But how many more sieges can we withstand before Mara falls? Every time, the Federation pushes a little farther into our territory. Someday, they will push past our walls.
Ahead of us, Jeran looks back our way and notices me for the first time. We exchange a wordless nod.
“May there be future dawns,” I sign to him.
In this moment, Jeran’s expression looks a century old rather than the twenty years he is. But he manages to give me a weary smile. “May there be future dawns,” he signs back.
Adena does the same beside me. As she signs, I ponder on her words. Then I think of the link between Red and me, beating steadily between us.
“You say you want to learn how to create like the Federation,” I finally tell her. “Well, I think you’re about to get your chance.”
She casts me a sideways glance. “Why’s that?”
“It’s about Red. I think we’re going to have a problem, and the problem is that everyone is going to want a piece of him when we get back to Newage.”
We both stare out at where Jeran sits. Adena doesn’t disagree with my statement. After a silence, she signs, “Is the Skyhunter awake yet?”
Not Red. The Skyhunter, the monster she’d witnessed on the battlefield. “He was, briefly,” I decide to tell her.
“Did you ask him what the hell happened in that battle?”
I hesitate, wondering how much to admit to Adena. “I did,” I sign. “I still don’t understand it all, except that he is the next iteration of the Federation’s experiments. Red is a weapon of war. He says the Federation is developing others, but he is the first.”
“Ah. That’s why their Premier came here looking for him.”
“The Speaker is going to want to use him immediately to fight in the war.”
“Why shouldn’t he?”
I hesitate. “Because as deadly as he was on the battlefield, that’s not the part of him that will win this war for us.”
For the first time, Adena turns her whole body to face me. She’s caught something in my gestures. “You’ve discovered something else about him?” she signs.
I nod. “I don’t think Red is just a weapon. I think he’s our key to destroying the Ghosts.”
12
The National Hall in Newage is festive tonight. News of our victory at the warfront has cheered everyone, even though every Striker knows that it wasn’t really a victory at all. The Federation has pushed farther into our territory. We’d lost dozens of Strikers and soldiers in the fight.
Still, barely a week after we returned from the warfront, the National Plaza is crowded with Marans dressed in their finest silks, laughing and drinking as if death weren’t perched right outside our walls. Where an entire Outer City lies open and vulnerable. Where my mother lives.
“Of course they’re celebrating,” my mother had told me when I visited her after our return. “You’re still alive, and Mara still stands.”
I leaned my cheek against my hand and watched her crush eggshells into her plants’ soil as fertilizer. “Is it standing,” I signed at her, “or is it just falling slowly?”
She frowned at me. “How did I raise such a pessimistic daughter?” she signed back.
“You raised one who doesn’t like cheering when her mother’s still stuck outside the gates.”
“Go,” she scolded me in Basean. “Celebrate. If Karensa really is going to march here, you might as well get your food and wine while you can.”
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you want me to be drunk.”
“Remember me as a supportive mother.”
Now I keep my head down as I head in through the National Hall’s front doors. I’ve been in here before, of course, during banquets and ceremonies where Strikers have been invited, but all my senses are still alert, as if navigating among the wealthy elite of Mara is the same as stalking Ghosts in the narrow passes. The differences are minute.
My hands tug incessantly at the folds of my dress—one of Adena’s that she’d lent me from her closets—as I search the crowds for the others. It’s pretty, I’ll admit, long-sleeved and a lush silky yellow, belted with a wide gold waistband that elongates my figure, and my dark hair is tied up in an elaborate series of braids, dotted throughout with bejeweled combs and dangling jewels. My skin is covered with a thin layer of oils that give it a subtle glow, and my eyes are lined with black powder, emphasizing the green of my irises and