Iron Gold

by Pierce Brown

  “Eagles are better,” Cassius says. He looks her up and down admiringly and in an objectifying manner with which I immediately take umbrage. “Heard your man went off to play with ships.”

  “Subtle,” she says. “In any matter, I don’t have a man.”

  “Well, not for long anyway. Karnus has been enrolled. Perhaps my brother will have a better go at him than yours did. Where is that Bronzie miscreant these days anyway?”

  “How should I know?”

  They stand in awkward silence.

  “The Sovereign’s waiting, Cassius….” Virginia gestures him to follow and winks at me. “Tell Aja not to leave without me.”

  “I will…” I say distantly.

  The memory evaporates as I open my eyes.

  The room is quiet, and so far from home.

  Cassius’s blood has dried on my hands and begun to itch. I wash them in the basin in the corner till the spigot tells me I’ve reached my daily ration of water. I pump the spigot once more. “Daily ration exceeded,” it drones again. My hands are still pink. I sit back on the sleeping pallet and wait, focusing on slowing my breath till I slip into a shallow slumber.

  I wake at the sound of my door opening, hoping instinctively that it is Seraphina. But why would it be?

  The Pink, Aurae, stands there nervously, her hands clutched together, her eyes on the ground. There’s blood under her nails.

  “Dominus.” She bows. “The Storm Knight sent me.”

  “Is Cassius alive?”

  She shifts on the soles of her gray slippers.

  “Is he? Be plain.”

  “No.” Her eyes flutter up to meet mine. “He has passed.”

  I say nothing for a full minute. “When?”

  “Not long ago. I am sorry, dominus.”

  I drift to the window. The darkness and cold outside creep in. “That long? I didn’t even feel him go.” It was while I was sleeping.

  The roar of my crumbling world drowns out the woman’s voice. This is not how it was supposed to end. I thought I had saved him. That I would have a chance to show him that he was wrong. To help him realize the mistake he’d made choosing Darrow and convince him that there was still good he could do in the world. Still peace he could bring. Somehow I thought our lives would go on together, and one day he would follow me as I follow him.

  Instead, he’s gone into the void.

  His last moments spent thinking I betrayed him and stole his redemption.

  I’m weightless there against the stone, floating and, at the same time, crushed by the weight of my choices and the impossible question I ask myself: what would I have done differently? In some other world, the Pink is still talking. “I was told that he died of exsanguination.”

  “I understand,” I hear myself saying. Stand astride the sorrow. Do not let it touch you. “Thank you, Aurae,” I say. “May I see him?”

  She looks back at my guards, and I realize they are not the same Diomedes left. These are Dido’s men. “I’m afraid that is impossible, dominus.”

  “Why?” She looks at the ground. “Answer me.”

  “His body was taken by schoolmates of Bellerephon to…desecrate in the Waste. Diomedes went to pursue them.”

  “So he sent you.”

  “I have his trust.”

  “I see. Is there anything else?”

  “No, dominus.”

  When the door closes, the composure shivers. First a crack, like a plate of glass struck by an errant pebble. The crack stretches and spreads and proliferates till the whole plate of dignity shatters all at once. My legs cave from under me as I think of how Pytha will suffer from this news. A single sob escapes. It is alone in the room. No sound follows it to give it company or comfort. Just one long lament of a wounded animal and I am quiet, rocking there on the cold floor with my knees hugged to my chest like that distant child who heard from Aja that his parents had perished. Her dark arms held that boy as he trembled. Her whispers soothed his heart. This stone is cold like that stone. This pain is deep like that pain. This moment like that moment. Only now, with the passing of Cassius, there is no one left to hold the boy; all that was left of him is dead, and the life of the man must begin.

  THE BARCA BOARDERS ABANDONED their attack on the shuttle soon as the Telemanus and Augustus forces from the Citadel threatened to overwhelm them. Now the knights guide us to an elevated landing pad atop a spire in the Citadel of Light. The soldiers drag me from the assault ship out into the rain.

  I lower my head, afraid to meet anyone’s gaze. These are not the Grays who guarded my mine, or the Reds who came to 121, or the ones who pulled their guns on me in the Promenade. They’re colder, harder creatures. I look up at the night sky and glimpse the stars through a break in the cloud layer. The air is cool, wet with rain. I try to feel it all, to mark these sensations, knowing a cell is where I’ll spend the rest of my days. In the mine, I thought sky was stone. And after a month in Camp 121, I forgot the stars were there. But now as I know it is the last time I will see and feel them, I wonder how I ever survived without them.

  I’m escorted deep within the Citadel till we reach a pale wood door. Obsidians larger than any of the Telemanuses stand to either side. Holiday drags me through the doors into the room and shoves me into a chair in front of a long table made from a single slab of black wood. Across the table, under the golden angels on his bald head, Daxo au Telemanus’s huge eyes dissect me. He wears a violet tunic with a golden fox lapel. Next to him on the table sits a small aquarium filled with water and a maggot-colored animal. A carved creature with spindly legs and a gelatinous torso that reminds me of the mud leeches in the river outside 121. I shudder.

  A spoon clicks on china. I tear my eyes from the monster to look at Daxo’s companion, the elderly Pink woman I saw with the Sovereign at Quicksilver’s. Elegance in beige robes. Her gray hair is spun up above her head like a frosted rose and held together by a simple silver clasp. Her motherly eyes, set in an old, distinguished face, watch me with a more human interest than Daxo has ever looked at anything.

  No one speaks. My fear deepens.

  After a moment, Daxo peers at his datapad and uncoils himself from his chair to walk to the balcony door. He opens it just as a streak of metal slams onto the stone parapet outside. I flinch as Niobe, fresh from the sky, walks in smelling like mine brimstone. Her armor is slick from the rain and leaves puddles on the floor as she stalks past her taller son into the room. Her snarling foxhead helmet stares at me with electric blue eyes before slithering from her face into the collar of her armor. Bloodyhell.

  The pleasant, welcoming wife of the man who brought me from Mars is gone. Replaced by a violent warlord. Bags gather under her eyes. And her neck fat pushes against the collar of her too-tight armor. It’s been some time since she wore it, I know.

  “Take off her muzzle,” Daxo tells Holiday. The woman undoes the metal arms around my mouth and extracts the plastic tongue depressor. I gasp air in through my mouth and work my tongue over the raw spots the plastic made on my gums. Holiday undoes the imprisoning armored jacket. I exhale in pain as my dislocated shoulder jostles.

  “Lady Niobe—” I say quickly.

  “Do not speak,” she says, barely able to look at me.

  “Is Kavax—”

  “Silence!” she roars. She slams a metal-clad hand down on the table, cracking the black wood. I reel back. “You will speak when spoken to, or Jove help me, I will…” Her words falter and she steps back. Her son reaches back to comfort her. I tremble, not just from fear, but from the inability to explain, to put into words how sorry I am. Rain patters against the windows. A fire crackles in the corner and I shift, unable to meet their eyes.

  “Is Kavax alive?” I ask.

  There’s no response. “Barely,” Niobe whispers. “He may still die.”

  “Lyria of Lagalos.” Daxo leans toward me, his chair creaking under his immense weight. His voice alone is twice the size of me. “Your life, such as it is, depends on what y
ou say in the minutes that follow. Do you understand?”

  “I understand. I got information. I saw them, the people that did this. I can help you.”

  “Good. The truth is your only refuge.” He nods to Holiday behind me. “But…if I discern you are lying or being less than forthcoming, other measures will be taken.” His hand brushes the aquarium. The creature inside slams against the glass, seeking the heat from his skin. “Invasive measures.”

  “There was a man named Philippe…” I begin.

  Daxo holds up a hand. “We’re aware of what you told the Watchmen about this Philippe. But horse before the cart. Are they alive?”

  I nod.

  “Thank Jove,” Niobe murmurs. “Were they hurt?”

  “Not badly.”

  “Where did you last see them?” Daxo asks.

  “In an industrial building. After they slagged the shuttle, Philippe took us there and gave over the children to the others.”

  “Where were they taking them?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t hear.” It’s clear Daxo and Niobe don’t believe that. I want to explain about Philippe, but their questions come in a sudden spit.

  “Were they Golds?” the Pink asks. “These others.”

  “No.”

  “What Color were they?”

  “Mostly Obsidian, Gray, thought I saw Reds, and a Pink.”

  “Obsidian…” Niobe says in fear. “We should tell Sefi.”

  “We can’t tell Sefi,” Daxo says. “Who knows what she would do with the information? They won’t even meet with Virginia any longer.”

  “The Pink was in charge,” I say.

  “Could be a Society black ops,” the old Pink says to Daxo. “Perhaps lurchers, or a Nightstalker.” Daxo nods and looks back at me.

  “Did they have Venusian accents?”

  “No.”

  “Martian?”

  “I don’t know. Mostly Lunese, I think.”

  “Did you recognize any of them?”

  I shake my head.

  “Who was this Pink? The leader of the group that took the children?”

  “Didn’t hear his name. Listen, I tried to get closer to hear clearlike, but I nudged a pipe. And then they came stormin’ after me.”

  “Who did?”

  “The crows.”

  Daxo smiles in amusement. “You expect us to believe you outran Obsidians?”

  “Didn’t bloody outrun them. I jumped into a vent.” I gesture to my shoulder and bloody hands. “What? You don’t believe me?” They exchange skeptical glances.

  “Where did this supposed chase happen?” Daxo asks. “The trail will soon grow cold. We must catch them before they go off-moon.”

  “They may already be gone,” the Pink says.

  “We should freeze all air traffic,” Niobe says. “Search every ship.”

  “Across the whole moon?”

  “What they did to your father…”

  “Mother, I wish we could. But that would expose the whole affair. Virginia would have to step down. Her judgment would be in question. The vote is scheduled for next week. This must be dealt with in silence.”

  “It was in one of the reconstruction zones,” I say quickly. “There were cranes everywhere.”

  “Which one?” Daxo asks. “Which zone?”

  “I—I don’t know. I’ve only been to Hyperion twice.”

  “She was picked up at an Alpha City checkpoint—21b, Senator,” Holiday says.

  “I initiated a search before you were brought in,” the old Pink says. “Ten teams are scouring the area.”

  “All Martians?”

  The Pink looks at Holiday for an answer. “Yes, sir,” Holiday says. “Loyal men, all.”

  “Good.”

  “But we don’t even know what we’re looking for,” Holiday adds. “And the longer we look, the more attention we’re going to get. The Vox Populi will hear about it if we increase our presence.”

  “That is not an option,” Daxo says harshly.

  “They mutilated your father,” Niobe growls.

  “And we will find them,” he replies. “With precision, not an army.”

  “Then we need to refine our search,” the Pink says.

  Daxo waves a hand and a map of the reconstruction zone grows out of the table in three dimensions. Thousands of buildings. “Show me the building, Lyria.”

  My eyes scan the hundreds of half-completed skyscrapers. They all look the same. “How am I supposed to do that? All these look the same. Wasn’t exactly lookin’ back at the building with crows after me.”

  “I told you what would happen if you did not cooperate,” Daxo says.

  “Gods, Daxo, give the girl a damn moment,” the Pink says from her side of the table. “She’s clearly been through an ordeal. Do you need pain medication for your arm, Lyria?” I nod in thanks. “Coffee with morphone,” she says into a com. A moment later, a servant enters and sets the tray of steaming coffee down in front of me.

  “My name is Theodora,” the Pink tells me after thanking the servant. “I was the steward for Darrow of Lykos.”

  His steward? Then she knows the Reaper better than almost anyone. “Thank you,” I say as I sip the coffee and feel the cool relief of the morphone as it dulls the pain in my shoulder.

  “We’re all people in the end. Good to remember that. See, this isn’t just about getting the son of the Sovereign back. Pax is dear to all of us. Such a soft soul. You’ve met him?” I nod. “So you can understand how much we need your help. Now, can you remember a logo, a tram depot, a monument perhaps?”

  “There was a tramway,” I say. “Broken. I ran there when I escaped from Philippe. I was trying to find a way up out of Lost City.”

  “How far did you run? A kilometer? Two?” Daxo asks.

  “Maybe four. Couldn’t have been more before I found it.”

  He filters out all buildings more than four kilometers from a tramline. “I followed it along like this.” I sketch a finger along the tramline toward the pedestrian stairs that lead up to the checkpoint. I remember the crumbling numbers crawling with lichen. “I started near station…17, I think.”

  Daxo nods to Holiday and she steps away to radio teams to search the buildings in the area. “They’ll have gone by now, so send the forensics teams.” He looks over to Theodora. “I want satellite footage showing all ships entering and leaving that district.”

  “You’re doing wonderfully, Lyria,” Theodora says. “This is the only way to help yourself—by continuing to cooperate.” I don’t like the way she says it. “Now,” she says with a soft smile, “when did the Society recruit you?”

  “What? The Society? I wasn’t workin’ for anyone.”

  “You expect us to believe that?” Daxo asks. “My father brings you in, shows you kindness, shows your nephew kindness, and you betray us to the Society—or was it the Red Hand? Tell me the truth.”

  “I am.”

  “We have video of the device used to disable the transport before it fried the cameras,” Daxo says. “Preliminary forensics tell us that it was a custom build made at great expense. Far beyond your means.”

  “If you have the video, then can you see my face?” I snap. “Did I look like a person who expected my necklace to burst into a bloody robot?”

  “If you weren’t complicit, then why did your Philippe take you with him?” Niobe says softly. Rain falls on the windows behind her. “Why not leave you behind? Or kill you? Why save your life?”

  “Do I look like a lowlife thug smart enough to make fools out of the lot of you? No. So how the hell would I have a bloody clue? Ask him.”

  “Was it during your time in the assimilation camp?” Theodora asks. “Is that when someone contacted you, asked you for a favor, or promised you something so long as you helped them? Is that when you met Philippe?”

  I glare at her. “I met him here.”

  “Is your name really Lyria of Lagalos?” Daxo asks.

  “You know it is, or y
ou wouldn’t have let me work in your father’s house.”

  Daxo watches me for some sign of duplicity, his hand stroking the aquarium again. “I’ve played this game since I was a boy, Lyria. Half-truths. Hidden hands. The Ash Lord is a master at this subterfuge, as is his daughter. It would not take much to massacre a Red camp. Even less to place one of his agents amongst the survivors. Wound her. Have her impersonate a Red of Lagalos, and then play upon the sympathies of my father so that you could slide into our house. Discredit the Sovereign’s judgment just before the vote on the Peace.” He looks me over. “You look a lamb, but perhaps a wolf lies under the wool?”

  “I was born in Lagalos. I can tell you the name of every headTalk and Helldiver for the last thirty years. Try me.”

  “But of course you can, Society Intelligence trains its agents well. Perhaps you even believe you are who you claim to be. Perhaps they conditioned you. Your memories, your history, your grief for your dead family could all be a fiction.”

  “Slag you. My sister was not a fiction. And neither is Liam. You think he’s a spy too?” I try to breathe the quick anger out, remember my sister, the smiles and warm embraces. “I am a Red of Lagalos. I am not working for the slavers.”

  “No, of course not,” Theodora says. “The Society killed her mother. Isn’t that right, Lyria? They denied her the medication that would have saved her life.” I nod. At least she understands. I’d rather die than help the Society. “Her blood, along with so many others, is on their hands.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And the blood of your family is on the hands of the Republic.” My gut twists. “The Republic should have protected you.” Her eyes glisten with empathy. She leans forward. She understands. “We liberated you from the mines, promised you a new life. And then we let murderers take everything from you. We hurt you more than the Society ever could. Didn’t we?”

  I wipe the tears of anger that fill my eyes.

  “You’re right to blame us,” Theodora says softly. “You’re right to blame the Sovereign. Their deaths are her fault. So it’s only right you want revenge. Was it the Red Hand?”

  “You aren’t listening to me!”

  Daxo takes over. “They died because of her. Your father, your sister, your brother, your nieces and nephews. You wanted to hurt the Sovereign.”