I take one gingerly, my fingers caked in blood, but when I try to open my mouth, my tongue is so dry and my throat so parched that I cough, barely able to swallow a single berry.
Jeran offers me some water as I run my hand along the makeshift bandages now wrapped tightly around my wounded arm, the fabric soaked through with blood. The pain that had jolted through me when the soldier cut that arm had also rippled through Red, just as his agony at the guards spearing him during the procession had coursed through me. Now, even in his sleep, he stirs slightly, scowling at the twinge of pain that comes through our link. His eyelids flutter.
“Talin?” he whispers, not through our link, but aloud. His voice sounds hoarse from lack of use. His eyes crack open, and I find myself staring into those deep, dark irises. Then, to my surprise, I glimpse a familiar quiver of fur and whiskers emerge from inside one of his sleeves. His mouse pokes its head out to investigate its surroundings, its tiny claws gripping tightly to Red’s shirt.
If I could laugh, I would. Somehow, against all odds, this damn mouse has managed to survive Mara’s prison, the warfront, the Federation, the labs, the fighting. Just like Red.
Red smiles at me while his hand goes instinctively to pet the mouse’s head. “Hello,” he murmurs to me in his rough Maran.
Before I know it, there are tears on my cheeks. Maybe it’s because the mouse is still alive. Maybe it’s the relief of seeing Red awake, of feeling the bond pulling strong between us, of the certainty that I hadn’t lost another Shield. Or maybe it’s because we have failed in our mission. That all of Mara’s hopes had rested on our shoulders, and yet here we are, returning empty-handed. That my mother may never again live in a free land.
Red props himself painfully into a sitting position. Then he reaches into his pocket and takes the mouse out, lowering his hand gently to the ground. The creature sniffs the air eagerly, lured toward the scent of berries nearby.
“Go,” Red tells it gently.
The mouse doesn’t look at him, but when it catches sight of bushes of berries off in the distance, it hurries off toward them.
A long moment of silence passes. As he watches it go, I can tell he’s thinking about his little sister.
The light around us strengthens, touching the distant hills. Somewhere far beyond them lies Maran territory. None of us speak. What is there to say to one another now, anyway? So Jeran, Red, and I just sit, startling at every breeze through the trees, quietly eating berries until they’re gone. I bite my lip, trying to ignore the raging hunger that this meager meal has awoken in me. It brings back memories of darker years, when my mother and I first settled in the Outer City.
Dark circles haunt Jeran’s eyes. His shirt is also splattered with old blood, but he seems mostly unharmed. None of us bring up the miracle that we are still, somehow, alive after our failed mission.
Failed. My heart twists as the memory of everything that had happened now comes flooding back.
After a while, Adena comes, picking her way along the forest floor. “I see a train track running to the west,” she signs to us. “We should steer clear of it.”
She sits down and immediately pulls out her two daggers, then rubs the back of one against the other to sharpen it. For a while, all we do is listen to the sound of water and birds nearby.
“What do we do now?” Jeran signs in the silence. His eyes stay on the valley peeking through the trees, in the direction of Mara, and his jaw stays set in stone.
I know he doesn’t mean what route we take next, but what happens when we arrive home. “I don’t know,” I sign.
“If we return,” Adena signs, “they’ll arrest us.”
It’s more than that. If we return to Mara now, not only will the Firstblade be forced to put us in chains, but they will probably execute us in the arena, in the same fashion Red almost was, for our treason to the country. Killed for trying in vain to save us all.
The thought is almost comical to me, and I have to force a bitter laugh away. Treason. Mara has suffered a worse betrayal at the hands of its very own Speaker.
“What do you want to do?” I sign to her.
Adena leans back slowly, wincing. She must be just as sore as I am. Her eyes fall on Red, and her lips move in silence for a moment, trying to find the right thing to say.
Finally, she looks at me. “Do you think the Federation’s Premier is right?” she signs.
“About what?”
“About the Speaker.”
I’m still for a moment as Constantine’s words to me return.You are too good, he had said. He’d meant I was too good to fight for such a leader.
“We don’t have to go back, you know.” I take a deep breath. “I can get my mother. We can flee. We’ve done it before, and we can do it again.”
“To where?” Jeran signs.
There are no choices left, but Adena still tightens her lips. “Into the woods, maybe,” she signs back. “We know more than anyone how to survive. I can make everything we need. I might even be able to sneak into the Grid for some of my tools. Then, when the Federation finally breaks through the warfront—as they will in weeks, maybe days—we’ll be safe in the trees, hiding. They won’t know to look for us. We can stay there, even strike back later, when they’re least suspecting it.”
Red looks questioningly at me, understanding only some of her signs, and I turn my focus to him, translating briefly to him through our bond.
