The Elite
Page 18
He nodded, his endless patience still there. “I do understand that, America. That’s part of why I wanted you to have time. But you need to consider me in this, too.”
“I am.”
“No, not like that. Not like I’m part of the equation. Consider my predicament. I don’t have much time left. This philanthropy project will be the springboard for another elimination. Surely, you’ve guessed that.”
I lowered my head. Of course I had.
“So what am I to do once it’s down to four? Give you more time? When it gets to three, I’m supposed to choose. If there are only three of you and you’re still debating if you want the responsibility, if you want the workload, if you want me … what am I supposed to do then?”
I bit my lip. “I don’t know.”
Maxon shook his head. “That’s not acceptable. I need an answer. Because I can’t send someone who really wants this—who wants me—home if you’re going to bail out in the end.”
My breathing picked up. “So I have to give you an answer now? I don’t even know what I’m giving an answer to. Does saying I want to stay mean saying I want to be the one? Because I don’t know that.” I felt my muscles tensing, like they were preparing to run.
“You don’t have to say anything now; but by the Report you need to know if you want this or not. I don’t like giving you an ultimatum, but you’re being a bit careless with my one shot.”
He sighed before continuing. “That wasn’t where I wanted this conversation to go either. Maybe I should leave.” I could hear in his voice that he wanted me to ask him to stay, to tell him this was all going to work itself out.
“I think you should,” I whispered.
He shook his head, irritated, and stood. “Fine.” He walked across the room in quick, angry strides. “I’ll just go see what Kriss is doing.”
CHAPTER 26
I WENT DOWN FOR BREAKFAST on the late side. I didn’t want to risk running into Maxon or any of the girls alone. Before I made it to the stairs, Aspen came walking up the hall. I made an exasperated sound, and he looked around before approaching me.
“Where have you been?” I quietly demanded.
“Working, Mer. I’m a guard. I can’t control when and where they schedule me. I’ve stopped being placed on the round for your room.”
I wanted to ask why, but this wasn’t the time. “I need to talk to you.”
He thought for a moment. “At two, go to the end of the first-floor hallway, down past the hospital wing. I can be there, but not for long.” I nodded. He gave me a quick bow and went on his way before anyone noticed our conversation, and I continued downstairs, not feeling satisfied at all.
I wanted to scream. Saturday being a day-long sentence to the Women’s Room was really unfair. When people came to visit, they wanted to see the queen, not us. When one of us was princess, that would probably change, but for now I was stuck watching Kriss pour over her presentation again. The others were reading things, too, notes or reports, and I felt sick to my stomach. I needed an idea and fast. I was sure Aspen would help me figure this out, and I had to start something tonight no matter what.
As if she could read my thoughts, Silvia, who had been visiting with the queen, stopped by to see me.
“How’s my star pupil?” she asked, keeping her voice low enough that the others wouldn’t notice.
“Great.”
“How is your project going? Do you need any help fine-tuning?” she offered.
Fine-tuning? How was I supposed to tweak nothing?
“It’s going great. You’re going to love it, I’m sure,” I lied.
She cocked her head to the side. “Being a bit secretive are we?”
“A bit.” I smiled.
“That’s fine. You’ve been doing wonderful work lately. I’m sure it’ll be fantastic.” Silvia patted my shoulder as she headed out of the room.
I was in so much trouble.
The minutes passed so slowly that it was like a special kind of torture. Just before two I excused myself and went down the hallway. At the very end, there was a burgundy upholstered couch underneath a massive window. I sat to wait. I didn’t see a clock, but the minutes passed too slowly for comfort. Finally Aspen came around a corner.
“About time.” I sighed.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, standing by the couch, looking official.
So much, I thought. So many things I can’t talk to you about.
“We have this assignment, and I don’t know what to do. I can’t think of anything, and I’m stressed, and I can’t sleep,” I said spastically.
He chuckled. “What’s the assignment? Tiara designing?”
“No,” I said, shooting him a frustrated glare. “We have to come up with a project, something good for the country. Like Queen Amberly’s work with the disabled.”
“This is what you’ve been worked up about?” he asked, shaking his head. “How is that stressful? That sounds like fun.”
“I thought it would be, too. But I can’t come up with anything. What would you do?”
Aspen thought for a moment. “I know! You should do a caste exchange program,” he said, his eyes glittering with excitement.
“A what?”
“A caste exchange program. People from the upper castes switch places with people from the lower castes so they can know what it feels like to walk in our shoes.”
“I don’t think that would work, Aspen, at least not for this project.”
“It’s a great idea,” he insisted. “Can you imagine someone like Celeste breaking her nails stocking shelves? It’d serve them right.”
“What’s gotten into you? Aren’t some of the guards natural Twos? Aren’t they your friends now?”
“Nothing’s gotten into me,” he answered defensively. “I’m the same as ever. You’re the one who’s forgotten what it was like to live in a house with no heat.”
I straightened my back. “I haven’t forgotten. I’m trying to come up with a service project to stop things like that. Even if I go home, someone might use my idea, so I need it to be good. I want to help people.”
“Don’t forget, Mer,” Aspen implored me with a quiet passion in his eyes. “This government sat by while you went without food. They let my brother get beaten in the square. All the talk in the world won’t undo what we are. They put us in a corner we could never get out of on our own, and they’re not in a rush to pull us out. Mer, they just don’t get it.”
I huffed and stood.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Back to the Women’s Room,” I answered, starting to move.
Aspen followed. “Are we seriously fighting over some stupid project?”
I turned on him. “No. We’re fighting because you don’t get it either. I’m a Three now. And you’re a Two. Instead of being bitter about what we were handed, why can’t you see the chance you have? You can change your family’s life. You could probably change lots of lives. And all you want to do is settle the score. That’s not going to get anyone anywhere.”
Aspen didn’t say anything, and I left. I tried not to be upset with him for being passionate about what he wanted. If anything, wasn’t that an admirable quality? But it made me think so much about the castes and how they couldn’t be undone that I started getting angry about the situation.
Nothing was going to change it. So why bother?
I played my violin. I took a bath. I tried to nap. I spent part of the evening sitting in a quiet room. I sat on my balcony.
None of it mattered. It was getting dangerously late in the game, and I still had nothing for my project.
I lay in bed for hours, trying to sleep and not getting far with that either. I kept flashing back to Aspen’s angry words, his constant struggle with his lot in life. I thought about Maxon and his ultimatum, his demand for me to commit. And then I wondered if any of this mattered anyway, since I was certainly going home as soon as I showed up Friday night without anything to present.
Besides, even if I couldn’t help myself, I had to know what happened to his daughter. I was pretty sure her name was Katherine, so I flipped through the book looking for any mention of her, ignoring everything else, until I found a picture of a girl standing next to a man who appeared to be much older. Maybe it was just my imagination, but she looked like she’d been crying.
KATHERINE WAS FINALLY MARRIED TODAY TO EMIL DE MONPEZAT OF SWENDWAY. SHE SOBBED THE WHOLE WAY TO THE CHURCH UNTIL I MADE IT CLEAR THAT IF SHE DIDN’T STRAIGHTEN UP FOR THE CEREMONY, THERE’D BE HELL TO PAY AFTERWARD. HER MOTHER ISN’T HAPPY, AND I SUSPECT SPENCER IS UPSET NOW THAT HE’S AWARE OF HOW LITTLE HIS SISTER WANTED TO GO THROUGH WITH THIS. BUT SPENCER IS BRIGHT. I THINK HE’LL FALL INTO LINE QUICKLY ONCE HE SEES ALL THE POSSIBILITIES I’VE CREATED FOR HIM. AND DAMON IS SO SUPPORTIVE; I WISH I COULD TAKE WHATEVER IT IS IN HIS SYSTEM AND INJECT IT INTO THE REST OF THE POPULATION. THERE’S SOMETHING TO BE SAID FOR THE YOUNG. IT’S SPENCER AND DAMON’S GENERATION THAT HAS BEEN THE MOST HELPFUL IN GETTING ME WHERE I AM. THEIR ENTHUSIASM IS UNSWAYABLE, AND THEY ARE A FAR MORE POPULAR CROWD FOR OTHERS TO LISTEN TO THAN THE FEEBLE ELDERLY WHO INSIST WE’VE GONE DOWN THE WRONG PATH. I KEEP WONDERING IF THERE’S A WAY TO SILENCE THEM FOR GOOD THAT WOULDN’T MIRE MY NAME.
EITHER WAY, WE ARE SLATED TO HAVE THE CORONATION TOMORROW. NOW THAT SWENDWAY HAS GOTTEN THE POWERFUL ALLY OF THE NORTH AMERICAN UNION, I CAN HAVE WHAT I WANT: A CROWN. I THINK THIS IS A FAIR TRADE. WHY SETTLE FOR PRESIDENT ILLÉA WHEN I CAN BE KING ILLÉA INSTEAD? THROUGH MY DAUGHTER, I’VE BEEN DEEMED ROYAL.
EVERYTHING IS IN PLACE. AFTER TOMORROW THERE WILL BE NO TURNING BACK.
He sold her. The pig sold his daughter to a man she hated so he could have everything he wanted.
My instinct was to close the book again, to shut it all out. But I forced myself to flip through it, reading passages at random. In one place a rough diagram of the caste system was laid out, originally dreamed up with six tiers instead of eight. On another page he plotted to change people’s last names to separate them from their pasts. One line made it clear that he intended to punish his enemies by placing them lower on the scale and reward the loyal by placing them higher.
I wondered if my great-grandparents simply had nothing to offer or if they had resisted this. I hoped it was the latter.
What should my last name have been? Did Dad know?
My whole life I’d been led to believe that Gregory Illéa was a hero, the person who saved our country when we were on the edge of oblivion. Clearly, he was nothing more than a power-hungry monster. What kind of man manipulated people so willingly? What kind of man hawked his daughter for his own convenience?
I looked at the older entries I’d read in a new light. He never said he wanted to be a great family man; he just wanted to look like one. He would play by Wallis’s rules for now. He was using his son’s peers to gain support. He was playing a game from the very beginning.
I felt nauseated. I stood and paced the floor, trying to wrap my head around it all.
How had an entire history been forgotten? How was it that no one ever spoke of the old countries? Where was all this information? Why didn’t anyone know?
I opened my eyes and looked to the sky. It seemed impossible. Surely, someone would have disapproved, would have told their children the truth. But then again, maybe they had. I’d often wondered why Dad never let me talk about the timeworn history book he had hidden in his room, why the history I did know about Illéa was never in print. Maybe it was because, if it was there in writing that Illéa was a hero, people would have rioted. But if it was always a point of speculation, where one person insisted it was a certain way and another denied it, how would anyone ever hold on to the truth?
I wondered if Maxon knew.
Suddenly a memory came to me. Not so long ago, Maxon and I had our first kiss. It was so unexpected that I had pulled away, leaving him embarrassed. Then when I realized that I wanted Maxon to kiss me, I suggested that we simply erase that memory and plant a new one.
America, he’d said, I don’t think you can change history. To which I replied, Sure we can. Besides, who’d ever know about it but you and me?
I’d meant it as a joke. Surely, if he and I end up together, we’d remember what really happened no matter how silly it was. We’d never actually replace it with a more perfect-sounding story simply for the sake of show.
But the whole Selection was a show. If Maxon and I were ever asked about our first kiss, would we tell anyone the truth? Or would we keep that little detail a secret between the two of us? When we died, no one would know, and that fraction of a moment that was so important to who we were would be gone.
Could it be that simple? Tell one story to one generation and repeat it until it was accepted as fact? How often had I asked someone older than Mom or Dad what they knew or what their parents had seen? They were old. What did they know? It was so arrogant of me to discount them completely. I felt so stupid.
But the important issue wasn’t how this all made me feel. The important issue was what I was going to do with it.
I’d lived my whole life stuck in a hole in our society; and because I loved music, I didn’t complain. But I had wanted to be with Aspen, and because he was a Six, it was harder than it had to be. If Gregory Illéa hadn’t coldly designed the laws of our country, sitting comfortably at his desk all those years ago, then Aspen and I wouldn’t have fought and I never would have cared about Maxon. Maxon wouldn’t even be a prince. Marlee’s hands would still be intact, and she and Carter wouldn’t be living in a room barely big enough for their bed. Gerad, my sweet baby brother, could study all the science he wanted instead of pushing himself into the arts for which he had no passion.
By obtaining a comfy life in a beautiful house, Gregory Illéa had robbed most of the country of its ability to ever attempt to have the very same thing.
Maxon said if I wanted to know who he was, all I had to do was ask. I’d been afraid to face the possibility of him being this person, but I had to know. If I was meant to make a decision about being a part of the Selection or going home, I needed to know exactly what he was made of.
Donning my slippers and robe, I left my room, passing the nameless guard on my way.
“You all right, miss?” he asked.
“Yes. I’ll be back soon.”
He looked like he wanted to say more, but I left too quickly for him to speak. I headed up the stairs to the third floor. Unlike the other floors, guards stood at the landing, preventing me from simply walking to Maxon’s door.
“I need to speak to the prince,” I said, trying to sound firm.
“It’s very late, miss,” the one to the left said.
“Maxon won’t mind,” I promised.
The one to the right smirked a little. “I don’t think he’d appreciate any company right now, miss.”
My forehead creased in thought as I played that sentence in my head again.
He was with another girl.
I had to assume it was Kriss, sitting there in his room, talking, laughing, or maybe giving up on her no-kissing rule.
A maid came around the corner with a tray in her hands, passing me as she descended the stairs. I stepped to the side, trying to decide if I should push the guards to let me through anyway or give up. As I went to open my mouth again, the guard cut me off.
“You need to go back to bed, miss.”
I wanted to yell at them or do something because I felt so powerless. It wouldn’t help, though, so I left. I heard the one guard—the smirking one—mumble something as I walked away, and that made it worse. Was he making fun of me? Feeling sorry for me? I didn’t need his pity. I was feeling bad enough on my own.
When I got back to the second floor, I was s
urprised to see that the maid who had passed me was there, kneeling as if she was adjusting her shoe but clearly doing nothing of the sort. She raised her head as I approached, picking up her tray and walking toward me.
“He’s not in his room,” she whispered.
“Who? Maxon?”
She nodded. “Try downstairs.”
I smiled, shaking my head in surprise. “Thank you.”
She shrugged. “He’s not anywhere you couldn’t find him if you looked anyway. Besides,” she said, her eyes full of admiration, “we like you.”
She moved away, heading down to the first floor very quickly. I wondered exactly who “we” was, but for now, her simple act of kindness was enough. I stood for a moment, leaving some space between the two of us, and headed downstairs.
The Great Room was open but empty, as was the dining room. I checked the Women’s Room, thinking that would be a funny place to go on a date, but they weren’t there either. I asked the guards by the door, and they assured me that Maxon hadn’t gone into the gardens, so I checked a few of the libraries and parlors before guessing that he and Kriss must have either parted ways or gone back to his room.
Giving up, I turned a corner and headed for the back stairwell, which was closer than the main one. I didn’t see anything; but as I approached, I heard the distinct hiss of a whisper. I slowed, not wanting to intrude and not completely sure where the sound was coming from.
Another whisper.
A flirtatious giggle.
A warm sigh.
The sounds focused, and I was certain where they were coming from. I took one more step forward, looked to my left, and saw a couple embracing in the shadows. After the image settled and my eyes adjusted to the light, a shock went through me.
Maxon’s blond hair was unmistakable, even in the darkness. How many times had I seen it just so in the dim light of the gardens? But what I’d never seen before, never imagined before, was how that hair would look with Celeste’s long fingers, nails painted red, digging into it.