Iris~~

One thing I never expected to do was to curl up in a chair in the Preeminence's office wearing sweatpants. While Jonas in the other guest seat does not wear sweats, his blazer is off and his button-up shirt is loosened. In each of our laps lies a French textbook. Lesson One is phrases, like how to say, "My name is" and how to express how I am feeling. Since Jonas speaks French fluently, he suggested he help me with the basics. He could always find me a tutor later.

"Je m'appelle Jonas," he says it slowly, enunciating each sound so I can hear it and dissect it.

I take a deep breath. "Bonjour . . . Je m'ap . . . pelle Iris." The words feel thick and tangled in my mouth, but Jonas nods encouragingly, and I try saying it again, and again, and by the fourth time, the words don't feel so stuck.

Jonas grabs a piece of notebook paper and begins writing something down. Probably words I should review. He pauses in between words, his pencil hovering over the paper. "I'm sorry for what my sister said."

I fidget with the corner of the paper. "It's nothing Erik wouldn't have said."

"Still."

I shake my head. "I'm fine. Really." This morning was my first time at breakfast. It being the third day since we returned, I knew I needed to. I couldn't hide forever. Jonas arranged a spot for me at his table, so I wouldn't be thrown into the lion's den of Society members I don't know and who all are rightly still suspicious of me. It was when I was taking my first bite of food that Gwen muttered how she hoped the food wouldn't kill me. It took a firm hand from Jay-yeon to keep Erik from splashing his water in her face. Gwen didn't say anymore, only returned to her breakfast as if she hadn't said a word. Erik was convinced my food was poisoned and then gave me his, with his half-eaten quiche and sausage.

"I'm going to talk to Gwen after this," Jonas says.

"Please don't." In my haste, I shut the book, losing the page. "I don't want her to think it bothers me."

He frowns. "If that's what you want."

"It is." I thumb through the pages again, trying to find the third page, which would be easy if the third page was actually page three, but the first dozen or so pages are in Roman numerals. "What are the markings on your door?" I noticed the symbols carved into the wood of the door the first time I came to his office but wasn't sure if I should have asked about them. I'm still not sure.

"The numbers one through twelve in Amorian. Though the actual words for the numbers are different than our titles. I'm sure you've noticed that our titles are similar to words found on Earth. We don't know if a long time ago Amorians heard them and adapted them, bringing them back to Amoria. But the symbols are true to Amoria."

"What languages do you speak?"

"Well English and French as you know. But I also speak Spanish and Amorian."

"Can you say something in Amorian?"

He props his elbow on the armrest and sets his chin on his fist. "Alevia qui quoelle moleve qui soleil."

"It's beautiful. What does it mean?"

"It's a bit personal."

I frown. "Something about your greatest fear?"

His face looks a bit forlorn. "Something like that."

"Does everyone in the Society speak the same languages?"

"No. We are all taught Amorian, but the other languages we learn are up to us, and for the Order, we're required to be fluent in four languages. Colton speaks Italian and Russian, Gwen French, Danish, and Swedish."

"Erik?"

"Afrikaans and German."

I rub my arm. "I don't know if it's allowed, but if it is, do you think it's possible for me to learn some Amorian?"

"I think French is more pressing."

I fill in the circles in the P's on my notepaper. "Twenty years from now, if I'm still alive and in France, so much of this is going to feel like a dream. Let me take a few words with me so I can convince myself one day that I didn't make this all up in my head. If I go, I'll have the rest of my life to learn French."

He scratches the back of his head. "You think you'll have a hard time remembering us?" Remembering me is what he doesn't say.

"Not you, of course not, but what it's like here. It might as well be a different world." I pause, lowering my pencil. "I would miss you, you know."

His eyes snap to mine, and he looks startled. "You would?"

I close the textbook, my shoulders sagging as I lean forward in my seat, bringing me just slightly closer to him. "Of course." I'm certain it would be hard to say goodbye.

He looks down at the book in his lap. "It's for the best that you go."

His words sting because I know they're true.

*****

Later when I'm leaving his office, I find Erik approaching from down the hallway, holding a piece of paper of his own. I try covering the textbook with my notebook paper, but it's too late for him to miss the title.

"French?"

I shift my weight to my other foot. "Yeah, it's Jonas's idea."

He arches an eyebrow. "Why would . . ." He swears. "He's going to export you to France?"

"Export?"

He shoots his eyes up the hall to where Jonas's office is. "The Society's preferred word for exile. He's really going to let you go?"

"Why is it the preferred word?"

"Exile is for humans. You export goods. It's about making people less than human. But, Iris, you're leaving?"

"I haven't decided, but no one wants me dead in France."

"The Society won't let you leave, not with your Mark. I don't know why Jonas thinks he could get around that."

"As I said, I haven't decided."

"I know we haven't been on the best of terms." He places his hand on my arm, and I flinch. Drawing in a sharp breath, he pulls his hand back. "I want to be friends again."

"Even if I go to France?"

"You won't. Even if the Society lets you, Jonas won't."

Sighing, I shift the textbook and papers into the crook of my other arm, its weight and shape awkward. "I don't want to talk about what Jonas will and will not let me do. Mainly because you don't even seem to know yourself." We're not so far away from his door that Jonas can't hear us. "It seems like it's all you want to talk about. Tell me about you. How are you doing?"

He looks annoyed. "My parents have barely spoken to me. I can't say I mind."

"You don't have to lie to me."

He sighs, leaning against the wall. "I wish they just expected me to be their son. Not a ruler."

"You're telling me you don't like power?"

"I don't like responsibility. And this much power comes with a lot of it."

"If you hate the Society because you don't agree with them, why don't you change it? You're in a position to. You can help steer it toward a path that you want it to be on. Why are you so eager to throw that power away?"

"I'm outnumbered in the Order. It's me against eleven of my cousins."

"Are you so sure you're the only one who wants to set a different course?"

"You know what my father's Order was like."

"Yes, and I also know that you have a chance to decide what this Order will be like. Whether or not you want it, you have power, Erik. And I'm sorry because I know you don't want it, but you've been given responsibility. When we first met, you wanted to change the Society. Do you not still want that?"

He looks down at his hand where he clutches a piece of paper. "I have to review this with Jonas. Excuse me." He steps around me and knocks on Jonas's door before stepping inside. I watch the door close wondering if Erik would even try to change to change the Society if the entire Order came to him and asked for his help in doing just that.

I had thought the only option was destroying them. But it's not. That's what the rebels wanted me to think.

I don't trust the rebels. Not any longer. They've hurt me and turned their backs on me not once but, as I've recently learned, throughout my whole life, starting with the day my aunt and uncle gave me over to an orphanage to train me as a rebel.

I can't follow their methods, believe in their teachings about the Society, when I myself am getting closer to the heart of the Society. If Jonas and Erik would set aside their differences, I know they could change the Society. They'd be a force that I'm not sure could be stopped.