“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 will 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.
