The news cycle ends abruptly. I straighten when I see the next bit of footage: The new Elector is about to give his first live speech to the public.
I hesitate, then glance over at Kaede. She seems to be sleeping pretty soundly. I get up, cross the room on light feet, then skim a finger across the monitor to turn up the volume.
The sound is tiny, but enough for me to hear. I watch as Anden (or rather, the Elector Primo) steps gracefully up to the podium. He nods to the usual barrage of government-appointed reporters in front of him. He looks exactly the way I remember him, a younger version of his father, with slender glasses and a regal tilt to his chin, dressed impeccably in a formal, gold-trimmed black uniform with double rows of shining buttons.
“Now is a time of great change. Our resolve is being tested more than ever, and the war with our enemy has reached a cl**ax,” he says. He speaks as though his father hadn’t died, as if he had always been our Elector Primo. “We have won our last three warfront battles and seized three of the Colonies’ southern cities. We are on the brink of victory, and it won’t be long before the Republic spans to the edge of the Atlantic Ocean. It is our manifest destiny.”
He goes on, reassuring the people of our military’s strength and promising later announcements about changes he wants to implement—who knows how much of it is true. I go back to studying his face. His voice is not unlike his father’s, but I find myself drawn to the sincerity in it. Twenty years old. Maybe he actually believes everything he’s saying, or maybe he just does a great job of hiding his doubts. I wonder how he feels about his father’s death, and how he is able, at press conferences like this, to pull himself together enough to play his role. No doubt Congress is eager to manipulate such a young new Elector, to try to run the show behind the scenes and push him around like a chess piece. Based on what Razor said, they must be clashing daily. Anden might be as power- hungry as his father was if he refuses to listen to the Senate at all.
What exactly are the differences between Anden and his father? What does Anden think the Republic should be—and for that matter, what do I think it should be?
I mute the screen again and walk away. Don’t dwell too deeply on who Anden is. I can’t think about him as if he were a real person—a person I have to kill.
Finally, as the first rays of dawn start spilling into the room, Tess comes out of the bedroom with the news that Day is awake and alert. “He’s in good shape,” she says to Kaede. “Right now he’s sitting up, and he should be able to walk around in a few hours.” Then she sees me and her smile fades. “Um. You can see him if you want.”
Kaede cracks open an eye, shrugs, and goes back to sleep. I give Tess the friendliest smile I can manage, then take a deep breath and head for the bedroom.
Day is propped up with pillows and covered up to his chest with a thick blanket. He must be tired, but he still winks when he sees me walk in, a gesture that makes my heart skip a beat. His hair spills around him in a shining circle. A few bent paper clips lie in his lap (taken from the supply boxes in the corner—I guess he did get up). Apparently he was in the middle of making something out of them. I let out a sigh of relief when I can tell that he’s not in any pain. “Hey,” I say to him. “Glad to see you’re alive.”
“Glad to see I’m alive too,” he replies. His eyes follow me as I sit down next to him on the bed. “Did I miss anything while I was out?”
“Yeah. You missed listening to Kaede snore on the couch. For someone always ducking the law, that girl sure sleeps soundly.”
Day laughs a little. I marvel again at his high spirits, something I haven’t seen much of over the last few weeks. My gaze wanders to where the blanket covers his healing leg. “How is it?”
Day scoots the blanket aside. Underneath, there are plates of smooth metal (steel and titanium) where his wound had been. The Medic also replaced his bad knee with an artificial one, and now a good third of his leg is metallic. He reminds me of the soldiers who come back from the warfront, with their synthetic hands and arms and legs, metal where skin used to be. The Medic must be very familiar with war injuries. No doubt Razor’s officer connections helped her obtain something as expensive as the healing salves she must have used on Day. I put out my open palm, and he puts his hand in mine.
“How does it feel?”
Day shakes his head incredulously. “It feels like nothing. Completely light and painless.” A mischievous grin crosses his face. “Now you’ll get to see how I can really run a building, darling. Not even a cracked knee to hold me back, yeah? What a nice birthday present.”
“Birthday? I didn’t know. Happy belated,” I say with a smile. My eyes go to the paper clips strewn across his lap. “What are you doing?”
“Oh.” Day picks up one of the things he’s making, something that looks like a metal circle. “Just passing the time.” He holds the circle up to the light, and then takes my hand. He presses it into my palm. “A gift for you.”
I study it more closely. It’s made of four unfurled paper clips carefully entwined around one another in a spiral, and pulled together end to end so they form a tiny ring. Simple and neat. Artistic, even. I can see love and care in the twists of metal, the little bends where Day’s fingers worked on the wire over and over until it formed the right curves. He made it for me. I push it onto my finger and it slides effortlessly into place. Gorgeous. I’m bashful, flattered into complete silence. Can’t remember the last time anyone actually made something for me on his own.