Текст книги "Golden Son"

Автор книги: Brown Pierce

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“Me.” The Jackal takes a step forward. “I am heir to this house.”

“Hmm … pass! You’re creepy.”

He shoots the Jackal in the chest with the stunFist.

“Foolishness! Enough foolishness.” Kavax steps forward, pushing his son back. “Speak with me or Darrow. It’s plain enough, your intentions.”

“Indeed. Darrow. You shall come with me.”

“Like hell,” Victra sneers, stepping in front of me.

Fitchner rolls his eyes. “Telemanus, you and your son take the ArchGovernor back to his villa and then return to your own. Matters must be sorted.” Fitchner gazes quietly at the bald Gold. His words now scrape out like raw iron on slate. “This is not a request, Telemanus.”

Telemanus looks to me. “My boy trusted this one. So shall I.”

“I need your assurance my friends will not be hurt,” I say to Fitchner.

He looks at Victra. “They won’t be.”

“Convince me.”

He sighs, bored.

“The Sovereign can’t gorywell execute an entire house absent a trial for treason. Can she? That violates the Compact. And you know how that would make us Olympic Knights feel, not to mention the other houses. Remember how her father met his end. But if you resist, well, that’s another matter entirely.” Fitchner flips a piece of gum into his mouth. “Do you resist?”

“Not today,” I say.

14

THE SOVEREIGN

“Once upon a time, there was a family of strong wills,” she says, voice slow and measured as a pendulum. “They did not love one another. But together they presided over a farm. And on that farm, there were hounds, and bitches, and dairy cows, and hens, and cocks, and sheep, and mules, and horses. The family kept the beasts in line. And the beasts kept them rich, fat, and happy. Now, the beasts obeyed because they knew the family was strong, and to disobey was to suffer their united wrath. But one day, when one of the brothers struck his brother over the eye, a cock said to a hen, ‘Darling, matronly hen, what would really happen if you stopped laying eggs for them?’ ”

Her eyes burn into mine. Neither of us look away. Silence in the sparse suite, except the sound of rain at the windows of her skyscraper. We’re among the clouds. Ships pass in the haze outside like silent, glowing sharks. The leather creaks as she leans forward and steeples her long fingers, which are painted red, a lone splash of color. Then her lips curl in condescension, accenting each syllable as though I were an Agea street child only just learning her language.

“In so many ways you remind me of my father.”

The one she beheaded.

That’s when she fixes me with the most enigmatic smile I may ever have seen. Mischief dances in her eyes, subdued and quiet beneath the cold trappings of power. Somewhere inside is the nine-year-old girl who infamously started a riot by throwing diamonds from an aircar.

I stand before her. She sits on a couch by a fire. Everything is Spartan. Hard. Cold. A Gold woman of iron and stone. All this drabness as if to say she needs not luxury or wealth, just power.

Her face is creased but not faded by time. A hundred years, or so I hear, not cracked by the pressures of office. If anything, pressure has made her like those diamonds she scattered. Unbreakable. Ageless. And she will be without age for some time longer, if the Carvers continue their cellular rejuvenation therapy.

That is the problem. She will cling to power far too long. A king reigns and then he dies. That is the way of it. That is how the young justify obeying their elders—knowing it will one day be their turn. But when their elders do not leave? When she rules for forty years, and may rule for a hundred more? What then?

She is the answer to that question. This is not a woman who inherited the Morning Throne. This is a woman who took it from a ruler who had not the courtesy to die in a timely fashion. For forty years others have tried to take it from her. Yet here she sits. Timeless as those fabled diamonds.

“Why did you disobey me?” she asks.

“Because I could.”

“Explain.”

“Nepotism shrivels under the light of the sun. When you changed your mind to protect Cassius, the crowd rejected your moral and legal authority. Not to mention, you contradicted yourself. That in itself is weakness. So I exploited it, knowing I could get what I wanted without consequence.”

Aja, the Sovereign’s favorite killer, broods in a chair near the window—a powerful panther of a woman with skin duskier than her siblings’, and eyes with slitted pupils. She is one of the Olympic Knights, the Protean Knight to be technic. She was Lorn’s last student before me. Though he didn’t teach her everything. Her armor is gold and midnight blue and writhes with sea serpents.

A young boy enters quietly from another room to sit beside Aja. I recognize him immediately. The Sovereign’s only grandson, Lysander. No older than eight, but so very composed. Regal in his quiet, thin as a scarf. But his eyes. His eyes are beyond gold. Almost a yellow crystal, so bright they could nearly be said to shine. Aja watches me appraise the boy. She takes him onto her lap protectively and bares her teeth, their whiteness fiercely bright against her dark skin. Like a great cat playfully saying hello. And for the first time I can remember, I glance away from a threat. The shame burns hot and sudden in me. I might as well have kneeled to her.

“But there are always consequences,” the Sovereign says. “I’m curious. What did you want out of that duel?”

“The same as Cassius au Bellona. The heart of my enemy.”

“Do you hate him so much?”

“No. But my survival instinct is … enthusiastic. Cassius, as far as I am concerned, is a stupid boy crippled by his upbringing. His stock is limited. He talks of honor but he stoops to ignoble things.”

“So it wasn’t for Virginia?” she asks. “It wasn’t to claim her hand or sate your jealous rage?”

“I’m angry, but I’m not petty,” I snap. “Besides, Virginia isn’t the sort of woman who would stand for such things. If I did it for her, I would have lost her.”

“You have lost her,” Aja growls from the side.

“Yes. I realize she has a new home, Aja. Easy to see.”

“Do you lash out at me, my goodman?” Aja touches her razor.

“My goodlady, I do but lash out.” I smile slowly at her.

“She’ll gut you like a pig, boyo,” Fitchner says quickly. “Don’t give a piss if Lorn taught you how to wipe your ass. Think twice on who you insult here. The true blades of the Society do not duel for sport. So mind your gorydamn tongue.”

I touch my razor.

He snorts. “If you were a threat, do you think they’d let you keep that?”

I nod to Aja. “Another time, perhaps.” I turn back to the Sovereign, straightening. “Perhaps we should discuss why you are holding my house under military guard. Are we under arrest? Am I?”

“Do you see shackles?”

I look at Aja. “Yes.”

The Sovereign laughs. “You’re here because I want you to be.”

An idea comes to me. I try not to smile. “My liege, I should like to apologize,” I say loudly. They wait for me to continue. “My manners have always been … provincial. And so I find the manner of my actions nearly always distracts from their purpose. The base fact is, Cassius deserved worse than what I supplied. That I disobeyed you was not meant as insult by myself or the ArchGovernor. Were he not unconscious on account of your dog”—I glance at Fitchner—“I wager he would do what needed to be done to make amends.”

“Make amends,” she repeats. “For …”

“For the disturbance.”

She looks to Aja. “Disturbance, he says. Dropping a dish is a disturbance, Andromedus. Helping yourself to another man’s wife is a disturbance. Killing my guests and cutting off the arm of an Olympic Knight is not a disturbance. Do you know what it is?”

“Fun, my liege?”

She leans forward. “It is treason.”

“And you know how we treat with treason,” Aja says. “My father taught my sisters and me.” Her father, the Ash Lord. Burner of Rhea. Lorn despises him.

“An apology from you is insufficient,” the Sovereign says.

“Apology?” I ask.

The Sovereign is caught off guard by my tone.

“I said I should like to apologize. But the problem is, I cannot, because it should be you who apologizes to me.”

Silence.

“You little whelp,” Aja says, rising slowly.

The Sovereign stops her, words cutting clear and cold. “I did not apologize to my father when I took his head from his body. I did not apologize to my grandson when his mother’s ship was destroyed by Outriders. I did not apologize when I burned a moon. So why would I apologize to you?”

“Because you broke the law,” I say.

“Perhaps you were not listening. I am the law.”

“No. You’re not.”

“So you are a student of Lorn’s after all. Did he tell you why he abandoned his post? His duty?” She looks at Lysander. “Why he abandoned his grandson?”

I did not know the boy was Lorn’s grandson. My teacher’s retirement makes sudden sense. He always spoke of Society’s fading glory. How men have forgotten themselves mortal.

“Because he saw what you have become, my liege. You are no Empress. This is no empire, despite what you may think. We are the Society. We are bound by laws, by hierarchy. No person stands above the pyramid.” I look to her killers. “Fitchner, Aja, you protect the Society. You ensure peace. You sail to the far reaches of the System to root out weeds of chaos. But above all else, what is the purpose of the twelve Olympic Knights?”

“Go on,” Aja says to Fitchner. “Play into his mummer’s farce. I will not.”

Fitchner drawls out, “To preserve the Compact.”

“To preserve the Compact,” I say. “And the Compact states, ‘A duel, once begun, cannot reach resolution until its terms are properly fulfilled.’ The terms were death. But Cassius is not dead. His arm will not suffice. I honor the iron ancestors and my rights stand inviolable. So give me what is mine. Give my the gorydamn head of Cassius au Bellona. Or reject the legacy of our people.”

“No.”

“Then we have nothing more to discuss. You may find me on Mars.”

I turn on my heel and walk toward the door.

“The lion fades,” the Sovereign calls. “Find a new home. Here.”

I stop in my tracks. These people are so bloodydamn predictable. They all want what they can’t have.

“Why?” I ask without turning.

“Because I can give you resources Augustus cannot. Because Virginia has already seen how true that is. You want to be with her, don’t you?”

“Why would you want a man who so easily trades his allegiance?” I turn and look Fitchner dead in the eye. “Such a man is little more than a common whore.”

“Augustus abandoned you before you abandoned him,” the Sovereign says. “His daughter saw it even if you don’t. I will not abandon you. Ask my Furies. Ask their father. Ask Fitchner. I give a chance to those who stand apart. Join me. Lead my legions and I will make you an Olympic Knight.”

“I am an Aureate.” I spit on the ground. “I am no trophy.”

I stalk away.

“If I can’t have you, no one can.”

Then they come. Three Stained file through the door. Each a foot taller than I. Each garbed in purple and black and carrying pulseAxes and pulseBlades. Their faces hide behind bonelike masks. Eyes of killers grown in the arctic poles of Earth and Mars stare out at me. Glittering black, like oil. I pull my razor and take my battle stance. Their throat-sung war chant rumbles under their masks, like the funeral dirge for a dead god.

“Go on. Sing to your gods.” I twirl my razor. “I’ll send you to meet them.”

“Reaper, please stop,” Lysander calls loudly. I turn to find him walking toward me, hands splayed plaintively. His coat is simple and black. He stands half my height.

His voice floats. Trembles like a delicate bird’s.

“I have watched all your videos, Reaper. Six, maybe seven times. Even the Academy. My tutors believe you are the closest man to the Iron Golds since Lorn au Arcos, the Stoneside.”

That’s when I realize why he looks so nervous. I almost laugh. I’m this little bastard’s boyhood hero.

“We need not see you die tonight. Could you not find a home here as you found with Sevro? With Roque and Tactus, and Pax, the Howlers, and all your great warriors? We have warriors too. Noble ones. You could lead them. But … He steps back. “If you fight, then you die because you make the mistake of believing righteousness puts you beyond my grandmother’s power.”

“It does,” I say.

“Reaper, there is no place beyond her power.”

This is how it happens. They give them heroes. They raise them on lies and violence, and then they let them grow into monsters. What would he be without their guiding hand?

“He wanted to see you,” the Sovereign says. “I told him legend never matches fact. Better not to meet your heroes.”

“And what do you think?” I ask little Lysander.

“It all depends on your next choice,” he says delicately.

“Join us, Darrow,” Fitchner drawls. “This is the place for you now. Augustus is done.”

Smiling inwardly, I relax my blade. Lysander clenches a fist happily. I pace with him back to his grandmother, playing along but not yet proclaiming any allegiance.

“You’re always telling me to bow,” I tell Fitchner as I pass.

He shrugs. “Because I don’t want you to break, boyo.”

“Lysander, fetch me my box,” the Sovereign says. Happily, the boy rushes out of the room as I sit across from his grandmother. “I fear the Institute taught you the wrong lesson—that you can overcome anything if you but try. That is incorrect. In the real world, you must go along. You must cooperate and compromise. You cannot bend the worlds to your morals.”

“Would you have noticed me had I not tried to?”

She smiles softly. “Likely not.”

Lysander returns moments later, carrying a small wooden box. He hands it to his grandmother and waits patiently by her side, eating a tart that Aja hands him. The Sovereign sets the box on the table.

“You value trust. So do I. Let us play a game absent weapons, absent armor. No Praetorians. No lies. No falsity. Just us and our naked truths.”

“Why?”

“If you win, you may request anything of me. If I win, I get the same.”

“If I ask for the head of Cassius?”

“I will saw it off myself. Now open the box.”

I lean forward. Chair creaking. Rain patters on the windows. Lysander smiles. Aja watches my hands. And Fitchner, like me, has no idea what’s in the bloodydamn box.

I open it.

15

TRUTH

It takes everything I am not to flee. What comes hissing from the box is pulled out of nightmare, pulled so perfectly out of the depths of my subconscious that I nearly think the Sovereign knows where I come from. Where I truly come from.

“The game is one of questions,” she says. “Lysander, please do the honors.” She hands her son a knife. The boy cuts the sleeve of my uniform to the elbow, rolling it back to expose my forearm. His hands are gentle. He smiles at me apologetically.

“Don’t be afraid,” he says. “Nothing bad will happen, so long as you don’t lie.”

The carved creatures from the box—two of them—stare at me with three blind eyes apiece. Part scorpion. Part pitviper. Part centipede. They move like liquid glass, organs, skeleton, visible through skin, chitinous mouths chattering and hissing at the same time as one slithers onto the table.

“No lies.” I force a laugh. “That’s a breezy order when you’re a child.”

“He never lies,” Aja says proudly. “None of us do. Lies are rust on iron. A blemish on power.”

Power they’re so drunk on, they can’t even remember how many lies they stand upon. Tell my people you don’t lie, you brutish bitch, and see what they do to you.

“I call these Oracles,” the Sovereign says. One of her rings ripples liquid, forming a shell over her finger, turning it into a talon, needle growing slowly at the end. With this needle, she pricks my wrist and says the words “Truth over all.”

One Oracle slips forward, skittering onto my arm, coiling itself around my wrist. Its strange mouth seeks the blood, latching on like a leech. Its scorpion tail arches four inches upward, drifting back and forth like a cattail in summer wind. The Sovereign pricks her own wrist, repeats the oath, and the second Oracle slithers from the box.

“Zanzibar the Carver designed this especially for me in his Himalayan laboratories,” she says. “The poison won’t kill you. But I’ve cells filled with men who have played my game and lost. If there is a hell, what’s in that stinger is as close to it as science has let us come.”

My pulse quickens as I watch the tail sway.

“Sixty-five,” Aja says of my pulse. “He was resting at twenty-nine beats per minute.”

The Sovereign lifts her head at that. “As low as twenty-nine?”

“When are my ears wrong?”

“Calm yourself, Andromedus,” the Sovereign says. “The Oracle is designed to measure truth. It’s in fluctuations of temperature, chemicals in the blood, pulse of the heart.”

“You don’t have to play if you don’t want, Darrow,” Aja purrs. “You can go the easy way with the Praetorians. Death is not so bad.”

I glare at the Sovereign. “Let’s play.”

“Would you assassinate me tonight if you could?”

“No.”

We all watch the Oracle. Even I. After a moment, nothing happens. I swallow in relief. The Sovereign smiles.

“This game doesn’t have an end,” I mutter. “How do I even win?”

“You make me lie.”

“How many times have you played this game?” I ask.

“Seventy-one. In the end, I’ve trusted only one other. Where does Augustus hide his unregistered electromagnetic weapons?”

“Asteroid depots, hidden armories throughout Mars’s cities.” I list the particulars. “And in the dais of his reception room.” That surprises them. “Where are yours?”

She lists off sixty locations in fast order. She tells everything because she’s never lost. She’s never had to worry about the information walking out the door. Such confidence.

“What does that pegasus pendant mean to you?” she asks. “Is it from your father?”

I look down. It’s spilled out of my shirt. “It means hope. Part of my father’s legacy. Did you help Karnus at the Academy?”

“Yes. I gave him that ship he rammed you with. Did you really intend to launch yourself at his bridge?”

“Yes. Why did you bring Virginia into your inner circle?”

“The same reason you fell in love with her.”

My pulse quickens. Aja smiles, hearing it.

“Virginia is special. And we both come from fathers who … left much to be desired. When I was a girl, I would have given anything to belong to a different family. But I was the daughter of the Sovereign. I gave her a gift no one could have given me.

“You see, I collect people I enjoy, Andromedus. I even enjoy Fitchner there. Many might see him as repugnant. Might think his heritage unseemly, but, like you, he is so very talented. When I asked him to play this game before becoming one of my Olympic Knights, you know what he said?”

“I can imagine.”

“Fitchner …”

He shrugs his slumped shoulders. “Told you to stick the box up your cootch. I’m not an idiot.”

“I think it was even more crass than that,” Aja grumbles.

“My turn.” The Sovereign examines her Rage Knight. “Did Fitchner violate his oath as a Proctor and cheat at the Mars Institute, as rumor would have me believe?”

“Yes,” I say, watching the Oracle instead of my old Proctor. “He cheated like the rest.” I know Fitchner would not have gained this post were she not sure of his loyalty to her and not Augustus, which means Fitchner must have come clean and supplied her with details of Augustus’s ill dealings. I glance back at the man. “Though I don’t know if he was paid like the others.”

“He wasn’t. Their mistake,” the Sovereign says. “Gave us video evidence. Audio. Bank statements. Useful leverage against each Proctor.”

Sevro must have given his father the video footage when I had him tinkering with it. Crafty little bastard. He actually does care about his father, after all. Augustus would kill them both if he knew about the duplicity.

I want to interrogate the Sovereign about military outposts. Supply lines. Operational imperatives and security measures. But I know that would appear strange. It would lead to her asking strange questions of her own. The Oracle tightens slightly on my arm, sucking out only tiny drops of blood at a time. I don’t know how well this thing can sense untruths. But what do I do if she asks me where I was born? Who my father is? Why I rub dirt between my fingers before I fight? Shit. She could just ask me if I’m a Red. But how would she ever think to do that unless I gave her the sense that something was … off about me?

“Are any in my inner circle your spies?” I ask.

“Very clever. No. Where did you go with Victra au Julii three days ago? And what did you do?” the Sovereign asks.

“To Lost City.” Somehow, the Oracle senses I’m holding back. Its stinger trembles with excitement. “To meet the Jackal—Augustus’s son.” It tightens further. “To form an alliance.” Sweat beads on my collar and the Oracle relaxes, the answer sufficient. “Why do they call Lorn Stoneside?”

“He didn’t tell you? It’s not because he’s tough as stone like they’d tell you now. It’s because on campaign in the Moon Rebellion, he was famous for eating anything. And one day a Gray bet him he couldn’t eat stones. Lorn doesn’t back down. When did Lorn teach you?”

“Every morning before first light, between my graduation from the Institute and enrollment at the Academy.”

“Incredible no one found out.”

“How many Peerless Scarred are there?” I ask. “Census data is so hard to come by.” The Board of Quality Control is monstrous in hoarding its high-level material.

“There are 132,689, for nearly 40 million Golds. Why did Lorn take you as a student?”

“Because he thinks we’re the same sort of man. What are your two greatest fears?”

“Octavia …,” Aja warns.

“Shut up, Aja. All’s fair.” She looks over to Lysander and smiles. “My greatest fear is that my grandson will grow up to be like my father. The second is the inevitability of age. Why did you cry when you killed Julian au Bellona?”

“Because he was kinder than the world let him be. Did you arrange Virginia and Cassius’s courtship?”

“No. It was her idea.”

I’d held on to hope that it was something arranged, something she had to do.

“Why did you sing the Red ballad to Virginia at the Institute?”

“Because she forgot the words, and I think it the saddest song ever sung.” I pause before my next question.

“You want to ask about Virginia again, don’t you?” The corners of her lips twitch with pleasure as she plucks my pain. “Do you want to know if I’ll give her to you if you join me? It’s possible.”

“She is not a thing to be given,” I say.

She laughs, amused at my innocence. “If you say so.”

“Where are the three Deep Space Command Centers?” I ask recklessly.

She gives me the coordinates without blinking. “How did you know the words to the Reaping Song?”

“I heard it as a boy. And I forget little.”

“Where?”

“It’s not your turn,” I remind her. “Why are you asking me these questions?”

“Because one of my Furies has led me to suspect the Sons of Ares are perhaps something different than we imagined. Something more dangerous. Who is Ares?”

My heart thunders.

“I don’t know.” I watch the Oracle’s tail. It doesn’t move. “Who you do think Ares is?”

“Your master.”

“Thirty-nine, forty-two, fifty-six …,” Aja says.

The Sovereign wags a long finger. “Strange. Your heart gives you away.”

I clear my mind. Let it all fade. Imagine the mines. Remember the wind moving through them. Remember her hands on mine as we walked barefoot through cold dirt to the place where we first lay together in the hollow of an abandoned township. Her whispers. How she sang the lullaby my mother sang to my siblings and me.

“Fifty-five, forty-two, thirty-nine,” Aja says.

“Is Augustus Ares?” she asks.

Relief floods me. “No. He’s not Ares.”

The door slams open behind me. We turn to see Mustang stalking into the room wearing the gold and white uniform of House Lune, complete with the family’s crescent moon symbol. A datapad glows on her wrist. She bows to the Sovereign. “My liege.”

“Virginia, you’re still a mess,” Aja drawls.

“Blame this dumb son of a bitch.” Mustang nods to me. “Seventy-three dead. Two Earthborn families erased, neither of which had anything to do with Bellona or Augustus. Over two hundred wounded.” She shakes her head. “I grounded all ships as you asked, Octavia. Praetorian command has initiated a no-fly zone in orbit. All family-owned capital ships have had their warrants revoked and are being pushed beyond the Rubicon Beacons till we give further notice. And Cassius still lives. He’s with the Yellows. Citadel Carvers are preparing plans for replacing the arm.”

The Sovereign thanks her and asks her to sit. “Darrow and I are getting to know each other. Are there any questions you think we should ask him?”

Mustang sits beside the Sovereign.

“My advice, my liege? Don’t try to solve Darrow. He’s a puzzle with missing pieces.”

“That’s rather offensive,” I say, playfully. But her words sting.

“So you don’t think we should keep him?”

“Cassius and his mother will—” Mustang starts.

“Will what?” the Sovereign interrupts. “I made Cassius an Olympic Knight. He will be grateful, and he will study his razor so this does not happen again.” Her face softens and she touches Mustang’s knee. “Are you all right, my dear?”

“I’m fine. Seems like I interrupted your game.”

I can’t tell which woman is playing the other. But with Karnus’s words at the gala, and the knowledge that the ships were grounded before I even started the skirmish, I know the Sovereign had plans. And now I think I can piece together just what they were.

“One last question. I’ve been saving it for the end.”

“Do ask, boy. We have no secrets here. But it must be the last. Agrippina au Julii has been kept waiting long enough.” Aja opens the box so the Oracles may go back inside.

“Tonight, at the gala, during the sixth course of the meal, did you plan to allow the Bellona to assassinate ArchGovernor Augustus and all those who sat at his table?”

Aja freezes. Mustang slowly turns to look at the Sovereign, whose face shows no hints of dishonesty. The woman breathes easily and with a soft smile lies through her teeth. “No,” she says. “I did not.”

The Oracle’s barbed tail strikes at her flesh.