I DON’T TRUST RAZOR.
I don’t trust him because I don’t understand how he can afford to hide out in such nice quarters. An officer’s quarters, in Vegas of all places. These rugs are each worth at least 29,000 Notes, made from some sort of expensive synthetic fur. Ten electric lights in one room—all switched on. His uniform is spotless and new. He even has a customized gun hanging on his belt. Stainless steel, probably lightweight, hand embellished. My brother used to have guns like that. Eighteen thousand Notes and up for a single one. What’s more, Razor’s gun must be hacked. No way the Republic is tracking those for fingerprints or locations. Where did the Patriots get the money and skills to hack such advanced equipment?
This all leads me to two theories:
One—Razor must be some sort of commander in the Republic, a double-crossing officer. How else can he stay in this barrack apartment without being detected?
Two—the Patriots are being funded by someone with deep pockets. The Colonies? Possibly.
In spite of all my suspicions and guesses, Razor’s offer is still as good as we’re going to get. We have no money to buy help on the black market, and without help, we have no chance of finding Eden or making it to the Colonies. Also, I’m not even sure we could have turned down Razor’s offer. He certainly hasn’t threatened us in any way, but I doubt he’d just let us walk back out onto the streets, either.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Day waiting for my response to Razor’s statement. All I need to see are the paleness of his lips and the pain laced across his face, just a few of the dozen signs of his fading strength. At this point, I think his life depends on our deal with Razor.
“Assassinating the new Elector,” I say. “Done.” My words sound foreign and distant. For a moment, I think back on meeting Anden and his late father at the ball celebrating Day’s capture. The thought of killing Anden makes my stomach churn. He’s the Republic’s Elector now. After everything that’s happened to my family, I should be happy for the opportunity to kill him. But I’m not, and it confuses me.
If Razor notices my hesitation, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he nods approvingly. “I’ll put out an urgent call for a Medic. They probably won’t be able to come until midnight—that’s when the shifts change. It’s the fastest we can be on such a tight schedule. Meanwhile, let’s get you two out of those disguises and into something more presentable.” He glances over at Kaede. She’s leaning against the couch with hunched shoulders and an irritated scowl, chewing absently on a lock of her hair. “Show them to the shower and give them a pair of fresh uniforms. Afterward, we’ll have a late supper, and we can talk more about our plan.” He spreads his arms wide. “Welcome to the Patriots, my young friends. We’re glad to have you.”
And just like that, we’re officially bound to them. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing, either—maybe I never should’ve argued with Day about this in the first place. Kaede motions for us to follow her into an adjoining hall in the apartment and guides us to a spacious bathroom, complete with marble tiles and porcelain sinks, mirror and toilet, bathtub and shower with frosted glass walls. I can’t help admiring it all. This is wealth beyond even what I had in my Ruby sector apartment.
“Don’t be all night about it,” she says. “Take turns—or get cozy and shower together, if that’s faster. Just be back out there in a half hour.” Kaede grins at me (although the smile doesn’t touch her eyes), then gives Day a thumbs-up as he leans heavily on my shoulder. She turns away and disappears back down the hall before I can reply. I don’t think she’s forgiven me entirely for breaking her arm.
Day slouches the instant Kaede’s gone. “Can you help me sit down?” he whispers.
I put the toilet cover down and ease him gently onto it. He stretches out his good leg, then tenses his jaw as he tries to straighten out the injured one. A moan escapes his lips. “I’ve gotta admit,” he mutters, “I’ve had better days.”
“At least Tess is safe,” I reply.
This eases some of the pain in his eyes. “Yes,” he echoes, sighing deeply. “At least Tess is safe.” I feel an unexpected twinge of guilt. Tess’s face had looked so sweet, so wholly good. And the two of them were separated because of me.
Am I good? I don’t really know.
I help Day take off his jacket and cap. His long hair drapes in strings across my arms. “Let me see that leg.” I kneel, then pull a knife from my belt. I slice the fabric of his pant leg up to the middle of his thigh. His leg muscles are lean and tense, and my hands tremble as they brush up along his skin. Gingerly, I pull the fabric apart to expose his bandaged wound. We both suck in our breath. The cloth has a massive circle of dark, wet blood, and underneath it, the wound is oozing and swelling. “That Medic better get here soon,” I say. “Are you sure you can shower on your own?”
Day jerks his eyes away, and his cheeks turn red. “Of course I can.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “You can’t even stand.”
“Fine.” He hesitates, then blushes. “I guess I could use some help.”
I swallow. “Well. A bath instead, then. Let’s do what we have to do.”
I start filling up the bathtub with warm water. Then, I take the knife and slowly cut through the blood-soaked bandages wrapped around Day’s wound. We sit there in silence, neither of us meeting the other’s eyes. The wound itself is as bad as ever, a fist-size mass of pulped flesh that Day avoids looking at.
“You don’t have to do this,” he mutters, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to relax.
“Right.” I give him a wry smile. “I’ll just wait outside the bathroom door and come help after you slip and knock yourself out.”
“No,” Day replies. “I mean, you don’t have to join the Patriots.”
My smile dies. “Well, we don’t have much of a choice, do we? Razor wants both of us on board, or he’s not going to help us at all.”
Day’s hand touches my arm for a second, stopping me in the middle of untying his boots. “What do you think of their plan?”
“Assassinating the new Elector?” I turn away, concentrating on unlacing, then loosening each of his boots as carefully as I can. It’s a question I haven’t figured out yet, so I deflect it. “Well, what do you think? I mean, you go out of your way to avoid hurting people. This must be kind of a shock.”
I’m startled when Day just shrugs. “There’s a time and place for everything.” His voice is cold, harsher than usual. “I never saw the point of killing Republic soldiers. I mean, I hate them, but they’re not the source. They just obey their superiors. The Elector, though? I don’t know. Getting rid of the person in charge of this whole goddy system seems like a small price to pay for starting a revolution. Don’t you think?”
I can’t help feeling some admiration for Day’s attitude. What he says makes perfect sense. Still, I wonder if he would’ve said the same thing a few weeks ago, before everything that had happened to his family. I don’t dare mention the time I’d been introduced to Anden at the celebratory ball. It’s harder to reconcile yourself to killing someone who you’ve actually met—and admired—in person. “Well, like I said. We don’t have a choice.”
Day’s lips tighten. He knows I’m not telling him what I really think. “It must be hard for you to turn your back on your Elector,” he says. His hands stay slack beside him.
I keep my head down and start pulling off his boots.
While I put his boots aside, Day shrugs out of his jacket and starts unbuttoning his vest. It reminds me of when I’d first met him back on the streets of Lake. Back then, he would take off his vest every night and give it to Tess to use as a pillow. That was the most I’d ever seen Day undress. Now he unbuttons his collar shirt, exposing the rest of his throat and a sliver of his chest. I see the pendant looped around his neck, the United States quarter dollar covered with smooth metal on both sides. In the quiet dark of the railcar, he’d told me about his father’s bringing it back from the warfront. He pauses when he finishes undoing the last button, then closes his eyes. I can see the pain slashed across his face, and the sight tears at me. The Republic’s most wanted criminal is just a boy, sitting before me, suddenly vulnerable, laying all his weaknesses out for me to see.
I straighten and reach up to his shirt. My hands touch the skin of his shoulders. I try to keep my breathing even, my mind sharp and calculated. But as I help him pull off the shirt and reveal his bare arms and chest, I can feel the corners of my logic growing fuzzy. Day is fit and lean under his clothes, his skin surprisingly smooth except for an occasional scar (he has four faint ones on his chest and waist, another one that’s a thin diagonal line running from left collarbone to right hip bone, and a healing scab on his arm). He holds me with his gaze. It’s hard to describe Day to those who have never seen him before—exotic, unique, overwhelming. He’s very close now, close enough for me to see the tiny rippled imperfection in the ocean of his left eye. His breaths come out hot and shallow. Heat rises on my cheeks, but I don’t want to turn away.
“We’re in this together, right?” he whispers. “You and me? You want to be here, yeah?”
There’s guilt in his questions. “Yes,” I reply. “I chose this.”
Day pulls me close enough for our noses to touch. “I love you.”
My heart flips in excitement at the desire in his voice—but at the same time, the technical part of my brain instantly flares up. Highly improbable, it scoffs. A month ago, he didn’t even know I existed. So I blurt out, “No, you don’t. Not yet.”
Day furrows his eyebrows, as if I’d hurt him. “I mean it,” he says against my lips.
I’m helpless against the ache in his voice. But still. They’re just the words of a boy in the heat of the moment. I try to force myself to say the same back to him, but the words freeze on my tongue. How can he be so sure of this? I certainly don’t understand all these strange new feelings inside me—am I here because I love him, or because I owe him?
Day doesn’t wait for my answer. One of his hands trails around my waist and then flattens against my back, pulling me closer so that I’m seated on his good leg. A gasp escapes me. Then he presses his lips against mine, and my mouth parts. His other hand reaches up to touch my face and neck; his fingers are at once coarse and refined. Day slowly moves his lips away to kiss the side of my mouth, then my cheek, then the line of my jaw. My chest is now solidly against his, and my thigh brushes against the soft ridge of his hip bone. I close my eyes. My thoughts feel muffled and distant, hidden behind a shimmery haze of warmth. An undercurrent of practical details in my mind struggles up to the surface.
“Kaede’s been gone for eight minutes,” I breathe through Day’s kisses. “They expect us back out there in twenty-two.”
Day twines his hand through my hair and gently pulls my head back, exposing my neck. “Let them wait,” he murmurs. I feel his lips work softly along the skin of my throat, each kiss rougher than the last, more impatient, more urgent, hungrier. His lips come back up to my mouth, and I can feel the remnants of any self-control slipping away from him, replaced with something instinctive and savage. I love you, his lips are trying to convince me. They’re making me so weak that I’m on the verge of collapsing to the floor. I’ve kissed a few boys in the past . . . but Day makes me feel like I’ve never been kissed before. Like the world has melted away into something unimportant.
Suddenly he breaks free and groans softly in pain. I see him squeeze his eyes shut, then take a deep, shuddering breath. My heart is pounding furiously against my ribs. The heat fades between us, and my thoughts snap back into place as I remember with a slow, sinking feeling where we are and what we still need to do. I’d forgotten that the water’s still running—the tub is almost full. I reach over and twist the faucet back. The tiled floor is cold against my knees. I’m tingling all over.
“Ready?” I say, trying to steady myself. Day nods wordlessly. Moment’s over; the brightness in his eyes has dimmed.
I pour some liquid bath gel into the tub and splash the water around until it froths up. Then I get one of the towels hanging in the bathroom and wrap it around Day’s waist. Now for the awkward part. He manages to fumble underneath the towel and loosen his pants, and I help him tug them off. The towel covers everything that needs to be covered, but I still avert my eyes.
I help Day—now wearing nothing except for the towel and his pendant—to his feet, and after some struggling, we manage to get his good leg into the tub so I can lower him gently into the water. I’m careful to keep his bad leg high and dry. Day clenches his jaw to keep from crying out in pain. By the time he settles into the bath, his cheeks are moist from tears.
It takes fifteen minutes to scrub him, and all of his hair, clean. When we’re finished, I help him stand and close my eyes as he grabs a dry towel to wrap around his waist. The thought of opening my eyes right now and seeing him naked before me sends blood coursing fiercely through my veins. What does a naked boy look like, anyway? I’m annoyed by how obvious the heat of my blush must be. Then the moment’s over; we spend another few minutes struggling to get him out of the tub. When he’s finally done and sitting on the toilet seat cover, I walk over to the bathroom door. I hadn’t noticed before, but someone had opened the door a crack and dropped off a new pair of soldier uniforms for us. Ground battalion uniforms, with Nevada buttons. It’s going to feel weird to be a Republic soldier again. But I bring them inside.
Day gives me a weak smile. “Thanks. Feels good to be clean.”
His pain seems to bring back the worst of his memories from the last few weeks, and now all his emotion plays out plainly on his face. His smiles have become half of what they used to be. It’s as if most of his happiness had died the night he lost John, and only a tiny slice of it remains—mostly a piece that he saves for Eden and Tess. I secretly hope he saves a part of his joy for me too. “Turn around and change into your clothes,” I say. “And wait outside the bathroom for me. I’ll be quick.”
* * *
We get back to the living room seven minutes late. Razor and Kaede are waiting for us. Tess sits alone on a corner of the couch, her legs folded up to her chin, watching us with a guarded expression. An instant later, I smell the aromas of baked chicken and potatoes. My eyes dart to the dining room table where four dishes loaded with food sit neatly, beckoning to us. I try not to react to the smell, but my stomach rumbles.
“Excellent,” Razor says, smiling at us. He lets his eyes linger on me. “You two clean up nicely.” Then he turns to Day and shakes his head. “We arranged for some food to be brought up, but since you’re having surgery within the next few hours, you’re going to have to keep your stomach empty. I’m sorry—I know you must be hungry. June, please help yourself.”
Day’s eyes are also fixed on the food. “That’s just great,” he mutters.
I join the others at the table while Day stretches out on the couch and makes himself as comfortable as he can. I’m about to pick up my plate and sit next to him, but Tess beats me to it, seating herself on the edge of the couch so her back touches Day’s side. As Razor, Kaede, and I eat in silence at the table, I occasionally steal glances at the couch. Day and Tess talk and laugh with the ease of two people who have known each other for years. I concentrate on my food, the heat of our bathroom encounter still burning on my lips.
I’ve counted off five minutes in my head when Razor finally takes a sip of his drink and leans back. I watch him closely, still wondering why one of the Patriots’ leaders—the head of a group that I’d always associated with savagery—is so polite. “Ms. Iparis,” he says. “How much do you know about our new Elector?”
I shake my head. “Not much, I’m afraid.” Beside me, Kaede snorts and continues digging into her dinner.
“You’ve met him before, though,” Razor says, revealing what I’d hoped to keep from Day. “That night at the ball, the one held to celebrate Day’s capture? He kissed your hand. Correct?” Day pauses in his conversation with Tess. I cringe inwardly.
Razor doesn’t seem to notice my discomfort. “Anden Stavropoulos is an interesting young man,” he says. “The late Elector loved him a great deal. Now that Anden is Elector, the Senators are uneasy. The people are angry, and they couldn’t care less if Anden is different from the last Elector. No matter what speeches Anden gives to please them, all they’re going to see is a wealthy man who has no idea how to heal their suffering. They’re furious with Anden for letting Day’s execution go through, for hunting him down, for not saying a word against his father’s policies, for putting a price on finding June . . . the list goes on. The late Elector had an iron grip on the military. Now the people just see a boy king who has the chance to rise up and become another version of his father. These are the weaknesses we want to exploit, and this brings us to the plan we currently have in mind.”
“You seem to know a great deal about the young Elector. You also seem to know a great deal about what happened at the celebratory ball,” I reply. I can’t hold in my suspicion any longer. “I suppose that’s because you were also a guest that night. You must be a Republic officer—but without a rank high enough to get you an audience with the Elector.” I study the room’s rich velvet carpets and granite counters. “These are your actual office quarters, aren’t they?”
Razor seems a little put off by my criticism of his rank (which, as usual, is a fact that I hadn’t meant as an insult), but quickly brushes it off with a laugh. “I can see there’ll be no secrets with you. Special girl. Well, my official title is Commander Andrew DeSoto, and I run three of the capital’s city patrols. The Patriots gave me my street name. I’ve been organizing most of their missions for a little over a decade.”
Day and Tess are both listening intently now. “You’re a Republic officer,” Day echoes uncertainly, his eyes glued to Razor. “A commander from the capital. Hm. Why are you helping the Patriots?”
Razor nods, resting both of his elbows on the dinner table and pressing his hands together. “I suppose I should start by giving you both some details about how we work. The Patriots have been around for thirty or so years—they started as a loose collection of rebels. Within the last fifteen years, they’ve banded together in an attempt to organize themselves and their cause.”
“Razor’s coming changed everything, so I hear,” Kaede pipes up. “They’d rotated through leaders all the time, and funding had always been a problem. Razor’s connections to the Colonies have been bringing in more money for missions than ever before.”
Metias had been busier over the last couple of years in dealing with Patriot attacks in Los Angeles, I recall.
Razor nods at Kaede’s words. “We’re fighting to reunite the Colonies and the Republic, to return the United States to its former glory.” His eyes take on a determined gleam. “And we’re willing to do whatever it takes to achieve our goal.”
The old United States, I think, as Razor continues. Day had mentioned the United States to me during our escape from Los Angeles, although I was still skeptical. Until now. “How does the organization work?” I ask.
“We keep an eye out for people who have the talents and skills we need, and then we try to recruit them,” Razor says. “Usually we’re good at getting people on board, although some people take longer than others.” He pauses to tip his glass in Day’s direction. “I am considered a Leader in the Patriots—there are only a few of us, working from the inside and architecting the rebels’ missions. Kaede here is a Pilot.” Kaede waves a hand around as she continues to inhale her food. “She joined us after she was expelled from an Airship Academy in the Colonies. Day’s surgeon is a Medic, and young Tess here is a Medic in training. We also have Fighters, Runners, Scouts, Hackers, Escorts, and so on. I would place you as a Fighter, June, although your abilities seem to cross into several categories. And Day, of course, is the best Runner I’ve ever seen.” Razor smiles a little and finishes his drink. “The two of you should technically be a new category altogether. Celebrities. That’s how you’re going to be most useful to us, and that’s why I didn’t throw you both back out on the street.”
“So kind of you,” Day says. “What’s the plan?”
Razor points at me. “Earlier, I asked you how much you knew about our Elector. I heard a few rumors today. They say Anden was quite taken with you at the ball. Someone heard him asking if you could be transferred to a patrol in the capital. There’s even a rumor that he wanted you tapped to train as the Senate’s next Princeps.”
“The next Princeps?” I shake my head automatically, overwhelmed with the idea. “Probably nothing more than a rumor. Even ten years of training wouldn’t be enough to prepare me for that.” Razor just laughs at my declaration.
“What’s a Princeps?” Day speaks up. He sounds annoyed. “Some of us aren’t versed in the Republic’s hierarchy.”
“The leader of the Senate,” Razor replies casually, without turning in his direction. “The Elector’s shadow. His, or her, partner in command—and sometimes more. It frequently turns out that way in the end, after a requisite decade of training. Anden’s mother was the last Princeps, after all.”
I glance instinctively toward Day. His jaw is tight and he’s holding very still, little signs that say that he’d rather not be hearing what the Elector thinks of me or that he might want me as a future partner. I clear my throat. “Those rumors are exaggerated,” I insist again, just as uncomfortable as Day is with this conversation. “Even if that were true, I’d still be one of several Princeps-in-training, and I can guarantee you that their other choices would be experienced Senators. But how are you planning to use that information in your assassination? Do you think I’m going to—”
Kaede breaks through my words with a loud laugh. “You’re blushing, Iparis,” she says. “Do you like the idea that Anden’s crushin’ on you?”
“No!” I say, a bit too quickly. Now I feel the heat rising on my face, although I’m pretty sure it’s because Kaede is irritating me.
“Don’t be so goddy arrogant,” she says. “Anden is a handsome guy with a lot of power and a lot of options. It’s okay to feel flattered. I’m sure Day understands.”
Razor saves me from responding by frowning in disapproval. “Kaede. Please.” She makes a pouty face at him and returns to her meal. I glance at the couch. Day is staring up at the ceiling. After a short pause, Razor goes on. “Even now, Anden can’t be sure that you did everything against the Republic on purpose. For all he knows, you may have been taken hostage when Day escaped. Or forced to join Day against your will. There’s enough uncertainty for him to insist that the government list you as a missing person instead of a wanted traitor. My point is this: Anden is interested in you, and that means he can be influenced by what you tell him.”
“So you want me to go back to the Republic?” I say. My words seem to echo. From the corner of my eye, I see Tess shift unhappily on the couch. Her mouth quivers with some unspoken phrase.
Razor nods. “Exactly. Originally, I was going to use spies from my own Republic patrols to get close to Anden—but now we have a better alternative. You. You tell the Elector that the Patriots are going to try to kill him—but the plan you tell him about will be a decoy. While everyone’s distracted with the fake plan, we’ll strike with the real one. Our goal is not only to kill Anden, but to turn the country completely against him, so that his regime will be doomed even if our plan fails. That’s what you two can do for us. Now, we’ve heard reports that the new Elector is going to be heading for the warfront within the next couple of weeks, to get updates and progress reports from his colonels. The RS Dynasty airship launches toward the warfront early tomorrow afternoon, and all of my squadrons will be on it. Day will join me, Kaede, and Tess on that ride. We’ll organize the real assassination, and you’ll lead Anden to it.” Razor crosses his arms and studies our faces, waiting for our reactions.
Day finally finds his voice and interrupts him. “This is going to be incredibly dangerous for June,” he argues as he props himself up straighter on the couch. “How can you be sure she’ll even reach the Elector after the military gets her back? How do you know they won’t just start torturing information out of her?”
“Trust me, I know how to avoid that,” Razor replies. “I haven’t forgotten about your brother, either . . . If June can get close enough to the Elector, she may find out where Eden is on her own.”
Day’s eyes light up at that, and Tess squeezes his shoulder.
“As for you, Day, I’ve never seen the public rally behind anyone the way they have for you. Did you know that streaking your hair red has become a fashion statement overnight?” Razor chuckles and waves a hand at Day’s head. “That’s power. Right now, you probably have just as much influence as the Elector. Maybe more. If we can find a way to use your fame to work the people up into a frenzy, by the time the assassination happens, Congress will be powerless to stop a revolution.”
“And what do you plan to do with that revolution?” Day asks.
Razor leans forward, and his face turns determined, even hopeful. “You want to know why I joined the Patriots? For the same reasons you’ve been working against the Republic. The Patriots know how you’ve suffered—we’ve all seen the sacrifices you’ve made for your family, the pain the Republic has caused you. June,” Razor says, nodding at me. I cringe; I don’t want a reminder of what happened to Metias. “I have seen your suffering too. Your whole family destroyed by the nation you once loved. I’ve lost count of the number of Patriots who have come from similar circumstances.”
Day turns his stare back up at the ceiling at the mention of his family. His eyes stay dry, but when Tess reaches out and grabs his hand, he tightens his fingers around hers.
“The world outside of the Republic isn’t perfect, but freedoms and opportunities do exist out there, and all we need to do is let that light shine into the Republic itself. Our country is on the brink—all it needs now is a hand to tip it over.” He rises halfway off his chair and points at his chest. “We can be that hand. With a revolution, the Republic comes crashing down, and together with the Colonies we can take it and rebuild it into something great. It’ll be the United States again. People will live freely. Day, your little brother will grow up in a better place. That’s worth risking our lives for. That’s worth dying for. Isn’t it?”
I can tell Razor’s words are stirring something in Day, coaxing out a gleam in his eyes that takes me aback with its intensity. “Something worth dying for,” Day repeats.
I should be excited too. But somehow, still, the thought of the Republic crashing down sends a pulse of nausea through me. I don’t know if it’s brainwashing, years of Republic doctrine drilled into my brain. The feeling lingers, though, along with a flood of shame and self-hate.
Everything I am familiar with is gone.