Happily Ever After (15 page)

I
HAD A VAGUE SENSE
that I was dreaming. America was across the room, tied to a throne, and Maxon had one hand on her shoulder, trying to push her into submission. Her worried eyes were locked on mine, and she struggled to get to me. But then I saw Maxon was watching me, too. His stare was menacing, and he looked so much like his father in that moment.

I knew I needed to get to her, to untie her so we could run. But I couldn’t move. I was tied up, too, on the rack like Woodwork. Fear ran down my skin, cold and demanding. No matter how we tried we would never be able to save each other.

Maxon walked over to a pillow, picked up an elaborate crown, and brought it back to place on America’s head. Though she eyed it warily, she didn’t fight when he set it
on her gleaming red hair. But it wouldn’t stay put. It slipped over and over.

Undeterred, Maxon reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a two-pronged hook. He lined up the crown and pushed the hook in, affixing it to America’s head. As the pin went in, I felt two massive stabs in my back and screamed from the burn of it. I waited to feel the blood, too, but it didn’t come.

Instead, I watched as the blood spilled from the pins in America’s head, mixing with the red of her hair and sticking to her skin. Maxon smiled as he shoved in pin after pin, and I yelled in pain every time one pierced America’s skin, watching, horrified, as the blood from the crown drowned her.

I snapped awake. I hadn’t had a nightmare like that in months, and never one about America. I wiped the sweat from my forehead, reminding myself that it wasn’t real. Still, the pain from the hooks echoed on my skin, and I felt dizzy.

Instantly, my mind went to Woodwork and Marlee. In my dream, I would happily have taken all the pain if it meant America didn’t have to suffer. Had Woodwork felt the same way? Had he wished he could have taken twice the punishment to spare Marlee?

“You all right, Leger?” Avery asked. The room was still dark, so he must have heard me tossing.

“Yeah. Sorry. Bad dream.”

“It’s cool. Not sleeping that great myself.”

I rolled to face him even though I couldn’t see a thing. Only senior officers had rooms with windows.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Would it be okay if I thought out loud for a minute?”

“Sure.” Avery had been a great friend. The least I could do was spare him a few minutes of my sleep.

I heard him sit up, deliberating before he spoke. “I’ve been thinking about Woodwork and Marlee. And about Lady America.”

“What about her?” I asked, sitting up myself.

“At first when I saw Lady America run for Marlee, I was pissed. Because shouldn’t she know better? Woodwork and Marlee made a mistake, and they had to be punished. The king and Prince Maxon have to keep control, right?”

“Okay.”

“But when the maids and butlers were talking about it, they were kind of praising Lady America. It didn’t make sense to me because I thought what she did was wrong. But, well, they’ve been here a lot longer than we have. Maybe they’ve seen a lot more. Maybe they know something.

“And if they do, and they think Lady America was right to do what she did . . . then what am I missing?”

We were treading dangerous ground here. But he was my friend, the best I’d ever had. I trusted Avery with my life, and the palace was one place where I could really use an ally.

“That’s a really good question. Makes you wonder.”

“Exactly. Like sometimes when I’m on guard in the king’s office, the prince will be working and then leave to do something. King Clarkson will pick up Prince Maxon’s work and
undo half of it. Why? Couldn’t he at least talk to him about it? I thought he was training him.”

“I don’t know. Control?” As I said the word, I realized that had to be at least partially true. Sometimes I suspected Maxon didn’t completely know what was going on. “Maybe Maxon isn’t as competent as the king thinks he should be by now.”

“What if the prince is
more
competent and the king doesn’t like it?”

I held back the laugh. “Hard to believe. Maxon seems easily distracted.”

“Hmm.” Avery shifted in the dark. “Maybe you’re right. It just seems like people feel differently about him than the king. And they talk about Lady America like if they could pick the princess, it would be her. If she’s the type to disobey like that, does it mean that Prince Maxon would, too?”

His questions hit on things I didn’t want to acknowledge. Could Maxon in fact be pushing against his father? And if that was the case, was he also pushing against the crown and all it stood for? I’d never been a fan of the monarchy; I didn’t think I could seriously hate anyone who fought it.

But my love for America was bigger than everything else, and because Maxon stood between me and that love, I didn’t think there was anything he could say or do that would make me consider him a decent person.

“I really don’t know,” I answered honestly. “He didn’t stop what happened to Woodwork.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he liked it.” Avery yawned.
“I’m just saying, we’ve been trained to watch every person who comes into the palace and to look for any hidden intentions. Maybe we should do the same with the people who are already here.”

I smiled. “You might be on to something there,” I admitted.

“Of course. I’m the brains of this whole operation.” He rustled with his blankets, settling again.

“Go to sleep, brainiac. We’ll need your smarts tomorrow,” I teased.

“On it.” He was still for maybe a whole minute before he piped up again. “Hey, thanks for listening.”

“Anytime. What are friends for?”

“Yeah.” He yawned again. “I miss Woodwork.”

I sighed. “I know. I miss him, too.”

I
DIDN
’
T MIND THE INJECTIONS
so much, but they stung like hell for about an hour afterward. What was worse, they gave you this strange pulsing energy that lasted for most of the day. It wasn’t uncommon to find a handful of guards running laps for hours or picking up some of the more laborious chores around the palace just to help burn it off. Doctor Ashlar made a point to limit the number of guards receiving them on any given day.

“Officer Leger,” Doctor Ashlar called, and I went into the office and stood by the small examining table near his desk. The hospital wing was large enough to accommodate us, but this felt better done in private.

He nodded to acknowledge me, and I turned and pulled the waist of my pants down a few inches. I refused to allow myself to jump, not when the cold antiseptic swiped across
my skin or when the needle pierced it.

“All done,” he said cheerfully. “See Tom for your vitamins and compensation.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

Every step throbbed, but I didn’t let it show.

Tom gave me some pills and water, and after I downed them, I initialed his little paper and took my money, dropping it in my room before I headed out to the woodpile. Already, the urge to move was overwhelming.

Each swing of the ax brought a desperately needed release. I felt hypercharged today, fueled by the injections, Avery’s questions, and that sinister dream.

I thought about the king saying that America was a throwaway. It seemed unlikely that America would win now when she was so upset with Maxon, but I wondered what would happen if the one person the king never intended to get the crown did?

And if Marlee had been a favorite, maybe even the king’s personal pick to win, who was he pinning his hopes on now?

I tried to concentrate, but my thoughts blurred together under the insatiable drive to move. I swung and swung, and only stopped two hours later because there was nothing left to chop.

“There’s a whole forest back there if you need some more.”

I turned, and that old stable keeper was there, smiling.

“I think I might actually be done,” I answered. As I got ahold of my breathing, I was sure the worst of the injection’s effects had passed.

He walked closer. “You look better. Calmer.”

I laughed, feeling the medicine evening out in my bloodstream. “It was a different energy I needed to burn off today.”

He sat on the chopping block, looking completely at home. I had no idea what to make of this guy.

I rubbed my sweaty palms on my pants, trying to think of what to say. “Hey, I’m sorry about the other day. Didn’t mean to give you a hard time, I—”

He held up his hands. “It’s no problem. And I didn’t mean to be pushy. But I’ve seen a lot of people let the bad around them make them hard or stubborn. In the end, they miss the chance to make their world better because they only see the worst in it.”

There was still something about the tone of his voice and his features that made me feel like I knew him.

“I know what you mean.” I shook my head. “I don’t want to be like that. But I get so angry. Sometimes I feel like I know too much, or that I’ve done things I can’t make right, and it just hovers over me. And when I see things happen that shouldn’t . . .”

“You don’t know what to do with yourself.”

“Exactly.”

He nodded. “Well, I’d start by thinking about what’s good. Then I’d ask myself how I could make that good even better.”

I laughed. “That doesn’t make sense.”

He stood. “You just think about it a bit.”

As I walked back to the palace, I tried to figure out where
I might know him from. Maybe he’d passed through Carolina before he worked for the palace. Plenty of Sixes drifted. Wherever he’d been, whatever he’d seen, he hadn’t let it bring him down. I should have asked for his name, but we seemed to be running into each other a lot, so I figured we’d meet again soon. When I wasn’t in an awful mood, he was actually a pretty decent guy.

After cleaning up, I made my way to my room, still thinking about the stable keeper’s words. What was good? How could I make it better?

I picked up the envelope with my money in it. I didn’t need to use a cent of it at the palace, so all of it went to my family. Usually.

I scribbled a note to Mom.

Sorry it’s not as much this time. Something came up. More next week. Love you, Aspen.

Shoving a little less than half of my earnings in an envelope with the letter, I pushed it aside and pulled out another piece of paper.

I knew Woodwork’s address by heart, seeing as I’d written it out for him a dozen times. Illiteracy seemed more common than most people knew, but Woodwork was so worried about people thinking he was stupid or worthless that I was the only guard he’d trusted with his secret.

Depending on lots of things—where you lived, how large your school was, if it was more Seven heavy—a person might make it through a decade of instruction and know next to nothing.

I couldn’t say Woodwork slipped through the cracks. He was pushed into a gaping hole.

And now, we had no idea where he was, how he was doing, or if Marlee was even still there for him.

Mrs. Woodwork,

It’s Aspen. We’re all sorry about your son. I hope you’re doing okay. This was the last of his compensation. Just wanted to make sure you got it. Take care.

I debated saying more. I didn’t want her to think she was getting charity, so brevity seemed best. But maybe from time to time, I could send her something anonymously.

Family was good, and Woodwork’s was still around. I had to try and help them.

I
WAITED UNTIL
I
WAS
sure everyone was asleep before I opened America’s door. I was thrilled to find her still awake. I’d been wishing she’d wait up for me, and the way she sort of tilted her head and shifted closer made me think she’d hoped I’d be here tonight.

I left the door open as always and bent down by her bed. “How have you been?”

“All right, I suppose.” But I could tell she didn’t mean that. “Celeste showed me this article today. I’m not sure I want to get into it. I’m so tired of her.”

What was it with that girl? Did she think she could torture people and manipulate her way to a crown? Her continued presence here was one more example of Maxon’s horrible taste.

“I guess with Marlee gone, he won’t be sending anyone home for a while, huh?”

It looked like it took all of her energy to muster up a sad little shrug.

“Hey.” I moved a hand to her knee. “It’s going to be all right.”

She gave me a weak smile. “I know. I just miss her. And I’m confused.”

“Confused about what?” I asked, moving to a more comfortable position to listen.

“Everything.” Her voice was so desperate. “What I’m doing here, who I am. I thought I knew.” She fidgeted her hands, like maybe she could catch the right words. “I don’t even know how to explain it right.”

I looked at America and realized that losing Marlee and finding out the truth about Maxon’s character had exposed her to truths she didn’t want to think were out there. It sobered her up—maybe too quickly. She seemed paralyzed now, afraid of taking any kind of step because she didn’t know what would fall apart along the way. America had seen me lose my father and deal with Jemmy’s beating, and she’d watched as I struggled to keep my family fed and safe. But she’d only
seen
that; she hadn’t experienced it. Her family was intact, save her loser brother, and she’d never really lost anything.

Except maybe you, you idiot,
a part of me accused. I shook the thought away. This moment was about her, not me.

“You know who you are, Mer. Don’t let them try to change you.”

She twitched her hand, like she might reach down and touch mine. She didn’t, though.

“Aspen, can I ask you something?” Concern still painted every corner of her face.

I nodded.

“This is kind of strange, but if being the princess didn’t mean I had to marry someone, if it was just a job someone could pick me for, do you think I could do it?”

Whatever I had been expecting, that wasn’t it. I had a hard time believing she was even still considering becoming the princess. Then again, maybe she wasn’t. This was hypothetical, and she’d said to think about it without her being linked to Maxon.

Considering the way she’d handled everything that had happened publicly, I could guess she’d feel helpless when confronted with the things that happened behind closed doors. She was great at a lot of things, but . . .

“Sorry, Mer. I don’t. You don’t have it in you to be as calculating as they are.” I tried to convey that I wasn’t insulting her. If anything, I was happy she wasn’t that person.

She furrowed her thin eyebrows. “Calculating? How so?”

I exhaled, trying to think of how to explain this without being too specific. “I’m everywhere, Mer. I hear things. There’s a lot of turmoil down South, in the areas with a heavy concentration of lower castes. From what the older guards say, those people never particularly agreed with
Gregory Illéa’s methods, and there’s been unrest down there for a long time. Rumor has it, that was part of why the queen was so attractive to the king. She came from the South, and it appeased them for a while. Not so much anymore it seems.”

She considered this. “That doesn’t explain what you meant by calculating.”

How bad could it be if I shared what I knew with her? She kept our relationship a secret for two years. I could trust her. “I was in one of the offices the other day, before all the Halloween stuff. They were mentioning rebel sympathizers in the South. I was told to see these letters to the postal wing safely. It was over three hundred letters, America. Three hundred families who were getting knocked down a caste for not reporting things or for helping someone the palace saw as a threat.”

She inhaled sharply, and I watched as dozens of scenarios unfolded in front of her eyes.

“I know. Can you imagine? What if it was you, and all you knew how to do was play the piano? Suddenly you’re supposed to know how to do clerical work, how to find those jobs even? It’s a pretty clear message.”

Her concern shifted. “Do you . . . Does Maxon know?”

That was a good question. “I think he has to. He’s not that far off from running the country himself.”

She nodded and let that settle in on top of all the other new things she had learned about her sort-of boyfriend.

“Don’t tell anyone, okay?” I pleaded. “A slip like that could cost me my job.”
And so much more,
I added in my head.

“Of course. It’s already forgotten.” Her tone was light, trying to mask the weight of her worries. Her efforts made me smile.

“I miss being with you, away from all this. I miss our old problems,” I lamented. What wouldn’t I give to be irritated about her making me dinner now?

“I know what you mean,” she said with a giggle. A real one. “Sneaking out of my window was so much better than sneaking around a palace.”

“And scrounging to find a penny for you was better than having nothing to give you at all.” I tapped on the jar by her bed. I always took that as a good sign, that she kept it nearby before I was even in the palace. “I had no idea you’d saved them all until the day before you left,” I added, remembering in awe the weight of them being poured into my palms.

“Of course I did!” she exclaimed proudly. “When you were away, they were all I had to hold on to. Sometimes I used to pour them over my hand on the bed, just to scoop them up again. It was nice to have something you touched.”

She was as bad as I was. I never took anything from her to keep as my own, but I stored up every moment like it was a physical thing. I’d thumb through memories whenever things were still. I spent more time with her than she ever knew.

“What did you do with all of them?” she wondered.

I smiled. “They’re at home, waiting.” I’d had a small store of money to marry America saved up before she left. These days I had my mom set aside a portion of each paycheck for
me, and I was sure she knew what I was putting it toward. But my most precious corner of that stash was the pennies.

“For what?”

For a decent wedding. For actual rings. For a home of our own. “That, I cannot say.”

I’d tell her everything soon enough. We were still working our way back to each other.

“Fine, keep your secrets,” she said, pretending to be annoyed. “And don’t worry about not giving me anything. I’m just happy you’re here, that you and I can at least fix things, even if it’s not what it used to be.”

I frowned. Were we that far from what we once were? So far that she needed to address it? No. Not to me. We were still those people back in Carolina, and I needed her to remember that.

I wanted to give her the world, but all I had at the moment were the clothes on my back. I looked down, plucked off a button, and held it up to her.

“I literally have nothing else to give you, but you can hold on to this—something I’ve touched—and think of me anytime. And you can know that I’m thinking of you, too.”

She took the tiny, golden button from my hand, and stared at it like I’d given her the moon. Her lip trembled and she breathed slowly, as if she might cry. Maybe I’d done this all wrong.

“I don’t know how to do this right now,” she confessed. “I feel like I don’t know how to do anything. I . . . I haven’t forgotten you, okay? It’s still here.”

She put her hand on her chest, and I saw her fingers dig into her skin, trying to calm whatever was happening inside.

Yes, we still had a long way to go, but I knew it wouldn’t feel that way if we were in it together.

I smiled, needing nothing more. “That’s enough for me.”