“Half of them are Marans,” Caitoman says to Constantine. After the many months I spent in captivity in the labs, I have picked up enough Karenese to get by.

“And the other half?” he asks. The question sounds disinterested, but through our bond, I notice the Premier’s attention pique, as if he had been waiting impatiently for Caitoman to tell him more about the prisoners.

Caitoman’s lips curl into a thin smile. He is all that Constantine is not: thick muscle and height and strength, full brown hair and mischievous eyes. But even Constantine’s eyes don’t possess the void that his brother’s have. When I look at the General, all I see is the ocean at night. Merciless and churning.

“Rebels we caught at the border states,” Caitoman replies. I struggle to keep up with his rapid Karenese. “Two of them were leaders of the recent unrest at Tanapeg. One of them is from Carreal. She was heading the attempt to break Carreal from the Federation.”

Rebels from the border states, Tanapeg in the west and Carreal in the south. I’ve been hearing about them for months, ever since I first started shadowing the Premier and protecting him. Through our bond, I sense a deep satisfaction coming from Constantine at his brother’s report.

“I assume you’ve questioned them thoroughly,” Constantine says.

Caitoman lifts an eyebrow at his brother as an unspoken understanding passes between them. “You should know that,” he replies.

My hands clench and unclench, even as I tell myself to control my emotions. I have directly witnessed how General Caitoman interrogates his prisoners. Seen with my own eyes how many tools and weapons he uses, how creative he can be, how good he is at keeping people alive through it all. How that thin smile remains even after the very end.

I force my thoughts of the General away and instead look around the arena, always watchful for any threats to the Premier.

If Constantine dies, my mother dies. This is the only thought that fuels my concern for the Premier’s life and health. If he is killed, a message gets relayed instantly to whatever secret location they’re keeping my mother. A sniper shoots her. By the time Constantine’s heart has stopped beating, so will my mother’s.

So I watch for any potential assassins, spies that might harm Constantine, danger waiting in the shadows. I watch, even though it makes me sick to my stomach.

You’re angry with me.

Constantine’s voice in my mind jolts me out of my watch. I still haven’t gotten used to this new bond between us. The Skyhunter and her master. He sounds different in these secret conversations to me from when he speaks aloud. His voice is smoother, less hoarse and more refined, perhaps how he’d sounded before his illness took hold.

I’m always angry at you, I respond to him through our link. I glance over to catch him looking sidelong at me with an expression that I hate. His eyes tell me he can sense the roiling tide of emotions, my fury with him for making me stand here and oversee this. So I fold my emotions ruthlessly back, as if I were squeezing the muscle of my heart to force it smaller.