Golden Son (52 page)

has happened at the north wall. We take off again. Pebble moans. Thistle gets her up, keeps her in gear.

Sevro rejoins us minutes later, left arm hanging limp at his side. I eye it. He ignores my concern.

“Ragnar opened the gorydamn gates.” His face splits into a smile. “Twelve of them in the wall’s face.

Our boys are pouring in. And …” He stands there grinning.

“And what?”

“And Ragnar killed the Wind Knight and almost cut down Cassius.”

“An Olympic?” Clown gasps.

“Cut him down in front of the entire army. The Obsidians in the army are going absolutely manic.”

Then Sevro is off and we push on. A squad of Gray policemen waylay us. We take cover as their

gunfire pocks the sidewalks, and then divert to an alleyway to avoid them.

Four kilometers until we reach our destination.

Coughing and gasping, we stumble into the exterior of the Citadel’s grounds. We hide in the trees there like some ragged pack of castaway demons. Through the thin copse of woods and past a high

wall, the Citadel stands, a network of spires. Not golden, but white laced with red and still decorated with the lion statues of Augustus, though Bellona blue-and-silver banners flap in the breeze overtop a lion weathervane. Their silver eagle seems so proud till Sevro waves down to us from the weathervane and cuts one of the banners free. They didn’t expect anyone to penetrate this far.

Aside from its beauty, the Citadel is also a fortress. One I don’t want to tangle with. We’d go room to room and, assuming it is not completely empty of soldiers, be overwhelmed, pinned to its expensive red oak walls and killed on its marble floors. It is not shielded, but a network of bunkers lie far beneath it. I was worried that is where the Sovereign would be kept. If she stayed there, this would turn into a siege. It would be days before we dig her out, if we could at all. So I give her a path of escape. It all falls on Mustang’s shoulders: the shield must go down at the proper time. Flush her out.

A decorative wall, one that’d usually be nothing more than a hopskip in gravBoots, bars us from

the silent Citadel grounds. All around us is park. Trees. Fountains. White squares where Golds and Silvers would have afternoon tea, now empty. So silent here at the eye of the storm. Sevro flies down to join me.

“Can you lift us over the wall?” I ask.

“Things are almost outta juice,” he grumbles. “Let’s try.” We hug one another and he lifts me into the air, wincing and favoring his left arm. The boots sputter and shiver out sparks. Twice we dip down. Then we’re atop the wall. I set down and Sevro dips down again to pick up the next Howler.

Moments later, his head appears at the top of the wall for a moment, then vanishes as his gravBoots spark and whine. With one last mechanical pop, the boots give out and Sevro and the Howler fall the ten meters to the ground.

A great boom thunders from across the city. Smoke rises distantly.

Mustang did it.

Above, the translucent shield that separated this world from the world of ships fails. It wobbles and, distorting the fires in the city and the lightning above like a corrupted mirror, shatters into prismatic mist. Or one-eighth of it shatters; a flood of pent-up water falls down on that section of the city in great gray sheets.

“It didn’t work!”
Pebble cries from the other side of the wall.

But it did. One by one, the nexuses that cast the shield overload. It’s a chain reaction as great sheets of water from the storm finally fall on Agea. Roque, if he’s winning, will launch the reinforcements.

The city is as good as taken. And even now, the Sovereign will be extracted from the bunkers by her bodyguards to make an escape from the lost planet. But the shuttle pads are still two kilometers on the other side of the Citadel grounds. This was all supposed to be different. I should be in my armor, a hundred Obsidians behind me, a dozen of my best Golds. Instead, I lead a pack of my friends into a meatgrinder. I need to change the paradigm, but I won’t risk them. I glance down the wall at Sevro, who immediately recognizes the look in my eyes.

“No, Darrow,” he says. “Think of your mission!” He’s begging me, jumping and clawing at the wall as I turn away. “Don’t do it, Darrow.
Wait!
They’ll kill you!”

I drop over the other side of the wall into the Citadel’s gardens.

Some men have threads of life so strong that they fray and snap those around them. Enough friends have paid for my war. This one’s on me.

“DARROW!”
he screams, horrible, desperate. “STOP!”

I run faster than I have in all my life. The Sovereign will not escape me. I did all this to catch her.

Take her, break the Society. Take her, and the stage is set. We will rise. We can win. I jump rows of shrubbery, sprint around fountains, tear through rosebushes. Blood leaks down my arm. I do not feel my body. I fly over the earth. SlingBlade in hand.

There
.

I round a corner of the Citadel. Past a garden of roses lies a courtyard of white scored black by the engines of personal yachts. Four lonely ships sit in a landing zone that can hold a hundred. All the shuttles are black with a giant gold crescent on their broad chassis, but the thickest of them, one with larger engines and a reinforced hull, is the Sovereign’s. The others are decoys, nearly as thick, nearly as armored. In the air, they are indistinguishable.

I’ve been seen on sensors, no doubt. Gray lurchers are coming for me. Obsidian bodyguards have

been loosed from some hidden barracks to kill me. They’ll only catch me if I stop. And even as I examine the landing pad, I do not break my stride. Oranges bustle around the black shuttles, prepping them to launch. I’m not too late. But the door from the Citadel is far closer than I to the ship.

They come out in a rush. I don’t see her. Just purple capes swirling in the rain and wind. They duck their heads into the gale, look upward at the sky where Iron Rain entry trails glow behind the storm, making the dark clouds look like steel heating slowly in the forge. My Titans come.

The Praetorians hurry, running up a long ramp into the shuttle’s belly with the Sovereign. I catch her face as she ducks into the ship’s belly. I see Aja among her entourage. And Karnus. And Fitchner, that ugly, traitorous son of a bitch. I run faster. Legs numb with exhaustion. Lungs aching. All I am, I put into this moment. My life in the mines, the hours suffering with Harmony, the horrors at the Institute. All the love I’ve earned and lost and still wish to live for, I let burn in me.

Half the entourage waits on the pavement, left behind to watch the ship as its lights glow and its engines prime. The decoys mimic its motions. A Bellona Gold turns as I near. His eyes flash wide and I slash him at the run as he lets out a half scream. More turn—women, men, warriors, Politicos, Golds and Silvers I recognize from my days at Augustus’s side.

Their realization of my presence comes in waves. The enemy is supposed to be at the gates, not among them, so they flinch in seeing me. And when they gather their wits, I’m already past their armored hands. I dodge a Gray’s outstretched grip, snag a small munitions pouch from his waist. I lash backward, hitting flesh.

Shouts. Fumbling for razors. Bullets, pulseblasts, snap past my head. The shuttle’s ramp retracts as it begins to rise.

I scream and jump with all the might I’ve ever had. The hand of my injured right arm grips the ramp’s edge. My eyes bug from my head with the strain and pain in my fingers. The ship continues to rise. The roar of the engines fills me, rattling my heart against my ribs. The ramp continues to close. I grunt desperately and jerk myself upward, awkward at the odd angle, but possible in the low gravity. I roll forward into the bay and onto my knees and pant, slingBlade against the floor. The sound of the engines slips away as the door shuts and pressurizes. All I hear is my ragged breath and the rumble of the deadly shuttle as it makes its escape.

I look up.

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.