Once An Eve Novel

forty-one



THE JEEP MOVED QUICKLY, SPEEDING THROUGH STREETS ROPED off for the parade. Thousands of people leaned over the barricades, still cheering for their Princess, searching the route for signs of her. I was hunched over in the backseat, curled in on myself, unable to believe what had happened. My hands were scraped from when they’d taken me from the hangar. I’d struggled in the soldier’s grip, trying to grab onto anything I could, but they’d dragged me away before I could get to Caleb.

Caleb has been shot, I told myself. I saw his face again as the bullet went through him. He was alone there, on that cold concrete floor, the blood spreading out beneath him.

We sped up the Palace’s long driveway. They ushered me inside, past the marble fountains. The main floor had been emptied out for the wedding, our footsteps sounding down the hollow hall. Reginald was the only one there. He was pacing outside the elevator, that stupid notebook in his hand. He bit down on the end of his pencil.

“Stay away from me,” I said, already imagining the story that would run the following day—how enemies of The New America had been caught the morning of the wedding. How the citizens were all so much safer now. “Don’t even try.”

“Can I have a moment with the Princess?” Reginald asked the soldiers, ignoring my comment. “She needs to be debriefed before she goes upstairs.” The soldiers cut my restraints and stepped away, watching us.

“What do you want?” I asked when we were alone. I rubbed at my wrists. “Some quote about what a joy today has been?”

He rested his hand on my shoulder. His eyes darted to the soldiers, now stationed along the walls of the circular lobby. “Listen to me,” he said slowly, his words barely above a whisper. His face was calm. “We don’t have much time.”

“What are you doing?” I tried to push him away but he came closer, his hand still on me, his fingers digging into my skin.

“It’s over,” he said softly. “As far as you are concerned there is no Trail, there are no more tunnels. You never met Harper, or Curtis, or any of the other dissidents. As far as you know, Caleb was working alone.”

“What do you know about Caleb?”

Reginald looked down. “A lot. Harper and Caleb died today, fighting against this regime.”

I shook my head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Look at me,” he said, squeezing my shoulder. He didn’t stop until my eyes met his. “You know me as Reginald—but others know me as Moss.”

He stepped back, letting his words sink in. I stared at his face, seeing him for the first time, the man who was always scribbling in that notepad, running stories in the paper, clipping quotes to suit his needs. This was the same man who’d helped Caleb out of the labor camps, who’d helped build the dugout. He was the one who’d organized the Trail. “Caleb’s dead,” I repeated. A numbness spread out in my chest.

“You have to continue on as though this never happened,” he continued. “You have to marry Charles.”

“I don’t have to do anything.” I struggled free from his grip. “What will that accomplish?” The sound of cheering swelled outside the Palace’s front entrance.

“You need to be here as the Princess,” he whispered, his lips an inch away from my ear. “So you can kill your father.”

He stared at me intently. He didn’t say anything else, instead flipping open the pad and pretending to make notes of our conversation. Then he signaled the soldiers back over, following us into the elevator in complete silence.