“He has his businesses.”
“That is a slow power. Cleverly done on his part, if unfit for my name. Slow power can grind away any stagnant enemy. But fast power, one that can travel where you go, do what you wish it to as effectively as a hammer hitting a nail, that is the power that lops off heads and steals crowns. Can I trust you with it?”
“You must. I am the only man who can go to Lorn.”
Surprise flashes in his eyes; he is unused to having his machinations guessed. He buries the surprise quickly, unwilling to give credit where credit is due. “You knew already.”
“You wish me to approach Lorn, ask for his help, because he taught me the razor.”
“And because he loves you.”
I blink dumbly. “I’m not sure that’s the word.”
“He had four sons. Three died in front of him. And then the last in an accident, as you know. I believe you remind him of them, though you’re in fact more capable and less moral, which is to your advantage. But as much as he loves you, Lorn hates me.”
“He hates Octavia more, my liege.”
“Still. It won’t be easy to convince him to join us.”
“Then I won’t give him a choice.”
27
Jelly Beans
The Telemanuses wait for me in the hall. Kavax takes me into a hug that cracks my back. Daxo nods his head. I’m left feeling dazed between the two of them. It is the first time I’ve spoken to either without violence afoot. Truth be told, I’ve avoided them for shame of what I let happen to Pax.
“My boy only ever lost to you,” Kavax says. “Little Pax. If he was to fall to a knee, it is no shame to have fallen in friendship. I only wish he could have taken Olympus with you. That would have been a sight.”
“I would have liked to have seen him take Proctor Jupiter’s armor.”
Daxo grins. “I was Jupiter House myself. Primus till I lost to Karnus au Bellona.”
“Then I believe we have a mutual enemy.”
“Besides the scheming little bastard that killed my baby brother?” Daxo asks softly. “We have many shared enemies, Andromedus.”
Kavax scoops up his fox. It licks his neck and peers fiercely at me before it nuzzles into his thick red beard. It has a white chest, black legs, and dark russet fur covering the rest of its body. Thicker and hardier than a normal fox, and weighing nearly thirty-five kilograms, it really is more wolflike in size.
“Foxes are beautiful creatures,” Kavax says, stroking the beast.
Daxo nods. “Mischievous. Omnivorous. Resistant to poaching. Monogamous. Very special, and able to expand their hunting grounds even in the territory of wolves.” He looks up at me darkly. “But because of a damn quirk of nature, foxes fare poorly against jackals. We asked Augustus to banish Adrius. For a time, he was, yet now he returns to the fleet.”
“A crime,” I say.
They nod.
Daxo sets a hand on my shoulder. “The girls—my sisters and mother, I mean—wanted you to know that we do not hold you accountable for Pax’s death. We loved that little boy, and we know you only ever mean him honors. We know you named your ship for him. And will not forget it. Once friends, always friends. That is our family’s way.”
Kavax nods to every word his remaining son says. He tosses his fox a handful of jelly beans.
“So if you need us,” Daxo suggests, nodding to the warroom, “you need merely ask, and the House Telemanus will lend itself to your cause.”
“You mean that?” I ask.
“It would have made my Pax happy,” older Kavax rumbles.
I clasp his hand and try my luck. “You’ll forgive me for my manners, but I need you now.”
Great eyebrows arch as the two behemoths share a look of surprise. “Investigate, Sophocles! Investigate,” Kavax says excitedly. The large fox at his legs slips forward warily to investigate me, sniffing my knees, peering at my shoes and hands. It weaves through my legs in its search. Then it pounces on me, putting forepaws on my hips and digging its snout into my pocket. Sophocles resurfaces with two jelly beans, panting contentedly.
“Magic!” Kavax booms, clapping me on the shoulder. “Sophocles has discovered a propitious sign of approval, by magic! What a good omen! Daxo, my son. Summon your sisters and mother. The Reaper calls, House Telemanus must answer.”
“The girls were visiting Uranus, Father. They’ll be a few months.”
“Well, then we must answer.”
“Couldn’t agree with you more, Father.”
“I’ll have instructions within the hour,” I say.
“Great anticipation!” Kavax thumps away. “We await them with great anticipation.” He roars compliments at passing Oranges, terrifying them with his wide-grinning approval. Daxo and I watch on.
“Does he really believe in magic?” I ask.
“He says gnomes steal ear wax from him at night. Mother thinks he’s been hit too many times on the head.” Daxo backs away, following his father. But he can’t hide his clever smile as he pops a jelly bean into his mouth, and I see where the ones in my pocket came from. “I say he just lives in a more entertaining world than we do. Call on us soon, Reaper. Father is eager.”
After meeting over holo with the Jackal to bring him up to speed on my plan and adjusting it according to a few of his recommendations, I have Orion set a course for Europa. It will take two weeks. Roque joins me on the bridge, watching the skeleton crew of Blues. He doesn’t speak. Yet it’s the first time he’s sought me out since we left Luna. It’s a weight hanging over my head.
“I’m sorr—” I begin.
“I don’t want to talk about Quinn,” he says quietly. “I know you wanted this war. Engineered it instead of trusting me to buy your contract and protect you. What I don’t know is why you drugged me.”
“I wanted to protect you. Because I knew I would need you after the gala, and I couldn’t risk your safety.”
“What about what I need?” he asks. “You don’t have the right to make choices for me because you’re afraid it might interrupt your plans. Friends don’t do that.”
“You’re right. It was wrong of me.”
“Wrong to stick a needle in my neck?”
“Beyond wrong. But know the intent was good, even if the idea and execution were as stupid as they come. If I have to get on my knees …”
“There’s an image.” I know he’s joking, but his face does not laugh or smile as he turns and walks away.
28
The Stormsons
“You come to me at the head of a storm,” my friend says, gray beard blowing sideways in the wind as he looks at the waves far beneath. “Did you know there are boys here on this ocean world who take skiffs into gales worse than this? Lads from the dregs of the Grays, Reds, even Browns. Their bravery is a mad, crazed sort.” He points out from the balcony with a heavy finger to the roiling black water, where waves crest ten meters high. “They call them stormsons.”
The gravity here is maddening. Everything floats. At 0.136 of Earth’s gravity, every step I take must be measured, controlled, else I’ll burst upward fifteen feet and have to wait to flutter back down. A fight here would be like a ballet underwater. I wear gravBoots just to move comfortably.
The old man watches the ocean world move around his island. He is as he always told me to be—a stone amidst the waves; wet, yet unimpressed by all that swirls about him. Saltwater spray drips from his beard. Burnished gold eyes blink against the storm’s bitter wind.