brave and headstrong on the warfront that he’d been tapped to lead us at an unusually young age. I remember the letter he’d written to Jeran, warning us all so that we could flee for the Federation. Now Aramin has come to see me in secret, risking his standing in an attempt to get the truth.
Aramin sees my hesitation, but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he waits patiently.
“Our mission failed,” I sign, “but it would have succeeded. Adena’s discovery would have disconnected the Ghosts in the Federation’s lab complex from their masters. And for a while, we even saw it in action.”
“What happened?”
“The Federation knew, somehow, that we were on our way, that we had entered their territory and were on a mission to destroy their links with their Ghosts. Their Premier told me they had been expecting us, all along. He had been informed of our arrival.”
The Firstblade’s eyes pierce mine. He already knows what I’ll say next.
“Aramin,” I tell him, “our Speaker made a deal with the Federation’s Premier in exchange for his own life being spared after Mara falls.”
He looks away, pale with the realization, and fixates on the torches flickering outside my door. “What deal?” he asks.
“The Speaker warned them that we would try to disrupt their links with their Ghosts. He told them what we had discovered, and it gave the Federation enough time to create an antidote to Red’s blood.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“The Federation’s Premier himself told us.”
“Have you told anyone else?”
“No.”
“Good.” Aramin’s lips tighten. “If the Speaker hears about this accusation against him, there will be nothing I can do to save you.”
“Will you save us now?”
A wry smile appears on his lips. “Perhaps my chances are better.”
I return the smile with a somber one of my own. “There’s nothing you can do, is there?”
He’s quiet, and for the first time, I think that this soldier, who I’ve never seen weep, who is somehow capable of bearing the weight of leading us all, who gave me the chance to escape the Outer City, looks helpless.
“I’m sorry, Talin,” he signs.
I just shake my head. “We’re going to lose, anyway,” I respond. “Maybe it’s better to die at the hands of Marans.”
Aramin searches my gaze. Then he rises to his feet. “Well,” he responds, “if we’re going to lose, then perhaps we should do it right.”
31
The night passes. I twitch in a restless sleep. Every sound outside my cell door—echoes of the guards’ boots as they change shifts, voices and distant shouts from other prisoners—makes me stir, thinking that the Firstblade has returned to see me or that the Speaker has sent someone to have me killed. But no one comes.
Red. I reach out again through our link. I’ve been calling for him regularly through the night, in the hopes that he might somehow hear me, but if he does, there’s no answer. I imagine him breaking loose of his bonds, cutting through all his chains and slaughtering the guards. But he won’t do such a thing, not when our lives might be at risk, when we need everyone to push back against the oncoming Federation.
What will happen, though, if they do choose to execute us? Will Red be forced to save us and carry us to safety in the wilderness, abandoning everyone we know here?
Even though Red can’t hear my exact words or thoughts, I summon the hope that he can feel what I’m thinking. A moment later, I sense the push of his emotions through the bond, his undercurrent of anger at the thought of us being led out to the arena to be killed. He would do it, I realize. He would stop at nothing to protect us.
The day drags on without any visitors. I start to wonder if something has happened to Aramin. What if the Speaker had him arrested—or murdered? In the cell below me, Jeran paces, his wrists flicking as he practices his forms. Sometimes he glances up through the grate, his eyes searching for mine. When he finds me, his gaze is hollow with despair.
“No news?” he signs up to me.
I shake my head, and he turns away to continue his pacing. He must be wondering the same thing about Aramin.
Another night comes. Then a third day, a fourth. Jeran’s pacing turns more frantic, and the bond between Red and me ripples with unease as we continue to wait. None of the guards who visit my cell can understand signs, so I am powerless to ask them