Caitoman doesn’t look at his brother. Instead, he keeps his stare on me, gauging my will, before he releases me and leans back in his chair. I do the same, relieved to be free of the General, disgusted that it was Constantine who came to my rescue.
The General smiles at his brother. “Of course, Premier,” he says mildly.
Constantine says nothing through our link as he returns to his conversation with his brother. But I go back to staring at my plate, any semblance of an appetite gone. The Premier may torment me for a purpose—but the General does it for pleasure. Even though I have the physical advantage over him, I do not have the political power to touch him, and the reminder tightens around my heart.
When the meal has gone on long enough, dancing breaks out in clusters in the ringed streets below. Caitoman heads down to join the festivities. I let out a small breath of relief at his absence, then watch the twirling bodies for a while before Constantine rises, holding his hand out to me to join him in the dance.
At first, I feel myself recoil at the thought of having to dance with him.
Then, I realize that’s not the real reason why Constantine is calling for me to accompany him. Through our bond, I sense his nausea and exhaustion gain in intensity, wracking his body. But even without sensing his emotions, I can see him sway slightly in place, as if crumbling under the pressure of his weakness. His eyes look bloodshot, and his breathing seems labored.
He’s holding his hand out to me because he needs help going down the steps.
I go to him. Beside me, the Chief Architect watches us before she rises and heads down into the festivities herself. I watch her embrace her husband and join him in the dances while a boy who must be her young son twirls with his maid nearby.
I loop my hand through Constantine’s outstretched arm. His long, thin fingers wrap around my wrist. Immediately, I feel him lean heavily against me, his body shaking slightly.
Premier?I say through our bond.
His expression doesn’t change. Instead, he tightens his jaw and takes a step down from the dais with me.Just go, he replies.
We take a few steps down toward the whirling dancers.
He pauses for a moment, my arm still in his tight grip. His trembling quickens. When I look over at him, his eyes are closed and his face sickly pale, as if he’s steadying himself for the next step.
I glance out at the crowd. People have noticed us now—a few murmurs come from the gathered nobles.
Down below, Caitoman’s smile fades a little at the sight of his brother’s face.
Constantine, I say, this time daring to use his name.
His eyes snap open—bloodshot, unforgiving. He fixes his hard stare on me.I’m fine,he replies through the link, his voice almost a snarl. Then he forces himself down another step.
He falters.
A louder gasp sweeps through the crowd as Constantine stumbles and kneels right on the steps, his robes draping across the terraced stone. In the blink of an eye, Caitoman is at his brother’s side, taking a knee beside him to offer him his arm. The guards around us shift their stances. And instinctively, I turn toward the Premier, as if I genuinely believe in my role to protect him. My wings spread.
Constantine stays where he is for what seems like a long moment. I kneel on his other side, meeting Caitoman’s gaze briefly before looking back at the young Premier.
“Can you walk, brother?” Caitoman asks him in a low voice.
Constantine grits his teeth and tightens his grip on his brother’s arm. “I can,” he replies. “Step away.”
Caitoman just shakes his head, then stands up to motion at the nearest guards. “Take the Premier back to the palace,” he says. “He’s unwell.”
At that, though, Constantine forces himself to his feet with everyounce of strength he has. His strain pulls our link taut. He straightens, turns his piercing gaze on his brother, then sweeps his stare out at the crowd. Everyone has stopped to watch him.
Take my hand, Constantine snaps through our link.
I take his outstretched arm and pull him to his feet in one move. He sways again, leaning against me, before gathering his strength and stepping down past his brother. Caitoman watches him with a wary gaze.
Down below, I can see that small pockets of the crowd who had looked away during the toast are now murmuring among one another. Still others crane their necks, eager for another look at the Premier’s pale face. Most look stunned into silence. Even the music has stopped.
No one has ever seen Constantine falter before.
Constantine lifts his chin high and nods at the crowd, then smiles, holding his hand out at them in greeting. There’s a nervous wave of smiles in return. The musicians remember their place and begin to play again. Gradually, the dance starts where it left off, and by the time we reach the bottom step, they’ve all begun spinning around the dais again.
Caitoman heads down to the dances too. He takes up a position on the opposite side of the dancing ring from his brother. As I look on, the General stops beside Raina and pulls her briefly aside to say something in her ear. Caitoman’s gaze looks as lethal as ever. Raina stays calm—but as she turns to reply, I can’t help wondering what he said to her. Whether he’s taunting her too.
