The Legend Trilogy Collection

by Lu, Marie

  His soldiers scramble to do his bidding. As we fall into step behind him, I exchange a long glance with June. She’s okay, she’s unharmed. And yet, I’m afraid that she’ll disappear if I’m careless enough to look away. I force myself to hold back on asking her about what happened until we’re all in a private room—and from the look on her face, she’s also waiting for the right moment. My hand aches to hold hers. I keep that to myself too. Our dance around each other always seems like it’s doomed to repeat itself over and over again.

  “So,” Anden says once we’ve settled into a room and his patrol has disabled all of the cams. He leans back in one of the chairs and surveys me with a penetrating look. “Perhaps we should start with what happened to our Princeps-Elect this morning.”

  June lifts her chin, but her hands shake ever so slightly. “I saw Commander Jameson in Ruby sector. My guess is that she was in the area to scout locations—and she must have known where I would be.” I marvel at how steady June sounds. “I tailed her for a while, until we reached the strip of airship bases that border Ruby and Batalla. She attacked me there.”

  Even this short of a summary is enough to make me see red. Anden sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “We suspect that Commander Jameson may have given some locations and schedules to the Colonies about Los Angeles airship bases. She may have also attempted to kidnap Ms. Iparis for bargaining power.”

  “Does that mean the Colonies are planning to attack LA?” Pascao asks. I already know his next thought. “But that would mean it’s true, Denver has fallen . . .” He trails off at Anden’s expression.

  “We’re receiving some early rumors,” Anden replies. “The word is that the Colonies have a bomb that can level the entire city. The only thing holding them back from using it is an international ban. They wouldn’t want to finally force Antarctica to get involved, now would they?” Since when did Anden become so sarcastic? “At any rate, if they attack now, we will be hard-pressed to have a cure ready to show Antarctica before the Colonies overwhelm us. We can defend against them. We can’t defend against them and Africa.”

  I hesitate, then bring up the thoughts that have been churning in my mind. “I talked to Eden this morning, during his experimentation. He gave me an idea.”

  “And what’s that?” June asks.

  I look at her. Still as lovely as ever, but even June is starting to show the stress from this invasion, her shoulders slightly hunched. My eyes turn back to Anden. “Surrender,” I say.

  He hadn’t expected that. “You want me to raise the white flag to the Colonies?”

  “Yes, surrender.” I lower my voice. “Yesterday afternoon, the Colonies’ Chancellor made me an offer. He told me that if I could get the Republic’s people to rise up in support of the Colonies and against the Republic soldiers, he’d make sure that Eden and I are protected once the Colonies win the war. Let’s say that you surrender, and at the same time, I offer to meet the Chancellor to give him the answer to his request, that I’m going to ask the people to embrace the Colonies as their new government. You now have a chance to catch the Colonies off guard. The Chancellor already assumes you’re going to surrender any day now, anyway.”

  “Faking a surrender is against international law,” June mumbles to herself, although she studies me carefully. I can tell that she’s not exactly against the idea. “I don’t know whether the Antarcticans will appreciate that, and the whole point of this is to persuade them to help us out, isn’t it?”

  I shake my head. “They didn’t seem to care that the Colonies broke the ceasefire without warning us, back when this all erupted.” I glance at Anden. He watches me closely, his chin resting on his hand. “Now you get to return the favor, yeah?”

  “What happens when you meet with the Chancellor?” he finally asks. “A false surrender can only last so long before we need to act.”

  I lean toward him, my voice urgent. “You know what Eden said to me this morning? ‘Too bad everyone in the Republic can’t be a soldier.’ But they can.”

  Anden stays silent.

  “Let me mark each of the sectors in the Republic, something that will let the people know that they can’t just lie down and let the Colonies take over their homes, something that will ask them to wait for my signal and remind them what we’re all fighting for. Then, when I make the announcement that the Colonies’ Chancellor wants me to make, I won’t call on the people to embrace the Colonies. I’ll call them to action.”

  “And what if they don’t respond to your call?” June says.

  I shoot her a quick smile. “Have some faith, sweetheart. The people love me.”

  In spite of herself, June smiles back.

  I turn to Anden. Seriousness replaces my flash of amusement. “The people love the Republic more than you think,” I say. “More than I thought. You know the number of times I saw evacuees around here singing patriotic Republic songs? You know how much graffiti I’ve seen over the last few months that support both you and the country?” A note of passion enters my voice. “The people do believe in you. They believe in us. And they will fight back for us if we call on them—they’ll be the ones ripping down Colonies flags, protesting in front of Colonies offices, turning their own homes into traps for invading Colonies soldiers.” I narrow my eyes. “They’ll become a million versions of me.”

  Anden and I stare at each other. Finally, he smiles.

  “Well,” June says to me, “while you’re busy becoming the Colonies’ most wanted criminal, the Patriots and I can join in your stunts. We’ll pull them on a national level. If Antarctica protests, the Republic can just say they were the actions of a few vigilantes. If the Colonies want to play dirty, then let’s play dirty.”

  1700 HOURS.

  BATALLA HALL.

  68° F.

  I HATE SENATE MEETINGS. I HATE THEM WITH A PASSION—nothing but a sea of bickering politicians and talking heads, talking talking talking all the time when I could instead be out in the streets, giving my mind and body a healthy workout. But after the plan that Day, Anden, and I have concocted, there’s no choice but to brief the Senate. Now I sit in the circular meeting chamber at Batalla Hall, my seat facing Anden from across the room, trying to ignore the intimidating looks from the Senators. Few events leave me feeling more like a child than Senate meetings.

  Anden addresses his restless audience. “Attacks against our bases in Vegas have picked up since Denver fell,” he says. “We’ve seen African squadrons approaching the city. Tomorrow, I head out to meet my generals there.” He hesitates here. I hold my breath. I know how much Anden hates the idea of voicing defeat to anyone, especially to the Colonies. He looks at me—my cue to help him. He’s so tired. We all are. “Ms. Iparis,” he calls out. “If you please, I hand the floor over to you to explain your story and your advice.”

  I take a deep breath. Addressing the Senate: the one thing I hate more than attending Senate meetings, made even worse by the fact that I have to sell them a lie. “By now, I’m sure all of you have heard about Commander Jameson’s supposed work for the Colonies. Based on what we know, it seems likely that the Colonies will hit Los Angeles with a surprise attack very soon. If they do, and the attacks on Vegas continue, we won’t last for long. After talking with Day and the Patriots, we suggest that the only way to protect our civilians and to possibly negotiate a fair treaty is to announce our surrender to the Colonies.”

  Stunned silence. Then, the room bursts into chatter. Serge is the first to raise his voice and challenge Anden. “With all due respect, Elector,” he says, his voice quivering with irritation, “you did not discuss this with your other Princeps-Elects.”

  “It was not something I had an opportunity to discuss with you before now,” Anden replies. “Ms. Iparis’s knowledge comes only because she was unfortunate enough to experience it firsthand.”

  Even Mariana, often on Anden’s side, raises her v
oice against the idea. “This is a dangerous negotiation,” she says. At least she speaks calmly. “If you are doing this to spare our lives, then I recommend you and Ms. Iparis reconsider immediately. Handing the people to the Colonies will not protect them.”

  The other Senators don’t show the same restraint.

  “A surrender? We have kept the Colonies off our land for almost a hundred years!”

  “Surely we’re not all that weakened yet? What have they done, aside from temporarily winning Denver?”

  “Elector, this is something you should have discussed with all of us—even in the midst of this crisis!”

  I look on as each voice rises higher than the next, until the entire chamber fills with the sound of insults, anger, and disbelief. Some spew hatred over Day. Some curse the Colonies. Some beg Anden to reconsider, to ask for more international help, to plead for the United Nations to stop sealing our ports. Noise.

  “This is an outrage!” one Senator (thin, probably no more than a hundred and forty pounds, with a gleaming bald head) barks, looking at me as if I’m responsible for the entire country’s downfall. “Surely we’re not taking direction from a little girl? And from Day? You must be joking. We’ll hand the country over based on the advice of some damn boy who should still be on our nation’s criminal list!”

  Anden narrows his eyes. “Careful how you refer to Day, Senator, before the people turn their backs on you.”

  The Senator sneers at Anden and raises himself up as high as he can. “Elector,” he says, his tone exaggerated and mocking. “You are the leader of the Republic of America. You have power over this entire country. And here you are, held hostage to the suggestions of someone who tried to have you killed.” My temper has begun to rise. I lower my head so that I don’t have to look at the Senator. “In my opinion, sir, you need to do something before your entire government—and your entire population—sees you as nothing but a cowardly, weak-willed, backroom-negotiating pushover bowing to the demands of a teenage girl and a criminal and a ragtag team of terrorists. Your father would have—”

  Anden jumps to his feet and slams his hand down on the table. Instantly the chamber turns silent.

  “Senator,” Anden says quietly. The man stares back, but with less conviction than he had two seconds ago. “You are correct about only one thing. As my father’s son, I am the Elector of the Republic. I am the law. Everything I decide directly affects who lives or dies.” I study Anden’s face with a growing sense of worry. His gentle, soft-voiced self is slowly disappearing behind the veil of darkness and violence inherited from his father. “You’d do well to remember what happened to those Senators who actually plotted my failed assassination.”

  The chamber falls so quiet I feel like I can hear the beads of sweat rolling down the Senators’ faces. Even Mariana and Serge have turned pale. In the midst of them all stands Anden, his face a mask of fury, his jaw tense, and his eyes a deep, brooding storm. He turns to me—I feel an awful, electric shudder run through my body, but I keep my gaze steady. I am the only one in the chamber willing to look him in the eye.

  Even if our surrender is a fake one, one that the Senators aren’t meant to understand, I wonder how Anden will deal with this group once it’s all over.

  Maybe he won’t have to. Maybe we’ll belong to a different country, or maybe Anden and I will both be dead.

  In this moment, sitting amongst a divided Senate and a young Elector struggling to hold them together, I finally see my path clearly. I don’t belong. I shouldn’t be here. The realization hits me so hard, I find it suddenly hard to breathe.

  Anden and the Senators exchange a few more tense words, but then it’s all over, and we file out of the room, an uneasy crowd. I find Anden—his deep red uniform a bright marker against the Senators’ black—in the hall and pull him aside. “They’ll come around,” I say, trying to offer reassurance in a sea of hostility. “They don’t have a choice.”

  He seems to relax, if only for a second. A few simple words from me are enough to dissipate his anger. “I know. But I don’t want them to have no choice. I want them solidly behind me of their own will.” He sighs. “Can we speak in private? I’ve something to discuss with you.”

  I study his face, trying to guess at what he wants to say, dreading it. Finally, I nod. “My apartment’s closer.”

  We head out to his jeep and drive in silence, all the way to my high-rise in Ruby sector. There, we make our way upstairs and enter my apartment without a word. Ollie greets us, as enthusiastic as ever. I close the door behind me.

  Anden’s temper has long vanished. He looks around with a restless expression, then turns back to me. “Do you mind if I sit?”

  “Please,” I reply, taking a seat myself at the dining table. The Elector Primo, asking for permission to sit?

  Anden takes the seat beside me with all of his signature grace, and then rubs his temples with weary hands. “I have some good news,” he says. He tries to smile, but I can see how heavy it is. “I’ve made a deal with Antarctica.”

  I swallow hard. “And?”

  “They’ve confirmed that they will send military support—some air support for now, more ground support when we prove we’ve found a cure,” Anden replies. “And they will agree to treat Day.” He doesn’t look at me. “In exchange for Dakota. I had no choice. I’m giving them our largest territory.”

  My heart jumps with an overwhelming sense of joy and relief—and at the same time, it sinks with sympathy for Anden. He’s been forced to fragment the country. Giving up our most precious resource; everybody in the world’s most precious resource. It was inevitable. Every win comes with a sacrifice. “Thank you,” I say.

  “Don’t thank me yet.” His wry smile quickly turns into a grimace. “We are hanging by a thread. I don’t know if their help will come fast enough. The word from the warfront is that we’re losing ground in Vegas. If our plans with this phony surrender fail, if we don’t find a cure soon, this war will be over before Antarctica’s support ever arrives.”

  “Do you think finding a cure will make the Colonies stop?” I ask quietly.

  Anden shakes his head. “We don’t have many options,” he replies. “But we have to hang on until help arrives.” He falls silent for a moment. “I head to the warfront in Vegas tomorrow. Our troops need it.”

  Right into the thick of war. I try to stay calm. “Are your Princeps-Elects going too?” I ask. “Your Senators?”

  “Only my generals will join me,” Anden replies. “You’re not going to come, and neither are Mariana and Serge. Someone needs to hold firm in Los Angeles.”

  And here’s the meat of what he wants to tell me. My mind spins over what I know he’ll say next.

  Anden leans on the table and threads his gloved fingers together. “Someone needs to hold firm in Los Angeles,” he repeats, “which means one of my Princeps-Elects will need to take my place as an acting Elector. She would need to control the Senate, keep them in check while I’m away with the troops. I would select this person, of course, and the Senate would confirm it.” A small, sad smile plays at the edges of his lips, as if he already knows what my answer will be. “I’ve already spoken individually with Mariana and Serge about this, and they are both eager for my appointment. Now I need to know whether you are, as well.”

  I turn my head away and look out the apartment window. The thought of becoming an acting Elector of the Republic—even though my chances of being chosen pale in comparison to that of Mariana and Serge—should excite me, but it doesn’t.

  Anden watches me carefully. “You can tell me,” he finally says. “I realize what a turning point this decision is, and I’ve sensed your discomfort for quite some time.” He gives me a level stare. “Tell me the truth, June. Do you really want to be a Princeps-Elect?”

  I feel a strange emptiness. I had been contemplating this for a long time, my disinterest and weariness
with the politics of the Republic, the bickering in the Senate, the fighting among Senators and the Princeps-Elects. I’d thought this would be hard to say to him. But now that he’s here, waiting for my answer, the words come easily, calmly.

  “Anden, you know that the role of a Princeps-Elect has been a huge honor for me. But as time goes on, I can tell that something’s missing, and now I know what it is. You get to head off and lead your army against our enemies, while Day and the Patriots are fighting back against the Colonies in their own guerilla way. I miss being out in the field, working as a junior agent and relying on myself. I miss the days when things were straightforward instead of political, when I could easily sense the right path and what I should do. I . . . miss doing what my brother helped train me to do.” I hold my gaze steady. “I’m sorry, Anden, but I don’t know whether I’m cut out to be a politician. I’m a soldier. I don’t think you should consider me as a temporary Elector in your absence, and I’m not sure whether I should continue on as your Princeps-Elect.”

  Anden searches my eyes. “I see,” he finally says. Although there’s a twinge of sadness in his voice, he seems to agree. If there’s one thing Anden excels at, even more than Day, it’s understanding where I’m coming from.

  A moment later, I see another emotion in his eyes—envy. He’s envious that I have the choice to step away from the world of politics, that I can turn to something else, when Anden will forever and always be our Elector, someone the country needs to lean on. He can never step away with a clean conscience.

  He clears his throat. “What do you want to do?”

  “I want to join the troops in the streets,” I reply. I’m so sure of my decision this time, so excited by the prospect, that I can hardly bear it. “Send me back out there. Let me fight.” I lower my voice. “If we lose, then none of the Princeps-Elects will matter anyway.”