to keep my mind off things, and when I became interested, he helped me train. I was jealous of him for a long time, you know?” She fiddles with her hands. “I was my mother’s baby girl, but he was my mother’s favorite. I think I always resented him a little for that, until he was captured at the warfront and held hostage with a dozen other Strikers.” Here she looks at Red, and even though I can tell she’s trying to hold back her hatred for the Federation from him, there’s still a small part of her that blames him for being Karensan. “They were never going to let him live, you know, but they let us believe it anyway. I could tell the instant they let the prisoners try to run across the border. They shot him twice in the back, took their time with each hit so he could still try to run. He died before I could reach him.”
Adena looks down at her hands. “So,” she says in a loud voice, taking a deep breath, “I fight because I like the idea that my random talents and interests, the things my brother encouraged in me, can now be used in the hopes of avenging his death. That’s why I do it.”
Her shoulders slump when she finishes, as if this had taken all her strength, but she offers Red a weary smile. He gives her a grave smile in return. It’s an acknowledgment, I realize, that Adena understands what Red might have gone through. That they’re on the same side.
Red nods at Jeran. “And you?” he asks.
“My father once said that the Senate was the place for the most esteemed young men,” Jeran replies, looking at his hands. “He had high hopes for Gabrien, my older brother, to join him in the Senate. Gabrien has a sharper mind than I do. He remembers things more quickly and can deduce the intentions of people before I can, so when he took the qualifying exams for Senate candidates, he scored high. But I kept failing my exam. No matter how long and hard I studied, I couldn’t do it. After my third try, it became clear that qualifying to become a Senate candidate wasn’t going to happen for me. It was frustrating for my father, who thought me a disappointment. So I tried out for the Strikers instead. I thought that if I could prove myself among the Strikers’ esteemed ranks, it might put me on a footing that could rival my brother. Maybe footing that my father will love.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I’m decent at it, fighting Ghosts, but it’s not my natural state. I still get sick after every battle. Still can’t eat for days after a visit to the warfront. So there it is. I love my country, will gladly die to keep us safe for as long as we can—but that is my honest reason.”
He doesn’t mention a word about his father’s abuse or his brother’s constant, cruel jests. I look at Adena, but she just appears resigned. It’s a conversation she’s had a dozen times with Jeran. Your father beats you, Jeran, she’s told him before, gently, then firmly. Sometimes to the point where you can’t walk across the arena. You have to stop trying to earn the love of a monster.
But there are only so many times we can say it to him. Jeran waits, bracing himself for the rebuke from Adena and me, but Adena just shakes her head and looks away.
Red’s eyes fall on me. My reason to fight.
And I hesitate. I’m not sure why I do it, to be honest. Here we are, eating a Midwinter feast in front of a shack in the mud, when my mother should be living in somewhere dry and warm. Mara refuses to let her into their walls. They call us rats. We are seen as the invader.
But Mara had been the country to open her doors for us when we were at our most desperate, when she had a nobler leader. She had saved us from our fates in the Federation. We may be rats here, but we are alive. And here I am, wearing the sapphire coat of a Striker. Mara is imperfect, but it is not the Federation. I had seen the fires of hell on the night they invaded Basea, have witnessed what they are capable of. And if they cross here into Mara, if they swallow this