The Guard

He sighed. “Yelling like cats again?”

“No, sir. They’re in the hospital wing. There was a little blood.”

King Clarkson looked to Maxon. “No doubt that Five is responsible for this. You can’t be serious about her.”

Maxon stood. “Father, all of their nerves are frayed after yesterday. I’m certain they’re having a difficult time processing the caning.”

The king pointed a finger. “If she started it, she’s gone. You know that.”

“And if it was Celeste?” he countered.

“I doubt a girl of such high caliber would stoop so low without provocation.”

“Still, would you dismiss her?” Maxon shot back.

“It wasn’t her fault.”

Maxon stood. “I’ll get to the bottom of this. I’m sure it was nothing.”

My mind was spinning. I didn’t get him. He clearly wasn’t treating America as well as he ought to, so why was he so determined to keep her? And if he failed to prove she wasn’t at fault, would there be enough time for me to see her before she left?

The rumor mill at the palace was fast. In no time at all, I learned Celeste threw the first words, but Mer threw the first punch. I swear, I wanted to give my girl a medal. They were both staying—it seemed their actions canceled each other out—though it sounded like America was doing so begrudgingly.

Hearing those words made my heart even surer I’d gotten her back.

I ran to my room, trying to squeeze everything I needed to do into the few minutes I had. I scribbled the note as clearly and quickly as possible. Then I moved up to the second floor, waiting in a hallway until I saw America’s maids leave to eat. When I got to her room, I debated over where to leave the letter, but there was really only one place to put it. I just hoped she’d see it.

As I made my way back into the main hallway, fate smiled on me. America didn’t look like she was bleeding, so she must have left marks on Celeste. As she got closer, I could make out a small, swollen patch of skin almost completely covered by her hair. But past all that, I saw the excitement in her eyes the second she knew it was me.

God, I wished I could just sit with her. I breathed. Restraint now would mean real privacy later.

I stopped as we came close, bowing. “Jar.”

I straightened and left, but I knew that she had heard. After a moment of thought, she nearly ran down the hall without a look back.

I smiled, happy to see the life come back to her. That was my girl.

“Dead?” the king asked. “By whose hand?”

“We’re not sure, Your Majesty. But we could expect no less from down-casted sympathizers,” his advisor said.

Walking in quietly to get the mail, I instantly knew he was talking about all the people in Bonita. Over three hundred families had recently been demoted at least a caste for their suspected support of the rebels. It seemed they weren’t taking it without a fight.

King Clarkson shook his head before suddenly slamming his hand on the table. I jumped along with everyone else in the room.

“Don’t these people see what they’re doing? They’re tearing apart everything we’ve worked for, and for what? To pursue interests they might fail in? I’ve offered them security. I’ve offered them order. And they rebel.”

Of course the man with everything he could ever need or want didn’t understand why any average person might want the same chance.

When I was drafted, I had been simultaneously terrified and thrilled. I knew that some considered it a death sentence. But at least the life in front of me would be more exciting than the paperwork and housework I faced if I had stayed in Carolina. Besides, it wasn’t much of a life anyway after America left.

King Clarkson stood, pacing. “These people have to be stopped. Who’s running Bonita now?”

“Lamay. He’s chosen to move his family to another location for the time being, and has started funeral arrangements for former Governor Sharpe. He seems to be proud of his new role, despite the obstacles.”

The king held out his hand. “There. A man accepting his lot in life, doing his duty for the general public. Why can’t they all do that?”

I scooped up the mail, close to the king as he spoke.

“We’ll have Lamay eliminate any suspected assassins immediately. Even if he misses the mark, we’ll send a clear warning. And let’s find a way to reward anyone with information. We need to get some people in the South in our pocket.”

I turned quickly, wishing I hadn’t heard. I didn’t support the rebels. More often than not, they were killers. But the king’s actions today had nothing to do with justice.

“You there. Stop.”

I looked back, not sure if the king was talking to me. He was, and I watched as he scrawled a brief letter, folded it, and added it to the pile.

“Take this with the post. The boys in the mail room will have the correct address.” The king flung it onto the pile in my arms carelessly, like it held nothing of value. I stood there, immobile, unable to carry that load. “Go on,” he finally said, and as always, I obeyed.

I took the pile and moved at a snail’s pace toward the mail room.

This is none of your business, Aspen. You’re here to protect the monarchy. This does that. Focus on America. Let the world go to hell around you so long as you can get to her.

I straightened and did what I must.

“Hey, Charlie.”

He whistled as he took in the stack. “Busy day today.”

“Looks like it. Um, there was this one . . . the king didn’t have the address on hand, said you’d have it.” I pointed to Lamay’s letter on top.

Charlie flipped open the letter to see where it should go, scanning it quickly. By the end he looked troubled. He checked behind him before lifting his eyes to me. “Did you read this?” he asked quietly.

I shook my head. I swallowed, feeling guilty for not admitting that I already knew the contents. Maybe I could have stopped it, but I was only doing my job.

“Hmm,” Charlie mumbled, quickly spinning in his chair and running into a stack of sorted mail.

“Come on, Charles!” Mertin complained. “That took me three hours!”

“Sorry about that. I’ll tidy it up. Say, Leger, two things.” Charlie picked up a lone envelope. “This came for you.”

I immediately recognized Mom’s handwriting. “Thank you.” I clung to the paper, desperate for news.

“Not a problem,” he replied casually, picking up a wire basket. “And could you do me a favor and take this scrap paper for the furnace? Should probably go in right away.”