Legend Trilogy Boxed Set

  This thought triggers another. Why didn’t Tess come down with us? I want to ask, but oddly enough, Day hasn’t said a word about her since we entered this tunnel. They’d had an argument, that much I know. I hope she’s okay. Had she chosen to stay with the Patriots?

  Finally, Day stops in front of a wall. I nearly collapse against him, and a sudden wave of relief and panic hits me. I should be able to run farther than this, but I’m exhausted. Is this a dead end? Has part of the tunnel collapsed on itself, and now we’re trapped from both sides?

  But Day puts his hand against the surface in the darkness. “We can rest here,” he whispers. They’re the first words he’s spoken since we got down here. “I stayed in one of these in Lamar.”

  Razor had mentioned the Patriots’ getaway tunnels once. Day runs his hand along the edge of the door where it meets the wall. Finally, he finds what he’s searching for, a small sliding lever sticking out from a thin twelve-inch slot. He pulls it from one end to the other. The door opens with a click.

  At first, we just step into a black hole. Although I can’t see anything, I listen closely to how our footsteps are echoing around the room and guess that there’s a low ceiling, probably only a few feet taller than the tunnel itself (ten, maybe eleven feet high), and when I put a hand along one wall I can tell it’s straight, not curved. A rectangular room.

  “Here it is,” Day mutters. I hear him press and release something, and artificial light floods the space. “Let’s hope it’s empty.”

  It’s not a large chamber, but it would be big enough to fit twenty or thirty people comfortably, even up to a hundred if they were crammed in. Against the back wall are two doors leading off into dark hallways. All the walls have monitors, thick and clunky along the edges, with clumsier design than the ones used in most Republic halls. I wonder if the Patriots installed these or if they’re old tech left over from when these tunnels were first built.

  While Day wanders through the first hall at the back of the main room, his gun drawn, I check the second one. There are two smaller rooms here, with five sets of bunk beds in each one, and at the far end of the hall is a small door that leads back into the dark, endless tunnel. I’m willing to bet that the hall Day is in also has a tunnel entrance. As I wander from bunk to bunk, I run my hand along the wall where people had scrawled their names and initials. This way to salvation. J. D. Edward, one says. The only way out is death. Maria Márques, says another.

  “All clear?” Day says from behind me.

  I nod at him. “Clear. I think we’re safe for now.”

  He sighs, lets his shoulders slump, then runs a hand wearily through his tangled hair. It’s only been a few days since the last time I saw him, but somehow it feels like so much longer. I walk over to him. His eyes wander across my face as if taking me in for the first time. He must have a million questions for me, but he just lifts a hand and pushes a lock of my hair into place. I’m not sure if I feel dizzy from illness or emotion. I’d almost forgotten how his touch makes me feel. I want to fall into the purity that is Day, soaking in his simple honesty, his heart that sits open and beating on his sleeve.

  “Hey,” he murmurs.

  I wrap my arms around him, and we hold each other tightly. I close my eyes, letting myself sink against Day’s body and the warmth of his breath on my neck. His hands brush through my hair and run down my back, holding on to me like he’s afraid to let go. He pulls away enough to meet my eyes. He leans forward as if to kiss me . . . but then, for some reason, he stops himself, and pulls me back into a hug. Holding him is comforting, but still.

  Something has changed.

  We make our way into the kitchen (two hundred twenty-five square feet, judging by the number of tiles on the square floor), dig up two cans of food and bottles of water, squeeze onto the counters, and settle in for a break. Day’s silent. I wait expectantly as we share a can of pasta drowning in tomato sauce, but he still doesn’t utter a word. He seems to be thinking. About the foiled plan? About Tess? Or perhaps he’s not thinking at all, but still stunned into silence. I stay quiet too. I would prefer not to put words in his mouth.

  “I saw your warning signal from one of the security cam videos,” he finally says after seventeen minutes have passed. “I didn’t know exactly what you wanted me to do, but I got the general idea.”

  I notice he doesn’t mention the kiss between Anden and me, even though I’m sure he saw it. “Thanks.” My vision darkens for a second and I blink rapidly to try to focus. Maybe I need more medicine. “I’m . . . sorry for forcing you into a tough spot. I’d tried to make the jeeps take a different route in Pierra, but it didn’t work out.”

  “That was the whole delay when you collapsed, right? I was afraid you might’ve gotten hurt.”

  I chew thoughtfully for a moment. Food should taste great right now, but I’m not hungry at all. I should tell him about Eden’s freedom right away, but Day’s tone—somehow like a thunderstorm on the horizon—holds me back. Had the Patriots been able to hear all of my conversations with Anden? If so, then Day might already know. “Razor’s lying to us about why he wants the Elector dead. I don’t know why yet—but the things he’s told us just don’t add up.” I pause, wondering if Razor has already been detained by Republic officials. If not now, then soon. The Republic should know by the end of today that Razor specifically instructed the jeep drivers to stay on course, leading Anden right into the trap.

  Day shrugs and concentrates on the food. “Who knows what he and the Patriots are doing now?”

  I wonder if he says this because he’s thinking about Tess. The way she’d looked at him before we escaped into the tunnel . . . I decide not to ask about what might have happened between them. Still, my imagination conjures up a vision of them on the couch together, so comfortable and relaxed like they’d been when we first met the Patriots in Vegas, Day resting his head in Tess’s lap. Tess leaning down to brush her lips over his. My stomach tightens in discomfort. But she didn’t come, I remind myself. What happened between them? I picture Tess arguing with Day about me.

  “So,” he says in a monotone. “Tell me what you found out about the Elector that made you decide that we should betray the Patriots.”

  He doesn’t know about Eden, after all. I put down my water and purse my lips. “The Elector freed your brother.”

  Day’s fork stops in midair. “What?”

  “Anden let him go—on the day after I gave you the signal. Eden is under federal protection in Denver. Anden hates what the Republic did to your family . . . and he wants to win back our trust—yours and mine.” I reach over for Day’s hand, but he snatches it away. My breath escapes me in a disappointed sigh. I wasn’t sure how he’d take this news, but a part of me hoped that he would just be . . . happy.

  “Anden is completely opposed to the late Elector’s politics,” I go on. “He wants to stop the Trials, and the plague experiments.” I hesitate. Day is still staring at the can of pasta, fork in hand, but he’s not eating any longer. “He wants to make all these radical changes, but he needs to win the public’s favor first. He basically begged me for our help.”

  Day’s expression quivers. “That’s it? That’s why you decided to throw the Patriots’ entire plan out the window?” he replies bitterly. “So the Elector can bribe me in exchange for my support? Sounds like a damn joke, if you ask me. How do you know he’s telling the truth, June? Did you actually get proof that he released Eden?”

  I put my hand on his arm. This is exactly what I feared from Day, but he has every right to be suspicious. How can I explain the gut instinct I have about Anden’s personality, or the fact that I’d seen the honesty in his eyes? I know Anden released Day’s brother. I know it. But Day wasn’t there in the room. He doesn’t know Anden. He has no reason to trust him. “Anden is different. You have to believe me, Day. He released Eden, and not just because he wants us to do something for him.”

  Day’s words are cold and distant. “I said, do you have any proof?”


  I sigh, taking my hand off his arm. “No,” I admit. “I don’t.”

  Day snaps out of his daze and digs his fork back into the can. He does it so hard that the fork’s handle bends. “He played you. You, of all people. The Republic is not going to change. Right now the new Elector’s young, stupid as hell, and full of it, and he just wants to make people take him seriously. He’ll say anything. Once things settle down, you’ll see his true colors. I guarantee it. He’s no different from his father—just another goddy rich trot with deep pockets and a mouthful of lies.”

  It irritates me that Day thinks I’m so gullible. “Young and full of it?” I give Day a little shove, trying to lighten the mood. “Reminds me of someone.”

  Once this would have made Day laugh, but now he just glares at me. “I saw a boy in Lamar,” he continues. “He was my brother’s age. For a minute, I thought he was Eden. He was being shipped around in a giant glass tube, like some sort of science experiment. I tried to get him out, but I couldn’t. The boy’s blood is being used as a bioweapon that they’re trying to launch into the Colonies.” Day throws his fork into the sink. “That’s what your pretty Elector’s doing to my brother. Now, you still think he released him?”

  I reach over and put my hand over his. “Congress had sent Eden to the warfront before Anden was Elector. Anden just released him the other day. He’s—”

  Day shrugs me off, his expression a mix of frustration and confusion. He readjusts the sleeves of his collar shirt back up to his elbows. “Why do you believe in this guy so much?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He gets angrier as he goes. “I mean, the only reason I didn’t smash your Elector’s car window and put a knife through his throat was because of you. Because I knew you must’ve had a good reason. But now it seems like you just take his words on faith. What happened to all that logic of yours?”

  I don’t like the way he calls Anden my Elector, as if Day and I were still on opposing sides. “I’m telling you the truth,” I say quietly. “Besides, last time I checked, you’re not a murderer.”

  Day turns away from me and mutters something under his breath that I can’t quite catch. I cross my arms. “Do you remember when I trusted you, even though everything I’d ever known told me that you were an enemy? I gave you the benefit of the doubt, and I sacrificed everything for what I believed. I can tell you right now that assassinating Anden will solve nothing. He’s the one person the Republic actually needs—someone inside the system with enough power to change things. How could you live with yourself after killing a person like that? Anden is good.”

  “So what if he is?” Day says coldly. He’s gripping the countertop so tightly that his knuckles have turned white. “Good, bad—what does it matter? He’s the Elector.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Do you really believe that?”

  Day shakes his head and laughs mirthlessly. “The Patriots are trying to start a revolution. That’s what this country needs—not a new Elector, but no Elector. The Republic is broken beyond repair. Let the Colonies take over.”

  “You don’t even know what the Colonies are like.”

  “I know they’ve got to be better than this hellhole,” Day snaps.

  I can tell that he’s not angry at just me, but he’s starting to sound childish and it rubs me the wrong way. “You know why I agreed to help the Patriots?” I put a hand on his upper arm, feeling the faint outline of a scar under the fabric. Day tenses up at my touch. “Because I wanted to help you. You think everything’s my fault, don’t you? It’s my fault that your brother’s being experimented on. It’s my fault that you had to leave the Patriots. It’s my fault that Tess refused to come.”

  “No . . .” Day trails off as he wrings his hands in frustration. “It’s not all your fault. And Tess . . . Tess is definitely my fault.” There’s genuine pain on his face—at this point, I can’t tell who it’s for. So much has happened. I feel a curious pang of resentment that makes blood rush in my ears even as it shames me. It’s not fair for me to be jealous. After all, Day has known Tess for years, much longer than he’s known me, so why shouldn’t he feel attached to her? Besides, Tess is sweet, selfless, healing. I am not. Of course I know why Tess had abandoned him. It is because of me.

  I study his face. “What happened between you and Tess?”

  Day stares at the wall across from us, lost in thought, and I have to tap his foot with mine to snap him out of it. “Tess kissed me,” he mutters. “And she feels like I betrayed her . . . for you.”

  My cheeks redden. I close my eyes, forcing the image of them kissing out of my thoughts. This is so stupid. Isn’t it? Tess has known Day for years—she has every right to kiss him. And hadn’t the Elector kissed me too? Hadn’t I liked it? Anden suddenly feels a million miles away, like he doesn’t matter at all. The only thing I can see is Day and Tess together. It’s like a punch to the stomach. We’re in the middle of a war. Don’t be pathetic. “Why would you tell me that?”

  “Would you rather I kept it a secret?” He looks ashamed, and he purses his lips.

  I don’t know why, but Day never seems to have a problem making me feel like a fool. I try pretending that it doesn’t bother me. “Tess will forgive you.” My words, meant to be comforting and mature, sound hollow and fake instead. I passed the lie detector test without a hitch while I was under arrest—why’s it so hard for me to deal with this?

  After a while, he says in a quieter voice, “What do you think of him? Honestly?”

  “I think he’s real,” I say, impressed with how calm I sound. Glad to steer our conversation in a different direction. “Ambitious and compassionate, even if it makes him a little impractical. Definitely not the brutal dictator the Patriots said he’ll become. He’s young, and he needs the Republic’s people on his side. And he’s going to need help if he’s going to change things.”

  “June, we barely got away from the Patriots. Are you trying to say we should help Anden more than we already have—that we should keep risking our lives for this goddy rich stranger you barely know?” The venom in his eyes as he spits out the word rich startles me, making me feel like he’s insulting me too.

  “What does class have to do with this?” Now I’m irritated too. “Are you really saying you’d be glad to see him dead?”

  “Yes. I would be glad to see Anden dead,” Day says through gritted teeth. “And I’d be glad to see every single person in his government dead too, if it meant I could have my family back.”

  “That’s not like you. Anden’s death won’t fix things,” I insist. How can I make him see? “You can’t lump everyone into the same category, Day. Not everyone working for the Republic is evil. What about me? Or my brother and parents? There are good people in the government—and they’re the ones who can spearhead permanent changes for the Republic.”

  “How can you possibly defend the government after everything they’ve done to you? How could you not want to see the Republic collapse?”

  “Well, I don’t,” I say angrily. “I want to see it change for the better. The Republic had its reasons in the beginning for controlling the people—”

  “Whoa. Wait a minute.” Day holds up his hands. His eyes are now alight with a rage I’ve never seen. “Say that to me again. I dare you. The Republic had its reasons in the beginning? The Republic’s actions are reasonable?”

  “You don’t know the whole story about how the Republic was formed. Anden told me how the country started from anarchy, and that the people were the ones who—”

  “So now you believe everything he says? Are you trying to tell me that it’s the people’s fault that the Republic’s the way it is?” Day’s voice rises. “That we brought all this goddy crap on ourselves? That’s the justification for why his government tortures the poor?”

  “No, I’m not trying to justify that—” Somehow, the history sounds much less viable than it did when Anden was telling it.

  “And now you think Anden can fix us with his
half-wit ideas? This rich boy’s going to save us all?”

  “Stop calling him that! It’s his ideas that might do it, not his money. Money doesn’t mean anything when—”

  Day points a finger right at me. “Don’t ever say that to my face again. Money means everything.”

  My cheeks flush. “No, it doesn’t.”

  “Because you’ve never been without it.”

  I wince. I want so desperately to respond, to explain that that’s not what I meant. Money doesn’t define me, or Anden, or any of us. Why couldn’t I have said that? Why is Day the only person I have trouble making a coherent argument to? “Day, please—” I begin.

  He jumps off the counter. “You know, maybe Tess was right about you.”

  “Excuse me?” I snap back. “What is Tess right about?”

  “You might have changed a little over the last few weeks, but deep down, you’re still a Republic soldier. Through and through. You’re still loyal to those murderers. Have you forgotten how my mother and brother died? Have you forgotten who killed your family off?”

  My own anger flares. Are you purposely refusing to see things from my point of view? I hop off the counter to face him. “I never forget anything. I’m here for your sake, I gave up everything for you. How dare you bring my family into this?”

  “You brought my family into this!” he yells. “Into all of this! You and your beloved Republic!” Day spreads his arms out. “How dare you defend them, how dare you try to reason with yourself over why they are the way they are? It’s so easy for you to say that, isn’t it, when you’ve lived your entire life in one of their high-rise palaces? I bet you wouldn’t be so quick to logic it all out if you’d spent your life digging up trash to eat in the slums. Would you?”

  I’m so furious and hurt that I’m having trouble catching my breath. “That’s not fair, Day. I didn’t choose to be born into this. I never wanted to hurt your family—”