Anden narrows his eyes. “Careful how you refer to Day, Senator, before the people turn their backs on you.”
The Senator sneers at Anden and raises himself up as high as he can. “Elector,” he says, his tone exaggerated and mocking. “You are the leader of the Republic of America. You have power over this entire country. And here you are, held hostage to the suggestions of someone who tried to have you killed.” My temper has begun to rise. I lower my head so that I don’t have to look at the Senator. “In my opinion, sir, you need to do something before your entire government—and your entire population—sees you as nothing but a cowardly, weak-willed, backroom-negotiating pushover bowing to the demands of a teenage girl and a criminal and a ragtag team of terrorists. Your father would have—”
Anden jumps to his feet and slams his hand down on the table. Instantly the chamber turns silent.
“Senator,” Anden says quietly. The man stares back, but with less conviction than he had two seconds ago. “You are correct about only one thing. As my father’s son, I am the Elector of the Republic. I am the law. Everything I decide directly affects who lives or dies.” I study Anden’s face with a growing sense of worry. His gentle, soft-voiced self is slowly disappearing behind the veil of darkness and violence inherited from his father. “You’d do well to remember what happened to those Senators who actually plotted my failed assassination.”
The chamber falls so quiet I feel like I can hear the beads of sweat rolling down the Senators’ faces. Even Mariana and Serge have turned pale. In the midst of them all stands Anden, his face a mask of fury, his jaw tense, and his eyes a deep, brooding storm. He turns to me—I feel an awful, electric shudder run through my body, but I keep my gaze steady. I am the only one in the chamber willing to look him in the eye.
Even if our surrender is a fake one, one that the Senators aren’t meant to understand, I wonder how Anden will deal with this group once it’s all over.
Maybe he won’t have to. Maybe we’ll belong to a different country, or maybe Anden and I will both be dead.
In this moment, sitting amongst a divided Senate and a young Elector struggling to hold them together, I finally see my path clearly. I don’t belong. I shouldn’t be here. The realization hits me so hard, I find it suddenly hard to breathe.
Anden and the Senators exchange a few more tense words, but then it’s all over, and we file out of the room, an uneasy crowd. I find Anden—his deep red uniform a bright marker against the Senators’ black—in the hall and pull him aside. “They’ll come around,” I say, trying to offer reassurance in a sea of hostility. “They don’t have a choice.”
He seems to relax, if only for a second. A few simple words from me are enough to dissipate his anger. “I know. But I don’t want them to have no choice. I want them solidly behind me of their own will.” He sighs. “Can we speak in private? I’ve something to discuss with you.”
I study his face, trying to guess at what he wants to say, dreading it. Finally, I nod. “My apartment’s closer.”
We head out to his jeep and drive in silence, all the way to my high-rise in Ruby sector. There, we make our way upstairs and enter my apartment without a word. Ollie greets us, as enthusiastic as ever. I close the door behind me.
Anden’s temper has long vanished. He looks around with a restless expression, then turns back to me. “Do you mind if I sit?”
“Please,” I reply, taking a seat myself at the dining table. The Elector Primo, asking for permission to sit?
Anden takes the seat beside me with all of his signature grace, and then rubs his temples with weary hands. “I have some good news,” he says. He tries to smile, but I can see how heavy it is. “I’ve made a deal with Antarctica.”
I swallow hard. “And?”
“They’ve confirmed that they will send military support—some air support for now, more ground support when we prove we’ve found a cure,” Anden replies. “And they will agree to treat Day.” He doesn’t look at me. “In exchange for Dakota. I had no choice. I’m giving them our largest territory.”
My heart jumps with an overwhelming sense of joy and relief—and at the same time, it sinks with sympathy for Anden. He’s been forced to fragment the country. Giving up our most precious resource; everybody in the world’s most precious resource. It was inevitable. Every win comes with a sacrifice. “Thank you,” I say.
“Don’t thank me yet.” His wry smile quickly turns into a grimace. “We are hanging by a thread. I don’t know if their help will come fast enough. The word from the warfront is that we’re losing ground in Vegas. If our plans with this phony surrender fail, if we don’t find a cure soon, this war will be over before Antarctica’s support ever arrives.”
“Do you think finding a cure will make the Colonies stop?” I ask quietly.
Anden shakes his head. “We don’t have many options,” he replies. “But we have to hang on until help arrives.” He falls silent for a moment. “I head to the warfront in Vegas tomorrow. Our troops need it.”
Right into the thick of war. I try to stay calm. “Are your Princeps-Elects going too?” I ask. “Your Senators?”
“Only my generals will join me,” Anden replies. “You’re not going to come, and neither are Mariana and Serge. Someone needs to hold firm in Los Angeles.”
And here’s the meat of what he wants to tell me. My mind spins over what I know he’ll say next.