Dark Age (Red Rising Saga 5)

“Did you seek the meeting?”

“Yes.”

“How old were you?”

“Six? Seven?”

“Why did you seek the meeting?”

“He built the Water Gardens. The Library of Erebos. The Water Colossus. The Ocular Sphere. He’s a god here, as Oranges go.”

“Why were you in Tyche?”

“My parents were doing something. I don’t remember what. They liked parties. I know that.”

“Why Vitruvius?” the machine asks instead of the perfectly functional Green and Pink humans sitting behind it. These people. First the mines, now interrogations. They’re literally roboticizing themselves to death.

“My mother was…well, it’s embarrassing.” The machine doesn’t care. It just watches. “She made a bit of a cuckold out of my father from the start, metaphorically, then literally. Her family was older. So…”

“How did you overpower the Fear Knight?”

“Overpower? I didn’t.”

“Rephrasing: how did you come to render him unconscious?”

“I hit him on the head with a figurine and then I choked him. He makes figurines. He is an absurd man.”

“Why was he showing you figurines?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you view his interest in you to be sexual in nature?”

“Sexual?”

“Did he attempt to have intercourse with you?”

“You’ve seen my face. I look like ground hummingbird tongue. Would you fornicate with me?”

“I ask the questions here,” the machine replies.

The door slams open and over two meters of terror walks in as if it intends to stomp the room in half. The techs behind the machine scramble to salute as Darrow pushes the machine to the side. “Can it work in the corner?” he asks.

“Yes, Imperator.”

“Then why is it jammed up to his face?”

“It’s on intimidation setting, sir.”

“Bloodydamn toaster.” Darrow pushes the billion-credit machine into the corner like he’s setting a rotund child in timeout. “Stay,” he says to it, pointing a finger. He looks around for a chair. One appears at the door, carried by a tiny Red girl with Drachenjäger bolts. They’re using children in their armies now.

Did she help kill my men?

“Uncle.” She gestures to the chair.

Interesting. Kieran’s eldest then, Rhonna. A lancer now, like Alexandar. She looks excited. She smiles at me. I return it in blithe fashion.

“Thank you.” Darrow sighs down into the chair as if he had the weight of twenty million people on his shoulders, which may be an understatement. “Get out of here, Rhonna. I know you’re dying to see the hero.”