His use of my languages is his way of signaling whether or not he’s happy with me. Whenever he uses Basean, it is because he’s upset and cruel, eager to taunt me with the sound of my old home. When he usesMaran, though, he is in a good-enough mood to dole out small kindnesses. Or he’s lonely and in need of a friend—even if it’s the illusion of one.
I stare back at him without moving a muscle, hating the way he can interpret my emotions. At least he can’t read my mind—yet.
He gives me a subtle, sidelong smile as he settles back against his pillows. “You must be wondering how much lovelier it was in the past.” He sighs. “Before we expanded, you know, this continent was covered with warring nations. Tanapeg quarreled with Hover every decade. Larc tried to invade Kente. Everywhere, people hid behind their walls and died throwing themselves against their enemies. It’s like that across the oceans too.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “Did you know that?”
There’s little we know about the rest of the world’s nations, other than that they war too. I remember hearing about the breaking up of a country across the ocean that now exists as a dozen separate territories.
“I know you survived horrors in Basea during our invasion,” Constantine tells me. “I know what you witnessed. But since the Federation united all the nations on our continent, there has never been another war. No blood shed, no battle fought. No lives lost. Do you understand?”
A lie, I want to say. There have been uprisings and riots in every country conquered by the Federation. And if today’s punishments in the arena are any indication, they have only gotten worse.
I understand, I reply through our link.
“You understand, but you don’t agree.” He sweeps his hand idly in my direction. “The Federation has brought peace, regardless of whether you choose to believe that.”
Annihilation is not peace.
“My father didn’t annihilate anyone,” he replies. “He saved failing nation-states by uniting them under one flag.”
I think about the soldier who shot my father the night Basea was invaded, and a helpless rage floods me.
Constantine sighs, and just for a moment, I see him as a young man, slowly dying from the inside out. “Peace is a good thing, however it’s bought,” he whispers.
Is it peace if there are still so many rebels out there?
The topic is a thorn in his side, and I feel a brief satisfaction at the prickle of irritation that darts through our link. He narrows his eyes at me.
It is. And it will stay.
You’re wasting your time trying to convince me of anything.
“Maybe it’s a waste of time,” he agrees. He closes his eyes. I can sense pain still pulsing through his body. “Or maybe you’ll find yourself dwelling on my words at night, until they make sense.”
Why do you care?
He opens his eyes briefly, and for a moment, I sense something tragic in his mix of emotions. “Everyone wants someone to believe them,” he replies.
Then he turns his head away, and I head toward my adjoining room. Even as I close the door, I can still sense Constantine as if it is open, can envision his room as he might see it. The ache in his body is still there, loosening his tongue. As his exhausted mind finally lulls itself into sleep, I get the curious feeling that he meant every word.
It must be lonely, living in a world of your own lies.
It takes me hours, as always, to drift off into a light, troubled sleep. Corian, my first Shield, had always teased me about my deep sleepinghabits—I used to wake in our shared Striker apartment every morning at his cheerful calls from the kitchen, followed by a pillow flung at my head.
Those happy days are only a memory now.
As my mind finally, mercifully, gives way to unconsciousness, the rope of a bridge tightens against my thoughts, tugging at me from some faraway, invisible anchor. Anxiety flitters down my chest to settle in my stomach, hollow and bitter, as I wonder if the Premier can sense this too.
I travel down the bridge. When I look down, I see a chasm extending down into nothing, cut only by a silver ribbon of a river. It reminds me of the bridge I’d crossed with my mother on the night we escaped from Basea, of the river winding below us. I feel an inkling of the same terror as I look over my shoulder, certain that the Premier is chasing after me.
But he isn’t. Instead, I travel alone across the bridge until I reach a land of gray, and there, the pulse of Red’s heart wraps around me, pulling me to him. Everything in me lifts in hope at the feeling. He’s here, all around me. I’m standing inside his consciousness. And slowly, the world he sees in that moment comes to me, as surely as if I’m beside him.
And then IamRed, seeing from his point of view, standing at the edge of the foothills ringing behind Newage. He’s staring without a word at the smoke still billowing from the city. Beside him are glimpses of a few other Strikers—maybe a dozen of them, their uniforms dirty and charred—settling in the darkness without fires to keep them warm or heat their food. They gnaw instead on handfuls of roots from the forest and what little provisions some of them had managed to take from the city.
Are these the only soldiers that escaped?
Beside Red comes a familiar voice. My heart surges as Red turns to look at Adena beside him, who nods down at the ramparts of Newage’ssteel walls. She’s hunched over a Karensan gun, taking it apart bit by bit.
Even the sight of Adena’s slouched figure sitting on the ground makes my throat constrict. Tears well behind my closed eyes. I’ve thought about her so often since my captivity, had ached for her quick smile and her homemade remedies and thoughtful inventions. I miss her even more than I thought I did.
