You don’t know what it might do. And it’s this unknown that chills you straight to your core.

  “Do you think Constantine suspects the danger of those artifacts?” Jeran asks.

  I frown. “Yes. But he has always been willing to overlook the danger of something if it can offer what he considers to be worthy rewards.”

  “What’s the worthy reward in this case?” Jeran says. “Why does he want it so badly?”

  Talin had told us that the Premier was searching for those artifacts because they are a potential energy source. But the Federation has plenty of resources. There has to be another reason. Something deeper, something that has him digging obsessively for these relics.

  “I don’t know,” I whisper. “But if it’s all that valuable to him, then it can also be his weakness. We have to figure out what he wants with it.”

  22

  TALIN

  The following day, as evening casts purple across the sky, I join Constantine as his carriage heads out of the palace and toward the exhibition building known as the Sun Dial, where he will have a public feast with the crowds of Cardinia.

  The main thoroughfares are lit with torches, and red paper hangs from each stall. Music prompts spontaneous dancing in the streets. Ahead looms the massive glass-and-steel structure. The Sun Dial is the same building that had acted as the exhibition hall for the National Fair in Cardinia, the festivity I’d witnessed with Adena and Jeran over a year ago, where the Chief Architect had paraded a train of caged Ghosts in the middle of their transformations. Now the exhibitions have been cleared from the Sun Dial, replaced with an enormous, curved banquet table that follows the arc of the dais in the center of the building’s glass atrium.

  Tonight’s banquet is meant for the Karensan people to see their Premier celebrating the solstice festival with them, culminating in dancing and more reveling. Privately, I know it’s meant as a show of Constantine’s strength and popularity, a bribe of free food and drink for the people to see that he’s strong and unafraid of the growing unrest in the city.

  As we enter the hall and approach the circular, central dais, I see a memory of myself standing here alongside Adena and Jeran as we watched the cages of the transforming Ghosts being paraded before the public. Back then I’d hidden among the crowd with my fellow Strikers, afraid to be seen. Now I see people ripple away from our procession, their eyes both following my steps and averting in fear. My wings are partially extended, casting a shadow against the ground.

  I ball my fists, satisfied to see these Karensans cowering in my presence, angry to allow myself that satisfaction at the monstrosity I’ve become.

  Right as the sun dips low against the horizon, dancers in shimmering gold outfits emerge, twirling around the dais in rows. Food stands stretch off in every direction. By the time we reach the center of the atrium, a crowd has gathered around the low barriers put up around the dais, each of them eager to get a glimpse of the Tyrus brothers and the Premier’s Skyhunter.

  For once, I’m not dressed in my black Skyhunter uniform, but a set of white-and-gold top and pants wide enough to look like a dress. Circlets adorn my arms. Knives and a sword still hang on my belt. Constantine takes the steps up to his position on the dais, where tables have been set up for the Premier and his entourage.

  He looks even paler today than he did at the game. His movements are slow, and through our bond, I feel a rush of nausea roiling through him.

  Raina’s work, no doubt, and done purposefully for an evening when she knows he must put on a show of strength. I force myself to keep my emotions even, my heartbeat steady. As always, I’m exhausted. After I stirred awake from my dream with Red, I never fell back asleep. I paced and paced until morning finally arrived, our kiss still burning on my lips.

  As I take a seat beside Constantine, I expect him to cast me a brief glance, but he doesn’t. He knows I’m waiting for his reaction to the events in the arena, dreading his orders to his soldiers to hurt my mother, but to punish me, he stays quiet. Nothing I did yesterday seems to have troubled him. So I tighten my lips and look away, unwilling to let him feel my unease.

  Beside me is seated Raina, the Chief Architect. I look at her occasionally, but she doesn’t seem to mind my presence, sipping instead on her wine and searching the audience with her careful gaze. Down below, Mayor Elland is mingling with some people who must be Karensan nobles, her head thrown back in a laugh. She seems comfortable, with a beautiful young woman on her arm, and chats away as if she’d had the most wonderful day yesterday at the games.

  Finally, as the sky turns into shades of deeper purple and blue and the public gets louder, I see the Chief Architect turn her face slightly toward mine. On my left, Constantine laughs at something Caitoman tells him.

  His brother smiles back, then lifts his glass. He raises his voice. “A toast,” he calls out.

  I don’t actually understand the Karenese word he uses, but his gesture lets me infer it. He rises to his feet, and as I stare up at him, he holds the glass out to the gathered audience and then toward the Premier. Everyone quiets to hear his words.

  “To my brother’s successes,” he says, “on the first eve of the summer solstice and every eve after, and for carrying forward our Infinite Destiny for all the years you’ll live.”

  The crowd cheers, following him in chanting a mantra for the Premier’s long life. But when I look out at the people gathered, I notice that not all of them repeat the chant. Some don’t glance our way.

  At the table, the Architect bows her head and sips her wine. Constantine drinks. So does Caitoman.

  Everything in me wants to defy the toast, but I lift my glass too, then tilt my head back and take a quick swig. The liquid runs through me, warm and tingling.

  The meal begins. I glance toward Constantine, but he seems unconcerned as he listens to Caitoman talk about the border states.

  Something about my expression must catch Caitoman’s interest, because abruptly the General pauses in his conversation to give me a barbed smile. “Your Skyhunter looks ill today,” he says to his brother. He pushes his chair slightly back, then leans toward me. “Does such rich food not sit well with you?”

  I stiffen. He must know I’m shaken by what happened in the arena, and the thought of it sparks him with delight.

  “Oh, brother,” Caitoman says, studying my face with satisfaction. “Look at her face. You’ve really outdone yourself, destroying this one.” He raises his glass to me for a toast. “To you then, Skyhunter, and your merciful heart.”

  Trapped, I raise my wine to his, but the taunt in his voice makes me stop short of clinking glasses with him.

  Caitoman sees the defiance on my face. Without warning, his other hand shoots out to seize my wrist, closing around it like a vise. The General cannot physically hurt me, but he knows he can still force me to do things against my will. His smile sharpens.

  “When I offer you a toast, you take it,” he tells me in a low voice.

  Constantine glances once at his brother. “She is my Skyhunter,” he says smoothly. “Not yours.”

  Caitoman doesn’t look at his brother. Instead, he keeps his stare on me, gauging my will, before he releases me and leans back in his chair. I do the same, relieved to be free of the General, disgusted that it was Constantine who came to my rescue.

  The General smiles at his brother. “Of course, Premier,” he says mildly.

  Constantine says nothing through our link as he returns to his conversation with his brother. But I go back to staring at my plate, any semblance of an appetite gone. The Premier may torment me for a purpose—but the General does it for pleasure. Even though I have the physical advantage over him, I do not have the political power to touch him, and the reminder tightens around my heart.

  When the meal has gone on long enough, dancing breaks out in clusters in the ringed streets below. Caitoman heads down to join the festivities. I let out a small breath of relief at his absence, then watch the twirling bodies for a while before Constantine rises, holding his hand out to me to join him in the dance.

  At first, I feel myself recoil at the thought of having to dance with him.

  Then, I realize that’s not the real reason why Constantine is calling for me to accompany him. Through our bond, I sense his nausea and exhaustion gain in intensity, wracking his body. But even without sensing his emotions, I can see him sway slightly in place, as if crumbling under the pressure of his weakness. His eyes look bloodshot, and his breathing seems labored.

  He’s holding his hand out to me because he needs help going down the steps.

  I go to him. Beside me, the Chief Architect watches us before she rises and heads down into the festivities herself. I watch her embrace her husband and join him in the dances while a boy who must be her young son twirls with his maid nearby.

  I loop my hand through Constantine’s outstretched arm. His long, thin fingers wrap around my wrist. Immediately, I feel him lean heavily against me, his body shaking slightly.

  Premier? I say through our bond.

  His expression doesn’t change. Instead, he tightens his jaw and takes a step down from the dais with me. Just go, he replies.

  We take a few steps down toward the whirling dancers.

  He pauses for a moment, my arm still in his tight grip. His trembling quickens. When I look over at him, his eyes are closed and his face sickly pale, as if he’s steadying himself for the next step.

  I glance out at the crowd. People have noticed us now—a few murmurs come from the gathered nobles.

  Down below, Caitoman’s smile fades a little at the sight of his brother’s face.

  Constantine, I say, this time daring to use his name.

  His eyes snap open—bloodshot, unforgiving. He fixes his hard stare on me. I’m fine, he replies through the link, his voice almost a snarl. Then he forces himself down another step.

  He falters.

  A louder gasp sweeps through the crowd as Constantine stumbles and kneels right on the steps, his robes draping across the terraced stone. In the blink of an eye, Caitoman is at his brother’s side, taking a knee beside him to offer him his arm. The guards around us shift their stances. And instinctively, I turn toward the Premier, as if I genuinely believe in my role to protect him. My wings spread.

  Constantine stays where he is for what seems like a long moment. I kneel on his other side, meeting Caitoman’s gaze briefly before looking back at the young Premier.

  “Can you walk, brother?” Caitoman asks him in a low voice.

  Constantine grits his teeth and tightens his grip on his brother’s arm. “I can,” he replies. “Step away.”

  Caitoman just shakes his head, then stands up to motion at the nearest guards. “Take the Premier back to the palace,” he says. “He’s unwell.”

  At that, though, Constantine forces himself to his feet with every ounce of strength he has. His strain pulls our link taut. He straightens, turns his piercing gaze on his brother, then sweeps his stare out at the crowd. Everyone has stopped to watch him.

  Take my hand, Constantine snaps through our link.

  I take his outstretched arm and pull him to his feet in one move. He sways again, leaning against me, before gathering his strength and stepping down past his brother. Caitoman watches him with a wary gaze.

  Down below, I can see that small pockets of the crowd who had looked away during the toast are now murmuring among one another. Still others crane their necks, eager for another look at the Premier’s pale face. Most look stunned into silence. Even the music has stopped.

  No one has ever seen Constantine falter before.

  Constantine lifts his chin high and nods at the crowd, then smiles, holding his hand out at them in greeting. There’s a nervous wave of smiles in return. The musicians remember their place and begin to play again. Gradually, the dance starts where it left off, and by the time we reach the bottom step, they’ve all begun spinning around the dais again.

  Caitoman heads down to the dances too. He takes up a position on the opposite side of the dancing ring from his brother. As I look on, the General stops beside Raina and pulls her briefly aside to say something in her ear. Caitoman’s gaze looks as lethal as ever. Raina stays calm—but as she turns to reply, I can’t help wondering what he said to her. Whether he’s taunting her too.

  Whether he’s suspicious of her plans.

  Constantine leads me with a small turn into the dance circle, and I push the brief exchange out of my thoughts. I can feel his exhaustion reaching the breaking point tonight, but he forces himself into the steps along with everyone else, one of his hands gripping mine tightly and the other pressed against the small of my back. I can tell from the way he moves that he’s relying heavily on my strength to keep him upright and moving with everyone else.

  And even though I now know exactly why this is happening, that this is what we want to happen, I still cringe at how weak he is. Why do I care at all? Maybe it’s the bond between us, giving me the illusion that I should care for someone who shares his emotions with me. Then I realize that I’m scared of his faltering because it means the plan is working. Which means soon, in a few days, I will need to stand in the arena and make my move against him.

  Which means I’ll need to trust that Raina and Mayor Elland will protect my mother as they’ve promised.

  If everything continues to go according to plan.

  Well, Talin, Constantine says to me as we turn. I meet his eyes to see a slight, sinister smile on his lips. You must be thrilled to have seen me like that.

  I keep my gaze steady. I’m only frightened, I answer, and am relieved at how truthful it must feel through our bond.

  And why is that?

  My mother’s life is in your hands. What happens to her if something happens to you?

  Constantine laughs a little at my words as he steps in time to the music. Somehow, even in his condition, he manages to keep up with the nobles dancing around us. I can still see other people glancing in our direction, staring at the Premier, wondering when he’ll falter next.

  You’re wise to worry, Constantine answers. His weight presses against me as he fights to keep himself going.

  I harden my heart and tighten my hand in his. As we go, I glimpse Raina dancing with her husband a few couples in front of us. When she catches my gaze, she holds it for a second. If she’s shaken after her encounter with Caitoman, she doesn’t show it.

  Elsewhere in the circle, I see Mayor Elland in the crowd too, dancing with her partner. The crowd is heavy with tension, the cheers and laughter now seemingly more forced, the pockets of unhappy people murmuring louder.

  I keep a grip on the walls around my heart and continue to spin with the Premier.

  The song crests, and the dance shifts. I find myself staring at the rings glinting on the Chief Architect’s fingers a short distance away. There is a plain band, a silver swirl, a sun with radiating lines.

  We turn again, and the world blurs around me. The air, crisp and cool, stings my cheeks.

  The tension in the air thickens. My muscles are tensing. Something feels like it’s going to happen.

  As I think it, Constantine looks at me. He notices my unease.

  That’s when I hear a tiny pop come from somewhere in the audience. Something sparks in the air.

  Ironically, the part of me that catches this is not the Skyhunter enhancements made to me by the Chief Architect, but all my years of training as a Striker.

  The pop is from a gun. The spark is gunpowder.

  At the same time, I hear a resounding shout, the words ringing clear in the air.

  “He is not ordained to rule us!”

  I move without thinking. One of my steel wings curves protectively around Constantine, forming an impenetrable shell of steel. I feel the reverberation of the bullet against the blades of my wings. Every movement is so inhumanly fast that I find myself taken aback by the sheer force of my response. It is like watching someone else command my body.

  In reality, the entire moment must have happened inside a fraction of a second, and I must have moved so quickly that others barely saw it. Constantine doesn’t even turn toward the sound until I’ve covered him.

  Get down! I scream through our bond before my wings close around him. And as the world around us explodes in chaos.

  Someone has just attempted to assassinate the Premier. The game against Constantine has begun.

  23

  TALIN

  The moment is all a blur.

  The shot misses Constantine, pinging harmlessly off my wings, but he collapses against me from the shock of our sudden movement. My arms loop through his in a second.

  Somewhere near me, Caitoman is shouting for the carriage as he swoops to his brother’s side and starts to lead him down the path out of the building. People are running everywhere, some crouching in place in terror, others riled up by the incident and shouting at the guards. Soldiers seem to multiply from nowhere, forming scarlet lines as they push the people back to give us room.

  Caitoman reaches me first. “Take him to the carriage,” he snaps at me, nodding down toward the horses waiting along the front of the building.

  I don’t hesitate. We guide Constantine into the carriage waiting for him. Revelers crowd around the carriage; people scream in the streets; the news of an attempted assassination spreads like wildfire.

  Raina and Mayor Elland were right. Make Constantine look vulnerable. And kick the hornet’s nest.

  The last thing I see as the carriage pulls away is the body of the would-be assassin in the distance. Beyond the parted path the soldiers made for us, her figure lies in the middle of the now-empty dance ring before the dais, her blood pooling on the stone ground.

  She doesn’t look like some seasoned mercenary or cunning soldier. She’s just a girl.

  A girl—perhaps younger than me—had seized the moment of Constantine’s weakness and dared aim a gun at him.