Love is a Choice

2.

I can trace back to that day in the library as the day everything changed. I don’t know if it was my words that affected Mag or if it was seeing her grandfather on Phydus, but that smoldering ember grew into a flame. First she read the books I had spread out on the table—all of them. That took her nearly a month, but although she was silent and reserved, I could tell that her passion was only growing.

Then one morning, Eldest makes an announcement.

He coms everyone just as the solar lamp turns on the 132nd day I’ve been in hiding, ordering them to meet at the statue of the Plague Eldest in the garden behind the Hospital. Mag goes early, but even though so many months have passed and I think I would blend into the crowd, I fear getting too close to Eldest. Instead, I watch from the art gallery’s windows in the Recorder Hall.

Eldest takes the grav tube from his level to this one. He doesn’t avoid the Keeper Level, but he does make sure that every time he graces the lowest level with his presence, people notice.

He moves quickly from the grav tube entrance down the path, toward the garden. He carries something in his arms, something bundled up and wiggly. I press against the glass to see what he has—and as soon as I do, Eldest pauses and looks up at the Recorder Hall. I draw immediately back into the shadows, afraid he’s noticed me, but his attention is quickly diverted back to the thing in his arms.

The sleeves of his elaborately embroidered robe slip, and I dare to lean forward, straining to see. . . .

A baby.

He’s carrying a baby.

My replacement.

I watch as Eldest carries the baby all the way to the garden, and then raises it up for  the crowd to see. I don’t need to hear his words to know what he’s saying. He’s saying this child is the new heir. He’s saying this baby will reign after him now that I am—apparently—gone for good.

I turn away before the crowd starts to disperse and trudge down to the civics book room. The books Mag has been reading are still scattered on the metal table, with tabs and notes sticking out of many pages. She didn’t divide the books up by right or wrong, Eldest or not, as I did; instead, she’s found something in each title.

I’m just not sure what.

I hear the heavy front doors open—she’s back. I rush out of the book room and toward the hall that leads to the main entryway. I’m almost to the front when I hear Mag speak in a loud, ringing voice.

“Just this way, sir!”

I immediately press against the wall, hoping that the shadows of the poorlylit hallway are enough to hide me. Sir. That could only mean—

“Thank you,” Eldest’s voice says, much softer, but the sound is one I’ll never forget.

Another sound wafts through the Hall and into the shadows where I lurk: a whimper. Barely audible, soft and gentle. The baby.

“He’s a handsome boy,” Mag says, but her tone belies her friendly words.

The baby huffs as, I think, Eldest shifts him in his arms. I dare to glance around the doorway—Eldest and Mag are facing the other direction, toward the outer door, and the baby, over Eldest’s shoulder, is looking directly at me.

I meet his wide, dark-brown eyes. He can’t be more than a few days old. He stares intently at me, as if there is meaning behind his gaze, but there’s not. He’s just a baby. Already entwined in Eldest’s dark plots.

He will be raised just like I was. Passed from family to family until Eldest decides to start training him. Thrust into his role too young, far too young. Eldest will expect him to know everything from the moment he begins training. He’ll be punished for silly things, like asking too many questions or walking too fast or stomping too loudly in the Keeper Level. He’ll live for the rare moments when Eldest smiles or—even better—lets a compliment fall from his lips. He will spend his whole life questioning whether he’s good enough, fearing that he’s not. He’ll listen to every single word Eldest says, try to uncover meaning in every intonation, and seek with his entire self the hidden secrets he’ll need to know to be a good leader after Eldest.