I nod. “Unless we want the Senate to use Red as their personal attack dog, we need to convince the Speaker that we know what best to do with him. That we can work best with Red to understand how his link works. This is a connection of our minds, not something we can physically see. We can’t let them ruin Red before he can help us.”
“Well, I’m willing to try anything, because somewhere here,” Adena said, swinging a finger back and forth between Red and me, “is the secret to their control over their Ghosts.”
As I now wander through the National Hall entrance and enter the courtyard, I hear Adena’s words ringing through my head.Somewhere here is the secret.This is why we’d come to the National Hall tonight, to seek an audience with the Speaker of the Senate. To tell him how we can still win this war.
I can sense the stares from those passing me by, their eyes darting to the hue of my skin, the cut of my features. Some of the looks are hostile, from those offended by someone like me dressed in such a way. Other glances and smiles are ones of lust, their gazes running over me instead of meeting my eyes.
I think of my mother as I keep my chin high and my walk steady, but I can still feel the burn of unease flushing my cheeks. Has Red arrived already? Should I be able to communicate with him through our linkhere or do we need to be physically closer to do it? I try sending him a greeting. No response. Maybe he’s too far away.
Word about Red’s massacre on the battlefield has raced through the nation, and tonight everyone keeps turning their heads as restlessly as a line of birds on the Inner City’s walls, keen on catching a glimpse of the so-called Skyhunter. Who is this stranger from the Federation, this weapon of war? I should have arrived at the National Hall with him, but instead he had been held at the hospital, where they are checking every inch of him to ensure he can’t hurt the Speaker.
The thought almost makes me laugh. If he wanted to, he could kill the entire Senate before anyone could blink an eye. They didn’t witness what I did. They didn’t see the light of murder in his eyes that I saw.
Red. He had also been the young man who’d begged me to stay beside him, still weak enough on our return journey to Newage that he swayed heavily in his saddle. I’d finally hooked his steed’s harness to mine, then tethered him securely into his saddle and draped a long blanket over him. He’d slept collapsed against his horse until we saw the walls of Newage.
I look down at my hands, now decked out in glittering rings, and flex my fingers, remembering the warmth of my palm tucked into his. Ever since the night after the battle, his face has lingered in my thoughts. I could feel the faint, steady rhythm of his heartbeat during our entire journey back—not from his body but through the strange new link formed between us. Even now, his pulse hums through me like the chirp of a distant cricket. It’s a strange sensation, like my mind can see outside of myself, like there is another soul as alive and emotional as me, tethered to my own. He’s in the crowds, somewhere. I try again to send him a thought.
“Look. Here she is.”
The voice jerks me out of my thoughts.
Several elite Marans have paused in the arched corridor, blocking my path. My eyes dart quickly across their faces—there’s Tomm and Pira, the trauma of the warfront now hidden behind a layer of makeup and luxurious robes, their lips settled back into smug curves. A couple of Senators I’ve never met before. Finally, there’s Gabrien, Jeran’s older brother. I have to hold back an instinctive grimace. Gabrien gives me a polite smile as he introduces me to the other Senators with him.
“The Basean Striker herself,” Gabrien says. He doesn’t bother mentioning my name.
I force myself to return his smile with my own stiff one, but my gaze already darts around him, as it always does whenever I know I can’t defend myself, trying to find the best possible exit route. Gabrien sees me struggle. From the corner of my eye, I see his smile turn thin, menacing, then delighted as he realizes his opportunity to have some fun.
“It’s not a rumor after all!” one of the other Senators exclaims, wagging a finger at me. The woman on his arm laughs, and behind him, his companions let out a chorus of chuckles. “She does exist.”
“Some think she is one of our most capable Strikers,” Jeran’s brother says, his eyes fixed on mine, “although that’s said more often by simple minds.”
The other Senators murmur, chuckling, at Gabrien’s teasing. He knows exactly how close I am with his brother and remembers how I’d shifted protectively toward Jeran that day in the Grid. He is not only sticking a thorn in me, but throwing an insult at his brother for being my friend. When I stare back at Gabrien, I can tell he knows full well how much this bothers me.
Tomm laughs with the others, although Pira simply looks away as if disinterested.
“They say Strikers learn how to dance, don’t they, to practice their grace?” another Senator says, looking at Tomm.
He nods. “We do.”
“Then perhaps the Basean once danced so well for the Federation’s soldiers that they let her live,” the Senator suggests mildly. Everyone laughs at the vulgar suggestion.
“A dancer?” The light in Gabrien’s eyes turns teasing. “I wouldn’t be surprised. She’s very lovely.” His smile widens at me. “You’ll have to show us.”
Does he really mean for me to dance for them? I hesitate, and at my pause, the Senators laugh harder. I stay very still, trying to understand the joke.
“I’m bored,” Pira announces, irritated at the conversation. She tilts her head at Tomm. “Can’t we get something to eat?” Tomm just waves her off, his face still turned eagerly in Gabrien’s direction, as if for approval.
“She hasn’t said a word,” the Senator from earlier chimes in again. “She probably doesn’t speak Maran. Perhaps we should go find your brother, Senator Gabrien.” She waves a flippant hand toward the rest of the courtyard. “He speaks other languages, doesn’t he?”
There’s an edge to the way they talk without greeting me, a cruelty in the smiles they wear. Years of facing Ghosts at the warfront with my blades and guns and daggers, and yet the sharpest teeth are still here, on the grounds of the National Hall, where I have no weapons to defend myself. My hands clench and unclench helplessly at my sides. I can feel myself caving inward, feel them turning my silence into a weakness. While I fight for them at the warfront, they have their banquets and celebrate a losing war and taunt me, not realizing there will be a day when their world will suddenly collapse.
“Excuse me.”
Red’s deep, grit-rubbed voice makes me turn in surprise. I’d been so focused on the interaction happening before me that I hadn’t noticedour bond sharpen and clear at his approach. His accent isn’t bad. How long had he practiced saying that Maran phrase? He stops at my side and gives the nobility a single nod. Gone is the feverish, bloodied, frightened young man I’d sat beside at the warfront. His steel wings are hidden tonight beneath an elaborately embroidered black robe trimmed with shimmering yellow silk and dyed yellow fur, but even then, I notice that the back of the robe has been tailored with two trimmed slashes to allow his wings to unfold. Underneath it is a white silken shirt woven so fine that I can’t see the threads. His expression is calm and bemused tonight, and his strange air of confidence suddenly makes me aware of how handsome he is.
Even if I could speak, I’d be at a loss for words. The only thing that breaks my stare is the sight of his mouse perched on his shoulder, munching on a bit of grape.
The Senator next to Gabrien makes a startled noise at seeing Red’s pet, then clears his throat in embarrassment as he eyes the banquet tables, wondering whether other mice are scampering amid the food.
