I take a deep breath and remind myself that he and Jeran are out there. They are at my side, in spirit if not in person, and I am at theirs. And someday, we will be on the other side of this. I have to believe it.
The code for the arena’s holding room keys. Constantine keeps those keys with him now. But if he’s in his chambers sleeping, can I really get in there tonight, on a night when he’s restless from the drama of his own day? Can I really meet Red and Jeran tonight? What if I can’t get the code for the Strikers’ key? What if Constantine finds out?
I close my eyes. Count. Minutes drag on, turn into hours. I don’t know how long. I push myself up off my knees and go to the sink, where I splash water on my face and rinse out my mouth. The sour aftertaste fades from my tongue, and my head clears a bit.
Only then do I realize that the spike of fear I’m feeling isn’t coming from Red at all—but from Constantine.
My headspace had been so muddled that for a second I couldn’t tell. Now it’s unmistakable—a jaggedness that is distinctly his, followed by a tide of darkness. At first I think that maybe this is coming from a nightmare, but then the emotions crest and dip in an uneven pattern, not like the even waves that come with his sleep.
Curiosity momentarily cuts through my anguish. I look up from the sink and back toward my bedchamber, to the wall where Constantine rests on the other side. The moonlight spilling against the floor stretches all the way across the room.
He’s not in his bed. He’s not anywhere in the room. And when I sense the emotions cresting over him, I realize that they’re coming from somewhere else.
After the assassination attempt earlier in the evening, some ominous premonition stirs in me. Did they catch someone else who was involved in the plot? Do the guards standing outside his door know that the Premier has left his chamber? Are Raina and Mayor Elland doing something else I don’t know about?
I find myself walking back into my bedroom and toward the door. I step out quietly into the hall.
Two guards posted in front of his bedroom stand straighter at the sight of me, blinking nervously. I give them a silent nod, then turn away and head down the hall, following the tug of our link.
Just because we are bonded doesn’t mean I always know exactly where he is. But unlike earlier—when he shielded all his emotions from me—now he is holding nothing back. His emotions are so strong, I find myself crossing the palace hall in confidence, following him as if he were a beacon. Light and darkness stripe past me as I make my way to the other end of the second floor, then down the flight of stairs. Guards posted around the palace note me as I pass them in silence, but they don’t dare make a move to question where I’m going.
I step into the atrium and follow a glass hallway into the greenhouse branching off from the palace.
Constantine’s pulse grows stronger. He’s in here somewhere.
Warm air greets me as I step in. Lush plants nod their heads down at me, and the scent of flowers from all parts of the world hit my senses. Overhead, the glass dome reflects a cool blue hue from the night sky. Like the sculptures that decorate the city’s thoroughfares, this greenhouse comprises plants taken from the Federation’s conquered territories. I catch sight of the broad-leaved trees I remember growing around Basea. Soon, there will probably be a pond here featuring the hardy camifera seaweed that grows along Mara’s sea cliffs.
My attention shifts to the greenhouse’s back wall, which connectsit to the palace, the only wall made of stone instead of glass. As I walk toward it, I realize that there is a slight opening in the wall, and within that slit flickers a faint light.
I walk up to the opening and find that it slides open.
It gives way to a dark, narrow corridor wide enough only for a single person.
I hesitate. I’ve been in this greenhouse multiple times, shadowing Constantine as he enjoys his manicured garden, but this is the first time I’ve noticed this hidden space. There’s a corridor that runs behind this back wall, with a rectangle of weak light illuminating the very end of it. In the darkness, I can see the faint glow coming from my eyes, lighting the way. The farther down the corridor I go, the more distinct the outline at the end becomes, until I finally reach it. I give the door the gentlest push. At first it doesn’t budge, but with a little more pressure, it slides open to reveal a small, dimly lit room with no windows.
I find myself staring at Constantine’s back, lantern light illuminating him as he leans hunched over a table.
His headpiece, no longer on his bare head, lies untouched on the edge of the desk, and the wide black mark running down his eye is smudged, as if he’s run his hands repeatedly across his face.
The smell of wine hangs heavy in the air. His emotions, jagged before through our bond, are now overwhelming, a bleak, black ocean that swells against my mind, threatening to drown out anything and everything else.
The room itself borders on madness. Every wall is covered with maps and outlines. Beautifully detailed drawings of each former nation conquered by the Karensa Federation are nailed one on top of another, the intricate sketches of the towns and cities marred by raw lines of rough ink and pencil scribbled over them. The writing is jagged, the handwriting so messy it’s illegible. The maps look old, the paper sepia redand curling at the edges with age. Underneath these stacks of individual maps is an enormous tapestry stretching across the entire side of one wall, depicting the Federation as it stood before Mara’s fall. My eyes jump instinctively up to where Mara is, and there I see a new map nailed above all the others—an exquisite drawing of every territory in my former nation. This, too, has been scribbled on, circling each of Mara’s cities in deep graphite.
No surface remains uncovered. Without any windows in here to let in light, it’s as if I’ve literally stepped into a chamber of the Premier’s mind.
My eyes widen as I scan the walls. It takes me another moment to realize that every place he’s circled in Mara is a location where he has been digging for artifacts. This is where he goes to study the artifacts that have become his obsession.
There are sketches of the relics that his teams have already dug up near Newage, alongside blueprints scribbled with notes from the pages of documents by the Early Ones. The papers are everywhere. A small stack of them lies on a table nearest the entrance of the tiny room.
Then I spot it. His small loop of keys, lying on the same table. The thin rectangle of metal, its holes punched in an elaborate sequence of patterns.
The key to Adena and Aramin’s cell and shackles, imprinted with a series of numbers. Immediately I remember the code that had gotten us inside the lab institute during my failed attempt with my fellow Strikers at destroying the complex.
The Premier stays curled over his table. From here, I can tell that this surface is covered with maps and drawings too, but of lands I don’t recognize, places on the other side of the sea. He has drawn haphazardly over them, and now stares blankly at the maps as if he can see something on the other side.
I take a step forward, conscious of exactly how far I am from those keys.
Constantine stirs for the first time. He glances at me over his shoulder. He’s deeply drunk, and his gaze is lost, leaving him looking, for the first time, as young as he actually is.
