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Day stiffens, but he doesn’t miss a beat. He grabs a larger carving knife, purposely disturbing his place’s careful setup, and gestures casually with it. Both Serge and Mariana edge away from the table. “Where I come from, we’re more about efficiency,” he replies. “A knife like this’ll skewer food, smear butter, and slit throats all at the same time.”
Of course Day’s never slit a throat in his life—but Serge doesn’t know that. He sniffs in disdain at the reply, but the blood drains from his face. I have to pretend to cough so that I don’t laugh at Day’s mock-serious expression. For those who don’t know him well, his words actually sound intimidating.
I also notice something I hadn’t earlier—Day looks pale. Much paler than I remember. My amusement wavers. Is his recent illness something more serious than I’d first assumed?
Anden arrives in the room a minute later, causing the usual stir as we all rise for him, and gestures for all of us to take our seats. He’s accompanied by four soldiers, one of whom closes the door behind him and finally seals us in to our private meal.
“Day,” Anden greets. He pauses to nod courteously in Day’s direction. Day looks unhappy with the attention, but manages to return the gesture. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, if under unfortunate circumstances.”
“Very unfortunate,” Day says in return. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, trying to imagine a more awkward scenario than this dinner setup.
Anden lets the stiff reply slide. “Let me catch you up on the current situation.” He puts his fork down. “The peace treaty we’ve been working on with the Colonies is now shelved. A virus has hit the Colonies’ southern warfront cities hard.”
Beside me, Day crosses his arms and regards the crowd with a suspicious expression on his face, but Anden goes on. “They believe this virus was caused by us, and they are demanding that we send them a cure if we want to continue peace talks.” Serge clears his throat and starts to say something, but Anden holds up a hand for silence. He then goes on to spill all the details—how the Colonies first sent a harsh message to the Republic, demanding info on the virus wreaking havoc amongst their troops, hastily withdrawing their affected soldiers, and then broadcasting their ultimatum to the warfront generals, warning of dire consequences if a cure was not delivered immediately.
Day listens to all of it without moving a muscle or uttering a word. One of his hands grips the edge of the table tightly enough to turn his knuckles white. I wonder whether he’s guessed where this is going and what all this has to do with him, but he just waits until Anden has finished.
Serge leans back in his chair and frowns. “If the Colonies want to play games with our peace offer,” he scoffs, “then let them. We’ve been at war long enough—we can handle some more.”
“No, we can’t,” Mariana interjects. “Do you honestly think the United Nations will accept the news that our peace treaty fell apart?”
“Do the Colonies have any evidence that we caused it? Or are these empty accusations?”
“Exactly. If they think we’re going to—”
Day suddenly speaks up, his face turned toward Anden. “Let’s stop dragging our feet,” he says. “Tell me why I’m here.” He’s not loud, but the ominous tone of his voice hushes the conversation in the room. Anden returns his look with an equally grave one. He takes a deep breath.
“Day, I believe this is the result of one of my father’s bioweapons—and that the virus came from your brother Eden’s blood.”
Day’s eyes narrow. “And?”
Anden seems reluctant to continue. “There’s more than one reason why I didn’t want all my Senators in here with us.” He leans forward, lowers his voice, and gives Day a humbled look. “I don’t want to hear anyone else right now. I want to hear you. You are the heart of the people, Day—you always have been. You’ve given everything you have in order to protect them.” Day stiffens beside me, but Anden goes on. “I fear for the people. I worry about their safety, that we’ll be handing them over to the enemy just as we’re starting to put the pieces together.” He grows quieter. “I need to make some difficult decisions.”
Day raises an eyebrow. “What kind of decisions?”
“The Colonies are desperate for a cure. They will destroy us to get it, everything both you and I care about. The only chance we have of finding one is to take Eden into temporary—”
Day pushes his chair from the table and rises. “No,” he says. His voice is flat and icy, but I remember my old, heated argument with Day well enough to recognize the deep fury beneath his calmness. Without another word, he turns from the group and walks away.
Serge starts to get up, no doubt to shout at Day about his rudeness, but Anden shoots him a warning stare and motions for him to sit. Then Anden turns to me with a look that says, Talk to him. Please.
I watch Day’s retreating figure. He has every right to refuse, every right to hate us for asking this of him. But I still find myself rising from my own chair, stepping away from the banquet table, and hurrying in his direction.
“Day, wait,” I call out. My words send me a painful reminder of the last time we’d been in the same room together, when we had said our good-byes.
We head into the smaller corridor that leads out to the main ballroom. Day doesn’t turn around, but he seems to slow his steps down in an attempt to let me catch up. When I finally reach him, I take a deep breath. “Look, I know—”
