"It was a diversion." Stavros announced immediately, hardly taking the time to bow at America and Maxon as they appeared in security room A out of breath from the rapid walk up from the safe room. "The attack on the Palace was a diversion. It was just to ensure that we would all be tucked away, unable to stop the frequency hack on the Public Access Channel. No injuries, no fatalities on their side or our side."
"Show me." Maxon ordered, taking a seat facing the large television screen.
"Your Majesty?" Stavros asked America. His tone was reverential, but his face was almost fatherly in its concern.
As badly as America wanted to see exactly what the rebels had done this time, she faltered. She valued her seat at the table next to Maxon more than anything, it was not something that had been afforded to any other Queens in Illéa's history. But the last time, after watching the rebel transmission, she'd had an intense, visceral reaction, no doubt exacerbated by her pregnancy hormones. She'd been physically sick at what she'd seen. She wanted to know what the rebels had done, but she did not want to put undue stress on the baby, like last time.
"You've seen it, Carter?" America asked, turning to Carter Woodwork, who was looking pale and anxious. He was standing in while Aspen was out on paternity leave. This was his first week as head of security, and he looked practically defeated by it.
"I have." Carter nodded, faintly.
"Brief me." America commanded, leading the way back out into the hall. Maxon and Stavros gave her approving glances as they prepared the screen to view the video transmission that all of Illéa had just born witness to.
"Yes, your Majesty." Carter said, following her out. The door closed behind them and America could hear, through the door, the video begin to play. It was the same voice from last time. The rebel narrating what he was doing again, this time addressing the citizens of Illéa instead of just Maxon.
America quickly ducked into security room B, a slightly smaller room that was still much too large for a meeting of just two people.
"Are you alright, Carter?" America asked concernedly, now that it was just the two of them.
"This never should have happened." He shook his head. "Aspen never would have let this happen."
"This is not your fault." America assured him. "You did not attack the Palace, you did not take hostages and execute them on national television. The rebels are at fault, no one else."
"I could have prevented the lockdown from triggering, I know I could have." Carter tried to explain, desperation in his eyes. "They shouldn't have been able to get far enough into the Palace to trigger the alarm. I should have stopped that-"
"Don't beat yourself up about this." America shook her head. "Call Aspen when we're done with this meeting, he'll tell you. I mean, if he's not too busy beating himself up for not being here, he'll tell you." she chuckled. She could just imagine Aspen's horror when he found out about the lockdown. He'd probably seen the rebel transmission and was in full Aspen-Freakout mode that very moment. Possibly with baby Meri in his arms as he paced the floor.
Carter, however, seemed vaguely mollified by this thought. "Right. You're right."
"Marlee and Kile got through the lockdown okay?" America asked.
"They're fine. Kile's getting better about not crying when he hears the siren."
"Good. I like it better when they're in the royal safe room with me, but I know Marlee prefers to dash into whatever is close."
"That's changing, as Kile gets better at walking. It doesn't take as long to get him places now, and he's getting better at stairs. I'll bet they start joining you and Maxon in the main safe room soon." Carter said.
"I hope they do." America said. There was a long, nervous silence. America was almost afraid to hear the details of the transmission, but she did her best to channel her inner-Amberly. "So... the video?" Okay, her inner-Amberly could use some work, that wasn't the most elegant transition in history.
"It was a man this time. A father, husband... same type as the woman from last time. He's... he was a family man who'd been missing for a few weeks. He didn't look ill-treated, except that his hands were bound and he was gagged. He was middle-caste, a Four."
"Name?"
"Barrett Bronson, aged 32. Three daughters at home, and a pregnant wife."
America winced. She didn't know what she would do if she lost Maxon right now. She seriously did not even know where she'd start. She rubbed the little lump below her bellybutton, still invisible beneath her dress, and said, "Did they kill him in the same way they killed that woman, Anne?"
"Yes. A shot to the head. Apparently, they believe in giving these hostage clean deaths, not making them suffer. It's such bizarre logic, Amer... Queen Ameri-"
"Oh, stop." America waved the title away. "It's just us, here."
Carter nodded. "It's bizarre logic, America. They don't blame these people for what happened to the South, but they are punishing them all the same. They're citing reparations for the long suffering of their family members, but they don't want these members of families to suffer."
America shook her head. "It's madness. It's actual, clinical madness."
"No matter the reasoning, we're closing in on them. We're about 36 hours from executing our coordinated attack."
"What else do I need to know about that video?"
"Just that it was broadcast into every building with a television in Illéa, as well as Illéan allies who like to follow the Public Access Channel, all across the world."
"It's the middle of the day, do we really think very many people saw it?" America asked. Most Illéans were at work at this hour. It didn't really solve the international problem, most of their allies had been sitting down to dinner when the frequency had been hacked, but it was the only fleeting hope America could cling to.
"It's hard to say, Mr. Fadaye didn't have anything conclusive to offer as far as ratings. We'll know more about that later. When Stavros asked, Mr. Fadaye did mention that a lot of Threes and Fours work in buildings that leave a television on in the background of their offices for employees to watch on breaks. And, even if they didn't see it live, news of it will spread like wildfire. It might even be partially re-broadcast if the Palace doesn't intervene."
"I suppose that's true." America hung her head, thinking of how weak this made Maxon seem, domestically and internationally. "I really hate this."
"I'd be more concerned if you really liked it." Carter shrugged. It took America a moment to hear the little quip, and longer for the weak smile to reach her lips.
"Should we go back over there?" she asked.
Carter checked his watch. "Another minute. Just to be safe." America sighed, butterflies swarming her stomach, as they waited for the replay of the rebel video to finish. It was a long, silent, heavy minute. Finally, Carter turned and opened the door for her and America walked past him and led them both back into security room A.
When they arrived, Gavril and Stavros were almost at each other's throats.
"If we don't come out now, and I mean right now-" Gavril was insisting, heatedly.
"Fine!" Stavros gestured wildly with one hand, the other made a fist and rested on the table he was leaning over. "Go out right now, take the King and Queen, put them on television right now and let them reassure the nation-"
"It won't mean anything-"
"But you may not so much as hint that we have the locations of the hostages-"
"It won't mean anything," Gavril yelled, "If we can't tell the people some of what we're doing. What am I supposed to have the King say, 'Oh, yeah, we saw that too. That wasn't great, was it?'"
America had never seen Gavril this upset. Likely it was the sting of being outplayed by rebels on his home turf, television.
"Any comment on retaliation could jeopardize the lives of the hostages." Stavros replied, leaning back and folding his arms. He felt he had the moral high ground, and everything in the way he was standing showed it.
"None of this would be happening if you'd let us announce the hostages publicly. We've been sitting on a rebel transmission for a week now, we could have put it out there with our commentary, we could have controlled everything."
"Oh, here it comes. Are you going to say 'I told you so', Fadaye?" Stavros glared.
Gavril ignored him and continued his rant, "But you didn't listen to me, and now, the rebels have all of the control. And King Maxon looks surprised, confused, and even afraid by not coming right back with quick and decisive action."
"It doesn't matter how I look, Gavril." Maxon said, softly but firmly.
"It matters that the people feel safe with you in control." Gavril returned, lowering his voice when addressing Maxon but keeping all of the depth of feeling. "It matters that they support any action you take in the future."
America stepped forward, announcing her return to the room. "We won't give specifics. We'll say that we saw it, that it was abhorrent, and that the rebels will pay dearly. Which they will. That'll be enough to buy us time, while being obscure enough not to tip off the rebels."
"It would be better to give the people something specific." Gavril insisted, but he wasn't angry anymore. She was like his little media protégé in a lot of ways, America and Gavril always worked well together, and her idea had the benefit of being the strongest option available to them. "It would be better to outline some kind of plan, even in the vaguest terms, to reassure the people—"
"It would not be better for the people who are currently being held captive." Stavros insisted, firmly. It was his job to keep an eye on the big picture, while it was Gavril's job to focus his gaze exclusively on maintaining the monarchy's public image. Therefore, in this instance, they could not possibly see eye to eye.
"Without swift and dramatic retaliation, King Maxon is going to lose major points in his approval ratings." Gavril shook his head. "We could still parlay this into a significant gain by demonstrating the King's decisiveness and force."
Maxon shook his head. "At the cost of the hostages. I won't use their lives as collateral to improve my approval ratings."
"But, sir, the amendment-"
"We'll make it up." America said, soothingly, coming over to place a hand on Maxon's shoulder. It was unsurprisingly tense, but eased slightly at her touch. "We'll make it up, we've got time. Better this happen now than after we announce the baby. People will get the news of a successful raid, and then next week we'll announce the baby. It'll be a double dose of good news. We'll take a beating for the next couple of days while people assume we were caught off-guard and aren't doing anything, but then we'll bounce right back."
Gavril sighed, frowned, and then lowered himself into a chair, relenting. He had a soft spot for America, especially when she happened to be right.
This was enough for Stavros, "I presume we can move on to the next issue, Fadaye?"
Gavril grunted. America almost chuckled at this unnaturally gruff attitude from the usually absurdly affable Gavril Fadaye. She crossed over to the table at the back of the room and poured cups of coffee for Gavril and Maxon, then brought them over. Maxon rewarded her with a kiss on the cheek, and Gavril looked like he could have rewarded her with a kiss on the cheek, he was so grateful. She gave him a little pat on the shoulder and he perked right up. They were bonded by the fact that they'd both tried to warn Maxon and Stavros that the news of rebel hostages would be worse if the people heard about it from anywhere other than Maxon. And now they had to be here, and be right, and not be able to derive any pleasure from it because their rightness came at such a steep price.
Stavros was on to the next concern on the agenda, "I've got a report from our scouts. There's been no movement at the rebel camps, and nothing at the hostage locations. That's a bit of good news, we still have no reason to believe that they know that we're on to them. We're on schedule to execute the raids, just over 36 hours from now."
Maxon nodded, thoughtfully. "I want a real discussion about how to cut off their funding, Stavros. Now that we have a plan in play for damaging the rebel camps and freeing the hostages, let's turn our new British espionage contingent to figuring out where exactly all of this money is coming from."
"Yes, sir."
"If we need to bump up the aristocracy discussion, let's do it. Whatever it's going to take to pacify those damned loyalist Twos, let's get it done."
"Yes, sir. We can put a discussion on the books for later in the month. Nothing before the baby announcement."
"Fine." Maxon sighed, "Gavril, what's our play here on the video? Do we ban affiliates from airing it?"
"If you try to stop people who haven't seen it from seeing it, it will only ignite a greater desire on their part to watch the whole thing, and it will create resentment for you and the monarchy. They'll feel it an oppressive censorship. The best we can hope for is a sanitized version being rebroadcast, and I can work backchannels to push for that. It won't come from the Palace, it can come from friends of mine at comparatively independent news networks. They can call for self-censorship in the name of decency standards. In that way, the most graphic and provocative part of the video, the shooting, won't be shown again. It'll be discussed widely, of course, but it won't be seen again. Maybe it'll keep that poor man's death from becoming pure televised bloodsport fodder, and keep those little girls from having to watch their father's murder on a continuous loop for the next few news cycles."
"Good. That's what we'll do." Maxon shook his head. It was anything but 'Good', and it was disturbing that such a thing passed for 'Good' because of the truly terrible day they were having.
America sighed. "Gavril, you should call everyone in for the Report. Maxon and I should get ready. Stavros, write the first draft of the speech Maxon will read today. Gavril will edit it to make the second draft, and Maxon will take the final pass at it."
"Nothing specific, Fadaye." Stavros reminded him, tersely. He still wasn't pleased at the insubordination from earlier.
"Fine." Gavril said to Stavros, then he stood, "I'll see you soon, your Majesties." He bowed, then left the room.
Maxon was looking up at America now, just the faintest flicker of amusement on his face, "Any other commands, America?"
She could have been upset that he hadn't called her 'queen' as he'd teased her about making commands. Only using her first name took away the powers he'd given her when they'd married. If she was just 'America', then she had no business giving commands to royal advisers. If she was his queen, then she had every right. But he'd been through too much that day, he was reeling. And he wasn't mad that she'd just given his advisers commands, it saved him the trouble. She forgave him. "Just one." she said, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Follow me."
She led them back up to his room, trying to ignore the whispers of shocked servants who'd heard about the video or seen it by now. When they were alone in his room, America studied her husband for a silent moment. Maxon sat on the edge of his bed, shoulders slumped, devastated.
"Maxon-"
"No." he didn't want to be consoled.
"We knew they had more hostages, we knew this was possible."
"We did not know they'd try to broadcast an execution on public television." he argued.
"No. But we knew they'd want the public to know about the hostages eventually. To try to tear you down and frighten everyone into submission."
"He wasn't a soldier." Maxon shook his head. "He survived the draft, he was so lucky, his number never got called. He wasn't a soldier. He was a father. His wife is having another-"
"I know." America said, soothingly, joining him on the edge of the bed.
"He was hoping he'd finally get a boy... to take fishing on the weekends." Maxon's voice broke, and his shoulders shook with a sob.
America's brow furrowed and she encircled his shoulders with her arms, pressing a kiss to his temple. It wasn't often she saw him so vulnerable, he was usually so composed. "You're a good king." she reminded him.
"I'm not!" he insisted.
"Yes, you are." she said, firmly.
"I can't fix this." he shook his head, tears falling heavy from his long, long lashes. "I have nothing to offer them. The family. What could I possibly give them to make this any better?"
"Justice." America reminded him.
"There is no justice!" Maxon shook his head insistently. "What can I take from these rebels that would hurt them equal to the pain of that family? That baby never knowing his father, that father never knowing his son? Those little girls with no one to walk them down the aisle when they get married, that woman with no loving partner to help her raise their children? Who's going to hold her hand when she goes into labor? Who's going to help her with 3 AM feedings and who's going to run to the store in the middle of the night when they accidentally run out of diapers?" he was really fixating on this, and America knew why. He was imagining America as the widow, just like America's first instinct had been to imagine Maxon as the dead man. This man had apparently been the kind of husband and father Maxon wanted to be, the loving, fishing kind, and it was really getting to Maxon that the man had been targeted and killed for being that kind of family man. Maxon gave a shuddering sigh, "The rebels don't have anything I can take from them to make them feel that terrible, all consuming ache." Maxon shook his head. "There is no justice."
"You're going to stop them before they can hurt any more families, though. You're going to save a dozen fathers and mothers still being held captive."
"What would you want?" Maxon asked, collapsing back on his bed.
"What?" America asked, confused.
Maxon sniffed, trying to stop his tears. "What would you want, if it had happened to you? What could the King have offered you, if it had happened to you?"
America curled up against his side, her knees by his shoulder and her elbow by his knees. "If—"
"If the rebels had taken your dad, I mean. I can't imagine, really, because I had a terrible father. But this man, the one who died today, he was a great father. He adored his children and his wife. He sounds like your dad, to me."
America shook her head, unable to properly envision her father being murdered instead of dying of a heart condition. "Nothing. I mean, short of throwing all of the rebels in jail forever-"
"You wouldn't have wanted them dead?" he was surprised.
"No, I don't think so." America shook her head. "Because if they're alive, then every positive thing I do for the rest of my life is an act of defiance. They tried to ruin our family and the country, and they failed. Look at me, I just sold a painting for a bunch of money, I just performed at a party full of famous people, I just got married, had children, and am living a successful, happy life. Your mission failed. If they're dead, then I can't throw my accomplishments in anyone's face. I need them alive to make them sorry."
Maxon frowned. "What if the King had invited you to the Palace, to-"
"No." America shook her head. "That would have made it worse. That would have made me like a spectacle. Just something for other people to stare at and pity. I would have hated the pity."
"Yes, you would have." he acknowledged. "Fine, we'll leave the families to their grief."
"Good idea." America said. "But, Maxon?"
"Hm?" he was pensive.
"If you have grief about losing these people, that's okay, too."
"I do, actually. I'm devastated."
"I can tell. You're allowed to feel that way about it." She leant forward and pressed a kiss to his lips. "Don't feel like you have to conceal that. This is a devastating thing, you can be devastated by it without intruding on the grief of these families."
"Thanks, Ames."
"I'm going to call in Mary, now. Join us in my room, when you're ready?"
"I will." Maxon promised, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze before letting her go.
America just had time to close the door adjoining her suite with Maxon's, and ring for Mary, when there was a knock at her door.
"Your Majesty?" it was Silvia.
"The schedule has been derailed today, I'm afraid, Silvia." America said, gesturing for her to come in.
"We'll get everything worked out, your Majesty, don't worry." Silvia said. "I came to inform you that you have a phone call from your mother waiting for you in your office. She's concerned about the rebel transmission and wants to know what King Maxon is going to do about it."
"I can't talk to her right now. We're busy." America rolled her eyes, imagining her mother standing in the kitchen of her house, feeling perfectly entitled to demand America's immediate attention, not to mention classified national security details. Silvia cleared her throat, as if reminding America that queens don't roll their eyes, and America relented, "Please inform my mother that I am terribly sorry, but I will have to phone her back sometime after dinner."
Silvia nodded at this much more appropriate response. "Is there anything that you need, your Majesty?"
"No, Silvia. Thank you." A thought occurred to her. "Gavril is going to need some help, though. He's putting together a quick, emergency episode of theReport right now. Perhaps you could assist him after giving my mother the brush off?"
Silvia blushed, and nodded, eyes falling to her feet. She curtseyed and dismissed herself just as Mary appeared.
"Something black." America said, knowing Mary well enough to anticipate her first question. "We're mourning."
Mary nodded grimly and helped America out of the yellow dress she'd been wearing, then disappeared back into the closet.
Maxon came through, having had a moment to pull himself together, and when he spotted America standing there without a dress on he came over to study the baby lump some more. "I think it's grown since this morning."
America smiled, "No, it hasn't."
"Just a little." he winked, and went over to sit on her bed. America took her place at her vanity and began cleaning the day makeup off of her face. Her makeup for the studio was different, made for bright lights and cameras.
Mary reappeared and laid a long, flowing black dress on the bed next to Maxon before joining America and unpinning her hair.
"Ames?" Maxon said, tense and anxious.
"What?"
"What is this?" he asked, holding out a small, white envelope for her to see.
"I don't know. Where did it come from?"
"Your bed." He said.
America stood and hurried over to him, taking the blank envelope from his hands, a terrible feeling of foreboding in the pit of her stomach.
There was a note inside.
America sank down next to Maxon and pulled it out of the envelope, holding it down for both of them to see.
The neat handwriting belied a horrifying message.
'King Maxon,
If I see your wife, I will kill her. I won't take her hostage, you have nothing we want or need. If I see your wife, I'll just kill her. Yours sincerely, K.'
Maxon reached over and seized America's free hand, clutching it tightly as they read and reread the note. For the first time since she'd known him, he was trembling.