Kiera Cass - The Guard

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 throw-away. 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.