The Red Rising: Golden Son Part 12

"We're all devils." His sudden laugh floats up like a silk ribbon carried away with the breeze. "This was always your problem, Darrow. You have an inflated view of yourself. You think you have some sort of morality tucked away. You think you are better than us, when really you are less. Forever playing games you cannot master against people you cannot match."

"I matched Julian well enough."

"b.a.s.t.a.r.d." His face contorts, and he lashes forward, bellowing wordlessly, knocking me back before the White can give the benediction. They shout for us to stop, but as the razors scream, the shouts fade away and all eyes widen as man-killing metal wails through slow-falling snow. He uses the tenets of kravat. Four seconds of precise, kinetic violence, retreat. a.s.sess. Engage.

We are the only sound in this strange place. The odd, high-pitched keen of an arching whip. The thrum of the solid blade. The crack as aegises on left arms spark white when blades slash into them. The crunch of snow and the creaking of leather.

Despite his anger, Ca.s.sius is perfect in his form. His feet shuffle, never crossing; his hips swivel as he lunges in the compact salvos. His breath comes measured, paced. He lashes his whip forward in a sweep, then hardens the blade and swings it up, aiming for my groin. His movements flicker fast. Trained. Honed by masters and Swords of the Society. It's easy to see why he has devastated his opponents since childhood, why he gutted me at the Inst.i.tute. Because his enemies fight like him, but slower. I don't fight like them. I learned that lesson.

Now he will learn his.

"You've been practicing. You can match six moves a set," he says, drawing back. He darts forward, feinting high and sweeping low to claim my ankles. "But you're still a novice." He sends a flurry of seven blows at me, almost skewering me through the right shoulder. I recognize the engagement pattern, but am still a fraction off his speed. I barely escape, throwing myself out of the way of a thrust at the last moment. Two more sets of seven come in quick succession. I barely escape the last, falling to a knee, panting, looking around at the gathered guests.

"Do you hear that?" he asks. I hear nothing but the wind and the throbbing of my heart. "That is the sound of dying alone. No one to weep. No one to care."

"Arcos will care," I whisper.

He stiffens. "What did you say?"

"Lorn au Arcos will care if his last student dies," I say, dropping the falsely ragged breath, straightening proudly. Ca.s.sius stares at me as if he's seen a ghost. He hesitates. So too do those who hear what I say. "While you ate, I trained. While you drank, I trained. While you sought pleasure, I trained from the weeks after the Inst.i.tute to the days before the Academy."

"Lorn au Arcos doesn't accept students," Ca.s.sius hisses. "Not for thirty years."

"He made an exception."

"Liar."

"Oh?" I laugh. "Did you think I came here to be killed? Did you think yourself ent.i.tled to my life? No, Ca.s.sius. I came here to cut you down before your parents."

He steps backward, eyes dancing to his father, to Karnus. I c.o.c.k my head at him. "Come now, brother. Don't you want to see how well I can really fight?"

He pauses and I charge him like some night carnivore, shoulders hunched with primeval economy, quiet as the dark itself.

Lorn's words come back to me. "A fool pulls the leaves. A brute chops the trunk. A sage digs the roots." And so I peel apart his legs, sending set after set into him. Not for the four seconds the Golds teach. But for seven. Then six, alternating, then breaking the pattern. Twelve moves a set.

His defense is precise. And if I fought as he taught me to fight, I would die to him. But I was taught to move by my uncle, and to kill by a legend. I rage and spin, leaving my feet and striking down, beating him as a great hurricane slapping and smas.h.i.+ng and hammering him back. And when he attacks, I bow to the side until such time that I can break him, as Lorn au Arcos trained me to do. Move in a circle. Never retreat backward. No attack opens when a man allows himself to be pushed backward. Use their force to create new angles. Flow around him. The Willow Way. Pretty, fluid, like a spring song in defense, then las.h.i.+ng and horrible as the branches of a willow in deep winter as glacial winds scream down from the mountains.

Inside me, Red meets Gold.

My blade flashes between whip and curved slingBlade. It crashes into his sword, and the aegis on his left side crackles from the force of my blows. Ca.s.sius falters. He's a prizefighter getting pummeled by a back-alley brawler.

I'm laughing. Laughing madly and the crowd around is cheering in shock, some screaming when I hit Ca.s.sius's aegis so hard it overloads. Sparks hiss from the unit on his arm. I rip open a wound there, one on his elbow, his kneecap, his ankle. I flick the blade up and slash his face. I stop and move backward fluidly, posing with whip as it slithers into a curved slingBlade. Those who watch this will never forget.

Women are screaming for Ca.s.sius. Lovers he has had in his youth, who now watch the man they grew with, the man who bedded them, left them with false promises, and made them think they'd just lost the strongest of a generation. They watch as another man turns him into a throbbing mess of blood.

I embarra.s.s him. But it's all for a purpose. All to make that simmering hatred between Bellona and Augustus boil over into war.

I pace about the circle like a caged lion till I come in front of Imperator Bellona.

"Your son is going to die," I say savagely, a foot away from his face.

He's thick. Square-jawed, kindly, with a pointed beard. His eyes s.h.i.+mmer with the promise of tears. He says nothing. He is a n.o.ble man, and he will follow the honorable path, even if it means watching his favorite son die.

Even in the midst of my rage, I feel the shame. Feel the horror of being the man who comes from the dark to savage a family. "Will you just watch?" I shout at the Bellona. Imperator Bellona's wife is not so n.o.ble. She seethes, glancing at the Sovereign accusatorily. I see what she wants.

I go back at Ca.s.sius. They will have to watch and do nothing, as I watched Eo.

"Lady Bellona, are you n.o.ble enough to watch your Ca.s.sius die? Watch as he disappears from the world?" Her lips curl. She whispers to Karnus, to Cagney. "Is that the strength of House Bellona? Do you watch like sheep as the wolf comes among the fold?"

I make a grand show of it for the hot-blooded ones. Ca.s.sius tries to fight. He stumbles as I cut his kneecap, falling into the snow before scrambling desperately to his feet. His blood makes a shadow in the snow. This is how slowly he killed t.i.tus. He's panicked, glancing at his family, knowing it will be the last time he sees them. They have no Vale. This life is their heaven. Despite everything, it is a sad sight and I pity him.

Cagney, urged on by Lady Bellona, has already taken a step forward, her sharp, pretty face riven with rage. I just need to hurt her strong cousin Ca.s.sius a little more. But Imperator Bellona jerks her back with a stern hand. He glares darkly at Augustus, then peers around the a.s.sembly.

"No Bellona shall interfere. On my honor."

Yet his wife does not agree. She aims one more pointed glance at the Sovereign, and the Sovereign raises a hand. "Hold!" she calls. "Hold, Andromedus!"

I'm actually stunned by the interruption.

All look to the Sovereign's dais. Ca.s.sius pants for breath. She can't be so stupid. Can she? The interruption confirms the rumors for me, for everyone. The Sovereign reveals her favoritism. She's chosen the Bellona family. They will supplant the Augustuses on Mars. Ca.s.sius would have been important to that plan. Now, because of her miscalculation, he's about to die and her plan is going to be squabbed. Still, I had no idea she'd do as she's about to do. It is so stupid. So shortsighted. Her pride has made her a fool.

"There has been an addendum to the rules. Since the White was unable to give the customary benediction, the contest will be to death or yielding," she declares, glancing at Ca.s.sius's mother. "Those are the limits to the duel. So many of our prized children are lost at our schools. No need to waste these two prime men on account of schoolyard pranks."

"My Sovereign," Augustus calls, greedy for his b.l.o.o.d.y prize, "the law is clear. Once a contest is declared, the rules may not be altered by man or woman."

"You cite laws. That's a pleasant irony, coming from you, Nero."

There are snickers from the crowd, which tell me rumors of his involvement with rigging the Inst.i.tute for the Jackal are very much in fas.h.i.+on.

"My Sovereign, we stand with Augustus in this matter," booms a voice. Daxo au Telema.n.u.s steps forward. Pax's elder brother, tall as my friend was, but less beastly. More a pine tree than a great boulder of a man. Like his father, Kavax, his head is bald, but engraved with Golden angels. A mischievous sparkle dances in sleepy eyes nestled under great swirling eyebrows.

"Hardly a surprise," snarls Ca.s.sius's mother.

"Perfidy!" Kavax, Daxo's father, roars. He alternates stroking his forked red beard and the large pet fox he cradles in his left arm. "This reeks of perfidy and favoritism. My temper is slow. But I find myself offended. Offended!"

"Careful, Kavax," Octavia says icily, "some things cannot be unsaid."

"Why else would he say them?" Daxo asks, glancing at the families from the Gas Giants, where he knows he will find allies in this debate. "But I believe he would counsel you now, my Sovereign: even your words cannot change law. Your father discovered this by your own hand, no?"

The Sovereign's Furies step forward menacingly. For her part, the Sovereign allows herself only the strictest of smiles. "But, young Telema.n.u.s, you fail to remember, my word is law."

This is something you do not do. A Gold may rule other Golds. But declare your rule at your own peril. The Sovereign has been so long on the Morning Throne that she has forgotten this. Her words are not law. They now become a challenge.

One I accept with open arms.

She knows the words a mistake when she meets my eyes and we both realize in that moment there is one move I can make that she cannot counter.

"You will not steal what is mine," I growl.

I wheel on Ca.s.sius. He brings up his blade. He never let me yield in the mud of the Inst.i.tute. He knows I will not let him yield now. His face goes pale as I charge. He's thinking of all he's about to lose. How very precious his life is. A Gold to the end. Others shout at me to stop, screaming that it is unfair.

This is the definition of fairness.

They would have let me die.

He lunges for my throat. It's a feint. He whips his razor down to wrap around my leg. He expects me to recoil. I charge straight at him, inside the arch of his swing, jump over his head in the low gravity, then swing my whip backward without looking. My whip coils around his extended right arm. I press the b.u.t.ton that makes the razor contract, and with the sound of a frozen tree branch cracking in winter, I claim the sword arm of Ca.s.sius au Bellona.

It's equal parts silence and screams. I do not turn, not for a long moment. When I do, I find Ca.s.sius still standing, teetering, not long for this world. No one else moves as Ca.s.sius falls. His father looks at the ground, silent.

"I said stop!" the Sovereign shouts. Two Furies jump from the dais, landing with their blades dancing into hand.

"Finish it," Augustus commands.

I stalk toward Ca.s.sius. He spits at me, lips trembling. Contemptuous even now. I raise my blade. Then a hand settles around my wrist. Not an iron grip. A soft one. Warm against my skin. Delicate.

"You've won, Darrow," Mustang says quietly, coming around in front of me so her eyes meet mine. The Furies pause outside the circle. "Don't lose yourself to this."

I could not imagine Eo watching me from the Vale. In this h.e.l.l, I've lost my faith. Mustang brings it sweeping back. Eo may watch me, or she may not. Only one thing is certain. Mustang watches me now, and what I see in her eyes is enough to let my hand fall to my side. It's then she smiles, as if seeing me again for the first time in years.

"There you are."

"Kill him!" screams Ca.s.sius's mother. "Kill him now!"

"No!" roars Imperator Bellona. Too late.

Mustang's eyes widen.

I turn in time to see the circle dissolve, crumbling inward as though it were made of sand. Not altogether, but tentatively. One Bellona sprints at me in silence, low, deadly. Another follows. Then Tactus comes from the Augustus group. Then another lancer. I hear my friend's war howl. A second echoes. There's more than just one Gold present who was in my army.

Cagney au Bellona is first to me. My stolen blade rasps toward my neck. I duck, but I would have lost my head had Mustang not thrown up her own blade to deflect the slash. Sparks sting my face, and Tactus takes Cagney from the side, cutting her clean in half.

Screams.

The Bleeding Place collapses entirely. Golds of Bellona and Augustus sprint to protect their fellows. Others flee. Karnus slashes at Tactus-too much for my friend. I rush to his aid, saving him till Victra and others come between Karnus and us. Mustang is lost in the fray. I search frantically for her. A blade flashes at my head.

Shouts boom as the Sovereign calls for peace. But it is beyond her. A woman screams at Cagney's ruined body. Dozens of men and women, all with blades, slash into one another. Tactus tosses me the razor Cagney stole. Then he takes a blade through the shoulder defending me again. I spin to my friend's aid and hack the arm off the Bellona man as he pulls his blade out of Tactus. I jerk my friend toward me. Slas.h.i.+ng a path clear. A blade scratches my forearm. I glimpse Mustang in the chaos, covering Ca.s.sius's wounded body. I don't know if the Bellona will kill her. They let her sit at the table. Still, I don't know. I rush toward her, throwing my weight into the bodies between us. Tactus helps.

I smash into a woman. Antonia. Her eyes light up as she brings a knife up to my stomach, but Victra, her sister, punches her in the face and Tactus starts kicking her in the head as she falls. Victra offers me a laughing smile until Karnus jerks her down by her hair. He's fought off as Leto enters the fray, turning back the tide with the precise thrusts of his rainbow razor. The Telema.n.u.ses join him, father and son decimating the Golds who come before them with razors half the size of my body.

"Tactus, on me!" I shout.

Tactus is bleeding, but he's up and howling madly like he's still fighting beside Sevro. Together, we jump high in this easy gravity. He knows I go for Mustang. But the Bellona are too thick. Razors too deadly.

"Mustang!" I shout, fending two Bellonas off. Slash away one's face and punch another in the throat with my aegis. Another joins them. And another, till there's a thick Bellona bullwark blocking my path.

"Protect the ArchGovernor!" Mustang shouts at me, voice more composed than my own, making me feel an idiot obsessed with chivalry. Of course she does not need me to save her. "Protect my father!" And though I can't see her among the throng, I obey.

I let Tactus jerk me away by the collar toward our retreating line, which is being a.s.sailed from the side. Someone else roars for us to protect Augustus. Others scream to defend Imperator Bellona and Ca.s.sius. Many family lords have been carried away by armed cadres of family members, who back out of the chaos with their blades at the ready. They flee the spire, using the lifts to take them from the place, as gravBoots were forbidden. It's nearly deserted. The Sovereign's Praetorians-purple-and-black-clad Obsidians and Golds-cl.u.s.ter around and fly her from the ruined gala. Razors and pulseBlades fill calloused hands. Grays come led by Golds in Praetorian purple to disperse us. They wear riot gear and their scorchers shoot painb.a.l.l.s and scatterwaves at the battling families, scattering the Golds like summer flies.

"AUGUSTUS!" huge Karnus screams as he rushes from the Bellona ranks through the scatterwaves like a madman. He knocks someone down with his shoulder, shatters a lancer's face with his aegis, and charges headlong at Augustus, hoping to kill his family's rival in one fell swoop. "AUGUSTUS!"

Leto, our best swordsman and Augustus's ward, intercepts him in front of the ArchGovernor.

"Hic sunt leones!" he calls to the sky.

Leto moves like the sea, fluid and terrible in his grace. He crashes Karnus back and is about to open him along the belly when suddenly he falters. Freezes mid-swing. Karnus stumbles back, then straightens, perhaps confused that he is still alive. He c.o.c.ks his head at Leto, who reaches for his thigh, as though stung.

Leto sinks slowly to a knee, arms sluggish. His long hair tumbles over his face, then he seems to freeze in place, suddenly motionless in the center of the chaos. Sad eyes glow with the engine plume of a pa.s.sing s.h.i.+p as it coasts peacefully into the horizon. He is beautiful in that moment before Karnus chops off his head.

"Leto!" Augustus roars.

His eyes widen and he pushes against the Telema.n.u.s men, who bear him away. I glimpse the Jackal tucking his silver stylus into his sleeve, the one he spun on his fingers as he proposed our secret alliance.

We lock eyes.

He grins toothily.

And I know I've made a deal with the devil.

13.

MAD DOGS.

We flee the top of the spire. I had to leave Mustang behind. She knows what she is doing. Somehow I had managed to forget that. She always knows what she's b.l.o.o.d.y doing.

"They won't hurt her," Augustus says to me, and I believe it's the first time I've seen emotion on his face. No. The second time. When he screamed for Leto, it was as if he'd lost a son. He looks that way now, face slack and older by twenty years. He lost his eldest son. He lost his second wife, the mother of his children. Now he loses the man he adopted to replace that son, and he fears for the woman who reminds him of that wife.

If they do hurt her, it's on me.

I've set things in motion. For once, it couldn't have gone better. Blood trickles down my hands, sheeting between the fingers, pooling around the cuticles in a horseshoe. Knuckles flex white where there is no blood. It disgusts me, but this is what my hands were made for.

We flee the place of winter and trees, having drenched it red. Many carry our wounded, nearly a dozen in number. Seven dead. Barely twenty unscathed in the entire entourage. Others are missing. Matchless Leto is gone, Pliny's aide was cut apart, and one of our Praetors took a blade in her neck from Kellan au Bellona.

I carry the Praetor in my arms and try to staunch the bleeding as we take the lift down the spire. Hard chance. Victra presses a piece of her dress against the wound.

I'd give anything for a pair of gravBoots. We cl.u.s.ter tight around our lord. Razors out. Blood soaks my arm to the elbow. Sweat dribbles down my face and ribs. Red drops splatter at our cadre's feet against the lift's floor, dripping from hands, wounds, blades. Yet there are white smiles slas.h.i.+ng the faces around me.