Champion (Legend 3)

Goose bumps rise on my arms. A memory flashes through my mind of the night Metias died, when Commander Jameson escorted me to where his body lay. “Too bad that didn’t work out, isn’t it?” I snap. This time I can’t keep the venom out of my words. I hope they execute you as unceremoniously as they did Razor.

Commander Jameson only laughs at me. Her eyes dilate. “Better be careful, Iparis,” she whispers. “You might turn out just like me.”

The words chill me to the bone, and I finally have to turn away and break my stare away from hers. The soldiers guarding her cell don’t look at me; they just keep staring forward. I continue walking. Behind me, I can still hear her soft, low chuckle. My heart pounds against my ribs.

Thomas is being held inside a rectangular cell with thick glass walls, thick enough that I can’t hear anything of what’s happening inside. I wait outside, steadying myself after my encounter with Commander Jameson. For an instant I wonder whether I should have stayed away and turned down his final request; maybe that would have been for the best.

Still, if I leave now, I’ll have to face Commander Jameson again. I might need a little more time to prepare myself for that. So I take a deep breath and step toward the steel bars lining Thomas’s cell door. A guard opens it, lets two additional guards in after me, and then closes it behind us. Our footsteps echo in the small, empty chamber.

Thomas gets up with a clank of his chains. He looks more disheveled than I’ve ever seen him, and I know that if his hands were completely free, he’d go about ironing his rumpled uniform and combing his unruly hair right away. But instead, Thomas clicks his heels together. Not until I tell him to relax his stance does he look at me.

“It’s good to see you, Princeps-Elect,” he says. Is there a hint of sadness in his serious, stern face? “Thank you for indulging my final request. It won’t be long now before you’re rid of me entirely.”

I shake my head, angry with myself, irritated that in spite of everything he has done, Thomas’s unshakable loyalty to the Republic still stirs a drop of sympathy from me. “Sit down and make yourself comfortable,” I tell him. He doesn’t hesitate for a second—in a uniform motion, we both kneel down onto the cold cell floor, him leaning against the cell wall, me folding my legs underneath me. We stay like that for a moment, letting the awkward silence between us linger.

I speak up first. “You don’t need to be so loyal to the Republic anymore,” I reply. “You can let go, you know.”

Thomas only shakes his head. “It’s the duty of a Republic soldier to be loyal to the end, and I’m still a soldier. I will be one until I die.”

I don’t know why the thought of him dying tugs on my heartstrings in so many strange ways. I’m happy, relieved, angry, sad. “Why did you want to see me?” I finally ask.

“Ms. Iparis, before tomorrow comes . . .” Thomas trails off for a second before continuing. “I want to tell you the full details of everything that happened to Metias that night at the hospital. I just feel . . . I feel like I owe it to you. If anyone should know, it’s you.”

My heart begins to pound. Am I ready to relive all of that again—do I need to know this? Metias is gone; knowing the details of what happened will not bring him back. But I find myself meeting Thomas’s gaze with a calm, level look. He does owe it to me. More importantly, I owe it to my brother. After Thomas is executed, someone should carry on the memory of my brother’s death, of what really happened.

Slowly, I steady my heartbeat. When I open my mouth, my voice cracks a little. “Fine,” I reply.

His voice grows quieter. “I remember everything about that night. Every last detail.”

“Tell me, then.”

Like the obedient soldier he is, Thomas begins his story. “On the night of your brother’s death, I took a call from Commander Jameson. We were waiting with the jeeps outside the hospital’s entrance. Metias was chatting with a nurse in front of the main sliding doors. I stood behind the jeeps some distance away. Then the call came.”

As Thomas speaks, the prison around us melts away and is replaced by the scene of that fateful night, the hospital and the military jeep and the soldiers, the streets as if I were walking right beside Thomas, seeing all that he saw. Reliving the events.

“I whispered a greeting to Commander Jameson over my earpiece,” Thomas continues. “She didn’t bother greeting me back.

“‘It has to be done tonight,’ she told me. ‘If we don’t act now, your captain may plan an act of treason against the Republic, or even against the Elector. I’m giving you a direct order, Lieutenant Bryant. Find a way to get Captain Iparis to a private spot tonight. I don’t care how you do it.’”

Thomas looks me in the eye now and repeats, “An act of treason against the Republic. I tightened my jaw. I’d been dreading this inevitable call, ever since I’d first learned about Metias’s hacking into the deceased civilians’ databases. Keeping secrets from Commander Jameson was damn near impossible. My eyes darted to your brother at the entrance. ‘Yes, Commander,’ I whispered.

“‘Good,’ she said. ‘Tell me when you’re ready—I’ll send in separate orders to the rest of your patrol to be at a different location during that time. Make it quick and clean.’

“That’s when my hand began to shake. I tried to argue with the Commander, but her voice only turned colder. ‘If you don’t do it, I will. Believe me, I will be messier about it—and no one’s going to be happy that way. Understood?’