by Pierce Brown
“She talk to you?” I ask.
She laughs lightly. “Not a chance.” She pops a laced burner into her mouth and lights up, I shake my head when she offers me a drag. The ship’s air ducts hum. “Silence is a bitch, isn’t it?” she says after a while. “But I guess you’d know that after the box.”
I nod. “No one ever asks me about it,” I say. “The box.”
“No one asks me about Trigg.”
“Do you want them to?”
“Nah.”
“I never used to mind it,” I say. “The silence.”
“Well, you fill it with more things when you get older.”
“Wasn’t much to do in Lykos, ’cept sit around and watch the darkness in Lykos.”
“Watch the darkness. That’s so badass sounding.” Smoke jets out of her nose. “We grew up near corn. Bit less dramatic. Shitloads of it far as you could see. I’d go stand in the middle of it at night sometimes and pretend it was an ocean. You can hear it whispering. It’s not peaceful. Not like you’d think. It’s malevolent. I always wanted to be somewhere else. Not like Trigg. He loved Goodhope. Wanted to enlist at the local precinct for policing duty or be a game warden. He’d be happy kicking it in the backwater till he was old, drinking with those idiots at Lou’s, going hunting in early morning frost. I was the one who wanted out. Who wanted to hear the ocean, see the stars. Twenty years of service to the Legion. Cheap price.”
She mocks herself, but it’s curious to me that she’s choosing to open up now. She found me here. At first I thought it was because she came to console me. But there’s already whiskey on the squat woman’s breath. She didn’t want to be alone. And I’m the only one who knew Trigg even a little. I set my datapad down.
“I told him he didn’t have to come with, but I knew I was draggin’ him along. Told mom that I’d take care of him. Haven’t even been able to tell her he’s dead. Maybe she thinks we both are.”
“Were you able to tell his fiancé?” I ask. “Ephraim, right?”
“You remembered.”
“Of course. He was from Luna.”
She watches me for a moment. “Yeah, Eph’s a good one. Was with a private security firm in Imbrium City. Specialized in high-value property recovery—art, sculptures, jewels. A real pretty boy. They met at one of those themed bars when we were on leave from the Thirteenth. Venusian beach regalia. Eph didn’t know about Trigg and me, that we were with the Sons and all. But I got a hold of him after we rescued you from Luna when I was out on a supply run. Used a web café. About week after I told him Trigg was gone, he sent a message saying he was going off-grid, joining the Sons on Luna. Haven’t heard from him since.”
“I’m sure he’s all right,” I say.
“Thanks. But we both know Luna’s a cluster of shit right now.” She shrugs. After a moment of picking the weightlifting calluses on her palms, she nudges me. “I want you to know, you’re doing good. I know you didn’t ask. And I’m just a grunt. But you are.”
“Trigg would approve?”
“Yeah. And he’d piss his pants if he knew were we marching on—”
She’s cut short as the holo above us beeps softly and one of the comBlue’s calls up to me. I scramble to pick up my datapad. A single message is being broadcast across all frequencies into the belt. Our first contact with Mars since we went through the asteroid belt the first time. “Play it!” Holiday says. I do and a recording appears. It’s a gray interrogation room. A man’s covered in blood, shackled to a chair. The Jackal walks into frame to stand behind him.
“Is that…” Holiday whispers beside me.
“Yes,” I say. The man is Uncle Narol.
The Jackal holds a pistol in his hand. “Darrow. My Boneriders found this one sabotaging beacons in deep space. Really is tougher than he looks. Thought he might know your mind. But he tried to bite off his own tongue instead of talking to me. Irony for you.” He walks behind my uncle. “I don’t want a ransom. I don’t want anything from you. I just want you to watch.” He lifts up the pistol. It’s a slender gray slip of metal the size of my hand. The Blues in the pit gasp. Sevro rushes onto the bridge just as the Jackal points the gun at the back of my uncle’s head. My uncle lifts his eyes to look into the camera.
“Sorry, Darrow. But I’ll say hello to your father for—”
The Jackal pulls the trigger, and I feel another part of me slip away into the darkness as my uncle slumps in his chair. “Turn it off,” I say numbly, the past flooding into me—Narol putting a frysuit helmet on my head as a boy, tussling with him at Laureltide, his sad eyes as we sat beneath the gallows after Eo’s hanging, his laugh…
“Timestamp puts it at three weeks ago, sir,” Virga, the comBlue says quietly. “We didn’t receive it because of the interference.”
“Did the rest of the fleet get this?” I ask quietly.
“I don’t know, sir. Interference is marginal now. And it’s on a pulse frequency. They’ve probably already seen it.”
And I told Orion to keep all ships scanning in case we got lucky. It will leak.
“Oh, shit,” Sevro mutters.
“What?” Holiday asks.
“We just set fire to our own fleet,” I say mechanically. The fragile alliance between the highColors and low will shatter from this. My uncle was nearly as beloved as Ragnar. Narol is gone. Just like that. I feel helpless. I shudder inside. It’s not real yet.
“What do we do?” Sevro asks. “Darrow?”
“Holiday, wake the Howlers,” I say. “Helmsman, max thrust to rear engines. I want to be with the main fleet in four hours. Get me Mustang and Orion on the com. Telemanuses too.”
Holiday snaps to attention. “Yes, sir.”
Despite the interference, I reach Orion over the com and tell her to seal off all the ship bridges and to isolate control of the guns in case anyone decides to take a potshot at our Gold allies. It takes nearly thirty minutes for the Blues to connect me with Mustang. Sevro and Victra are with me now along with Daxo. The rest of his family is on their ships. The signal is weak. Interference causing static that wavers across Mustang’s face. She’s moving through a hall. Two Golds with her. “Darrow, you’ve heard?” she says, seeing the others behind me.
“Thirty minutes ago.”
“I’m so sorry…”
“What’s happening?”
“We received the communiqué. Some jackass tech pimped it to all the sensor chiefs,” Mustang confirms. “It’s on the ship hubs throughout the fleet. Darrow…there’s already movement against highColors on several of our ships. Three Golds on Persephone were killed fifteen minutes ago by Reds. And one of my lieutenants opened up on two Obsidian who tried to take her. They’re dead.”
“Shit’s hitting the fan,” Sevro says.
“I’m evac-ing all my personnel back to our ships.” There’s gunshots in the background behind Mustang.
“Where are you?” I ask.
“On the Morning Star.”
“What the hell are you doing there? You have to get off.”
“I still have men on here. There’s seven Golds in the engine deck for logistical support. I’m not leaving them behind.”
“Then I’m sending my father’s guard,” Daxo growls from his family’s torchShips. “They’ll get you out.”
“That’s stupid,” Sevro says.
“No,” Mustang snaps. “You send Gold knights in here, and this turns into a bloodbath we don’t recover from. Darrow, you have to get back here. That’s the only thing that might stop this.”
“We’re still hours out.”
“Well, do your best. There’s one more thing…they’ve stormed the prison. I think they’re going to execute Cassius.”
Sevro and I exchange a look. “You need to find Sefi and stay with her,” I say. “We’ll be there soon.”
“Find Sefi? Darrow…she’s leading them.”
My assault shuttle lands on the auxiliary deck of the Morning Star where Mustang was supposed to meet us. She’s not
there. Neither are the Golds she was rescuing. A coterie of Sons of Ares waits for us instead, led by Theodora. She carries no weapon and looks out of place surrounded by the armored men, but they defer to her. She tells me what’s happened. My uncle’s death sparked several small fights that escalated into shootings on both sides. Now several ships roil with conflict.
“Mustang has been taken by Sefi’s men, along with Cassius and the rest of the highColor prisoners, Darrow,” Theodora announces, assessing the rest of my lieutenants.
“Gorydamn savages,” Victra mutters. “If they kill her this is done.”
“They won’t kill her,” I say. “Sefi knows Mustang’s on her side.”
“Why would she do this?” Holiday asks.
“Justice,” Victra says, drawing a look from Sevro.
“No,” I say. “No I think it’s something else altogether.”
“Gorydamn marvelous.” Victra nods back to space. “Looks like the Telemanuses are intent on slagging this all up.” Another shuttle taxis into the hangar behind us. We gather as it lands. Storming down the ramp before it even sets down, jumping to deck is the whole Telemanus clan. Daxo, Kavax, Thraxa, two other sisters I haven’t met land heavily behind them. Armed to the teeth, though Kavax’s arm is still in a sling. Behind them come thirty more of their House Golds. It’s a bloodydamn army.
“They’re going to get us all killed,” Holiday says. At my side, Sevro blinks up at the disembarking war party.
“Death begets death begets death…,” he murmurs.
“Kavax, what the hell are you doing?” I ask as his family crosses the hangar.
“Virginia needs our help,” he booms, not breaking his pace until I cut him off, blocking his way deeper into the ship. For a moment I think he’ll go through me. “We will not leave her to the mercy of savages.”
“I told you to stay on your ship.”
“Unfortunately we take orders from Virginia, not you,” Daxo says. “We know the ramifications of being here. But we will do what we must to protect our family.”
“Mustang even told you not to storm in here with knights.”
“The situation has changed,” Kavax rumbles.
“You want this to turn into a war? You want our fleet to shatter? The fastest way you do that is marching in there with a show of Gold force.”
“We will not let her die,” Kavax says.
“And what if they kill her because of you?” I ask. That’s the only thing that gives him pause. “What if they cut her throat when you storm in there?” I step close so he can see the fear on my face too and I can speak just loud enough for Daxo to hear as well. “Listen to me, Kavax, the problem with that is that you leave the Obsidian only one choice. Fight back. And you know they can. Let me handle this and we’ll get her back. Don’t and we’ll be standing over her casket tomorrow.”
Kavax looks back to his lean son, always the moderating influence, to see what he thinks. And to my relief Daxo nods. “Very well,” Kavax says. “But I will go with you, Reaper. Children, await my summons. If I fall, come with all fury.”
“Yes, father,” they say.
Breathing a sigh of relief, I turn back to my men. “Where’s Sevro?”
—
Sevro snuck away while we argued, to what purpose I don’t know. We rush after him through the corridors, Victra behind us. Holiday leads, taking information from other Sons of Ares in through the optic implant in her eye. Her men have spotted the mob in the main hangar. They’re holding a trial for Cassius for the murder of several dozen Sons of Ares, and, of course, Ares himself. No sign of Mustang. Where is she? She was supposed to stay out of sight. Meet us if she could. Did they catch her? Worse? When we reach the corridor that leads to the hangar, there’s such a press of people we can barely get through, shoving Reds and Obsidians out of the way as I pass.
They’re all shouting and pushing. Over their heads, near the center of the hangar, I see several dozen Obsidian and Reds astride the twenty-meter-high walkway that spans part of the hangar, high over the crowd. Sefi’s at their center. Seven Golds hang dead from the walkway, suspended by rubber cable ligature, feet dangling five meters above the crowd, scalps hewn off. Aureate spines are tougher than average humans. Each of these men and women would have died horribly over several minutes from cerebral anorexia, watching the crowd beneath them curse and spit at them and hurl lugnuts and wrenches and bottles. Blood clots in a long ribbon cover their chins to their chests. Tongues removed by Sefi the Quiet. Cassius and several other prisoners await their own executions upon the walkway, kneeling beside their captors, bloody and beaten. Mustang is not with them, thank Jove. They’ve stripped Cassius to the waist and carved a bloody SlingBlade across his broad chest.
“Sefi!” I shout, but I can’t be heard. Can’t see Sevro anywhere. There’s more than twenty-five thousand in a space meant for ten. Many are armed. Some wounded from the battle the week prior. All pressing into the hangar to watch the execution. The Obsidian stand titanic amidst the masses, like great boulders amidst a sea of lowColors. I never should have condensed most of the wounded and rescued crews into this hotbed of grief. The crowd has realized I’m here now and they part for me and begin to chant my name as if they think I’ve come to see justice done. The barbarity of it chills me. One of the men holding Cassius down is a Green tech who gave me coffee on Phobos. Most of the others I don’t recognize.
One by one those Sons nearby recognize my presence. The quiet spreads around me.
“Sefi!” I snarl. “Sefi.” At last she hears me. “What are you doing?”
“What you will not,” she calls down in her own language, not in wrath, but acceptance that she performs an unsavory but necessary deed. Like a spirit of vengeance has drifted up from Hel. Her white hair hangs long behind her. Her knife is bloody from the tongues it has claimed. And to think I vouched for her. Let her name this ship. But just because a lion lets you pet it doesn’t mean it’s tame. Kavax is horrified by the scene. He’s almost ready to call to his children, and would if Victra did not grip his arm and talk him down. There’s fear in her eyes, too. Not just at the sight above, but at what could happen to her here. I shouldn’t have brought the Golds with me.
There’s moments in life where you’re walking ahead so intent on your task that you forget to look down until you feel knee-deep in quicksand. I’m right there now. Surrounded by an unpredictable mob, looking up at a woman with the blood of Alia Snowsparrow running through her veins. My only defense a small circle of Sons of Ares and Golds. Holiday’s pulling a scorcher. Victra’s razor moves beneath her sleeve. I was too brash in storming in here. All this could go so wrong so quickly.
“Where is Mustang?” I call up to Sefi. “Did you kill her?”
“Kill her? No. The daughter of the Lion brought us from the Ice. But she stood in the way of justice, so she is in chains.” Then she’s safe.
“That’s what this is?” I call up. “Justice? Is that what was given to Ragnar’s friends who your mother hanged from the chains of the Spires?”
“This is the code of the Ice.”
“You’re not on the Ice, Sefi. You’re on my ship.”
“Is it yours?” This doesn’t sit well with the lowColors among the crowd. “We paid for it in our blood.”
“As did we all,” I say. “What about the Ice was good? You left that place because you knew it was wrong. You knew your ways were shaped by your masters. You said you’d follow me. Are you a liar now?”
“Are you? You promised my people they would be safe,” Sefi bellows down to me, pointing her axe, the weight of loss heavy upon her. “I have seen the works of these people. I have seen the war they make. The ships they sail. Words will not suffice. These Golds speak one language. And that is the language of blood. And so long as they live. So long as they speak, my people will not be safe. The power they have is too great.”
“Do you think this is what Ragnar wanted?”
“Yes.”
“Ragnar w
anted you to be better than them. Than this. To be an example. But maybe the Golds are right. Maybe you are just killers. Savage dogs. Like they made you to be.”
“We will never be anything more until they are gone,” she says down to me, voice echoing around the hangar. “Why defend them?” She drags Cassius toward her. “Why weep over one who helped kill my brother?”
“Why do you think Ragnar gripped your hand instead of the sword when he died? He didn’t want you to make your life about vengeance. It’s a hollow end. He wanted more for you. He wanted a future.”
“I have seen the heavens, I have seen the hells, and I know now that our future is war,” Sefi says. “War until they fade in the night.” She drags Cassius toward her and lifts her knife to carve out his tongue But before she does, a pulseFist fires and knocks the weapon from her hands and Ares, lord of this rebellion, slams down on the walkway wearing his spiked helmet of war. The Obsidians recoil from him as he straightens, dusts off his shoulders and lets the helmet slither back into his armor.
“What is he doing?” Victra asks me.
“You dumb shits,” Sevro sneers. “You’re touching my property.” He stalks across the bridge toward Sefi. “Tsst. Get away.” Several Valkyrie bar his way. He stands nose to chest with them. “Move, you albino sack of pubic hair.”
The Obsidian moves only when Sefi tells her to. Sevro walks past the bound Golds tapping their heads playfully as he goes. “That one’s mine,” he says, pointing at Cassius. “Get your hands off him, lady.” She doesn’t move her knife. “He cut my father’s head off and put it in a box. And unless you want me to do the same to you, you’ll do me the courtesy of letting go my property.”
Sefi backs away but does not sheath her knife. “It is your blood debt. His life belongs to you.”
“Obviously.” He shoos her away. “Stand up, you little Pixie,” he barks at Cassius, kicking him with his boot and hauling him up by the cable around his neck. “Have some dignity. Stand up.” Cassius rises to his feet, awkwardly. Hands behind his back. Face swollen from the beatings. The slingBlade livid on his chest. “Did you kill my father?” Sevro flicks him on his broad chest. “Did you kill my father?”