The Gender War (The Gender Game #4)(36)

Not that I was going to judge—this just gave me some wiggle room the next time Ms. Dale decided to mouth off at Viggo and me again. Yet it was also kind of sweet, to see two people who should’ve been enemies becoming so close so quickly. A smile grew on my lips when I realized that it was our story—Viggo’s and mine—being repeated by our older counterparts.

It was corny, but it made me feel that Viggo and I would have been destined for each other no matter when we met.

“You hit me,” the king practically shouted, startling me from the charming thought. His hand slapped down against the table in aplomb. “You kidnapped me. And now you want to hold me hostage until I agree to sign a pardon for you, your Matrian… girlfriend, and the very degenerates who were sent to assassinate me?” He gave a scoffing laugh, and I turned in time to see him lean back on his chair, pushing it back onto its two rear legs and rocking back and forth, his expression one of bemused incredulity.

“Yes,” replied Viggo, cool and collected. “I do.”

King Maxen’s face reddened in ire. “I will do no such thing!” he bellowed. “I will not be subject to this… to this…”

“Blackmail,” Viggo supplied as he slid a blank piece of paper across the table toward the king. I suppressed a smile.

Maxen stared mutinously at the piece of paper. “Exactly,” he said, his tone dropping into deadly calm.

I turned back to the news ticker I’d been perusing, scouring the thin piece of paper for anything regarding, well… anything. But all it reported was that King Maxen had messaged Matrus expressing his condolences about the attempted bombing in the temple, and expressing again that he’d had nothing to do with it.

The ticker was a form of technology that didn’t rely on being hooked up to electricity, and was now outdated. But many citizens still had them in their homes—even reclusive Viggo, who, based on what he’d told me during my former stay in Patrus, wasn’t much interested in the news. I wasn’t clear on the science, but there used to be a law regarding radio interference which stated that radio frequencies could not be used past a certain quota. I vaguely remembered an explanation that said the heat sinks on the antennas weren’t a suitable material, or… something technical like that.

Getting news to all their people had always been a priority for both nations, which was why every home came equipped with a ticker. I’d always been told they were hardwired, impossible for anybody outside of the government-controlled media outlets to hack, and could be overridden directly by the government in case of emergencies.

Normally, news would be given every hour, on the hour. However, the little strip of paper I was looking at had been the most recent in the pile of old ticker reports that had been accumulating in Viggo’s cabin since he’d left to bring me back to Patrus. The ticker machine hadn’t budged once since we had arrived. That was not a promising sign—it meant that the media centers and government offices responsible for overriding it had been compromised somehow… Or there was such chaos that nobody was even going to work anymore.

With bright morning sunlight streaming through the little cabin’s windows, with some food in me and at least a few hours’ sleep—more than I’d had in the last few days—it was easy to think that we were safe here. But I knew that safety was an illusion that could crack at any moment.

I thought about the plumes of smoke we’d seen marring the night sky, the fires, whole chunks of city blacked out. I had no doubt that Desmond—and through her, Queen Elena—was behind them, but just how many teams of Liberators had Desmond sent out on false premises? How long had this been in the works? How bad was it out there? With the tickers down, I could only imagine what was happening in the streets. I thought about Cad and my aunt and uncle, wondering if Alejandro had been able to get to them in time.

I pushed the useless old ticker aside and looked back at the table.

“There is a war going on,” the king said insistently. “I need to be there for my people!”

I rolled my eyes and hid a smirk behind my hand when I noticed that Viggo’s fists were clenched beneath the table.

Just then I heard the ticker click to life behind me, and I turned around, ripping off the old slip of paper as two more clicks sounded, one right after the other. This was normal, indicating the system was being reset. I took a deep breath and waited. After a long moment, a soft, rapid clicking began as the paper tape was slowly pushed through.

I began reading as it came out, and frowned, my mind digesting the words in growing horror. The tape spewed out for at least a minute, half of which was spent printing warning messages for people to stay in their homes for safety during these dark and troubled times.

I ripped off the tape and turned back to the table, staring at the king and Viggo, who were oblivious to me, too deep into their argument.

Clearing my throat, I stepped up to the table and handed the tape to Viggo, who frowned as he read it.

“What is it?” Maxen demanded, his goatee practically bristling with indignation that I had handed the tape to Viggo first.

“There’s no easy way to say this,” Viggo said slowly, “but apparently, they think you’re dead—you must have died in the terrorist bombings that hit…” Viggo’s brow furrowed, and I remembered that this country was where he had grown up, spent all of his life until now. “The state house at the city center, the warehouse district, the docks… the downtown business center… the military training base and several wardens’ stations, several key officials’ houses and offices…”