Constantine rose to his feet, gripping the iron banister behind the transparent shield. When they saw him the crowd exploded, a free-fall maelstrom of shouts and applause. They knew it was his triumph. The joy of it overwhelmed them, the brief bright release from the dark tension of the War. If he’d failed, they would have hounded him to death with the same passion. But that dark knowledge had been blasted by victory. Because he’d won, now the risk he’d run only sharpened his delight.