studying my face, searching for something dishonest, something I’m hiding.
I bow my head again and sign with my hands. “Because I felt sorry for him, sir.”
Jeran translates aloud for me. The Speaker regards me carefully. If he doesn’t believe me, he doesn’t say it. Instead, he nods at Red. “Let me see.”
At that, Aramin steps around the table and comes to stand in front of us. He draws his blades. “With all due respect, sir,” he says, “this may be dangerous.”
“I can’t very well discuss something I have no knowledge of, can I?” The Speaker lifts an eyebrow. “I want to see what this Skyhunter can do. Show me the physical transformation.”
I nod at the Firstblade’s hesitation. Then I take a few steps away from Red. Through our link, I send him a thought.
He wants to see your wings, Red, I tell him.
His lips tighten, and for a moment I wonder if he’s unable to do it on command, that he can only transform if in an emergency. That if he does transform, it will be like that night, when he lost himself so thoroughly that he couldn’t pull himself back.
But Red nods in response and turns to face the Speaker. I gasp. Through our bond, I feel the intoxicating rush of his strength. It’s impossible. Where does it come from? It floods his every vein, as if replacing his blood with the ocean, the air in his lungs with a storm’s gale. The sensation leaves me trembling.
Then Red’s wings unfurl behind him in a ripple of black metal. I can only look on in horrified awe as they expand, wider and wider, each feather a deadly, dark blade, stretching to either side of him until they reach the edges of the chamber.
He no longer looks like a human. He looks like a machine, built for death.
Aramin takes a step back. Even his sharp frown wavers now in the face of Red’s transformation. The Speaker watches with an unchanging expression, but I can see his hesitation in the stiffness of his posture. Beside me, Jeran rests his hands on his weapons, while Adena’s lips move unconsciously, as if she were already calculating how the Federation had managed to create such a thing.
I wait to see if Red’s eyes will glow, as they did on the battlefield, but they stay dark and unblinking on the Speaker.
“It’s true, then.” The Speaker finally nods at Red. “The Federation has done their work on you.” Then his gaze shifts to me. “What are you proposing?”
The link between Red and me tightens like a bowstring. I bow my head again, then sign my answer to the Firstblade. Jeran says my words aloud: “The Federation is capable of controlling their Ghosts. They attack only those who aren’t part of the Federation’s army. We’ve known this for decades. The same should be true for this prisoner—and yet, he doesn’t answer to them. Instead, he holds the key to what we need.”
Jeran nods here to Adena. She steps forward, her energy crackling nervously in the air. “Ghosts do not obey the Federation simply at their creation,” she explains. “The poison they ingest permeates every inch of their blood.” She takes a deep breath. “But this Skyhunter is proof that the Federation can make mistakes.”
“What kind of mistakes?” the Speaker asks.
Adena glances at me, hesitant. “The Skyhunter tells us that the Federation uses a mental link between themselves and their creations to force them to obey. But Red escaped into our borders before his link could properly set. He has instead bonded with Talin, and in a way that does not involve control from either end. I believe this is because the Federation creates this link in a multistep process—first establishing the link, then asserting their authority through it. Red only experienced the first step. It means that even though neither he nor Talin control each other, they are able to communicate with each other through their link.”
This surprises the Speaker more than Red’s wings. He looks quickly at me, eyes narrowed in suspicion, and searches my gaze for evidence of something supernatural. “You’re sure of this?”
I look at Red. We have to prove ourselves, I tell him without moving my hands at all.
He looks back at me and nods. Even in this small gesture, the others around us shuffle, and the Speaker eyes the air between us uneasily. They can tell that we have somehow spoken to each other without having spoken, that some kind of invisible communication