I am Pira. Tomm is Corian. And I am witnessing the agony of my memory again, live, right before my eyes. I am her, tugging her Shield to herself in order to bury her own dagger in his chest, ending his suffering. And despite our stormy past, despite all the times Tomm had ever tormented me or Pira had lashed out, I can feel nothing but anguish for them.
Relax a little, Talin.
At Constantine’s voice in my head, I look at him through a veil of tears. He nods down at my hands. They are clenched so tight against the stone of the balcony that I’ve scraped my fingers bloody.
I release my grip, but the tide of my fury at Constantine rises in a wave. Corian, dead because of this young Premier. Because of his monsters.
With every ounce of strength I can muster, I push down the swell ofanguish. I force my gaze back to where Pira is crouched beside Tomm’s now-still body. And I watch.
Pira doesn’t even have time to mourn her Shield. Instead, she leaves her dagger where it is, embedded in his chest, and runs down the path as the other Ghosts come for her. Up in the stands, the audience rewards her quick thinking with a thunderous cheer. Behind Pira, Tomm’s body collapses to the floor as the Ghosts finish with him.
She doesn’t get far. The other Ghosts finally catch up with her. She whirls on them, teeth bared, a ferocious whirlwind, and in this moment, she looks so powerful that I think maybe she really can fend them all off. But then she stumbles against one of them as it grabs her, then shoves her hard against the wall. She hits her head. Her movements become slow and unsteady.
I look away again, but the crowd screams, and I know what has happened.
Pira is dead.
My hands stay steady at my side, but my jaw has clenched so tightly now that I’m afraid I may break my teeth. Tomm and Pira had not been my friends on the warfront, but we had been allies. We had both fought against the Federation in Mara’s last stand. Now they’re gone, not from fighting Ghosts on the front, but from holding them back in an arena, where they gave their lives entertaining a crowd of fifty thousand.
I close my eyes. Beside me, Constantine shifts, but this time, his voice doesn’t appear in my thoughts. I’m grateful for the silence.
When my eyes open, I see down below that Aramin has reached the yellow flag at the end of his maze path. He nods silently as he faces a final Ghost, who snarls at him from underneath where the flag hangs. He doesn’t even bother pulling the blade out as he launches up from the Ghost’s back to grab the flag.
His steel gate slides shut, sealing him off from the rest of the Ghosts in the maze.
Adena is last, having fought the entire path alone. Miraculously, she leaps off the back of a dying Ghost—the creature still clutching its ruined throat—and grabs the scarlet flag hanging over the path. Immediately, as if her movement had triggered an action, a steel gate slides shut between her and the rest of the path. Two Ghosts hurl themselves at the closed wall, shrieking their rage at being unable to reach her. Adena stands there, her bloody makeshift weapon still in one hand, a sword in the other, breathing heavily.
She has survived. My heart leaps with hope. My limbs weaken in relief.
She looks automatically up toward the Premier. Then, before anyone can stop her, she points her gun at his balcony and shoots straight in the direction of Constantine.
No. I can’t be seeing this. What is she doing?
Adena is much too far away for the bullet to hit, let alone accurately, but she shoots anyway, again and again. Her eyes are narrowed to slits, and her face is a picture of rage that I’ve never seen on her.
My breath hisses through my teeth. Fool! I want to scream at her. Constantine will punish her for such an offense. She has just survived an entire maze only to die because she can’t contain her anger.
And yet, deep down, I know I’m furious because Adena has never, ever hesitated to take a stand for what she believes in. While I stay up here beside the Premier that destroyed my homeland, she is down there, pointing her gun at him, unwilling to give him anything. I’m furious because I wish I could be her.
Constantine doesn’t flinch at her threat, but his posture stiffensin anger. In the stadium, the audience seems to inhale as a single entity, excited by this brazen show of rebellion, awed and eager to witness the consequence of this Maran Striker’s threat against the Premier.
No.No.I swear at Adena in my thoughts, screaming silently at her to stop.You idiot! You could save yourself and live to fight another day!But she doesn’t care anymore. I can tell that any semblance of self-preservation has vanished from her. She fires again. The bullets hit too low, unable to reach us, but they arc instead to ping against the stone below the balcony.
Talin.
Constantine’s voice in my head makes me run cold. I turn to see him staring down at Adena, his face a mask of calm.
Kill her, he tells me.
There is no emotion in his voice. No amusement, no anger. Just… nothing. It’s as if he’s telling me to fetch him his slippers.
Adena is threatening him publicly in this arena, an open rebellion—he would never let such a public threat against himself pass.
I was expecting his command. But it still takes me off guard.
Out in the arena, Red’s emotions surge. He knows what Constantine must be asking me to do. The furious anguish in him crashes through me like a tide, and I want desperately to answer it. To tell him to stay put, to not make a move. To warn him to get out of here.
But despite Raina’s tonic, there’s still no real telling how much Constantine can sense. What will happen if he learns that Red is in this audience?
