When I don’t leave, Constantine looks skeptically at me. You want to kill me, he says through our bond.

I say nothing.

Of course you do. Everyone does. He gives me a bitter smile. You should have just done it during the dance. You would’ve gotten to me faster than that girl. He turns his back again. Go ahead, then. Do it, and flee this hall. Just remember—if you can’t find your mother by the time I’m reported missing, my soldiers will slice her throat. So risk her if you like.

Constantine’s words cut me like knife after knife. Again and again, this is the damn truth that keeps me captive. If I kill Constantine now, my mother will almost certainly die. Caitoman will look for his brother in the morning, as will the rest of his advisors. I can try to get to my mother before then. Maybe Red and Jeran will. But the risk is far too great.

You know I can’t, I say.

He stares at me, his eyes reflecting the fire of the lanterns, before turning back to his maps. My gaze follows his.

These are the artifacts you’ve ordered to be uncovered, I tell him. You’ve been studying them for a long time.

I half expect Constantine to command me out of the room again. But he seems lost in thought, his hands running idly over the papers on the table.

My father first discovered mentions of those relics in the Early Ones’ writing, he finally replies, as if talking to himself.

His father. I was only a child when the late Premier swept the Federation’s armies across the middle of our continent—but even as a little girl, I could remember the adults around me talking in hushed, worried tones about the Federation’s advancing armies. I could recall my mother saying to my father, And what happens if that man turns his sights on Basea? on evenings when they thought I was just playing with my wooden toys.

Why so much interest? I ask Constantine now. I’ve moved closer to the keys. My hand clenches and unclenches at my side. Is this truly about powering your Federation with their energy?

He turns his face up to the large map tapestry covering one of the walls.

In the brief silence between us, I think the Premier has forgotten that I’m here. The emotions flowing through our bond are a confusing jumble, a storm where before there was only his coldness and cruelty.

I’m finally close enough to the keys. I hesitate for just a moment, letting myself quietly memorize the pattern imprinted on the metal.

Constantine doesn’t answer right away. But when he speaks again, he says, I loved my mother.

And in a sudden rush, one of his memories sears bright in my mind, drowning out the dark tide that had threatened to consume us both. For an instant, I pause in my memorization.

I wince, blinking, as the tiny room vanishes. When I open my eyes, I find myself in the body of a young boy squealing with laughter as he runs with his younger brother, still a small thing toddling about. I recognize Caitoman immediately in the memory—already stockier than Constantine, even as a tiny child. The boys chase each other down the hall, shouts echoing, until they reach a corridor where they see their father standing at the end of it. The old Premier looks in his prime, strong and formidably built, the figure that Caitoman inherited but Constantine failed to. He’s talking in low voices with his advisors. From this distance, I can hear one of the advisors murmuring to the Premier.