Prodigy: A Legend Novel - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Marie Lu (www.marielu.org) is the author of the New York Times bestselling Legend series. She graduated from the University of Southern California and jumped into the video game industry, working for Disney Interactive Studios as a Flash artist. Now a full-time writer, she spends her spare time reading, drawing, playing Assassin’s Creed, and getting stuck in traffic. She lives in Los Angeles, California (see above: traffic), with one husband, one Chihuahua mix, and two Pembroke Welsh corgis.

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MAKING BLIND PROMISES

“I’ll be blunt with you. Your skills are not as valuable to me as they used to be, Day. Over the years, we’ve recruited other Runners—and now, with all due respect, adding another one to our team isn’t a priority. Your friend already knows”—he pauses to nod at June—“that the Patriots are not a charity. You’re asking us for a great deal of help. What will you give us in return? You can’t be carrying much money.”

June gives me a pointed look. If the Patriots turn us down, we’ll really be on our own. “We don’t have a lot of money,” I admit. “I’m not going to speak for June, but if there is anything I can do in exchange for your help, just say the word.”

“I’d be happy to take you in, and you’ll both be well cared for. In return, we’d ask for your help with a new project. No questions asked. But you’ll both need to pledge your allegiance to the Patriots before I’ll reveal any details about what you’ll be doing. These are my terms. What do you think?”

June looks from me to Razor. Then she lifts her chin higher. “I’m in. I’ll pledge allegiance to the Patriots.”

There’s a slight falter in her words, like she knows she’s truly turned her back on the Republic. The fact that she said yes tugs at my heart. If June is giving herself to the Patriots, then she must realize that we have no better choice. And she’s doing this for my sake. I raise my own voice. “Me too.”

Razor smiles, rises from the couch, and holds up his drink as if to toast us. “It’s official, then. You’re going to help us assassinate the new Elector Primo.”

In LEGEND, you met Day, a wanted criminal, and June, the government’s most promising asset. When June’s brother is murdered, Day becomes the prime suspect. But when they meet, the truth is unleashed, and together, they fight for revenge . . . and each other.

PRODIGY takes you deeper into the revolution. June and Day have escaped from the Republic’s stronghold in Las Vegas just as the Elector Primo dies, leaving his son to take his place. But is the new Elector anything like his father? And was joining the Patriot rebels the right decision for June and Day?

The trilogy concludes with CHAMPION, and surprises are in wait. You may think you know what’s coming . . . but even June and Day are shocked by how their story ends.

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

REPUBLIC OF AMERICA

POPULATION: 7,427,431

JAN. 4. 1932 HOURS.

OCEAN STANDARD TIME.

THIRTY-FIVE DAYS AFTER METIAS’S DEATH.

DAY JOLTS AWAKE BESIDE ME. HIS BROW IS COVERED with sweat, and his cheeks are wet with tears. He’s breathing heavily.

I lean over him and brush a wet strand of hair out of his face. The scrape on my shoulder has scabbed over already, but my movement makes it throb again. Day sits up, rubs a hand wearily across his eyes, and glances around our swaying railcar as if searching for something. He looks first at the stacks of crates in one dark corner, then at the burlap lining the floor and the little sack of food and water sitting between us. It takes him a minute to reorient himself, to remember that we’re hitching a ride on a train bound for Vegas. A few seconds pass before he releases his rigid posture and lets himself sag back against the wall.

I gently tap his hand. “Are you okay?” That’s become my constant question.

Day shrugs. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Nightmare.”

Nine days have passed since we broke out of Batalla Hall and escaped Los Angeles. Since then, Day has had nightmares every time he’s closed his eyes. When we first got away and were able to catch a few hours of rest in an abandoned train yard, Day bolted awake screaming. We were lucky no soldiers or street police heard him. After that, I developed the habit of stroking his hair right after he falls asleep, of kissing his cheeks and forehead and eyelids. He still wakes up gasping with tears, his eyes hunting frantically for all the things he’s lost. But at least he does this silently.

Sometimes, when Day is quiet like this, I wonder how well he’s hanging on to his sanity. The thought scares me. I can’t afford to lose him. I keep telling myself it’s for practical reasons: we’d have little chance of surviving alone at this point, and his skills complement mine. Besides . . . I have no one left to protect. I’ve had my share of tears too, although I always wait until he’s asleep to cry. I cried for Ollie last night. I feel a little silly crying for my dog when the Republic killed our families, but I can’t help myself. Metias was the one who’d brought him home, a white ball of giant paws and floppy ears and warm brown eyes, the sweetest, clumsiest creature I’d ever seen. Ollie was my boy, and I’d left him behind.

“What’d you dream?” I whisper to Day.

“Nothing memorable.” Day shifts, then winces as he accidentally scrapes his wounded leg against the floor. His body tenses up from the pain, and I can tell how stiff his arms are beneath his shirt, knots of lean muscle earned from the streets. A labored breath escapes his lips. The way he’d pushed me against that alley wall, the hunger in his first kiss. I stop focusing on his mouth and shake off the memory, embarrassed.

He nods toward the railcar doors. “Where are we now? We should be getting close, right?”

I get up, glad for the distraction, and brace myself against the rocking wall as I peer out the railcar’s tiny window. The landscape hasn’t changed much—endless rows of apartment towers and factories, chimneys and old arching highways, all washed into blues and grayish purples by the afternoon rain. We’re still passing through slum sectors. They look almost identical to the slums in Los Angeles. Off in the distance, an enormous dam stretches halfway across my line of vision. I wait until a JumboTron flashes by, then squint to see the small letters on the bottom corner of the screen. “Boulder City, Nevada,” I say. “Really close now. The train will probably stop here for a while, but afterward it shouldn’t take more than thirty-five minutes to arrive in Vegas.”

Day nods. He leans over, unties our food sack, and searches for something to eat. “Good. Sooner we get there, sooner we’ll find the Patriots.”

He seems distant. Sometimes Day tells me what his nightmares are about—failing his Trial or losing Tess on the streets or running away from plague patrols. Nightmares about being the Republic’s most wanted criminal. Other times, when he’s like this and keeps his dreams to himself, I know they must be about his family—his mother’s death, or John’s. Maybe it’s better that he doesn’t tell me about those. I have enough of my own dreams to haunt me, and I’m not sure I have the courage to know about his.

“You’re really set on finding the Patriots, aren’t you?” I say as Day pulls out a stale hunk of fried dough from the food sack. This isn’t the first time I’ve questioned his insistence on coming to Vegas, and I’m careful about the way I approach the topic. The last thing I want Day to think is that I don’t care about Tess, or that I’m afraid to meet up with the Republic’s notorious rebel group. “Tess went with them willingly. Are we putting her in danger by trying to get her...