It was a long night, headed into a longer day, but none of the Singers were ready to rest.
Technically, the Palace was secure, they could all return to their rooms, but somehow, without saying a word to each other about it, the rest of America's family ended up gathered in Magda's room, showering one at a time, or in the case of Kenna and Astra, two at a time, and then changing into fresh clothes.
America spoke with Marlee first thing, making sure she knew Carter was awake and a little short-tempered due to the pain in his leg, but otherwise fine. Marlee and Kile hurried off to spend the rest of the night with Carter in his hospital wing room.
Mary was waiting in America's room, completely unharmed although a bit shaken up, with a bath already drawn to perfection when America got there. America needed help getting in and out, but in between, Mary left her alone and did not try to engage her in conversation. America was relieved. She wasn't ready to answer questions. She wasn't ready to ask questions. She wasn't ready to relive what had just happened in any capacity, her body was still buzzing from her close encounter with death.
When America was fresh and clean, the remnants of her torn dressing gown sent down to the scrap heap, Mary helped America into the most comfortable, most commanding outfit they could find. Crisp black slacks and a flowing silver blouse, coupled with a pair of black pumps. Yes, pumps. She needed her heels right now; she needed her armor. Wearing these clothes made her feel like she was in complete control, even if she wasn't anywhere close to it.
Once her hair was dried and pulled into a french twist and her face was lightly made up, just enough to keep her from looking like she was so close to being defeated, America joined Maxon in his office. She wasn't truly surprised to find her family there, too. It seemed that, one by one, as they'd finished their showers, they'd streamed into Maxon's office. Again, this wasn't something they'd discussed and decided to do as a group, it was just where they all needed to be. The whole family needed to be together, and that included Maxon. Since Maxon was working from his office, that's where they all wound up.
The door adjoining Maxon's and America's offices was thrown wide open, revealing Magda and May on America's couches. They were close enough to feel like they were a part of the group, but far enough that they had some personal space in which to recover. Kenna and Astra were stretched out on one of Maxon's sofas, James on the floor beside them with a pillow for his head. Gerad took the couch across from them, staring up at the ceiling, shellshocked.
"Love." Maxon greeted her, the moment he laid eyes on her. He was looking over the report filed by Officer Rivers, America was looking over her family.
"Is Gavril in yet?" America asked, tearing her eyes away from her baby brother to meet Maxon's.
Maxon stood, setting aside the papers. He rounded the desk and pressed a kiss to her lips, taking a moment to caress her belly. She could have been wrong, but she also thought he was smelling her. He especially liked the way she smelled when she was fresh out of a bath, like peppermint, vanilla, and the kind of shampoo that tingles. He often said that the smell of her soothed him.
"Not yet." He finally replied. "Tell me how you're feeling."
"Physically, I'm fine. Dr. Ashlar looked me over in the bunker."
"Before the bunker was compromised." He reminded her, sternly, worried that something could have changed between then and now.
America looked over the room again, at her stunned, horrified family. None of them were sleeping, none of them were speaking, they were all just laying there. It was taking everything they had just to cope. "I'm fine, Maxon." She said, in a tone that told him that she wasn't ready to deal with what had happened.
"I understand." He responded to her tone rather than her words, gave her belly another soothing caress, and then returned to his seat.
America sank into the chair facing his desk, allowing herself a moment to try to find a comfortable position, and once she was settled in, she asked, "Any word from the dungeons?"
"Not yet." Maxon's face grew hard at the thought. "From what I understand, the guards are just making sure our guest is… settled in. They plan to leave him that way for a few hours and then see what he was to say."
America didn't know, but she assumed that leaving him 'that way' meant chained into some kind of uncomfortable position. Maybe worse. She didn't have much of an imagination when it came to torture.
"I want to know everything he says, when the time comes."
"Of course." Maxon agreed.
Astra made a sudden move, out of Kenna's arms and hurriedly over to Maxon's lap. Her wet hair was combed up into a little ponytail that swung as she ran. She was in a pair of cream colored pajamas to keep her extra warm. There were dark shadows ringing her wide eyes in a heartbreaking way.
Maxon took a moment to hug her close to himself, her head on his chest as she listened to his heartbeat thud under her ear. Finally she wiggled around to face front, took a pen from Maxon's desk, and examined the papers in front of them.
"You need help." Astra announced.
"Yes, I do. How are you with letters?"
"I know some." Astra replied, seriously.
"Do you know the letter A?"
"Yes, of 'Astra'." Astra nodded, importantly.
"Exactly. If you see any A's on that paper, would you put a mark next to them for me? It will help me later." Maxon said, lying brilliantly.
"Okay." Astra began studying the report in front of them with serious, slightly squinted eyes. She was silent, busy with her task.
Maxon continued reading the report over her head, and America contented herself with waiting for Gavril. She wasn't like Astra, she didn't need to create work to feel like she was contributing. She was in the process of growing a human child within her body, the heir to a magnificent throne; she was contributing. She allowed herself this still, quiet moment to watch two of her favorite people in the world, in peace.
Stavros entered the office, startled by the entire contingent of Singers sprawled about, and then proceeded to stand next to Maxon's desk. "Your Majesties." he bowed.
"August and Georgia Illéa?" Maxon asked, without prelude.
"On their way."
"That guard, the one who was with you in the bunker. What was his name?" Maxon asked America.
"Officer Rivers."
"How is he fairing?" Maxon asked Stavros.
Stavros paused, dug through some papers in his arms, and found a list of injuries and deaths from the attack. "Rivers… stitched, cleaned, and being held overnight out of an abundance of caution. He's on a small dose of painkiller. He'll be back to work next week."
"He'll be promoted. I want that kind of bravery, that kind of loyalty near my family at all times."
"I'll be sure that Commander Leger is made aware that you would like Rivers on the family's detail."
"What of our other hostages?" Maxon asked.
Stavros cleared his throat, eyeing Astra especially, but casting a glance around the room at the rest of the family as well.
This time, America replied, "We are not keeping anything from them, Stavros, not about this. Not anymore. Not after what happened tonight…" she swallowed, hard. Still not ready.
Stavros nodded, reluctantly, and said, "There is one assailant in custody, a teenaged male—"
"Yes. We know about him." Maxon said, darkly, his eyes skirting over the back of Astra's head. She was still working away.
"There was an insurgent taken from the bunker, a male with severe blunt force trauma to his head—"
"We're questioning him?" America looked up, surprised. Sickened.
"No, ma'am… it seems he…" Stavros eyed Astra again, and then said "Perished before medical attention could be given. His wound was substantial."
"The man who attacked us is dead?" America clarified. This time Astra looked up.
Stavros was uneasy, "Yes, ma'am."
What kind of person did it make her, that her stomach unclenched and her whole body felt soothed, at that knowledge?
Apparently, she wasn't the only one. Kenna, who was now curled up with James on Maxon's couch, said, "Thank God."
"What do you think, Astra?" Maxon asked. "The bad guy is gone. He can't hurt anyone ever again."
Astra considered this, looking down at her work. "That bad guy was mean. I don't like him."
"Me neither." Maxon agreed.
"His mommy should make him in trouble." Astra frowned.
America and Maxon's eyes met, sadly. Leave it to Astra to maintain their attacker's humanity, no matter how terrible the trauma she'd been through. Of course that attacker had had a mother, possibly a mother who'd been grievously injured by the Illéan monarchy's policies toward the southern provinces. That didn't make it right. None of this made anything right. "Pumpkin head, do you feel safe now? Because that bad guy can never hurt you?"
"I'm safe." Astra agreed. "I'm at the big desk."
It was a start, America supposed. Even if Astra had to eat, sleep, and live on Maxon's desk for a while, at least she felt safe somewhere. America didn't yet know if she could say the same for herself.
"Clear security room A, have it prepared. Once we've heard what our friend in the dungeons has to say, I want a full meeting. We're not waiting for this to happen again, we're going after K."
"Yes, sir."
"Um, excuse me." Astra turned her head to face Maxon, whispering.
"Yes, Love?" Maxon replied, his tone shifting from vengeful to adoring in .5 seconds.
"Um, that's a A?" Astra whispered, pointing.
"That's an A." Maxon confirmed. America and Maxon both watched as she marked it with a squiggly line. Maxon rewarded her diligence with a kiss on her head, and then he turned back to Stavros, switching immediately back to his severe expression and tone. "That's all."
"Sir, I'd like permission to take fresh polling with regards to the inheritance amendment." Stavros said. "Given the visible fire tonight, I expect your numbers to fluctuate."
"Do it." Maxon waved. Stavros bowed and exited. Maxon's expression remained hard, focused for another moment, and then he dropped his eyes down to the report and murmured soothingly, "That's an E." and he squeezed Astra tightly around the middle as she squiggled out the squiggle next to the E, her version of correcting the mistake.
Gavril moved quickly, once he arrived, drafting a statement and having Maxon and America record it right there, in Maxon's office. It would air first thing in the morning, when the rest of the world would only just be finding out about the attack.
The words in the statement downplayed the severity of the attack and made absolutely no mention of the very near-death experience that America and her family had endured. Maxon did all the talking, explaining how quickly the rebels were subdued and the lack of damage from the fire on the roof (which was true, the fire on the roof caused very little physical damage), while completely ignoring the fire in the main safe room.
Gavril made use of America mostly by having her seated at Maxon's side, slightly at an angle so as to display her bump. She'd grown, even since the nursery special had been taped, and Gavril wanted to take advantage of that.
When the message was taped, the camera, sound, and lighting people left Maxon's office, and Gavril took a moment to look around the room. The Singers were still laying there, shell-shocked.
"Are you going to be alright, your majesty?" Gavril's eyes settled on America. She was glad he'd asked that question, it was the perfect question. He hadn't asked her if she was alright, because how could she be? He'd asked if she would be.
"I think I will be." America said, as bravely as possible. "I think we will be." she added, with a nod to the rest of her family.
"If I can do anything..." he trailed off, but America nodded gratefully. The look in his sparkling eyes, always camera-ready, meant a lot to her. She knew that Stavros was Maxon's most important adviser, but sometimes she wondered if they would even have a country to run without the work Gavril did for them every day.
"Thank you."
Maxon's phone rang loudly on his desk as Gavril left. America listened as Maxon answered it, had a short conversation, and then stood, bringing Astra up with him.
"That was Dr. Ashlar. He's had a break in treating wounded guards and has advised that I feed all of you and see to it that you get a few hours of sleep, if you can."
"Maxon-" America argued. She couldn't sleep. She couldn't eat. She couldn't even believe she was even going to get the chance, again.
"Waffles?" Astra chirped.
"Waffles?" Maxon asked, confused.
"You promised." Astra pointed out, her bottom lip trembling. As if nothing that had happened tonight would be worth it if she didn't get her waffles.
Maxon's eyes widened as he remembered their conversation, what seemed like a lifetime ago, in the stairwell above the inferno. "So I did. Well, the cooks should be down in the kitchens prepping breakfast by now." he consulted the clock on his mantle. 4 AM. "Let's send them a note asking them for waffles, immediately."
"Yes." Astra agreed, leaning down and reaching for the pen below. He cleared some papers and sat Astra down on what was possibly the most famous, most important desk in Illéan history. He tore off a clean piece of paper and placed his hand over her tiny fist, slowly drawing the letters to comprise a note to the kitchens asking for waffles, as soon as possible.
"Ames? Any cravings?" Maxon asked.
America shook her head, finding that the very thought of food was nauseating.
"Anybody else? Any special requests?" Maxon checked.
At first, it seemed like no one was going to reply, and then Gerad sat up, thoughtfully. "Donuts?"
"Donuts?" Maxon asked, impressed. "Absolutely." he and Astra added donuts to the list. "Anything else?"
"Bacon." Kenna said. "Lots of bacon."
James grinned, pressing a kiss to Kenna's cheek. "That's my woman." he gloated, pleased with her choice of meat.
"Scrambled eggs." May said, leaving America's couch and hurrying over to Maxon's side of the adjoined offices.
"Cinnamon rolls." Magda added, following her youngest daughter.
America realized they were compiling a list of foods that, a few short hours ago, none of them thought they would ever get to taste again. These were the foods they would have missed the most if they had died. The thought seemed to freeze her veins.
"Ames? Nothing?" Maxon asked, one more time.
America shook her head weakly, which caused Maxon's brow to furrow in concern, but Gerad added, "And hash browns."
The rest of the Singer clan called out their approval of Gerad's choice, America heard them as if from very far away.
Maxon finished the list, signed it, and then had Astra sign it as well. She managed a close approximation of an A, but the rest looked like she'd attacked the paper with the pen rather than attempted to sign anything.
"Alright, Astra, my love." Maxon said, setting Astra down on the floor and then folding the note. "Lead our family to the dining room and hand this note to the guard at the end of the hallway. He'll have it delivered to the kitchens for us."
"Me? What about you?" Astra asked, surprised at her new responsibility.
"I'm going to sit with Aunt Ames for a minute, just a minute, and talk with her."
"I can stay." Astra reassured him.
"But the sooner you hand that note off, the sooner we have our breakfast feast." Maxon reminded her.
Kenna began extracting herself from the comfort of James' embrace and held out her hand. "Let's go, baby girl. Maxon and Aunt Ames will meet up with us, it won't take too long."
Astra looked nervous, she clearly didn't want to be split up again. She could tell she wasn't going to win this battle, just from the looks on the grown up faces around her. She hurriedly made the best deal she could, before anyone else could notice her disadvantage. "Okay, but you gotta hurry, Mackin."
"I will, I promise." Maxon pressed a kiss to each of her cheeks and then to the tip of her nose. Astra took advantage of being eye level with him to study his brown eyes. Maxon tucked the paper with their breakfast menu in her hand, and then kissed her knuckles, too.
Astra sighed, heavy with her new responsibility, and took Kenna by the hand, leading the family off.
The room was too quiet, too still with the all of them gone.
America had hardly blinked the whole time Maxon was convincing Astra to leave, and she still couldn't bring herself to focus on him, now that he was kneeling before her. She stared at the floor past him, eyes glazed, trying very hard not to think about anything.
"Love?" Maxon said, softly, tracing her cheekbone with his thumb.
"I don't want to talk about it."
"I know that." he reassured her.
"I mean, I'll talk about it later, I just don't want to talk about it yet."
"That's fine. That's completely fine." his voice was soothing, the kind of tone you'd use to hush a squalling infant.
America gulped, working very hard not to think about how close she and her own infant had come to dying that night.
"Did you end up in the library?" America asked, hoping to change the subject.
"I did."
"Was it alright?"
"Fine." Maxon assured her. "Far from the fires, far from the fighting. I had three guards in the room with me, and another three at every entrance. It was downright dull, to be honest. I missed you. I wanted to send for you and the whole family to come back and join me there, but it would have been too dangerous to have you cross through the fighting again."
Too dangerous? Like that bunker had been safe?
"It was a trap, Maxon." America felt her chest constrict, felt tears sting her eyes. She pressed her fingers to her cheeks, trying to relieve the pressure in her sinuses that always built up right before she started crying.
"I know, Love." Maxon was using that voice again.
"The whole attack was a trap for us."
"Aspen told me." Maxon said. "Rivers' report said you figured it out on your own, you got the bunker ready for attack, you saved your family and the baby, Ames."
"What?" America asked, stunned and practically outraged. "Why would he say that?"
"Is it not true?"
"I cowered in the bathroom while my family attempted to use their own bodies to save my life, every single one of them. I am not the hero, Maxon. My baby brother announced to the room that I was the one who had to survive the bunker, so my sisters, my mother, my baby niece, and my brother tried to cover me like human shields. James literally put his body between the attacker and me, and Astra clung to my stomach, trying desperately to keep that stupid promise you made her make, to protect the baby. I swear to God, I thought she was going to die in a bath of blood and her final thoughts would be that she had failed you, Maxon."
Maxon swore and sank from his knees to the floor.
America gave up trying to stop the sobs, the ugly crying she'd been holding off all night. There as no point, now that Maxon had tricked her into talking. America sat there, her shoulders shaking with uncontrollable spasms, her face contorted with pain, her breaths coming in uneven shudders, tears flooding down her face, until she felt Maxon's hand on her knee.
Forcing her eyes open, she peeked down to find tears on his cheeks, too. From where he sat, balled up on the floor, he looked like a frightened boy. The King was nowhere to be seen. The furious man she'd met when she'd reentered the Palace was apparently still downstairs, near the garden entrance. He certainly wasn't here.
Maxon squeezed her knee gently, so she placed her hand over his. He laced their fingers together and tugged, beckoning her to join him down there. It took some doing, negotiating her stomach, but she made it in the end. He wrapped her up in his arms and they leant against his desk, and he murmured, "I didn't know… the reports made it sound simple. You realized it was a trap, you had Officer Rivers prepare the bunker for attack, you hid with your family in the bathroom, the assailant arrived, Officer Rivers was wounded, but managed to subdue the assailant before any harm could befall you."
America didn't know what to say to this. That was a technically accurate description of what had happened. It was positively history book. But like a history book, it had all of the facts and none of the truth.
"I thought I'd never see you again." America spoke that truth aloud, hating every syllable. "I thought I'd die. I didn't even know… if I'd died there, would my body have delivered the baby? Would it have been born alive to a dead mother? Or would the baby have died inside me? Or would it have depended on where I was shot, how long I lived after the bullet entered my body—"
"Stop."
"I can't!" America didn't recognize the sound of her own voice. The desperation in it.
Maxon pulled her tighter to his chest, rocking them back and forth while she cried.
"That's never happening again." Maxon finally swore. "Do you believe me?"
"Yes." America choked out. She did believe him.
"We're changing all of the protocols, we're going to have a rotation so that they'll never be able to guess where we're going in an emergency. They'll never be able to find us. And I'm putting an end to K."
The anger was back, the hard edge to his words. He wasn't crying anymore. He was back in monarch-mode. His whole life, Maxon had been presented with problems and expected to find solutions. He'd been raised as a fixer. Now he was going to put those skills to the ultimate test, and fix this for her. She could tell, just by the way he was holding her. Just by the sound of his voice.
"I'm going to help." America swallowed.
"You don't have to—"
"I need to. I need to help stop K, or I'll just be sitting here, waiting to become a damsel in distress again."
"No one would ever mistake you for a damsel in distress, my love." the corners of his lips tugged upward, just a little. Just enough.
"…I felt like one tonight."
"But that's what I was trying to tell you! Officer Rivers wouldn't have managed to subdue the assailant without you! Without your magnificent mind realizing the trouble you all were in, Rivers never would have had the chance to save all of you. The assailants likely would have just waltzed into the bunker, unobstructed."
"Gerad was the one, he barricaded the door—"
"He wouldn't have known to barricade the door… I'm not saying you did it singlehandedly, Love, but you weren't helpless. You were more powerful than the best laid plans of the southern rebels. I hate that you don't see how amazing you are. I hate that you feel powerless right now."
America tried to see it from his perspective, and she supposed that he was technically correct. She'd helped save her family. Just like Gerad, Dr. Ashlar, and Officer Rivers had helped.
Maxon continued. "They keep underestimating you, those rebels. They keep thinking you'll be an easy catch. From the beginning, K has said that he'd kill you if he ever got into the same room with you. As if it would be that easy for him to waltz into a room with you and just point a gun your way. You're smart and brave and people adore you. I don't just mean your family. There's not a person in this palace who wouldn't jump in front of a bullet for you. Maybe even in all of Angeles. Your approval ratings are much higher than mine, Love, it might extend to all of Illéa, or the whole entire world."
"Excluding Swendway." America joked, weakly.
"Right." he smiled at her.
America didn't know what to say. She felt a little better now that she'd had a nice cry and Maxon was with her, physically and mentally in the same place as her. But she wasn't okay, yet.
"I'm going to feed you now." Maxon announced. "And I'm not leaving your side until I've seen you get at least three hours of sleep."
"What happened to hunting down K?" America asked.
Maxon studied her tired face for a moment and then pressed a kiss to her lips, unable to stop himself. "I'm the King, remember? I've sent my pawns out to do my bidding. They'll report back, but in the meantime I'm going to attend to my queen."
Attend to her, he did. Maxon personally pressed a cool, damp cloth to her eyes until the puffiness and redness receded, kissed her until her lips went numb, and then they finally joined the rest of the family in the dining room, hand in hand.
"Where were you?" Astra demanded, when they walked in.
"Just talking." Maxon reassured her.
Kenna's expression was concerned, but not over Maxon and America, "She was pretty worried, Maxon." There was a code in that message. Astra was not okay.
"Why?" Maxon asked Astra gently, as he and America came around to their usual seats next to each other at the head of the table. Astra was in his seat, frowning seriously. "The bad guy is gone, remember?" Maxon reminded her.
"Yeah." Astra admitted. "But you were talking for too long, Mackin."
Maxon met Kenna's eyes, grimly, and then released America's hand so that he could scoop Astra up, claim his seat, and then set her in his lap. "We were safe, though. Remember?"
"Yes, but you were talking for too long." Astra repeated, emphatically.
"Well, Aunt Ames and I were talking about the room in the woods. We had a lot to say."
"Oh, yeah, the room in the woods." Astra nodded. "That's where the bad guy came."
Maxon's eyes slowly swept the table, meeting every single person's concerned expressions in turn.
"Yep, Aunt Ames told me about that." Maxon said. "She said he came into the very safe room."
"Yes, he came there." Astra confirmed. "He was scary." She started toying with two of the forks from Maxon's place setting.
Maxon swallowed so hard, America could hear it from where she sat next to him. She gave his elbow a gentle, encouraging squeeze, waiting for whatever Maxon would say next.
"Aunt Ames said that you guys went to hide in the bathroom."
"Yeah, we did." Astra said. "The bad guy was lookin for us."
"She said you kept the baby very safe."
Astra froze at this, the look on her face turning anguished. Suddenly her feelings were too advanced for her vocabulary, and when she did find words, she sounded devastated. "That was a bad place, Mackin, I don't want to go there anymore."
Maxon's heart actually shattered as he looked at her, if his expression was any indication, and he tugged her in and hugged her tightly. "You won't. You're never going there ever again, I promise. You're safe, Astra, and you were so brave. I'm proud of you."
Down the table, Magda was unable to contain a sob, and stood, hurrying to excuse herself.
"Gramma!" Astra cried. "Don't go!"
"I'll be right back, sweetheart." Magda promised.
"No!" Astra screamed, heading quickly towards a tantrum. "Come back, Gramma!"
"It's okay, Astra, your gramma's okay." Maxon promised. "She just doesn't want to cry at the table. She'll be back in a minute."
"No, Gramma!" Astra screeched, panic overwhelming her, trying to break out of Maxon's grip and hurry after her grandmother.
"Astra, she's safe." Kenna said, sending an anxious look down the table. May answered the call for help. She stood and hurried after her mother, hoping to bring her back.
"AUNT MAY! NO!" This was too much, too soon. Astra dissolved into a full-out fit. She was yelling, crying, kicking, and squirming. Through it all, Maxon held her close.
It couldn't have been more than twenty seconds before May returned, followed immediately by Magda, who was horrified to see what her absence had done to Astra. "I'm here." Magda said, almost running to the far end of the table to be at Astra's side. "Astra, I'm back. I just needed a moment, I'm back. I'm safe."
"Aunt May!" Astra screamed, until May appeared at Maxon's side, too.
"Look, Astra, look! I just went to bring Gramma back. Now we're all here. Everything's okay."
Astra buried her wet face in Maxon's chest, hands clenched around the slack in his shirt. He rocked her, just as he had rocked America minutes before, and murmured soothing words, knowing his chest would rumble when he spoke and realizing that the sensation would be calming.
Astra steadily grew still, all that was left of her fit was an endless stream of tears and the occasional sad, soft crying groan of sorrow and unspeakable pain. No more screams, no more fight.
Maxon rocked and rocked her, never yielding for so much as a moment. Kenna had her face buried in her hands, James' mouth was a tight, grim line. No one at the table knew exactly what to do. They'd never seen Astra like this before.
Slowly, Maxon's stream of comforting words, the infinite procession of 'everything is alright' and 'we're safe' and 'everything is going to be fine' began to change. His words began to connect to one another as ideas. "The waffles are going to be here soon." he promised. "With extra syrup. And then you and Kile are going to play in the tree castle. It will be a lot of fun, and after you take a nap, you can go swimming, too. Soon it will be your birthday, and you'll turn four. You'll have a party and presents and cake and ice cream, and so much fun. After that, the baby will be born, and you can hug and kiss your baby cousin all day long. You can help me feed it and play with it and pick which outfits it wears. Then it will be Christmas, and we'll decorate a tree and put more presents under it than you've ever seen. There will be a big party, with beautiful gowns, and you'll be my date because Aunt Ames will have to stay upstairs with the little brand new baby. But that's okay, we'll bring some pie back for her." the words were slow, like a lullaby set to the soothing cadence of his voice.
Astra turned her head out of his chest and wiped her eyes, hard, with the backs of her hands. Hiccoughing, she admitted, "I'm going to be a big sister."
Maxon wiped her nose with his handkerchief and said, "I heard about that." He peered at her closely, watching her for signs of another breakdown.
"After my birthday, mommy's going to have a baby in her tummy like Aunt Ames, and when it's strong enough, it will come out and be my baby brother."
"Or maybe a baby sister?" Maxon suggested.
"Yeah." Astra nodded.
"That sounds really good, doesn't it?" his tone was hopeful.
"Yes."
"That's going to be great, I can't wait." Maxon said.
"Me, too." Astra agreed, with a little smile.
Maxon grinned back at her and took her face in his hands, pressing a firm kiss to her forehead. "I love you. So, so much."
"I love you, too, Mackin." Astra said, earnestly. "I love you a hundred!"
"A hundred?" Maxon chuckled. "Well, I love you a million."
Her eyes widened at the thought, and it truly wasn't fair. This was the first she'd ever heard of a 'million', it was the biggest number she'd ever known, she certainly couldn't count higher than that. "I love you a squillion!" she determined, excited and pleased with herself for outdoing him.
He laughed outright, a sound that warmed America from the inside out, for all he was wheezing and shaking at the invented number. "Good heavens, I'm a lucky man. Surely I'm the first King in all of Illéan history to be loved a squillion."
"You love me a squillion?" she checked, nervously.
"I love you a squillion and five." he reassured her, hugging her to his chest yet again.
Breakfast arrived at that moment, and thank goodness. Every person in that room needed a good meal. Astra and Maxon sat together for the entirety of the hour, sharing everything. Maxon was in charge of cutting up waffles and pouring syrup and making sure Astra could reach the apple juice. She made sure he knew if he was eating too quickly for her to get her fair share, too.
America was surprised and relieved that everyone seemed to be finding their appetites. Even she couldn't resist the smell of bacon. In her first trimester, it had sickened her. Now, in her third trimester, it practically sang to her.
A note arrived while America and Astra were working their way through a shared cinnamon roll, and Maxon was attacking a plate of hash browns with vigor. Justin, Maxon's butler and Mary's fiancé, delivered it directly to Maxon.
It was a slim, small square of paper, and Maxon smiled when he read it. "Ames, is the baby still not moving?"
"No." America said. "The baby hasn't moved all night." Another on a long list of worries.
"Dr. Ashlar says to drink a tall glass of orange juice with breakfast, and reminds you to get plenty of rest. Allow your body to recover after last night."
America's heart trembled at the thought of 'last night', threatening to break again. As if it could be ripped into even tinier pieces.
"Alright, then." America agreed, and Justin poured a glass of orange juice for her before clearing a few empty dishes and leaving the family to their breakfast feast.
America drank the juice while splitting the gooey center of the cinnamon roll with Astra and helping her spear her piece with a fork. Astra was pretty good with utensils, but she wasn't exactly the most dexterous girl in the world, yet. Her hand-eye coordination was still very much in development, and she needed some help when it came to messier, gooier foods.
They finished their shared cinnamon roll and America had moved on to splitting a doughnut with Gerad when she felt it. Not a kick or a punch, but definitely a squirm.
Her hand flew to her mouth and she almost started crying again, this time out of pure relief.
"What's wrong?" Maxon asked, dropping the spoonful of scrambled egg he'd been arranging for Astra.
America choked on her response.
"Ames, what's wrong? Is it the baby?" May asked, eyes glued to America's hand. America realized, belatedly, that she was clutching her belly.
"Nothing's wrong." America's voice came out weak, but she laughed. "The baby moved. That's all."
"Nothing hurts?" Maxon clarified.
"No. Nothing hurts." America sighed, relief coursing through her veins as she felt the baby wiggle again. "Everything is fine."
For the first time since the rebel siren sounded, she believed that.
There was still a good hour left until dawn, which meant Astra needed to wait a little longer for her playdate with Kile to begin. She was more than content, however, with following the family up to America's and Maxon's rooms for nap time.
America, Maxon, Astra and May piled into Maxon's bed; Kenna, Magda, and Gerad took America's bed, and James took one of the couches in the family room, needing a little more room to spread out with his additional height. America also suspected it reassured him to know that, if a rebel broke into the room, he'd be there to defend the family first.
Astra was pleased to see what had become of the 'fun chair', and she and Kenna rocked in it for at least ten minutes. They both very much approved of the baby's new room, Astra even volunteered to sleep there once the baby came, so it wouldn't be afraid or lonely.
When America overheard this, she shook her head at her sister. "I swear, Ken, one of these days… Maxon and I are just going to keep her."
"I know." Kenna smiled, peppering Astra's head with kisses. "She's the best girl in the world."
"I love you a millan, Mommy." Astra said, patting Kenna's face.
Kenna grinned, "A million, really?"
"Yeah."
"What about a squillion?"
"No, I just love Mackin a squillion." she considered. "And the baby." she thought some more. "And my brother."
Kenna sighed and met America's eyes. "Think Dr. Ashlar can put me on some of those fertility vitamins you were taking? I think we're going to have an overeager big sister on our hands, and I don't want to have to explain to her what's taking so long."
America laughed, "Definitely."
America agreed to let Astra borrow the baby's new stuffed bunny, since the baby wasn't born yet. Astra thanked the baby profusely and then snuggled in for her nap.
America expected everyone to have trouble sleeping, but they all passed out pretty quickly once the lights were off. Not a single nightmare reported.
When she awoke, there was light creeping through the drawn shades. She felt heavy, like she'd slept long enough to completely relax. Maxon was gone from her side, though she still had arms around her. May and Astra were both holding her tightly as they slept. Astra's mouth hung wide open, the most adorable baby snores coming from her throat.
America heard low, masculine voices in the family room. Though she was by no means graceful, she eased herself out of bed as gently as possible, managed to avoid waking the other redheads, and then tiptoed to Maxon's door.
She found her missing husband, along with James and Gerad, all looking sleep-tousled. It seemed like they were having a little, miniature family meeting. So far, America was undetected.
Maxon was speaking softly. "I'm really proud of you. I know that was hard to do, and part of you probably wanted to run and hide. You shouldn't have had to be in charge of barricading that door, but you were, and you did an amazing job."
"I didn't want to hide." Gerad said, honestly. He was the most earnest kid she'd ever met. "I was really scared, but I didn't want to hide. I wanted to do more."
James nodded, "That's going to make you a great guard someday. Or great at whatever else you want to do."
"As soon as I realized that Officer Rivers was trusting me to defend the bathroom, my brain just switched. It was like a puzzle or something." Gerad explained. "I made a strategy."
"A strategy that bought us the time we needed." James said, seriously. "Turning off the light, hiding us under the shower curtain, throwing the toilet paper around… It distracted that rebel just long enough for Officer Rivers to take him out."
Gerad nodded, hands folded, leant down with his elbows in his knees. "I just… I had to protect my sisters. And my mom. Everyone. That guy wasn't just coming after the Queen, he was coming after my family."
"I'm going to propose you for a royal commendation." Maxon announced. "It would mean a celebration in your honor, and someday, if you decide to become a guard, an extra patch on your uniform."
"…I didn't…" Gerad shook his head. "I only did what anyone would have done—"
"You stayed calm under extreme pressure. Not just anyone could have done what you did." Maxon said. "But if you don't want the attention, I understand. Just know that you deserve it. You, too, James."
James leaned back, surprised. "What? Why? I was on the floor with the womenfolk."
Maxon smirked at that, and shook his head. "America told me that you covered her. When it looked like the assailant was going to break through, you put yourself between her and the gun. Between our baby and a bullet."
"Coincidence." James pretended. "Astra was practically in Ames' lap. If I wanted to protect my baby, I had to shield yours, too."
Maxon shook his head, amused. "I don't think I quite believe you. What do you think, Ger?"
"He's lying." Gerad grinned. "He would take a bullet for Ames anytime."
"That's what I thought. You put yourself between that gun and my wife. That gets you a royal commendation, if you want it."
"I wonder what everyone at the office would think of that." James scratched his chin, amused.
"We're downplaying this rebel attack." Maxon continued. "We wouldn't have to tell anyone what the commendation was for, specifically. If you want everyone to know, that's one thing, but if you'd rather keep things private—"
"Private." James nodded.
"Definitely." Gerad agreed.
"Then it could just be a small celebration. Family, friends, a few of my advisers. A plaque for services rendered to the Crown. That kind of thing."
Gerad sighed, "I don't want a plaque for last night. I don't want to think about it anymore."
James nodded. "I'm with Ger. A party celebrating what happened last night would just feel… wrong."
Maxon considered this, leaning back in his seat. "So… no commendations, then?"
"Nah, I don't think so." James shook his head.
Gerad nodded, "Yeah, let's just move on."
Maxon frowned heavily. "I don't know how… you saved America's life… my wife, my queen, the mother of my unborn child…"
James grinned and stood, offering Maxon a hand up. "In normal families, instead of commendations, we give hugs."
Maxon took the hand up and embraced each of his brothers in turn. Then he rounded on James, "You're telling me crazed bunker attacks happen in normal families?"
Gerad laughed, and James ran a hand through his messy hair. "'Thank you' is enough, Maxon. It doesn't feel like it, but it is. The thing is, even though you're the King and you have to think about what's best for the country, the crown, and your family before you ever get around to thinking about what's best for yourself; I know you would have done the same for Kenna. If you'd been there, and I'd been here, you'd have covered Kenna and Astra, I know you would have. You wouldn't have thought twice."
"I'd have covered Ames." Maxon shook his head.
"I covered my wife, too, Maxon, that's not the point I'm making." James said. "If the gun was pointed at Kenna, you'd have taken the bullet. If the rebel mistook which redhead to aim for, you wouldn't have stepped aside once you realized that the gun wasn't pointed at your wife."
"You're right."
"You'd have covered Kenna, just like I covered Ames. And I know that, because we're family. And, because we're family, 'thank you' really is enough."
Maxon considered this, considered that he had a real family now, and finally nodded. "Thank you, James." James nodded, smiling. "Thank you, Gerad." Gerad grinned, toothily.
James slouched back down on the couch, "This is great. I love having dudes to hang out with."
"Dudes?" Maxon made a face. In his entire life, he'd never been called a 'dude'.
"Now all we need is May to find herself a husband, and we'll finally stop being so outnumbered by the Singer women." James schemed. "We could stage a takeover."
Maxon scoffed, "A takeover of what, exactly?"
"May does have a crush on that guard!" Gerad gushed, like he thought it was hilarious.
"What? Which guard?" Maxon asked, voicing America's exact question as if he and she shared a single hive mind.
"Officer Rivers! She couldn't stop looking at him the whole time we were in the bunker, and she helped him on the way back to the Palace."
"He'd just been shot." James reminded Gerad.
"She was blushing." Gerad grinned, almost maniacally. "Trust me, she thinks he's cute." he said the last word mockingly.
Maxon and James met each other's eyes, and seemed to be in total agreement. "She could do worse." Maxon said, with a light shrug.
"Yeah, Rivers is way better than that guy she was dating last summer." James shuddered at the memory.
"Plus, I control Rivers." Maxon mused. "I can personally guarantee he never lays a finger on May until after some kind of marriage proposal."
"See?" James grinned. "This is gonna work out perfectly."
America determined that this was as good a time as any to make her presence known, and maybe to stop them from plotting to steal any more of May's freedom. She slipped into the room, gathering her sleep-tousled red hair over one shoulder as she went. Maxon liked it when she did this, because it caused her to lift both of her arms up, and for a moment, everything below her chest was an abundance of belly.
"Ames." Maxon grinned. "You're awake."
"What time is it?" the curtains were drawn in here, too, the darkness only disturbed by the slivers of bright, disturbing light that managed to creep through.
"Just after ten o'clock." Maxon said. "You were down for four hours."
"I feel good. I feel so much better." America confessed.
"I'm glad. Perhaps this afternoon you can join Astra for one of her naps? Her sleep schedule has been seriously undermined by those rebels." Maxon said. It was sort of a joke, in that it was a gross understatement. Much more than Astra's sleep schedule had been threatened by the rebels.
"I would like that."
He nodded and rubbed her back, creating friction and warmth. "I'm glad you're up. I was about to wake you, against my better judgement. Aspen's sent word up from the dungeons. Our captive is feeling talkative."
"That's good."
"Are you positive that you want to involve yourself in this part of the proceedings?" Maxon asked. "I could bring you a detailed transcription of every word we say, and it would spare you having to physically be in the dungeons."
"No. I want to be there."
"Ames, I understand-"
"I want to look in his eyes and accuse him of his crimes."
"Absolutely not." Maxon said, firmly. "On that I will not negotiate. He will sit on the other side of a oneway mirror, he will never set eyes on you."
America could tell this was an instance of her husband Maxon morphing into overprotective father Maxon. Everything about his posture suggested defending his cave-wife and cave-baby from a wooly mammoth attack, it was positively primal.
"Alright. I can still look into his eyes from the other side of the mirror, can't I?"
Maxon shifted uncomfortably. "I suppose."
"I'm going. I'll leave if it becomes too much, I promise."
Maxon swallowed, seeming to almost physically swallow his pride. "That seems like a more than adequate arrangement for my partner, my co-monarch, and the person whose advice I value above all others. It's just a little hard to bear for my extremely pregnant wife." he explained his reluctance.
America rolled her eyes, "If you genuinely think that being pregnant has softened me, you are shockingly confused. This baby may be sucking my physical energy dry, but I've never been more of a mother tiger defending her den than I am now. Pregnancy is an extreme trial by fire, Maxon, and right now, I'm a warrior. Don't let my newfound obsession with baby socks confuse you."
"Baby socks?" Maxon grinned, pulling her closer to him.
"They're so tiny!" America gushed, and enjoyed the vibration of his laughing mouth as it connected with her smiling lips.
After the mad sprint to the woods the previous night, America had expected the descent to the dungeons to be a cake walk, particularly without her niece on her hip. She'd overestimated her own stamina, though, her body's reserves were still greatly depleted from the night before. Perhaps there had been something to Dr. Ashlar's note, advising her to get plenty of rest and allow her body to recover. She was seriously considering starting to listen to that man.
Maxon heard her labored breathing, and kept his eyes glued to her body for signs that she needed to stop. Though she didn't have a spare arm available to take his (her left hand gripping the bannister to keep her balance, her right pressed firmly against the bottom of her bump, supporting it, keeping things steady so that there would be less jostling on the baby), Maxon kept a hand firmly on her lower back, anchoring her as she went. She was regretting wearing those heels now.
Finally, they made it down. Down, below the subbasement, below the destroyed safe room, below top-secret security rooms America had never even seen before.
"You might have to carry me back up." America joked, but it wasn't a joke, and Maxon knew it when the words came out wheezy and labored.
"That won't be a problem at all."
"Really?" she liked having her mind off of her thundering heartbeat. "I'm sort of... ungainly at the moment."
"Don't insult me, Ames, remember? I can lift 300 pounds."
"I'm starting to feel as if I weigh 500 pounds." America complained.
"You don't." Maxon promised. "You've gained weight exactly as projected by Dr. Ashlar, you've had a model pregnancy. You're perfect." he added the last words with a hint of adoration in his tone.
America smiled over at him, but decided that she really would be better off if she saved her breath.
"We're nearly there." Maxon reassured her. "This is the last flight."
When they rounded the clearing at the dungeon level, America found a well-lit hallway with white tiles for flooring and grey painted walls. It wasn't exactly what she'd been expecting. She'd thought of stone walls and torches, not fluorescent lighting and the distinct feel of an office building. She shouldn't have been so naive, this Palace wasn't built in medieval times, it wasn't an ancient castle for crying out loud.
Aspen was standing at the end of the hallway in front of a reinforced, metal door. He was pacing, rubbing a heavily bandaged hand thoughtfully.
"Aspen?" America called out, still recovering her breath.
He turned at the sound of her voice. "Mer! I can't believe Maxon let you come all the way down here."
"It was touch and go." America confessed.
"I can't believe you made it all the way down here." he added.
"That was touch and go, too." America said, with a grim smile. "And don't be too impressed. Maxon might have to carry me all the way back up."
Aspen smiled, "If he won't, I will."
"I will." Maxon grumbled. "So keep your hands off my wife."
America grinned at this, but faltered when she got a good look at how thickly bandaged Aspen's hand was.
"The fire?" America asked, frowning.
"Yeah, I had to move some fallen debris out of our way so that we could get out. It's not as bad as it looks, the doctor gave me some great medicine. It doesn't even hurt now, I just have to keep it wrapped for a few days and then let him check it over and see how it's healing."
America bit her lip, worrying over that hand as she considered him. "Have you spoken with Lucy?"
"Not since the attack."
"Call her now." America insisted. "We can wait. I need a moment, anyway."
Maxon nodded, in full agreement. "Call your wife while we get situated in the observation room. Use the phone in 708."
America didn't know what '708' was, but each door in this dungeon hallway was labeled with a number. America assumed that, behind one of these doors was a room with a phone.
Aspen agreed instantly, which went a long way to show just how worried he was after last night. Lucy had definitely heard about the fire by now, and he hated to worry her.
When Aspen was down the hall on his way to the room with the phone, Maxon opened a plain, white, wooden door leading to an observation room. The reinforced metal door Aspen had been pacing in front of led to the interrogation room on the other side of what America assumed was a one-way mirror.
She could see through the dim glass to an empty room on the other side. Inside, there seemed to be a table, three chairs, and a yellow light burning overhead.
"I expected... I don't know... chains?" America smiled as Maxon pulled a leather rolling chair over for her and held it steady while she sank down onto it.
"There are chains, somewhere." Maxon mused. "But they're not a part of this. At this point, the chains have already been used."
"Hm." America was glad, again, for her weak imagination when it came to torture.
Maxon massaged her shoulders for the two minutes it took Aspen to touch base with Lucy. The room was cool, climate controlled air being pumped in from above. America felt claustrophobic for just a moment, when she thought of how far underground she was, how far she'd have to go to get fresh air. Maxon's hands helped that moment to pass quickly, though. Their presence on her muscles reminded her that he'd carry her anywhere, across continents or through war zones, if she needed him to.
Aspen reappeared, taking another leather, wheeled chair in front of a control board, and Maxon pulled up the last for himself.
"Is she alright?" America asked, as Aspen flipped switches and, with his good hand, made adjustments that she didn't understand.
"Wonderful, now that I've spoken with her. Thank you." Aspen said, pulling a small microphone, attached to the board, over to his mouth. He pressed a button, a light flashed, he released the button. Then he picked up a small earpiece and clipped it onto his right ear. "Okay, so, Mer. This microphone feeds into my earpiece. You push this button and then talk." Aspen showed her the button.
"I…push that button?" America asked.
"Maxon and I are going to be in the room with the rebel."
"Maxon, you're not—" America argued.
"I'll be perfectly safe." Maxon reassured her.
"I don't care about that." America shook her head, annoyed. "I mean, I do care about that, but I never thought you wouldn't be. I mean that you're the King of Illéa, yours is one of the largest and greatest nations in the world, you don't have time to interrogate a teenager."
"I have time to interrogate this one." Maxon said, darkly. "He threatened Astra. He knows things about the rebels. I want to hear it straight from him."
"Fine, so long as you know that this demeans you. You're too great a king to bother yourself with captured grunts from rebel militant organizations."
Maxon met her gaze and smiled. "You think more of me than anyone else."
"That's just not true, everyone knows how great you are."
"But you never fail to make sure I remember." Maxon stood, leant down and kissed her lips, and then righted himself. "I'm ready, Leger, let's get this over with. As my wife mentioned, I'm a great king with many demands on my time."
Aspen nodded once, so deeply it could have been a small bow, "I'll have them bring him in."
Aspen disappeared out into the hallway, and Maxon poured a glass of iced water for America to drink. "Stay hydrated." Maxon insisted. "If you think of anything, tell Aspen. He'll bring it up in the interrogation."
From the other side of the glass, America saw the reinforced door open. Two guards led the captured rebel, reddish blonde stubble now covering his jaw as well as his head, into the other room. Aspen came back into the control room with America and Maxon as the guards unlocked the handcuffs, ordered the rebel to sit, and then exited the room.
The teenaged rebel sat there, staring at his own reflection, looking like he was about to cry.
"How old do you think he is?" America asked.
"It doesn't matter." Aspen said, curtly.
"He can't be older than Jemmy." America said, pointedly.
"So what? He was trying to kill you."
"And Jemmy was stealing fruit off a cart, trying not to starve."
"It's not the same." Aspen couldn't believe she'd brought that up.
"We don't know what it is, yet. That's all I'm saying." America said, as the baby squirmed. Dr. Ashlar's orange juice trick at breakfast had worked, the baby was back in action now. Even after her nap, it was still active. She was glad, she liked knowing that it was there, healthy, and that she was keeping it safe.
Neither of the men looked swayed by her words, they were still staring at the rebel with clenched jaws and clenched fists, but hopefully they'd heard her. That was all America wanted from them, at that moment.
Finally, when the boy looked as uncomfortable as possible at having been left alone in the quiet room for so long, perhaps concerned that he'd been forgotten forever down there, Aspen motioned for Maxon to follow him to the far end of the control room. There was another steel reinforced door. Aspen unlatched the bolts, opened the door, and Maxon and Aspen walked into the interrogation room.
As Aspen closed the door behind them, the rebel's jaw dropped in terror. He hadn't been expecting to see the King again.
"We've been told you're ready to talk." Aspen said, approaching the table and waiting for Maxon to sit before he sat.
The rebel just gulped.
"Start with your name." Aspen said, and America wondered if she was the only one familiar enough with his voice to hear the annoyance in it. No doubt Lucy would have heard, if she'd been there.
"I'm called Marin." The rebel said, his young voice rough after the hours he'd spent locked up.
"Is that your name?" Aspen asked, shortly.
"It's what I'm called." he replied, defiantly.
"Don't make this hard, boy." Aspen warned. "You don't want to do this the hard way. Tell us your damn name."
"It doesn't matter, the revolution knows me as Marin. No one will know who you're talking about if you call me Fisher." he said, urgently.
"The revolution? You mean the rebels?" Aspen asked.
"Yes. That's what you call us. We don't see ourselves as rebels, we see ourselves as—"
"Revolutionaries?" Aspen supplied, narrowing his eyes.
Fisher did not reply.
"Well then, Fisher, can I get a full name, age, and province of origin?"
"Fisher Tracks, fifteen years old, Midston."
"Tracks?" Aspen asked. "A Seven?"
"I was." Fisher said.
"Were you stripped of your caste?" Aspen asked, with mild interest.
"Yeah, when my parents died and no one would take me in." he frowned. "Castes don't matter in the revolution."
Maxon cleared his throat, "Sevens are gone, anyway. Sevens and Eights have been absorbed by the Sixes. Eventually all of the castes will be gone."
"Eventually." Fisher rolled his eyes. "We don't have time for that in the South, we're dying now. If we want to be free, it's today or it's never."
"Is that what they told you when you joined?" Aspen had no sympathy in his tone. He'd had rough choices to make in life, too. Honestly, though, he was lucky he'd been drafted. They all were. If Aspen had never been drafted, he wouldn't have been at the Palace to save America and Maxon during the rebel attack. He wouldn't have met Lucy, and he would still be struggling to get by, supporting his family as best he could in Carolina. Aspen had won a lottery every bit as much as America had, when she was Selected. This kid had no such luck.
Fisher didn't answer. He just stared at his red chaffed wrists. "I'll answer all your questions. I'll tell you everything I know."
"Good." Aspen said, shortly.
"But I want immunity from execution."
Aspen laughed, roughly. "The penalty for attempted regicide is death."
"I've been told. But I don't want to die."
"You'd rather spend the rest of your days in jail?" Aspen asked.
The boy shrugged.
"You're not in a position to negotiate, can you see that?" Aspen continued. "You're going to answer our questions, and in exchange, we're not going to have you whipped or burned before you die."
The boy blinked, hard. He didn't like these terms. He worked very hard not to sound afraid. "My information is all I have left. I won't just give it away. Then I'll have nothing."
"You should have thought of that before you attacked the Palace."
"I was following orders."
"Then you should have thought of that before you joined the rebels."
"What else was I going to do? Starve?" the boy demanded.
America clicked the button, "His sentence will be determined later, you can't negotiate that with him."
Aspen nodded, "Your sentence will be determined later, I'm not in charge of that. I can't negotiate with you."
"Then take me back to my cell. I might not hold up forever in that awful position, but I can last a few more days. That's all Spades will need."
"Spades?" Aspen asked.
"You know… the King of Spades? We call him Spades. None of us go by our real names, it's safer that way."
"Jefferson Potter?" Maxon asked, spitting out the words.
Fisher shrugged. "I don't know his name. He's Spades, that's all I know. He likes to leave notes lying around for you. He's the one who sent me to the third floor last night."
Maxon narrowed his eyes, patience gone at the reminder of this. "Tell us what you know."
"No. Not until I know you won't kill me."
Aspen made an annoyed sound. Maxon leant back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Fine. I won't kill you."
"Write it down." The boy said, looking up, hope in his eyes for the first time. "Write it down, that I won't die after I tell you what I know. Give your word as King."
Maxon did not like this. Not at all. He'd clearly been planning to lie to the rebel, to have him executed later.
America pushed the button. "Come back here."
Aspen turned to Maxon and pointed with his thumb towards the door.
"We'll be back." Aspen said, and he and Maxon reappeared in the control room with America. Once the door was closed, America sighed.
"Don't lie to him, Maxon."
"He won't talk if I don't." Maxon said, scanning the room for a piece of paper and a pen.
"No, I mean… give him what he's asking for. Let him live out his days in prison or join the army or something."
Maxon looked at her like she'd grown another head. "Put a known rebel amongst the ranks of our soldiers?"
"I don't think he was trying to kill anyone, Maxon, I think he was just doing what the adults in his life told him to do."
"He was in Astra's bedroom." Maxon snarled.
"And if he'd wanted to kill her, he could have." America said, though the words were like sandpaper in her throat. "But he didn't. And he didn't kill James and Kenna, and he didn't kill anyone. He was caught fleeing through the forrest, not pointing a gun at anyone. He's offering us real information, information that will help you end this once and for all. That's got to be worth something."
"I don't need to spare his life, and he doesn't deserve to be spared." Maxon said, bluntly. "He wanted our baby dead."
"He wanted freedom, food, and authority figures to watch out for him. Those authority figures told him that the only way to be free was to break into the Palace and try to destroy the monarchy. He's fifteen, Maxon, he believed them."
Aspen pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to be patient. "Ames, your opinion is valuable and your feelings are valid, but you have these hormones right now…"
America's eyebrows rose. "What?"
"Not that you're being hormonal." Aspen clarified, "But you have these mothering hormones right now, getting you ready to protect and love your baby. That's wonderful, but I think it's throwing you off the trail of what's actually happening right now. If this kid had seen you and Astra in the woods last night, he'd have killed you. All three of you."
"Did he even have a gun?" America asked, pointedly.
"…He was not found with a gun on his person, that doesn't mean—"
"Shut up, Aspen." America snapped, not needing his condescending explanation.
"Ames, I will not bend on this." Maxon said, finality in his tone.
"You're going to kill every single southern rebel, even if they offer to help you?" America clarified.
"Yes. Because they've committed treason, and the penalty for treason is death."
"The penalty for cheating on you during the Selection was death, too." America said, shifting slightly in her seat so as to present him with both she and Aspen, living proof that mercy blesses those who give it and those who receive it.
"This is different. The penalty for treason should be death. The penalty for what you did… we just need to revisit those rules before our baby's selection." Maxon said, dismissively. This wasn't a dilemma for him.
"Don't you think the south has suffered enough?" America asked. "Isn't it time to lay down the guns, stop killing each other, and start helping each other heal? K was created because of this rebel witch hunt, and this boy's life is now forfeit, too. If you kill all of their men, Maxon, you'll just make more enemies. More rebels will rise, take up arms against you and against our baby, our baby's children, and then our great-grandchildren. It will never end. Someone has to show forgiveness. Someone needs to be great enough to allow for mercy where mercy can be shown. As far as we know, this boy's worst crime was joining a group he thought would save his people, and save himself. Can you honestly say that you don't understand him?"
Maxon was pale now, angry and conflicted and tense. "I don't need to understand him."
"You don't need to understand how the rebels manage to recruit new members?" America clarified.
"I will not forgive these people!" Maxon burst. "They killed my parents! They nearly killed me! They abducted my citizens and filmed their executions, and they tried to kill you and my baby, with Astra right there in the room!"
"And what part did this boy have in that, exactly? He was there, but what did he actually do? You think he killed your parents when he was 12 years old? You think he was behind the camera while K executed those citizens?" America demanded.
"I don't care about what individual part he had, that's not the point." Maxon insisted, angrily.
"You should care. That's the point, for me. You should know who the real enemies are, Maxon. This boy might be a rebel, but he's not the actual enemy. You should know that." America took a long drink of water, both to cool herself down and to buy herself a moment. "Do whatever you think is best, I won't hold anything against you. But earlier you said that you value my advice above all others, so I thought I might as well advise you."
Maxon worked his locked jaw back and forth, folding his arms tightly. He looked down. He looked up. Every breath sounded loud and angry as if flew in and out of his flared nostrils. Finally, he reached down and snatched up a blank sheet of paper and a pen and threw the door to the interrogation room wide open.
The rebel boy jumped, startled.
Aspen followed, a deep, unhappy frown on his face as he closed the door behind them.
"Tell me who you've killed." Maxon insisted, angrily.
The boy blinked, surprised. "I hav… I nev… I didn't kill anyone."
"Ever?" Maxon clarified.
"Never, I wasn't allowed to have a weapon—"
"Shut up, I don't care!" Maxon snapped. "Tell me about the property you destroyed."
"…I'm, um… I was a scout, that was my only job."
Maxon did not deign to ask what a scout was. He glared until the boy explained.
"They didn't give me the stuff to destroy anything. I wasn't allowed to have a gun or a lighter or anything like that. My job was to sneak ahead and locate resources, like farms with food or rivers for fresh water, or to find soldier camps to avoid or attack—"
"How many did you attack—"
"I didn't attack any—"
"Those deaths were as good as on your hands." Maxon insisted, furious. "Those were fathers, brothers, and sons of Illéa. How many?"
"I never stayed to see what happened, I was sent ahead." the rebel explained, afraid of how little he knew. If he didn't know enough, he couldn't be saved.
"But you were in the Palace last night." Maxon's eyes narrowed, thinking of Astra, of how frightened she had been. Of the tears on her cheeks, the way her little heart had pounded in her tiny chest until she'd made it safely into Maxon's arms. "You were in my niece's bedroom! She saw you!"
"I wasn't going to hurt her-" he promised. "I just needed a way in."
"A way in?" Maxon demanded.
"We didn't know where the Queen's new room was, and our old passageway was blocked after Haddy went rogue, that little girl's room has the tree out the window, that's why I was there."
"Oh, much better." Maxon spat. "You were only passing through my baby niece's room on your way to murder my pregnant wife."
"I could never have murdered her, I wasn't allowed to carry weapons." he explained again, emphatically, trying to cut through Maxon's palpable anger to reach a rational part of the King's brain. "We had specific instructions. Spades told us to bring her alive. He wanted to kill her himself, and to turn this palace into her pyre. She was supposed to burn here."
Maxon was having an out-of-body experience, America could see it. His anger had surpassed anything she'd ever seen in him before. Before Aspen could stop him, Maxon reared back and punched the rebel as hard as he could, in the jaw.
The boy fell to the ground, and that's when America noticed that, not only was Aspen unconcerned with stopping Maxon, Aspen was actually gearing up to throw a few punches of his own, ignoring his burned hand in favor of the burning anger he felt.
America raised herself from her seat as quickly as possible and hurried through the reinforced steel door, just as Aspen landed a sickening kick to the rebel's stomach.
"That's enough!" She called out to all three of them.
They froze like schoolboys caught roughhousing when they were supposed to be studying, all three of them.
"Can you stand, Fisher?" America asked, keeping her tone clipped.
"Yes, ma'am." He gasped, drinking in the sight of his queen, standing tall and round before him.
"Then return to your seat. The same goes for the both of you." She turned her glare alternately on Aspen and Maxon.
"Ames, get back behind the glass." Maxon said, teeth gritted hard as he raised himself up to his chair.
America rolled her eyes, "As if that boy could lay a finger on me with the two of you in here, high on testosterone and righteous indignation."
"Do what you're told for once in your life!" Maxon raged.
America lifted her chin as she turned her gaze on her husband. She didn't say a word. She didn't have to. He knew that if he continued to try to bully her, he'd be in for a very, very negative experience in his marriage.
"Mer-" Aspen tried.
"I want to know what he has to tell us, but if Maxon dislocates his jaw, we're going to have a much more difficult time using this captive to our advantage, aren't we?" America said, pointedly.
She stepped through to the observation room, downed the rest of her water, and returned with the cup of ice.
"For your jaw." She handed it to the boy.
Maxon practically pouted as he shook out his injured knuckles, completely ignored by his wife.
The boy accepted the glass and pressed it to the bloom of red on his cheek, but his round eyes stayed glued to America. He couldn't believe he was seeing her in real life.
America turned to Aspen, "I'll take your chair, Commander."
She'd never pulled rank on him before, but her use of his title confirmed that he could not, in any way, argue. He almost snarled as he reluctantly stood and offered his chair to her. She lowered herself carefully down and Aspen ripped the earpiece out of his ear before returning to the control room and dragging a chair in behind him.
"Now then," America said. "King Maxon has agreed to grant you your request and spare you from execution for your crimes of treason and attempted regicide. He's just trying to get a feel for what other crimes you've committed that might also warrant execution.
"I'm a scout. …I was a scout. All I did was relay information." The boy insisted.
"Fine. We will be looking into your record, and if we find that that isn't true, if we find that you've committed other crimes worthy of a death penalty, you will not be immune from those. Do you understand? If you're lying right now, you're as good as dead. If you tell us, we can still negotiate." America said.
"I'm not lying."
"Okay." America turned to her husband, expectantly.
Maxon looked like he would rather have chewed off his own arm than pick up that pen, but he sloppily, begrudgingly wrote,
This treasonous rebel, Fisher Whatever, can't be sentenced to death for his role in the Palace attack last night. He can still be tortured, though.
— Maxon Schre— (the rest was a squiggle, he couldn't be bothered with the A, V, or E)
Maxon slammed the paper on the middle of the table and the rebel looked it over, slowly mouthing the words as he went along. It was clear that he could barely read, and Maxon's scrawl was making it even harder. Nervous, he looked up at America.
"Take it." America encouraged. "That's yours now. It's good enough." she cast a disparaging look at her husband. "I'm a witness and so is Commander Leger. You have Maxon's word, and you have my word. You're safe, presuming you haven't lied to us."
The rebel gulped and folded the paper neatly, almost reverently in his hands. He held on to it tightly, setting aside the cool relief of the cup of ice, not wanting to lose this promise or have it taken back from him.
"Now, Commander Leger has questions."
Aspen sighed heavily, knowing it was a done thing now. He couldn't stop the pardoning of this criminal. He was convincing himself to make the best of it as he said, "Okay. So, you said you were sneaking through that beloved child's room because your passageway was blocked."
"Yes, that's what I was told. I swear, her room was just where the tree was. Her window was unlocked. If the second floor or fourth floor windows had been unlocked, I might have climbed through those. I tried not to wake her up, scouts are not supposed to be seen."
"You knew she was going to die later that night." Maxon argued.
"All I knew was that there would be fires, and that if we got… the King and Queen out into the open, we could end our struggle."
Maxon cast an annoyed, I-told-you-so look at America, who just shook her head. "Fisher… setting aside the fact that your struggles would magnify tenfold if the rebel leaders managed to overthrow the government—"
"It's the best chance we have!"
"It's not." America said. "But we're setting that aside, why didn't you know where my room was?"
"Our insiders deserted. I don't know how many we had, a few maybe. But they stopped reporting. Once they were inside the Palace, they were a lot safer. If you try to quit the rebels, they kill you unless they can't reach you. The Palace spies were pretty safe. Some of them probably agreed to spy on the Palace just so they'd have a safe place to get away."
"Would you have done that?" America asked.
Aspen shook his head, "That doesn't matter."
"Fine. Who were your palace spies?" America asked.
The boy hesitated. "I don't know their real names. I don't even know their fake names, except one. Haddy was her rebel name, they made an example of her."
"An example?" America asked. "They killed her?"
"Yeah."
"No one on staff has died…" America's words soured in her throat. That wasn't true. Someone on staff had died. Esther, murdered by K in America's room.
They'd thought she'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but what if it was more complicated than that?
Maxon and Aspen were coming to that conclusion, too. Maxon swore, "I don't believe it."
"She was one of the most valuable." Fisher continued. "She was just supposed to be a low-level maid, but she got promoted and suddenly she had access to all of this information. Supposedly, she reported directly to Spades. It was a big honor. But she hated spying… her loyalties changed pretty quickly. The night Spades killed her, she was waiting to confront him. Maybe even trying to stop him. I don't know what happened, but, he took her out."
America didn't notice how long she'd been staring ahead, unblinking, until Maxon rested a hand on her back. "She was trying to stop him." Maxon said, soothingly.
"I know." America said. "I wish…" she didn't have to finish that sentence. He knew. She wished Esther was alive, America had so many questions now. Why join the rebels? Why abandon them? Why give up her own life to try to save America's?
Aspen continued, "So, K needed to send in a scout, someone who could find the Queen's new bedroom and point him in that direction. But if the idea was to burn the King and Queen out, why bother finding them in the first place?"
"I had to keep an eye on them, follow them… oh. You. I was supposed to follow you until you made it out into the woods, and then signal the third wave of the attack to begin. But…"
"But?" Aspen pressed.
"The hidden stairs. I didn't know there were hidden stairs. I couldn't follow, so I climbed back into the tree and looked. I saw the Queen run, but the King… I mean you… I mean…" the boy faltered. He was having a hard time reconciling his idea of the abstract enemies known as 'the King and the Queen' with the two living bodies sitting across from him. It was finally occurring to his young mind that the King and Queen were actual people.
"So you signaled the next wave of the attack when the Queen made it into the woods." Aspen supplied.
"Yes."
"Fine." Aspen sighed. "Let's talk about K."
"Spades?"
"Spades, then." Aspen allowed. "What do you know about him?"
"He's crazy. And you're not allowed to defy him, ever." Fisher answered honestly. "We weren't allowed to kill the Queen or the King, he had this detailed scene he was going to play out."
"You mentioned." Maxon said, darkly. "The pyre."
"Yeah. You were supposed to be tied up and made to watch her burn, before being burned alive, too. Um… I think that's what happened to Spades' family. I mean, I don't know, but usually if one of us has an obsession like that, it has to do with the way our families died."
America nodded, "We think that's how his family died, too."
"I was on my way to our camp when I was caught, I can show you on a map." Fisher offered.
Aspen nodded, trying to contain his surprise and eagerness at this. He stood and crossed into the control room.
While he was gone, Fisher said, "I think Spades will keep trying. He wants to do this before the baby is born, he's obsessed with that."
"His wife died in childbirth." America explained. "He'd probably like a similar death for me, what with his apparent penchant for the poetic."
"How do you know that?" Fisher was impressed.
America decided on an air of mystery, "I know a lot of things, I'm the Queen."
"Oh. Right."
America smirked, amused that he'd just accepted that answer from her. He really thought she had unlimited power.
Aspen returned with a map and set it down on the table in front of Fisher. Fisher took the pen Maxon had abandoned and began studying the map carefully. He was still having a hard time reading, even though now the names of places were clearly printed.
America reached across, and both Maxon and Aspen flinched, barely stopping themselves from restraining her. "That's the Palace." She pointed the center of the map. "And those are the forests around us."
The rebel nodded, trying not to look too relieved as he counted his way to the location of the camps. Finally, he drew a circle. "There." he said.
"You're sure?" Aspen asked.
"Yes."
"Alright." Aspen took the map and pen. Fisher returned his clutch to the paper guaranteeing him his life.
Fisher took a breath, thinking things over carefully, "Spades likes parties. He thinks they show that you're out-of-touch and spoiled and soft. He wants to kill you at a party, it's… what was the word?"
"Poetic." America said.
"Yeah. It'll sound good when it goes down in history. A tyrant, ignoring his suffering people as he lives a fancy life, is killed at an overly-extravagant party."
"There was no party last night." Maxon reminded Fisher.
"Yeah, I know, that's why I think he's getting desperate. All our money is gone, our food is running out, our ammunition is low, and time is almost up. He wants to act before that baby is born." Fisher's eyes fell on America's stomach, and Maxon actually growled, placing an arm across America's body. Fisher dropped his eyes, a primal show of submission to Maxon's primal show of dominance. He continued, "Spades was going to do kill you both at Halloween, but Haddy stopped him."
"Alright." Maxon said. "That's enough. We get it."
America swallowed hard and asked the question burning a hole in her tongue. "How did you know about the bunker? How did you know I'd be there with my family?"
Maxon's protective arm instantly morphed into a soothing arm as he drew it across her stomach and let it fall to clutch her hand in his and squeeze it reassuringly.
Fisher faltered, "I don't know for sure. I wasn't there. Spades talked a lot about documents, something they stole from the Palace when they snuck in one time. That's all I know." he looked up, worried, holding his paper even tighter. Afraid that his lack of information on this topic might be enough to revoke their decision, might be enough to cost him his life.
Aspen and Maxon both leant back in their seats, thinking this over. The answer occurred to them at the same time. Their eyes met over America's head.
"My birthday?" Maxon asked.
"Your birthday." Aspen agreed.
Maxon swore. "I wondered what they'd been after."
"Protocol. Guard rotations, plans, backup plans, bunker locations, the works." Aspen sighed. "Nothing was taken, I'll bet they copied the information over."
"I'll bet Esther had already turned against them by then." Maxon mused. "That's why she didn't sneak in and copy the information to send to them. They had to come in and take it because their spies weren't working anymore."
Aspen's watch chimed and he checked the time. "We're out of time, your meeting upstairs is about to start."
Maxon nodded and stood. "That's fine, I think we've gotten enough for now. What do you think?"
"For now." Aspen agreed, also standing.
Maxon offered America two hands up while Aspen held the rolling chair steady. America had to release Maxon and place one hand on her stomach and one on her back just to regain a center of gravity and not topple over the moment she stood upright.
Sighing, dismayed at herself, she turned to Aspen, "See to it that Fisher is allowed to keep that paper with him at all times." it was another command.
"Yes, ma'am." Aspen obeyed, tersely.
Maxon took another long look at the rebel, frowning tightly, then he looked at America and shook his head. He just couldn't believe she'd forced him to be so forgiving.
"Let's go, your Majesty." America said, tugging his arm. "You have several flights to carry me up, and a full contingent of advisers awaiting you."
Maxon's only response was to lead her away.
He wasn't angry at her, that wasn't the energy he was giving off as he carried her up. But he was angry. Maybe at himself, definitely at the rebels, but she didn't think he was angry at her. He was silent the whole time he was carrying her, safe and secure against his chest, except for one moment when she said, "I can walk up a few flights myself."
And Maxon replied, "No, I don't want you to."
And that was it.
He sat her back on her feet when they emerged in the hallway that led to security room A. She straightened her clothes, checked her hair, and then called out to him as he was already halfway down the hall.
"Maxon, wait."
He froze and turned back, face blank.
"I… had kind of a terrible night, and I don't want to go into a major adviser meeting right now if we're not on the same team. If you're mad at me or you need to say something, can you do it now? Here? I need you on my team when we go in there."
Maxon softened, and crossed over to her, holding out a hand. When he got close enough, he placed that hand on her face. "I'm not mad at you. And you're not just on my team, Ames, you are my team. It's you and me, and it always will be."
America let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Good."
"Feeling alright?" he checked.
"Fine."
"Lunch after this?"
"Absolutely. Your beloved Pumpkin head is probably getting a little anxious to see you again, as you weren't there when she woke up."
Maxon frowned, considering this. "She'll be okay, won't she? She scared me at breakfast this morning."
"I think so." America said. "It was… really bad last night, but I think she'll be okay. We're just going to have to take extra special care of her for a while."
Maxon nodded, leant in for a long kiss, and then offered her his hand.
Together, they walked into the meeting.
Every security adviser was there, including Aspen, who'd seen to the rebel's lockup and then hurried up an alternate flight of stairs, still managing to beat Maxon's and America's slower, more careful pace. Gavril was there, August was there, Stavros was there, even Silvia was there. America did a double take when she found Dr. Ashlar in the room with them.
Everyone was up and bowing, the moment the door was opened for Maxon and America. Maxon helped America into her seat, then took his own. The multitude in the room sank down to their seats, too.
Stavros called the meeting to order. Aspen gave a summary of the relevant information they'd gathered from interrogating the rebel.
Maxon cleared his throat. "As I've mentioned, I'm done waiting for K to come at us again. We have a camp location, once it's verified it will be easy to raid. And we know what K is after, specifically. There is no reason to wait, when we have everything we need to draw him out."
Stavros opened the floor to suggestions. This was a mass brainstorming session, apparently.
One of the security advisers, a grey haired man with a large mustache spoke out. "Given what we've come to understand about the threat," he began, "The security council has put together a formal proposition."
"Proceed, Barton." Stavros allowed.
"One of the primary objectives of the rebel group is to assassinate her Majesty, and by virtue of assassinating her Majesty, assassinate the heir to the throne. They seek to destroy the future of the bloodline before destroying the source, his Majesty, King Maxon Schreave. We at the security council propose that their objective will be severely undermined upon the birth of his Majesty's heir, forcing the rebels to abandon their old plans and start again, finding some way to assassinate three people instead of two. Accepting that this would cause a disturbance to the rebellion's objectives tantamount to ruining all of their plans, we propose that her Majesty be escorted to the Atlin safe house immediately, give birth via cesarean this evening, and that the heir be sent to a third safe house of his Majesty's choosing, until such time as the rebel leader known as 'K' has been apprehended, charged, formally tried, and executed."
America couldn't believe what she was hearing, she simply stared, mouth agape. She wasn't the only one, there was shocked silence all around the table.
Barton continued, "We have invited her Majesty's physician to the meeting this evening to attest to the heir's health, and to the lack of negative side effects involved with delivering the heir this evening. Dr. Ashlar." Barton said, as if turning over the conversation to Dr. Ashlar.
Dr. Ashlar had clearly never heard of this plan prior to the meeting. Likely, the security council had not had time to discuss it with him beforehand. He looked bewildered, opening his mouth to say something and then finding himself speechless, twice.
Maxon met Dr. Ashlar's eyes and shook his head. It was a clear message. 'Don't'.
Dr. Ashlar nodded, grateful.
Maxon returned his attention to Adviser Barton. Then, it was as if something in the room snapped. All at once, there was an uproar the likes of which America had never heard. Every single person at the table, including Stavros, Maxon, and Silvia, began harshly worded tirades against the security council. Dr. Ashlar was the only person silent, other than America and the security council, and that was only because Dr. Ashlar was still too stunned to speak.
Finally, Maxon raised a hand, and the table fell quiet.
"Your solution." Maxon said, "Is to send my wife away, cut our unborn child from her belly, separate the new mother and baby, and wait for the rebels to admit defeat? That is the solution my security council has brought to me?" Maxon seethed. This was not the day, oh, this was not the day to test him like this.
"It's an elective cesarean, sir, women have been using this method of childbirth for centuries. Her Majesty might even prefer it to a long, drawn out labor." Barton added.
America did not deign to respond that no, she would not prefer having her baby ripped out of her body and taken away from her this evening, thank you very much. She didn't even blink. She glared, a queen of ice, until Barton appeared to understand her message. He bowed his head in understanding.
"Get out." Maxon said, to all five members of the security council. "Now."
Barton was flabbergasted, "Sir, the deliberations over K—"
"Did you hear what I said?" Maxon demanded, slamming both fists on the table. He knew that if he rose to his feet, the entire room would have to follow, but it was all he could do to keep himself in his chair.
"Yes, sir." Barton paled.
"Was I in anyway unclear? Did I stammer? Did I stutter?"
"No, sir."
"Get the hell out of my palace, and do not ever come back."
"Sir!" Barton exclaimed, "I have served on this council since your father—"
"I won't ask you again." Maxon looked likely to breathe fire. Mentioning Clarkson had been another strategic error.
"You cannot fire your entire security council at a time like this!" Barton reasoned. "Not with the rebels so near—"
"Leger." Maxon said, with a tilt of his head in Barton's direction.
Aspen leapt to attention, along with Carter, August, and several of Aspen's lieutenants. Maxon's former security council found themselves with armed escorts, handed off to guards on duty in the hallway. They were taken all the way to the edge of Palace premises, not permitted to gather their things, and no cars were called for them. They were made to walk until they could find someone in town to help them.
Aspen and the others were only gone for half a minute, seeing that the former advisers each had their very own armed guard to show them the way out, and then returning.
In the silence that resounded as the large, full room waited for Aspen, August, and Carter's return, America took a shuddering breath. She hadn't meant to, but the baby had moved and she couldn't stop herself from imagining being taken away from Maxon, sliced open, and then losing the baby, too.
Maxon took her hand and looked over at her. The expression in his eyes was a clear message. Never. Never in the history of ever. That would never have happened. She smiled gratefully and squeezed. Now that she'd lifted her eyes from her stomach, she saw a similar expression on the other faces in the room. Gavril looked practically mutinous. He likely would have taken up an actual sword, no matter that he had no sword training, rather than let such a thing happen to her. Though Silvia was the most disgruntled America had ever seen her, Dr. Ashlar was actually the most reassuring, after Maxon. His smile was sanguine, his expression unbothered, the shake of his head an unequivocal 'no'. He wouldn't have done it, no matter what his orders might have been.
The guards and August returned to their seats, the room took a collective breath.
"I have a proposition of my own." Maxon said, simply, as though there had been no interruption. "But I'll need all of your help… excluding Dr. Ashlar, who likely still hasn't slept since helping to save my wife's life. I'm sorry for that absurd disruption, Dr. Ashlar."
"I've already forgotten the entire silly thing." Dr. Ashlar agreed.
Maxon nodded, gratefully. "But I do ask that you stay, I'd like you to take one more look at America after this. I know you saw her last night, but please, a lot has happened. Just set my mind at ease."
"Of course, sir."
Maxon continued with his plan, returning his attention to the rest of the room. "I want to draw K out of hiding, and our captured rebel has given me an idea about how, exactly, to do that. K wants to kill the Queen and myself at a party. So I propose that we throw a party. When we throw a party this close to the birth of my heir, with myself and the Queen in attendance, K will not be able to resist. He'll most certainly be there. He'll want to kill us himself, so we'll give him what looks like the perfect opportunity. And the moment he reveals himself, we'll take him out. Game over."
