Legend Trilogy Boxed Set

  My words blare out from every speaker in the square—probably every speaker in the country, for all I know. It startles me. The people below let out a cheer that makes the ground tremble. The soldiers must’ve gotten a hurried order from someone in Congress, because I see some of them hoist their weapons higher. A single bullet zips through the air and hits the glass, sparking as it goes. I don’t move.

  The Elector makes a quick gesture at the guards standing with him, and they all press a hand to their ears and talk into their mikes. Maybe he’s telling them not to harm me. I force myself to believe it.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” I shout in the direction that the lone bullet had come from. Keep yourself steady. The people’s cheers turn into a roar. “You don’t want an uprising, do you, Congress?”

  Day! Day! Day!

  “Today, Congress, I give you an ultimatum.” My eyes shift to the JumboTrons. “You’ve arrested a number of Patriots for a crime you are responsible for. Release them. All of them. If you don’t, I will call your people to action, and you will have a revolution on your hands. But probably not the kind you were hoping for.” The civilians scream out their approval. The chants continue at a feverish pitch.

  “People of the Republic.” They cheer me on as I continue. “Listen to me. Today, I give all of you an ultimatum.”

  Their chants go on until they realize that I’ve fallen silent, and then they too begin to quiet down. I hold the speaker closer. “My name is Day.” My voice fills the air. “I’ve fought the same injustices that you’re here to protest right now. I’ve suffered the same things you’ve suffered. Like you, I’ve watched my friends and family die at the hands of Republic soldiers.” I blink away the memories that threaten to overtake me. Keep going. “I’ve been starved, beaten, and humiliated. I’ve been tortured, insulted, and suppressed. I’ve lived in the slums with you. I’ve risked my life for you. And you’ve risked your lives for me. We have risked our lives for our country—not the country we live in now, but the country we hope to have. You are all, every single one of you, a hero.”

  Joyful cheers answer me, even as guards below try in vain to bring down and arrest stragglers, while other soldiers are trying fruitlessly to disable the rewired speaker system. Congress is afraid, I realize. They’re afraid of me, like they’ve always been. So I keep going—I tell the people what had happened to my mother and brothers, and what had happened to June. I tell them about the Patriots, and about the Senate’s attempt to assassinate Anden. I hope Razor’s listening to all this and seething. Throughout it all, the crowd’s attention never wavers.

  “Do you trust me?” I shout. The crowd answers with a unified voice. The sea of people and their deafening roars are overwhelming. If my mother was still here, if Dad and John were here, would they be smiling up at me right now? I take a deep, shuddering breath. Finish what you came here to do. I focus on the people, and on the young Elector. I gather my strength. Then I say the words I never ever thought I’d say.

  “People of the Republic, know your enemy. Your enemy is the Republic’s way of life, the laws and traditions that hold us down, the government that brought us here. The late Elector. Congress.” I raise my arm and point toward Anden. “But the new Elector is . . . Not. Your. Enemy!” The people grow silent. Their eyes are forever fixed on me. “You think your Congress wants to end the Trials, or help your families? It’s a lie.” I point at Anden when I say this, willing myself, for the first time, to trust him. “The Elector is young and ambitious, and he is not his father. He wants to fight for you, just as I fight for you, but first he needs you to give him that chance. And if you put your might behind him and lift him up, he will lift us up. He will change things for us, one step at a time. He can build that country we all hope we can have. I came here tonight for you all—and for him. Do you trust me?” I lift my voice: “People of the Republic, do you trust me?”

  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 wi
ll 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.”

  So, I’m not going back to Los Angeles. The last I heard, LA’s quarantine had been lifted after Anden began an investigation into the Senate’s traitors—and both Razor and Commander Jameson were arrested for treason. I can only imagine how much Jameson hates Day and me now . . . even the thought of what the fury on her face must look like sends a chill down my spine.

  “Thank you,” I say after a while. “I’m very grateful.”

  Anden waves a hand in the air. “No need. You and Day have done me a great service.”

  I give him a quick, casual salute. Already Day’s influence is being felt—after his impromptu speech, Congress and the military obeyed Anden in allowing protesters to return unpunished to their homes and releasing the Patriots who had been arrested during the assassination attempt (under monitored conditions). If the Senate didn’t fear Day before, they do now. He has the power for the time being to ignite a full-scale revolution with only a few choice words.

  “But . . .” Anden’s volume drops and he pulls his hands out of his pockets to cross them in front of his chest. “I have a different proposition for you. I think you deserve a more important position than Agent.”

  A memory surfaces of when I was on that train with him, of the unspoken offer hanging on his lips. “What kind of position?”

  For the first time, he decides to sit down with me on the edge of my bed. He’s so close now that I can feel the light whisper of his breath on my skin and see the stubble shadowing his chin. “June,” he begins, “the Republic has never been more unstable than it is now. Day brought it back from the brink of collapse, but I’m still ruling during dangerous times. Many of the Senators are battling for control amongst themselves, and many people in the country are hoping for me to make a wrong move.” Anden falls silent for a second. “One moment won’t keep me in the people’s favor forever, and I can’t hold the country together alone.”

  I know he’s telling the truth. I can see the exhaustion in his face, and the frustration that comes with being responsible for his country.

  “When my father was a young Elector, he and my mother ruled together. The Elector and his Princeps. He was never more powerful than he was during that time. I’d like an ally too, someone smart and strong whom I can trust with more power than anyone else in Congress.” My breathing turns shallow as I take in the offer he’s circling around. “I want a partner who has her finger on the pulse of the people, someone extraordinarily talented at everything she does, and someone who shares my ideas about how to create a nation. Of course, one couldn’t go from Agent to Princeps in the blink of an eye. One would need intense training, instruction, and education. An opportunity to grow into the position over the course of many years, decades, to first learn as a Senator and then as the Senate’s leader. This is not training to bestow lightly, especially upon someone without Senate experience. Of course, there would be other Princeps-Elects shadowing me as well.” He pauses here; his tone shifts. “What do you think?”

  I shake my head, still not quite sure of what exactly Anden is offering. There’s the chance to be the Princeps—a position second only to the Elector. I would spend almost every waking moment of my life in Anden’s company, shadowing his every step for at least ten years. I would never see Day. This offer makes the life I’d imagined with him waver unsteadily. Is Anden offering this promotion purely based on what he thinks of my capabilities—or is he letting his emotions influence him, promoting me in the hopes that he might get a chance to spend more time with me? And how can I possibly compete with other potential Princeps-Elects, some of whom will probably be decades my senior, perhaps already Senators? I take a deep breath, then try to ask him in a diplomatic way. “Elector,” I begin. “I don’t think—”

  “I won’t pressure you,” he interrupts, then swallows and smiles hesitantly. “You are absolutely free to turn this down. And you can be a Princeps without . . .” Is Anden blushing? “You don’t have to,” he says instead. “I—the Republic—would only be grateful if you did.”

  “I don’t know if I have that kind of talent,” I say. “You need someone so much better than I could ever be.”

  Anden takes both of my hands in his. “You were born to shake the Republic. June, there is no one better.”

  THE DOCTORS DIDN’T LIKE ME IN THE BEGINNING. The feeling was pretty mutual, of course—I haven’t exactly had the best experiences in hospitals.

  Two days ago, when they finally managed to get me off the balcony of Denver’s Capitol Tower and calm the massive throngs of people cheering me on, they strapped me into an ambulance and took me straight to the hospital. There, I shattered a doctor’s glasses and kicked over my room’s metal trays when they tried to check me for injuries. “You put a hand on me,” I’d snapped at them, “and I’ll break your goddy necks.” The hospital staff had to tie me down. I screamed myself hoarse for Eden, demanding to see him, threatening to burn down the entire hospital if they didn’t deliver him. I shouted for June. I yelled for proof that the Patriots were released. I asked to see Kaede’s body, begging them to give her a proper burial.

  They broadcasted my reactions live to the public because of the crowds that had gathered by the hospital, demanding to see I was being treated properly. But gradually I calmed down, and after seeing me alive, the crowds in Denver began to calm down too.

  “Now, this doesn’t mean you won’t be closely watched,” my doctor says as I’m given a set of Republic collar shirts and military trousers. He mumbles so the security cameras can’t pick up what he’s saying. I can barely see his eyes through the glare across his tiny, round glasses. “But you’ve been fully pardoned by the Elector, and your brother Eden should be arriving at the hospital any minute now.”

  I’m quiet. After everything that’s happened since Eden was first stricken by the plague, I can barely comprehend that the Republic is going to give him back to me. All I can do is smile at the doctor through gritted teeth. He smiles back at me with an expression full of dislike as he goes on about my test results and where I’m going to live after all this is over. I know he doesn’t want to be here, but he doesn’t say it aloud, not with all these cameras on. From the corner of my eye I can see the one monitor on the wall that shows me what they’re doing to June. She appears safe, undergoing the same inspections as me. But the anxiety in my throat refuses to go away.

  “There’s one last thing I’d like to tell you in private,” the doctor goes on. I listen halfheartedly. “Quite important. Something we’ve discovered in your X-rays that you should know about.”

  I lean forward to hear him better. But
at that instant, the room’s intercom blares to life. “Eden Bataar Wing is here, Doctor,” it says. “Please inform Day.”

  Eden. Eden is here.

  Suddenly I couldn’t care less about whatever my goddy X-ray results are. Eden is outside, right beyond my cell’s door. The doctor tries to tell me something, but I just push past him, throw the door open, and stumble out into the corridor.

  At first I don’t see him. There are too many nurses wandering through the halls. Then I notice the small figure swinging his legs on one of the hall’s benches, his skin healthy and his head full of wayward, white-blond curls, dressed in an overly large school uniform and kid-size boots. He seems taller, but maybe that’s because he’s able to sit up straighter now. When he turns toward me, I realize that he’s wearing a thick pair of black-rimmed glasses. His eyes are a light, milky purple, reminiscent of the young boy I’d seen in the railcar on that cold, sleet-filled night.

  “Eden,” I call out hoarsely.

  His eyes stay unfocused, but an amazing smile blooms on his face. He gets up and tries to walk toward me, but he stops when he can’t seem to tell where exactly I am. “Is that you, Daniel?” he says with shaky hesitation.

  I run to him, scoop him up in my arms, and hold him tight. “Yeah,” I whisper. “It’s Daniel.”

  Eden just cries. Sobs wrack his body. He tightens his arms around my neck so fiercely that I don’t think he’ll ever let go. I take a deep breath to contain my own tears. The plague has taken most of his vision, but he’s here, alive and well, strong enough to walk and talk. That’s enough for me. “Good to see you again, kid,” I choke out, ruffling his hair with one hand. “Missed you.”

  I don’t know how long we stay there. Minutes? Hours? But it doesn’t matter. Time ticks by one long second after another, and I make the moment stretch out as much as I can. It’s as if I’m standing here and hugging my entire family. He is everything that means anything. At least I have this.