Golden Son (38 page)

“I put my family at risk to help you escape. I took you in, taught you. And you betray me like the others. Like Aja.”

“You look for pity? You let me come here, Lorn. You would have consigned my friends above to

torture and death even as you gave me a path to escape. But my friends will not be prisoners.”

I point upward to the fiery gashes in the night sky as my secondary force rockets around Europa.

“Hate me, but fight at my side,” I tell Arcos. “Only then will your family survive.” I put a hand out for my former teacher. He pulls out his razor.

“I should kill you.”

“Can I come and shoot the geezer?”
Sevro asks over the com.

“Hold,” I tell him.

“You forget.” Lorn pulls his own datapad from his pocket. “I could have my fleet destroy yours, boy.”

“Not before mine takes the Sovereign’s.”

“But she would know then where House Arcos stands. She would know that you tricked me. That

my house is not part of this.”

“Then do it,” I tell Lorn. “Launch your ships if you think my cause evil. Put me down if you think me a monster.” I step forward, close to him. “But you know the heart that beats inside. Choose me. Or choose that darkness.” I nod down the hill of the forest garden to where we entered the place. Twelve Obsidian Praetorians file through the same glass door we used. Huge men and women in black-and-purple armor, skull helms. Only one Stained—this one thinner than the others, like a winter asp standing on its tail. His armor is white and splashed with colors like blood.

They are less than fifty meters away. With them, shorter than the rest, but more glorious, is the Protean Knight in her golden gear. Her razor shimmers with the colors of a nebula, and her armor writhes like the waves that batter the white walls of Lorn’s island. Aja peers up to the night sky, where she sees my ambush unfolding. She lets her helmet recoil into her armor.

“And then the traitors were two,” she calls. “House Arcos has embraced treason as well. Lorn. You stand with the lions?”

“The House Arcos stands apart,” Lorn calls back.

“Apart?” Quinn’s killer frowns and tilts her head so I can see the dueling scars on the right of her neck. Her cat eyes scan the woods for signs of a trap. “There is no such thing.”

“I was as deceived as you, Aja!” Lorn calls. “Darrow knew you were here. I don’t know how. But I am not your enemy. I want only to be left alone.”

“That was never a choice!” Aja calls. “You know this better than anyone. You are with us or you are against us, Lorn.”

“Aja. No. I have no part in this! None!”

“The strong always have a part,”
I mutter.

“I will not have my hand forced.” He cuts me with a wrathful stare. “I have no quarrel with either of you. I am a man of peace now.”

“Then why is your blade out?” Aja smiles. “Do what you know. Come down and speak, teacher. We

should not shout! Isn’t that what you said when I used to raise my voice in anger?” She eyes the griffin that now growls beside us. It’s larger than four horses. I wonder what those talons would do against their armor.

“Her ships are lost,” I whisper to Lorn. “What would Octavia have her do?”

“Kill us. For spite.”

I lower my voice. “Then you have no choice.”

“So it would seem.”

Aja watches me kneel to the ground and gather dirt in my hand. She has studied me. She knows what this must mean. And she must wonder what plan I have. Why I’ve come alone. If I really set an ambush in the sky, wouldn’t I set one below? I’m about to shout something to her when another figure steps through the gate to join Aja. He’s rangy. Darker skin than mine. A smirk on his bored, patrician face. Tactus. All in Praetorian armor. He slinks forward, a shadow of purple and black, eyeing the sky apprehensively before beaming me a lopsided smile.

“Speaking of traitors,” I shout. “Hello, Tactus. Pretty armor.”

“Reaper, my goodman!” Tactus bellows, and throws up the crux. “Where’s Sevro?” He leans in to

tell Aja something. Aja straightens and looks around again at the trees. Her men condense in defensive formation. Tactus warns them of my tricks. They know something is awry. Their aegis shields activate, glittering over arms.

Lorn closes his eyes and lifts his left hand into the air, feeling the whipping of the storm’s wind.

“Leave Aja to me. You’ll have better luck against the Stained.”

“No. They’re all mine.
Sevro, rise
.”

The Howlers emerge from the sea beyond the castle. Water drips from them as they fly silently over the hundred-meter-high walls, armor glistening like black beetle shells. A golden lion has been painted on each breastplate. The gold winks as lightning flashes. They land silently around us.

“
My
stormsons,” I say to Lorn. Twenty new recruits have come from the families of the Howlers and the Telemanus ranks. Sevro held tryouts. I hear it was a bloody bit of fun. Snakes, alcohol, and mushrooms were involved. That’s all they let me know.

“Goblin! Why are you always hiding?” Tactus calls. His voice is all jest, but he looks to the sky anxiously again. “Least it’s better than a horse’s belly this time.”

Sevro pulls out his skinning knife, the one he used to take scalps with Harpy years ago. It’s a curved customer. He taps it on his groin and points to Tactus. His eyes flick to Aja.

“You killed a Howler, Aja,” he says. “Wrong play.”

As I expected, the appearance of the Howlers reassures Aja and Tactus. This makes sense to them: I had soldiers hidden. Now I do not. A battle to the death. Honor. Pride. One force against another. The Obsidian Praetorians begin to keen their terrible throat song. All those men want is the glorious end.

To join their relatives in the laughing halls of Valhalla with their blades in hand. They step forward on Aja’s command. The deadliest men and women in the Solar System, a Stained among them.

And I take a page from Evey’s book.

Ensuring Aja is clear, I detonate the landmine spikes I dropped on the ground as Lorn and I strolled into this forest. Only Tactus is quick enough. He grabs Aja from behind and jerks her back, hard—so hard in the lowGrav that both of them tumble in through the door just as the first explosion rips the salt air.

The explosions are tiered. First comes a concussion that disables pulseShields and scatters the Praetorians into the air. Then comes a gravPit, which pulls them back toward the source of the explosion like a vacuum collecting flies; and then comes the third—pure kinetics—to destroy armor and bone and flesh, blowing the warriors outward, into the air, scattering their pieces in the low gravity like breath scatters the seeds of a dandelion. Limbs float gently down. Blood beads and spatters the ground. The explosion breaks the bubble roof overhead and rain again drifts down on the garden to extinguish the fires and thin the blood that leaks into the two dozen bomb craters. Only three Praetorians survive. They’re in poor shape.

“Do not let her escape.”
Roque’s voice sears my ears. He watches my holofeed from the ships above.

My Howlers have not yet moved.

Lorn’s furious with me, saying something about honor.

“What?” I sneer. “You think I fight fair?”

“Darrow …,” Sevro hisses as I wait. “Darrow …”

“Hold.”

“She’s getting away!”
Roque’s voice frightens me. It drips with spite I didn’t know he had.

“Darrow!”

I growl at him to pay attention to his part of the battle.

“Darrow …,” Sevro begs. “Long enough.”

Lorn watches, perhaps beginning to understand.

I snap my fingers. “Hunt.”

The Howlers surge forward like loosed wolves to finish what the bomb started. They dispatch the

remaining Praetorians. Sevro shouts Tactus’s name amid the howling as they tear into the castle searching for him and Aja.

“Darrow, what are you playing at?”
Roque asks me over the com. I let the holo of his face appear in the corner of my helmet’s HUD display. His jaw muscles flicker.
“If Quinn’s killer escapes …”

“Lock that up,” I tell Roque as I see reports of one of our torchShips taking massive damage. He’s distracted. “Men are dying up there. Focus on your own job.” I shut off the link.

Harpy’s image appears on my display.
“Seahorse is under.”

“Good. And Tactus?”

“No sign.”

“Copy.” I close the connection.

“Aja spooked into the sea. But no sign of Tactus,” Sevro says to me several minutes later as the Howlers scour the inside of the castle, going room to room. “He’s hiding. Unless he teleported.” He spits at that bit of science fiction. “Ask the geezer where they are.”

A dark worry slithers into my brain. I turn to Lorn. “What would Lune have them do if they could not kill you and me? If she thought someone expendable, what would she order them to do?”

He stands there for a moment in the rain. Then his face goes pale. “The children …” Arcos pushes past me, running through the bomb’s carnage to the shattered glass door. “They’re going to kill my grandchildren!” he shouts back.

“Where are the children?” I ask Sevro.

“What children? We found none.”

Cursing, I chase Arcos.

“I hid them,” he says over his shoulder to me as he sprints down the castle’s hall. He’s fast for an old man, but the gravity slows us till we start using our hands on the walls and ceiling, using gravBoots to take the long halls. We launch around corner after corner. And when he touches the head of a stone griffin and a steel wall falls away to reveal a hidden passage, I smell blood. Two corpses lie on the other side of the passage. One Gray, one Obsidian. I push past Arcos and fly ahead, pulling myself down a series of stairs via handholds in the ceiling till I find myself before two doors. I open one. Just a storeroom. I open another and let my razor slither into my hand.

“Tactus,” I say slowly.

His back is to me. Three Obsidian bodies lie around him, their blood making a pool about his shoes. His razor coils in his hand, hardening as he stands with his head lowered in a room of children and women. Blood slithers down the mercurial blade.

When I came, Arcos hid the children from me here—some Gold, some Silver, some Pink and Brown. Tactus could kill half of them with a lazy swing of his razor before we reach them.

“Tactus, remember
your
brothers,” I say to him, looking at the children.

“My brothers are shits.” He laughs coarsely, voice sounding strange. “Said I should get out of your shadow. Mother calls me the Mighty Servant. Did you know that?”

Children sob in the corner. One buries her face in her mother ’s lap. The women are not armed.

These are not warriors like Victra and Mustang. A Brown nursemaid covers a Gold child’s eyes. I hear Arcos in the tunnel behind me.

“Lune’s orders are wrong,” I say to Tactus.

“She asked me if I could fill your place,
Reaper
,” Tactus says quietly. “Said she didn’t think I could.

Said I was so long in your shadow that she didn’t know if I would ever be more than an echo of you. I told her I could do anything you could do.”

“Tactus, she is evil.”

“Is she?” He spits blood on the ground, still not facing me. “They say the same thing about you.

They wonder who you think you are to do what you do. To challenge the men and women you challenge. They wonder what right you have.”

“We all have a right to challenge. That’s the point.”

“The point. Was there a point?” he asks. “I was never told. You took me for granted. Never telling me anything.” Just as I’m doing with Roque. “Always whispering with others. Dismissing me like I’m a fool. You’re just like her.…”

“Your mother?”

He says nothing. Arcos edges in beside me. I put a hand out to stop him.

“Would you kill them, if Augustus told you to?” Tactus asks me, turning slightly.

“No,” I say. “I’d rather die.”

“I didn’t think so. She was right. I am the Mighty Servant.”

I open my hands to him. “I don’t know what I’m to do now, Tactus.”

“That’s a first.” He laughs bitterly, voice slurring slightly.

“Hardly. I didn’t know what to do when I whipped you,” I say. “At the Institute. I didn’t want to lose you from my army because of your talents. But I couldn’t
not
punish you.”

“Talents. Talents.
Talents
. Then that’s the difference between us,” Tactus’s voice thickens further.

“Because if it had been my army, I would have killed your arrogant ass.” He turns more and I see the hints of the ruin the bomb’s made of his face.

“You know what happens if you kill any of them?”

He nods to me, then to the Rage Knight, as if saying it’ll be either one or the other that does him.

“I’m not sorry I took Lysander, you know.”

“I don’t think you’re ever sorry for much.”

“Not sorry.” He chuckles and dips a toe in the blood surrounding him. “But I think I shouldn’t have done it. I was testing you at the Institute. But … I wanted to see what you’d do. If you were worth following.”

“Was I?”

“You know that answer.”

“Am I still?”

He nods. “Always,” saying it so pathetically that it feels like my heart has been pulled into my throat. He’s a traitor, a liar, a cheat. Yet I see a friend. I want to fix him and make him whole. What am I doing? I have to put him down. But I’ve done that before with Titus. That cycle erodes us. Death begets death begets death, and ever more.

“What if I let you live?” I ask suddenly, drawing a confused, frantic glance from Tactus. Of course he doesn’t understand forgiveness. “What if I let you come back?”

“What?”