Golden Son

by Pierce Brown

  They come out in a rush. I don’t see her. Just purple capes swirling in the rain and wind. They duck their heads into the gale, look upward at the sky where Iron Rain entry trails glow behind the storm, making the dark clouds look like steel heating slowly in the forge. My Titans come.

  The Praetorians hurry, running up a long ramp into the shuttle’s belly with the Sovereign. I catch her face as she ducks into the ship’s belly. I see Aja amongst her entourage. And Karnus. And Fitchner, that ugly traitorous son of a bitch. I run faster. Legs numb with exhaustion. Lungs aching. All I am, I put into this moment. My life in the mines, the hours suffering with Harmony, the horrors at the Institute. All the love I’ve earned and lost and still wish to live for, I let burn in me.

  Half the entourage waits on the pavement, left behind to watch the ship as its lights glow and its engines prime. The decoys mimic its motions. A Bellona Gold turns as I near. His eyes flash wide and I slash him at the run as he lets out a half scream. More turn—women, men, warriors, Politicos, Golds and Silvers I recognize from my days at Augustus’s side.

  Their realization of my presence comes in waves. The enemy is supposed to be at the gates, not amongst them, so they flinch in seeing me. And when they gather their wits, I’m already past their armored hands. I dodge a Gray’s outstretched grip, snag a small munitions pouch from his waist. I lash backward, hitting flesh.

  Shouts. Fumbling for razors. Bullets, pulseblasts, snap past my head. The shuttle’s ramp retracts as it begins to rise.

  I scream and jump with all the might I’ve ever had. The hand of my injured right arm grips the ramp’s edge. My eyes bug from my head with the strain and pain in my fingers. The ship continues to rise. The roar of the engines fills me, rattling my heart against my ribs. The ramp continues to close. I grunt desperately and jerk myself upward, awkward at the odd angle, but possible in the low gravity. I roll forward into the bay and onto my knees and pant, slingBlade against the floor. The sound of the engines slipping away as the door shuts and pressurizes. All I hear is my ragged breath and the rumble of the deadly shuttle as it makes its escape.

  I look up.

  42

  Death of a Gold

  Six Praetorians in full armor watch me. Karnus is with them. And Aja. And stocky Fitchner, his eyes widening as he sees me. The Sovereign stands in front of her Praetorians, tall but hardly coming to their shoulders.

  Blooydamn. I didn’t think they’d all still be in the bay.

  “Darrow?” Fitchner almost moans.

  “What?” Karnus laughs, looking about to see if the others notice how ridiculous a present just fell in their laps. “What?… Andromedus, where did you come from? It looks like Jove himself just shit you out.”

  I stay on my knees, panting, dripping blood and rain and sweat and mud.

  “We can leverage him as a hostage,” Fitchner says quickly as the ship rises in the sky.

  “No,” the Sovereign answers. “Achilles would never have been ransomed, for by being captured, he loses what makes him Achilles.” She regards me for a cool moment. I spit phlegm on the ground. “Aja, cut off his head.”

  Aja paces toward me. “Stupid boy. No friends. No army. No hope.”

  I chuckle darkly. “Who needs hope when you have a pulseGrenade?”

  I hold up the munitions I ripped off the Gray’s belt. They recoil.

  “What do you want, Andromedus?” the Sovereign asks slowly.

  “To prove you are not invincible. Land this ship.”

  Octavia smiles and speaks into her com. “Pilot. Roll.”

  The pilot does a barrel roll. Without gravBoots I lose my feet, slamming into the ceiling then back to the deck. My enemies stay rooted in place. Aja kicks the pulseGrenade out the open hatch. It explodes far beneath.

  I look out into the night, where my plan just disappeared.

  “Pride.” Octavia smiles. “I suppose it makes fools of us all.”

  I take my time looking back to her, realizing how very stupid I was to think I could control all the variables. And now I’ve slipped up.

  “You won’t escape,” I say.

  “You know I will. Why else would you risk jumping on my shuttle?” She nods to one of the Olympic Knights and a strange, high-pitched warble ripples through the air twice before subsiding. A ghostCloak. Impossibly expensive for a whole ship. My friends won’t be coming to rescue me.

  Octavia turns to Fitchner. “Rage Knight, have you a nanoCam?” He nods and produces a ring. “Record Aja killing the Reaper.”

  Fitchner blanches.

  “Let me kill him,” Karnus begs. “My Sovereign, let me kill him for my family. It’s my right.”

  “Your right?” she asks, surprised. “Your family has lost me Mars. You have no rights.”

  “He’d be a better prisoner.” Fitchner steps toward the Sovereign. “Let me talk to him. He’s my student. You would have had him serve you once before, Octavia. Let him recant and do so again. It will show the greatness of your power—that you can forgive even a little pisseater like this.”

  The Sovereign turns slowly to look at Fitchner, examining him. And he realizes he’s made a mistake. “Aja, hold.” She smiles. “I want Fitchner to kill him.”

  The ugly man just gapes. It’s one of the first times I’ve seen him speechless.

  “Kill your student,” the Sovereign says. “Or are you not loyal?”

  “Of course I am loyal. I’ve already proven it.”

  “Then prove it again. Bring me his head.”

  “There has to be another way.”

  “He set your son against you,” Octavia says. “And you know I do not keep things near to me that I cannot trust. So kill him.”

  “Yes, my liege.” Fitchner’s face pinches in concentration. There’s a strange swirling of sadness in his bronze eyes. Is it so horrible seeing his prize student die? Or is it that I am Sevro’s friend? Or is it worry for Sevro?

  “Sevro lives,” I tell him. “He survived the Rain.”

  He nods his thanks and touches his razor. Then he stumbles sideways, shoved aside by Karnus. The huge Bellona charges me. Mouth curved in hate, huge shoulders shelled in armor that shows the greatness of his family. He bellows my name.

  He feints high, curves the razor diagonally at me, quick as a snake. I side-flip forward, inside most of the swing, and put my razor through his stomach. I let go the blade and circle around behind him as he collapses to his kneels. “Rise so high, in mud you lie,” I whisper as I pull my blade out of his back by its sharp end and cut off his head.

  A Praetorian runs at me. I throw my razor at him. It takes him in the chest and he falls to the ground. I take my blade from his chest and stumble back from the watching Praetorians.

  “Idiots,” the Sovereign mutters.

  “Should I keep recording this?” Fitchner scratches his head.

  The ship shudders again and banks hard before straightening out. My vision wavers and I stumble to my knee. Hand on the deck. Steady myself. I feel the new warmth spilling down my back and stomach. I’ll not kneel. Not to her. Not to a tyrant. I stand unsteadily. Karnus missed most of me. But not all. Blood sluices from between my neck and left shoulder where his razor found purchase. It cut through my collar bone.

  “What a thing.” Octavia au Lune’s cold eyes survey the wound on my neck. “Imagine this boy shaped in my house, Aja.” She shakes her head and stares at me with a complete lack of understanding. She notes my other wounds. My blood. My exhaustion. My youth. Yet I did all this. Two bodies at my feet. A city stormed behind me. More taken all over Mars. My fleet shattering the Bellona’s. The Society ready to fracture. She doesn’t understand and she never will. But Fitchner seems to. Eyes glassy. Hands clenched.

  “You could not shape me,” I mumble. Only Reds could. Only family, only love, gave me this strength. But the strength fades now. It’s then that Aja rushes forward. We exchange three moves before she knocks my blade aside and punches me so hard in the chest with her fist that I t
hink I’m dead. She slams me against the ceiling like a rag doll. And when she is done, she rejoins the Sovereign and I moan and sink into the pain.

  “Bring me his head, Fitchner,” the Sovereign commands.

  Fitchner looks at me helplessly and puts a hand out, nearly touching her. “We should film his execution for the HC. Propaganda. Full hanging. A state death.”

  “Fitchner …” The Sovereign’s eyebrows go up till Fitchner retracts his hand. “Enough.” Her jaw muscles work as she thinks. “I want him gone. No more variables. Now. Save the head for a pike. We’ll film that.”

  Fitchner’s beady eyes swell with sadness. Born the lowest of the Golds, he rose to the top on merit alone. What a man. To think I ever thought him weak.

  Here, at the end of things, I know we will win Mars. Augustus will be freed. The war will continue. Gold will weaken. And Red will rebel. Maybe, just maybe, they will rise and find freedom. I’ve done what Ares asked. I created chaos. The rest will go to other men, women. Eo would be pleased.

  I smile softly and feel the weakness in my legs. I am tired. I’m on my knees. When did I get there again? I care not. How very nice it will be to rest in the Vale while others carry out Eo’s dream. I just wish I’d seen Mustang before the end. Told her what I am, so at last she’d understand.

  “Your boy burned bright. And fast,” Aja says to Fitchner from the shadows of my vision. “Keep the head. But you can cast the body to the soil in the Martian way.”

  Aja reopens the drop ramp. Metal groans. I feel the wind of the Vale on my face. Feel the chill of mist. The scent of rain. I’m going to sleep. Soon I’ll wake beside Eo. I’ll wake in our warm bed, my hand tangled in her hair. I’ll wake to love and know that in the world before, I did my best.

  I’ll miss you though, Mustang. More than I’ve admitted until now.

  Fog and shadows are my vision. For a moment, the smell of rust makes me think I’m in the mine. Am I asleep? I hear metal boots. A man walking through the fog. I can’t see his face. But something stirs in me. Father? No, not Father. I squint.

  “Uncle Narol.”

  “No. It’s Fitchner, boyo.”

  His voice jerks me violently back into the hold of the ship. Like a fishing hook tearing silk a direction it doesn’t wish to go.

  “Oh. I’m glad it’s you,” I say quietly, finding enough strength to lift my heavy head a bit more to look him in his eyes. Tears fill them. He coughs out a laugh. The wind whistles behind me. Not the Vale. Just Mars. Not mist. Just the clouds. The ramp’s down so they can push my body out. I told Arcos I was never meant to have gray hair.

  My head dips. I spit out some blood in my mouth. I’m nauseous and fading. “Tell Mustang … Eo … I love them.” I yawn so deeply.

  “You bloodydamn fool,” he says in a low whisper, shaking his head. “I had it under control.”

  “I didn’t …” I blink through the fog. “What?”

  “It is me,” he says. “It’s always been me, boyo.”

  The fog disappears. I look up at him. I look up at Ares as he dons his Rage Knight helmet and shoots his pulseFist back at the Praetorians, sending them scattering. He tosses back a sonic grenade.

  “Fitchner!” the Sovereign roars. “TRAITOR!”

  An explosion. Something hits my chest and I’m falling. Tumbling. Flying? Sense cold. Ragged wind biting me. Stomach in my throat. Spinning. Then a rigid arm under mine. Rising. Wind whips past my ears. But there’s another sound before the darkness swallows me. Fitchner—Ares—terrorist lord of the underworld, howls like a wolf as he carries me to safe harbor.

  43

  The Sea

  I wake to the smells of the sea. Brine, seaweed, carried on a brisk autumn wind. Gulls cry. One banks and perches on the whitestone sill of the open window. It cocks its head at me and flies away into the morning sunshine. Clouds move distantly across the horizon, promising rain even as early morning dew drips down the open skylight.

  She stirs at my side. Her slender body atop the sheets, coiled around my own damaged form. She’s clothed. I’m shirtless. Fresh skingrafts mark my body. Glossy things, pink and tender to the touch. Mustang stirs once more, her movement bringing me into my own body. Making me feel the aches and the pains and the comfort of her closeness. I let my eyelids drift shut and I sigh deeply, allowing myself to sink into the soft pleasures of being human. Her breath against my neck. The drumbeat of another heart against my rib cage. Her golden hair tickles my nose as cool wind blows strands into my face. The morning air is young, vital.

  I breathe it deep, slipping back into sleep.

  Memories of metal shatter the peace.

  Screams echo in the black. Friends die.

  My eyes burst open for the light, desperate to remind me where I am. Telling me I’m safe. I’m warm. There’s no metal here. Only cotton sheets. A bed. A warm girl. Yet the memories are so close. How did I survive?

  I fell from the sky with Fitchner.

  Ares—a truth that’s always been, but seems so new I cannot even grasp it. I woke to a Yellow’s tools inside my chest, restarting my heart. Then I woke again to a Carver’s scalpel against my skin. Agony and nausea my bedmates. Tides of vision ebbing in, flowing out. Visitors coming and going. I prefer waking to this.

  I’m afraid to close my eyes again. Afraid of what I’ll see, what I’ll wake to find. As a Red child, I shared my small cot with Kieran. Every morning, I’d wake before him and lie there quietly, letting my parents’ hushed voices seep under the flimsy door as they started their day. I’d hear Father’s shuffling feet. The throat-clearing sound he’d make every morning as he washed sleep from his face. Mother would make him coffee, grinding the cubes she’d trade to the Grays for pitviper eggs or spools of silk stolen from the Webbery.

  I wish it was the sound that woke me at the same time every morning. The grinding, the smell. I wish I could say it was how my body knew to return from sleep. But it wasn’t the smell of coffee or Mother’s tea. It wasn’t the morning sigh of water running through pipes or the arthritic creak of rope ladders as the men and women from Lykos Township’s nightshift made their way home from the mines and Webbery. It wasn’t the weary murmur of those of the dayshift making their way to work from home.

  What woke me was the dread of a closing door.

  Each morning it would end the same. First, the clay dishes would clink into the metal sink. Then Father’s plastic chair would scrape the stone floor. They would stand together at the door, whispering. A silence. I always imagined it was the moment they shared a long kiss. Then at last, it’d be the goodbye. The front door opened, creaking on rusted hinges. And finally, despite all my prayers, it’d close.

  I lean close to Mustang and kiss her forehead. Harder than I meant to. She wakes delicately, like a cat stretching itself out of a summer nap. Her eyes don’t open, but she nuzzles into my side.

  “You’re awake,” she murmurs. Her lashes flutter and she bolts upright, away from me. “Sorry. Must have fallen asleep.” She looks to the chair she’d been sitting in. “On the bed.”

  “It’s fine. Stay. Please.” I’d forgotten we’re supposed to be cold to one another. “How long has it been?”

  “Since the assault? A week.” She brushes loose strands of hair from her eyes. “I’m glad you’ve come back to us.”

  “Who did we lose?” I ask carefully.

  “Lose?” Her hands fidget awkwardly as she lists the casualties. A moment of silence stretches long. The numbers crushing me in my bed. I remember to breathe.

  “Your father?” I ask.

  “You don’t know?” She smiles awkwardly and sighs a bit too casually, trying to loosen her own tension. She scoots closer on the bed, still taking care not to touch me. “It’s going to be tedious catching you up.”

  “I’m sure you’ll manage.”

  “Father is alive. When the shields fell, several Golds already inside the Citadel led a lurcher squad to rescue him. Turns out my brother has a long reach. So when the Olymp
ic Knights came to take him with Octavia, they left empty-handed.

  “The HC channels are calling Roque ‘Nelson reincarnate.’ He captured more than eighty percent of the Bellona fleet.” Her tone darkens. “Which means, as leader of the engagement, he has claim to at least thirty percent of the ships, the rest going to the House Augustus.”

  “Meaning he has more than I do, technically.”

  “The pundits are wondering how long his loyalty will last now that …”

  “The Jackal is playing his games,” I interrupt with a laugh.

  “He never stops. “

  “I don’t think Roque will take up arms against me,” I say. “Do you?”

  She shrugs. “Power creates opportunities. I told you to mend things with him.”

  “Roque is our ally. He always will be. You know him.”

  “He’s been here as much as Sevro.” She smiles slowly. “Fell asleep here last night. I shooed him away earlier. But I wouldn’t be doing my job if I pretended he wasn’t a potential threat to us.”

  Us, I note.

  “Your job?” I ask. “Which is …?”

  “I’ve appointed myself your chief Politico.”

  “Have you now?”

  “I have. The game of court can be a nasty, duplicitous business. You’re much too earnest for it. Like a lamb thinking it an honor to be invited to a banquet thrown in its honor by wolves.”

  “And what if it’s you I need to be protected from?”

  “Well.” She arches her left eyebrow. “Then I suppose you’ve already lost.”

  I laugh and ask about Sevro.

  She pretends to look around. “He’s not asleep at the foot of the bed? I think he’s off with his father. I only returned from visiting Kavax in orbit last night, but Theodora says Sevro departed shortly after dinner with Fitchner. Thought he hated the man.”

  “He does.”

  “What’s changed?”

  I shrug and wonder how long Sevro has known about his father’s true identity. Seems impossible he was as blind as I. Was someone lying to me for a change?