I look at him.Games?
He nods. “It’s a tradition from the Early Ones, who used to host games every four years that drew participants from every part of the world.”
I open one of the windows and stick out my hand to catch bits of the red paper. When I bring my arm in to look at the papers, I realize they each have the Karensan crest printed on one side, along with the flag of Mara on the other.
I glance quickly at Constantine, who gives me a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
Welcome into our fold, he tells me through our link.
And I realize that this year, they are also celebrating their new conquest.
When Adena, Jeran, and I first came to Cardinia, I’d been so awestruck by the sight of its towers that I’d never even bothered to notice the district that circles around the inside of the city wall. This district has its own, smaller wall, with a series of gates attended by guards.
This time, as we head into the city, I turn to look back at that district. I’ve learned what it is now, because my mother had labored within this place just months earlier. It’s the prison district, a camp so large that it runs in a ring all around the outskirts of the city. Over the top of the prison district’s gates, I can see clouds of steam pouring from buildings.
It houses prisoners of war. Traitors and spies. Thieves, murderers, and anyone that has crossed the Federation.
General Caitoman oversees their interrogation.
I turn my eyes away from the sight, sickness roiling in my stomach. I’d seen the hard labor my mother did in one of their factories, had to bear the horror of her bruises and wounds. I’d witnessed prisoners shackled to that inner wall, hanging until they were dead.
What if the Strikers are sent there? What if Adena and Aramin end up hanging inside that wall?
We come off the train to a commotion. A crowd of several thousand has gathered to see their Premier step onto the train platform. General Caitoman steps off first, head high and smile confident, as if he had never been held temporarily hostage by a rogue Skyhunter. He glances back at me, meets my gaze briefly, then steps aside to make room for me and his brother.
At the sight of me, the throngs back instinctively away, and I hear the whisper of a Karensan word ripple through their ranks.Skyhunter. Skyhunter.
I open my steel wings slightly, to impress them, then step aside to give Constantine room to walk. A roar greets him as he emerges from the train carriage. His makeup artists have done extra work on him today, covering the dark circles under his eyes and adding some color to his tired skin. He looks young and even refreshed. Perhaps part of his glow comes from the celebration of Karensa’s new region, because even through our link, I can sense his pleasure.
Beside him, Caitoman nods at the crowd. “A good day to return home, isn’t it?” he murmurs to his older brother before he leaves us to manage his patrols.
A cluster of Constantine’s advisors is here to greet him. They flutter around him now, all fawning smiles, jostling with one another to givehim their updates. A few catch my eye and skitter away until they are on the far side of the group.
I turn my attention from them and look instead down the train, craning my neck for any sign of the prisoners being unloaded. But billows of steam block my line of sight. Here and there, I think I catch glimpses of dirty sapphire coats moving through the cloud. Beyond them, teams of workers are already hustling the Striker arena’s lintel and the Waterfall onto moving platforms.
Then, at a nudge through our bond, my attention shifts back to Constantine. We’re on the move again. Heartsick, I reluctantly follow the Premier as he begins to make his way along the train station’s path leading into the capital.
“Tonight. It’s urgent.”
One of the advisor’s voices floats to me. My ears, keener with my Skyhunter enhancements, catch the desperation on the man’s tongue as he hurries beside Constantine with the others.
Constantine gives him a cold look, but the man continues. He’s pale, his lips pulled into a worried line as he speaks: “It’s about Tanapeg,” he says in a low voice. His eyes dart around the platform. “And Carreal. We need to send troops immediately. Tonight, sir. They’ve declared independence—”
At that, Constantine turns and fixes such a cold glare at the advisor that he immediately shrinks back, dropping his eyes to the floor.
“Of course, sir,” he whispers hurriedly, “we can address this later. We just need an immediate vote.”
“Of course,” Constantine says smoothly as he walks, but in his voice, I hear a warning for the man. He pales even more, then bows his head low and drops the subject altogether. His shuffling gait speeds up as he follows beside the rest of the advisors.
I am careful not to react too much, lest Constantine realize howmuch I’ve overheard. My emotions stay even, but my mind whirls at the news. Tanapeg and Carreal, states bordering the Federation’s territorial limits. The same states whose rebel leaders had been punished in Newage.
Independence.
No doubt Constantine will order troops there, may send General Caitoman out to crush the unrest. But an outright declaration of independence?
That means the Premier didn’t have enough troops to quell the beginnings of their rebellion. It means the Federation might be spread too thin, and this negligence has cost Constantine the advantage of absolute control.
How deep do these cracks in the Federation run? Where do they go?
