What if the Strikers are sent there? What if Adena and Aramin end up hanging inside that wall?

We come off the train to a commotion. A crowd of several thousand has gathered to see their Premier step onto the train platform. General Caitoman steps off first, head high and smile confident, as if he had never been held temporarily hostage by a rogue Skyhunter. He glances back at me, meets my gaze briefly, then steps aside to make room for me and his brother.

At the sight of me, the throngs back instinctively away, and I hear the whisper of a Karensan word ripple through their ranks. Skyhunter. Skyhunter.

I open my steel wings slightly, to impress them, then step aside to give Constantine room to walk. A roar greets him as he emerges from the train carriage. His makeup artists have done extra work on him today, covering the dark circles under his eyes and adding some color to his tired skin. He looks young and even refreshed. Perhaps part of his glow comes from the celebration of Karensa’s new region, because even through our link, I can sense his pleasure.

Beside him, Caitoman nods at the crowd. “A good day to return home, isn’t it?” he murmurs to his older brother before he leaves us to manage his patrols.

A cluster of Constantine’s advisors is here to greet him. They flutter around him now, all fawning smiles, jostling with one another to give him their updates. A few catch my eye and skitter away until they are on the far side of the group.

I turn my attention from them and look instead down the train, craning my neck for any sign of the prisoners being unloaded. But billows of steam block my line of sight. Here and there, I think I catch glimpses of dirty sapphire coats moving through the cloud. Beyond them, teams of workers are already hustling the Striker arena’s lintel and the Waterfall onto moving platforms.

Then, at a nudge through our bond, my attention shifts back to Constantine. We’re on the move again. Heartsick, I reluctantly follow the Premier as he begins to make his way along the train station’s path leading into the capital.

“Tonight. It’s urgent.”

One of the advisor’s voices floats to me. My ears, keener with my Skyhunter enhancements, catch the desperation on the man’s tongue as he hurries beside Constantine with the others.

Constantine gives him a cold look, but the man continues. He’s pale, his lips pulled into a worried line as he speaks: “It’s about Tanapeg,” he says in a low voice. His eyes dart around the platform. “And Carreal. We need to send troops immediately. Tonight, sir. They’ve declared independence—”

At that, Constantine turns and fixes such a cold glare at the advisor that he immediately shrinks back, dropping his eyes to the floor.

“Of course, sir,” he whispers hurriedly, “we can address this later. We just need an immediate vote.”

“Of course,” Constantine says smoothly as he walks, but in his voice, I hear a warning for the man. He pales even more, then bows his head low and drops the subject altogether. His shuffling gait speeds up as he follows beside the rest of the advisors.