“No, but I’m sure I should apologize. I was a handful.”
“Was?” Taylor asks.
“Yes, well, I remember you. Your recollection of your behavior is accurate,” she reveals with a kind smile. “But you were also precocious and smart. You insisted upon taking me to the library and reading aloud your favorite books. It was a nice break from the rigor of inter-region politics. Besides, who doesn’t like a spirited retelling of Hansel and Gretel from the perspective of the witch?” With a sigh, she removes one hand from her pocket and places it on my shoulder. “Much belated, but I’m very sorry about your mother. She was one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, and one of the kindest too.”
A memory sucks me out of the room and plants me at my mother’s burial, standing next to my father, shaking the hands of strangers as they stare at my dead mother and offer condolences much like that one. “Thank you.”
She pivots to Taylor. “Okay. Let’s get Theia on the line.” She waves off the soldier. “Attend to your squad.”
“You’re going in alone with the assassin?” Ahote questions anxiously. Taylor meets his step with one of her own, her features gnarled and tight, short of outright snarling.
Wolfshield’s lips curl upward. “You think me so weak I could not defend myself from an adolescent?”
“In fairness,” Hunter interjects, “she’s no ordinary adolescent.”
Taylor grumbles, “I am not an adolescent.”
“I believe Eos is not so stupid as to disobey direct orders from her superior,” Wolfshield replies.
Ahote grunts. “I didn’t say?—”
“You’ve said quite enough. I’ve protected this region for the last forty years, I think I’ll last a few hours longer.” She plants her hands on her hips and skewers him with her eyes.
He shrinks back, machismo deflating. Ahote nods curtly and turns on his heel military style, then vacates the room. Hunter and I are not far behind, walking down the hallway in the opposite direction.
“So, here we are, Luciana Piccolo.”
“Just Lucy is fine.”
“All right, Just Lucy.” She’s satisfied with herself until she takes a look at my face. “Ugh, clearly you spent too much time with Taylor. She’s never appreciated my jokes, either.”
Hunter leads me out into the temperate night, and we cross a grassless courtyard to a row of gray and beige dormitories. It’s a step up from the cabins in Pennsylvania—there is ample electricity—but they share the same military sparseness. Off in the distance stands a bowl-shaped building that looks like the abandoned stadium arenas back home. But this one isn’t abandoned. It sparkles like a diamond, lit by ginormous floodlights on a darkened field.
Inside Hunter’s room, the bed is made with the same sharp corners Taylor uses, but it’s messy. Clothes are strewn about, abaseball bat and volleyball tucked into a corner—touches of a life lived. Touches of a personality allowed to be expressed.
“Looks like you made yourself at home,” I say as she lounges in a chair, propping her feet up on her desk.
“What else would I do for almost two years?” She clasps her hands over her stomach. “I was trained to survive. That’s what I did.”
“Congratulations. Was it difficult to manage between scrimmages?” I tap the volleyball with the toe of my boot.
“Did they not schedule you any activities at HQ? Or was my cot in our cabin not up to your standards?” Hunter smirks at me. “Surely she didn’t make you sleep on the couch.”
I huff and cross my arms. “No, she did not.”
“No, of course not. She’s a bit prickly, but not so bad, right? I mean, you could’ve done way worse. For example, if I had been there, I’d have killed you.” She’s trying to get a rise out of me. This is what people like her do. Poke and prod until she finds what makes you tick, and then she thinks she knows you. “But Taylor’s always been a sucker for a pretty woman.”
I grit my teeth. “It would appear so.”
“I’m sensing real animosity here and I’m not sure why.”
“I don’t have a reason to like you,” I reply. “I don’t know you.”
“Life on the run’s made you tough, huh?” She’s playing with me. Toying. Was she always like this? Or did two years amongst the wolves turn her into a predator? “Not quite the experience a young sovereign would expect.”
“Shouldn’t you be packing?” The voice that comes out of my mouth feels off—it’s the one I used with servants in the mansion. It doesn’t sound like me.
But it does the trick as Hunter snorts and nods, silently acquiescing. She starts piling items haphazardly into a military-style duffel bag. “Tell me, Just Lucy, how does the princess of the Northeast end up taking my position in the rebellion?”
