by Marie Lu
I pour some liquid bath gel into the tub and splash the water around until it froths up. Then I get one of the towels hanging in the bathroom and wrap it around Day’s waist. Now for the awkward part. He manages to fumble underneath the towel and loosen his pants, and I help him tug them off. The towel covers everything that needs to be covered, but I still avert my eyes.
I help Day—now wearing nothing except for the towel and his pendant—to his feet, and after some struggling, we manage to get his good leg into the tub so I can lower him gently into the water. I’m careful to keep his bad leg high and dry. Day clenches his jaw to keep from crying out in pain. By the time he settles into the bath, his cheeks are moist from tears.
It takes fifteen minutes to scrub him, and all of his hair, clean. When we’re finished, I help him stand and close my eyes as he grabs a dry towel to wrap around his waist. The thought of opening my eyes right now and seeing him naked before me sends blood coursing fiercely through my veins. What does a naked boy look like, anyway? I’m annoyed by how obvious the heat of my blush must be. Then the moment’s over; we spend another few minutes struggling to get him out of the tub. When he’s finally done and sitting on the toilet seat cover, I walk over to the bathroom door. I hadn’t noticed before, but someone had opened the door a crack and dropped off a new pair of soldier uniforms for us. Ground battalion uniforms, with Nevada buttons. It’s going to feel weird to be a Republic soldier again. But I bring them inside.
Day gives me a weak smile. “Thanks. Feels good to be clean.”
His pain seems to bring back the worst of his memories from the last few weeks, and now all his emotion plays out plainly on his face. His smiles have become half of what they used to be. It’s as if most of his happiness had died the night he lost John, and only a tiny slice of it remains—mostly a piece that he saves for Eden and Tess. I secretly hope he saves a part of his joy for me too. “Turn around and change into your clothes,” I say. “And wait outside the bathroom for me. I’ll be quick.”
* * *
We get back to the living room seven minutes late. Razor and Kaede are waiting for us. Tess sits alone on a corner of the couch, her legs folded up to her chin, watching us with a guarded expression. An instant later, I smell the aromas of baked chicken and potatoes. My eyes dart to the dining room table where four dishes loaded with food sit neatly, beckoning to us. I try not to react to the smell, but my stomach rumbles.
“Excellent,” Razor says, smiling at us. He lets his eyes linger on me. “You two clean up nicely.” Then he turns to Day and shakes his head. “We arranged for some food to be brought up, but since you’re having surgery within the next few hours, you’re going to have to keep your stomach empty. I’m sorry—I know you must be hungry. June, please help yourself.”
Day’s eyes are also fixed on the food. “That’s just great,” he mutters.
I join the others at the table while Day stretches out on the couch and makes himself as comfortable as he can. I’m about to pick up my plate and sit next to him, but Tess beats me to it, seating herself on the edge of the couch so her back touches Day’s side. As Razor, Kaede, and I eat in silence at the table, I occasionally steal glances at the couch. Day and Tess talk and laugh with the ease of two people who have known each other for years. I concentrate on my food, the heat of our bathroom encounter still burning on my lips.
I’ve counted off five minutes in my head when Razor finally takes a sip of his drink and leans back. I watch him closely, still wondering why one of the Patriots’ leaders—the head of a group that I’d always associated with savagery—is so polite. “Ms. Iparis,” he says. “How much do you know about our new Elector?”
I shake my head. “Not much, I’m afraid.” Beside me, Kaede snorts and continues digging into her dinner.
“You’ve met him before, though,” Razor says, revealing what I’d hoped to keep from Day. “That night at the ball, the one held to celebrate Day’s capture? He kissed your hand. Correct?” Day pauses in his conversation with Tess. I cringe inwardly.
Razor doesn’t seem to notice my discomfort. “Anden Stavropoulos is an interesting young man,” he says. “The late Elector loved him a great deal. Now that Anden is Elector, the Senators are uneasy. The people are angry, and they couldn’t care less if Anden is different from the last Elector. No matter what speeches Anden gives to please them, all they’re going to see is a wealthy man who has no idea how to heal their suffering. They’re furious with Anden for letting Day’s execution go through, for hunting him down, for not saying a word against his father’s policies, for putting a price on finding June . . . the list goes on. The late Elector had an iron grip on the military. Now the people just see a boy king who has the chance to rise up and become another version of his father. These are the weaknesses we want to exploit, and this brings us to the plan we currently have in mind.”
“You seem to know a great deal about the young Elector. You also seem to know a great deal about what happened at the celebratory ball,” I reply. I can’t hold in my suspicion any longer. “I suppose that’s because you were also a guest that night. You must be a Republic officer—but without a rank high enough to get you an audience with the Elector.” I study the room’s rich velvet carpets and granite counters. “These are your actual office quarters, aren’t they?”
Razor seems a little put off by my criticism of his rank (which, as usual, is a fact that I hadn’t meant as an insult), but quickly brushes it off with a laugh. “I can see there’ll be no secrets with you. Special girl. Well, my official title is Commander Andrew DeSoto, and I run three of the capital’s city patrols. The Patriots gave me my street name. I’ve been organizing most of their missions for a little over a decade.”
Day and Tess are both listening intently now. “You’re a Republic officer,” Day echoes uncertainly, his eyes glued to Razor. “A commander from the capital. Hm. Why are you helping the Patriots?”
Razor nods, resting both of his elbows on the dinner table and pressing his hands together. “I suppose I should start by giving you both some details about how we work. The Patriots have been around for thirty or so years—they started as a loose collection of rebels. Within the last fifteen years, they’ve banded together in an attempt to organize themselves and their cause.”
“Razor’s coming changed everything, so I hear,” Kaede pipes up. “They’d rotated through leaders all the time, and funding had always been a problem. Razor’s connections to the Colonies have been bringing in more money for missions than ever before.”
Metias had been busier over the last couple of years in dealing with Patriot attacks in Los Angeles, I recall.
Razor nods at Kaede’s words. “We’re fighting to reunite the Colonies and the Republic, to return the United States to its former glory.” His eyes take on a determined gleam. “And we’re willing to do whatever it takes to achieve our goal.”
The old United States, I think, as Razor continues. Day had mentioned the United States to me during our escape from Los Angeles, although I was still skeptical. Until now. “How does the organization work?” I ask.
“We keep an eye out for people who have the talents and skills we need, and then we try to recruit them,” Razor says. “Usually we’re good at getting people on board, although some people take longer than others.” He pauses to tip his glass in Day’s direction. “I am considered a Leader in the Patriots—there are only a few of us, working from the inside and architecting the rebels’ missions. Kaede here is a Pilot.” Kaede waves a hand around as she continues to inhale her food. “She joined us after she was expelled from an Airship Academy in the Colonies. Day’s surgeon is a Medic, and young Tess here is a Medic in training. We also have Fighters, Runners, Scouts, Hackers, Escorts, and so on. I would place you as a Fighter, June, although your abilities seem to cross into several categories. And Day, of course, is the best Runner I’ve ever seen.” Razor smiles a little and finishes his drink. “The two of you should technically be a new category a
ltogether. Celebrities. That’s how you’re going to be most useful to us, and that’s why I didn’t throw you both back out on the street.”
“So kind of you,” Day says. “What’s the plan?”
Razor points at me. “Earlier, I asked you how much you knew about our Elector. I heard a few rumors today. They say Anden was quite taken with you at the ball. Someone heard him asking if you could be transferred to a patrol in the capital. There’s even a rumor that he wanted you tapped to train as the Senate’s next Princeps.”
“The next Princeps?” I shake my head automatically, overwhelmed with the idea. “Probably nothing more than a rumor. Even ten years of training wouldn’t be enough to prepare me for that.” Razor just laughs at my declaration.
“What’s a Princeps?” Day speaks up. He sounds annoyed. “Some of us aren’t versed in the Republic’s hierarchy.”
“The leader of the Senate,” Razor replies casually, without turning in his direction. “The Elector’s shadow. His, or her, partner in command—and sometimes more. It frequently turns out that way in the end, after a requisite decade of training. Anden’s mother was the last Princeps, after all.”
I glance instinctively toward Day. His jaw is tight and he’s holding very still, little signs that say that he’d rather not be hearing what the Elector thinks of me or that he might want me as a future partner. I clear my throat. “Those rumors are exaggerated,” I insist again, just as uncomfortable as Day is with this conversation. “Even if that were true, I’d still be one of several Princeps-in-training, and I can guarantee you that their other choices would be experienced Senators. But how are you planning to use that information in your assassination? Do you think I’m going to—”
Kaede breaks through my words with a loud laugh. “You’re blushing, Iparis,” she says. “Do you like the idea that Anden’s crushin’ on you?”
“No!” I say, a bit too quickly. Now I feel the heat rising on my face, although I’m pretty sure it’s because Kaede is irritating me.
“Don’t be so goddy arrogant,” she says. “Anden is a handsome guy with a lot of power and a lot of options. It’s okay to feel flattered. I’m sure Day understands.”
Razor saves me from responding by frowning in disapproval. “Kaede. Please.” She makes a pouty face at him and returns to her meal. I glance at the couch. Day is staring up at the ceiling. After a short pause, Razor goes on. “Even now, Anden can’t be sure that you did everything against the Republic on purpose. For all he knows, you may have been taken hostage when Day escaped. Or forced to join Day against your will. There’s enough uncertainty for him to insist that the government list you as a missing person instead of a wanted traitor. My point is this: Anden is interested in you, and that means he can be influenced by what you tell him.”
“So you want me to go back to the Republic?” I say. My words seem to echo. From the corner of my eye, I see Tess shift unhappily on the couch. Her mouth quivers with some unspoken phrase.
Razor nods. “Exactly. Originally, I was going to use spies from my own Republic patrols to get close to Anden—but now we have a better alternative. You. You tell the Elector that the Patriots are going to try to kill him—but the plan you tell him about will be a decoy. While everyone’s distracted with the fake plan, we’ll strike with the real one. Our goal is not only to kill Anden, but to turn the country completely against him, so that his regime will be doomed even if our plan fails. That’s what you two can do for us. Now, we’ve heard reports that the new Elector is going to be heading for the warfront within the next couple of weeks, to get updates and progress reports from his colonels. The RS Dynasty airship launches toward the warfront early tomorrow afternoon, and all of my squadrons will be on it. Day will join me, Kaede, and Tess on that ride. We’ll organize the real assassination, and you’ll lead Anden to it.” Razor crosses his arms and studies our faces, waiting for our reactions.
Day finally finds his voice and interrupts him. “This is going to be incredibly dangerous for June,” he argues as he props himself up straighter on the couch. “How can you be sure she’ll even reach the Elector after the military gets her back? How do you know they won’t just start torturing information out of her?”
“Trust me, I know how to avoid that,” Razor replies. “I haven’t forgotten about your brother, either . . . If June can get close enough to the Elector, she may find out where Eden is on her own.”
Day’s eyes light up at that, and Tess squeezes his shoulder.
“As for you, Day, I’ve never seen the public rally behind anyone the way they have for you. Did you know that streaking your hair red has become a fashion statement overnight?” Razor chuckles and waves a hand at Day’s head. “That’s power. Right now, you probably have just as much influence as the Elector. Maybe more. If we can find a way to use your fame to work the people up into a frenzy, by the time the assassination happens, Congress will be powerless to stop a revolution.”
“And what do you plan to do with that revolution?” Day asks.
Razor leans forward, and his face turns determined, even hopeful. “You want to know why I joined the Patriots? For the same reasons you’ve been working against the Republic. The Patriots know how you’ve suffered—we’ve all seen the sacrifices you’ve made for your family, the pain the Republic has caused you. June,” Razor says, nodding at me. I cringe; I don’t want a reminder of what happened to Metias. “I have seen your suffering too. Your whole family destroyed by the nation you once loved. I’ve lost count of the number of Patriots who have come from similar circumstances.”
Day turns his stare back up at the ceiling at the mention of his family. His eyes stay dry, but when Tess reaches out and grabs his hand, he tightens his fingers around hers.
“The world outside of the Republic isn’t perfect, but freedoms and opportunities do exist out there, and all we need to do is let that light shine into the Republic itself. Our country is on the brink—all it needs now is a hand to tip it over.” He rises halfway off his chair and points at his chest. “We can be that hand. With a revolution, the Republic comes crashing down, and together with the Colonies we can take it and rebuild it into something great. It’ll be the United States again. People will live freely. Day, your little brother will grow up in a better place. That’s worth risking our lives for. That’s worth dying for. Isn’t it?”
I can tell Razor’s words are stirring something in Day, coaxing out a gleam in his eyes that takes me aback with its intensity. “Something worth dying for,” Day repeats.
I should be excited too. But somehow, still, the thought of the Republic crashing down sends a pulse of nausea through me. I don’t know if it’s brainwashing, years of Republic doctrine drilled into my brain. The feeling lingers, though, along with a flood of shame and self-hate.
Everything I am familiar with is gone.
THE MEDIC SHOWS UP IN A QUIET FLURRY SOMETIME after midnight. She preps me. Razor drags a table from the living room to one of the smaller bedrooms, where boxes of random supplies—food, nails, paper clips, canteens of water, you name it, they got it—are stacked in the corners. She and Kaede lay a sheet of thick plastic under the table. They strap me down to the table with a series of belts. The Medic carefully prepares her metal instruments. My leg lies exposed and bleeding. June stays by my side while they do all this, watching the Medic as if her supervision alone will ensure that the woman makes no mistakes. I wait impatiently. Every moment that passes brings us closer to finding Eden. Razor’s words stir me each time I think about them. Dunno—maybe I should’ve joined the Patriots years ago.
Tess bustles efficiently about the room as the Medic’s assistant, putting gloves on her hands after scrubbing up, handing her supplies, watching the process intently when there’s nothing for her to do. She manages to avoid June. I can tell by Tess’s expression that she’s nervous as hell, but she doesn’t utter a word about it. The two of us had chatted with each other pretty easily during dinner, when she’d sat on the couch b
eside me—but something has changed between us. I can’t quite put my finger on it. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that Tess was into me. But it’s such a weird thought, I quickly push it away. Tess, who’s practically my sister, the little orphan girl from Nima sector?
Except she’s not just a little orphan girl anymore. Now I can see distinct signs of adulthood on her face: less baby fat, high cheekbones, eyes that don’t seem quite as enormous as I remember. I wonder why I never noticed these changes before. It only took a few weeks of separation to become obvious. I must be dense as a goddy brick, yeah?
“Breathe,” June says beside me. She sucks in a lungful of air as if to demonstrate how it’s done.
I stop puzzling over Tess and realize that I’ve been holding my breath. “Do you know how long it’ll take?” I ask June. She pats my hand soothingly at the tension in my tone, and I feel a pinch of guilt. If it wasn’t for me, she’d still be on her way to the Colonies right now.
“A few hours.” June pauses as Razor takes the Medic aside. Money exchanges hands—they shake on it. Tess helps the Medic put on a mask, then gives me a thumbs-up. June turns back to me.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d met the Elector before?” I whisper. “You always talked about him like he was a complete stranger.”
“He is a complete stranger,” June replies. She waits for a while, like she’s double-checking her words. “I just didn’t see the point in telling you—I don’t know him, and I don’t have any particular feelings toward him.”
I think back to our kiss in the bathroom. Then I picture the new Elector’s portrait and imagine an older June standing beside him as the future Princeps of the Senate. On the arm of the wealthiest man in the Republic. And what am I, some dirty street con with two Notes in his pocket, thinking I’ll actually be able to hang on to this girl after spending a few weeks with her? Besides, have I already forgotten that June once belonged to an elite family—that she was mingling with people like the young Elector at fancy dinner parties and banquets back when I was still hunting for food in Lake’s trash bins? And this is the first time I’ve pictured her with upper-class men? I suddenly feel so stupid for telling her that I love her, as if I’d be able to make her love me in return like some common girl from the streets. She didn’t say it back, anyway.
