Prodigy (Legend 2)

Silence. Then, a few chants. More join in. They raise their eyes and fists to me, their shouts ceaseless, a tide of change. “Then raise your voices for your Elector, as I have, and he will raise his for you!”

The cheers are deafening, drowning out anything and everything. The young Elector keeps his eyes on me, and I realize, at last, that June is right. I don’t want to see the Republic collapse. I want to see it change.

TWO DAYS HAVE PASSED. OR, MORE PRECISELY, FIFTY-two hours and eight minutes have passed since Day climbed to the top of the Capitol Tower and announced his support for our Elector. Whenever I close my eyes, I can still see him up there, his hair gleaming like a beacon of light against the night, his words ringing out clear and strong across the city and the country. Whenever I dream, I can feel the burn of his last kiss on my lips, the fire and fear behind his eyes. Every person in the Republic heard him that night. He gave power back to Anden and Anden won over the country, all in one blow.

This is my second day in a hospital chamber on the outskirts of Denver. The second afternoon without Day at my side. In a room several doors down, Day is undergoing the same tests, both to ensure his health and make sure the Colonies didn’t implant any monitoring devices in his head. He’s going to be reunited with his brother at any minute. My doctor has arrived to check on my recovery—but he won’t be doing it in any sort of privacy. In fact, when I study my room’s ceiling, I see security cameras at every corner, broadcasting my image live to the public. The Republic is afraid to give people even the slightest sense that Day and I aren’t being taken care of.

A monitor on the wall shows me Day’s chamber. It is the only reason I agreed to be separated from him for this long. I wish I could talk to him. As soon as they stop running X-rays and sensors on me, I’m putting on a mike.

“Good morning to you, Ms. Iparis,” my doctor says to me as nurses dot my skin with six sensors. I mumble a greeting in return, but my attention stays on the cam footage of Day talking to his own doctor. His arms are crossed in a defiant stance and his expression’s skeptical. Now and then his attention focuses on a spot on the wall that I can’t see. I wonder if he’s watching me through a cam too.

My doctor notices what’s distracting me and wearily answers my question before I can ask it. “You’ll see him soon, Ms. Iparis. Okay? I promise. Now, you know the drill. Close your eyes and take a deep breath.”

I bite down my frustration and do as he says. Lights flicker behind my eyelids, and then a cold, tingly sensation runs through my brain and down my spine. They put a gel-like mask over my mouth and nose. I always have to tell myself not to panic during this sequence, to fight down the claustrophobia and feeling of drowning. They’re just testing me, I repeat quietly. They’re testing me for any remnants of Colonies brainwashing, for mental stability, for whether or not the Elector—the Republic—can trust me fully. That’s all.

Hours go by. Finally, it stops, and the doctor tells me I can open my eyes again.

“Well done, Iparis,” he says as he types something out on his notepad. “Your cough may linger, but I think you’ve survived the worst of your illness. You can stay longer if you’d like”—he smiles at the exasperated frown on my face—“but if you’d prefer to be discharged to your new apartment, we can arrange that today as well. At any rate, the glorious Elector is anxious to speak with you before you leave here.”

“How is Day?” I ask. It’s difficult for me to keep the impatience out of my voice. “When can I see him?”

The doctor frowns. “Didn’t we just discuss this? Day will be released shortly after you. First he’ll need to see his brother.”

I study his face carefully. There’s a reason the doctor hesitated just now—something about Day’s recovery. I can see the subtle twitch under the doctor’s facial muscles. He knows something I don’t.

The doctor snaps me back to reality. He drops his notepad to his side, straightens, and plants an artificial smile on his face. “Well, that’s all for today. Tomorrow we’ll begin your formal integration back into the Republic, with your new career assignment. The Elector will arrive in a few minutes, and you’ll have some time beforehand to regain your bearings.” With that, he and the nurses take their sensors and machines and leave me alone.

I sit on my bed and keep my eyes on the door. A dark red cloak is wrapped around my shoulders, but I still don’t feel entirely warm in this room. By the time Anden comes in to see me, I’m shivering.

He steps inside with his signature grace, wearing silent dark boots and black scarf and uniform, his curls of hair perfectly trimmed, thin-rimmed glasses sitting neatly on his nose. When he sees me, he smiles and salutes. The gesture reminds me painfully of Metias, and I have to focus down on my feet for a few seconds to compose myself. Fortunately, he seems to think I’m bowing.

“Elector,” I greet him.

He smiles; his green eyes sweep over me. “How are you feeling, June?”

I smile back. “Well enough.”

Anden laughs a little and lowers his head. He steps closer, but he doesn’t try to sit next to me on the bed. I can still see the attraction in his eyes, the way he lingers on every word I say and every move I make. Surely he must have heard rumors by now about my relationship with Day? If he knows, though, he doesn’t reveal it. “The Republic,” he continues, embarrassed that I’ve caught him staring, “that is, the government has decided that you are fit to return to the military with your original rank intact. As an Agent, here in Denver.”