Today is my Triumph.
The day is crisp. Sky robin’s-egg blue, stars peeking through the atmosphere. I stand dripping in gold, purple sash across my chest, head naked and waiting for the laurel wreath at the end of the procession. By the end of the day, I will be given a Triumph Mask created by Violets in honor of my victory.
My chariot rumbles under . Wooden wheels pulled over pavent. Over rose petals. Over haemanthus blossoms. Over a hundred thousand flowers thrown from the open windows of the skyscrapers that stand sentinel to either side of the grand avenue. Hands flourish in the air. Arms reach out. Faces peer down, beaming smiles. So many Colors. They’re on the street too, surrounding the parade route. Cheering for the things that went before , the wonderful floats. The fire breathers. The dancers. The griffins and drakes and zebracores. The few remaining Bellona prisoners. The heads of Imperator Bellona and his brothers and sisters adorn pikes. For all Augustus’s personal austerity, he knows the importance of grandeur. RipWings zip overhead. Storks buzz through the air.
But he knows the importance of brutality too. Flies buzz about the heads. And they nip at the four white horses that pull my chariot from the grand boulevard into the white-stoned Field of Mars that stretches before the Citadel’s grounds.
I wave to the crowd, holding up my slingBlade. Mania grips them. Fathers hold up their children, pointing to and telling them that they’ll be able to tell their own children that they saw my Triumph in person. They throw fig leaves and cheer wildly, climbing the Field’s martial statues and marble obelisks to see better.
“You are but a mortal,” Roque whispers in my ear, riding his horse alongside the chariot, as per tradition.
“And a whorefart,” Sevro calls from the other side.
“Yes,” Roque agrees solemnly. “That too.”
I wish Mustang were here to ride with . Her quiet strength would make all these eyes easier to bear, all these cheers more pleasant to stomach. Reds applaud in the crowd. They scream and cheer and laugh, perfect victims of the Society’s entertainnt divisions. They believe the lie of glorious war and glorious Golds. Millions will have relived the holo experience of my fall in the Iron Rain, at least until the EMP knocked my cara out. But Fitchner kept the footage of my slaying of Karnus.
The parade is a dream. A false thing conjured. I flow through it, knowing how little it ans. My friends are behind , at my side. All those I’d call lieutenants. They grin at . They love . And I lead them to a hopeful ruin. It all seed worth it once. But after we take the war to Luna, what then? More lies. More deaths. More impossible sches.
And what will Mustang do? She has not returned to Agea since she turned and walked away from in the mines. Fitchner is beside himself with worry. She is an axe above my head. At any mont, she could sign my death. She might already have. Perhaps this is so grand ruse. Perhaps her father already knows.
The Jackal noted her absence from the Citadel when he ca last night for the Triumph. I told him we had a fight about their father.
“Not surprising,” he said with a sigh. “Just don’t let the man co between you two as he ca between her and as children.” He clapped my shoulder familiarly and poured us both enough drinks to give the dull headache that now pulses behind my left eye. I swear to myself I’ll never drink again.
Victra rides beside Roque and Lorn, languidly looking around, soaking in the sunshine and festivities. She’s brought her mother into the Augustus fold, along with Antonia, who apparently aided in taking Thessalonica from Bellona hands. It’s hard to keep track of what side they’re on. But Victra, for her part, has been as loyal as anyone. She blows a kiss.
The Howlers trot behind her, half their original number, though the Telemanuses have promised to bring them fresh recruits. Behind these lieutenants are the dozens of Praetors and Legates who led the army. And behind them walk thousands upon thousands of Grays, who, with embarrassing affection, sing ribald songs at my expense. Behind them co legions of Obsidians. It’s a furiously grand affair, not only for , but because it signifies the beginning of a new era—a Solar System led by Mars, not Luna.
Fitchner is not here. He should be. I look for him at the top of the colossal white stairs that lead to the Citadel grounds. The ArchGovernor and his entourage stand there with dozens of our allies, and a skeletal, bald White who holds my laurel crown.
Leaving my chariot behind, I ascend the stairs, flanked by my lieutenants. Silence claims the plaza. My purple cape catches in the wind behind . The city slls of roses and horse manure. Augustus steps forward.
“An Iron Rain was called,” he proclaims.
“And the call was answered,” I reply, amplified words echoing like thunder over the city. A great roar rises from all who fell in the Rain. The White steps forward, face haggard from her many years of giving sentence to criminals. Milky eyes lost in past histories blink with gentle care.
“Son of Mars,” her voice warbles dreamily. “Today you wear purple, as did the Etruscan kings of old. You join them in history. You join the n who broke the Empire of the Rising Sun. The won who dashed the Atlantic Alliance into the sea. You are a Conqueror. Accept this laurel as our proclamation of your glory.”
She sets it upon my head. Sevro snorts beside .
The White continues, winding flowery paths with her words, taking the better part of the afternoon, so that it is dusk when her words begin to run their course. I’ve co to understand why all this spectacle exists. Why all these speeches and monunts. Tradition is the crown of the tyrant. I eye all the Golds in their badges and Sigils and standards, all worn to legitimize corrupt reign, and to alienate the people. Make them feel they watch a species beyond their comprehension. The Jackal seems to read my thoughts, for he rolls his eyes at the farce. The closing words co soon after.
“Per aspera …” the White warbles, body shaking from effort. Augustus raises his hand and the crystal obelisk commissioned for the siege of Mars rises from its place on the Field via gravLifts in its base. Groaning into place, it floats there fifty ters above the ground, and will continue to float until another Triumph claims its place. Then it will join those others on the ground. Towering tombstones for the million fallen.
“… ad astra!” the crowd roars.
I remain on the steps as the festival swings into motion below on the Field of Mars. The Golds disperse onto Citadel grounds, heading for our private feast. Augustus watches from my side. Behind us, the bronze sun sets on his city, stretching our shadows over the lowColors below.
“Walk with ,” he commands.
We walk, surrounded by bodyguards. Unease spreads through as I see them cluster tight about us. He’s spoken to his daughter. He knows. Of course he knows. I have my razor, no gravBoots. Just ceremonial armor. How many of the Obsidians could I kill before I’m overwheld? Not many.
Then I realize where he’s taking and I nearly laugh at myself for being foolish.
The throne room burns with sunlight. Ceiling all of glass, marble columns stretching a hundred ters high. The expanse buzzes with noise. IonSaws, hamrs, and the delicate thrum of seven ionScalpels on a lump of onyx twice my height.
“Out,” Augustus demands.
The Violets slide from their perches on the onyx and disperse with the Orange masons and Red laborers. Augustus’s bodyguards leave us as well. Our boots click against the floor, lonely sounds for such a room.
So he’s not going to kill after all.
“They’re making you a throne,” I say, going to touch the onyx. I breathe out the tension. A lion’s paw takes shape near the base of the throne. To the left, its tail curls around the other side.
“You have broken the law, Darrow,” he says behind . “You gave Obsidians razors. The weapon of our ancestors in the hands of the only Color to ever rise against us.”
“Is that all?” I ask in relief. “I did what I needed to do.”
“An Olympic Knight was killed by your bodyguard. This is public.”
“If Ragnar didn’t take the wall, we would have lost, and you, my liege, would be in chains, or executed. You’d know better than I. Ragnar had my warrant.”
“My father taught it is weak to ask others what they think of you,” he says, clasping his hands behind his back. “But I must. Do you think I am a cold monster?”
I turn to examine him.
“Without a doubt.”
“Honesty.” He looks up at the ceiling. “You’d think it would echo differently than all the other horseshit. What I am, Darrow, is a necessity. I am the force that corrects those who err. Tell , why do you give an Obsidian a razor? Why do you urge lowColors to rise up? Why do you let a Blue run your ship when she should rely take orders and fly it?”
“Because they can do things I cannot.”
He nods as if I’ve proven his point.
“And that is why I exist. I know that Blues can command fleets. I know Obsidians can use technology, lead n. That the quickest Orange could, if given a proper chance, be a fine pilot. Reds could be soldiers, or musicians, or accountants. So few—very few—Silvers could write novels, I wager. But I know what it would cost us. Order is paramount to our survival.
“Humanity ca out of hell, Darrow. Gold did not rise out of chance. We rose out of necessity. Out of chaos, born from a species that devoured its planet instead of investing in the future. Pleasure over all, damn the consequences. The brightest minds enslaved to an economy that demanded toys instead of space exploration or technologies that could revolutionize our race. They created robots, neutering the work ethic of mankind, creating generations of entitled locusts. Countries hoarded their resources, suspicious of one another. There grew to be twenty different factions with nuclear weapons. Twenty—each ruled by greed or zealotry.
“So when we conquered mankind, it wasn’t for greed. It wasn’t for glory. It was to save our race. It was to still the chaos, to create order, to sharpen mankind to one purpose—ensuring our future. The Colors are the spine of that aim. Allow the hierarchies to shift and the order begins to crumble. Mankind will not aspire to be great. n will aspire to be great.”
“Golds aspire to be great, and we force the Colors to war,” I say, taking a perch on the black lion’s paw. Augustus has not moved from his place at the center of the floor.
“Yet there are n like ,” he replies so sincerely I nearly believe him. “I do not truly fight because I want to be king or Emperor or whatever word you slap above my na in the history texts. The universe does not notice us, Darrow. There is no supre being waiting to end existence when the last man breathes his final breath. Man will end. That is the fact accepted, but never discussed. And the universe will continue without care.
“I will not let that happen, because I believe in man. I would have us continue forever. I would shepherd us out of the Solar System into alien ones. Seek new life. We are barely in our infancy as a species. But I would make man the immutable fixture in the universe, not just so passing bacteria that flashes and fades with no one to rember. That is why I know there is a proper way to live. Why I believe your young ideas so dangerous.”
His mind is vast. Worlds beyond my own. And perhaps for the first ti, I really understand how this man can do what he does. There is no morality to him. No goodness. No evil intent when he killed Eo. He believes he is beyond morality. His aspirations are so grand that he has beco inhuman in his desperate desire to preserve humanity. How strange to look at the rigid, cold figure he casts and know all these wild dreams burn inside his head and heart.
“What about all you said? What about the things you’ve done?” I ask, thinking of his first wife, whose mouth he stuffed with grapes. “You take advice from creatures like Pliny. You bomb innocent civilians, who haven’t broken any laws. You embrace a civil war … and you say you’re trying to save humanity?”
“I do what I need to do to protect the greater good.”
To defend himself. To benefit himself. “To protect mankind,” I echo.
“Yes.”
“Eighteen billion draw breath across this empire. How many would you kill to protect mankind? A billion? Ten?”
“The number doesn’t change the necessity.”
“Fifteen billion?” I ask. Red, Gold, every part of is shocked.
“Soone must make these choices,” he says. “The rest of our race grows sicker by the day. The Pixies chase pleasure instead of achievent, while the Peerless have grown so hungry for power that our Sovereign is a woman who cut off the head of her own father in order to take his throne. They must be ruled.”
“By you.”
“By us.” His unblinking gaze does not waver. “By us,” he repeats. “I treated you poorly, because I feared your brashness, your impudence. But I promised I would make ands, and so I will, because you have shown the capacity for growth, for learning. Beco my heir. Not my Praetor. I have enough lords of war. What I need … what I want is a son.”
“You have a son.”
“I have a parasite that wants my power. That’s all. He has no use for it. No plan once he gains it. He simply hungers as our Society has taught him to hunger.” His face shows a flicker of intrigue. “Yet, remarkably, this was his idea. You have his blessing.”
I don’t doubt I have his blessing. Knowing my ally, I rely wonder what it’s going to cost . He’s a businessman. He’ll want return on his investnt. Especially this investnt. He should have told .
“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 ,” I say suddenly, seeing through his sche. “I tie her to you. Especially if we marry. We both know you don’t want reform.”
Even now Reforrs 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 Reforrs 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 Reforrs 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 . Our family will stay strong, as we must. But you must always be mine. Answering to . Not my children.”
He takes a step toward .
“Octavia steers humanity to slow decline. The Reforrs, like the Sons of Ares, would slam us into the ground at a thousand kiloters a second. We must protect our species. Help .”
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 , for my family? It is not his right. Just as it was not his right to co 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 Father.”
“Try not to look so damn pleased with yourself,” Lorn says to .
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 ca to the dinner than to the ceremony. So there are many Augustus and I had to greet. They ca 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 to cozy up to so of the Moon Lords. Then it’s bed for .” 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 ca,” I say. “Even if your advice is shit.”
He laughs gruffly and nods to the Jackal, who speaks with Roque and several Politicos from Ganyde. “Your friend made it possible. Augustus sohow forgot to invite , even though my n 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 . Sa difference.”
“No. No, that’s better actually.” It’ll be good for Roque to be included as much as possible. There’s nding 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 soone 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 ntor and stay with . 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 movent vaguely familiar.
A woman loops her arm in mine. I turn excitedly only to find Victra. She doesn’t notice my disappointnt.
“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 won will co running.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, shut up.”
“Make .” She slides her hand along my low back. “It’s a sha you already settled down.” Nodding to a group of young Peerless from the Gas Giants, she leans close. “But does it an you can’t play?”
“Do you just enjoy trying to make blush?”
She pulls the laurel wreath from my head and places it on her own, curtsying foolishly. “You’ve found 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 n everywhere tonight. Oh, hell. It’s starting.” She sets my laurel wreath back on my head and pulls 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 . “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, sothing 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 hos 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 . I walk onto the white cobblestones where Lorn sits with his grandchildren on the edge of a dolphin fountain. Augustus motions 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.”
“Sothing the matter?” I ask.
“More gorydamn requisition orders.” He looks up from his datapad. “Sorry. All’s pri 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 ntion, 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 so fantasies don’t co true.
“Your pardon! My goodn!” Augustus announces, cutting through the murmur of conversation. “Thank you.” He clears his throat and extends a welco 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 monts 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 accomplishnt of will. It was not done alone. But the Rain was called by one man. So, Darrow au Androdus, we salute you.”
“Hail, Reaper!” Lorn calls, mocking only slightly.
The glasses rise through the clearing as voices murmur agreent. 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 .
Augustus motions Roque, who cos 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 t you, you were on the floor of Mars Castle looking at the blood on your hands. Do you rember what I said?”
His other hand touches my right wrist, the tenderness sothing 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 co.” 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 tis what your contract was worth to protect you.”
“I know, Roque.”
“I would have died for you a thousand tis more, because you were my friend.”
Were. Sothing in his voice makes look around. Over his shoulder, I see Victra whisper sothing 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 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 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 !” 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 .
I slump to the ground, box in my lap.
Back against the blind statue.
Paralyzed.
The Jackal glides through the midst of this lee, 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 mont, 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 , to his grandchildren. He tries to stand, tries one last ounce of fury. Tries to say sothing. 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.
I loose a long moan. It’s all I can manage. Drool slithers down my throat. Victra crawls toward , blood leaking from her. Amid all this, Roque stands, a statue, apart.
Pulse weapons warble in the distance. Thunder rips the sky as dark shapes descend, cracking the sound barrier. They co from a stealthed ship. Sothing snuck in. Where are the patrols?
Obsidians and Praetorians land in the midst of the clearing, thumping down on the stone. They pursue those who fled the killing ground for the gardens, hunting them down with quiet economy. Antonia directs the slaughter, finishing heirs, clipping bloodlines half a millennium old. Taking hostages. Lilath is laughing with Vixus. They peel away electronic fleshMasks and shake free their golden hair. Behind them, Aja lands in splendor, her armor flashing in the lantern light. She surveys the carnage, face dark and content. I hardly notice her, because an old friend lands at her side. Cassius.
“Virginia?” he asks.
“Missing, I fear,” the Jackal says.
“Warned?”
“Angered. Lover’s spat.”
Victra manages to crawl to my ankle. A slick of blood shadows her path from where she was shot to the place where she now curls. Red on her lips. I can’t feel her touch.
“I didn’t know,” she whispers. “Darrow, I didn’t know.”
Aja bends over Lorn’s body, taking his razor from his waist and closing her ntor’s eyes forever. He never even drew the weapon. Cassius cos close, stopping at my feet, where he goes to a knee and watches .
“Can he move, poet?” he asks Roque.
“No. But he can hear.”
“You killed my family, Darrow. All of them. , Julian, that’s one thing. But the children? How could you?” I don’t know what he’s talking about. “I’ll find Sevro. I’ll find Mustang. There will be no rcy.” He touches the enaled hilt of his razor with his new arm.
“You can’t kill him,” Roque says from behind him. “You know what he is.” Roque puts a hand on Cassius’s shoulder. “Cassius, the Sovereign’s orders were clear.”
“Dissection,” Cassius murmurs. He watches , and it seems that there was never a ti when this man called brother. Never a hope we could ever have been anything other than what we are now. Roughly, he takes my hand. I think, for a mont, he is shaking it. But instead, he steals the ring I earned. The iron wolf I killed his brother to possess. My finger is naked without it.
He rises from his bent knee to tower over , more a beautiful vulture than an eagle. “Julian. Lea. Pax. Quinn. Weed. Harpy. Rotback. Tactus. Lorn. Victra. They deserved better than to die for a slave.” With that, he leaves with Roque.
The world is silent except for sobbing and the sound of sirens. At my side, Victra watches Cassius leave, her life leaking from her. Those clever eyes of hers look up at , lost.
“We must hurry,” Aja drawls in the center of the massacre. “They know we’re here. Bring your father and let us go.”
The Jackal nods. “A mont, if you please.”
Several ters away, Augustus lies pinned to the ground by three waiters. They hoist him up as the Jackal approaches, stepping over Lorn’s desecrated body.
“Is the Mask not as you like, Darrow?” he calls to . “I made it just for you after you revealed your true self to in Attica.”
The Jackal turns to his father. “What do you think, Father? Was this a ploy worthy of your na?”
“You monster.” Augustus spits in his face. “What have you done?”
“So you’re not proud?” The Jackal wipes the spit away and looks at it. “Damn.”
“Stop this. My son, you’ve ruined us.”
“Adrius …,” Aja says impatiently. “We must go.”
The Jackal steps forward. “So now you call son?” He clucks his tongue scoldingly and straightens his father’s jacket. “Was I your son when you put on a rock for the elents to claim ? Three days. I was a baby. The Board didn’t even want an Exposure. But you thought I was so weak, and Claudius so strong. Was he strong when I had Karnus put him in the ground?”
His father’s lips tremble. “What?”
“I paid Karnus au Bellona seven million credits and six Pinks to sully Claudius’s girl. I knew Claudius’s honor would lead him into the ring. Funny thing is … it was your money. I asked you for it so I could invest in my future . And I did.” He frowns. “Father, did you really think a ten-year-old cares about the Silver market? You should have paid better attention.”
“You killed Claudius.” Augustus’s voice breaks under the strain and he sags into the arms of those holding him, shaking from sadness. “You killed my boy.”
This would break Mustang’s heart.
“ I am your boy,” the Jackal sneers. “I was a good son. I worshipped you. I feared you. I obeyed you. I learned what you wished to learn. I went where you wished to go. I did only as your will commanded. Yet I was not enough.”
Augustus shakes his head, drawing back his rage as the Praetorians cuff his hands together with magnetic shackles. His eyes rise to look at the monster he created. “I should have strangled you in your crib.”
“Co now, Father …”
“You are not my son.”
Adrius flinches. With those few words, Augustus releases sothing. And the small part of Adrius that held out hope to be loved disappears. He shakes off his humanity, leaving only the Jackal.
“Then farewell hope, and with hope farewell fear. Farewell remorse: all good to is lost.” He whispers to so distant, fading part of himself as he lazily lifts the scorcher to his father’s forehead. “Evil, be thou my good.”
“Stop!” Aja steps forward. “Adrius! In the na of the Sovereign—”
The Jackal shoots his father in the head.
Eo’s killer drops to the ground, and I feel hollowness spread over my heart. Death begets death begets death. This is what Dancer warned about. This is why Mustang said not to trust her brother. This is why my friends will die. Why I will die. Because I cannot match this evil.
Who can?
“You dumb little snake!” Aja shouts. “The Sovereign needed him to talk down the Outer Rim! Gorydammit.” She looks to the sky as fla trails blaze across the dark. Soone’s coming in hard from the upper atmosphere. Pulse weapon fire flashes across Citadel grounds as Praetorians encounter Augustus’s and Lorn’s first responders.
“I gave you this prize,” the Jackal says, nodding to . “Do not whine now.” He references his datapad and points at the fla trails. “The Telemanuses are coming. Unless you want to play with them, I suggest we leave.”
Cassius agrees. “Lorn and Augustus are dead. This army will wither.”
Aja orders her Praetorians to their shuttle. They co to pick from the ground. Victra’s hand on my leg slackens. Her eyes have closed.
“Roque,” I murmur through the thickness of the poison. “Brother …”
“No. No ,” he says, not a monster, still himself, still quiet and tranquil, if dreadful in his sadness. “You are a son of Red. I a son of Gold. That world where we are brothers is lost.” But he cos close, bending, reaching with delicate hands to angle the ivory box in my lap toward my face. “And in this world, the power of Gold will never wane.”
I look into the box and my heart shatters.
All that has been, all that was to be, crashes down. Eo’s dream falls into darkness. Wherever you are, Sevro, Mustang, Ragnar, do not co back to this world. There’s too much pain. Too much sorrow to ever nd it.
I look into the box and see Fitchner’s head staring back at , eyeless, mouth stuffed with grapes. Ares, the one hope we had, the one man who picked up when I was broken and gave a chance for sothing better than revenge, has been butchered. And I know we are undone.
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