Does he really remember my face from that small moment, from so far away? But I shouldn’t be surprised. Even now, I can tell that his sharp mind is whirling, trying to place the familiarity of my face.
I shake my head and look down so that I don’t have to talk.
The Premier leans to rest his elbows on his knees, then regards me closely. I have no choice but to stay where I am, my eyes lowered.
When he speaks again, it’s in Basean.
“You must be in the capital for the national fair,” he says. “I suppose you’re interested in seeing our Ghosts up close.”
His words have a slight Karenese accent, but otherwise he speaks Basean so well that I glance up at him in surprise. There is something breathtaking about his grace, the straight lines of his neck. Against his robe, his eyes take on a deep gray hue, like a storm reflectingagainst sunlight. He studies me carefully. I tense, waiting for him to recognize me.
Then one edge of his lips quirks up at my reaction. “My father always told me that I needed to speak all the languages of the nations I’d someday govern,” he tells me. “Learn your habits and cultures. How can I rule, otherwise?” He looks casually at his bevy of bodyguards, who chuckle in unison in response. “You need to understand your people, what they’re trying to tell you, what they’re saying to one another.” Those piercing eyes return to me. “Isn’t that so?”
He has trained in every language so that no one can sneak secrets by him in a foreign tongue. I shiver at the serenity in his voice as he tells me this in unspoken words. A part of me wants to test him on this, to sign to him and see if he can respond to that. But letting him know my muteness will only give him one more clue as to who I am. So instead I swallow my defiance and lower my head again, as if I were nothing but a stupid Basean terrified of her new Premier.
He’s silent over me. Maybe he notices the tension in my muscles and is piecing everything together. If he raises the alarm and calls for his guards to arrest us, we’ll have to try to kill him here. But that will be near impossible. The only weapons I can reach immediately are the knives in my boots, and his guards are so close that I don’t know if I could move quickly enough to end his life before they pounce on us. There might be more guards watching us right now, waiting in the shadows to protect him, ready to fill us with bullets before any of us can make a move. Even if we could—the Premier of the Federation, murdered in broad daylight in the capital? We will die here alongside him, and Red will remain forever trapped in their labs. It won’t stop their war machines or their invasions.
Then one of his companions speaks up with a terse laugh. I can’t understand him, of course, but I glance up to see that the speaker is a young man dressed in the garb of a Karensan general, standing strongand healthy in contrast to the pale, thin Constantine. He’d been at the warfront siege.
My tense moment with the Premier breaks. Constantine nods at the man’s words without looking at him. His gaze shifts from me to Adena, and then finally back to Jeran. “You’ve picked up the Karenese tongue quickly for a Basean,” he tells him. “Well done.” He straightens and gives us a nod of dismissal. “The fairgrounds are on the upper side of the city, across the bridge. Enjoy yourselves tomorrow.”
Then he’s gliding away from us with his guards in tow, falling back into conversation with his general, moving as steadily and gracefully as a Striker through the streets. A cluster of spectators watch him and whisper from a distance. They bow in a wave as he passes. I watch him go, still kneeling, my emotions tumbling from relief to rage. From wherever he is, Red must feel it too, because I sense his alertness heighten, followed by worry in my direction.
“What did that general say?” Adena whispers to Jeran.
Jeran’s eyes follow the retreating figures. “That was General Caitoman Tyrus,” he whispers back. “The Premier’s younger brother.” He glances at me in sorrow, his voice hollow. “He told Constantine to stop harassing the survivors from his conquests.”
His conquest: Basea. A cold rage churns in my stomach. I tell myself to calm down, that we are here to take all of this down from within.
Adena leans close to me, her head still bowed. “Constantine said the Ghosts will be out for the national fair,” she whispers. “That means they’ll open the lab gates to take them outside.”
Her words cut through my fog of emotions like a beam of light.
I look quickly at her. She’s right. The Premier himself had said it, as casually as if it were common knowledge. Whatever this national fair is, it sounds like their Ghosts will emerge for the public to see.
Which means tomorrow is our chance to get into the Federation’s labs.
25
The commotion begins early the next morning, when the sky is still sleet gray.
Shouts from a guard on the streets stir me out of an uneasy sleep. Then comes the steady pull from Red somewhere in the near distance. I lie still for a moment, trying to remember where we are—wedged underneath an awning in a narrow alley between an apartment complex and a store selling soaps and cigars, where others in the city too poor to rent a room for the night have also camped. There are dozens of others here too, living in makeshift tents or simply sheets propped up with poles. The smell of unwashed winter bodies hangs musty in the air.
I concentrate for a moment on Red’s emotions. He seems groggy this morning, as if his mind were swimming in a fog. Have they injected him with some sleeping drug?
Adena groans as she stretches out her back. “I dreamed about my bed back in our Striker quarters,” she complains in a whisper so that others don’t overhear her speaking Maran. “And I never dream about that bed.”
“At least it was a warm night,” Jeran whispers in return.
I just shrug. For me, who’s used to life in the Outer City, this almost feels like a slice of home. As I look on from under our awning, a lineof these people is already snaking out the alley to crowd outside the factory entrances near the river, where they seem to be hoping for work.
A low hum of activity buzzes in the streets. Adena scoots over to the edge of the alley to peek out at the bridges. Sure enough, packs of people are already starting to head across toward the colorful tents, their voices alert and excited. Young workers are sprinkling a mixture of flower petals and squares of crinkled, colored paper along the road.
We share some of the last of our cooked yams and flatbread between us for a meager breakfast, and then dust ourselves off as best we can and head out of the alley into the street. As we go, Red’s mind hums through our link, pulsing weaker and then stronger whenever we veer near the river. It’s easy to get lost in the throngs across the bridge, and as the morning wears on, the space only becomes busier. The national fair seems to be held in a circular series of plazas all connected to one another with walking paths, a collection of green open spaces surrounded by Cardinia’s government halls. As we go, we start to pass some of the colorful tents, each growing in size the farther in we get.
“This is a fair displaying their latest inventions,” Adena murmurs into my ear as we stop before one of the tents. She nods at the display, her eyes bright. “Look.”
Under this tent, they’re demonstrating the glass bulbs that contain the flameless light we’d seen the day before. A woman cranks a lever connected by wire to one such glass bulb, and as she does, we see the bulb glow bright. People clap as the woman gives them all a brilliant smile.
