The Home of Heroes was an island on the west side of the country. Fren Rheina had dedicated the land to every born ascender to build a home and live there for free. The keyword was “born.” Schemel refused to hand over any property to Erisa until she had earned her respect, enough to live among proper ascenders.

  Erisa never earned that respect, and so she made her way to her small house on Burning Street. It was a house she had purchased when money started coming in. The neighbourhood was quiet, with plenty of greenery to admire in her retirement.

  She had been walking through the town for some time and had yet to meet a single person. Hard to believe everyone was locked in their homes asleep when most of the houses had red tape crossing their porches. A lot of the shops were closed as well. Erisa was not used to the neighbourhood by any means, but this had to be unusual.

  After the quiet walk, she arrived at her address, unable to take a step up her own staircase because it too had red tape across it. She set her luggage down and ducked beneath the tape, nearing her window to peer inside. The room was intact. She tried the door with her key, relenting when it did not budge.

  “Miss,” came a call. “Step away from the building, please.”

  She turned to see a man in gold holding up a hand to shield his brow. The officer did not give a second order.

  “This is my house,” she said. Before she could explain further, the guard interrupted.

  “Go speak to the Local like the rest of them,” he said, pointing further down the street.

  The Local Assembly. This seemed to be where the whole town had gathered—or at least, what was left of it. Over the past few days, she had been crammed into rooms where spit flew across faces and shouts rang in her ears. She was sick of it, sick of the heat that came with it. She would have avoided coming to this place too, if she had a choice.

  She forced her way through the entrance into the Assembly Hall, where she found an unexpectedly large number of Reds. Schemel’s former soldiers were seated in rows, quietly filling out forms on their laps. The noise came from the civilians, who had abandoned their forms and were shouting at their councilman. The man, having lost his temper, shouted back, waving a paper in front of their faces and trying his best to get the nearest to take a pen and sign. Upset, he grabbed the pen and flung it past the councilman, where it shot straight at another observer—Ren Gracious himself, the new vice chancellor. He tilted his head just enough for the pen to pass by, letting out a sigh as he took out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat building beneath his glasses.

  There was no luck in getting to the angry hoard. She approached the Red men. Some had luggage set on the floor. Many did not look up from their forms as she came closer.

  “Wraith,” one said with a smile, recognising her. He tipped his head in a tight nod. The others followed suit. When the rest caught on, a few stood to salute.

  “High Gaverian,” they said.

  “I’m not that anymore,” she said. “Please, sit.”

  “Are you here to speak on our behalf?” they asked. “We really don’t want to be doing this.”

  She spoke to the Third Man among them—a man nearly twice her age and twice as tired. When she told him what she’d experienced on her way, they confirmed they had gone through the same ordeal.

  “Mariel’s taken our homes. Those of us who broke in are sleeping in cells.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “They won’t tell us,” he said. “We complained, and they gave us these forms to fill.”

  “You have ties with Mariel, don’t you, Wraith?” an officer beside the Third Man asked. “Get that man to explain to us. We’ve got nowhere else to go.”

  “I’m sure Mariel has a good reason for this,” said Erisa.

  “So important that you treat your fighters like this?” they asked.

  She wasn’t the type to argue a point. Erisa approached Gracious, who had been watching her from the moment the soldiers acknowledged her presence.

  “We would like to know why you’re kicking us out of our homes,” she asked.

  Gracious did that annoying thing men of the upper society liked to do—look elsewhere, waiting far longer than necessary before responding. He then picked up a form from the desk beside him and handed it over to Erisa.

  “The aristocrats are too arrogant to read, and the soldiers are too ignorant. What would become of this nation?” he said with another sigh.

  Erisa read. The reparation form stated: Any home that had been without a resident for more than ten years was subject to possession by the government. The owner would receive the equivalent of their assets’ worth in cash.

  “I don’t understand what I just read,” said Erisa. “When has this ever been a thing?”

  “The law is the law,” said Gracious.

  “Why are you really doing this?” asked Erisa. “What’s Mariel’s intention?”

  “I thought you were on our side,” he said.

  “I am, but you can’t kick these people onto the streets without telling us why.”

  “No one here would like to be on the street unless they want to. These people don’t even visit this state. They come to purchase property and leave,” he explained.

  “Oh, shut up!” spat one from further back.

  “And what about the soldiers?” she asked.

  “We have arranged accommodation for them in the various camps around the country. I repeat, no one would sleep on the streets unless they want to.”

  She returned to the soldiers who, by no choice of theirs, had heard everything.

  “It is difficult for me as it is for you,” she said. “But I trust Mariel to do the right thing for this country. More than I can say for any leader we have had.”

  “Except Frennie,” blurted one officer.

  She had never met Frennie. “Right,” said Erisa. “Please, comply with the vice-chancellor and sign the documents.”

  For some reason the rich folk had been listening in on her. They were less than pleased by her little speech. A woman peeled from the crowd, crumpling her form as she ranted.

  “What did Mariel promise you this time, snake? It wasn’t enough that you killed the old man, now you’re coming after all of us too.”

  Erisa ignored her and returned to the soldiers. “I have spoken to Mariel a few times already. She loves all her people. She’s not interested in war. There are jobs coming and plenty of food for your children. If you do not trust her, then at least you can trust me.”

  The aristocrats burst out in homogenous laughter, but the soldiers did not. They clicked their pens, ready to complete the forms.

  “Drop your pens, all of you,” a voice barked. Everyone turned to the entrance.

  An elderly woman gallivanted in, dressed terribly for the weather — high-heeled leather boots, a black skirt, and a black coat over a white shirt. She wore shades and a hat, making her hard to identify at first. When she started snatching the forms from the soldiers’ hands and ripping them apart, Erisa was more than confident this was Helen Sorel.

  There were shouts from the councilman to get her out, but the golden boys on duty could not reach her through the rich folk blocking the path. They applauded loudly for Helen, cheering her on to stick it to Mariel. She stood in the middle of the hall, looking through Erisa to the man in power behind her.

  “I don’t like it when my customers get upset, Ren Gracious,” she said. “I pay particular attention to my business. I know who belongs and who I must kick out.”

  “If you have any grievances, Lady Sorel, I would personally see to it that they are addressed. This is not the time nor the place for that. So please step aside and do not interfere with state proceedings.”

  Stolen story; please report.

  “I don’t have anything to say to you,” she said. “You see, I wrote it all down here, in this letter.”

  A guard took the envelope from her hand, passing it to the councilman, who then passed it on to Gracious.

  Gracious tore the envelope open, pulled out a sheet, and read it in a brief moment. He closed his eyes and sighed. “Give me the keys to their homes,” Helen demanded of the guard. “I know you changed the locks.”

  “Only those whose properties are registered under your ownership,” said Gracious.

  “That should account for twenty-five percent of all homes seized,” she said. “Unless the rest of you would like to sell me your properties for a fine fee of one kliq.”

  A number of soldiers and nobles lifted their hands.

  “Done deal,” said Helen. “Know that I’m the owner of this town. If you have any grievances, I would personally see to it that they are addressed.”

  Helen held up a large box of keys, and the people flocked around her, eager to pick out the one that matched their doors. They signed contracts on the back of the reparation forms. Gracious and his councilman left before that could happen.

  Erisa did not have the stomach to walk up to Helen and beg for her home. She did not know what the woman had done to be free from Mariel’s clutch, but if Mariel had half the flame of Schemel, it was clear the struggle was far from over.

  Camp Mercelies was one of those regions where ex-servicemen had built their homes and families. She grew up here. There was a lot of space to run around, as the children in the park were doing—tall trees, a large lake crowded with swimmers of all ages, and small houses that fit just enough for a full family.

  “ERISAAAAAAAAAA!”

  A little girl ran down the stairs from her father’s home, across the stone walk, stopping just before Erisa. She widened her big round eyes and screamed. The children playing in the grass stopped at once. Everyone around them did. When they saw who was screaming, they rolled their eyes and went back to their business.

  “I can’t believe it’s you.”

  The girl embraced her and began to sob.

  “Nakira!” a voice snapped from inside the house.

  A woman in an apron stormed out, gasping when she saw who had arrived. She rushed back in, and after a long minute, Erisa’s father came out.

  It took him some time to gather his energy, then he screamed her name, running to grab her. He crushed her in an embrace as he spun her around. Then he set her down and sobbed with the little girl.

  Grecko Zeal had been a Seconder who served under High Commander Regis during the years of the Great Oppression. He retired after the war and moved into Camp Mercelies, where he settled down, got married, and raised his only daughter. After his wife left him, he remarried, and then his daughter left him as well. She was back now, listening to her half-sister ramble non-stop about all the wonderful things she’d heard about Erisa Zeal. Nakira had been a baby when Erisa left for war. Her love for Erisa was almost pure indoctrination.

  “Welcome home, my dear,” Frema, the woman she had known for a few years as her mother, said. The long awkward pauses between them never disappeared. “Had you informed us on time, we would have prepared adequately.”

  “I’m sorry,” Erisa managed to say.

  Frema forced a smile and left for the kitchen.

  “Nakie here wants to become High Commander one day,” Grecko said.

  “But not before you,” the girl said, hopping belly-first onto their father’s lap. “I want to be your Firstman, then I’ll be High Commander.”

  “Thank you,” said Erisa. “But I don’t feel anywhere close to that goal.”

  Her father had set her up to be among the best of the best. He had paid for personal training, provided her with the best diet, and called in every connection he had to help her rise through the ranks of the Green Corps.

  “Nakira,” she said, “do not become like me.”

  Nakira immediately got off their father’s lap and struck a salute. “I’ll be better,” she said.

  “You’ll still be miserable.”

  “Erisa,” hissed Frema, who had been standing nearby for some time, “don’t say that.”

  Evening arrived. Erisa sat with her father on the porch, watching the fireflies skid across the lake. A land so vast, with so many trees, it was common for scouts to get lost in them. You’d think this was all not a part of the larger country.

  “It’s easy to forget your troubles in a place like this,” said Erisa. “Maybe you’ve forgotten mine as well.”

  “You’re not a child anymore,” said Grecko. “I raised you well, and I know you’re capable of facing your troubles alone.” A ninety-nine percent chance of death had not stopped him from sending Erisa to the I.A.A. He would not empathize tonight—it was not the Henrikian way, after all.

  What if she was tired of being alone?

  “Mariel is the best and worst thing to happen to me. She gave me what I wanted—a good person to lead me. I’ve killed boys as old as the ones playing ball out there. Every day under Schemel’s command, a piece of me decayed.

  “They say ascenders forget what it’s like to be human once they’ve killed enough. I can tell you it’s true. Schemel didn’t have to give me an order, but I did what she would have done.”

  “When you put that gun to the girl’s head,” he said, “your heart was in the right place, Erisa. And it still is. Little Sorel’s alive, isn’t she?”

  Erisa grimaced. “There is no blood in Mariel’s eyes. She’ll make me do good things.”

  “You said she was the best and worst thing to happen to you. What makes her the worst?”

  The former Wraith swallowed hard, pretending she hadn’t seen Nakira eavesdropping from behind the window. “She wants me to clean up her mess when she inevitably dies.”

  “Looks like a promotion,” Grecko chuckled.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “It is.”

  The nights these days came without dew, giving them ample time to sit outside. They were not the only ones avoiding the uncomfortable warmth of their homes; families sat on their porches and lawns, talking and laughing.

  “When I made Frema aware of my plans to marry her, do you know what she told me?”

  “No.”

  “Was I a changed man?” It was Erisa’s turn to snort. “Yes, I know, very funny.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “That I am,” he said. “The war was far behind me. I did not like what I did. She said, ‘If I set my house on fire and was truly remorseful about it, will the house stop burning?’ She didn’t have to explain it to me then, and I won’t explain it to you.”

  “Forgiveness is earned.”

  “I do my donations every year. It’s not enough, and it never will be. But I do it.”

  “I need to earn Ashamel’s forgiveness.”

  About half an hour passed before Frema called them inside for evening prayers. They turned off the lights and sat in a circle around a line of six candles.

  “One for the noble, one for the tempest, one for the cunning, one for the hideous, one for the lurer, and one for the glory. Six keep us.”

  “Six keep us.”

  “We pray for provision in these troubling times. Six keep us.”

  “Six protect us.”

  “Does anyone have anything they want us to pray over?” asked Frema.

  Nakie raised a hand. “I want to say sorry for making Erisa sad today.”

  There was a long pause, as though they were waiting for Rheina himself to answer.

  “You didn’t make me sad,” said Erisa. “You helped me get much better.”

  Grecko and Frema exchanged encouraging looks. They wanted Erisa to open her arms. She did, hesitantly, and Nakie slowly embraced her.

  “I love you,” Nakira whispered. Erisa felt a twinge in her chest, unsure how to respond.

  After the fear had receded, Erisa thought it through and concluded that Verimae was not a swayer. Swayers did not possess mysterious powers that made them physically impossible to touch. And from the stories she’d heard about swayers, she would not be pondering whether she was under the influence of a swayer if she truly was—unless the swayer intended to make her doubt their influence all along. The judgment was hers to call. Mariel had been more than intrigued by her report, insisting on seeing the creature in Jay’s home herself.

  Erisa’s body felt a ton lighter as she stood guard outside Jay’s apartment. She measured how time flowed within and outside the house by taking several trips in and out. No visible change in the flow of time appeared. Verimae and Mariel conversed on a variety of matters, often culminating in laughter.

  One good thing that had come out of this meeting was that it had put Mariel in a good mood. Erisa had a request to make, and Mariel was unlikely to approve on any other night. When the moment came, she walked in and waited.

  “Is it time to leave yet?” Mariel asked.

  “Yes, Renna.”

  “Thank you for reminding me,” said Mariel. “Verimae would keep me here all night if I let her.”

  The creature faked modesty. “How about for another hour?” said Verimae. “I would love to make dinner for our chancellor.”

  “It would be Christmas when she’s done,” Erisa murmured.

  “I’ll stay,” said Mariel. “I’ll be your guest.”

  Verimae hopped over to the kitchen to prepare the meal. Erisa and Mariel were alone for the first time that evening.

  “I’m not touching anything she makes, and neither should you,” said Erisa.

  “Just because she made you cry doesn’t make her evil.”

  “She told you?”

  “She may have mentioned it.”

  None of that mattered. Erisa cleared her throat.

  “Ms Zeal wants to tell you something,” blurted Verimae.

  Mariel and Erisa were stunned into silence.

  “If she was hiding the fact that she’s a swayer, she’s not doing a good job at it,” mumbled Erisa.

  “Well?” said Mariel.

  “Are you going to ignore that?” asked Erisa, pointing a thumb at the girl chopping vegetables.

  “I’ll deal with Verimae my own way. What do you want to tell me?”

  Erisa cursed under her breath and braced herself. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I would like to ask a favour of you.”

  “What kind?”

  “I wanted to do something… nice for Ashamel. She and that boy I brought from the south are good friends. I was thinking—could you release Jenne? For Ashamel’s sake.”

  Mariel rolled her tongue in her cheek, staring. “That’s what Schemel wants,” she said. “I don’t know why, but she wanted Jenne and Ashamel together. I’ve made it my policy to do the opposite of what my sister wants. Ashamel is getting used to having a normal life. Spending time with Jenne would complicate things.”

  “Alright,” said Erisa. “I’m sorry I asked.”

  “Now that you mention it, what should I do with the boy?” Mariel wondered.

  “Keep him in Stasis forever,” said Erisa. “It’s the opposite of what Schemel would do.”

  “That would be too cruel,” Mariel admitted. “Verimae, what do you think?”

  “He used to visit me all the time when I was still at Se Fina. He’s very lovely.”

  “You think I should free him too?”

  “Don’t you want to understand him first?” Verimae countered. “An earthen ascender. Doesn’t it excite you?” She abandoned the kitchen to reclaim her seat. “How about we hand him over to the I.A.A. and find out more about his abilities? You can learn more about who he is and what makes him so special.”

  Mariel wasn’t keen on the idea, thankfully. “I don’t want to spend the nation’s resources on warfare.”

  “Do it for science. The Yunnish would be interested in knowing the source of his power.” Verimae leaned across the table. “Think of all the investment.”

  Mariel weighed the thought and groaned. “It’s still beyond my control. I’ve arrested those fiends for what they did to the earthens. Most have already been executed. I can’t go back on my orders.”

  “You only need Dr Aureate,” said Verimae. “Give him back his honours and let him work with the Yunnish. He’ll have nothing to do with the research itself. You can have him be a representative of Henrikia so the Yunnish don’t take all the credit for themselves with their findings.”

  “Frankly speaking, it’s not a bad idea,” said Mariel. “I’ll do it.”

  Erisa watched the two eat and talk some more. At the end, Erisa came to a conclusion she did not expect to find herself at. Verimae wasn’t a threat. She was weird, but most likely just that.