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.”

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.