She had done it knowing that it would mean certain death, that she would be giving up everything. I stare and stare at her body until we turn and she vanishes from view. Then I sit in silence, the image of her seared into my mind.

  Just a girl, with no Skyhunter powers or Striker training.

  She had still been braver than me.

  * * *

  At the palace, soldiers swarm furiously around the grounds. There are shouts in the streets and people clustered around the outer gates, onlookers trying to peek over the guards’ heads to catch sight of anything interesting happening within. As if they could get a glimpse of Constantine or any clue as to what his reaction to the attempted assassination was.

  Inside, Constantine has been taken to his chambers, and a flurry of doctors surrounds him, along with the Chief Architect and Mayor Elland.

  I’m careful to avoid them, my attention fixated on him as he snaps at a doctor administering a poultice to a cut he’d suffered on his arm during our escape from the Sun Dial. Elsewhere, the Chief Architect speaks softly to another of the Premier’s doctors, and Mayor Elland stands in a tight circle with his advisors, her face tight with concern.

  For once, I wish I had a bond with more people. What are they thinking right now? Was this supposed to happen today?

  Even if I hadn’t been there, it would have been a hopeless gamble. The would-be assassin was never close enough to get a good aim, and by the time she was, General Caitoman had been able to pull Constantine from behind my wings and away from immediate harm.

  The girl was shot at least a dozen times. I heard one of the soldiers say it breathlessly as we arrived here. She’d been dead before she even hit the ground.

  Again, I find myself dwelling on her still body. On how she threw herself so willingly into death.

  “Cancel the rest of the games,” Caitoman is saying to him right now. He shakes his head at the Premier. “You’re in no condition to continue greeting the public, brother. You need rest, sleep, some nutrition to bring blood back through your body. You—”

  “Tell me again to cancel my appearances,” Constantine says in a warning voice to his brother.

  He hesitates, catching the dangerous quiet in the Premier’s voice. “Brother,” he begins again. It’s strange to hear this man, with all his cruel nature, try to sound concerned. “You know I’m right. You’re weak.”

  “The games go on,” Constantine says.

  The tone of his voice makes the entire room go quiet. Raina looks at him warily. The mayor stares at him from across the room, her lips tight. Constantine meets their gazes with his own fiery one before settling back on his brother.

  Caitoman gives him a grim smile. “You’ve never liked taking orders from me, have you?” he says.

  “I don’t take orders from my subordinates,” Constantine answers. He ignores his brother’s look and scans the rest of the room. When I reach out through our link to him, I hit a wall. He has pulled his defenses around himself so tightly that I can sense nothing except a veil of rage.

  Caitoman just raises his hands and shrugs once. Then he looks around the room. “Leave him,” he says, nodding at his guards to open the chamber doors. “Let my brother rest.”

  As I watch advisors file out, I can’t help the satisfaction that rises in me. Constantine looks fearsome on the surface—I can see the way his council members duck their heads as they leave, as if they’re terrified that the Premier will suddenly order their arrest and execution. They almost trip over their own feet in their rush to get out.

  But I can feel the fear running through his bones, now leaking through the walls he’s attempted to put up. The assassination attempt surprised him. But most of all, his weakness on the steps today had taken him off guard. He knows that he’d betrayed himself before his entire public. He knows the word has already spread.

  I can see his bloodshot eyes roaming the emptying room before settling on me.

  Talin, he says through our bond.

  Premier? I answer calmly.

  Send in my captain of the arenas, he tells me. Tell him we’re moving up the next game to tomorrow.

  My heart seizes at that. Tomorrow?

  He has no patience for our teasing tonight. I know you heard me, Skyhunter, he says. His lip curls into a dark snarl. Tomorrow.

  Adena and Aramin. I don’t have to say it aloud to know, without a doubt, that Constantine will unleash his rage on them tomorrow. By the end of the day, my Striker friends will be dead. He won’t be sparing any lives after an attempted assassination.

  I bow my head. Yes, Premier, I say.

  As I turn to leave, I see Constantine’s eyes roaming the abandoned chamber. I can sense the fear in him lingering in the air—it permeates everything.

  Who are your friends, Premier? And who are your enemies?

  Good. Let Constantine feel the unraveling of his own mind. Let Raina’s poisons course through his body. Let this city’s unrest and his people’s hatred for him eat him alive.

  And as I sense this, I feel the resurgence of some part of me that I’d feared I’d lost. It’s the part of me that had flickered out when Constantine first captured me, the part that had let myself open my heart to others, to accept help, to trust my life to a Shield, to be a part of team willing to give their lives for one another. It’s the girl who had been brave enough to flee Basea with her mother. The girl who had lingered as a child near the Striker arena with grand dreams of joining the Strikers. It’s the girl who was willing to step into the woods at the warfront because she knew she had allies at her side. It’s the girl who could so easily distinguish right from wrong, who could make decisions she believed in even when they were hard.

  It is the part of me that had once helped a boy prisoner in the Striker arena, for no reason other than I believed he deserved better. It is the part of me that wants so badly to open itself up to Red’s call through our link. The part of me that is like that young, would-be assassin willing to lay down her life for what is right.

  I think back to the night when Constantine had leaned back against his pillow and told me, Everyone wants someone to believe them. How lonely he’d seemed in that moment, in spite of all his power. How I pitied him. Now I know why. I pitied him because I knew, even then, that I am not like him.

  I am not alone. Not if I let myself reach out to the world beyond me. And perhaps I’m not protecting anyone by walling myself away like this.

  We can’t win if we don’t help each other, Red told me in our dream.

  Maybe he’s right, after all. Maybe I need to be braver.

  As I step out of the room, I let down the walls of my emotions for the first time in a long time. Then I close my eyes and reach tentatively out for Red, seeking our bond.

  If we’re going to take down this Federation, we’re going to use all the help we can get. And another Skyhunter might be exactly what we need.

  24

  RED

  We don’t even need to hear about Constantine’s attempted assassination to know that something has happened at the solstice festival. No one tries to shoot the Premier and not cause a scene, you know?

  From our vantage point near the lab complex, we can hear the commotion, see the guards rushing toward the Sun Dial building. I lower myself among the tree branches surrounding the lab complex and exchange a quiet stare with Jeran crouched in the next tree. We’d come here in the hopes of hearing some updates about the two victims that had arrived at the complex, but we’ve heard nothing.

  Now, with the guards running through the streets, we’ll have to wait until later in the night to move securely away from the area.

  But that doesn’t mean we don’t get to witness the spectacle caused by an attempted assassination. The shouts are everywhere in the streets. The news reaches us, fragmented and fleeting, from citizens hurrying by.

  “—the Premier is shot!—”

  “—a girl—”

  “—taking him back to his estate—”

  “—had collapsed on the steps of the dais—”

  “—rebels right in the center of the city!—”

  “—he’s weak—”

  “—he’s injured—”

  “—he’s dying—”

  Not until hours later do we finally move from our cramped spots. In the distance looms the arena, its lights illuminating the street encircling it. I wonder if they’ve done anything differently with Adena and Aramin since the assassination attempt. If they’ve secured them more, our plans just became more complicated.

  That’s when the impossible happens. I feel a sudden tug through my bond with Talin. It’s not the tenuous connection we have in our sleep, in that unreal dream world, where we seem to have little control over when we get to speak. No, this is conscious and deliberate.

  It’s Talin reaching out directly to me.

  Red.

  It’s such a shock that at first I don’t answer. Must be dreaming. Talin should be at the Premier’s side right now, following his orders and making sure he’s safe. Why would she reach out to me now, when she insisted I go away?

  But her voice comes through unmistakably.

  Red, I need your help.

  I close my eyes. Now I really must be dreaming. But when I open my eyes, I see Jeran looking at me in bemusement, his gaze focused on the small smile that’s emerged on my face.

  What do you need? I ask her.

  Adena and Aramin, she responds. Constantine is in a fury, and he’s going to take it out on them. He’s moving up the games to tomorrow. Adena and Aramin aren’t going to survive another round. I know it. But I can’t free them. My hands are tied.

  Talin must truly be afraid for them, if she’s finally reaching out to me. My relief and fear clash at the thought.

  We can get to them, I tell her. I look over again at the arena. We just have no code for the keys they keep. Jeran says the guards at the arena don’t have them.

  I can get the code to you.

  Across from me, Jeran’s eyes widen as he searches my face. Even though he doesn’t know what we’re saying through our bond, he can see the light sparking in my expression, the possibility of something.

  How? I ask Talin. When?

  Tonight. Her voice sounds hurried and tense. Midnight, at the northern thoroughfare.

  My heart starts pounding. Will I see you in person?

  She doesn’t answer right away, but I can sense her answer in the careful emotions that leak to me.

  Not for long, she finally replies. But I’ll be there.

  My smile widens. My hand curls into a fist. I can sense the old Talin sparking to life, the Striker, the Basean, the survivor, her ferocious light breaking through the cracks in the walls. The strength of her permeates our link, and all I see in this moment is the same girl who once stood before me and defended me, eyes flashing.

  She is back.

  Then we’ll be there, I say. No matter what.

  25

  TALIN

  The rest of the night settles into an uneasy calm as Constantine remains in his chamber. The number of guards posted around the palace stays high, and as I head into my room in the same hall, my keen ears can pick up their added footsteps echoing down the halls. Outside in the city, unrest roils. Extra troops are called to quell pockets of violence, but even from this far inside the palace grounds, I can hear the distant roar of potential rebels protesting against the soldiers. Of shots being fired.

  As soon as I close my door, I bolt for the bathroom. There, everything in my stomach comes up, and I hurl over and over into the bathtub until there is nothing left in me. The sourness in my mouth reminds me too much of the tang of blood in the air. When I close my eyes, all I can see is the dead girl’s limp figure lying near the dais of the Sun Dial. It morphs into the corpses of Tomm and Pira.

  The events of the past two days are all too much.

  Through the sickness that swirls inside me, I feel Red’s energy stir. There is fear laced through the thread linking us.

  And a new warmth, too. Because in spite of everything, at least he is here with me again. At least the thrum of his presence in my mind is a reminder that I’m not alone.

  I take a deep breath and remind myself that he and Jeran are out there. They are at my side, in spirit if not in person, and I am at theirs. And someday, we will be on the other side of this. I have to believe it.

  The code for the arena’s holding room keys. Constantine keeps those keys with him now. But if he’s in his chambers sleeping, can I really get in there tonight, on a night when he’s restless from the drama of his own day? Can I really meet Red and Jeran tonight? What if I can’t get the code for the Strikers’ key? What if Constantine finds out?

  I close my eyes. Count. Minutes drag on, turn into hours. I don’t know how long. I push myself up off my knees and go to the sink, where I splash water on my face and rinse out my mouth. The sour aftertaste fades from my tongue, and my head clears a bit.

  Only then do I realize that the spike of fear I’m feeling isn’t coming from Red at all—but from Constantine.

  My headspace had been so muddled that for a second I couldn’t tell. Now it’s unmistakable—a jaggedness that is distinctly his, followed by a tide of darkness. At first I think that maybe this is coming from a nightmare, but then the emotions crest and dip in an uneven pattern, not like the even waves that come with his sleep.

  Curiosity momentarily cuts through my anguish. I look up from the sink and back toward my bedchamber, to the wall where Constantine rests on the other side. The moonlight spilling against the floor stretches all the way across the room.

  He’s not in his bed. He’s not anywhere in the room. And when I sense the emotions cresting over him, I realize that they’re coming from somewhere else.

  After the assassination attempt earlier in the evening, some ominous premonition stirs in me. Did they catch someone else who was involved in the plot? Do the guards standing outside his door know that the Premier has left his chamber? Are Raina and Mayor Elland doing something else I don’t know about?

  I find myself walking back into my bedroom and toward the door. I step out quietly into the hall.

  Two guards posted in front of his bedroom stand straighter at the sight of me, blinking nervously. I give them a silent nod, then turn away and head down the hall, following the tug of our link.

  Just because we are bonded doesn’t mean I always know exactly where he is. But unlike earlier—when he shielded all his emotions from me—now he is holding nothing back. His emotions are so strong, I find myself crossing the palace hall in confidence, following him as if he were a beacon. Light and darkness stripe past me as I make my way to the other end of the second floor, then down the flight of stairs. Guards posted around the palace note me as I pass them in silence, but they don’t dare make a move to question where I’m going.

  I step into the atrium and follow a glass hallway into the greenhouse branching off from the palace.

  Constantine’s pulse grows stronger. He’s in here somewhere.

  Warm air greets me as I step in. Lush plants nod their heads down at me, and the scent of flowers from all parts of the world hit my senses. Overhead, the glass dome reflects a cool blue hue from the night sky. Like the sculptures that decorate the city’s thoroughfares, this greenhouse comprises plants taken from the Federation’s conquered territories. I catch sight of the broad-leaved trees I remember growing around Basea. Soon, there will probably be a pond here featuring the hardy camifera seaweed that grows along Mara’s sea cliffs.

  My attention shifts to the greenhouse’s back wall, which connects it to the palace, the only wall made of stone instead of glass. As I walk toward it, I realize that there is a slight opening in the wall, and within that slit flickers a faint light.

  I walk up to the opening and find that it slides open.

  It gives way to a dark, narrow corridor wide enough only for a single person.

  I hesitate. I’ve been in this greenhouse multiple times, shadowing Constantine as he enjoys his manicured garden, but this is the first time I’ve noticed this hidden space. There’s a corridor that runs behind this back wall, with a rectangle of weak light illuminating the very end of it. In the darkness, I can see the faint glow coming from my eyes, lighting the way. The farther down the corridor I go, the more distinct the outline at the end becomes, until I finally reach it. I give the door the gentlest push. At first it doesn’t budge, but with a little more pressure, it slides open to reveal a small, dimly lit room with no windows.

  I find myself staring at Constantine’s back, lantern light illuminating him as he leans hunched over a table.

  His headpiece, no longer on his bare head, lies untouched on the edge of the desk, and the wide black mark running down his eye is smudged, as if he’s run his hands repeatedly across his face.

  The smell of wine hangs heavy in the air. His emotions, jagged before through our bond, are now overwhelming, a bleak, black ocean that swells against my mind, threatening to drown out anything and everything else.

  The room itself borders on madness. Every wall is covered with maps and outlines. Beautifully detailed drawings of each former nation conquered by the Karensa Federation are nailed one on top of another, the intricate sketches of the towns and cities marred by raw lines of rough ink and pencil scribbled over them. The writing is jagged, the handwriting so messy it’s illegible. The maps look old, the paper sepia red and curling at the edges with age. Underneath these stacks of individual maps is an enormous tapestry stretching across the entire side of one wall, depicting the Federation as it stood before Mara’s fall. My eyes jump instinctively up to where Mara is, and there I see a new map nailed above all the others—an exquisite drawing of every territory in my former nation. This, too, has been scribbled on, circling each of Mara’s cities in deep graphite.

  No surface remains uncovered. Without any windows in here to let in light, it’s as if I’ve literally stepped into a chamber of the Premier’s mind.