MAXON AND I LOOKED AT each other, then back to the rebels.
“You heard me right. I’m an Illéa. And by birth, too. This one will be by marriage sooner or later,” August said, nodding to the girl.
“Georgia Whitaker,” she said. “And of course, we know all about you, America.”
She gave me another smile, and I returned it. I wasn’t sure I trusted her, but I certainly didn’t hate her.
“So Father was right.” Maxon sighed. I looked over to him, confused. Maxon knew there were direct descendants of Gregory Illéa walking around? “He said you’d come for the crown one day.”
“I don’t want your crown,” August assured us.
“Good, because I intend to lead this country,” Maxon shot back. “I’ve been raised for it, and if you think you can come in here claiming to be Gregory’s great-great-grandson—”
“I don’t want your crown, Maxon! Destroying the monarchy is more up the Southern rebels’ alley. We have other goals.” August sat at the table, leaning back in his seat. Then as if it was his home we’d stepped into, he swept his arm across the chairs, inviting us to sit.
Maxon and I eyed each other again and joined him, Georgia following quickly. August looked at us awhile, either studying us or trying to decide where to start.
Maxon, perhaps reminding us who was in charge, broke the tension. “Would you like some tea or coffee?”
Georgia lit up. “Coffee?”
In spite of himself, Maxon smiled at her enthusiasm and turned behind him to get a guard’s attention. “Could you have one of the maids bring some coffee, please? For goodness’ sake, make sure it’s strong.” Then he focused again on August.
“I can’t begin to imagine what you want from me. It seems you made a point to come while the palace was asleep, and I’m guessing you’d like to keep this visit as secretive as possible. Say what you must. I can’t promise to give you what you want, but I will listen.”
August nodded and leaned forward. “We’ve been looking for Gregory’s diaries for decades. We knew they existed long ago and had a recent confirmation from a source I cannot reveal.” August looked at me. “It wasn’t your presentation on the Report that gave it away, just so you know.”
I sighed in relief. The second he mentioned the diaries, I began silently cursing myself and bracing for later when Maxon would add this to the list of stupid things I’d done.
“We have never desired to take down the monarchy,” he said to Maxon. “Even though it came about in a very corrupt way, we have no problem with having a sovereign leader, particularly if that leader is you.”
Maxon was still, but I could sense his pride. “Thank you.”
“What we would like are other things, specific freedoms. We want nominated officials, and we want to end the castes.” August said all this as if it was easy. If he’d seen my presentation get cut off on the Report, he ought to know better.
“You act like I’m already the king,” Maxon answered in frustration. “Even if it was possible, I can’t simply give you what you’re asking for.”
“But you’re open to the idea?”
Maxon raised his hands and dropped them to the table. “What I’m open to is irrelevant at the moment. I am not king.”
August sighed, looking over to Georgia. They seemed to communicate wordlessly, and I was impressed at their easy intimacy. Here they were, in a very tense situation—one they’d entered maybe suspecting they wouldn’t be able to get out of—and their feelings for each other were so close to the surface.
“Speaking of kings,” Maxon added, “why don’t you explain to America who you are. I’m sure you’d do a better job than I would.”
I knew this was a way for Maxon to stall, to think of a way to get control of this situation, but I didn’t mind. I was dying to understand.
August smiled humorlessly. “That is an interesting story,” he promised, the vibrancy in his voice hinting at how exciting his tale would be. “As you know, Gregory had three children: Katherine, Spencer, and Damon. Katherine was married off to a prince, Spencer died, and Damon was the one who inherited the throne. Then when Damon’s son, Justin, died, his cousin Porter Schreave became prince, marrying Justin’s young widow, who had won the Selection barely three
years earlier. And now the Schreaves are the royal family. No more Illéas ought to exist. But we do.”
“We?” Maxon asked, his tone calculated, like he was hoping for numbers.
August only nodded. The click of heels announced that the maid was coming. Maxon put a finger to his lips, like August would dare to say more with her in hearing distance. The maid set down the tray and poured coffee for all of us. Georgia’s hands were on her cup immediately, waiting for it to be filled. I didn’t really care for coffee—it was too bitter for my tastes—but I knew it would help me wake up, so I braced myself to take a drink.
Before I could even sip, Maxon slid the bowl of sugar in front of me.
Like he knew.
“You were saying?” Maxon prompted, taking his coffee black. “Spencer didn’t die,” August said flatly. “He knew what his father
had done to take over the country, he knew his older sister had basically been sold into marriage, and he knew the same was expected of him. He couldn’t do it, so he ran.”
“Where did he go?” I asked, speaking for the first time.
“He hid with relatives and friends, eventually making a camp with some like-minded people in the north. It’s colder up there, wetter, and so hard to navigate that no one tries. We live there quietly most of the time.”
Georgia nudged him, her face a little shocked.
August came to his senses. “I suppose I’ve now given you directions to invade us yourself. I want to remind you that we’ve never killed any of your officers or staff, and we avoid injuring them at all costs. All we ever wanted was to put an end to the castes. To do that we needed proof that Gregory was the man we’d always been told he was. We have that now, and America hinted at it enough that we feel we could exploit that if we wanted to. We really don’t though. Not if we don’t have to.”
Maxon took a deep swig and set down his cup. “I’m honestly not sure what I’m supposed to do with this information. You’re a direct descendant of Gregory Illéa, but you don’t want the crown. You’ve come looking for things only the king could provide, but you asked for an audience with me and one of the Elite. My father isn’t even here.”
“We know,” August said. “This was deliberate timing.”
Maxon huffed. “If you don’t want the crown and only want things I can’t give you, why are you here?”
August and Georgia looked at each other, perhaps preparing themselves for their biggest request yet.
“We came to ask you for these things because we know you’re a reasonable man. We’ve watched you all your life, and we can see it in your eyes. I can see it now.”
I tried to be inconspicuous as I studied Maxon’s reaction to these words.
“You don’t like the castes either. You don’t like the way your father holds the country under his thumb. You don’t want to fight wars you know are nothing more than a distraction. More than anything, you want peace during your lifetime.
“We’re guessing that once you’re king, things could really change. And we’ve been waiting a long time for that. We’re prepared to wait longer. The Northern rebels are willing to give you our word never to attack the palace again and to do our best to stop or slow the Southern rebels. We see so much that you can’t from behind these walls. We would swear our allegiance to you, without question, if you would be willing to give us a sign of your readiness to work with us toward a future that would finally give the people of Illéa a chance to live their own lives.”
Maxon didn’t seem to know what to say, so I spoke up.
“What do the Southern rebels want anyway? Just to kill us all?”
August moved his head in a motion that was neither a shake nor a nod. “That’s part of it, sure, but only so they’ll have no one to combat them. Too much of the population is oppressed, and this growing cell has bought in to the idea that they could rule the country themselves. America, you’re a Five; I know you’ve seen your share of people who hate the monarchy.”
Maxon discreetly moved his eyes my way. I gave a brief nod.
“Of course you have. Because when you’re on the bottom, your only choice is to blame the top. In this case, they’ve got good reason—after all, it was a One who sentenced them to their lives with no real hope for bettering them. Those in charge of the Southern rebels have convinced their disciples that the way to get back what they think is theirs is to take it from the monarchy. But I’ve had people defect from the Southerner rebel leadership and end up with me. I know for a fact that once the
Southerners get control, they have no intention of sharing the wealth. When in history has that ever happened?
“Their plan is to obliterate what Illéa has, take over, make a bunch of promises, and leave everyone in the same place they are now. For most people, I’m sure it’ll get worse. The Sixes and Sevens won’t move up, except for a select few the rebels will manipulate for the sake of the show. Twos and Threes will have everything stripped from them. It’ll make a bunch of people feel vindicated, but it won’t fix anything.
“If there are no pop stars churning out those mind-numbing songs, then there are no musicians in the booths backing them up, no clerks running back and forth with tapes, no shop owners selling the music. Taking out one person at the top destroys thousands at the bottom.”
August paused for a moment, looking consumed with worry. “It’ll be Gregory all over again, only worse. The Southerners are prepared to be far more cutthroat than you could ever be, and the chances of the country bouncing back are slim. It’ll be the same old oppression under a brand- new name . . . and your people will suffer like never before.” He looked into Maxon’s eyes. They seemed to have some understanding between them, something that maybe came from being born to lead.
“All we need is a sign, and we’ll do everything we can to help you change things, peacefully and fairly. Your people deserve a chance.”
Maxon looked at the table. I couldn’t imagine the debate in his head. “What kind of sign?” he asked hesitantly. “Money?”
“No,” August said, nearly laughing. “We have more funds than you might guess.”
“How is that possible?” “Donations,” he replied simply.
Maxon nodded, but I was surprised. Donations meant there were people—who knew how many—supporting them. How big was the Northern rebel force when those supporters were taken into account? How much of the country was asking for exactly what these two had come here requesting?
“If not money,” Maxon said finally, “what do you want?” August flicked his head toward me. “Pick her.”
I buried my face in my hands, knowing how Maxon would take this.
There was a long moment of silence before he lost his temper. “I will not have anyone else telling me who I can and cannot marry! This is my life you’re playing games with!”
I looked up in time to see August stand across the table. “And the palace has been playing with other people’s lives for years. Grow up, Maxon. You’re the prince. You want your damn crown, then keep it. But responsibilities come with that privilege.”
Guards were cautiously walking our way, alerted by Maxon’s tone and August’s aggressive stance. Certainly they could hear everything by now.
Maxon stood to counter him. “You don’t get to choose my wife. End of story.”
August, completely undeterred, stepped back and crossed his arms. “Fine! We have another option if this one doesn’t work.”
“Who?”
August rolled his eyes. “As if I would tell you, given how calmly you reacted the first time.”
“Come off it.”
“This one or that one doesn’t really matter. We just need to know you’ll have a partner who’ll be on the same page for this plan.”
“My name is America,” I said fiercely, standing and looking him straight in the eye, “not This One. I’m not some toy in your little revolution. You keep talking about everyone in Illéa having a chance at the life they want. What about me? What about my future? Do I not count in that plan?”
I searched their faces, waiting for an answer. They were silent. I noticed the guards, surrounding us, on edge.
I lowered my voice. “I’m all for killing off the castes, but I’m not something to be played with. If you’re looking for a pawn, there’s one girl upstairs so in love with him, she’d do anything you asked if it meant a proposal at the end of the day. And the other two . . . between duty and prestige, they’d be game, too. Go get one of them.”
Without waiting to be excused, I turned to leave, storming away as best I could in a robe and slippers.
“America! Wait!” Georgia called. I got out the door before she caught up with me. “Stop for a minute.”
“What?”
“We’re sorry. We thought you two were in love. We didn’t realize we were asking for something he’d be opposed to. We were sure he’d be on board.”
“You don’t understand. He’s so tired of being bullied and bossed around. You have no idea what he’s been through.” I felt the tears rising, and I blinked them away, focusing on the designs on Georgia’s jacket.
“I know more than you think,” she said. “Maybe not everything, but a lot. We’ve been watching the Selection very closely, and it looks like you two get along so well. He seems so happy around you. And then . . . we know about how you rescued your maids.”
It took me a second to realize what that meant. Who was watching us on their behalf?
“And we saw what you did for Marlee. We saw you fight. And then your presentation a few days ago.” She stopped to laugh. “That took some guts. We could use a girl with guts.”
I shook my head. “I wasn’t trying to be a hero. Most of the time, I don’t feel anything close to brave.”
“So? It doesn’t really matter how you feel about your character; it just matters what you do with it. You, more than the others, act on what’s right before thinking about what it will mean for yourself. Maxon has some great candidates up there, but they won’t get their hands dirty to make things better. Not like you.”
“A lot of that was selfish. Marlee was important to me, and so are my maids.”
She stepped closer. “But didn’t those actions come with consequences?”
“Yes.”
“And you probably knew they would. But you acted for those who couldn’t speak up for themselves. That’s special, America.”
This was different praise from what I was used to. I could handle my dad telling me I was a beautiful singer or Aspen saying I was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen . . . but this? It was almost overwhelming.
“Honestly, with some of the stuff you’ve done, I can’t believe the king let you stay. The whole thing on the Report . . .” She let out a whistle.
I laughed. “He was so angry.”
“I was shocked you made it out alive!”
“It was by the skin of my teeth, let me tell you. And most days I feel like I’m only seconds away from being kicked out.”
“But Maxon likes you, right? The way he guards you . . .”
I shrugged. “There are days when I feel so sure and then others where I have no idea. Today isn’t a good day. Neither was yesterday. Or the day before, if I’m honest.”
She nodded. “Well, we’re pulling for you, all the same.” “Me and someone else,” I corrected.
“True.”
Again she gave no clue as to her other favorite.
“What was the deal with that curtsy in the woods? Just messing with me?” I asked.
She smiled. “I know it might not seem like it by the way we act sometimes, but we really do care about the royal family. If we lose them, the Southern rebels will win. If they get true control . . . well, you heard August.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I’d felt certain I was looking at my future queen, so I figured the least you deserved was a curtsy.”
Her reasoning was so silly, it made me laugh again. “I can’t tell you how nice it is to talk to a girl I’m not competing with.”
“Getting a bit old?” she asked with a sympathetic expression.
“As it’s gotten smaller, it’s gotten worse. I mean, I knew it would, but
. . . it feels like it’s moving away from trying to be the girl that Maxon would pick to making sure the other girls won’t be the one he picks. I don’t know if that makes sense.”
She nodded. “It does. But, hey, this is what you signed up for.”
I chuckled. “Actually, I didn’t. I was sort of . . . encouraged to put my name in. I didn’t want to be a princess.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
She smiled. “Not wanting the crown means you’re probably the best person to have it.”
I stared at her, convinced by her wide eyes that she believed that without a doubt. I hoped to ask more, but Maxon and August came out of the Great Room, looking surprisingly calm. A single guard followed at a distance. August was looking at Georgia like it had hurt him to be away from her even for a few minutes. Maybe that was the only reason she was here today.
“Are you okay, America?” Maxon asked.
“Yes.” My ability to look him in the eye had disappeared again.
“You should go get ready for the day,” he commented. “The guards have been sworn to secrecy, and I’d appreciate the same from you.”
“Of course.”
He seemed displeased with my coolness, but how else was I supposed to act right now?
“Mr. Illéa, it was a pleasure. We’ll talk again soon.” Maxon held out his hand. August took it easily.
“If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask. We truly are on your side, Your Majesty.”
“Thank you.”
“Georgia, let’s go. Some of these guards look a little too trigger- happy.”
She chuckled. “See you around, America.”
I nodded, sure I’d never see her again and sad because of it. She walked past Maxon and slid her hand into August’s. With a guard in tow, they walked out the gaping doors of the palace, leaving Maxon and me alone in the foyer.
His eyes rose to mine. I mumbled something and pointed upstairs, moving as I did so. His quick objection to choosing me only drove home the pain of his words yesterday in the library. I thought after the safe room there was some kind of understanding between us. But it seemed as if everything had gotten even more muddled than it had been when I was still trying to decide how much I liked Maxon in the first place.
I didn’t know what this meant for us. Or if there was still an us worth worrying about.
