The One by Kiera Cass
“Mer,” I said.
“I’m Paige. Looks like you’re new to being an Eight yourself. Your clothes are pretty clean.” She was turning my arm gently, looking at the oozing wound as if she could do something even though we both knew better.
“Something like that,” I hedged.
“You can starve out here if you’re alone. You got anywhere to go?”
I shuddered with a roll of pain. “Not exactly.”
She nodded. “It was just my dad and me. I was a Four. We had a restaurant, but my grandma had made some rule that he was supposed to leave it to my aunt when he died, not to me. I think she was worried my aunt wouldn’t have anything or something like that. Well, my aunt hates me, always has. She got the restaurant, but she got me, too. Didn’t like that.
“Two weeks after Dad died, she started hitting me. I had to sneak food because she said I was getting fat and wouldn’t give me anything to eat. I thought about going to a friend’s house, but my aunt would just be able to come and get me, so I left. I took some money, but not enough. Even if it was, I got robbed my second night out here.”
I looked Paige over as she talked. I could see it, under the growing layer of grime. There was a girl in there who used to be very well taken care of. She was trying to be tough now. She had to be. What else was there for her?
“Just this week I found a group of girls. We work together and share all the profits. If you can forget what you’re doing, it’s not so bad. I have to cry afterward. That’s why I was hiding back there. If the other girls see you cry, they make my aunt look like a saint. J. J. says they’re just trying to toughen me up and that I better get that way fast, but it still hurts.
“Anyway, you’re pretty. I know they’d be glad to have you.”
My stomach rolled, processing her offer. In what seemed like a few weeks, she’d lost her family, her home, and herself.
And still she was sitting in front of me—a girl who’d been chased by a pack of rebels, a girl who could be nothing but danger—and she was kind.
“We can’t get you a doctor, but there would be something to ease the pain. And they could get you some stitches from this guy they know. You’d have to work it off though.”
I focused on my breathing. Even though she was distracting, the conversation couldn’t stop the pain.
“You don’t talk much, do you?” Paige asked.
“Not when I’ve been shot.”
She laughed, and the ease of it made me laugh a little, too. Paige sat down beside me for a little while, and I was glad I wasn’t alone.
“If you don’t want to come with me, I get it. It’s dangerous and kind of sad.”
“I . . . can we just be quiet for a minute?” I asked.
“Yes. Do you want me to stay with you?”
“Please.”
And she did. Without question, she sat beside me, as silent as a mouse. It felt like an eternity was passing, though it couldn’t have even been twenty minutes. The pain was becoming more severe, and I was getting desperate. Maybe I could get to a doctor. Of course, I’d have to find one. The palace would pay for it, but I had no clue how to get ahold of Maxon.
Was Maxon even okay? Was Aspen?
They were outnumbered, but they were armed. If the rebels recognized me so quickly, did they recognize Maxon, too? If so, what would they do to him?
I sat still, trying to talk myself out of the worry. It was all I could do to focus on myself. But what was I going to do if Aspen died? Or if Maxon—
“Shh!” I ordered, though Paige still hadn’t made a sound. “Do you hear that?”
We both tuned our ears to the street.
“. . . Max,” someone yelled. “Come out, Mer; it’s Max.”
That would have been Aspen’s idea, no doubt, using those names.
I scrambled to my feet and went to the edge of the alley, with Paige right behind me. I saw the truck coming down the street at a snail’s pace, heads poking out of the windows, searching.
I turned around. “Paige, would you want to come with me?”
“Where?”
“I promise you, you’ll have a real job and food, and no one will hit you.”
Her heavy eyes filled with tears. “Then I don’t care where it is. I’ll go.”
I took her with my good hand, my coat sleeve still hanging off the wounded arm. We made our way down the road, sticking close to the buildings.
“Max!” I called as we got closer. “Max!”
The massive truck skidded to a stop, and Maxon, Aspen, and Officer Avery came running out.
I dropped Paige’s hand, seeing Maxon’s open arms. He embraced me, hitting my wound, and I yelled.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I was shot.”
Aspen parted us, grabbing my arm to see for himself. “That could have been a lot worse. We need to get you back and find a way to treat you. I’m assuming we’ll want to leave the doctor out of this?” He looked to Maxon.
“I don’t want her to suffer,” he insisted.
“Your Majesty,” Paige said, dropping to her knees. Her shoulders started shaking like she might be crying.
“This is Paige,” I said, offering nothing else. “Let’s get in the back.”
Aspen lowered a hand to Paige. “You’re safe,” he assured her.
Maxon put an arm around me, escorting me to the back of the truck.
“I was sure it would take all night to find you,” he worried aloud.
“Me, too. But I was in too much pain to get very far. Paige helped.”
“Then she’ll be taken care of, I promise.”
Maxon, Paige, and I crawled into the back of the truck, and the metal floor was strangely comforting as we sped back to the palace.
CHAPTER 14
IT WAS ASPEN WHO LIFTED me from the back of the truck and hurriedly carried me to a tiny room. The space was smaller than my bathroom and held two slim beds and a dresser. There were little notes and photos on the wall, which gave it some personality; but it was otherwise barren, not to mention incredibly cramped with Aspen, me, Officer Avery, Maxon, and Paige filling every spare inch.
Aspen laid me on a bed as gently as possible, but my arm continued to throb.
“We ought to get the doctor,” he said. But I could tell he doubted his own words. Getting Dr. Ashlar would mean either telling the absolute truth or making up an outrageous lie, and neither of those options was something we wanted.
“Don’t,” I urged weakly. “I won’t die from this. It’ll just be a bad scar. We have to clean it up.” I grimaced.
“You’ll need something for the pain,” Maxon added.
“She might get infected. That alley was really dirty, and I touched her,” Paige said guiltily.
A sliver of fire burned across the wound, and I hissed. “Anne. Get Anne.”
“Who?” Maxon asked.
“Her head maid,” Aspen explained. “Avery, get Anne and a medical kit. We’ll have to make due. And we need to do something with her,” he added, nodding his head at Paige.
I watched Maxon’s worried eyes finally move from my bloody arm to Paige’s troubled face.
“Are you a criminal? A runaway?” he asked her.
“Not that kind of criminal. And I did run away, but there’s no one looking for me.”
Maxon considered her words. “Welcome aboard. Follow Avery down to the kitchens and tell a Mallory you’ll be working with her on the prince’s command. Instruct her to come to the officers’ wing immediately.”
“Mallory. Yes, Your Majesty.” Paige gave him a deep curtsy and followed Officer Avery from the room, leaving me alone with Maxon and Aspen. I’d been with both of them all night, but this was the first time it was just the three of us. I could feel the weight of our secrets filling up the already restricting room.
“How’d you make it out?” I asked.
“August, Georgia, and Micah heard the gunshots and came running,” Maxon said. “He wasn’t kidding when
I turned my head away. I didn’t know a thing about him, but he died tonight for us. I felt as guilty as if I’d taken his life myself.
I went to wipe a tear away, forgetting to use my left arm, and cried out.
“Calm down, America,” Aspen said, forgetting to be formal.
“Everything’s going to work out,” Maxon promised.
I nodded, pursing my lips together to avoid crying anymore. What a waste.
We were quiet for what felt like a long time, but maybe it was the pain stretching out the minutes.
“It’s wonderful to have such devotion,” Maxon said suddenly.
At first I thought he was talking about Micah again. But Aspen and I looked over and saw him gazing at a space on the wall behind me.
I turned my head, happy to focus on anything that wasn’t the searing pain in my arm. There, beside several pictures drawn by one of his younger siblings, was a note.
I’ll always love you. I’ll wait for you forever. I’m with you, no matter what.
My handwriting was a little sloppier a year ago when I’d left that note by my window for Aspen to find, and it was surrounded by silly little hearts that I would never put in a love letter now, but I could still feel the importance of those words. It was the first time I’d put them in writing, afraid of how much more I felt those things once they were on paper. I also remembered the fear of my mother finding that note surpassing any other worry about the enormity of knowing, without a doubt, that I loved Aspen.
Right now I feared Maxon recognizing my handwriting.
“It must be nice to have someone to write to. I’ve never had the luxury of love letters,” Maxon said, a sad smile on his face. “Has she kept her word?”
Aspen was moving pillows from the other bed to prop under my head, avoiding eye contact with either Maxon or myself.
“Writing is difficult,” he said. “But I do know she’s with me, no matter what. I don’t doubt it.”
I looked at Aspen’s short, dark hair—the only part of him I could really see—and I felt a new pain. In a way he was right. We would never truly leave each other. But . . . the words on that paper? That encompassing love that used to overwhelm me? It wasn’t here anymore.
Was Aspen still counting on it?
My eyes flickered to Maxon, and the sadness on his face read a bit like jealousy. I wasn’t surprised. I remembered telling Maxon that I’d been in love before; he’d looked as if he’d been cheated out of something, so unsure at that point if he would ever fall in love.
If he knew that the love I’d spoken about and the love Aspen just shared were the same one, I was sure it would crush him.
“Write her soon,” Maxon advised. “Don’t let her forget.”
“What’s taking them so long?” Aspen muttered, and left the room, not bothering to acknowledge Maxon’s words.
Maxon watched him go and turned back to face me. “I’m so useless. I have no idea how to help you, so I thought I’d at least try to help him. He saved both our lives tonight.” Maxon shook his head. “Seems I only upset him.”
“Everyone’s just worried. You’re doing fine,” I assured him.
He gave an exasperated laugh, coming to kneel by the bed. “You’re lying there with a seeping gash on your arm, and you’re trying to comfort me. You’re absurd.”
“If you ever decide to write me a love letter, I’d lead with that,” I joked.
He smiled. “Can’t I do anything for you?”
“Hold my hand? Not too hard though.”
Maxon placed his fingers in the loose grip of my palm, and even though it didn’t change anything, it was nice to feel him there.
“I probably won’t. Write you a love letter, that is. I try to stave off embarrassment as often as possible.”
“You can’t plan wars, don’t know how to cook, and refuse to write love letters,” I teased.
“That’s correct. My list of faults is ever growing.” He wiggled his fingers in my hand, and I was so grateful for the distraction.
“That’s fine. I’ll continue to guess at your feelings since you refuse to write me a note. With a purple pen. All the i’s dotted with hearts.”
“Which is exactly how I would do it,” he said in mock seriousness. I giggled but stopped quickly when the movement reignited the burning. “I don’t think you have to guess at my feelings though.”
“Well,” I started, finding it harder and harder to breathe, “it’s not like you’ve ever said it out loud.”
Maxon opened his mouth to object and silenced himself. His eyes gazed toward the ceiling as he thought through our history, trying to pinpoint the moment when he’d told me he loved me.
In the safe room, it was suggested in every way. He’d let the feeling slip into a dozen romantic gestures or indicated it was there by dancing around the words . . . but the actual statement had never come. Not between us. I would have remembered, and I would have made them my reason never to question him, my reason to confess what I was feeling, too.
“My lady?” Anne said, her voice making its way through the door a moment before her worried face.
Maxon stepped back, letting go of my hand as he made space for her.
Anne’s focused eyes took in the wound, and she touched it gingerly as she inspected how bad it was.
“You’ll need stitches. I’m not sure we have anything that will completely numb you,” she assessed.
“It’s okay. Just do your best,” I said. I felt calmer with her there.
She nodded. “Someone get some boiling water. We should have antiseptic in the kit, but I want water, too.”
“I’ll get it.” By the door, Marlee was standing, her face lined with worry.
“Marlee,” I whimpered, losing control. I put the Mallory thing together. Of course she and Carter couldn’t go by their real names while they were hiding right under the king’s nose.
“I’ll be right back, America. Hold tight.” She scurried away, but I felt a great relief knowing she would be with me.
Anne absorbed the shock of Marlee’s presence in stride, and I watched as she pulled out a needle and thread from the medical kit. I took comfort in the fact that she sewed almost all my clothes. My arm shouldn’t be a problem.
With incredible speed, Marlee was back with a pitcher of steaming water, an armful of towels, and a bottle of amber liquid. She set the pitcher and towels on top of the dresser, unscrewing the bottle as she came over.
“For the pain.” She lifted my head so I could drink, and I obeyed.
The stuff in the bottle was a new kind of burning, and I coughed my way through swallowing it. She urged me to take another sip, and I did, hating it the whole time.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” I whispered.
“I’m always here for you, America. You know that.” She smiled; and for the first time in our friendship, she seemed older than me, so calm and sure. “What in the world were you doing?”
I made a face. “It seemed like a good idea.”
Her eyes became sympathetic. “America, you are full of nothing but bad ideas. Great intentions but awful ideas.”
She was right, of course, and I should have known better by now. But having her here, even to tell me how dumb I’d been, made the whole thing less awful.
“How soundproof are these walls?” Anne asked.
“Pretty good,” Aspen said. “Don’t hear too much this deep in the palace.”
“Good,” she said. “Okay, I need everyone in the hall. Miss Marlee, I’m going to need some space, but you can stay.”
Marlee nodded. “I’ll keep out of your way, Anne.”
Avery left first, with Aspen trailing close behind him, and Maxon was last. The look in his eyes reminded me of the day I’d told him I’d gone hungry before: sad to know about it and devastated that he couldn’t undo it.
The door clicked shut, and Anne
“Gulp it,” she ordered, lifting my head.
I braced myself. I had to come off the lip of the bottle and go back to it several times because of the coughing, but I managed to get a good amount of it down. Or at least it was good enough for Anne.
“Hold this,” she said, passing me a small towel. “Bite down on it when things hurt.”
I nodded.
“The stitches won’t hurt like the cleaning will. I can see dirt from here, so I’m going to have to be thorough.” She sighed, looking again at the wound. “You’ll have a scar, but I’m going to make it as small as I can. We’ll put loose sleeves on your dresses for a few weeks to cover it while you heal. No one will know. And seeing as you were with the prince, I won’t ask questions. Whatever you did, I’ll trust it was something important.”
“I think so,” I said, not really sure anymore.
She got a towel wet and held it inches away from the gash. “Ready?”
I nodded.
I bit into the towel, hoping it would muffle the screams. I was sure that everyone in the hall could hear, but no one else probably would. It felt as if Anne was poking every nerve in my arm, and Marlee crawled on top of me to keep me from writhing.
“It’ll be over soon, America,” she promised. “Think of something happy. Think about your family.”
I tried. I fought to put May’s laugh or my dad’s knowing smile in the front of my thoughts, but they wouldn’t stay. I could only catch them long enough to feel them slip away under a new wave of pain.
How in the world did Marlee make it through her caning alive?
Once my wound was clean, Anne started sewing me up. She was right: the stitches didn’t hurt as much. I couldn’t tell if it was because it was actually less painful or if the liquor they’d given me was finally kicking in. It did seem like the edges of the room weren’t quite as sharp anymore.
Then people were back, talking about things, about me. Who should stay, who should go, what we would say in the morning . . . so many details that I couldn’t contribute to.
In the end, it was Maxon who scooped me up to return me to my room. It took some effort to hold my head upright, but it made it easier to hear him.