by Kiera Cass
I went over it a hundred times, but by the last time I thought it through, the irritation turned to some sort of awe.
Did America fear nothing?
Not that it was a theory I would test, but I wondered how many of the others, if placed in a situation where they thought I might take advantage of them, would allow it? For bragging rights, or maybe just because they worried what I would do if they didn’t.
But she stopped it before it could even happen, not worried at all about what I might say. Even though she missed the mark completely, she stood up for herself. I genuinely admired that. It was a trait I wished I had myself. Maybe if I was around her enough, some of that would rub off on me.
Damn it. I had to let her stay.
AN INTRODUCTION TO THE GUARD
On the opposite side of Maxon’s pursuit of America there was the boy who held her heart first. It never stopped surprising me how quick people were to judge Aspen for his mistakes but forgive Maxon, though I thought his motivations for things were sometimes a bit more selfish.
People have asked if I preferred one of the lead boys over the other, but that’s never been possible for me. Maxon and Aspen both have pieces of my husband in them, so it’s two different people embodying things I find attractive. For Maxon it is his playfulness, but for Aspen it is passion.
I always hoped that through Aspen’s novella others would be able to see what I knew all along: Aspen never stopped loving America, was kicking himself for being so stupid, and was ready to give anything to get back to her. Aspen is selfless in so many ways, and for goodness’ sake, the boy is hot. My worry was always that he would be one of the few who didn’t make it to a happily ever after. I can’t tell you how pleased I am that he did! Even if it wasn’t how he’d expected.
—Kiera
CHAPTER 1
“WAKE UP, LEGER.”
“Day off,” I mumbled, pulling the blanket over my head.
“No one’s off today. Get up, and I’ll explain.”
I sighed. I was normally excited to get to work. The routine, the discipline, the sense of accomplishment at the end of the day: I loved it all. Today was a different story.
Last night’s Halloween party had been my last chance. When America and I had our one dance, and she explained Maxon’s distance, I got a minute to remind her of who we were . . . and I felt it. Those threads that bound us together were still there. Perhaps they had frayed from the strain of the Selection, but they were holding.
“Tell me you’ll wait for me,” I’d pleaded.
She said nothing, but I didn’t lose hope.
Not until he was there, marching up to her, dripping charm and wealth and power. That was it. I’d lost.
Whatever Maxon had whispered to her out on the dance floor seemed to sweep every worry from her head. She clung to him, song after song, staring into his eyes the way she used to stare into mine.
So maybe I’d downed a little too much alcohol while I watched it happen. And maybe that vase in the foyer was broken because I threw it. And maybe I’d stifled my cries by biting my pillow so Avery wouldn’t hear me.
If Avery’s words this morning were any indication, chances were Maxon proposed late last night, and we would all be on call for the official announcement.
How was I supposed to face that moment? How was I supposed to stand there and protect it? He was going to give her a ring I could never afford, a life I could never provide . . . and I would hate him to my very last breath for it.
I sat up, keeping my eyes down. “What’s happening?” I asked, my head throbbing with every syllable.
“It’s bad. Really bad.”
I scrunched my forehead and looked up. Avery was sitting on his bed, buttoning his shirt. Our eyes met, and I could see the worry in his.
“What do you mean? What’s bad?” If this was some stupid drama over not finding the right colored tablecloths or something, I was going back to bed.
Avery exhaled. “You know Woodwork? Friendly guy, smiles a lot?”
“Yeah. We do rounds together sometimes. He’s nice.” Woodwork had been a Seven, and we’d bonded almost instantly over our large families and deceased fathers. He was a hard worker, and it was clear that he was someone who truly deserved his new caste. “Why? What’s going on?”
Avery seemed stunned. “He got caught last night with one of the Elite girls.”
I froze. “What? How?”
“The cameras. Reporters were getting candid shots of people wandering around the palace and one of them heard something in a closet. Opened it up and found Woodwork with Lady Marlee.”
“But that’s”—I almost said America’s closest friend, but caught myself just in time—“crazy,” I finished.
“You’re telling me.” Avery picked up his socks and continued to dress. “He seemed so smart. Must have just had too much to drink.”
He probably had, but I doubted that was why this had happened. Woodwork was smart. He wanted to take care of his family as much as I did mine. The only explanation for why he would have risked getting caught would be the same reason I had risked it: he must love Marlee desperately.
I massaged my temples, willing the headache to clear. I couldn’t feel like this right now, not with something so big happening. My eyes popped open as I understood what this might mean.
“Are they . . . are they going to kill them?” I asked quietly, like maybe if I said it too loud everyone would remember that was what the palace did to traitors.
Avery shook his head, and I felt my heart start beating again. “They’re going to cane them. And the other Elite and their families are going to be front and center for it. The blocks are already set up outside the palace walls, so we’re all on standby. Get your uniform on.”
He stood and walked to the door. “And get some coffee before you report in,” he said over his shoulder. “You look like you’re the one getting caned.”
The third and fourth floors were high enough to see over the thick walls that protected the palace from the rest of the world, and I quickly made my way to a broad window on the fourth floor. I looked down at the seats for the royal family and the Elite, as well as the stage for Marlee and Woodwork. It seemed most of the guards and staff had the same idea I did, and I nodded at the two other guards who were standing at the window, and the one butler, his uniform looking freshly pressed but his face wrinkled with worry. Just as the palace doors opened, and the girls and their families went marching out to the thunderous cheering of the crowd, two maids came rushing up behind us. Recognizing Lucy and Mary, I made a space for them beside me.
“Is Anne coming?” I asked.
“No,” Mary said. “She didn’t think it was right when there was so much work to do.”
I nodded. That sounded like her.
I ran into America’s maids all the time since I guarded her door at night, and while I always tried to be professional in the palace, I tended to let some of the formality slip with them. I wanted to know the people who took care of my girl; in my eyes, I would forever be beholden to them for all the things they did for her.
I looked down at Lucy and could see she was wringing her hands. Even in my short time at the palace, I had noticed that when she got stressed, her anxieties manifested themselves in a dozen physical tics. Training camp taught me to look for nervous behavior when people entered the palace, to watch those people in particular. I knew Lucy was no threat, and when I saw her in distress, I felt a need to protect her.
“Are you sure you want to watch this?” I whispered to her. “It won’t be pretty.”
“I know. But I really liked Lady Marlee,” she replied, just as quietly. “I feel like I should be here.”
“She’s not a lady anymore,” I commented, sure that she would be torn down to the lowest rank possible.
Lucy thought for a moment. “Any girl who would risk her life for someone she loves certainly deserves to be called a lady.”
I grinned. “Excellent point.” I watc
hed as her hands stilled and a tiny smile came to her face for a flicker of a second.
The crowd’s cheers turned to cries of disdain as Marlee and Woodwork hobbled across the gravel and into the space cleared in front of the palace gates. The guards pulled them rather harshly, and based on his gait, I guessed Woodwork had already taken a beating.
We couldn’t make out the words, but we watched as their crimes were announced to the world. I focused on America and her family. May looked like she was trying to hold herself in one piece, arms wrapped around her stomach protectively. Mr. Singer’s expression was uneasy, but calm. Mer just seemed confused. I wished there was a way to hold her and tell her it was going to be all right without ending up bound to a block myself.
I remembered watching Jemmy being whipped for stealing. If I could have taken his place, I would have done it without question. At the same time, I remembered the overwhelming sense of relief that I had never been caught the few times I had stolen. I imagined America must be feeling that way right now, wishing Marlee didn’t have to go through this, but so thankful it wasn’t us.
When the canes came down, Mary and Lucy both jumped even though we couldn’t hear anything but the crowd. There was just enough space between each lashing to allow Woodwork and Marlee to feel the pain, but not adjust to it before a new strike drove the burn in deeper. There’s an art to making people suffer. The palace seemed to have it mastered.
Lucy covered her face with her hands and wept quietly while Mary put an arm around her for comfort.
I was about to do the same when a flash of red hair caught my eye.
What was she doing? Was she fighting that guard?
Everything in my body was at war. I wanted to run down there and shove her in her seat while at the same time, I was desperate to grab her hand and take her away. I wanted to cheer her on and simultaneously beg her to stop. This wasn’t the time or place to draw attention to herself.
I watched as America hopped the rail, the hem of her dress flying in the fall. It was then, when she slammed into the ground and regrouped, that I saw she wasn’t trying to take refuge from the nightmare in front of her but instead was focused on the steps it would take to get to Marlee.
Pride and fear swelled in my chest.
“Oh, my goodness!” Mary gasped.
“Sit down, my lady!” Lucy pleaded, pressing her hands against the window.
She was running, missing one shoe, but still refusing to give up.
“Sit down, Lady America!” one of the guards standing by me yelled.
She hit the bottom stair to the platform, and my brain was on fire from the pounding blood.
“There are cameras!” I shouted at her through the glass.
A guard finally caught her, knocking her to the ground. She thrashed, still putting up a fight. My gaze flickered to the royals; all their eyes were on the red-haired girl writhing on the ground.
“You should get back to her room,” I told Mary and Lucy. “She’s going to need you.”
They turned and ran. “You two,” I said to the guards. “Go downstairs and make sure extra protection isn’t needed. No telling who caught that or might be upset by it.”
They sprinted away, heading for the first floor. I wanted to be with America, to go to her room this very second. But under the circumstances, I knew patience would be the best. It was better for her to be alone with her maids.
Last night, I had asked America to wait for me, thinking she might be going home before me. Again, that idea came to the forefront of my mind. Would the king tolerate this?
I was aching all over, trying to breathe and think and process.
“Magnificent,” the butler breathed. “Such bravery.”
He backed away from the window and went back to his duties, and I was left wondering if he meant the couple on the platform or the girl in the dirty dress. As I stood there, still taking in all that had just happened, the caning came to an end. The royals exited, the crowd dispersed, and a handful of guards were left to carry away the two limp bodies that seemed to lean toward each other, even in unconsciousness.
CHAPTER 2
I REMEMBERED THE DAYS OF waiting to run to the tree house, how it seemed like the watch hands were moving backward. This was a thousand times worse. I knew something was wrong. I knew she needed me. And I couldn’t get to her.
The best I could do was switch posts with the guard who was scheduled to watch her door tonight. Until night fell and I could see her again, I’d have to bury myself in my job.
I was heading to the kitchen for a late breakfast when I heard the complaints.
“I want to see my daughter.” I recognized Mr. Singer’s voice, but I’d never heard him sound so desperate.
“I’m sorry, sir. For safety reasons, we need to get you out of the palace now,” a guard answered. Lodge, by the sound of it. I poked my head around the corner, and sure enough Lodge was there trying to calm Mr. Singer.
“But you’ve kept us caged since that disgusting display, my child was dragged away, and I haven’t seen her! I want to see her!”
I approached them with an air of confidence and intervened. “Allow me to handle this, Officer Lodge.”
Lodge dipped his head and stepped away. Most of the time, if I acted like I was in control, people listened to me. It was simple and effective.
Once Lodge was down the hall, I bent in toward Mr. Singer. “You can’t talk like that here, sir. You saw what just happened, and that was over a kiss and an unzipped dress.”
America’s dad nodded and ran his fingers through his hair. “I know. I know you’re right. I can’t believe they made her watch that. I can’t believe they did it to May.”
“If it’s any consolation, America’s maids are very devoted, and I’m sure they’re taking care of her. There was no report of her going to the hospital wing, so she must not have gotten hurt. Not physically anyway. From what I understand”—God, how I hated saying this out loud—“Prince Maxon favors her more than the others.”
Mr. Singer gave me a thin smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “True.”
Everything in me fought against asking him what he knew. “I’m sure he’ll be very patient with her as she deals with her loss.”
He nodded then spoke under his breath, as if he was talking to himself. “I expected more from him.”
“Sir?”
He took a deep breath and stood up straight. “Nothing.” Mr. Singer looked around, and I couldn’t tell if he was in awe of the palace or disgusted by it. “You know, Aspen, she’d never believe me if I told her she was good enough for this place. In a way she’s right. She’s too good for it.”
“Shalom?” Mr. Singer and I both turned to see Mrs. Singer and May walking around the corner, carrying their bags. “We’re ready. Have you seen America?”
May left her mother and quickly tucked herself into her father’s side. He wrapped a protective arm around her. “No. But Aspen will check on her.”
I hadn’t said anything of that nature, but we were practically family and he knew that I would. Of course I would.
Mrs. Singer gave me a brief hug. “I can’t tell you what a comfort it is to know you’re here, Aspen. You’re smarter than the rest of the guards combined.”
“Don’t let them hear you say that,” I joked, and she smiled before pulling away.
May rushed over, and I bent down a little so we were on the same level. “Here are some extra hugs. Could you go by my house and give them to my family for me?”
She nodded into my shoulder. I waited for her to let go, but she didn’t. Suddenly she pushed her lips to my ear. “Don’t let anyone hurt her.”
“Never.”
She gripped me tighter, and I did the same, wanting so badly to protect her from everything around her.
May and America were bookends, alike in more ways than either of them could see. But May was softer around the edges. No one sheltered her from the world; she sheltered herself. America had been only
a few months older than May was now when we started dating, making a decision most people older than us would never have had the guts to face. But while America was aware of the bad around her, the consequences that could come if things ever went wrong, May practically skipped through life, completely blind to what was worst in the world.
I worried that some of that innocence had been stolen from her today.
She finally loosened her grip, and I stood, holding a hand out to Mr. Singer. He took it and spoke quietly. “I’m glad she has you. It’s like she’s got a piece of home with her.”
My eyes locked on his, and again I was struck with the urge to ask him what he knew. I wondered if, at the very least, he suspected something. Mr. Singer’s gaze was unwavering, and, because I’d been trained, I searched his face for secrets. I could never begin to guess at what he was hiding from me, but I knew without a doubt that there was something there.
“I’ll look after her, sir.”
He smiled. “I know you will. Look after yourself, too. Some would argue this post is even more dangerous than New Asia. We want you to come home safe.”
I nodded. Out of the millions of words in the world, Mr. Singer always seemed to know how to pick the handful that made you feel like you mattered.
“I’ve never been treated so harshly,” someone muttered, rounding the corner. “And at the palace of all places.”
Our heads collectively turned. It sounded like Celeste’s parents weren’t taking the request to leave very well either. Her mother was dragging a large bag, shaking her head in agreement with her husband, flicking her blond hair over her shoulder every few seconds. Part of me wanted to walk over and hand her a pin.
“You there,” Mr. Newsome said to me. “Come and fetch these bags.” He dropped his suitcases on the floor.
Mr. Singer spoke up. “He’s not your servant. He’s here to protect you. You can carry your own bags.”