on the battlefield during the Federation’s failed raid, when he’d made his ultimatum and then witnessed Red’s display of power. He’d been watching us from a distance as I tried to calm Red down. And when I’d looked up again, he was gone.
Does he really remember my face from that small moment, from so far away? But I shouldn’t be surprised. Even now, I can tell that his sharp mind is whirling, trying to place the familiarity of my face.
I shake my head and look down so that I don’t have to talk.
The Premier leans to rest his elbows on his knees, then regards me closely. I have no choice but to stay where I am, my eyes lowered.
When he speaks again, it’s in Basean.
“You must be in the capital for the national fair,” he says. “I suppose you’re interested in seeing our Ghosts up close.”
His words have a slight Karenese accent, but otherwise he speaks Basean so well that I glance up at him in surprise. There is something breathtaking about his grace, the straight lines of his neck. Against his robe, his eyes take on a deep gray hue, like a storm reflecting against sunlight. He studies me carefully. I tense, waiting for him to recognize me.
Then one edge of his lips quirks up at my reaction. “My father always told me that I needed to speak all the languages of the nations I’d someday govern,” he tells me. “Learn your habits and cultures. How can I rule, otherwise?” He looks casually at his bevy of bodyguards, who chuckle in unison in response. “You need to understand your people, what they’re trying to tell you, what they’re saying to one another.” Those piercing eyes return to me. “Isn’t that so?”
He has trained in every language so that no one can sneak secrets by him in a foreign tongue. I shiver at the serenity in his voice as he tells me this in unspoken words. A part of me wants to test him on this, to sign to him and see if he can respond to that. But letting him know my muteness will only give him one more clue as to who I am. So instead I swallow my defiance and lower my head again, as if I were nothing but a stupid Basean terrified of her new Premier.
He’s silent over me. Maybe he notices the tension in my muscles and is piecing everything together. If he raises the alarm and calls for his guards to arrest us, we’ll have to try to kill him here. But that will be near impossible. The only weapons I can reach immediately are the knives in my boots, and his guards are so close that I don’t know if I could move quickly enough to end his life before they pounce on us. There might be more guards watching us right now, waiting in the shadows to protect him, ready to fill us with bullets before any of us can make a move. Even if we could—the Premier of the Federation, murdered in broad daylight in the capital? We will die here alongside him, and Red will remain forever trapped in their labs. It won’t stop their war machines or their invasions.
Then one of his companions speaks up with a terse laugh. I can’t understand him, of course, but I glance up to see that the speaker is a young man dressed in the garb of a Karensan general, standing strong and healthy in contrast to the pale, thin Constantine. He’d been at the warfront siege.
My tense moment with the Premier breaks. Constantine nods at the man’s words without looking at him. His gaze shifts from me to Adena, and then finally back to Jeran. “You’ve picked up the Karenese tongue quickly for a Basean,” he tells him. “Well done.” He straightens and gives us a nod of dismissal. “The fairgrounds are on the upper side of the city, across the bridge. Enjoy yourselves tomorrow.”
Then he’s gliding away from us with his guards in tow, falling back into conversation with his general, moving as steadily and gracefully as a Striker through the streets. A cluster of spectators watch him and whisper from a distance. They bow in a wave as he passes. I watch him go, still kneeling, my emotions tumbling from relief to rage. From wherever he is, Red must feel it too, because I sense his alertness heighten, followed by worry in my direction.