then draws one of his blades. He points it at his subordinate. Then he tosses the blade to Jeran and draws a second one of his own. “Disarm me, then,” he tells Jeran.
“What?”
“You’re nicknamed the Deathdancer for a reason. Disarm me, fight for your life that you deserve, and I’ll order your release.”
Jeran shakes his head. “I won’t fight you, Aramin.”
“We used to fight each other all the time. You were the best I ever sparred with.”
“Then I suppose I’m going to disappoint you,” Jeran says.
Aramin’s lips tighten. “You won’t even fight for your freedom?”
Jeran stays quiet, struggling against the words he wants to say.
Without warning, Aramin darts forward. His blade cuts toward Jeran in an arc. There is no mercy in the movement—but Jeran deflects it with ease, bringing his blade up in a flash and clashing once with Aramin’s before spinning out of the way. Aramin lunges again, this time striking high. Jeran ducks low and twists his blade with a smooth flick of his wrist. Again, Aramin’s hit only glances off Jeran’s blade.
Aramin scowls at Jeran’s flawless technique but his reluctance to retaliate. “Why won’t you fight back?” he says through gritted teeth. He aims to hit Jeran again, but again Jeran deflects the blow. Again, Jeran doesn’t lunge for Aramin.
There’s a grief in Aramin’s voice now. “You defend others, fight for their right to live. But you don’t defend yourself against those who want to hurt you. You won’t fight for yourself.”
“Just as you don’t raise your voice against a Speaker you disagree with?” Jeran snaps.
Aramin pauses in his attack, taken aback.
There’s a flash of something wild and fierce in Jeran’s eyes. “The Speaker refuses to allow refugees to join our ranks,” he continues. “He keeps rations secured only for his wealthy friends. And as we discovered, he’s willing to sell his own country to his enemy in exchange for his own safety. But you still fight for him. Are those the orders you want me to obey?”
The Firstblade is silent, his blade still. He’s staring at Jeran as if he’s seeing him for the first time and not recognizing him at all. I hold my breath, watching.
“What do you mean?” he says in a low voice. “About the Speaker selling his own country to his enemy?”
“Ask Talin,” Jeran responds. “It won’t change anything, regardless. What good is our word, as a group of treasonous Strikers? The Speaker will stay in power as long as Mara still stands.” He shakes his head. “Sometimes you have to disobey an order to protect those you love.”
“And who do you love?” Aramin asks him quietly.
Jeran says nothing. Instead, he throws down the blade Aramin had given him and bends his knee. He puts his fist back against his chest. His hair has loosened slightly from its knot, and messy, red-gold strands hang on either side of his face.
“I came back here,” he replies, “for you.”
Aramin doesn’t answer for a long time. When he finally does, his voice is subdued. “You should have stayed in the woods, out of the Federation’s reach.”
Even though Jeran doesn’t move, I can see the impact of Aramin’s response shudder through him and the tremor it leaves.
“I’d rather you stay alive than die at my side,” Aramin adds.
Then he turns and steps out of the cell, leaving Jeran kneeling alone on the floor.
* * *
I don’t know how much time passes after the Firstblade leaves Jeran’s cell. The night settles in earnest, and my cell plunges into darkness, lit only by the faintest trace of moonlight spilling down from the grating in the side of the wall. For a while, I try to count the hours in my head. I fall into a doze sometimes, but nightmares keep me from sinking into a real sleep. I can’t tell if the dreams are mine or Red’s.
Finally, at some strange hour of the night, my cell door opens again. This time, when I straighten myself against the wall, I see no guard accompanying my guest inside. Instead, Aramin emerges alone from the darkness to stand before me.
He doesn’t speak aloud. Instead, he kneels to my level and gives me a strange, severe look. It’s a warning that what we’re about to discuss is as dangerous as if we were hunting Ghosts at the warfront.
“What do you know about the Speaker?” he signs to me.
I search his gaze and see the young man he was before he became the Firstblade. This is the person Jeran had awakened—someone so