by Pierce Brown
“Sir.”
He fails to find a wolfcloak on her shoulder. “You look lost.”
She actually looks ashamed. For not going with Darrow? For sitting beside me instead of Sevro? I didn’t spend time to think of that. Just because she’s doing what she thinks is right doesn’t mean she likes it. Whatever closeness I feel to Holiday must pale in comparison with the intimacy of the pack. Ten years on four spheres. They’re her home, and Sevro is the master of the house. No wonder a toga would sound so horrible. I feel suddenly like a presumptuous interloper.
“I was lost, Sevro. How was Venus?”
“Vacations, you know. Hopped around the islands, visited some old friends, warmed ourselves by a fire, then came home to an empty house. Speakin’ of fire. How’s the cooch rash?”
“Better than your face.”
“Good, so you’ll be bringing your kid-stealing ratfuck relation to me in no time. He’s got a special reservation.” He pats his scalp hook. “Yeah, you can get back to me with that answer, but I’m charging interest.” He sips his coffee and glares at me. “So, ’Stang, you found the right bait to make yourself a wolf trap. Clever you.”
“Well, you weren’t answering my calls.”
He barely shrugs.
“Didn’t even have the courtesy of telling me you were on Luna. That’s hardly the behavior I expected from my son’s godfather.”
“Was busy eating my way up the food chain.” He rolls his head to crack his neck, uncomfortable with the stillness. “You talk with the apex asshole?”
I nod. “Before he made landfall.”
“He woke the Storm Gods.”
“He saved his army,” I correct.
“So Mercurian lives don’t count?” he asks.
“More to me than to you I imagine,” I reply.
He shrugs. “Pebble always wanted to surf.” He glances over his shoulder. “Didn’t you, Pebble?”
“That was Thistle, sir.”
“Who?”
Thistle was the Howler who betrayed them and joined my brother’s Boneriders ten years before. That’s how Sevro is. Betray him and you’re purged from existence.
“The civilian toll was likely catastrophic,” I say, “but go on and make jokes.”
“Civilians.” He snorts. “You haven’t met many Mercurians lately. Mosquitoes, all of ’em. If Darrow wants to die, he couldn’t pick a better planet to take with him. Those freaks actually like chains.” He yawns. “Surprised. Thought if anyone could get him to come back for his boy, it’d be you.”
“Oh, so we’re making him a monster so you feel better,” I reply. “I said: Pax is in danger, race back and rescue him because I’m not actually the most powerful person in the Republic. I need my husband. Boo hoo. Weak and helpless am I. Pax needs you.” I look at Pebble. “And Darrow replied, ‘Pax who?’ ”
Sevro just sits there.
“I didn’t ask him to come back, you little diva. I agree with his decision. He’s where he should be.”
His eyes narrow. “You’re a mother, how could—”
“Careful, Sevro. I’ve never questioned your love for your children. Do you really want to question mine?”
“He chose war over his boy. He’s gone Iron Gold on us. Doesn’t care about anything else,” he drawls.
“And you want to pretend that was easy for him. I see. Does that soothe your conscience? It was a long ride back from Venus.” He looks away. “Don’t tell me you weren’t eaten alive with guilt. Electra is one person. One. You chose her over ten million who’d die for you. Ten million you inspired. Who chanted your name. Who left their families behind to follow you.” It’s risky, but he needs this slap in the face. “What about your responsibilities? What about the families of the Free Legions? What about your oath to this Rep—”
“Fuck the Republic.”
Behind him, Pebble looks at the floor. I thought so.
“Selfish jackass,” Holiday snaps at him.
“Traitorous twat.”
“Traitor? That’s rich after Wulfgar.”
“Accident.” He looks at me. “He got in our way.” He jerks his head back at Holiday. “Seriously, shut the fuck up. You don’t even have a kid. We were your family. We put you back together after Trigg punched the ticket. And you didn’t even have the balls to come with us to Venus. So teeth together and look crusty beside your new master, cuz we all know you’re wet bread inside.”
Theodora really doesn’t like that.
“Sevro, dear. You haven’t had your balls for ten years. You gave them to Victra as a bridal dowry. And let’s not get started on how many times I’ve seen you cry. Wet bread indeed.”
Sevro looks calmly over to me. “They know I hit women, right?”
“We’re trying to save Darrow’s life,” I say. “We are trying to protect the future while you—”
“My girls are my future,” he snaps. “They got a lot of life ahead of them. Only way they’ll be safe is if I teach the Syndicate a lesson no one will ever forget. If you touch a Barca, you cease to exist.”
“You are shortsighted, emotional, and in dereliction of duty, Imperator.” I glare at Pebble, and at the shadows on the ceiling. “That goes for all of you.” Pebble rocks from foot to foot. “You want me to butter you up? Say I understand? Give you a hug? Get over yourself, Sevro.”
“Talk. Talk. Talk.” Sevro spits on the table, getting my hand. The coffee does little to hide the halitosis he gets in the field. Gross. “Slag it. My balls are growing a beard.” He pulls Tickler, a knife as long as a child’s forearm, from his boot and sets it down on the table. “You got a duke that needs castrating. We got history, so I gave you a word. Bored now.”
“You won’t be castrating anyone,” I say.
“Think you can stop me?” A grin slashes his face. “When was the last time you got your hooves bloody in a tussle, horsey? You’re gonna need more than those forty rear-echelon Pixies on the roof and old Holi here to stop us. Maybe you got big bitch Daxo hiding in the wings? A horde of Lionguard waiting to pounce? You don’t want to go full metal with me, not today.”
“Don’t insult your own intelligence by insulting mine,” I reply. “If I wanted to put you in irons, I’d have activated a containment field and embedded gravity engines in the ground that would subject you to an ungodly quantity of G’s that would knock all of you idiots unconscious in your fancy armor, Cyther-made or not. But I didn’t because this is a family affair, and I fear further damage to your already questionable gray matter.”
He doesn’t trust me. “Winkle,” he says into his com. “Sky? Still clear?” He grunts at the reply. “Keep an eye out. Daddy’s going to carve a steak.” He sets his coffee down and stands.
“You’re not the only one who lost a child,” I say. That makes him pause. “Yet you play this charade, knowing the pain I’m in. Knowing the fear I feel. I would never do this to you.”
It’s one of the first times I’ve seen pity in his eyes.
“Pax is safe. We got it under control….”
“You have half the bounty hunters in the Republic after you,” I say. “The Wardens are one step behind. You and my husband killed Wulfgar. He was their founder. Their war hero. Accident or not, they want blood.” I put a hand on the table, minding the spit. “Sevro. Brother. What about this seems in control to you?”
That plays on his guilt and his insecurities. He doubts Victra’s plan. His shoulders curve forward into the slump he always wore as a young man. Selfishly, I want him to choose to tell me. I need that choice from him so I don’t resent him for the rest of my life.
“Sevro, where is my boy?” I ask one last time. His eyes are starting to go glassy. “I know this isn’t your doing. You’d be with your daughters, not carving up my city. But you can choose to tell me.” He swallows, looking for some escape. He wants t
o tell me, but he loves his wife more than his conscience.
“I wasn’t here,” he mutters. “I had Darrow’s back till I had to have Victra’s. You’re third in line. So don’t keep asking. We’ll get Pax to you. That’s an oath. But I gotta have my wife’s back.”
“So you won’t tell me.”
“Maybe I’d tell Mustang. But you ain’t her. You’re the Sovereign now. I finally get that. V’s been telling me that for years. You’re the Sovereign. Darrow’s the Reaper. Everything else is second. Shit, I ain’t even supposed to be talking to you.”
“Yet you are.”
He nods. “I’ll catch hell for it. She thinks you’re some sort of mind reader. Or that I’m a dumbass that’ll spill the beans. Prolly true.”
It hurts to see him like this. I want to be angry with him. In some ways I am. But this isn’t his fault. Victra is to blame. Julii have always had cantankerous genes. There is no right or wrong for her, only hers and everyone else. I was hers. It was a warm place to be. But over time I alienated her as Virginia shrank and the Sovereign grew. Perhaps it was inevitable, a faultline between the consciences of our two clans that now has ripped open into a gulf. It may never mend. But Sevro is Sevro. I have to believe that. No matter what he does, he doesn’t go cold like Victra and Darrow. This is breaking him apart. The horrid violence, the lowered head, the refusal to communicate—all remnants of his early survival mechanisms. Do we ever leave them behind?
I don’t need him to betray Victra. I can’t ask him for that. But I can relieve this burden from him, and maybe this gulf between us. Communication is our salvation.
“Sevro, I already know what she’s doing.”
“Naw.” His eyes harden. “She said you’d say that. Try to pick me for intel.” He hefts his knife. “Now stay real still. I don’t want to poke any of you. But this needs doin’.”
“He’s never seen the Queen’s face, Sevro,” I say.
“We’ll see about that.”
He expects Holiday to rise up and block his path as he walks toward the cube, but she stays seated, as I ordered.
“I know why Victra went to Mars,” I call after Sevro. He doesn’t stop. “She’s going to pay the ransom.”
He stops short of the interrogation cube’s door.
“Victra wouldn’t go to Mars unless our children were there. And you wouldn’t dare attack the Syndicate if they still had them. So they don’t.”
“Nice try. Ain’t fallin’ for it.”
“That leaves us with four possibilities. A third party hired the Syndicate to steal the children and received them as planned. A fourth party intervened and has them, and the Syndicate’s original plan and backer are out of luck. Or Ephraim sold the children to another buyer. Or he absconded with the children and is ransoming them.”
Holiday emotes nothing.
Sevro turns his head a quarter of the way around.
“The last two are unlikely, judging by the fact we found Ephraim’s right leg at the crash site. The first is unlikely because the Syndicate has put out a bounty on Ephraim, and made no ransom demands to me. So that leaves the second possibility. A fourth party has them.”
Sevro turns all the way around. I feel a sudden swelling of excitement as I realize he won’t betray Victra, but actually wants me to guess it right. He wants to come in from the cold. He doesn’t want this division. But at the same time, he’s afraid his wife is right. If I guess what they’re doing, I’ll bring a stop to it.
“Assuming that is correct, and taking into account Victra’s actions, they have asked for a ransom from Victra instead of me. Wise. Victra is paying that ransom. It is a ransom she thinks I would not pay, otherwise why cut me out of the loop, considering my assets? She may be spiteful, but children are sacred to her. She’d never hurt me that way to teach me a lesson. She prefers knuckles to jaws.
“So, what do you two have that I don’t have, and who is it valuable to? The list is appallingly small. Shipyards, ore haulers, tradeships, and hubs. Taking into consideration the curiously timed pilgrimage Sefi has taken to Earth—and the overabundance of evidence supporting her existence there—I know she is not on Earth. Nor is she with the Obsidian fleet heading opposite Mars’s orbit toward the Belt under auspices of chasing Obsidian pirates. She is on Mars or still within the Heart of Venus, which she purchased through a shell company, awaiting Victra’s ships and possible further aid in stealing Quicksilver’s helium mines in Cimmeria.” I lean forward. “That’s aiding and abetting an attack on Mars.”
Sevro has gone very still. His eyes flick to Pebble.
“Look at me,” I say. “No one betrayed you. This is simply what I do.”
The shame is apparent on his face, but he holds my gaze. “Sefi said she would kill Electra and Pax if we didn’t get her the ore ships.”
“You believe her?”
“Ragnar was my brother. But Sefi is…ice. If you interfere…”
“I don’t intend to.” He cocks his head. “Could we stop them getting the mines? Yes. But not without dire cost to the Ecliptic Guard and the Martian Legions. We will need all we have when Gold comes. Obsidian lost too many at Mercury—a planet they can’t even live on. They are done with the offensive war, but if they have a stake on Mars, if they have a homeland…they’ll defend it against the slavers.
“War has stretched us thin. We haven’t had the money to rebuild Cimmeria. They will, from the helium they sell us. Helium we already buy from Quicksilver. We haven’t the resources to divert to eliminating the Red Hand. Sefi will, with greater prejudice and focus than I could. Quicksilver has convinced the Zenith Ring they own the Republic. He’s in need of a valuable lesson. And what does it cost us? Land and pride. Two things we can spare.
“The public will cry foul, but it will happen after the vote. Soon Atalantia will come. The Silvers will fall in line. Sefi will understand I allowed it when I withdraw all Republic forces as soon as they begin their assault. The first ambassadors she receives will be Darrow’s brother, Kieran, and Kavax’s wife, Niobe. They will have weight with her. They will offer a defensive military alliance with the Republic and secure a helium contract. Then we turn our eyes on Atalantia.”
“Victra said…we thought you would never let it happen.”
“Victra can be an idiot, and so can you. When can you say the same for me?” I wait. “I am sick and tired of everyone swimming around like drunk piranha because they assume I am toothless. Whether or not we save Darrow, atomic war is coming to the Republic. The time for disunity is over.” Finally, I stand up and step toward him. “You are in a demokracy, Barca. The people chose me as Sovereign. They chose me to lead. Until my term or life comes to an end, I am in command. If you want to abandon the Republic we built to play with your kids, fine. Slag off and wait for mushroom clouds. But if you want to be a part of it, get your head out of your ass, stop making my life difficult, and report for duty.”
Clown falls from the ceiling to land beside his wife. Min-Min comes next. One by one, the Howlers separate from the shadows to join them on the floor until twenty-five of the hardest killers in a demokracy of eight billion stand looking at Sevro. Their demands are clear. Sevro picks his teeth with Tickler, tucks the blade away, and snaps to attention. The Howlers stomp their heels together.
“Imperator Barca and Howler First Cohort reporting for duty, ma’am.”
“Good to have you back, Imperator,” I say. “Your first order.” I motion him forward and wipe salt under his nose, then place my datapad controller to the Duke’s psychoSpike in his hands. “There is a terrorist in that interrogation cube. When I tell you, activate this program. Afterward, if he knows what color his eyes are without looking in a mirror, shoot him in the head. Can you perform this task, Imperator?”
Sevro raises an eyebrow at me. He knows I know he wants to torture the Duke for the Queen’s location. He wants to
express his doubts. But if I don’t have his trust after what just went down, I’ll never have it. I need to know now.
“Yes, ma’am.”
He walks into the cube. I watch with the Howlers from outside. Theodora turns on the sound. The Duke is snorting in thin derision at Sevro.
“—think I’m afraid of you, mongrel? I’ve seen my Queen make eunuchs with her kuon hounds. I’ve seen her kill a room full of Endymion heavies with nothing but a hatchet. I’ve seen her melt babies in acid. I’ll never tell you where she is.”
Sevro squints at the neurolink and activates the program.
The image of a masked woman in a crown fills the room. It ripples past, replaced by Gorgo, the Queen’s right hand. A derelict tank-manufacturing plant blooms. More images of Syndicate facilities whiz past. Sevro goes very still when the face of an old friend appears in the images. Dancer. At first he must think it some mistake. Then more holograms of the man appear in the Duke’s memory. Sevro looks at me through the glass with a dead look in his eyes.
“Boyo, I think you already did tell us,” Sevro whispers.
The Duke stares in horror at his memories given holographic form. He begins to scream at what he’s done, not understanding, not knowing how we have secrets he would have died to protect. Then the program moves to its second phase. The psychoSpike on the back of his skull glows. The Duke goes rigid. His eyes blank. The veins of his neck stand out. In five seconds it is all over. He slumps in the chair, breathing heavily. When he looks up, he is not the same man. Gone is the agony. Gone are the inflections of sexuality. He is purged of himself. Sevro is even taken aback. Theodora smiles over at me.
“What color are your eyes?” Sevro asks. The man who was the Duke of Hands stares at Sevro in confused terror. “What color are your eyes, asshole?” The Duke touches his eyes. For a moment, I think I miscalculated and I’ve wiped his verbal functions. Then he stammers an answer.
“I…I don’t know.” He looks at Sevro’s eyes and gives the logical answer. “Red?”
Sevro looks wide-eyed back at us through the cube. “Whoa.” He turns back to the man who was the Duke. “Do you know who I am? What’s my name?”
