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“No, your father was responsible. That doesn’t mean you are.”
“Well, I’m my father’s son,” Anden replies, his voice suddenly stern. “What difference does it make?”
The words surprise both of us. I tighten my lips and decide not to comment on it, but my thoughts churn frantically. It does make a difference. But then I think back on what Anden had once told me about the Republic’s founding, how his father and the Electors before him had been forced to act in those dark, early years. Better be careful, Iparis. You might turn out just like me.
Perhaps I’m not the only one who needs to be careful.
Something showing on the screen at the end of the hall distracts me. I look toward it. There’s some news about Day; the footage shows some old video close-up of him and then a brief shot of the Denver hospital, but even though most of the video’s cut off, I can catch glimpses of crowds gathered in front of the building. Anden turns to look at the screen too. Are they protesting? What could they be protesting?
Daniel Altan Wing admitted to hospital for standard medical exam, to be released tomorrow
Anden presses a hand to his ear. An incoming call. He glances briefly at me, then clicks on his mike and says, “Yes?”
Silence. As the screen’s broadcast continues, Anden’s face turns pale. It reminds me for an instant of how pale Day had looked while at the banquet, and the two thoughts converge into a single, frightening thought. I suddenly know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that this is the secret Day’s been keeping from me. A horrible feeling builds in my chest.
“Who approved this footage’s release?” Anden says after a moment, his voice now a whisper. I hear anger in it. “There won’t be a next time. Inform me first. Is that understood?”
A lump rises in my throat. When his call finally ends, he drops his hand and gives me a long, grave look.
“It’s Day,” he says. “He’s at the hospital.”
“Why?” I demand.
“I’m so sorry.” He bows his head in a tragic gesture, then leans forward to whisper in my ear. He tells me. And suddenly I feel light-headed, like the entire world has funneled into a blur of motion, like none of this is real, like I’m standing right back at the Los Angeles Central Hospital on the night I knelt before Metias’s cold, lifeless body, staring into a face that I no longer recognized. My heartbeat slows to a stop. Everything stops. This can’t be real.
How can the boy who stirred an entire nation be dying?
THEY KEEP ME AT THE HOSPITAL OVERNIGHT BEFORE THEY release me to my apartment. By now, the news is out—bystanders had seen me wheeled out, had spread the word to other folks, and soon the wildfire was unstoppable, and the rumor’s been uttered in every corner of the city. I’ve seen the news cycles try to hide it twice already. I was in the hospital for a standard checkup; I was in the hospital to visit my brother. All sorts of goddy stories. But no one’s buying it.
I spend all day enjoying the luxury of a non-hospital bed, watching light, slushy snow falling outside our window, while Eden camps out on the bed by my feet and plays with a robotics kit we’d gotten from the Republic as a gift. He’s piecing together some sort of robot now; he matches up a magnetic Light cube—a palm-size box with mini screens on its sides—with several Arm, Leg, and Wing cubes to create what’s essentially a little flying JumboTron Man. He smiles in delight at it, then breaks the cubes apart and rearranges them into a pair of walking Legs that display JumboTron video feeds whenever they step down. I smile too, momentarily content that he’s content. If there’s one good thing about the Republic, it’s that they indulge Eden’s love for building stuff. Every other week we seem to get some new contraption that I’ve only ever seen upper-class kids own. I wonder if June’s the one who put in this special request for Eden, knowing what she does. Or maybe Anden just feels guilty for all the stuff his father put us through.
I wonder if she’s heard the news yet. She must have.
“Careful,” I say as Eden climbs up onto my bed and leans over to stand his new creation up at the edge of the window. His hands fumble around, feeling for the windowsill and the glass pane. “If you fall and break something, we’ll have to head back to the hospital, and I am not going to be happy about that.”
“You’re thinking about her again, aren’t you?” Eden fires smoothly back. His blind eyes stay squinted at the blocks standing barely an inch from his face. “You always change your voice.”
I blink at him in surprise. “What?”
He looks in my direction and raises an eyebrow at me, and the expression looks comical on his childlike face. “Oh, come on. It’s so obvious. What’s this June girl to you, anyway? The whole country gossips about you two, and when she asked you to come to Denver, you couldn’t pack us up fast enough. You told me to call her in case the Republic ever comes to take me away. You’re gonna have to spill sooner or later, yeah? You’re always talking about her.”
“I don’t talk about her all the time.”
“Uh-huh, right.”
I’m glad Eden can’t see my expression. I’ve yet to talk with him about June and her connection to the rest of our family—another good reason to stay away from her. “She’s a friend,” I finally reply.
“Do you like her?”
My eyes go back to studying the rainy scene outside our window. “Yeah.”
Eden waits for me to say more, but when I remain silent, he shrugs and goes back to his robot. “Fine,” he mutters. “Tell me whenever.”
