“I am an Aureate.” I spit on the ground. “I am no trophy.”
I stalk away.
“If I can’t have you, no one can.”
Then they come. Three Stained file through the door. Each a foot taller than I. Each garbed in purple and black and carrying pulseAxes and pulseBlades. Their faces hide behind bonelike masks. Eyes of killers grown in the arctic poles of Earth and Mars stare out at me. Glittering black, like oil. I pull my razor and take my battle stance. Their throat-sung war chant rumbles under their masks, like the funeral dirge for a dead god.
“Go on. Sing to your gods.” I twirl my razor. “I’ll send you to meet them.”
“Reaper, please stop,” Lysander calls loudly. I turn to find him walking toward me, hands splayed plaintively. His coat is simple and black. He stands half my height.
His voice floats. Trembles like a delicate bird’s.
“I have watched all your videos, Reaper. Six, maybe seven times. Even the Academy. My tutors believe you are the closest man to the Iron Golds since Lorn au Arcos, the Stoneside.”
That’s when I realize why he looks so nervous. I almost laugh. I’m this little bastard’s boyhood hero.
“We need not see you die tonight. Could you not find a home here as you found with Sevro? With Roque and Tactus, and Pax, the Howlers, and all your great warriors? We have warriors too. Noble ones. You could lead them. But … He steps back. “If you fight, then you die because you make the mistake of believing righteousness puts you beyond my grandmother’s power.”
“It does,” I say.
“Reaper, there is no place beyond her power.”
This is how it happens. They give them heroes. They raise them on lies and violence, and then they let them grow into monsters. What would he be without their guiding hand?
“He wanted to see you,” the Sovereign says. “I told him legend never matches fact. Better not to meet your heroes.”
“And what do you think?” I ask little Lysander.
“It all depends on your next choice,” he says delicately.
“Join us, Darrow,” Fitchner drawls. “This is the place for you now. Augustus is done.”
Smiling inwardly, I relax my blade. Lysander clenches a fist happily. I pace with him back to his grandmother, playing along but not yet proclaiming any allegiance.
“You’re always telling me to bow,” I tell Fitchner as I pass.
He shrugs. “Because I don’t want you to break, boyo.”
“Lysander, fetch me my box,” the Sovereign says. Happily, the boy rushes out of the room as I sit across from his grandmother. “I fear the Institute taught you the wrong lesson—that you can overcome anything if you but try. That is incorrect. In the real world, you must go along. You must cooperate and compromise. You cannot bend the worlds to your morals.”
“Would you have noticed me had I not tried to?”
She smiles softly. “Likely not.”
Lysander returns moments later, carrying a small wooden box. He hands it to his grandmother and waits patiently by her side, eating a tart that Aja hands him. The Sovereign sets the box on the table.
“You value trust. So do I. Let us play a game absent weapons, absent armor. No Praetorians. No lies. No falsity. Just us and our naked truths.”
“Why?”
“If you win, you may request anything of me. If I win, I get the same.”
“If I ask for the head of Cassius?”
“I will saw it off myself. Now open the box.”
I lean forward. Chair creaking. Rain patters on the windows. Lysander smiles. Aja watches my hands. And Fitchner, like me, has no idea what’s in the bloodydamn box.
I open it.
15
TRUTH
It takes everything I am not to flee. What comes hissing from the box is pulled out of nightmare, pulled so perfectly out of the depths of my subconscious that I nearly think the Sovereign knows where I come from. Where I truly come from.
“The game is one of questions,” she says. “Lysander, please do the honors.” She hands her son a knife. The boy cuts the sleeve of my uniform to the elbow, rolling it back to expose my forearm. His hands are gentle. He smiles at me apologetically.
“Don’t be afraid,” he says. “Nothing bad will happen, so long as you don’t lie.”
The carved creatures from the box—two of them—stare at me with three blind eyes apiece. Part scorpion. Part pitviper. Part centipede. They move like liquid glass, organs, skeleton, visible through skin, chitinous mouths chattering and hissing at the same time as one slithers onto the table.
“No lies.” I force a laugh. “That’s a breezy order when you’re a child.”
“He never lies,” Aja says proudly. “None of us do. Lies are rust on iron. A blemish on power.”
Power they’re so drunk on, they can’t even remember how many lies they stand upon. Tell my people you don’t lie, you brutish bitch, and see what they do to you.
“I call these Oracles,” the Sovereign says. One of her rings ripples liquid, forming a shell over her finger, turning it into a talon, needle growing slowly at the end. With this needle, she pricks my wrist and says the words “Truth over all.”
One Oracle slips forward, skittering onto my arm, coiling itself around my wrist. Its strange mouth seeks the blood, latching on like a leech. Its scorpion tail arches four inches upward, drifting back and forth like a cattail in summer wind. The Sovereign pricks her own wrist, repeats the oath, and the second Oracle slithers from the box.
“Zanzibar the Carver designed this especially for me in his Himalayan laboratories,” she says. “The poison won’t kill you. But I’ve cells filled with men who have played my game and lost. If there is a hell, what’s in that stinger is as close to it as science has let us come.”
My pulse quickens as I watch the tail sway.
“Sixty-five,” Aja says of my pulse. “He was resting at twenty-nine beats per minute.”
The Sovereign lifts her head at that. “As low as twenty-nine?”
“When are my ears wrong?”
“Calm yourself, Andromedus,” the Sovereign says. “The Oracle is designed to measure truth. It’s in fluctuations of temperature, chemicals in the blood, pulse of the heart.”
“You don’t have to play if you don’t want, Darrow,” Aja purrs. “You can go the easy way with the Praetorians. Death is not so bad.”
I glare at the Sovereign. “Let’s play.”
“Would you assassinate me tonight if you could?”
“No.”
We all watch the Oracle. Even I. After a moment, nothing happens. I swallow in relief. The Sovereign smiles.
“This game doesn’t have an end,” I mutter. “How do I even win?”
“You make me lie.”
“How many times have you played this game?” I ask.
“Seventy-one. In the end, I’ve trusted only one other. Where does Augustus hide his unregistered electromagnetic weapons?”
“Asteroid depots, hidden armories throughout Mars’s cities.” I list the particulars. “And in the dais of his reception room.” That surprises them. “Where are yours?”
She lists off sixty locations in fast order. She tells everything because she’s never lost. She’s never had to worry about the information walking out the door. Such confidence.
“What does that pegasus pendant mean to you?” she asks. “Is it from your father?”
I look down. It’s spilled out of my shirt. “It means hope. Part of my father’s legacy. Did you help Karnus at the Academy?”
“Yes. I gave him that ship he rammed you with. Did you really intend to launch yourself at his bridge?”
“Yes. Why did you bring Virginia into your inner circle?”
“The same reason you fell in love with her.”
My pulse quickens. Aja smiles, hearing it.
“Virginia is special. And we both come from fathers who … left much to be desired. When I was a girl, I would have given anything to b
elong to a different family. But I was the daughter of the Sovereign. I gave her a gift no one could have given me.
“You see, I collect people I enjoy, Andromedus. I even enjoy Fitchner there. Many might see him as repugnant. Might think his heritage unseemly, but, like you, he is so very talented. When I asked him to play this game before becoming one of my Olympic Knights, you know what he said?”
“I can imagine.”
“Fitchner …”
He shrugs his slumped shoulders. “Told you to stick the box up your cootch. I’m not an idiot.”
“I think it was even more crass than that,” Aja grumbles.
“My turn.” The Sovereign examines her Rage Knight. “Did Fitchner violate his oath as a Proctor and cheat at the Mars Institute, as rumor would have me believe?”
“Yes,” I say, watching the Oracle instead of my old Proctor. “He cheated like the rest.” I know Fitchner would not have gained this post were she not sure of his loyalty to her and not Augustus, which means Fitchner must have come clean and supplied her with details of Augustus’s ill dealings. I glance back at the man. “Though I don’t know if he was paid like the others.”
“He wasn’t. Their mistake,” the Sovereign says. “Gave us video evidence. Audio. Bank statements. Useful leverage against each Proctor.”
Sevro must have given his father the video footage when I had him tinkering with it. Crafty little bastard. He actually does care about his father, after all. Augustus would kill them both if he knew about the duplicity.
I want to interrogate the Sovereign about military outposts. Supply lines. Operational imperatives and security measures. But I know that would appear strange. It would lead to her asking strange questions of her own. The Oracle tightens slightly on my arm, sucking out only tiny drops of blood at a time. I don’t know how well this thing can sense untruths. But what do I do if she asks me where I was born? Who my father is? Why I rub dirt between my fingers before I fight? Shit. She could just ask me if I’m a Red. But how would she ever think to do that unless I gave her the sense that something was … off about me?
“Are any in my inner circle your spies?” I ask.
“Very clever. No. Where did you go with Victra au Julii three days ago? And what did you do?” the Sovereign asks.
“To Lost City.” Somehow, the Oracle senses I’m holding back. Its stinger trembles with excitement. “To meet the Jackal—Augustus’s son.” It tightens further. “To form an alliance.” Sweat beads on my collar and the Oracle relaxes, the answer sufficient. “Why do they call Lorn Stoneside?”
“He didn’t tell you? It’s not because he’s tough as stone like they’d tell you now. It’s because on campaign in the Moon Rebellion, he was famous for eating anything. And one day a Gray bet him he couldn’t eat stones. Lorn doesn’t back down. When did Lorn teach you?”
“Every morning before first light, between my graduation from the Institute and enrollment at the Academy.”
“Incredible no one found out.”
“How many Peerless Scarred are there?” I ask. “Census data is so hard to come by.” The Board of Quality Control is monstrous in hoarding its high-level material.
“There are 132,689, for nearly 40 million Golds. Why did Lorn take you as a student?”
“Because he thinks we’re the same sort of man. What are your two greatest fears?”
“Octavia …,” Aja warns.
“Shut up, Aja. All’s fair.” She looks over to Lysander and smiles. “My greatest fear is that my grandson will grow up to be like my father. The second is the inevitability of age. Why did you cry when you killed Julian au Bellona?”
“Because he was kinder than the world let him be. Did you arrange Virginia and Cassius’s courtship?”
“No. It was her idea.”
I’d held on to hope that it was something arranged, something she had to do.
“Why did you sing the Red ballad to Virginia at the Institute?”
“Because she forgot the words, and I think it the saddest song ever sung.” I pause before my next question.
“You want to ask about Virginia again, don’t you?” The corners of her lips twitch with pleasure as she plucks my pain. “Do you want to know if I’ll give her to you if you join me? It’s possible.”
“She is not a thing to be given,” I say.
She laughs, amused at my innocence. “If you say so.”
“Where are the three Deep Space Command Centers?” I ask recklessly.
She gives me the coordinates without blinking. “How did you know the words to the Reaping Song?”
“I heard it as a boy. And I forget little.”
“Where?”
“It’s not your turn,” I remind her. “Why are you asking me these questions?”
“Because one of my Furies has led me to suspect the Sons of Ares are perhaps something different than we imagined. Something more dangerous. Who is Ares?”
My heart thunders.
“I don’t know.” I watch the Oracle’s tail. It doesn’t move. “Who you do think Ares is?”
“Your master.”
“Thirty-nine, forty-two, fifty-six …,” Aja says.
The Sovereign wags a long finger. “Strange. Your heart gives you away.”
I clear my mind. Let it all fade. Imagine the mines. Remember the wind moving through them. Remember her hands on mine as we walked barefoot through cold dirt to the place where we first lay together in the hollow of an abandoned township. Her whispers. How she sang the lullaby my mother sang to my siblings and me.
“Fifty-five, forty-two, thirty-nine,” Aja says.
“Is Augustus Ares?” she asks.
Relief floods me. “No. He’s not Ares.”
The door slams open behind me. We turn to see Mustang stalking into the room wearing the gold and white uniform of House Lune, complete with the family’s crescent moon symbol. A datapad glows on her wrist. She bows to the Sovereign. “My liege.”
“Virginia, you’re still a mess,” Aja drawls.
“Blame this dumb son of a bitch.” Mustang nods to me. “Seventy-three dead. Two Earthborn families erased, neither of which had anything to do with Bellona or Augustus. Over two hundred wounded.” She shakes her head. “I grounded all ships as you asked, Octavia. Praetorian command has initiated a no-fly zone in orbit. All family-owned capital ships have had their warrants revoked and are being pushed beyond the Rubicon Beacons till we give further notice. And Cassius still lives. He’s with the Yellows. Citadel Carvers are preparing plans for replacing the arm.”
The Sovereign thanks her and asks her to sit. “Darrow and I are getting to know each other. Are there any questions you think we should ask him?”
Mustang sits beside the Sovereign.
“My advice, my liege? Don’t try to solve Darrow. He’s a puzzle with missing pieces.”
“That’s rather offensive,” I say, playfully. But her words sting.
“So you don’t think we should keep him?”
“Cassius and his mother will—” Mustang starts.
“Will what?” the Sovereign interrupts. “I made Cassius an Olympic Knight. He will be grateful, and he will study his razor so this does not happen again.” Her face softens and she touches Mustang’s knee. “Are you all right, my dear?”
“I’m fine. Seems like I interrupted your game.”
I can’t tell which woman is playing the other. But with Karnus’s words at the gala, and the knowledge that the ships were grounded before I even started the skirmish, I know the Sovereign had plans. And now I think I can piece together just what they were.
“One last question. I’ve been saving it for the end.”
“Do ask, boy. We have no secrets here. But it must be the last. Agrippina au Julii has been kept waiting long enough.” Aja opens the box so the Oracles may go back inside.
“Tonight, at the gala, during the sixth course of the meal, did you plan to allow the Bellona to assassinate ArchGovernor Augustus and all those w
ho sat at his table?”
Aja freezes. Mustang slowly turns to look at the Sovereign, whose face shows no hints of dishonesty. The woman breathes easily and with a soft smile lies through her teeth. “No,” she says. “I did not.”
The Oracle’s barbed tail strikes at her flesh.
16
THE GAME
Fitchner’s razor buzzes, and he chops away the tail faster than a bee beats its wings. It flops to the floor, transparent stinger hissing out poison. On the Sovereign’s arm, the wounded creature screams. Wailing and writhing like a dying cat. The Sovereign rips it off and throws it at the wall. My own releases slowly, as if connected with the other. Mewing pathetically, it retreats to its box to hide in the darkness. I dab away the faint trail of blood it left on my forearm.
“So you do lie,” I say with a wicked grin.
The Sovereign exhales a long sigh.
Mustang stands, enraged. “You promised you would not hurt them. You lied.”
“Yes.” Octavia rubs her temples. “A matter of necessity.”
“You said there were no lies here,” Mustang hisses. “That was a precondition of my allegiance to you. The only thing I asked for, and you planned to do it while I watched?”
“Sit.” The Sovereign stands, drawing nose-to-nose with Mustang. “Sit down.”
Mustang sits, breathing heavily. She won’t look at me or the Sovereign. She’s surrounded by betrayal. The Sovereign notes this, piecing together a new strategy as Mustang draws a gold ring from her pocket and rolls it compulsively through her fingers.
“Do you know why I need your family gone?” Octavia asks Mustang. She doesn’t reply. “I asked you a question, Virginia. Put aside petulance and answer.”
“He is a threat to peace,” Mustang replies flatly, slipping the ring on her finger. “He disregards your orders. He does not obey financial directives. He delays helium-3 experts for political gain.”
Golden Son (The Red Rising Trilogy, Book 2) Page 15
