her ingenuity. Will they watch now as they’re executed for trying to save Mara? I stare at them in the stands, my fellow Strikers. As stony as we’re trained to keep our faces, I see sadness there, resignation. Even some anger. For who executes soldiers like us, soldiers willing to fight, before the Federation comes tearing at our gates?
But no one moves forward.
Beside me, Adena and Jeran exchange looks with each other.
Then I turn to Aramin, a silent question in my eyes. What will he do?
Whatever secrets are in him, he doesn’t say. But the Speaker steps closer to him and utters a few words, then moves away, and the Firstblade continues.
“When a betrayal to Mara happens on such a grand scale,” he says, “it is only right that the consequences be witnessed by those dedicated to protecting this nation.”
He looks at us. Then he turns to face the Senate.
“Let this be the witness stage, then, for the Speaker’s treason to Mara.”
The Speaker’s face bleeds white.
I blink, stunned for a moment into stillness. Around the Speaker, the Senate shuffles their feet, unsure what to make of the Firstblade’s declaration.
Jeran’s eyes jump back to Aramin in shock.
The Speaker frowns, unable to speak. But Aramin doesn’t back down, doesn’t act like he’s somehow misspoken. He just stares coolly at the Speaker as he holds out a blood-flecked letter.
“I sent a hawk after your messenger birds last night,” he says to the Speaker, loud enough for the entire arena to hear. He begins to read the letter:
“‘Constantine Tyrus of Karensa, it is my pleasure to inform you that your Skyhunter has come back into our territory. We will arrange for his return to you as soon as the invasion is over. Regards, Ramel An Parenna, Speaker of Mara.’”
Even from a distance, we can glimpse the unmistakable flourish of the Speaker’s bright crimson stamp on the letter. They were going to return Red to the Federation, so that they could continue their experiments on him.
“This is treason of the highest order,” the Speaker says to the Firstblade, his lips curling, his eyes dark with rage. “This is a lie, and you know you have signed your own death warrant with it.”
But Aramin doesn’t look concerned at all. When I glance up at the stands, I don’t see surprise on the faces of the other Strikers either. The shock reverberates through me. They already know. I am witnessing a coup.
Only the other Senators buzz, enraged and confused. “What is this theater?” one of them scoffs with a frightened laugh.
The Speaker narrows his eyes at the Firstblade. “Arrest this man,” he calls out to the guards with him.
They turn their guns toward Aramin.
Then I see the Firstblade’s hand flicker, and in a single trained movement, every Striker in the stands rises and draws their guns. The sound is thunderous.
I stare at them, surprised by the sting in my eyes. They had not spoken for us earlier because they already knew that Aramin would turn on the Speaker.
They are standing for us.
And then it happens—here, in this tense standoff, the sound we’ve all dreaded to hear suddenly pierces the air.
It is a sound we have trained to hear since we were children, a sound that has haunted our thoughts and given us nightmares. It is the sound of the alarms on the Inner City’s double walls, designed to warn us that the last of our defense compounds has fallen.
Speaker, Senator, Firstblade, Striker—in this moment, we are all the same. We turn our heads toward the walls. As if on cue, the earth shudders in the distance. And then comes a new sound—one none of us has ever heard before, and one so chilling that it raises every hair on the back of my neck.
Fists. Thousands of them, pounding desperately against the gates in a ripple of thunder, accompanied by the screams of Outer City refugees trapped outside and begging to be let in.
The time has come. The Federation has arrived.
32
All my thoughts vanish, replaced by a single, searing goal: Find my mother and get her inside. If the city falls tonight, she won’t stand a chance out there. Already, I can smell smoke in the air, the telltale odor of burning metal that I remember from the shanties.
The Speaker is still screaming for the Firstblade’s arrest—but with the blast of one alarm, his power has been stripped away—and suddenly all I see standing before me is a small, weak man with expensive robes and a shrill voice.