I wipe the tears from her face with my thumb. She is different from them. And when she tries to do as they do, it cracks her heart to the core. Looking at her, I know I was wrong. She is not a distraction. She does not compromise my mission. She is the point of it all. Yet I cannot kiss her. Not now when I must break her heart to break this empire. It would not be fair. I’ve fallen in love with her, but she’s fallen for a lie.
“You can’t trust him,” she says quietly.
“Who?” I ask, startled by her sudden words.
“My twin,” she whispers as though he sits in the corner of the room. “He’s not a man like you. He’s something else. When he looks at us, when he looks at people, he sees sacks of bone and meat. We don’t really exist to him.” I frown as she clutches my hand. “Darrow, listen to me. He is the monster they don’t know how to write stories about. You cannot trust him.”
The way she says it makes me know she understands our pact.
“I don’t trust him,” I say. “I need him.”
“We can win this war without him,” she says.
“I thought you said I wasn’t strong enough.”
“You’re not,” she says with a smile. “Not by yourself.” She dons her lopsided grin. “You need me.”
If only it were so simple.
I leave Mustang for my rooms soon after. The halls are quiet, and I feel a shade drifting through some metal realm. I don’t know how to accept her help. Or how I should handle her. Seeing her with Cassius wounded me more than I’ll ever tell her, and part of me knows not all of it could have been a manipulation. He was never a monster; and if he ever becomes one, I know it will be because of me.
The door to my suite hisses open. A hand settles over my shoulder. I turn to see Ragnar’s chest. I didn’t even hear him. “Someone breathes inside.”
“Theodora probably. She’s my Pink steward. You’ll like her.”
“Gold breath.”
I nod, not asking how he knows, and take my razor from my arm. It whispers into a sword as I step through. The lights are on, muted. I search the suite’s rooms with Ragnar to find the Jackal sitting in my lounge with a sherry. He chuckles at our weapons.
“I do admit, I am quite threatening.”
He’s wearing a bathrobe and slippers.
I excuse Ragnar. With his wounds, he should be in the medical bay. Reluctantly, he trudges out.
“Seems no one sleeps on this ship,” I say as I join the Jackal on the couch. “I imagine we have to restructure our arrangement a bit.”
“Fond of understatements, aren’t you?” He sips the liquor and sighs. “Thought I’d drown in that damn lagoon. I always thought my death would be something grand. Launched into the sun. Beheaded by a political rival. Then when it came …” He shudders, looking so very frail and boyish. “It was just a careless coldness. Like the rocks of the Institute falling all around me again in that mine.”
There is no warmth in death. I cried like a child when I thought I was dying after Cassius stabbed me.
“Obviously this changes our strategy, but I don’t believe it must change our alliance.”
“Nor do I,” I agree. “We’ll need your spies more than ever. Pliny won’t take my ascension lightly. And you’re stuck here in your father’s court. The Politico will try to remove us both.” I make no mention of the Sons of Ares. As I guessed, they were forgotten by all as soon as I tipped that wine onto Cassius’s lap.
“Pliny will have to go. But you and I should maintain social distance until then so he doesn’t know the threat against him is unified. Better for him to misunderstand our individual resources”
“And so the Telemanuses still talk with me,” I say.
“True. They do want me dead.”
“As they should.”
“I don’t begrudge them it. It’s just damn inconvenient.” He hands me a holoCom from his pocket. “They’re synced. I’ll be calling my ships to meet us, and I imagine you’ll stay here with your new prize. Wouldn’t do to have shuttles going back and forth.”
I want to ask him about Leto. Why he killed him. But why show a devil you know his strength? It just makes me a threat to him. And I’ve seen how he deals with threats. Better to play ignorant and make sure I’m always useful.
“War presents us with more opportunities,” I say. “Depending on how far we want it to spread …”
`”I do believe I take your meaning.”
“All others will try to suffocate the flames, to preserve what they have. Especially Pliny, and your sister.”
“Well, then we must be cleverer.”
“She doesn’t get hurt. That part of our agreement is static.”
“If ever she’s wounded, I believe it’ll be from you, not me.” He might be right. “But I’m on your leveclass="underline" Fan the flames. Spread the war. Win it. Take the spoils.”
“I think I know just how to do it. What can your network tell me about the shipyards of Ganymede?”
PART III
CONQUER
When falls the Iron Rain, be brave. Be brave.
—Lorn au Arcos
25
Praetors
“We are undone, that is what the ArchGovernor of Callisto has said.” ArchGovernor Nero au Augustus peers around the table to see if we understand the gravity of his words. The aquiline angles of his face catch the ship’s warroom lights, hollowing his cheeks and giving him the look of a falcon peering down its beak. “And why should he not? The Core rallies against us. Neptune is in farOrbit—Vespasian’s ships will be six months in coming to reinforce us. All this while my own bannermen hide behind their shields in their cities on Mars, sending only their second- and third-born to aid us.” He looks at the two far members of the table. “Their feebleness cripples us. And now I sit here in council with my Praetors, my men of arms, and what grand schemes do they devise?”
Run. That’s what they say. We fled Luna a month ago. And we’ve not stopped running since, because the Sovereign was crafty and her forces beat us to Mars.
This is not how I thought it would go. But then again, none of this is my damn fault. Cautious bloody fools surround the ArchGovernor. Golds too frightened to lose all the favor and power they’ve gained in the past to risk any of it now. Worse, they squeeze me out. Alliances form against me. You can see it in their eyes, in their shoulders. My gain is their loss. Even those who followed my lead on Luna. Even those I saved from certain death. They do the same to the Jackal, and they think it a victory he is not here in this room bickering with them. Their mistake.
I sit ten chairs down from my master at the massive cherry oak table in the warroom of his flagship, the six-kilometer dreadnought Invictus. The ceiling is forty meters above us. The room overly grand and imposing. A carved relief of a lion glares out from the center of the table. Over forty places are empty. Trusted advisors gone, having abandoned Augustus like rats from a sinking ship. Those with us are Pliny, Praetor Kavax, his son Daxo, and a half a hundred of Augustus’s most powerful Praetors, Legates, and bannermen. They do not glare at me. Nothing so childish. These Golds preside over a billion souls. So they simply ignore me and push doubt into Augustus about my ideas.
“Are we in agreement, then, with the ArchGovernor of Callisto? Are we undone?” Augustus demands.
Before any can answer, the grand doors hiss open, retracting into the marbled walls. Mustang strolls through, tossing an apple hand to hand.
“Apologies for my tardiness!” She beams at her father, approaches him and gives him a too-gracious kiss on his lionhead ring.