The Guard by Kiera Cass Page A

coffee before you report in,” he said over his shoulder. “You look like you’re the one getting caned.”
    The third and fourth floors were high enough to see over the thick walls that protected the palace from the rest of the world, and I quickly made my way to a broad window on the fourth floor. I looked down at the seats for the royal family and the Elite, as well as the stage for Marlee and Woodwork. It seemed most of the guards and staff had the same idea I did, and I nodded at the two other guards who were standing at the window, and the one butler, his uniform looking freshly pressed but his face wrinkled with worry. Just as the palace doors opened, and the girls and their families went marching out to the thunderous cheering of the crowd, two maids came rushing up behind us. Recognizing Lucy and Mary, I made a space for them beside me.
    “Is Anne coming?” I asked.
    “No,” Mary said. “She didn’t think it was right when there was so much work to do.”
    I nodded. That sounded like her.
    I ran into America’s maids all the time since I guarded her door at night, and while I always tried to be professional in the palace, I tended to let some of the formality slip with them. I wanted to know the people who took care of my girl; in my eyes, I would forever be beholden to them for all the things they did for her.
    I looked down at Lucy and could see she was wringing her hands. Even in my short time at the palace, I had noticed that when she got stressed, her anxieties manifested themselves in a dozen physical tics. Training camp taught me to look for nervous behavior when people entered the palace, to watch those people in particular. I knew Lucy was no threat, and when I saw her in distress, I felt a need to protect her.
    “Are you sure you want to watch this?” I whispered to her. “It won’t be pretty.”
    “I know. But I really liked Lady Marlee,” she replied, just as quietly. “I feel like I should be here.”
    “She’s not a lady anymore,” I commented, sure that she would be torn down to the lowest rank possible.
    Lucy thought for a moment. “Any girl who would risk her life for someone she loves certainly deserves to be called a lady.”
    I grinned. “Excellent point.” I watched as her hands stilled and a tiny smile came to her face for a flicker of a second.
    The crowd’s cheers turned to cries of disdain as Marlee and Woodwork hobbled across the gravel and into the space cleared in front of the palace gates. The guards pulled them rather harshly, and based on his gait, I guessed Woodwork had already taken a beating.
    We couldn’t make out the words, but we watched as their crimes were announced to the world. I focused on America and her family. May looked like she was trying to hold herself in one piece, arms wrapped around her stomach protectively. Mr. Singer’s expression was uneasy, but calm. Mer just seemed confused. I wished there was a way to hold her and tell her it was going to be all right without ending up bound to a block myself.
    I remembered watching Jemmy being whipped for stealing. If I could have taken his place, I would have done it without question. At the same time, I remembered the overwhelming sense of relief that I had never been caught the few times I had stolen. I imagined America must be feeling that way right now, wishing Marlee didn’t have to go through this, but so thankful it wasn’t us.
    When the canes came down, Mary and Lucy both jumped even though we couldn’t hear anything but the crowd. There was just enough space between each lashing to allow Woodwork and Marlee to feel the pain, but not adjust to it before a new strike drove the burn in deeper. There’s an art to making people suffer. The palace seemed to have it mastered.
    Lucy covered her face with her hands and wept quietly while Mary put an arm around her for comfort.
    I was about to do the same when a flash of red hair caught my eye.
    What was she doing? Was she fighting that