Prodigy (Legend 2)

My guards lead me into my own private railcar, a car so luxurious that I know I’m in here only because Anden insisted on it. It’s twice as long as the standard railcars (a good nine hundred square feet, with six velvet curtains and Anden’s ever-present portrait hanging against the right wall). The guards lead me to the center table of the car, then pull out a seat for me. I feel a strange detachment from it all, like none of it is quite real—it’s as if I were exactly where I used to be, a wealthy girl taking her rightful place amongst the Republic’s elite.

“If you need anything, let us know,” one of them says. He sounds polite, but the tightness of his jaw gives away how nervous he is around me.

There are no sounds now except for the subtle rattle of the train on tracks. I try not to focus directly on the soldiers, but from the corner of my eye, I watch them closely. Are there any Patriots disguised as soldiers on this train? If so, do they suspect my shifting loyalties?

We wait together in a thick silence. The snow has started up again, piling against my window’s outside corners. Curls of white frost decorate the glass. It reminds me of Metias’s funeral, of my white dress and Thomas’s polished white suit, the white lilacs and white carpets.

The train picks up speed. I lean toward the window until my cheek almost touches the cold glass, watching silently as we approach the looming Armor wall that surrounds Denver. Even in the darkness I can see the train tunnels carved into the Armor; some of them are completely sealed with solid metal gates while others remain open for night freight to pass through. Our train hurtles into one of the tunnels—I guess trains leaving the capital don’t need to stop for inspection, especially if the Elector has approved them. As we leave the enormous wall behind, I see an inbound train slowing for inspection at a checkpoint.

We continue on, melting away into the night. The rain-worn skyscrapers of slum sectors stream past the windows, the now-familiar view of how people live on the outskirts of a city. I’m too tired to pay much attention to the details. My mind goes over what Anden said to me the last night, which leads me back to the endless problem of how to warn Anden and keep Day safe at the same time. The Patriots will know I’ve betrayed them if I reveal the assassination plot to Anden too early. I need to time my steps so any plan deviations happen right before the assassination, when I can reach Day easily.

I wish I could tell Anden now. Tell him everything, get it over with. In a world without Day, that’s what I would do. In a world without Day, many things would be different. I think about the nightmares I’ve been having, the haunting thought of Razor putting a bullet in Day’s chest. The paper clip ring sits heavy on my finger. Again, I lift two fingers to my brow. If Day didn’t catch my first signal, I hope he sees this one. The guards don’t seem to think I’m doing anything unusual; it looks like I’m just resting my head. The railcar sways to one side and a wave of dizziness washes over me. Maybe this cold I have coming on—if it really is a cold, that is, and not something more serious—is starting to affect my logic. Still, I don’t raise a request for doctors or medicine. Medicine inhibits the real immune system, so I’ve always preferred fighting illnesses on my own (much to Metias’s exasperation).

Why do so many of my thoughts lead back to Metias?

An aggravated man’s voice distracts me from my wandering thoughts. I turn from the window and back to the inside of my railcar. It sounds like an older man. I sit straighter in my chair and can see two figures walking toward me through the tiny window on my railcar door. One is the man I’d just heard, short and pear-shaped, with a scruffy gray beard and small, bulbous nose. The other is Anden. I strain to hear what they’re saying—at first, all I can make out are broken hints of their conversation, but their words sharpen as they draw closer to my railcar.

“Elector, please—I’m telling you this for your own good. Acts of rebellion need to be met with severe punishment. If you don’t react appropriately, it’ll only be a matter of time before everything is thrown into upheaval.”

Anden listens patiently with his hands behind his back and his head tilted down toward the man. “Thank you for your concern, Senator Kamion, but my mind is made up. Now is hardly the time to meet the unrest in Los Angeles with military force.”

My ears perk up at this. The older man spreads his arms wide in a gesture of irritation. “Push the people back in line. You need that right now, Elector. Demonstrate your will.”

Anden shakes his head. “It’ll push the people over the edge, Senator. Using fatal force before I have a chance to publicize all the changes I have in mind? No. I won’t issue such a command. That’s my will.”

The Senator scratches at his beard in irritation and puts a hand on Anden’s elbow. “The public is already up in arms against you, and your leniency will look like weakness—not just externally, but internally too. The LA Trial admins are complaining about our lack of response—the protests have forced them to cancel several days’ worth of examinations.”

Anden’s mouth tightens into a stern line. “I think you know how I feel about the Trials, Senator.”

“I do,” the Senator replies sullenly. “That’s a discussion for another time. But if you don’t issue orders that allow us to stop the rioting, I can guarantee that you’ll be getting an earful from the Senate and the Los Angeles patrols.”

Anden pauses to raise an eyebrow at him. “Is that so? I’m sorry. I was under the impression that our Senate and our military understand exactly how much weight my words carry.”