Elected (The Elected Series Book 1) (20 page)

I watch in horror as Maran goes back, again and again, to his bleeding arm to gather more writing material. Each time he comes up with a finger full of blood and smears it on the barrier between us. When he finishes, there are seven letters on the wall. I can’t see them clearly, so I stand up from the bench, moving closer to the glass.

He’s written a word, but it faces him, so I’m forced to interpret the slanted letters backward. Maran stands there, watching me, with a slight smile on his face.

When I finally decipher it, I’m appalled—furious he would write out this word as his life’s last communication. But I’m more furious he’s guessed my true gender and written it out for others to see.

The glass reads, “LESBIAN.”

26

Society outgrew the word years ago. No one felt the need to label people for who or how they love. At the same time, our world is so dependent on population growth there’s a constant conflict between necessity and our d
esire to accept people as they are. I don’t worry about Maran’s use of the word, itself. But this final betrayal of my gender causes my heart to quicken so much that I can hear the rush of blood in my ears. Maran knows I’m breaking two of our most sacred laws; the Elected Accord and the Fertility Accord, and his final act is to announce I’m an imposter. I guess if he couldn’t kill me, he’s now trying to unseat me legally.

His eyes are alight with amusement as I stare at his art. His mouth opens and he gives big guffaws, laughing at me. I glare at him, unsure what to do next, bracing myself for the guards’ response. Three guards enter the room, beginning the next phase of the custom. They glance at the word written in blood on the glass, but their eyes are uncomprehending. Maran stares at them forcefully, pointing to the word and becoming more frustrated when they seemingly don’t understand its meaning. He starts to frantically explain it, but the guards are resolute about their role. They proceed with robotic precision, ignoring Maran’s pleas. Because of the nature of the coming ritual, I assume they’re trained to block out a prisoner’s verbal defiance. Or perhaps they choose to discount what they don’t want to hear. It’s a relief they don’t acknowledge the word, but I wonder if I’ll have to provide answers later.

One of the guards holds a third cup of hemlock. The forthcoming ritual is what I’ve feared with each of the suicides I’ve witnessed. But this is the first time I see it first-hand. This time, it’s not an assisted suicide. I am watching my first government-sanctioned kill. The two other guards hold Maran down on the floor, his arms and legs pinned with the guards’ own bodies. Then the third guard forces Maran’s mouth open, twisting his arm to keep Maran’s teeth from biting down on him. He quickly pours the drink between Maran’s lips. All the while, Maran is spitting, trying to clamp his mouth shut, resisting.

However, he’s not strong enough to stave off the three guards. They continue to hold him down as the hemlock’s juice begins exercising its power. Maran’s body convulses under the guards. I see his legs twist in pain and his arms spasm. I don’t watch his face, only imagine the look of it. His eyes turning white, rolling to the back of his head, his facial muscles contorting into something monstrous.

I don’t fully look. Don’t afford the prisoner the respect of my full attention. I don’t stare into his eyes, acknowledging his life lost.

Instead, I sit down on the bench, bent over with my head between my knees. And I think of the only thing that could truly distract me right now. Griffin.

How Griffin is the opposite of his father. How he is warm and tender and caring. How two men could be of the same blood but share so few personal qualities. I see Griffin’s arms in my head. His legs. His face. I concentrate on this last picture the longest. Griffin’s face with a smile on his lips, the sun shining down on his brow. I figure this image is the best offering from Maran’s life. The best and only way I can pay homage to his life. To think of the thing he created that will live past him. That will offer something good to the world.

Finally, I raise my head and see the guards picking up Maran’s body. They’ll bring him to Vienne’s quarters so she can dress him for burial. I know it won’t be the same ritual as when Vienne cared for Margareath’s body. We did not fulfill my new plan for prisoners with Griffin’s father.

I sigh deeply, letting the weight of what I just saw course out of my limbs in waves. Finally, I stand up, and I know there’s only one place I need to be right now—one family I need to console tonight. I make the steady, sure walk toward Maran’s cottage where I know Griffin will be waiting for me. In front of their hut, I raise my hand to rap on the thatched door. It opens before I have a chance to knock. Griffin stands before me, looking so much like his father it hurts my head.

“Come in,” he says. His voice is even. It doesn’t carry the distress I thought it would. Vienne must have talked with him earlier to help Griffin get through his father’s execution.

“Is your stepmother here?” I ask.

“She’s in the living room. We’ve been waiting for you.” Griffin pauses, and a long sigh escapes his mouth. “So... it’s... finished?”

“Yes, your father’s gone.”

Griffin nods wordlessly and leads me deeper into the house to where his stepmother sits before a fire. The warmth isn’t needed, but she stares into the flickering flames anyway.

“I’m sorry, Brinn,” I say from behind her.

She doesn’t respond—just keeps staring into the flames. It’s incredibly warm in the house. I can already feel beads of perspiration trailing down my forehead. I wipe them off with the back of my palm and walk around Brinn’s rocking chair to face her.

“Brinn, I apologize...”

She breaks me off with a hand. “Don’t, Elected. Don’t say you’re sorry. It was his own fault. He brought this on himself.” She pauses. I’m about to say more but she continues, “Technology use would be one thing. But violence against the Elected? That is unforgivable.”

“And yet, we must forgive him.” I quote my mother’s words when she spoke of prisoners in the past.

“Eventually, I am sure I will. But not now. This is not an excuse, you know, but he had cancer. He knew he didn’t have long. It started a year ago.”

I look to Griffin and he nods. “I’m sorry to hear that.” I’m surprised Griffin never told me.

“A tumor in his head. Perhaps that changed him somewhat. Affected him in ways our doctors can’t even comprehend. Changed his personality a bit. When he hit Griffin—”

This time I interrupt her. “Hit Griffin?” I look over at him for confirmation.

But Brinn is the one to answer, still absently staring into the fire, “Yes, hit him in the face.”

“So you didn’t get a black eye from fencing?” I ask him.

“No. He came at me when I refused to help with the assassination attempts.”

I look down. I should have known. Griffin, with his fighting skills and quick agility, would never fare badly enough at fencing to get a black eye.

Brinn stirs. “Elected, thank you for coming here tonight, but would you leave me now? I wish to be alone.”

I shake my head yes. “Brinn, again I’m sorry. If you need anything, please tell me or Madame Elected.”

She nods but continues to stare at the flames. I look at Griffin and he gestures with a slight nod toward the door.

Once we’re out of the living room and away from his stepmother I ask, “Are you going to stay with her for a while?”

“She wants me to remain at the White House. She keeps looking at my face, saying it reminds her of my father.”

“Would you walk back with me now then?” I ask. “Or will you stay with her for a few more minutes?”

“I’ll come with you. Just let me say goodbye.”

He leaves to give parting thoughts to his stepmother. From around the corner I see him pulling a blanket over her legs, even though it’s not cold. He wraps it around her and gives Brinn a small hug. When Brinn doesn’t move or embrace him back, Griffin visibly winces. I wonder if Griffin, like me, was also refused affection by his parents. Maran hit him and now Brinn won’t offer him love even after his father’s just died.

At their front door, I say, “She seems frail.”

“Brinn has cancer too,” Griffin says. “It won’t be long now.”

Griffin’s step-mother is nearing forty so I’m not altogether surprised at this explanation, but it’s sad anyway. Our people die much too young.

“I’m sorry.” I feel like I’ve said the same words a million times today.

Griffin takes my hand and leads me out of the house. Now that we’re alone, my guards finally leaving me be, I fear Griffin will ask about his father’s final moments. I steel myself for his inquiry, wondering what I’ll say in return. How I’ll characterize it. If I’ll tell Griffin about the word written on the armor glass. If I’ll tell him Maran had to be killed in the end.

“Aloy,” Griffin begins, his voice unsteady. In this second I make up my mind not to further chill Griffin’s view of his father. I won’t give him the gory details of his father’s execution.

“Do we have a little while? There’s something I want to show you.” He doesn’t ask about his father. In fact, as I walk with him farther out of the town and into the bordering swampland, I realize Griffin may never ask about his father’s last moments. He doesn’t seem to want to know.

We walk hand-in-hand through the brown, spindly plants lining the dirt floor. The feel of his palm against mine is soothing. I never want to let go.

The ground, hard where we first started walking, begins to soften and grow soggy as we keep venturing farther away from the town. My boots slog into the earth, leaving small footprints, which are slurped back into the mud a second after they’ve been made. After a good thirty minutes we arrive at a broken down shack nestled on the side of a marsh. The air here is musky and humid.

“What is this place?” I ask. No one in East Country lives alone, so this bedraggled shack is out of place by itself in the middle of a swamp. It should have been knocked down years ago, the wood used for some other industrious purpose.

“It’s mine. I come here to think.”

“Here? But it’s abandoned?”

“I found it years ago.” His next words are deliberate. “I didn’t report it because there was a group that needed somewhere private to meet. After a certain night—in fact, the night you and I met at the dance—this group needed a more discrete meeting place.”

I look at Griffin, only starting to comprehend his meaning. I swallow and nod slowly, subconsciously pulling my body away from Griffin’s. I look back and forth from Griffin’s face to the house in front of us. I drop his hand, cinching my own arm hard against my stomach.

“Please don’t tell me you’re part of them.” I can’t look him in the eye. I’m already subtly searching for the best escape route. Which way can I run where he won’t be able to catch me?

“No, not just part.” His voice quickens. “I know your secrets, so it’s only fair you know mine too. I’m not part of the Technology Faction. I lead it.”

27

I stare at Griffin hard and then in an instant, I turn. I start to pick up my feet to run, but they slog in the mud. I feel like I’m being pulled under. I yell out, trying to get help, but we’re in the middle of nowhere. I know my shouting is a futile effort, but I do it anyway.

“Help!” I scream.

Griffin is behind me. He catches my arm. Not hard, but his hand wraps around my wrist.

I don’t try to
pull away from him. I know it will be useless to run at this point, but my voice catches in my throat as I say, “So this is it then? You were lying to me? You were in on the attempts with your father? You’re going to kill me now?”

He pulls me close to him, and I have such mixed feelings I think my heart might split in two. Here is my would-be murderer, the man I think I have loved for years, pulling me close, hugging me. And in the next second he could be thrusting a knife into my side.

Griffin buries his face in my neck and talks straight into my ear so I’ll be sure to hear. His words come fast. “Please, let me explain. I would never in a million years hurt you. How can you not realize that by now? But I can’t help who I am and who my father was, just like you couldn’t help who your parents were. I believe in the use of some technology. I believe we should invest in procreation technology to keep our women safe in childbirth. My mother could have been saved.” Griffin’s voice breaks, but he continues, “I believe environmental greed destroyed our race, but not all technology is bad. We can find ways to use it wisely. To make electricity through the use of solar energy, for instance. We can find responsible ways to advance our people.”

I’m shaking, trying to take in everything he’s saying. He leans back to look at my face.

“I didn’t choose to be the Faction’s leader. Just like you didn’t choose to be the Elected. My father was the leader for many years.”

I remember back to the voice I heard after I snuck out to the dance. The hoarse, determined voice coming from one of the village huts, showing the Faction a battery-powered tool. That was Maran. I wish I’d recognized it then.

Griffin continues, “But when my father started showing signs of radiation poisoning, he handed the leadership role to me. I didn’t want it at first. I’d grown up on my father’s heels, watching him run these meetings, knowing I wasn’t like him. I didn’t want the things he wanted. So I said no. I told him to choose someone else as his successor. When he insisted I take the role, though, I thought I could maybe change the Faction from within.”

I grimace again, not yet willing to believe him.

“And you have to understand,” Griffin says. “I’m the only person in this whole country, besides Vienne, who’s seen exactly what it’s taken for you to do what you believe in, no matter the costs. We’re the same that way. To help your country, you were forced to step into a leadership role you never wanted, and I had to put aside my own reservations about the Faction to do the same.

I finally find my voice, interrupting his monologue. “But you lead the people who started a riot. Who threw metal laced fruit at the Elected family. Who break the laws governing our society! You endorse this group!”

“I don’t endorse everything they do. There are two different sects growing within the Technologists. I would have stopped the town hall riot if I’d heard about it ahead of time. But that was a small subset of the Faction. There are many more of us who believe in trying to change your mind, change the minds of all our people through talk, not violence.”

“Is this why you wanted to get close to me and Vienne?” My voice is stiff, my eyes squinting into thin lines. “So you could get into our heads? To convince us the Accords should be abandoned?”

“No, that’s not why I wanted to get close to you and Vienne. Remember, it was your idea to have me stay in the White House as your guard.”

“Maybe so, but you... under the tree. Your seduction was a set-up.”

I think of the position Vienne and I locked ourselves into. That Griffin stepped into, seemingly unwillingly, but that will serve him to a huge advantage if the country rebels against me. He will now have claim over the next Elected baby, should he choose to contest its parentage at a later date.

I say as much to him.

Griffin backs up and looks at me so our eyes are focused on each other. “You have to know I didn’t engineer this. Yes, I am part of this baby, but you were the one who begged me to be so.”

“We didn’t have all of the information. If I knew...”

“You would have chosen someone else?” he finishes for me.

I cannot think of who else we could have involved. Griffin was the only choice.

I look away. “You know things about me that render my position invalid. I’m a woman. If you just tell people, you can have me taken out of office. There’d have to be an election. The Technology Faction could win. You could take over. Why haven’t you said anything yet? What are you waiting for?” I ball up my fists at my sides.

“I’m not waiting for anything. You still don’t understand. I may be head of the Technology Faction, but I support you as the country’s leader. I won’t interfere with that.”

I try to wrap my head around this conundrum. I’ve always thought the Technology Faction wanted to take office. To pull my family down. I put my hand to my head, trying to figure it out. “But the faction has always wished for the downfall of the Elected leader. And even if that’s not your intention now, you want me to be a different leader!” My voice grows higher as I try to wade through my confusion. “To start creating technology!”

“Not all technology. I want you to pick and choose. I think you, specifically, because of the chances you’ve taken, will be able to lead us through the gray areas. You gave the sick girl one of the pills. You are breaking the Fertility Accord. You, better than anyone, will know how to wade through the intricacies of the Accords. What parts need to be enforced. What parts are outdated.”

I take the opportunity to move a step back from him. I see Griffin wince, anticipating I’ll run—that this time I’ll break away for real and not turn back.

Yes, I kissed him once, but that was before I knew he was leader of this faction. Everything he says to me, everything he does, could be designed to snare me. And yet, Vienne found my whittled toys Griffin kept since I was young. His ruse couldn’t have been going on for that long.

Griffin gives one last plea. A final statement to gain my trust. It’s heartfelt, but it doesn’t sound like he’s begging. It sounds like the most honest words I’ve ever heard in my life. “Aloy, please don’t leave me. I love you.”

I’m flooded with emotions. I try to parry out my feelings, to differentiate lust and love, but my mind won’t work that way. The two are interlaced.

I step forward before I can put rationality above my desire. I reach out and pull Griffin’s face toward mine, making a final, undeterred decision.

Rigid with concern a moment earlier, I feel the muscles in Griffin’s arms relax as I now step into them. We move our lips together and begin something from which I know I can’t return. I feel his fingertips lightly trace my stomach. He inches my shirt upwards, and I let him, even helping him lift it over my head. It lands on the soft earth by our sides. In the moonlight, I see him remove his own shirt, the stars reflecting off the curve of the smooth muscles on his abdomen.

I remember the images I saw in the helmet, this time relishing that they’re real. Griffin deftly unties the cloth binding my chest. He begins unraveling the fabric, and I turn in small circles, still enclosed within his arms. The long white strip flutters to the ground as he loosens his grip on it.

I’m left naked from my waist up, and for once I’m not nervous my chest will be exposed. I like the feeling of the warm night wind on my skin. More than that even, I like the feeling of Griffin’s kisses on my cheek, on my shoulder, and on my collarbone.

In one swift movement, he picks me up so I’m cradled in his arms. He walks me wordlessly into the deserted house. I stare up at him, not wanting to break eye contact. I think it will be pitch black in the small house, but as we cross the threshold, I’m surprised to see tiny globes of light bouncing off the walls. I can’t help myself; I move my eyes from Griffin’s face and look around with curiosity.

Griffin sets me down on the floor, which is covered by a thin bamboo mat. He sits down next to me and watches as I glance around. Everywhere I turn there are little orbs of light floating in the air. The room is illuminated with hundreds of these hanging glass jars, giving the rundown shack an ethereal feel.

“What are they?” I whisper.

Griffin gives a soft laugh and wraps a warm arm around my back. “They’re fireflies. We breed them for light.”

I hear the quiet interwoven hum of their wings. “They’re beautiful.”

“As are you. I meant what I said that time on your stairs.” He looks at me with soft lidded eyes, his lashes illuminated to seem longer in this half-light.

I take him in like I’m starving. What starts out as a gentle embrace becomes more. I squeeze his upper arm, holding him to me so our bodies are closer still. I run my hands down his back, like in my dream. I wrap my legs around him.

He gently lies me down so I feel the hard wood under my back.

“Do you want this?” he asks, cautious.

I contemplate what he’s asking. I’m cheating on Vienne. I know this. And yet, I cannot stop what I’ve set in motion. I don’t wish to stop it. I may be the Elected, but I’m Aloy too. Just like Griffin cannot separate who he is from his beliefs, I cannot separate my passion from my responsibility.

“I want you.”

He gently takes my head in his hand, moving downward, kissing me lightly. Everything is foreign. The touches. How it feels to have skin connect with the flesh all over my body. The tingling it produces from my scalp all the way down to my toes. I shiver with the ache of Griffin’s skin on mine.

We are one. I feel like there is no separation from where my body ends and his begins. The world stands still as Griffin and I are together. The room falls away from my view. All I can see when I open my eyes is Griffin’s face and the orbs of light hanging in the distance. The world is light and love and perfection.

All fear I had about the physicality of this act—how to do it, the mechanics—are nonexistent. We flow together like our bodies were made to fit together. The crook of his arm rests in the curve of my side. His head fits perfectly in the space over my shoulder. His legs and mine curl together so I’m unsure which body part is mine and which is his.

I’m overcome by a rainbow of light and a steady drumbeat flowing through my head. It’s like I’m traveling down the sky as a droplet of rain. It’s the kind of light and burst of energy I saw through the Multiplier. But this time it doesn’t hurt my head. It’s the opposite of pain. I think of the steel roller coasters I saw in a book, ascending higher and higher into the sky until one final peak, which sends a rider diving back down to earth. I feel like that now. A welling deep within my stomach, building until I can hardly breathe.

Fireworks go off all over my body. I’m still, not wanting this sensation to end. And then it does, slowly coasting downward, giving me power over my muscles once again.

Finally we ease away from each other. We lie side by side on the mat, our hands clasped. We stare straight ahead at the fireflies and the light they’re emitting.

“I wish the rest of our lives could be just like this,” I say. “That we could turn into fireflies and stay right here.”

Griffin sighs. “That doesn’t sound so bad.” He gives a small laugh and squeezes my hand tighter. He turns onto his side, facing me. “Whatever happens after this, do you promise you’ll know I love you?”

I look at him, wondering what he means. How anything foreboding could happen after the beauty we just shared together. “Nothing will happen.”

He leans over me so our faces are close. Griffin runs a finger down my cheek. “Everything is perfect now, but nothing stays the same.” His words carry an intensity. A worry. “Will you promise me something? One day when we’re much older, when the burdens of your position are no longer valid. When our country is stable. When you’re free to acknowledge your gender. Will you marry me?”

I’m quiet for a moment, for so long I can sense Griffin growing uncomfortable. I look into his eyes, sorry to bring up my thoughts. “By that time, you’ll already be married to someone else.”

“No, I won’t. I’ll wait for you.”

“Eighteen years from now? When our baby takes office?”

“Yes, if that’s what it takes to have you. I can’t marry another. It must be you.”

“A lot can happen within eighteen years. I’ll be much older. Maybe our love will have waned by then.”

“No, it won’t matter our age or the timespan. Do I have your agreement? Your promise?” He raises his arm to me in the marriage proposal of our time. The back of his biceps is facing me.

I look at him and then lean down, kissing the spot where a marriage binding would be placed.

Officially accepting his proposal.