TALIN
The first morning of the games dawns abloody red.
The center of the arena today has been transformed into an intricate maze of walls. They stretch tall enough that the spectators can see everything happening within the walls, but anyone wandering through the maze itself is unable to see much aside from the sky.
Today, I soar high above the arena in a visible sweep of the city, looking for signs of unrest in the crowds below. As I angle my wings and swoop in an arc following the curve of the arena, my shadow stretches wide below. People along the thoroughfare duck instinctively when the darkness glides over them. I can see their eyes following the lethal grace of my movements. Constantine wants them to remember what kind of power he has at his side.
He also wants me to see the entirety of the arena. To remind me that this is where my lifelong friends and companions might die. All part of his own secret game.
Well, I’m playing one too.
A part of me yearns to reach out to Red. Wherever he is, he must not be far from the city center if we were able to connect in our dreams. Butthe instant I think it, I recoil as if struck by a whip. The walls go up again, and I cringe, forcing him from my thoughts. His hands, touching mine in my dream. His eyes, searching mine. His presence, so clear I was almost fooled into thinking he was there.
I can’t let myself get close to him like that. It could cost him his life.
As I finish my surveillance of the festivities and rejoin the Premier, we head onto his balcony at the arena. He doesn’t address me at all. Through our bond, I search for any hints that he might know about the meeting I had with the Chief Architect and Mayor Elland—but there’s nothing today. Instead, I sense the weight of exhaustion in him, hidden under his usual blanket of false strength.
Today it feels especially heavy. When I glance at him through my lashes, I notice his shoulders hunched more than usual, the uneven labor of his breathing, the hesitation in his steps. Raina’s words from the meeting come back to me. She has increased his doses of medication this week.
I continue observing him as we arrive at the balcony and take our seats. Behind the paint on the Premier’s face—the stripe, the black around his eyes—he looks visibly weak. Constantine can see me studying him, even though he ignores it.
Good. Let him think I’m puzzled by his agony today, that this is me confused and concerned.
I finally look away from him and down at the arena. Here, I get a clear view of the awful space—and an idea of what they’ll be forcing the Strikers to do.
One end of the maze leads into a series of large, metal sliding doors that remind me of the gate design at the lab complex. I can see thin grooves on the sides of each stone wall, as if they might move at any given moment. They are going to keep the Strikers guessing, to change the maze to suit the game and keep the players from winning or dying too easily.
At the other end of the maze stands a line of Ghosts, all chained in their cages and pacing restlessly.
“You’re willing to lose ten silver notes?”
Two soldiers behind me laugh, shoving each other, as we settle into the space.
“Ten on the inventor,” the second soldier retorts, “and you’ll be the one handing it to me.”
“But I heard one was their Firstblade.”
Their words make my heart twist in helpless fury. Strikers, the strength of Mara, forced to fight for their lives all to entertain these Karensans. I glance over my shoulder at them and lock my stare on theirs. The first one catches sight of me and pales, his confident jests suddenly turning into stammers. His eyes dart to the floor. His companion notices me too and hurriedly bows his head.
“Skyhunter,” he murmurs.
I stare at them a moment longer, my eyes glowing, before turning back around. Behind me, their silence lingers.
Constantine has his attention fixed on the crowd around us, his hand up in a wave as they cheer for him. On his other side, Caitoman exchanges a few words with the rest of their guards. The expression on his face is one of dark interest. With a sickening feeling, I realize that he’s making bets with them too. Telling them how he hopes each of the Strikers will go.
Finally, far at the end sits the Chief Architect, who stares down at the maze with an expressionless face.
I stare at her for a moment. As her head turns in my direction, her deep-set eyes flicker to mine, holding my gaze for a heartbeat. Then she looks away again.
The arena is rowdy and restless, eager for the game to begin. Everyone wants to see for themselves just how good Strikers are at killingmonsters. My stomach turns as I look at the people chanting for the event to begin. But even as I do, I can see unsettled glances passing between some of the people, whispers that are drowned out behind a chorus of cheers. Not everyone is here to enjoy it.
How many here are a part of the rebellion?
My eyes shift toward the gates leading to where the Strikers are being kept. I think I see a glimpse of sapphire coats. Have they been given back some of their gear too? Has the Premier seen to it that the audience will get to see a show as authentic as if they were all out on the warfront?
As if he felt the shift of my emotions at the sight of the gates, Constantine tilts his head slightly at me. “Don’t despair, Talin,” he says. “Your friends will get a fighting chance. That’s the point of it, after all.”
The point of it. The sickening fear roiling in my stomach makes way for my usual anger, and I scowl back at him. Maybe the tonic that Raina had given me has already done its work, because I don’t feel the strength of his satisfaction in return.
