40. Chapter 40
Elias
Istrode the long hall, running my fingers through my hair, then shaking them out.
Micah’s broken cry as they’d hauled him away, his desperate chant to save his sister, played in my mind on repeat. Under it all, a heaviness I couldn’t shake. The hall stretched longer than it ever had. I counted the steps, reminding myself of my role, my part in tonight’s play.
Jemmiah, Micah’s baby sister, was trapped in that facility. I hadn’t been able to get her out.
But no matter how much I wanted to help Micah, nothing excused attempting to assassinate the president.
I slowed, inhaling and exhaling through my nose. I stepped into the light and looked up, a smile already stretched across my face.
“Are you ready to hear how the nation voted in Trial Nine?”
Cheers rose, My gaze swept over the crowd, halting on black hair swept in a side ponytail, showing off pale skin that still hadn’t regained its color after being trapped in a room with my aide.
Ice slid down my spine.
I turned to the blank wall, touching my tablet, and a drone overhead flashed to life.
I had planned to talk to Lydia before the results were announced, but there had been no time.
Her name appeared on screen, then her score. Five percent. It was one of the worst I’d seen. But the fault hadn’t been entirely hers. I was distracted that day—the day I found Maryn in that interrogation room.
Heat sparked in my chest.
Sera’s name came second with eighteen percent. Lower than I’d expected, considering she was the nation’s darling, but there was no denying the lack of chemistry.
Still, Rakel’s score was due in part to the scandal circulating that we had secretly dated before the Rite. Thirty-one percent.
Micah’s face, crumpled on his knees, surfaced without warning.
Pain crested. I swallowed it down.
Finally, Maryn’s name flashed on screen, followed by forty-six percent. I had stacked the deck, ensuring her date was carefully planned, and after Maryn’s camera team ensured her love of water reveal last week, the whole nation knew what she meant to me.
Her eyes met mine across the room, and there were tears in them. My chest pulled tight. The nation had chosen her, and she finally knew what I had been carrying all day. Because it was real now. We had a real chance.
There was no time to think about Maryn in this moment, though. I had to do something for Lydia. She deserved that much.
The drone went dark, and low lights found me as I stepped into the center of the room.
“Well, that was exciting for you all, I’m sure. Not as thrilling as it was for me, I assure you.” I touched my chest as chuckles erupted around the room. “But I have a surprise for you.”
My father was still gone, personally overseeing Micah’s punishment. My stomach twisted, but I had to act before he returned. “Lydia, come forward.”
I shielded my eyes, searching for her in the crowd. She was pushed by the group nearest her, and she straightened, striding toward me. She wasn’t as graceful as her cousin, or as tall, but she was striking in her own way.
Her cream dress was almost too yellow to be called white, but Lydia strode the very edge of the line, always testing its bounds.
I held out a hand, and she took it, squeezing far harder than was necessary.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” I tugged us in a slow circle. “While it breaks my heart to say goodbye to Lydia, she won’t be going far. I’ve decided to offer her a position as Rite assistant for my remaining trials.”
A collective gasp cut through the room, and Lydia’s hold on my hand loosened a fraction.
I looked at her, reading her expression. Relief, as I had expected, and underneath it, something sharper. Her chin lifted a fraction. She understood what I had done for her and would carry this debt like a blade.
I dipped my chin in silent request, and she nodded.
Facing the crowd once more, I held up our hands. “Please welcome Rite Assistant Lydia Cannon.”
When Lydia had returned to her cousin, not glancing back once, I found Maryn the way I always found her—without meaning to.
I wanted to fold her in my arms and not let go.
I held out a hand, and she took it. Warmth rushed up my fingers, lending me strength. We moved onto the dance floor, and I watched her carefully. She was relieved, some of the color back in her cheeks, but an undercurrent of fear clung to her.
I leaned closer, pressing my mouth to her hair. “You don’t have to worry about him. Whatever you saw. He’s gone now.”
A tremor shot through her, and she leaned back, meeting my eyes. “What happened to him?”
My lips fell into a flat line. “Not here.”
Wisely, she didn’t look around. To those encircling us, she was focused solely on me, on this dance.
Some of the tension left me. Without even knowing it, Maryn understood what was expected of this life. She was born to be a president’s wife.