Chapter 43 Press Conference
Press Conference
…these dead shall not have died in vain…
— AbrAHAM LINCOLN, GETTYSBURG ADDRESS
You’ll stay by me for the press conference, do you understand?” Williams said in the seat beside me.
“Yes, you’ve only said it twenty times,” I muttered.
The plane bumped over some rough air, and I gripped my armrests, only to wince as the healing wounds in my hands sparked with pain.
Williams patted my knee and smiled to herself. “How does it feel to be the face of our cause?”
“Like my life’s greatest tragedy is being used for your political gain.”
Her smile tightened. “Enjoy your reward, Sophia. You helped save our country from a dictator. You should be proud.”
Pride was not how I’d classify my feelings.
Relief, maybe. Betrayed, definitely.
Mostly, I just felt empty.
A week had passed since news arrived of Commander Haynes’s death, and Williams hadn’t let me leave her side.
Once New York City had been destroyed and Haynes repealed his Security Restoration Campaign, Williams capitalized on the human interest side of my interview.
She’d wielded me and my heartbreaking tale as a rallying cry, then used the subsequent interviews to bolster it.
And it worked.
Backup from Canada and the European Union fortified the Defiance forces, and Theo carried through with Lucas’s assassination plan without him. Leaderless, the NAO caved to the Defiance. Pockets of rebellion were swiftly throttled.
And just like that, it was over.
General Harrison won the war, and Nia Williams stood at the helm.
For the past several days, I hovered in corners while she became the de facto president of the reestablished United States.
She gave interviews and speeches to cameras, always surrounded by a team of guards and aides.
She discussed her plans to repeal the National Stability Act, to reinstate Congress and ratify a new and better Constitution.
She met with the Canadian prime minister and secretary-general of the UN.
I was the pet she took everywhere, the rescue dog she’d groomed for everyone to see.
See how I saved her? I’m such a good person. Our new country will do right by people like her.
Strangers watched me with pity and kindness, their intrusive gazes catching on the gold band around my finger. A few braver souls offered their condolences.
“I’d been rooting for you,” one elderly woman murmured to me. It was dinner the night before we were meant to leave for DC, and Williams was mingling with the Canadian and European bigwigs. “I was so sad to hear your fella was killed in action.”
Killed in action.
Such a harmless phrase.
As far as I knew, he’d been stabbed in the chest and left to burn in a flaming building.
But sure. Killed in action was one way to put it.
“Do you mind if I ask,” the woman continued in a low voice, “do you still have the note?”
Her clear blue eyes gazed upon me with nothing but kindness, and I found myself reaching into the neck of the gown Williams made me wear, pulling out the ragged note.
I unfolded it and showed her Lucas’s words.
Grief is like snow.
She didn’t reach for it, and I was glad for that, uncertain I could ever let anyone else touch this paper.
His handwriting. His words. His thoughts.
They were mine.
Her eyes grew bright as she read it, and once it was refolded and safely tucked away, she leaned close to me. “Would it be all right if I gave you a hug?”
Nodding, I melted into the woman’s embrace. She smelled how I imagined a grandmother would, like talc and lavender, and she released me far too soon.
As I sat beside Nia Williams on the bumpy flight back home, I thought of that woman. For years, kindness had been so scarce, but like a hardy vine, it still seemed to take root and blossom, even in the bleakest of environments.
I dreaded what came next, but I wouldn’t hide in the darkness. I belonged in the light.
Theo greeted me with a tight hug as soon as I exited the car I shared with Williams. Behind him, the White House sat like a marble cake against the blue backdrop of spring sky.
I’d spoken to Theo only once while I was in the hospital—a brief conversation in which he’d confirmed I was still alive and that he wouldn’t be able to speak to me for many days due to classified activities.
I wish I’d known his activities involved the assassination of a dictator. I might have been less mad at him.
“They tell me you had many injuries?” he asked now.
I showed him my bandaged hands. “It could have been worse.” With a sigh, I added, “My heart is more broken than my hands.”
His brows scrunched. “Sophia—”
I was shoved closer to him as armed guards surrounded us, safeguarding the Prime Delegate from potential assassination attempts.
Theo put a protective arm around my shoulders and directed me toward the building.
Our posse made it inside the West Wing, and I was shuffled to the side while a throng of people I didn’t recognize surrounded Williams and volleyed for her attention.
After a moment, I realized they were her Cabinet.
These were the people who’d kept the Defiance alive, the ones who’d run our new government while we reestablished normal.
Theo carted me one way, and Williams and the crush of people moved the other.
“Where are they going?” I asked.
“The Cabinet room,” he said. “They have a lot to discuss before the press conference.”
I glanced back. “Is she really the president now?”
He directed me down a quieter hallway. “Not yet.”
“Seems like it.”
“It’s complicated. Things are delicate right now. NAO loyalists are trying to convince the people that we’re the bad guys. They have thousands of troops in Baltimore. We’re barely holding them off.”
My brows flew up, and the familiar panic tried to take hold. I hadn’t realized things were still so precarious.
Theo glanced at my face and gave me his stern smile. “Don’t worry. We’re at the finish line now.”
He pulled me into an empty room. A large table occupied the center, and an unlit fireplace stood at one end. The walls were hung with gold-framed portraits of old white men.
Theo lowered his voice. “If we want to truly end this, Williams has to consolidate power fast. The NAO’s brutality won them a lot of enemies, and they made themselves brittle by relying too heavily on their leader.
To win the American people’s full support, Williams needs to show them what our government will be.
Strong and merciful. Resilient and compassionate. ”
I chewed my lip. “How is she going to do that?”
“I—”
“General?” A woman in a power suit hurried toward us. She handed Theo a small sheet of paper. “You’re needed.”
Theo’s expression darkened. “Sophia, can you wait here?”
I nodded.
“Have a seat,” he said, adding, “I’ll be back,” just as he rounded the door.
Out of place and alone, I wandered toward the table but decided not to sit. Instead, I paced the room, holding my elbows to keep from fidgeting. In one corner, several eagle-topped poles flew different flags.
My hand grazed over the familiar red, white and blue, but I froze at the one beside it.
A sea of white silk framed a black circle with a cross, the same emblem disfiguring my back.
The Brotherhood Cross.
I dropped the fabric like it burned me and backed away. Fetching up against the fireplace, I took in a slow breath.
Tall trees.
Warm rain.
Smell of cypress.
My hand clenched on the mantel, shooting pain up my arms, and I lifted my gaze to the painting above the fireplace.
A man on a black horse with three white feet sported a dashing hat and a thick mustache.
Drawing closer, I trailed my gaze over the intricate brushstrokes that somehow gave the impression of motion despite their stillness.
“One of my favorite quotes is from Teddy Roosevelt,” a woman said behind me.
I startled, spinning to find a middle-aged brunette in a cherry-red boatneck dress.
“He said, Americanism is a question of principle, of idealism, of character. It is not a matter of birthplace, or creed or line of descent.”
Wary, I said nothing.
The woman smiled and held out a slim hand, scarlet nails matching her dress. “I’m Erica. The Prime Delegate has asked me to make sure you’re prepared for the conference.”
I managed to tell her my name, which only widened her smile.
“I know,” she said. “Come with me.”
She escorted me through a series of hallways, across an outdoor colonnade, and up the stairs into a more private area of the building. This portion of the building was empty of people, and prickles crept up my spine.
“Who did you say you were again?” I asked.
“I’m the press secretary.” She opened a door for me, and I stepped into a bedroom, where three other women awaited me.
“Ah, there she is,” an older one said, pushing horn-rimmed glasses up her nose. She took me by the arm and dragged me inside. “We only have an hour. Let’s get to work.”
“Get to…work?”
The woman didn’t answer. Erica waved goodbye, and I was manhandled into an adjacent bathroom.
“Let’s get that hair washed,” the older woman said, then looked at me. “Do you want to take off your shirt? It’ll get wet.”
Hesitating only a moment, I opted to leave my shirt on. These women didn’t need to see the scars on my body.
While the women chatted among themselves, I was subjected to a thorough shampoo. With their fancy products, they defined my curls into shiny spirals, soft but still wild, a sort of untamed neatness. I gazed at the gleaming black coils, and my thoughts drifted to Lucas…
… telling me I needed a hairbrush …
… poking fun of my mess …
… fisting my hair as he kissed me …
My throat ached.
The women took pencils and brushes to my face, using witchcraft to erase the bone-deep fatigue from beneath my eyes and give some pink color to my lips. Last, they held up a powder blue dress with a white lace overlay.
The thing was virtuous and feminine and everything I wasn’t, but I didn’t argue. What was the point?