The Rebel (#Wattys2016)

55. 464

Skander and Jasper speed-walked through the bunker's metal corridors. Walking behind Skander, Jasper examined his brother's back. His mentor, Colonel Jay Carraway, had once said you could tell a lot about a man just by watching his back. If it was straight, he was proud to be himself, or at least pretending so. Slumped, and the man probably had a lot going on in his life. Relaxed, the man trusted you, stiff, he probably wasn't comfortable without you in his vision. And, if the man's back was wearing blue... well, it was better for both of you if he was down on the ground, dead. After all, he said, in war it is always better for you to be the one alive and for your enemy to be down. Skander's back was straight and his shoulder blades were drawn together. His red army uniform was wrinkled, but at the same time, Skander wore it like it was new and perfect. Over and over again, in his mind, Jasper read the message that had arrived.

"We were right —Ferrathynus."

Jasper clenched his jaw and walked to his brother's side.

"What happened?" Skander asked.

"I think you know that answer." Said Jasper as they turned on a corner into the screen room's hallway. They stopped in front of the metal door, and Jasper turned to his brother. "Skander, I want you to help me plan our rescue."

Skander, who had been staring at the door, turned to look at his brother. His blue eyes did not betray his emotions.

"Is that so?"

His voice was so cold, so calculating, Jasper had to remind himself it wasn't his father. No, this was Skander, the Crown Prince, his older brother, the boy who would tell him stories at night when they were younger and Jasper had nightmares. He was the son who was tortured once, twice, millions of times until he was turned into an obedient prince, a pawn. He was Prince Skander Schreave, the boy who had fallen in love with a Six, who had been tortured by her, and still wept every night for her and prayed for her return.

"Yes." Jasper said, partly because his brother was waiting for his answer, partly because he wanted to snap himself out of the paranoid daze he'd fallen in. "Maybe you can come, too, but..." he shook his head, "that's a shrink's decision to do, but I want you to help me plan it all. You're a mastermind Skander, and we'll need all the help we can get."

Skander stared at his brother for a second, and then nodded. He turned to the door and gestured at his brother to open it.

"After you, majesty." He said.

Jasper's brown eyes were amused as he turned to look at his brother and, after a second, opened the door to the screen room.

Inside, there was no pandemonium, like Jasper had imagined, but utter, chaotic silence. Soldiers and officers were staring at the door, fists on their chests. They grimly stared at their leader, not Skander, but Jasper. Screens covered the walls, old but functional, showing over and over a news broadcast. Ferrathynus was standing in the middle of the room, her uniform intact and her perfect ponytail showing Jasper, once more, how she'd escalated the ranks through the military. She stared at the second Prince of Illea, lips tight in a straight line. Jasper surveyed the room once more, then turned back to her.

"What's the situation?"

"They attacked at dawn, just like we predicted they would." She said, to which Jasper nodded.

"At ease." He commanded, and every soldier relaxed a little. He turned, once more to Ferrathynus. "They're already tattooing the news into the eyelids of every Illean, I suppose?"

Ferrathynus nodded, relaxing. She glanced at Skander, her eyes weary.

"Yes, sir." She answered after a moment's stare at Skander. "They are already proclaiming us dead. And insulting us as well."