Prodigy (Legend 2)

“I see.” Anden’s voice tightens with distrust. He dabs his mouth with a cloth napkin, then puts his silverware down and leans back. “So. Day is alive, or he was when you left him? Is he also working with the Patriots?”

“When I left, he was. I don’t know about now.”

“Why is he working with them, when he always avoided them in the past?”

I shrug a little, trying to feign puzzlement. “He needs help finding his brother, and he’s indebted to the Patriots for fixing his leg. He had an infected bullet wound from . . . all this.”

Anden pauses long enough to take a small sip of champagne. “Why did you help him escape?”

I flex my wrist so that the cuffs don’t leave imprints against my skin. My shackles clank loudly against each other. “Because he didn’t kill my brother.”

“Captain Metias Iparis.” The sound of my brother’s full name sends a wave of anguish through me. Does he know how my brother died? “I’m sorry for your loss.” Anden bows his head a little, an unexpected sign of respect that makes a lump rise in my throat.

“I remember reading about your brother when I was younger, you know,” he continues. “I read about his grades in school, how well he performed on his Trial, and especially how good he was with comps.”

I spear a strawberry, chew it thoughtfully, then swallow. “I never knew my brother had such an esteemed fan.”

“I wasn’t a fan of him, per se, although he was certainly impressive.” Anden picks up his new champagne glass and sips. “I was a fan of you.”

Remember, be obvious. Make him think you’re flattered. And attracted to him. He is handsome, for sure—so I try to focus on that. The light from the wall lamps catches the wavy edges of his hair, making it shine; his olive skin has a warm, golden glow; his eyes are rich with the color of spring leaves. Gradually I feel a blush growing on my cheeks. Good, keep going. He’s some mix of Latin blood, but the ever-so-slight slant of his large eyes and the delicateness of his brow reveal a hint of Asian heritage. Like Day. Suddenly, my attention scatters, and all I can see is me and Day kissing in that Vegas bathroom. I remember his bare chest, his lips against my neck, his intoxicating defiance that makes Anden pale by comparison. The subtle blush on my cheeks flares into bright heat.

The Elector tilts his head to the side and smiles. I take a deep breath and compose myself. Thank goodness I still managed to get the reaction I was aiming for.

“Have you thought about why the Republic has been so lenient, given your betrayal of the state?” Anden says, toying idly with his fork. “Anyone else would already have been executed. But not you.” He straightens in his chair. “The Republic has been watching you since you scored that perfect fifteen hundred on your Trial. I’ve heard about your grades, and your performance in Drake’s afternoon drills. Several Congressmen nominated you for political assignment before you even finished your freshman year at Drake. But they ultimately decided to assign you to the military instead, because your personality has ‘officer’ written all over it. You’re a celebrity in the inner circles. Your being convicted of disloyalty would be a tremendous loss to the Republic.”

Does Anden know the truth of how my parents and Metias were killed? That their disloyalty cost them their lives? Does the Republic value me so much that they’re hesitant to execute me despite my recent crime and traitorous family ties? “How did you see me around the Drake campus?” I say. “I don’t remember hearing that you visited the university.”

Anden cuts into a heart of palm on his plate. “Oh no. You wouldn’t have heard it.”

I give him a quizzical frown. “Were you . . . a student at Drake while I was there?”

Anden nods. “The administration kept my identity a secret. I was seventeen—a sophomore—when you came to Drake at twelve. We all heard a lot about you, obviously—and your antics.” He grins at that, and his eyes sparkle mischievously.

The Elector’s son had been walking amongst the rest of us at Drake, and I didn’t even know it. My chest swells with pride at the thought of the Republic’s leader taking notice of me on campus. Then I shake my head, guilty for liking the attention. “Well, I hope not everything you heard was bad.”

Anden reveals a dimple in his left cheek when he laughs. It’s a soothing sound. “No. Not everything.”

Even I have to smile. “My grades were good, but I’m pretty sure my dean’s secretary is happy I won’t be haunting her office anymore.”

“Miss Whitaker?” Anden shakes his head. For a moment he drops his formal façade, ignoring etiquette by slouching back in his chair and making a circular gesture with his fork. “I’d been called in to her office too, which was funny because she had no idea who I was. I’d gotten into trouble for switching out the heavy practice rifles in the gym for foam ones.”

“That was you?” I exclaim. I remember that incident well. Freshman year, drill class. The foam rifles had looked so real. When the students had bent down in unison to pick up what they thought were heavy guns, they’d all yanked the foam ones up so hard that half the students toppled over backward from the force. The memory gets a real laugh out of me. “That was brilliant. The drill captain was so mad.”

“Everyone needs to get in trouble at least once in college, right?” Anden smirks and drums his fingers against his champagne glass. “You always seemed to cause the most trouble, though. Didn’t you force one of your classes to evacuate?”