ever will be. When I reach up to my face, I realize that tears are running down my cheeks too.

  I did this to him . . . and because he loves me, he can never really escape it. He’ll remember the fate of his family every time he sees me, even if he loves me, especially if he loves me.

  I FINALLY RETURN, BLEARY-EYED AND EXHAUSTED, TO JUNE’S bedroom just before dawn. She’s still there, apparently undisturbed. I don’t try to crawl back into bed beside her; instead, I collapse onto her couch and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep until the light strengthens outside.

  June’s the one who shakes me awake. “Hey,” she whispers. To my surprise, she doesn’t comment on how red or puffy my eyes must look. She doesn’t even seem shocked to wake up and find me lounging on her couch instead of in her bed. Her own eyes look heavy. “I’ve . . . informed Anden about what you decided. He says a lab team will be ready to pick you and Eden up in two hours, at your apartment.” She sounds grateful, weary, and hesitant.

  “I’ll be there,” I mutter. I can’t help staring vacantly off into space for a few seconds—nothing seems real right now, and I feel like I’m swimming in a sea of fog where emotions and images and thoughts are all out of focus. I force myself off the couch and into the bathroom. There, I unbutton my shirt and splash water on my face and chest and arms. I’m afraid to look in the mirror this time. I don’t want to see John staring back at me, with my own blindfold tight around his eyes. My hands are shaking so badly; the gash on my left palm is open again and bleeding, probably from the fact that I keep clenching that hand instinctively. Had June seen me leave? I shudder as I relive the memory of her standing there outside my mother’s home, waiting at the head of a squadron of soldiers. Then I revisit the Chancellor’s words to me, the precarious situation that June is in . . . that Tess is in, that Eden is in—that we’re all in.

  I splash water repeatedly on my face, and when that doesn’t help, I jump in the shower and drown myself with scalding hot water. But it doesn’t numb the images.

  By the time I finally emerge from the bathroom, my hair still wet and my shirt half buttoned, I’m sickly pale and trembling. June watches me quietly as she sits on the edge of her bed, sipping a pale purple tea. Even though I know it’s pointless to try hiding anything from her, I still give it a shot. “I’m ready,” I say with as genuine of a smile as I can muster. She doesn’t deserve to see this sort of pain on my face, and I don’t want her to think that she’s the one causing it. She’s not the one causing it, I angrily remind myself.

  But June doesn’t comment on it. She studies me with those deep dark eyes. “I just got a call from Anden,” she says, running a hand uncomfortably through her hair. “They have some new evidence that Commander Jameson’s the one responsible for passing along some military secrets to the Colonies. It sounds like she’s working for them now.”

  Underneath my tidal wave of emotions, a deep hatred wells up. If it weren’t for Commander Jameson, maybe everything would have been better between June and me—and maybe our families would still be alive. I don’t know. We’ll never know. And now she’s working for the enemy when she’s supposed to be dead. I mutter a curse under my breath. “Is there any way to know exactly where she is? Is she actually in the Republic?”

  “No one knows.” June shakes her head. “Anden says they’re trying to see if anything on her can be tracked, but she must have long changed out of her prison clothing, and her boots’ tracking chips must be gone by now. She’ll have made sure of that.” When June sees the frustration on my face, she grimaces in sympathy. Both of us, broken by the same person. “I know.” She puts her tea down and squeezes my uninjured hand.

  Violent flashbacks flicker through my memory at her touch—I wince before I can stop myself. She freezes. For a second, I see the deep hurt in her expression. I quickly cover up my mistake by kissing her, trying to lose myself in the gesture as I did last night.

  But I’ve never been the best liar, at least not around her. She takes a step away from me. “Sorry,” she whispers.

  “It’s okay,” I say in a rush, irritated with myself at dragging our old wounds back to the surface. “It’s not—”

  “Yes, it is.” June forces herself to face me. “I saw where you went last night—I saw you in there. . . .” Her voice fades away as she looks down in guilt. “I’m sorry I followed you, but I had to know. I had to see that I was the one causing all of the grief in your eyes.”

  I want to reassure her that it’s not all because of her, that I love her so desperately that I’m terrified of the feeling. But I can’t. June sees the hesitation on my face and knows it’s a confirmation of her fear. She bites her lip. “It’s my fault,” she says, as if it’s just simple logic. “And I’m not sure I will ever be able to earn your forgiveness. I shouldn’t.”

  “I don’t know what to do.” My hands dangle at my sides, helpless. Terrible images from our past flash through my mind again—my best attempts can’t stop them. “I don’t know how to do it.”

  June’s eyes are glossy with tears, but she manages to hold them in. Can one mistake really destroy a lifetime together? “I don’t think there’s a way,” she finally says.

  I take a step toward her. “Hey,” I whisper in her ear. “We’ll be okay.” I’m not sure if it’s true, but it seems like the best thing to say.

  June smiles, playing along, but her eyes mirror my own doubt.

  * * *

  The second day of the Colonies’ promised ceasefire.

  The last place I want to return to is the lab floor of the Los Angeles Central Hospital. It’s hard enough being there and seeing Tess contained behind glass walls, with chemicals being injected into her bloodstream. Now I’ll be back there with Eden at my side, and I’ll have to deal with seeing the same thing happen to him. As we get ready to head down to the jeep waiting in front of our temporary apartment, I kneel in front of Eden and straighten his glasses. He stares solemnly back.

  “You don’t have to do this,” I say again.

  “I know,” Eden replies. He brushes my hand impatiently away when I wipe lint off his jacket’s shoulders. “I’ll be fine. They said it wouldn’t take all day, anyway.”

  Anden couldn’t guarantee his safety; he could only promise that they would take every precaution. And coming from the mouth of the Republic—even a mouth that I’ve come to grudgingly trust—that little cracked bit of reassurance means almost nothing. I sigh. “If you change your mind at any point, you let me know, yeah?”

  “Don’t worry, Daniel,” he says, shrugging off the whole thing. “I’ll be fine. It doesn’t seem that scary. At least you get to be there.”

  “Yeah. At least I get to be there,” I echo numbly. Lucy fusses over his messy blond curls. More reminders of home, and of Mom. I shut my eyes and try to clear my thoughts. Then I reach out and tap Eden on the nose. “The sooner they start,” I say to him, “the sooner it can all be over.”

  Minutes later, a military jeep picks me up while a medic truck transports Eden separately to the Los Angeles Central Hospital.

  He can do this, I repeat to myself as I reach the fourth-floor laboratory. I’m escorted by technicians to a chamber with thick glass windows. And if he can, then I can live through it. But still, my hands are sweaty. I clench them again in an attempt to stop their endless trembling, and a stab of pain runs through my injured palm. Eden’s inside this glass chamber. His pale blond curls are messy and ruffled in spite of Lucy’s efforts, and he’s now wearing a thin red patient scrub. His feet are bare. A pair of lab technicians help him up onto a long, white bed, and one of them rolls up Eden’s sleeves to take hi
s blood pressure. Eden winces when the cool rubber touches his arm.

  “Relax, kid,” the lab tech says, his voice muffled by the glass. “Just take a deep breath.”

  Eden murmurs a faint “okay” in response. He looks so small next to them. His feet don’t even touch the floor. They swing idly while he stares off toward the window separating us, searching for me. I clench and unclench my hands, then press them against the window.

  The fate of the entire Republic rests on the shoulders of my kid brother. If Mom, John, or Dad were here, they’d probably laugh at how ridiculous this whole thing is.

  “He’s going to be okay,” the lab tech standing next to me mutters in reassurance. He doesn’t sound very convincing. “Today’s procedures shouldn’t cause him any pain. We’re just going to take some blood samples and then give him a few medications. We’ve sent some samples to Antarctica’s lab teams for analysis too.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I snap at him. “Today’s procedures shouldn’t cause him any pain? What about tomorrow’s?”

  The lab tech holds his hands up defensively. “I’m sorry,” he stammers. “It came out wrong—I didn’t mean it like that. Your brother won’t be in any pain, I promise. Some discomfort, perhaps, from the medicine, but we’re taking every precaution we can. I, er, I hope you won’t report this negatively to our glorious Elector.”

  So, that’s what he’s worried about. That if I’m upset, I’m going to run to Anden and whine. I narrow my eyes at him. “If you don’t give me a reason to report anything bad, then I won’t.”

  The lab tech apologizes again, but I’m not paying attention to him anymore. My eyes go back to Eden. He’s asking one of the technicians something, although he’s speaking quietly enough that I can’t hear. The lab tech shakes his head at my brother. Eden swallows, looks back nervously in my direction, and then squeezes his eyes shut. One of the lab techs takes out a syringe, then carefully injects it into the vein of Eden’s arm. Eden clenches his jaw tight, but he doesn’t utter a sound. A familiar dull pain throbs at the base of my neck. I try to calm myself down. Stressing myself out and triggering one of my headaches at a time like this is not going to help Eden.

  He chose to do this, I remind myself. I swell with sudden pride. When had Eden grown up? I feel like I blinked and missed it.

  The lab tech finally removes the syringe, which is now filled with blood. They dab something on Eden’s arm, then bandage it. The second technician then drops a handful of pills into Eden’s open palm.

  “Swallow them together,” he tells my brother. Eden does as he says. “They’re a bit bitter—best to get it all over with at once.”

  Eden grimaces and gags a little, but manages to wash the pills down with some water. Then he lies down on the bed. The technicians wheel him over to a cylindrical machine. I can’t remember what the machine’s called, even though they told me less than an hour ago. They slowly roll him inside it, until all I can see of Eden are the balls of his bare feet. I slowly peel my hands off the window. My skin leaves prints on the glass. A minute later, my heart twists in my chest as I hear Eden crying from inside the machine. Something about it must be painful. I clench my teeth so hard that I think my jaw might break.

  Finally, after what seems like an eternity, one of the lab techs motions for me to come inside. I immediately shove past them and enter the glass chamber to lean over Eden’s side. He’s sitting on the edge of the white bed again. When he hears me approach, he breaks into a smile.

  “That wasn’t so bad,” he says to me in a weak voice.

  I just take his hand and squeeze it in my own. “You did good,” I reply. “I’m proud of you.” And I am. I’m prouder of him than I’ve ever been of myself—I’m proud of him for standing up to me.

  One of the lab techs shows me a screen with what looks like a magnified view of Eden’s blood cells. “A good start,” he tells us. “We’ll work with this and try injecting Tess with a cure tonight. If we’re lucky, she’ll hang in there for another five or six days and give us some time to work with.” The tech’s eyes are grim, even though his words are pretty hopeful. The weird combination makes a chill run down my spine. I grip Eden’s hand tighter.

  “We don’t have a lot of time left,” Eden whispers to me when the lab techs leave us to talk in peace. “If they can’t find a cure, what are we going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” I admit. It’s not something I really want to think about, because it leaves me feeling more helpless than I like. If we don’t find a cure, there won’t be any international military aid. If there’s no aid, then we’ll have no way to win against the Colonies. And if the Colonies overrun us . . . I recall what I saw when I was over there, and remember what the Chancellor had offered me. If you choose, we can work together. The people don’t know what’s best for them. Sometimes you just have to help them along. Isn’t that right?

  I need to find a way to stall them while we work on a cure. Anything to slow the Colonies down, to give the Antarcticans a chance to come to our aid. “We’ll just have to fight back,” I tell Eden, ruffling his hair. “Until we can’t fight back anymore. That’s the way it always seems to be, yeah?”

  “Why can’t the Republic win?” Eden asks. “I always thought their military was the strongest in the world. This is the first time I actually wish they were right.”

  I smile sadly at Eden’s naïveté. “The Colonies have allies,” I reply. “We don’t.” How the hell do I explain it all? How do I tell him exactly how helpless I feel, standing by like a broken puppet while Anden leads his army in a battle they just can’t win? “They have a better army, and we just don’t have enough soldiers to go around.”

  Eden sighs. His little shoulders slump in a way that chokes me up. I close my eyes and force myself to calm down. Crying in front of Eden at a time like this is way too embarrassing. “Too bad everyone in the Republic isn’t a soldier,” he mutters.

  I open my eyes. Too bad everyone in the Republic isn’t a soldier.

  And just like that, I know what I need to do. I know how to answer the Chancellor’s blackmail, and how to stall the Colonies. I’m dying, I don’t have many days left—my mind is slowly falling apart, and so is my strength. But I do have enough strength for one thing. I have enough time to take one final step.

  “Maybe everyone in the Republic can be a soldier,” I reply quietly.

  LAST NIGHT FEELS LIKE A DREAM, EVERY LAST DETAIL of it. But this morning stands in stark contrast—there is no mistaking the flinch I felt from Day when I touched his arm, the violent shudder that went through him at just a brush of my hand. My heart still hurts as I leave my apartment, headed for a parked jeep that will be waiting for me. A morning spent with the Senate. I try in vain to clear Day from my mind, but it’s impossible. A Senate meeting feels so trivial right now—the Colonies are gradually pushing our country back with the help of strong allies, Antarctica still refuses to help us, and Commander Jameson is at large. And here I’ll sit, talking politics when I could be—should be—out in the field, doing what I’m trained to do. What am I going to say to all of them, anyway? Are any of them even going to listen?

  What are we going to do?

  No. I need to focus. I need to support Anden as he attempts, yet again, to negotiate with the Colonies’ Chancellor and CEOs and generals. We both know that it won’t get us anywhere. . . . The only thing that will make them budge is a cure. And even then, it might not be enough to hold the Colonies back. But still. We have to try. And perhaps he’ll be up for helping the Patriots with their plans, especially if he knows how much Day will be involved in them.

  The mere thought of Day brings back memories of last night. My cheeks turn hot, and I know it’s not because of the warm Los Angeles weather. Stupid timing, I chide myself, and push last night from my thoughts. All around me, the usually busy streets of Lake are eerily empty, as if we’re preparing for an oncoming storm. I suppose that’s not so inaccurate.

  A prickl
ing sensation suddenly travels up my spine. I stop for a moment, then frown. What was that? The streets still look deserted, but a strange premonition makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Someone is watching me. Immediately the idea feels too far-fetched, but as I walk, I tighten my jaw and let my hand rest on my gun. Maybe I’m being ridiculous. Perhaps the warning that Day had given me—that the Colonies might use me against him or that they might have me in their sights—is starting to play tricks on my mind. Still, no reason to throw caution to the winds. I lean against the closest building so that my back is protected, and call Anden. The sooner this jeep arrives, the better.

  And then I see her. I stop the call.

  She wears a good disguise. (Weathered Republic attire that’s supposed to be worn only by first-year soldiers, which means she looks unremarkable and easily missed; a soldier’s cap pulled low over her face, with only a few dark red strands poking out from underneath it.) But even from this distance, I recognize her face—cold and hard.

  Commander Jameson.

  I look casually away and pretend to dig around in my pockets for something, but inside, my heart pounds at a furious pace. She’s here in Los Angeles, which means she somehow managed to escape the fighting in Denver and avoided the Republic’s clutches. Is it too big a coincidence that she is where I am? Perhaps she is here because she knew that I would be here? The Colonies. There must be other eyes here. My hands shake as she passes me by on the other side of the street. She gives no indication of seeing me, but I know that she’s noticed. On such an empty block, I should be impossible to miss—and I’m not in disguise.

  When her back is finally turned to me, I cross my arms, tilt my head slightly downward, and call Anden on my earpiece again. “I see her. She’s here. Commander Jameson is in Los Angeles.”