Prodigy

though. “The stadiums. He wants to give . . . message . . . should end your dinner right away.”
    Anden raises an eyebrow. “Is that what he said? Well. I’ll decide when my own dinner ends,” he says. “Deliver
that
message back to Senator Kamion whenever you see fit. Tell him that the next Senator to send me an impertinent message will answer to me directly.”
    The soldier salutes vigorously, his chest puffed out a little at the thought of delivering a message like this to a Senator. “Yes, sir. Right away.”
    “What’s your name, soldier?” Anden asks before he can leave.
    “Lieutenant Felipe Garza, sir.”
    Anden smiles. “Thank you, Lieutenant Garza,” he says. “I will remember this favor.”
    The soldier tries to keep a straight face, but I can see pride in his eyes and the smile right below the surface. He bows to Anden. “Elector, you honor me. Thank you, sir.” Then he steps out.
    I observe the exchange with fascination. Razor had been right about one thing—there is definitely tension between the Senate and their new Elector. But Anden is no fool. He’s been in power for less than a week, and already he’s doing exactly what he should be: trying to cement the military’s loyalty to him. I wonder what else he’s doing to win their trust. The Republic army had been fiercely faithful to his father; in fact, that loyalty was probably what made the late Elector so powerful. Anden knows this, and he’s making his move as early as possible. The Senate’s complaints are useless against a military that backs Anden without question.
    But they
don’t
back Anden without question,
I remind myself. There’s Razor, and his men. Traitors in the military’s ranks are moving into place.
    “So.” Anden delicately cuts another slice of pork. “You brought me all the way here to tell me that you helped a criminal escape?”
    For a moment there’s no sound except the clinking of Anden’s fork against his plate. Razor’s instructions echo in my mind—the things I need to say, the order I need to say them in. “No . . . I came here to tell you about an assassination plot against you.”
    Anden puts his fork down and holds two slender fingers up in the direction of the soldiers. “Leave us.”
    “Elector, sir,” one of them starts to say. “We’re not to leave you alone.”
    Anden pulls a gun from his belt (an elegant black model I’ve never seen before) and places it on the table next to his plate. “It’s all right, Captain,” he says. “I’ll be quite safe. Now, please, everyone. Leave us.”
    The woman Anden called Captain gestures to her soldiers, and they file silently from the room. Even the six guards standing next to me leave. I am alone in this chamber with the Elector himself, separated by twelve feet of cherrywood.
    Anden leans both of his elbows on the table and tents his fingers together. “You came here to warn me?”
    “I did.”
    “But I heard you were
caught
in Vegas. Why didn’t you turn yourself in?”
    “I was on my way here, to the capital. I wanted to get to Denver before turning myself in so I’d have a better chance of talking to you. I definitely wasn’t planning to be arrested by a random patrol in Vegas.”
    “And how did you get away from the Patriots?” Anden gives me a hesitant, skeptical look. “Where are they now? Surely they must be pursuing you.”
    I pause, lower my eyes, and clear my throat. “I hopped a Vegas-bound train the night I managed to get away.”
    Anden stays quiet for a moment, then puts down his fork and dabs his mouth. I’m not sure if he believes my escape story or not. “And what were their plans for you, if you hadn’t gotten away?”
    Keep it vague for now.
“I don’t know all the details about what they had planned for me,” I reply. “But I do know they’re planning some sort of attack at one of your morale-boosting stops along the warfront, and that I was supposed to help them. Lamar, Westwick, and Burlington were places they mentioned. The Patriots have people in place too, Anden—people here in your inner circle.”
    I know I’m taking a risk by using his first name, but I’m trying to keep our new rapport going. Anden doesn’t seem to notice—he just leans over his plate and studies me. “How do you know this?” he says. “Do the Patriots
realize
you know? Is Day involved in all this too?”
    I shake my head. “I was never supposed to find out. I haven’t spoken to Day since I left.”
    “Would