By the time I make my way up, the stars have winked out of existence. Jeran is already here, staring out at the dawning landscape with his arms around his knees, lost in thought. It seems like he’s alone, until I spot who I’m looking for: Adena’s tall figure perched some distance away on a stone ledge. She’s always somewhere nearby, quietly watching over her Shield.
She glances up at me as I walk over to her. Now I notice that she’s running the side of one of her daggers against a honing stone until the blade looks fine enough to carve a roast.
“It’s one of Jeran’s,” she tells me as I sit down beside her and nod at the weapon.
I’d expected her to ask me about Red and what the hell happened during the battle. But even though I can see the question in her eyes, she doesn’t say it. Maybe she’s letting me mention it in my own time.
I nod at her, wishing everyone in the world had her heart. “I saw Jeran at the entrance earlier,” I reply. “Saw him forced to cut someone down.”
Adena pauses in her motions long enough to stare at the figure of her Shield in the distance. “You know Pietra, the Striker from one of the southern border patrols? Some idiot left a hunting snare intact near the edge of the compound, and poor Pietra stepped in it during the battle. Got stuck and bitten hard by a Ghost.” Adena looks away from me and back down at the dagger. “She escaped the snare and got back to the compound by some sheer miracle. But we all could see the Ghost’s bite on her. Her Shield had already been killed, so Jeran had to cut her throat.”
So that was the Striker I’d seen begging for mercy.
Down below the ramparts, I glimpse the Firstblade surveying the field. He turns his eyes up toward us for a moment, and his gaze catches at the sight of Jeran sitting on his own. I’m too far away to make out Aramin’s face, but he stays standing there for a long beat, watching his Striker, until he finally turns away and continues his work.
“Aramin will never say a thing about it,” Adena says softly, and I turn my attention back to her. She nods down at the Firstblade. “But he always looks around for Jeran after a battle. To make sure he survived. Sometimes I think he would have been a better Shield for Jeran. He certainly cares enough for him.”
“You and Jeran are a perfect match,” I tell her.
She finishes working on the blade and switches to signing with me. “I let Jeran cut down Pietra because I couldn’t bear to.” Her furrowed brows cast a dark shadow over her eyes. “He knows I’m terrified of doing it. So he did it for me. What kind of Striker always makes her Shield carry that burden?”
I lean against my knees and take in the brightening horizon. “We all help each other in different ways.”
“I’m a coward,” she says, this time aloud.
“You’re not,” I insist.
“You were able to do what you had to do for Corian,” she signs. “I’m afraid that if the time comes, I won’t have the courage to do it for Jeran.”
“You will.” I pause, suddenly haunted by the memory of Corian’s final sigh. “But Jeran’s the best of us. Maybe you’ll never have to.”
“Maybe.” She glances at me. “Just another day in the life, eh?” She taps on her swords. “The new hilts I designed for my blades? I put them on Jeran’s too, and he said they worked like a dream. Let him cut down some of the Ghosts faster than he could have otherwise, and probably saved his life a few times.” She forces a smile at me. “I took some notes on a few things I could improve. Remind me to add it to your swords too, Talin, and to your Shield’s.”
This is Adena sinking into her meticulous habits after a battle. But I don’t mention it. I just nod wearily in return while she stares out at the landscape, silently contemplating.
“You know how Marans tend to use the ruins as places to meditate?” she signs after a while. “Like the Seven Sisters? The Morning Rose?”
“You always thought it was a waste of time,” I reply.
“I do.” Adena rubs her neck. “But sometimes you cope by wasting time, yes? I went anyway, right before we left for the warfront, to