Prodigy

hands before continuing. “The Trials were supposed to encourage hard work and athleticism, to produce more military-quality people—and they did. But they were also used to weed out the weak—and the defiant. And gradually, they were also used to control overpopulation.”
    The weak and the defiant. I shiver. Day had fallen into the latter category. “So, you know what happens to the children who fail the Trial?” I say. “It was done to control the population?”
    “Yes.” Anden winces even as he tries to explain it. “The Trials made sense in the beginning. They were meant to entice the best and fittest to join the military. Over time, they shifted to being offered in all schools. That wasn’t enough for my father, though . . . he wanted only the best to survive. Anyone else was, frankly, considered a waste of space and resources. My father always told me that the Trials were absolutely necessary for the Republic to flourish. And he won a lot of support in the Senate for making the examinations mandatory, especially after we started winning more battles because of it.”
    My hands are clasped so tightly in my lap that they’re starting to feel numb. “Well, do you think your father’s policies worked?” I ask quietly.
    Anden lowers his head. He searches for the right words. “How can I answer that? His policies
did
work. The Trials
did
make our armies stronger. Does that make what he did
right,
though? I think about it all the time.”
    I bite my lip, suddenly understanding the confusion Anden must feel, his love for his father warring with his vision for the Republic. “What’s right is relative, isn’t it?” I ask.
    Anden nods. “In some ways, it doesn’t matter why it all started, or if it was ever right. The thing is—over time, the laws evolved and twisted. Things changed. At first the Trials weren’t given to children, and they didn’t favor the wealthy. The plagues . . .” He hesitates at this, then shies away from the subject altogether. “The public is angry, but the Senate is afraid to change things that might lead to them losing control again. And to them, the Trials are a way to reinforce the Republic’s power.”
    There’s a profound sadness in Anden’s face. I can sense the shame he feels for belonging to such a legacy. “I’m sorry,” I say in a low voice. I feel a sudden urge to touch his hand, to find a way to comfort him.
    Anden’s lips tug upward into a hesitant smile. I can clearly see his desire, his dangerous weakness, the way he longs for me. If I ever doubted it before, I know for certain now. I quickly turn away, half hoping that gazing at a snowy landscape might bring some of its coolness to my cheeks.
    “Tell me,” he murmurs. “What would you do if you were me? What would your first action be as the Elector of the Republic?”
    I answer without hesitation. “Win over the people,” I say. “The Senate would have no power over you if the public could threaten them with revolution. You need the people at your back, and they need a leader.”
    Anden leans back in his chair; some of the railcar’s warm lamplight catches against his coat and outlines him in gold. Something in our conversation has inspired an idea in him; maybe it’s an idea he had all along. “You’d make a good Senator, June,” he says. “You’d be a good ally to your Elector—and the public loves you.”
    My mind starts spinning. I
could
stay here in the Republic and help Anden. Become a Senator when I’m old enough. Get my life back. Leave Day behind with the Patriots. I know how selfish this thinking is, but I can’t stop myself.
What’s so wrong with being selfish, anyway?
I think bitterly. I could just tell Anden everything about the Patriots’ plans right now—without caring whether word will get back to the Patriots or whether they’ll hurt Day because of it—and return to living a wealthy, secure life as an elite government worker. I could honor my brother’s memory by slowly changing the country from the inside. Couldn’t I?
    Horrible. I release this dark fantasy. The thought of leaving Day behind in such a way, of betraying him so completely, of never wrapping my arms around him again, of
never ever seeing him again,
makes me clench my teeth in pain. I close my eyes for a second and remember his gentle, calloused hands, his passionate ferocity. No, I could never do it. I know this with such blinding certainty that it frightens me. After everything we’ve both