Prodigy

assignment before you even finished your freshman year at Drake. But they ultimately decided to assign you to the military instead, because your personality has ‘officer’ written all over it. You’re a celebrity in the inner circles. Your being convicted of disloyalty would be a tremendous loss to the Republic.”
    Does Anden know the
truth
of how my parents and Metias were killed? That their disloyalty cost them their lives? Does the Republic value me so much that they’re hesitant to execute me despite my recent crime
and
traitorous family ties? “How did you see me around the Drake campus?” I say. “I don’t remember hearing that you visited the university.”
    Anden cuts into a heart of palm on his plate. “Oh no. You wouldn’t have heard it.”
    I give him a quizzical frown. “Were you . . . a student at Drake while I was there?”
    Anden nods. “The administration kept my identity a secret. I was seventeen—a sophomore—when you came to Drake at twelve. We all heard a lot about you, obviously—and your antics.” He grins at that, and his eyes sparkle mischievously.
    The Elector’s son had been walking amongst the rest of us at Drake, and I didn’t even know it. My chest swells with pride at the thought of the Republic’s leader taking notice of me on campus. Then I shake my head, guilty for liking the attention. “Well, I hope not
everything
you heard was bad.”
    Anden reveals a dimple in his left cheek when he laughs. It’s a soothing sound. “No. Not
everything.
”
    Even I have to smile. “My grades were good, but I’m pretty sure my dean’s secretary is happy I won’t be haunting her office anymore.”
    “Miss Whitaker?” Anden shakes his head. For a moment he drops his formal façade, ignoring etiquette by slouching back in his chair and making a circular gesture with his fork. “I’d been called in to her office too, which was funny because she had no idea who I was. I’d gotten into trouble for switching out the heavy practice rifles in the gym for foam ones.”
    “That was
you
?” I exclaim. I remember that incident well. Freshman year, drill class. The foam rifles had looked so real. When the students had bent down in unison to pick up what they thought were heavy guns, they’d all yanked the foam ones up so hard that half the students toppled over backward from the force. The memory gets a real laugh out of me. “That was
brilliant.
The drill captain was so mad.”
    “Everyone needs to get in trouble at least once in college, right?” Anden smirks and drums his fingers against his champagne glass. “
You
always seemed to cause the most trouble, though. Didn’t you force one of your classes to evacuate?”
    “Yes. Republic History Three-oh-two.” I try to rub my neck in momentary embarrassment, but my shackles stop me. “The senior sitting next to me said I wouldn’t be able to hit the fire alarm lever with his training gun.”
    “Ah. I can see you’ve always made good choices.”
    “I was a junior. Still kind of immature, I admit,” I reply.
    “I disagree. All things considered, I’d say you were well beyond your years.” He smiles, and my cheeks turn pink again. “You have the poise of someone much older than fifteen. I was glad to finally meet you at the celebratory ball that night.”
    Am I really sitting here, eating dinner and reminiscing about good old Academy days with the Elector Primo? Surreal. I’m stunned by how easy it is to talk to him, this discussion of familiar things in a time when so much strangeness surrounds my life, a conversation where I can’t accidentally offend anyone with an offhand class-related remark.
    Then I remember why I’m really here. The food in my mouth turns to ash.
This is all for Day.
Resentment floods through me, even though I’m wrong for feeling it. Am I? I wonder if I’m really ready to murder someone for his sake.
    A soldier peeks through the chamber entrance. He salutes Anden, then clears his throat uncomfortably as he realizes that he must’ve cut the Elector off in the middle of our conversation. Anden gives him a good-natured smile and waves him in. “Sir, Senator Baruse Kamion wants a word with you,” the soldier says.
    “Tell the Senator I’m busy,” Anden replies. “I’ll contact him after my dinner.”
    “I’m afraid he insisted that you speak to him now. It’s about the, ah . . .” The soldier considers me, then hurries over to whisper in Anden’s ear. I still catch some of it,