his folded arms stiffen, and his body turn subtly toward Jeran in a protective stance. Jeran doesn’t look up at all. I’m reminded of the many times he’d be alone in a corner at the mess hall, nose buried in a book while the rest of us ate. I think back to how many times he’d taken the exams to qualify for a position in the Senate and please his father. How disappointed he’d been when he failed them.
Senator Terra turns his attention to Red. “So this is the prisoner who caused a scene in the arena,” he says to Aramin.
“He was the scene,” Aramin answers. He nods at me. “Although Talin seems to have stolen it.”
“I see.” Jeran’s father glances thoughtfully at me before saying, “Is it wise to let a prisoner traipse around like this?”
“He’s weaponless in a hive of Strikers,” Aramin replies. “I assume he is a failed soldier of the Federation. Let Talin wear out her punishment.”
Wear out my punishment—meaning until Red is killed, which will almost certainly happen soon, given his complete lack of training and weapons and anything resembling armor. He will be thrown onto a field in the warfront with me, and I will watch him die defenseless. That is, if I’m not killed first.
The same thought must have crossed Senator Terra’s mind, because he replies, “In a few days, then.”
“Don’t be so sure, Senator.” The Firstblade looks at me. “Perhaps she’ll get some useful information out of her Shield by then.”
The Senator sniffs and turns back to face his younger son. “When you finish here, Jeran, I want to see you back home. The gardeners need help cutting the roots of that dead oak.”
“Father.” Jeran clears his throat uncertainly. “I think I need to be at the arena until—”
It happens so fast. My hand has barely gone to the hilt of my sword before Senator Terra seizes Jeran by the hair and yanks him forward hard enough to throw him off balance. A strange, terrible giggle comes from Jeran, and when I glance at his face, it’s blank from fear.
I start to pull out my sword, but the Firstblade acts before I can. One second, he’s standing with his arms folded; the next, he’s moved in between Jeran and his father. He grabs the Senator’s forearm; his fingers close hard enough against the Senator’s skin to wash it of color.
The Senator glances at him in mild surprise.
“Remember your place, Senator,” Aramin says, his voice calm, but underneath it I can hear a dangerous edge. “Your son will be at the arena today for his training, at the request of his Firstblade.”
The Senator doesn’t look at him. All he does is hold Jeran tightly, fist in his hair, until finally the pressure from the Firstblade’s grip makes him let go. Jeran stumbles, dirt soiling the bottom of his coat. When Adena approaches him in concern, he just holds up a hand at her and shakes his head. He’s still making that awful giggle.
“It’s fine,” he says to her. “I’m fine.”
Even Red has tensed beside me.
Aramin meets the Senator’s stare without a flinch. I imagine the man sneering, telling Aramin that he can do what he likes with his son. But the Firstblade outranks us all, even both Senators here, so at last, Jeran’s father bows his head with a chuckle. “Shall we move on to the catapults?” he says. “My son and I are interested to see what the Senate’s funding package has yielded.”
He says this casually. As if he hadn’t just attacked his second son a moment earlier. As if Jeran weren’t still standing before him, trembling harder than he’s ever done before a pack of Ghosts.
The Firstblade nods. “After you.” He waits until the Senators have passed him before he turns to Jeran.
“I’m all right,” Jeran says before Aramin can speak. “Thank you.” He wears a tight smile on his face, but his brows are knotted and his eyes glossy. His voice sounds hoarse with the effort of holding back tears.
The fierce light has gone from Aramin’s eyes, leaving a concerned expression on his face. He looks like he wants to say something more to Jeran, then hesitates and decides against it. Instead, he frowns at me. “Don’t attempt to draw your blade at a Senator,” he tells me in a low voice. His words are stern, but empty of anger. “I have enough to deal with, explaining away your antics in the arena. My power to protect you has its