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 purpleacross 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 briefglance, 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.”
