“Cassius au Bellona killed my father….” He stands over the man, swallowing before looking back up. “But I forgive him. Why? Because he was protecting the world he knew, because he was afraid.”
Victra pushes her way to the front of the circle, watching Sevro who speaks now as if it was meant for her and her alone. “We are the new age. The new world. And if we’re to show the way, then we better damn well make it a better one. I am Sevro au Barca. And I am no longer afraid.”
“You’re bloodydamn manic,” I tell Sevro when we’re alone in Virany’s infirmary. Sevro’s holding his neck laughing at himself. I kiss the top of his head. “Bloodydamn insane, you know that?”
“Yeah well I stole that one from your playbook; what does that say about you?”
“That he’s insane as well,” Mickey says from the corner. He’s smoking his laced-burners. Purple smoke slithering from nostrils.
Sevro winces. “That slagging hurt. I can’t even look sideways.”
“You sprained your neck, damaged the cartilage, lacerations in your larynx,” Dr. Virany says from behind her biometric scanner. She’s a lithe, tan woman with that special small silence inside her reserved for people who have seen both sides of hardship.
“Just as I said when you came in. All these tools you use, Virany. Really where’s the art in it?”
Virany rolls her eyes. “Another ten kilos on your body and you would have broken your neck, Sevro. Count yourself lucky.”
“Good thing I took a shit before,” he grumbles.
“Darrow’s neck would have held up under the strain of fifty more kilos,” Mickey brags idly. “The tensile rating of his cervical—”
“Really?” Virany says tiredly. “Can’t you brag later Mickey?”
“Merely observing my own mastery,” Mickey replies, giving me a little wink. He enjoys pushing the gentle Virany’s buttons. Since he’s employed her help in his project they’ve been spending most waking moments in his laboratory, much to Virany’s chagrin.
“Ow!” Sevro yelps as she prods the back of his spine. “That’s my body.”
“Sorry.”
“Pixie,” I say.
“I almost broke my neck,” Sevro complains.
“Been there, done that. At least you didn’t have to get whipped.”
“I’d rather have been whipped,” he mutters, wincing as he tries to turn his neck. “Be better than this.”
“Not being whipped by Pax,” I reply.
“I saw the video, he wasn’t swinging that hard.”
“Have you ever been whipped? Did you see my back?”
“You see my bloodydamn eye at the Institute? Jackal had it plucked out with a knife, didn’t see me whining.”
“I had my whole bloodydamn body carved open,” I say as the doors hiss open and Mustang enters. “Twice.”
“Oh, it always comes back to the slagging Carving,” Sevro mutters, wiggling his fingers in the air. “I’m so bloodydamn special, I had my bones peeled. My DNA spliced.”
“Do they always do this?” Virany asks Mustang.
“Seems like,” Mustang says. “Any chance I could bribe you to suture their mouths shut till they learn not to swear so much?”
Mickey perks up. “Well, it’s interesting you ask…”
Sevro interrupts him. “How’s the Gold holding up?” he asks Mustang. “You know?”
“Happy he still has a tongue,” Mustang says. “They’re suturing his chest in the infirmary. He has some internal bleeding from blunt trauma, but he’ll live.”
“You finally went to see him?” I ask.
“I did.” She nods thoughtfully to herself. “He was…emotional. He wanted me to thank you, Sevro. He says he knows he didn’t deserve it.”
“Damn right he didn’t,” Sevro mutters.
“Sefi says the Obsidian will leave him be,” I say.
“The Obsidian?” Mustang asks, my statement pulling her from her thoughts. “All of them.”
I laugh suddenly. “I didn’t even think about that.”
“What’s that?” Sevro asks.
“She spoke for the Obsidian now, not just the Valkyrie. Wasn’t a slip of the tongue. Pan-tribalism wasn’t in place before the riot,” I say. “Must have used it to unite the other warchiefs under her direction.”
“So…she pulled a coup?” Sevro asks.
I laugh. “Seems like.”
“We’ll see if it holds. Still…impressive,” Mustang says. “They always told us never to let a good crisis go to waste.”
Mickey shivers. “Obsidians playing politics…”
“So all that out there…was that strategy or was real?” Mustang asks Sevro.
“Dunno.” Sevro shrugs. “I mean, gotta stop the cycle somewhere. Sucks, but dad’s gone. No sense burning down the world to try and bring him back. You know? Cassius didn’t kill dad because he hated him. They were both soldiers doing what soldiers do.”
Mustang shakes her head, at a loss for words. So she sets a hand on his shoulder, and he knows how impressed she is. The compliment of silence is as deep a one as she can give, and Sevro favors her with a rare un-ironic smile. One that disappears when the door opens and Victra comes in. She’s red-eyed and agitated.
“I need to talk to you,” she says to Sevro.
“Get out,” Sevro says when we don’t move. “Everyone.”
—
We wait outside the door as Victra and Sevro speak inside. “How long do you think it will take to make the voyage?” Mustang asks.
“Forty-nine days,” I say, pulling Mickey back from the door where he cups his ear in an attempt to hear the happenings inside. “Key is keeping the Blues quiet.”
“Forty-nine days is a long time for my brother to make plans.”
Beyond our hull the worlds continue to turn. Reds are hunted. And though we’ve woken the spirit of the lowColors, and given this rebellion another victory, every day we spend crossing the distance to Core is another day that the Jackal can hunt our friends and the Sovereign can squelch the rebellions that plague her. My uncle’s already gone. How many more will die before I return?
“This won’t heal everything,” Mustang says. “The Obsidians still killed seven prisoners. My people are wary of this war. The consequences. Particularly if Sefi now has united the tribes. That makes her dangerous.”
“And more useful,” I say.
“Until she disagrees with you again. This could go wrong at any moment.”
She straightens as Mickey skitters back and the door to the infirmary opens. Sevro and Victra come out, both wearing smiles. “What are you two grinning about?” I ask.
“Just this.” Sevro thrusts out a House Jupiter Institute ring. It’s loose on his finger. I squint at it, not understanding right away. His own ring is missing and then I see it awkwardly jammed onto Victra’s pinky. “She proposed,” he says with delight.
“What?” I sputter.
Mustang’s eyebrows shoot up. “Proposed…as in…”
“Yeah, boyo!” Sevro beams. “We’re gettin’ hitched.”
—
Sevro and Victra marry seven nights later in a small ceremony in the auxiliary hangar of the Morning Star. When Victra asked me to give her away after they broke the news to us, I couldn’t speak. I hugged her then as I hug her now before taking her arm and walking her through the small line of scrubbed and washed Howlers and towering Telemanuses. It’s the cleanest I’ve ever seen Sevro, his unruly Mohawk combed to the side as he stands before Mickey. It is custom to have a White give the benediction. But Victra laughed at the idea of tradition and asked Mickey.