Elected (The Elected Series Book 1)

by Rori Shay

  Tomlin is off running, and I hear the pounding steps of multiple guards following after him.

  I lie on the cold concrete of the room floor, trying to collect my thoughts. I want to find the helmet, but Tomlin took it with him. This helmet could be used for torture, I think. My brain aches. I want to use it. But I want to destroy it. No. I want to use it on Griffin, I realize. I want to bash his head in until it hurts like mine does now. I cry, rocking back and forth on the floor, with my head in my hands.

  I vow never to put the helmet back on my head. What must this have done to people in the past? How many times did people use it? Did it make them crazy too? Or is it just the mix of radiation in our systems that now turns it so vile?

  I throw up in a pool on the concrete floor, and it makes me feel better.

  When the guards fail to return quickly, I finally stand back up and open the door into the corridor. The place is deserted. All of the guards are out doing my bidding—bringing Griffin to me.

  I try all of the doors in the corridor, most of which are locked until they’re needed for prisoners. When one finally budges, the force I use throws open the door. Inside, armor glass dissects the space in two. As usual, my side contains just one long wooden bench. The other side behind the glass, contains the prisoner. A plant. A cot. And a cup of clear liquid.

  As I walk in, the door slamming in back of me, the prisoner looks up. The accused can’t hear me. But the reverberation of the door is jarring.

  We lock eyes with each other. I’d expected to see a man. A man who had used the helmet and now knows too much.

  But I was mistaken.

  It’s a woman. Imogene, the chemist.

  She stands immediately, pushing both palms up to the glass. Her cheek crushes up against the barrier, squishing out into a blob of pale skin. It looks odd and almost makes me want to throw up again. She moves her cheek away and this time plants her lips against the glass. She kisses the armor glass. Over and over again.

  She’s gone crazy. Imogene, the smart, collected chemist has come unglued. I can almost hear my father’s words in my head. This is what happens when technology is used. Humans don’t have the capacity to use it wisely. We must not use it at all.

  Imogene is trying to talk to me through the glass. I can’t hear her, and even when I try to read her lips, I can’t understand what she’s trying to communicate.

  I hold up one finger to her, to indicate I’ll be back in a minute. She just opens her mouth in a big O. Screaming.

  I run out of the room and down into the lobby. One guard is still there.

  “I need to question the accused,” I burst out.

  He turns, sees the fierceness on my face, and instantly starts leading me to the back of the accused’s room.

  “Elected, you don’t want to go into that side. The prisoner is unstable.” I know he’s warning me with my best interests in mind, but I don’t want to be told what to do right now.

  “Oh, but I do,” I say, my voice uncharacteristically cold.

  “Your father, he never...”

  I get up in the guard’s face, eye to eye, daring him to defy me when I’m feeling so vicious.. “I am not my father. I am the Elected now!” The guard needs to realize I’m no longer a child to be protected. Today I’ve become their leader. I try to compose myself, the headache coming back twofold. I attempt to contain my voice. “Let me in.” I say my words with more restraint this time.

  He immediately unlocks the door. I walk past him with a curt nod.

  Imogene is still standing against the armor glass, waiting for me there. Her lips are again stuck to the partition.

  The door closes behind me, the deadbolt flicking in a final thud.

  “Imogene,” I whisper.

  She doesn’t turn, just keeps making fish faces against the glass. I cautiously walk up behind her and put a finger on her shoulder. She wheels around, seeing me there for the first time. She throws her arms around my neck. At first, I’m worried she’ll try to choke me and I look back at the guard’s door. But then, Imogene starts crying, hugging me and mumbling incoherent words.

  “Shhh,” I console. “It’ll be okay. I’ll get you out of here. Don’t worry. You... aren’t of right mind. We don’t make people drink the hemlock if they don’t have control of their... wits,” I say. I think back to my father saying people with mental problems are forgiven any trespasses against the Accords.

  “You... you... never...,” she blubbers.

  “It’s okay. Don’t try to talk.”

  “No! No! I must... tell... you!” she cries.

  I lead her over to the cot along the wall at the far corner of the room. I sit her down on it gently and then ease onto the bed next to her. We’re facing each other, and she has her hands cupping my face.

  “Need to tell!” she says.

  “Okay, go ahead. I’m listening.”

  “No, baby... not for you!” Imogene bellows loud, choking on her own tears. “They’ll take it!”

  I smooth her matted hair, seeing the bare spots where she’s pulled it out in tufts.

  “It’s okay. I know. I won’t ever have a baby of my own. I already know. Is that what you saw with the helmet on?”

  She nods, her eyes blank.

  “What else did you see?”

  “Niro... nirogene. No more. No more!” She’s so distressed, she’s shaking. “No more bikes. Rust. Everywhere rust!”

  “You must be wrong about that. We still have stores of it. And we’re harvesting more nirogene from the hills. There’s plenty of it. Don’t worry.”

  “Taking... taking it!”

  “No, no. I won’t take it,” I say. “I’ll make sure everyone gets some.”

  She grabs my cheeks, pulling at the skin. “Not you! Them! Them! Taking it! Save us!”

  “The harvesters? They’re taking it?”

  Imogene looks confused, like I’ve posed a question too hard for her. I try soothing her again. “Okay, don’t worry. We’ll fix it. I’ll fix it.”

  This quiets her, and she puts her head down on my shoulder.

  “Where did you get the helmet?” I ask.

  She looks up at me, searching my eyes. She says nothing, and I’m about to let the question drop when she moans, “Sky.” She points up at the ceiling.

  “It fell from the sky?”

  She nods and then puts her head back down on my shoulder, exhausted.

  I look in front of me, over Imogene’s back, out toward the armor glass. Great. So the only person who can tell me where this strange helmet came from thinks it fell from the sky. Perfect.

  When Imogene’s breath is steadier, and she’s panting less, I place a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go, Imogene. I’ll get you out of here. You can stay with me in the White House.”

  “Black house.” Her words come out in a quiet mumble. “Black like ash.”

  I shiver at her description. “Fine. Black house. You can stay with me there.”

  Imogene looks up at me, tears glistening in her eyes. I pull her bent fingers, one by one, from the fabric around my neck.

  When I’ve finally extricated myself, I stand up, ready to knock on the door to get the guard.

  “Imogene, let’s go.”

  She stares at me blankly and then puts her fingers to her lips. I can’t tell exactly what she’s doing, but when her fingers come away from the kiss, I realize she’s saying goodbye.

  And before I can reach her, Imogene skids across the floor. She’s upon the glass of clear liquid, more quickly than I would have expected.

  “No! Imogene, no!” I scream.

  She flails out at me, pushing me back. I scramble toward her again, but the liquid is already bubbling out of her mouth. She’s thrown it on her eyes, down her throat, and over her head. She licks her cheeks where the liquid dribbles out of her mouth.

  I crouch next to her, yelling for the guards. One of them flings open the door, and they’re upon us, trying to help me.

  But it’s too
late. Imogene is already convulsing, gurgling with the onset of hemlock paralysis. All I can do is hold her head, as it bucks and threatens to split in two on the concrete floor. There’s blood pouring out of her nose and down her lips. I can hardly see anything as unshed tears obscure my vision.

  When Imogene’s body falls still, and I think she’s gone, her eyes bolt open. There’s no more choking. Imogene’s at once clear and calm as she gazes at me, her pupils exploring my face like she sees something majestic. Then she lets out one long, shuddering sigh. Her body tenses, and I prepare myself for more violent thrashing. I stay on my knees with her, waiting, but after the quiet sets in I know it’s finally over.

  11

  I hold her, rocking back and forth, until the guards gently extract Imogene from my grasp and carry her body away. I know where they’re taking her. To Vienne, as is custom. Vienne will dress the accused in proper burial clothing. She’ll prepare Imogene for the special graveyard where prisoners have their final resting place.

  It isn’t a job I would wish on Vienne for her first day. We’re not even married yet. Technically, she’s not the Madame Elected. But in the absence of another, Vienne will take on this task.

  I put my hands on my head, the ache from the helmet pulsing and then subsiding again. I don’t rise up from the floor or lift my head until I hear Tomlin’s voice at the door.

  “Elected, we’ve brought Griffin to you.”

  There are indeed two guards hauling Griffin into the room. His arms are chained behind him, and the guards each hold him under one armpit, dragging him forward. He’s fighting it, but when he sees me, surprise flashes across his face, and his legs go slack. He sees the droplets of Imogene’s blood still on the floor, and his eyes widen.

  “Leave him here,” I say.

  Tomlin looks at me with his eyebrows raised. “Are you sure, Elected? You don’t look well. The helmet, it can do strange things...”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” I look toward the guards. “I want to see him alone. But keep the chains on his arms. And close the window’s shutter on the door. Come back in only if I call you.” My tone is sharper than usual.

  They nod and leave the room, Tomlin glancing back at me, still worried. Griffin did nothing wrong that they know of. Yet, on just the strength of my word, my orders were followed explicitly. The surge of power I felt earlier at knowing Vienne was all mine, comes again.

  I walk up to face Griffin, who is now standing squarely in front of me. He looks at me with a mixture of anger and confusion etched around his clenched jaw.

  “Are you all right?” he asks.

  Here he is in chains before me, and he’s asking how I am? I want to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Part of me wants to finally tell him the strange feelings I’m having for him. Now that we’re alone, in the privacy of this room, I’m free to say anything I want. I want to believe he might actually care about me. But another part of me can’t connect those dots. I know what I saw in the helmet, and it doesn’t fit with everything Griffin’s told me to my face. I have to remember that. This boy could be my undoing, yet too often I’m fantasizing about him instead of doing my duty as a leader. That’s got to change right now.

  “It’s you who’s not all right.” I brush off his concern like it’s a disease I don’t want to catch. I make a circle around him, inspecting the chains expertly tied around his elbows.

  “Ahh, I see.” Griffin glances down at his shoes and nods his head, starting to understand the extent of my anger toward him. “So now that you have me here, what are you going to do with me, Madame Elected?”

  I face him, so we’re almost eye to eye. He still doesn’t get it. He thinks this is all a joke. He knows who the assassin is, and he thinks I’ll just let it go. He says I’ll make a strong leader, but he’s about to find out just how strong my father taught me to be. Griffin’s a few inches taller than me, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t blink as I stare at him, my fury building.

  And then I hit him hard across the face.

  His chin jolts to the side as the impact of my hand smashes against the side of his cheek.

  Griffin staggers back, surprised at my sudden assault. “Hey! What are you doing?”

  “What I should have done right away, when you ‘saved’ me at the town hall. You knew, Griffin. You know now. You’re hiding the assassin!”

  He’s looking down, pushing his hurt cheek up against his shoulder and cracking his jaw. But then he looks up at me again, the initial surprise at my blow now leaving his eyes. “Aloy, you’re safe, are you not? Isn’t that good enough?”

  “Elected.” My mouth forms a hard line. “You’re to call me Elected! Not Madame Elected. Elected!”

  He doesn’t say anything, just stares me down, refusing to say the word.

  We stay like that a moment, two lions circling each other in a tight cage.

  Finally, I sit down on the cot, leaning back with my elbows against the crisp, scratchy sheet. I give a clipped laugh, already knowing I’ve won. It doesn’t matter what he says or what he can’t bring himself to say. I’m the Elected. Power courses through me like oxygen in my bloodstream. Adrenaline pumps in my temples, accentuating the harsh effects of the Multiplier. I ball my hands into fists, fitting them against my eyes.

  “It’s not good enough. You have to hand over the assassin,” I say.

  Griffin responds almost so quietly I don’t hear him. I stand up to get closer.

  “What did you say?” I ask.

  His voice rises so when I’m finally inches from his face, it takes me aback. “You don’t understand. I cannot hand over the assassin!”

  “So you’d rather sacrifice your country and your Elected than give up a traitor?”

  “No! I won’t sacrifice you or this country! I’ll protect you until my dying breath, but I can’t give you a name!”

  He slumps to his knees, losing the roguish confidence he usually displays around me. The chains around his elbows hit the concrete in back of him in a thick thud.

  I’m taken aback by his promise to protect me and his sudden, uncharacteristic anguish. “What do you mean ‘protect you until my dying breath’?”

  “Don’t you know? Haven’t I kept your secret for you? Haven’t I given up almost everything to keep you safe? Risked my own life. And almost even my...” He is suddenly silent, looking down, but then speaks again, his voice a whisper. “Ever since I saw you at the dance... I... I couldn’t...”

  I desperately want to know what he’s thought about since the night of the dance, but another part of me can’t let him say it. His words will jeopardize everything. Instead, I interrupt, questioning him again. “Then why not give up the traitor?”

  He no longer seems mischievous, playing a game with me. He’s too serious. “Don’t ask more from me than what I can give.”

  We stay like that for a few heartbeats, neither of us knowing what to do next.

  Griffin finally breaks the silence. “So here I am, on my knees. Chained. Will you keep me here as a prisoner now? Am I to drink the hemlock just because I saved you but won’t give you a name?”

  I’m quiet, so he continues. “No?”

  Of course I won’t make him drink hemlock. But I stride up confidently to him, bending to the floor, fully prepared to tell Griffin if he won’t give me a name, I don’t need his further protection or so-called friendship either. But, right up in front of his bent figure, I hesitate. I remember the night of the dance, his hand touching mine. And then, more recently, his finger brushing against my cheek under the tree.

  When he looks up at me and our eyes lock, I find I can’t speak at all. Instead, I sink down onto the ground, the fight finally leaving my body for good.

  This boy—no, this man—brings me to do things I don’t understand. All of a sudden, I’m horrified that I hit him.

  Appalled, I watch Griffin as he stares back at me, his face expectant with a bluish bruise already forming across one cheekbone.

  I lower my head in shame. “I
’m sorry. I can’t believe I hit you.”

  He shrugs. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

  “It is something. I’ve never raised a hand to anyone before. Let alone a prisoner in chains.” I put my head in my hands, all my energy seeping out. “What’s wrong with me lately?”

  I can’t believe I’m opening myself up to this man who sits shackled next to me on the floor. But, after using the helmet and feeling the rush of its mesmerizing power, now all of a sudden, I’m spent. My body sags.

  Griffin sighs and moves closer to me so that I find I’m leaning on him by default. I shift away from him gradually, still not quite willing to trust him. But the feel of his body against mine as our arms touch, even for a brief moment, is like my own personal drug. I look away so he can’t see the blush drifting its way up my neck into my cheeks.

  “Wrong with you? In one day you’ve lost your parents, claimed your birthright, and met the woman you’re supposed to marry. That’s a lot for anyone to take on. I can’t say I like the chains, but this new, tough you is sort of sexy.”

  I can’t help myself. I look up at him and give a small laugh. But then I shudder. “How do you know that I met Vienne today?”

  Griffin shrugs again, his shoulder rising with the gesture.

  “I know a lot of stuff. I told you. I’m watching out for you.”

  “Watching out for me? Or just plain watching me?” I glance at him, but when Griffin doesn’t answer, I say, “That’s a little creepy.”

  “Look, I’ve never met anyone who’s quite as... alone... as you are. I want to help so you’ll be the leader we’re all hoping for.” He pauses and his assured smile comes back two-fold. “Think of me as your catalyst to greatness.”

  I snicker, unable to control myself. “My catalyst to greatness? Wow, don’t you think highly of yourself?”

  This time he laughs too. “No, I think highly of you.”

  I look him in the eyes, in awe once again of his unwavering confidence in me. But before I can become enamored of the picture he’s painted of me and forget my purpose, I ask him my questions again. I won’t be distracted like I was the other night under the tree.