Talin. If the palace holds the key, then she might be able to get her hands on one for us. If.

The other voice in me perks up all of a sudden.

You hate using that word with her. As if she might choose to betray you instead. As if she isn’t someone you can trust.

I don’t know what Jeran sees on my face, or how this boy constantly notices everything said and unsaid, but something about my words must agree with him, because he nods numbly at my words. “Tomorrow night,” he signs.

I cast a last look down at the holding room too. Now Adena is standing, snapping at the guards over something, and Aramin has turned his attention away from us. He doesn’t dare look at us again, not with the guards’ attention now fully on them. As they argue, I start to make my way back down the duct.

It is only then that I overhear something the guards say. It freezes my blood.

“If they’re lucky enough to survive, they’ll eventually face the Skyhunter.”

Jeran hears it too. We halt, our eyes locked in a shared moment of horror.

I don’t know what the games will ultimately be. But Constantine is going to force them to take on Talin.

14

TALIN

The celebratory games in Cardinia are set to begin tomorrow. For now, the streets are a whirlwind of red tissue raining from the balconies and street vendors filling the air with the smell of roasted meat and sticky sugar. The occasional scrawl still appears on sculptures here and there, but they are gone by the end of the day, hurriedly scrubbed clean, the damaged sculptures removed and replaced with others.

But I remember them. And that memory reminds me that all is not as it seems in the city.

This morning, I walk in the midst of the ongoing festivities with a small patrol of guards behind me. Here in the capital, I typically spend some of my days protecting Constantine during his official duties. Other days, I’ll patrol the city, following leads about unrest or violence, ensuring everyone keeps the peace. My watches follow a pattern: I go through the streets; I check on specific shops; I attend some of the official announcements that happen weekly in the city square in order to observe the public’s reactions. I report anything suspicious or arrest lawbreakers. Anyone stirring up trouble. I go to the National Laboratory at least once a week—sometimes to report on how the experiments are going, sometimes to meet with the Chief Architect myself in order to get enhancements for my ongoing transformation.

All it takes on most days is for people to simply see me coming down the street. It is in Constantine’s best interest to show off his most fearsome weapon for his people. Everywhere I go, I can see people parting for me like a tide, followed by hushed murmurs and averted eyes, their heads bowed instinctively in fear. Their gazes linger on my black armor and the two flat stripes of metal along my back.