Jeran says nothing. Instead, he throws down the blade Aramin had given him and bends his knee. He puts his fist back against his chest. His hair has loosened slightly from its knot, and messy, red-gold strands hang on either side of his face.
“I came back here,” he replies, “for you.”
Aramin doesn’t answer for a long time. When he finally does, his voice is subdued. “You should have stayed in the woods, out of the Federation’s reach.”
Even though Jeran doesn’t move, I can see the impact of Aramin’s response shudder through him and the tremor it leaves.
“I’d rather you stay alive than die at my side,” Aramin adds.
Then he turns and steps out of the cell, leaving Jeran kneeling alone on the floor.
I don’t know how much time passes after the Firstblade leaves Jeran’s cell. The night settles in earnest, and my cell plunges into darkness, lit only by the faintest trace of moonlight spilling down from the grating in the side of the wall. For a while, I try to count the hours in my head. I fall into a doze sometimes, but nightmares keep me from sinking into a real sleep. I can’t tell if the dreams are mine or Red’s.
Finally, at some strange hour of the night, my cell door opens again. This time, when I straighten myself against the wall, I see no guard accompanying my guest inside. Instead, Aramin emerges alone from the darkness to stand before me.
He doesn’t speak aloud. Instead, he kneels to my level and gives mea strange, severe look. It’s a warning that what we’re about to discuss is as dangerous as if we were hunting Ghosts at the warfront.
“What do you know about the Speaker?” he signs to me.
I search his gaze and see the young man he was before he became the Firstblade. This is the person Jeran had awakened—someone so brave and headstrong on the warfront that he’d been tapped to lead us at an unusually young age. I remember the letter he’d written to Jeran, warning us all so that we could flee for the Federation. Now Aramin has come to see me in secret, risking his standing in an attempt to get the truth.
Aramin sees my hesitation, but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he waits patiently.
“Our mission failed,” I sign, “but it would have succeeded. Adena’s discovery would have disconnected the Ghosts in the Federation’s lab complex from their masters. And for a while, we even saw it in action.”
“What happened?”
“The Federation knew, somehow, that we were on our way, that we had entered their territory and were on a mission to destroy their links with their Ghosts. Their Premier told me they had been expecting us, all along. He had been informed of our arrival.”
The Firstblade’s eyes pierce mine. He already knows what I’ll say next.
“Aramin,” I tell him, “our Speaker made a deal with the Federation’s Premier in exchange for his own life being spared after Mara falls.”
He looks away, pale with the realization, and fixates on the torches flickering outside my door. “What deal?” he asks.
“The Speaker warned them that we would try to disrupt their links with their Ghosts. He told them what we had discovered, and it gave the Federation enough time to create an antidote to Red’s blood.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“The Federation’s Premier himself told us.”
“Have you told anyone else?”
“No.”
“Good.” Aramin’s lips tighten. “If the Speaker hears about this accusation against him, there will be nothing I can do to save you.”
“Will you save us now?”
A wry smile appears on his lips. “Perhaps my chances are better.”
I return the smile with a somber one of my own. “There’s nothing you can do, is there?”
He’s quiet, and for the first time, I think that this soldier, who I’ve never seen weep, who is somehow capable of bearing the weight of leading us all, who gave me the chance to escape the Outer City, looks helpless.
“I’m sorry, Talin,” he signs.
I just shake my head. “We’re going to lose, anyway,” I respond. “Maybe it’s better to die at the hands of Marans.”
