Millennial Prince (Jaxon Prayer Trilogy Book 2)

by Rachel West

  “Felt like I owed you one,” he shrugs casually but with a too-proud grin on his lips

  “Thank you,” I murmur into his shirt before lifting my head for another kiss.

  An unfamiliar voice catcalls. I pull away, realizing that we have a much larger audience than I suspected. A blush heats my cheek at the spectacle Jaxon and I made of ourselves.

  I look around but the light plays tricks in the tiny basement and I can’t make out any faces.

  “I, uh...brought some friends back with me,” Jaxon says, suddenly uncomfortable. From his jacket he pulls out two more lightbands, snapping them hard against his thigh to activate them.

  A nervous shifting in the shadows around us reveals a sea of tattooed faces.

  Millennials. We are surrounded my Millennials.

  CHAPTER 22

  I take a quick, panicky breath before calming myself. Jaxon is a Millennial and he’s proven himself trustworthy. I need to have faith that he would bring only those he knew as trustworthy.

  “Heya Evie,” a familiar face steps out of the shadows to Jaxon’s side.

  “Darren?”

  “You remembered.” He smiles smugly at the other Millennials that circle us. He looks paler than I remember. His blue hair is as wild as ever, but his skin is sallow and his eyes contain a leaden look that wasn’t in them before.

  “You found him,” I state to Jaxon.

  “Yeah,” Jaxon grins then punches Darren lightly in the arm. “A bit more trouble than expected.”

  “Hey, hey,” Darren raises his arms in mock self-defense. “Not my fault your father is psychotic and decided to put me under custody.”

  “Actually…”Jaxon smirks.

  “Shut-up,” Darren whacks Jaxon on the shoulder.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” I say with a truthfulness that surprises me. Seeing the relief in Jaxon’s eye, the pleasure at having his friend safe…It’s enough for me.

  “Let me introduce you to the others,” Jaxon ushers me forward. “Aspen,” Jaxon gestures to the oldest of the Millennial. Thick browed and thick necked his face is so marked by lines that his Millennial tattoos are nearly lost to them. His silvered eyebrows droop around eyes of beady intelligence.

  “General?” Ezzor asks faintly.

  Aspen whips his head around and stares at Ezzor as he steps from the shadows. The two men watch each other carefully, like enemies meeting under a white flag.

  “Yes,” Jaxon says into the silence.

  Again I look over Aspen, searching for any hint of familiarity but the man before me looks nothing like the Aspen I’ve seen plastered across TV screens. His name is well-known. The Great Uniter’s closest ally. The man who fought war after war to raise the Millennials to victory. Strategist. Military Commander. One of the originals. And yet this is not the man the population has been exposed to. The General Aspen shown to the public was a middle-aged man, with blonde hair just beginning to gray. The perfect politician – not this…old man.

  “My grandfather,” Jaxon says with quiet pride.

  This time I can’t hold back my gasp. Grandfather? I search their faces for any hint of familial connection but I find nothing.

  “Aspen Prayer,” the old man holds out a hand to me that I shake gently. Thin, papery flesh presses against my skin but his grip firm as he gives my hand two solid pumps.

  “Nice to meet you,” I say faintly.

  He introduces me to two other women who look our age but for all the Millennials agelessness they could have a hundred years on me and I would never know it. Arla and Meylin. Both are nearly identical in their Millennial perfection; long blonde hair, perfectly sculpted bone structure and even in the semi-darkness I can see the elaborate, brilliantly colored designs painted on Arla’s exposed arms. Despite their similarity, the difference in their Millennial tattoos tells me the two are unrelated. Their nervous smiles in response to my greeting has me questioning why they came but before I’ve had a moment to ask Jaxon is pushing two others in my direction.

  Keevis, like General Aspen, has a surprising number of wrinkles marring her skin. Her Millennial tattoos are slowly fading to gray but there’s nothing lost of the sternness in her eyes. Steely hair is pulled behind her head in a bun so tight it stretches the skin of her face. Clinging to her skirt is a little towheaded boy no older than four.

  “A child?” I turn to Jaxon. “Why did you bring a child here?”

  Jaxon opens his mouth to speak but Keevis cuts him off. “I won’t be having my grandson grow up not knowing the difference between right and wrong. The Great Uniter took his parents so it is up to me to raise the boy proper,” she tousles the boy’s hair with a warmth unexpected from her severity.

  “Isabelle,” Jaxon gestures with a sharp motion. From the furthest corner, hidden behind the others, the last of the Millennial defectors step forward.

  I draw in a sharp breath. Isabelle. Botley’s redheaded daughter from A239; the work-prison Annie was rescued from. I recall her cold gaze as she watched her father’s Praetors beat me. The shifting intelligence hidden behind a façade of perfect civility.

  Howling like a wild animal, my sister launches herself at the girl. Annie lays one solid blow against Isabelle’s cheek then the two of them go crashing to the ground. Rolling across the floor both girls fight desperately for the upper hand. Isabelle, older and stronger, manages to pin my sister beneath her but an instant later Annie flips the order of things and Isabelle is sprawled on her back, hands raised to protect her face. Through it all Annie is screaming accusations, all sense of her words lost between sobs.

  Shouting breaks out on all sides as half those in the room back away from the fight while the other half go charging in. I beat them too it, reaching down to grab my sister from behind as she raises her arm to land another blow. It takes all my strength to pull her off the redhead. She struggles against me, landing a blow with her elbow against the soft spot on my arm; a defense Red taught me years ago that doesn’t hurt any less for it.

  “Annie!” I shout, trying to break through my sister’s mindless rage. “Annie! Stop it. Stop fighting me.”

  Jaxon extends a hand to help Isabelle. The redhead pulls herself to her feet, taking only a moment to brush dust from her skirts before glaring balefully at my sister and I.

  “What are you babbling about,” Isabelle asks disdainfully.

  “A239,” my sister says. “What happened to them? What did you do to them?”

  “Oh,” Isabelle says derisively as she looks my sister up and down. “It’s you.”

  “What happened to them?” Annie shouts, refusing to be distracted.

  Isabelle uses her thumb to casually wipe away the blood dripping from her lip. “They’re dead. All of them.”

  Annie goes suddenly weak in my arms. It takes all my strength not to be dragged to the floor with her. My heart struggles to find a beat as I remember my sister’s accusations towards me; how I’d failed those left behind in A239 and that their deaths would be on me.

  And she was right.

  I know in every part of me that this is not something we can come back from. That the tenuous bond I’d struggled to maintain between my sister and I was now irreparably broken.

  I don’t have long for my misery. Footsteps rattle the ceiling above us and the blood drains from my face. Praetors.

  “Enough, all of you,” Ezzor snaps. “We need to move. Now!”

  Ezzor takes the lead with the Millennials flocking together behind him followed by Jaxon. My sister stares blankly at the ground and it’s only when I grab her by the elbow that she begins moving. We crawl through the tunnel and I hear the shocked murmurings of the Millennial’s as they enter the butcher shop, but Ezzor hurries them along past the hanging animal carcasses and into the cool night air.

  Once the wall separating the districts has fallen out of sight I weave through the crowd of Millennials to Jaxon’s side. My sister, nervous surrounded by so many Millennials, trails so close behind me that she repeated
ly steps on the back of my heels.

  “Why is Isabelle here?” I quietly ask him, trying to keep my voice low enough that Annie won’t overhear. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to have her around.”

  “Yeah Jax. Not sure if you know this but I’m pretty sure the witchy redhead is insane.” Darren pops in between us. I shift sideways a step, making room for the other boy as I nod along to his assessment.

  “I am not insane,” Isabelle appears out of nowhere and shoves Darren roughly. Darren howls dramatically and hops to the side as if great injury has occurred. Ayla and Maylin titter at Darren, whose antics grow more exaggerated with the attention.

  “Quiet,” Ezzor appears from behind and whacks Darren on the back of his head. Pouting, Darren rubs the back of his head, his lips forming into the “O” of an unuttered “ow.”

  “My father is dead,” Isabelle says, ignoring Darren as he rejoins us. A sudden guilty expression crosses Jaxon’s face before he quickly shutters it. Isabelle, oblivious to the look, continues on. “My brother was taken. Punished for what you did,” she glares at me.

  “So how is it that you remain free?”

  Isabelle shrugs but I suspect there is more to the story than she’s revealed. “I will get my brother back,” she says firmly. “Even if it means allying myself with a bunch of GDs.”

  “GDs?” I look to Jaxon for an explanation but it’s Darren who steps in.

  “You know,” Darren speaks in a hushed tone, as if telling a child a frightening tale. “Ground dwellers.”

  “GDs,” I repeat again, familiarizing myself with the word. “Right.”

  Nearly an hour passes as we move through the streets of the slums. I keep my eyes wide for Praetors; with their numbers so diminished they’ve nearly disappeared from the streets, preferring instead to patrol from above. But although they’ve pulled back they’re not yet entirely gone so still I remain alert. Ezzor repeatedly disappears from sight, scouting the various side streets for any patrols as Jaxon and I lead the Millennials steadily forward.

  “How much further,” Darren complains. “I don’t think I’ve walked this much ever.”

  “Not far,” I say.

  I step in closer to Jaxon and grab his hand, drawing him to my side. “Their reception in the Hollows might not be very warm. The last few days,” I gesture to a collapsed apartment building destroyed by bombs from above, “they haven’t been too easy on us.”

  “We’ll bring them to the Manor,” Jaxon smiles fiercely. “Now that it’s ours.”

  “Heard about that,” Darren says. “You were the talk of the town. Of course, everyone thought Jaxon did it. If only they knew he’d been lazing about on my couch at the time.”

  “Lazing about?” I ask Jaxon who shrugs in response.

  “Yeah,” Darren says excitedly, “There was a blackout on TV so no one knew what going on but we all heard the fighting. Then saw the Presidio go down.” Darren explodes his hands outwards. “Boom.”

  “You did a good job, Evie,” Jaxon says and the pride evident in his tone brings a blush to my cheeks. “But how did you bring the Presidio down? That wasn’t what we planned for.”

  I shoot a glance to Ezzor whose too-casual walk tells me he is listening to every word. “Later,” I mutter. Now is not the time to re-air my disagreements. “Anyway, the manor isn’t safe. We can’t predict where the Praetors will shell next. Everyone’s taken to ground. The Hollows are the only safe place.”

  “My father won’t authorize an attack on the Manor,” Jaxon says. “He’ll believe I’ve taken up residence there. He cannot risk such an obscure death for me, not after all this. He will be looking for very public executions for all of us. The Manor will be one of the safest places.”

  “Doesn’t matter anyway,” Keevis says waspishly. The old Millennial approaches us, her grandson still clinging to her legs. “Praetors won’t be able to keep this up much longer.”

  “What?”

  “The shellings. The Great Uniter’s supply of missiles is limited. He’ll be unable to keep this up for long.”

  “Keevis is correct. It’s an intelligent tactic. Demoralize with a few days of attacks from superior weaponry,” General Aspen says. “I would have chosen the same method myself. Remind the rebels that they are outgunned and dealing with a greater power.”

  “They are not superior,” I cut in heatedly.

  “I did not say I agreed with them. Only that it was a valid line of reasoning.”

  “Keevis worked in research in development,” Jaxon gestures to the older woman. “She helped build Crescent City.”

  “Why do you think so much technology is exclusive to Crescent City?” Keevis asks.

  “Because the Great Uniter is a child who doesn’t like to share,” I snap, annoyed with the way they’re talking to me, like I’m still in grade school and need to be taught basic lessons.

  “No,” Keevis says. “It is because he can’t share. Haven is isolated. In the past there were cities all across the countryside that would trade goods and supplies. But now we are the last of them and a city cannot sustain itself forever. There are materials...metals…and Haven is running short of them.”

  “That’s what this is all about,” Jaxon says feverishly. “It explains everything. My father, his sudden paranoia. The changes in his personality. It is all because Haven can no longer sustain itself. Without technology there is nothing keeping him in power. He is losing control.”

  CHAPTER 23

  “You gave eight chips to all of them?” Jaxon reviews the list of the dead from the attack on Gabrand’s manor. A pile of papers is scattered across the table in front of him with an even larger pile sitting on the ground by his feet. Darren, deciding that sitting on top of the table was somehow more comfortable than sitting on a chair, had taken root at the end furthest from us, hunched over the small tablet that never more than arm’s length away.

  “Yes. It was the right thing to do,” I say fiercely, daring him to contradict me. “Their families needed it.”

  “I didn’t say it was wrong. They died fighting for us. Their families deserve some recompose. We just…” Jaxon pushes the list away with a sigh of frustration. “We don’t have the funds. Someone left the door to the Prexly warehouse open. Two months’ supply of grain ruined by rot and rats. Now we need to find more but the price of food has skyrocketed. With the Praetor’s shutting down the flow of trade…”

  “Why don’t you just use the grain?” I ask. “The people here are more than used to eating food that might not be up to Millennial standards.”

  “It’s too great of a risk. We could poison our own army. Not the most effective strategy. And this.” Jaxon pulls a map from the pile of papers at his feet, unrolling it with a snap. Intricately detailed, the map shows all the streets of the Westwick slums. “Here, here, and here,” Jaxon points out three spots on the map. “I’ve got to set up more patrols as Praetors were reported, sniffing around these areas. It’s always just one or two at a time. I’ve can’t figure out what they’re up to.”

  “I’m working on it,” Darren snaps. He tosses his tablet across the table. The transparent plastic square slides across the wood before bumping to a halt against Jaxon’s arm. Leaning back on his hands, Darren continues speaking. “I’ve tried everything. The code is flawless. No backdoors. No weaknesses. The only option might be brute force.”

  “So why don’t you do that?” I ask.

  “It’s not…” Darren twirls his fingers as if plucking the words from the air, “elegant. They’ll know the minute I try. Why beat a man when you can buy him? There’s always a way in and I will find it.”

  “It’s late,” I say. “Maybe you both need to sleep on things.”

  “Sleep?” Darren says with a grin. “No. No, don’t be ridiculous.” From within his pocket Darren pulls out a small bottle. Popping the cap, he shakes a small, white pill into his hand. With a smile, he drops the pill onto his tongue and swallows it dry.

  “Drugs? R
eally?”

  “Amphetamines have historically been used on the field of battle.” Darren re-caps the bottle and rolls it across the table towards Jaxon.

  As the bottle rolls over the map between Jaxon and me, I stop its momentum with my hand. “No,” I tell him. “You need to be thinking clearly. We need you to be thinking clearly. Wait--” I hold up my hand, cutting of whatever Jaxon was going to say next. I peer at the map under my hand where Jaxon has marked the locations where Praetor’s were seen with red Xs. “Look,” I point to one of the Xs then draw my finger across the map to a point two streets away, “This is near one of the entrances to the Hollows. And this one is practically on top of the entrance by the Crematorium.”

  “They’re trying to find us,” Jaxon says with sudden clarity.

  “Not us,” I respond. “You. They’re trying to find you.”

  “Evie, you’re a genius.” Jaxon leans across the table that separates and grabs my face between his hands, laying a hard kiss on my lips before pulling back. His green eyes shine brightly I can’t hold back the smile that spreads across my lips.

  “Uh. Thanks,” I say, suddenly flustered by his attention. The room around us has gone silent. My sister, in the far corner running drills with Red, freezes as she stares at the two of us. She turns away from me but not before I see the scowl that crosses her face.

  In the silence, the sound of the door to the war room being thrown open is painfully jarring. Kalia stops in the entryway, framed in darkness by the light streaming in behind her. Frantically, her eyes roam the room then with a shout she darts towards me. “Evie!” Her voice, full of panic, has me reaching for my synthblade.

  “What is it? What’s going on,” I question quickly, infected by the panic in her tone. Jaxon leans forward across the table, ready to jump into action. Even Red and the recruits he’s training, including my sister, draw closer to hear what Kalia has to say.