Golden Son (62 page)

He’s a businessman. He’ll want return on his investment. Especially this investment. He should have told me.

“What about Virginia? You don’t need your heir to be male.”

“But I want it to be. And I want you for her. A husband fitting her mind.”

“You’re using me,” I say suddenly, seeing through his scheme. “I tie her to you. Especially if we marry. We both know you don’t want reform.”

Even now Reformers from across the Society flock to Mars to rally behind the man who said he

would give them the Senate when he defeats Lune and her allies.

“The Reformers are cancer,” he says.

“But you’re promising them that you will—”

“Promises were necessary to gain their support. When we have defeated Octavia, I will put the Reformers in prison, or execute them for treason.”

“Mustang will never forgive you. She believes you’re changing. Whatever conversation you had with her, whatever you promised her, you gave her hope in you.”

Maybe she won’t forgive either of us.

“You will make her understand once you’re part of the family, Darrow. By then, I suspect you’ll be married, and she won’t abandon you even if she hates me. Our family will stay strong, as we must.

But you must always be mine. Answering to me. Not my children.”

He takes a step toward me.

“Octavia steers humanity to slow decline. The Reformers, like the Sons of Ares, would slam us into the ground at a thousand kilometers a second. We must protect our species. Help me.”

He is a noble man doing what he thinks best for humanity.

Damn him.

We never asked to bow. Who is he to say Reds and Browns toiling to death is for the greater good?

Who is he to say Pink children being harvested for rape, Obsidians and Grays for battle, is a necessity? How can he sit there and say that he alone knows what is best for me, for my family? It is not his right. Just as it was not his right to come into my world and take Eo. And if he thinks might makes it his right, then it’s my bloodydamn right to cut off his head right now.

Instead I stand and cross the distance between us. Kneeling, I take his hand and kiss his bloodydamn ring. “As you will it,
my liege
.”

His hard lips curl into a predatory smile. “Call me Father.”

“Try not to look so damn pleased with yourself,” Lorn says to me.

We stand amid the white-pathed gardens of the Citadel. A breeze stirs the bells that hang in the trees.

It is a simple affair, not like the gross spectacle of Luna. Small tables sit beneath ivy-covered boughs.

Pink attendants clear them of the feast. On green grass and white paths, Peerless stand laughing and impressing one another while cradling flutes of champagne. You can sense the Jackal’s hand in the planning. He’s a tastefully modest creature.

More dignitaries came to the dinner than to the ceremony. So there are many Augustus and I had to greet. They came to us in a line based upon hierarchy, of course. I soon grew tired of glad-handing and sought Lorn near the base of a thin white tree. His arms are crossed, face all stormy and scowling at the champagne in his hand. He tosses it into a shrub.

“I hate this sort of thing too,” I say. “Soon as I get my Mask, Augustus wants me to cozy up to some of the Moon Lords. Then it’s bed for me.” Without Mustang here, there’s no real joy to be had.

“Alone it seems. Where is your girl?” He squints around. “Been looking high and low.”

“Don’t know.” Has everyone noticed?

“Ah.” He grunts. “Lovers’ quarrel? Well, I won’t pour advice in your ear except to say, swallow your pride. She’s a gem if you can keep her.”

If
.

“I’m glad you came,” I say. “Even if your advice is shit.”

He laughs gruffly and nods to the Jackal, who speaks with Roque and several Politicos from Ganymede. “Your friend made it possible. Augustus somehow forgot to invite me, even though my men won him a planet. Manners are so conditional these days. Speaking of, how long do you think I have to stay before it’s not rude to leave?”

“It’s not even nine. Aren’t you presenting the Mask in a few minutes?”

“I was, but it’s tedious statecraft. I asked your friend Roque to do it, if that’s fine with you. Actually, he asked me. Same difference.”

“No. No, that’s better actually.” It’ll be good for Roque to be included as much as possible. There’s mending that needs doing. Public displays of friendship are a good place to start.

Lorn props his back against the tree. “My old bones creak at night. I’m going to check on security so I don’t have to talk to any of these slippery people.” He watches a ripWing pass high overhead.

“Let someone else do that.” A Pink hands Lorn the tumbler of whiskey I ordered. His favorite label.

He sniffs, subdued. “I only get to see you in armor. Act the proper mentor and stay with me. We have two bottles of the Lagavulin for you.”

“Back to your old tricks. Two bottles for an extra two hours of training, wasn’t that the deal?

Should have charged more. Ha!”

He limps off with his whiskey to play tag with his grandchildren in the trees. I watch the Pink who delivered his drink slip back into the crowd, her movement vaguely familiar.

A woman loops her arm in mine. I turn excitedly only to find Victra. She doesn’t notice my disappointment.

“I do hope the Violets put lions instead of a pegasus on your Mask.” She laughs at my expression.

“Yes, the rumor is already aflight. Darrow au Augustus.” She shivers playfully. “The women will come running.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

“Make me.” She slides her hand along my low back. “It’s a shame you already settled down.”

Nodding to a group of young Peerless from the Gas Giants, she leans close. “But does it mean you can’t play?”

“Do you just enjoy trying to make me blush?”

She pulls the laurel wreath from my head and places it on her own, curtsying foolishly. “You’ve found me out. Where is your little Mustang anyway?”

“Why is everyone so damn curious?”

“Darrow.” Roque joins us, holding an ivory box large enough for the Triumph Mask. He’s sleek in

a black Praetor ’s uniform, hair slicked back. “I believe we’re supposed to gather for the Mask presentation. Do you know where? I’m a bit confused about this whole affair.”

Victra frowns. “Citadel staff is still discombobulated. The Bellona had the place for a month.

Adrius had to comb through the Pinks for spies. Especially after what happened in Attica. He’s got his men everywhere tonight. Oh, hell. It’s starting.” She sets my laurel wreath back on my head and pulls me toward the clearing where the Golds assemble. Sevro cuts across my path, stopping us.

“Darrow,” he says quickly, then, looking to Victra, “move along.” She scrunches her face and leaves.

“You like her,” I tease. “I can tell.”

He ignores me. “He’s still not here.”

“Fitchner? You call his datapad?”

“Isn’t going through. The bastard said he was coming. So if he isn’t here, something important must be happening. I should check.”

“Check.” I grab his arm. “But call Ragnar. And be careful.”

“I’m always careful.”

It’s strange watching him leave. Like watching my shadow depart and realizing its destiny may be separate from mine. Perhaps in the end, he’s more important than I. Truly a child of two worlds.

I follow the crowd through the trees. Little lanterns make homes in the branches, bathing the clearing in a warm white glow. There are no Whites present. No formalities here. It’s as understated as the Triumph was grand. The crowd parts for me. I walk onto the white cobblestones where Lorn

sits with his grandchildren on the edge of a dolphin fountain. Augustus motions me to stand by him near a statue of a blind maiden holding a scale and a sword. It drowns in ivy. The Jackal joins us.

“I hear we’re going to be brothers,” I tell him.

“Well, who says you can’t choose family?” He glances distractedly at his datapad. “Better you than that bastard Cassius.”

“Something the matter?” I ask.

“More gorydamn requisition orders.” He looks up from his datapad. “Sorry. All’s prime on Mars,

my goodman. Just wish my sister were here. You still wouldn’t know where she is, would you?”

I shake my head. With each mention, Mustang grows a little more distant. I held out hope she’d appear. Make a grand entrance and I’d know all was well. But some fantasies don’t come true.

“Your pardon! My goodmen!” Augustus announces, cutting through the murmur of conversation.

“Thank you.” He clears his throat and extends a welcome to Mars’s many guests, tipping his head to the ArchGoverness of Triton. “Though our glasses sparkle and bellies are full, this night will not last.” He peers through his guests, voice firm and dry in the damp air. Fireflies glow among the trees.

“We know that this is only the beginning. War will require much from us. But let us not be so hasty as to pass over a victory such as the one we saw just a few weeks ago. A triumph of will, loyalty, strength.

“All that grandeur of the parade was for them. Quiet moments like these are for us.” He taps his facial scar once. “Where we, despite our differences, can nod our heads and raise our glasses to a unique accomplishment of will. It was not done alone. But the Rain was called by one man. So, Darrow au Andromedus, we salute you.”

“Hail, Reaper!” Lorn calls, mocking me only slightly.

The glasses rise through the clearing as voices murmur agreement. And they drink. It feels so hollow looking to my left and seeing the Jackal instead of Mustang. To smile feels so false, knowing all this will soon crumble. Victra seems to sense my mood, and so she winks, tilting her glass to me.

Augustus motions Roque, who comes forward with the large ivory box cradled in his arms. He sets

the box in my hands and puts one of his atop so I can’t yet open it.

“You and I have seen much together.” His voice is calm and even. “The night I first met you, you were on the floor of Mars Castle looking at the blood on your hands. Do you remember what I said?”

His other hand touches my right wrist, the tenderness something out of the past, when our hands had fewer calluses, fewer scars.

“Of course. ‘If you are thrown into the deep and do not swim, you will drown. So keep swimming,’ ” I recite. “I’d never forget.”

“How far we’ve come.” His eyes survey my face, taking note of its lines, its imperfections. I tilt my head, wondering what he’s looking for. “I would have paid a hundred times what your contract was worth to protect you.”

“I know, Roque.”

“I would have died for you a thousand times more, because you were my friend.”

Were. Something in his voice makes me look around. Over his shoulder, I see Victra whisper something humorous to Antonia and their skeletal mother. Lorn serves his grandchildren little plates of cake brought by a short Pink. But it’s after the server turns that I freeze inside. He turns haughtily.

Ruthlessly. Unlike any Pink ever born. Breaking character only for half a second. I know that turn. I know that man. It’s Vixus. It has to be. My eyes dart to the Pink who brought me Lorn’s whiskey.

Lilath
. The Jackal’s girl who wore bones in her hair. Who allied with the Bellona. They’re dressed as Pinks. Golds with fleshMasks. Contacts.

Wolves playing lambs.

I pull back from Roque, about to shout, when I feel his grip tighten, and I realize he was saying goodbye. A needle from his ring pricks my wrist. Gentle, like the kiss he now plants on my cheek.

“And thus go liars, with a
bloodydamn
kiss.”

One word shatters a thousand lies.

Face colder than the marble statue behind us, Roque draws back and opens the ivory box’s lid. With the gentle creak of silver hinges, my world ends. Augustus gasps in horror at what’s inside the box.

And a foot away, the Jackal, eyes full of long-dormant hate, smiles at me and cocks his head back like an animal to loose a manic, mocking howl.

A signal of the end.

Victra reaches for her razor. Antonia steps back. Pulls a scorcher from a waiter ’s tray and fires two rounds into Victra’s spine. Two more into her mother ’s neck before any can move.

“ARCOS!” Augustus screams, whipping out his razor. “TO ARMS!”

“HOWLERS TO ME!” Lorn roars, pushing back his grandchildren.
“Protect the Reaper!”

Too late. Even as Lorn stands, Lilath pulls a pulseDagger from under her tray and sweeps it across his throat from behind. Lorn shoves his hand between throat and blade. Four fingers fall to the ground. He angles his body, strains against her, grasping her wrist with his bloody arm. Blade humming. Grunting. Intimate horror as chaos reigns across the clearing.

The poison spreads in me.

I slump to the ground, box in my lap.

Back against the blind statue.

Paralyzed.

The Jackal glides through the midst of this melee, a reptile over ice. He watches stabbing and butchery, and finds Lorn still struggling with Lilath as she tries to cut his throat. Lorn’s managed to take a shard of broken glass from the ground and is reaching to stab Lilath’s leg, when the Jackal bends, examines Lorn for a moment, and slowly puts a blade into his belly.

“They were wrong. Your side isn’t made of stone.”

Lorn’s face pinches with fear as the Jackal pulls the blade up the old man’s body. My razormaster ’s eyes jump to me, to his grandchildren. He tries to stand, tries one last ounce of fury. Tries to say something. But his body has quit him. He will never see his island again. Never pet his griffin. Never hear his grandchildren laugh or see Lysander, the grandson I promised him. I did this to him. I brought him back from that separate peace he so wanted, but knew he never deserved. And soon his eyes gaze at nothing and the Jackal retrieves his blade and Lilath finishes her work with a slow sawing motion.