He asks me to betray my name. To set aside my family for his. Mine is a false family, Andromedus, a family made for deception, yet some part of me aches.
I saw it coming. But I don’t know what to say. “One of your son’s soldiers might say something about your involvement, my lord.”
He snorts. “I’m more concerned about your lieutenants.”
I laugh. “Few of my army know the truth. And those that do will not say a word.”
“So much trust.”
“I am their ArchPrimus.” I say it simply.
“Are you serious?” he asks in confusion as though I misunderstand something as basic as gravity. “Boy, allegiances crumble as soon as we board that shuttle. Some of your friends will be spirited away to the Moon Lords. Others will go to the Governors of the Gas Giants. Even a few to Luna. They will remember you as a legend of their youth, but that is it. And that legend will brook no loyalty. I’ve stood where you stand. I won my year, but loyalty isn’t found in these halls. It is the way things are.”
“It is the way things were,” I say harshly, suprising him. But I believe what I say. “I am something different. I freed the enslaved and let the broken mend themselves. I gave them something you older generations can’t understand.”
He chuckles, irritating me. “That is the problem with youth, Darrow. You forget that every generation has thought the same.”
“But for my generation it is true.” No matter his confidence, I am right. He is wrong. I am the spark that will set the worlds afire. I am the hammer that cracks the chains.
“This school is not life,” he recites to me. “It is not life. Here you are king. In life, there are no kings. There are many would-be-kings. But we Peerless lay them low. Many before you have won this game. And those many now excel beyond this school. So do not act as though when you graduate, you will be king, you will have loyal subjects—you will not. You will need me. You will need a foundation, a supporter to help you rise. There can be none better for you than I.”
It’s not my family I would betray, it is my people. The school was one thing, but to go beneath the dragon’s wing … to let him hug me close, to sit in luxury while my own sweat and die and starve and burn … it’s enough to rip my heart out.
Both his golden children watch us. So do Cassius and his father after they embrace one another. There are tears for Julian. I wish I were with my family instead of here. I wish I could feel Kieran’s hand on my shoulder, feel Leanna’s hand in mine as we watch Mother set dinner before us. That is a family. Love. These people are all about glory, victory, and family pride, yet they know nothing of love. Nothing of family. These are false families. They are just teams. Teams that play their games of pride. The ArchGovernor has not even said hello to his children. This vile man cares more to speak with me.
“Funny,” I say.
“Funny?” he asks darkly.
I make something up. “Funny how a single word can change everything in your life.”
“It is not funny at all. Steel is power. Money is power. But of all the things in all the worlds, words are power.”
I look at him for a moment. Words are a weapon stronger than he knows. And songs are even greater. The words wake the mind. The melody wakes the heart. I come from a people of song and dance. I don’t need him to tell me the power of words. But I smile nonetheless.
“What is your answer? Yes or no? I will not ask again.”
I glance over at the dozens of Peerless Scarred who wait to have a word with me, no doubt to offer patronage or apprenticeships. Old Lorn au Arcos is there. I recognize him even without his Drafter’s mask. The Rage Knight. The man who sent me my Pegasus and Dancer’s ring. A man of perfect honor and leader of the third most powerful house on Mars. A man I could learn from.
“Will you rise with me?”
I look at the ArchGovernor’s jugular. His heartbeat is strong. I imagine the Fading Dirge when Eo died. But when I hang him, he will not receive our song. His life will not echo. It will simply stop.
“I think, my lord, that it would present some interesting opportunities.” I look up into his eyes, hoping he mistakes the fury there for excitement.
“You know the words?” he asks me.
I nod.
“Then you must say them. Here. Now. So all may witness that I have claimed the best of the school.”
His pride reeks. I grit my teeth and convince myself this is the right path. With him, I will rise. I will attend the Academy. I will learn to lead fleets. I will win. I will sharpen myself into a sword. I will give my soul. I will dive to hell in hopes of one day rising to freedom. I will sacrifice. And I will grow my legend and spread it amongst the peoples of all the worlds until I am fit to lead the armies that will break the chains of bondage, because I am not simply an agent of the Sons of Ares. I am not simply a tactic or a device in Ares’s schemes. I am the hope of my people. Of all people in bondage.
So I kneel before him, as is their way. And as is their way, he sets his hands upon my head. The words creep from my mouth and their echo is like broken glass into my ears.
“I will forsake my father. I will abandon my name. I will be your sword. Nero au Augustus, I will make my purpose your glory.”
Those watching gasp at the sudden proclamation. Others curse at the impropriety, at the gall of Augustus. Does he have no sense of decency? My master kisses the top of my head and whispers their words and I do my best to cage the fury that has made me a thing sharper than Red. Harder than Gold.
“Darrow, Lancer of House Augustus. Rise, there are duties for you to fill. Rise, there are honors for you to take. Rise for glory, for power, for conquest and dominion over lesser men. Rise, my son. Rise.”
To Father, who taught me to walk
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
If writing is a work of the head and heart, then thank you to Aaron Phillips, Hannah Bowman, and Mike Braff, who burnish my head with their wisdom and advice.
Thank you to my parents, my sister, friends, and the Phillips Clan who guard my heart with their love and loyalty:
And to the reader, thank you. You’re going to bloodydamn love these books.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PIERCE BROWN spent his childhood building forts and setting traps for cousins in the woods of six states and the deserts of two. Graduating college in 2010, he fancied the idea of continuing his studies at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have a magical bone in his body. So while trying to make it as a writer, he worked as a manager of social media at a startup tech company, toiled as a peon on the Disney lot at ABC Studios, did his time as an NBC page, and gave sleep deprivation a new meaning during his stint as an aide on a U.S. Senate campaign. Now he lives in Los Angeles, where he scribbles tales of spaceships, wizards, ghouls, and most things old or bizarre.