Golden Son

42

DEATH OF A GOLD

Six Praetorians in full armor watch me. Karnus is with them. And Aja. And stocky Fitchner, his eyes widening as he sees me. The Sovereign stands in front of her Praetorians, tall but hardly coming to their shoulders.

Blooydamn. I didn’t think they’d all still be in the bay.

“Darrow?” Fitchner almost moans.

“What?” Karnus laughs, looking about to see if the others notice how ridiculous a present just fell in their laps. “What?… Andromedus, where did you come from? It looks like Jove himself just shit you out.”

I stay on my knees, panting, dripping blood and rain and sweat and mud.

“We can leverage him as a hostage,” Fitchner says quickly as the ship rises in the sky.

“No,” the Sovereign answers. “Achilles would never have been ransomed, for by being captured, he loses what makes him Achilles.” She regards me for a cool moment. I spit phlegm on the ground. “Aja, cut off his head.”

Aja paces toward me. “Stupid boy. No friends. No army. No hope.”

I chuckle darkly. “Who needs hope when you have a pulseGrenade?”

I hold up the munitions I ripped off the Gray’s belt. They recoil.

“What do you want, Andromedus?” the Sovereign asks slowly.

“To prove you are not invincible. Land this ship.”

Octavia smiles and speaks into her com. “Pilot. Roll.”

The pilot does a barrel roll. Without gravBoots I lose my feet, slamming into the ceiling then back to the deck, dropping the grenade. My enemies stay rooted in place. Aja kicks the pulseGrenade out the open hatch. It explodes far beneath.

I look out into the night, where my plan just disappeared.

“Pride.” Octavia smiles. “I suppose it makes fools of us all.”

I take my time looking back to her, realizing how very stupid I was to think I could control all the variables. And now I’ve slipped up.

“You won’t escape,” I say.

“You know I will. Why else would you risk jumping on my shuttle?” She nods to one of the Olympic Knights and a strange, high-pitched warble ripples through the air twice before subsiding. A ghostCloak. Impossibly expensive for a whole ship. My friends won’t be coming to rescue me.

Octavia turns to Fitchner. “Rage Knight, have you a nanoCam?” He nods and produces a ring. “Record Aja killing the Reaper.”

Fitchner blanches.

“Let me kill him,” Karnus begs. “My Sovereign, let me kill him for my family. It’s my right.”

“Your right?” she asks, surprised. “Your family has lost me Mars. You have no rights.”

“He’d be a better prisoner.” Fitchner steps toward the Sovereign. “Let me talk to him. He’s my student. You would have had him serve you once before, Octavia. Let him recant and do so again. It will show the greatness of your power—that you can forgive even a little piss-eater like this.”

The Sovereign turns slowly to look at Fitchner, examining him. And he realizes he’s made a mistake. “Aja, hold.” She smiles. “I want Fitchner to kill him.”

The ugly man just gapes. It’s one of the first times I’ve seen him speechless.

“Kill your student,” the Sovereign says. “Or are you not loyal?”

“Of course I am loyal. I’ve already proven it.”

“Then prove it again. Bring me his head.”

“There has to be another way.”

“He set your son against you,” Octavia says. “And you know I do not keep things near to me that I cannot trust. So kill him.”

“Yes, my liege.” Fitchner’s face pinches in concentration. There’s a strange swirling of sadness in his bronze eyes. Is it so horrible seeing his prize student die? Or is it that I am Sevro’s friend? Or is it worry for Sevro?

“Sevro lives,” I tell him. “He survived the Rain.”

He nods his thanks and touches his razor. Then he stumbles sideways, shoved aside by Karnus. The huge Bellona charges me. Mouth curved in hate, huge shoulders shelled in armor that shows the greatness of his family. He bellows my name.

He feints high, curves the razor diagonally at me, quick as a snake. I side-flip forward, inside most of the swing, and put my razor through his stomach. I let go the blade and circle around behind him as he collapses to his knees. “Rise so high, in mud you lie,” I whisper as I pull my blade out of his back by its sharp end and cut off his head.

A Praetorian runs at me. I throw my razor at him. It takes him in the chest and he falls to the ground. I take my blade from his chest and stumble back from the watching Praetorians.

“Idiots,” the Sovereign mutters.

“Should I keep recording this?” Fitchner scratches his head.

The ship shudders again and banks hard before straightening out. My vision wavers and I stumble to my knee. Hand on the deck. Steady myself. I feel the new warmth spilling down my back and stomach. I’ll not kneel. Not to her. Not to a tyrant. I stand unsteadily. Karnus missed most of me. But not all. Blood sluices from between my neck and left shoulder where his razor found purchase. It cut through my collarbone. My body sags.

“What a thing.” Octavia au Lune’s cold eyes survey the wound on my neck. “Imagine this boy shaped in my house, Aja.” She shakes her head and stares at me with a complete lack of understanding. She notes my other wounds. My blood. My exhaustion. My youth. Yet I did all this. Two bodies at my feet. A city stormed behind me. More taken all over Mars. My fleet shattering the Bellona’s. The Society ready to fracture. She doesn’t understand and she never will. But Fitchner seems to. Eyes glassy. Hands clenched.

“You could not shape me,” I mumble. Only Reds could. Only family, only love, gave me this strength. But the strength fades now. It’s then that Aja rushes forward. We exchange three moves before she knocks my blade aside and punches me so hard in the chest with her fist that I think I’m dead. She slams me against the ceiling like a rag doll. And when she is done, she rejoins the Sovereign and I moan and sink into the pain.

“Bring me his head, Fitchner,” the Sovereign commands.

Fitchner looks at me helplessly and puts a hand out, nearly touching her. “We should film his execution for the HC. Propaganda. Full hanging. A state death.”

“Fitchner …” The Sovereign’s eyebrows go up till Fitchner retracts his hand. “Enough.” Her jaw muscles work as she thinks. “I want him gone. No more variables. Now. Save the head for a pike. We’ll film that.”

Fitchner’s beady eyes swell with sadness. Born the lowest of the Golds, he rose to the top on merit alone. What a man. To think I ever thought him weak.

Here, at the end of things, I know we will win Mars. Augustus will be freed. The war will continue. Gold will weaken. And Red will rebel. Maybe, just maybe, they will rise and find freedom. I’ve done what Ares asked. I created chaos. The rest will go to other men, women. Eo would be pleased.

I smile softly and feel the weakness in my legs. I am tired. I’m on my knees. When did I get there again? I care not. How very nice it will be to rest in the Vale while others carry out Eo’s dream. I just wish I’d seen Mustang before the end. Told her what I am, so at last she’d understand.

“Your boy burned bright. And fast,” Aja says to Fitchner from the shadows of my vision. “Keep the head. But you can cast the body to the soil in the Martian way.”

Aja reopens the drop ramp. Metal groans. I feel the wind of the Vale on my face. Feel the chill of mist. The scent of rain. I’m going to sleep. Soon I’ll wake beside Eo. I’ll wake in our warm bed, my hand tangled in her hair. I’ll wake to love and know that in the world before, I did my best.

I’ll miss you though, Mustang. More than I’ve admitted until now.

Fog and shadows are my vision. For a moment, the smell of rust makes me think I’m in the mine. Am I asleep? I hear metal boots. A man walking through the fog. I can’t see his face. But something stirs in me. Father? No, not Father. I squint.

“Uncle Narol.”

“No. It’s Fitchner, boyo.”

His voice jerks me violently back into the hold of the ship. Like a fishing hook tearing silk a direction it doesn’t wish to go.

“Oh. I’m glad it’s you,” I say quietly, finding enough strength to lift my heavy head a bit more to look him in his eyes. Tears fill them. He coughs out a laugh. The wind whistles behind me. Not the Vale. Just Mars. Not mist. Just the clouds. The ramp’s down so they can push my body out. I told Arcos I was never meant to have gray hair.

My head dips. I spit out some blood in my mouth. I’m nauseous and fading. “Tell Mustang … Eo … I love them.” I yawn so deeply.

“You bloodydamn fool,” he says in a low whisper, shaking his head. “I had it under control.”

“I didn’t …” I blink through the fog. “What?”

“It is me,” he says. “It’s always been me, boyo.”

The fog disappears. I look up at him. I look up at Ares as he dons his Rage Knight helmet and shoots his pulseFist back at the Praetorians, sending them scattering. He tosses back a sonic grenade.

“Fitchner!” the Sovereign roars. “TRAITOR!”

An explosion. Something hits my chest and I’m falling. Tumbling. Flying? Sense cold. Ragged wind biting me. Stomach in my throat. Spinning. Then a rigid arm under mine. Rising. Wind whips past my ears. But there’s another sound before the darkness swallows me. Fitchner—Ares—terrorist lord of the underworld, howls like a wolf as he carries me to safe harbor.