But even as the days turn into weeks, my mother never moves. Every time I drift off into sleep and wake, she is there, tut-tutting over the color of my cheeks or how much food I’ve left behind on the tray. A new bowl of porridge will be there, or a pot of simmering meat stew, or a savory bun filled with chicken and vegetables. I don’t know how she gets the ingredients or where or when she cooks, but somehow, like she did in Mara, she always finds a way.

“They say you’re recovering well,” she tells me in Basean this morning, as I wake to the aroma of chicken stew and warm sweet rolls.

The constant, searing pain in my back says otherwise. “They say I may never fight again,” I sign.

“I sincerely hope you never do,” my mother signs in return, but her eyes are gentle. She knows that the war has left behind wounds in me that will never heal, but that it also brought me some of the greatest joys I’ve ever known. I’ve found the people who would stand shoulder to shoulder with me. We’ve made it, together, to the other side.

My mother sits in silence as I eat. From here, we get a good view of the city center. Karensan troops are still everywhere, but they are busy directing workers to repair the damage from the fights and preventing scuffles from breaking out on the streets. Others are handing out food to lines of people who have seen their markets burn down. Still others stand idle, wandering restlessly from one end of the Circle to the other.

Their expressions look lost. Who are they now, if not servants to the Premier? What do you do after the regime you’ve served topples to the ground?

“Do you know what else they say?” she tells me after I’ve finished eating.

I look at her. “What?”

My mother rises, taking the empty food tray. As she does, she glances sidelong at me.

“They say you should fill the Premier’s vacancy.”

Then, before I can answer, she turns away, leaving me alone to gather my thoughts.

My gaze shifts to the window.

They have been without a dictator for mere weeks, and already they are prepared for someone else to step into their late Premier’s shoes. Karensa is a Federation where they have been taught to value the strength of their rulers. Well, they’ve seen that strength in me. A Skyhunter is a Skyhunter, seemingly invincible. They believe me capable of ruling them the right way, taking over a regime that had been evil and turning it good.

I want to laugh, laugh, and laugh until tears stream down my face, until I cry.

They don’t understand what they’re looking for.

Goodness can be no single leader. No solitary person.

Goodness is friends who stick by you, even when they fear you’re lost. It’s mothers who fight for their daughters. It’s believing in something better—and taking action to make it reality. It’s love, untainted and pure.