The Elite (Selection)

by another masked man, his legs spread wide and his arms pulled into a position that mimicked the structure. Padded belts were wrapped around his waist and legs, tightened to a point that looked uncomfortable even from here. Marlee was forced to kneel in front of the large wooden block as a man ripped the coat from her back. Her wrists were bound down to the loops on either side, palms up.
    She was crying.
    “This is a crime punishable by death! But, in his mercy, Prince Maxon is going to spare these two traitors their lives. Long live Prince Maxon!”
    The crowd chanted after the man. If I had been in my right mind, I would have known I was supposed to call out, too, or at least applaud. The girls around me did, and so did our parents, even if they were in shock. But I wasn’t paying attention. All I saw were Marlee’s and Carter’s faces.
    We had been given front-row seats for a reason—to show us what would happen if we made such a stupid mistake—but from here, not more than twenty feet from the platform, I could see and hear everything that really mattered.
    Marlee was staring at Carter, and he was looking right back at her, craning his neck to do so. The fear was unmistakable, but there was also this look on her face, as if she was trying to reassure him that he was worth all this.
    “I love you, Marlee,” he called to her. It was barely audible over the crowd, but it was there. “We’re going to be okay. It’ll be okay, I promise.”
    Marlee couldn’t speak in her fear, but she nodded back at him. In that moment, all I could think of was how beautiful she looked. Her golden hair was messy and her dress a disaster, and she’d lost her shoes at some point; but, my God, she looked radiant.
    “Marlee Tames and Carter Woodwork, you are both hereby stripped of your castes. You are the lowest of the low. You are Eights!”
    The crowd cheered, which seemed wrong. Weren’t there any Eights standing here who hated being referred to that way?
    “And to inflict upon you the shame and pain you have brought on His Majesty, you will be publicly caned with fifteen strikes. May your scars remind you of your many sins!”
    Caned? What did that even mean?
    My answer came a second later. The two masked men who had bound Carter and Marlee pulled long rods out of a bucket of water. They swiped them in the air a few times, testing them out, and I could hear the sticks whistling as they cut at the air. The crowd applauded this warm-up with the same frenzy and adoration they had just given the Selected.
    In a few seconds, Carter’s backside would be humiliatingly struck, and Marlee’s precious hands …
    “No!” I cried. “No!”
    “I think I’m going to be sick,” Natalie whispered as Elise made a weak moan into her guard’s shoulder. But nothing stopped.
    I stood up and lunged toward Maxon’s seat, falling over my father’s lap.
    “Maxon! Maxon, stop this!”
    “You have to sit down, miss,” my guard said, trying to wrangle me back into my chair.
    “Maxon, I beg you, please!”
    “It’s not safe, miss!”
    “Get off me!” I yelled at my guard, kicking him as hard as I could. Try as I may, he held on tight.
    “America, please sit down!” my mother urged.
    “One!” cried the man on the stage, and I saw the cane fall on Marlee’s hands.
    She let out the most pathetic whimper, like a dog that had been kicked. Carter made no sound.
    “Maxon! Maxon!” I yelled. “Stop it! Stop it, please!”
    He heard me; I knew he did. I saw him slowly close his eyes and swallow one time, as if he could push the sound out of his head.
    “Two!”
    Marlee’s cry was pure anguish. I couldn’t imagine her pain—and there were still thirteen more strikes to go.
    “America, sit!” Mom insisted. May was between her and Dad, her face averted, her cries almost as pained as Marlee’s.
    “Three!”
    I looked at Marlee’s parents. Her mother buried her head in her hands, her father’s arms wrapped around her, as if he could protect her from everything they were losing in that moment.
    “Let me go!” I yelled at my guard to no avail. “MAXON!” I screamed. My tears were blurring my vision, but I could see him enough to know he’d heard me.
    I looked at the other girls. Shouldn’t we do something? Some appeared to be crying, too. Elise was bent over, a palm pressed to her forehead, looking as if she might pass out. No one seemed angry though. Shouldn’t they be?
    “Five!”
    The sound of Marlee’s shrieks