Morning Star (Red Rising Saga 3)

I wheel on the small man, picking him up with one hand and pinning him against the ceiling. “Don’t you say a damn thing about him.” Rollo apologizes, and I set him back on the ground. I make sure all the Howlers are listening. “Everyone stay put. I’ll be right back.”

—

I catch Sevro before he enters Quicksilver’s cell in a gutted old garage that the Sons use to house generators now. Sevro and the guards turn when they hear me coming. “Don’t trust me alone with him?” he sneers. “Nice.”

“We need to talk.”

“Sure. After he does.” Sevro pushes open the door. Cursi

ng, I follow. The room’s a forlorn shade of rust. Machines older than some of the gear in Lykos. One rattles behind the thick Silver, coughing out the electricity that powers the lights bathing the man in a circle of light, and blinding him to anything beyond it. Quicksilver sits with his shoulders back in the metal chair in the center of the room. Arms bound behind his back. His turquoise robe is bloody and rumpled. Bulldog eyes patient and measuring. Wide forehead’s covered in a thick sheen of sweat and grease.

“Who are you?” he hisses in irritation instead of fear. The door slams shut behind us. The man seems rather irritated with his predicament. Not disrespectful or angry, but professionally peeved at the meek measure of our hospitality and the inconvenience we’ve thrust upon him. He’s not able to distinguish our faces due to the light blaring into his eyes. “Syndicate teethmen? Moon Lord dustmakers?” When we say nothing, he swallows. “Adrius, is that you?”

Chills creep down my spine. We say nothing. Only now, as he begins to suspect that we’re the Jackal’s men does Quicksilver seem truly afraid. If we had time, we could use that fear, but we need information fast.

“We need off this rock,” Sevro says gruffly. “You’re gonna make that happen, boyo. Or I pull off your fingers one by one.”

“Boyo?” Quicksilver murmurs.

“I know you have an escape vessel, contingency—”

“Barca, is that you?” Sevro’s caught off guard “It is you. Damn the stars, boy. You scared the shit out of me. I thought you were the gorydamn Jackal.”

“You have ten seconds to give me something I can use, or I wear your rib cage as a corset,” Sevro says, thrown by Quicksilver’s familiarity. It’s not his best threat.

Quicksilver shakes his head. “You need to listen to me, Mr. Barca, and listen well. This is all a misunderstanding. A vast misunderstanding. I know you may not believe it. I know you may think me mad. But you must hear me. I am on your side. I am one of you, Mr. Barca.”

Sevro frowns. “One of us? What do you mean?”

“What do I mean?” Quicksilver laughs gruffly. “I mean exactly as I say, young man. I, Regulus ag Sun, chevalier of the Order of Coin, chief executive officer of Sun Industries, am also a founding member of the Sons of Ares.”

“A Son of Ares?” Sevro repeats, stepping into the light so Quicksilver can see his face. I stay back. It’s a ludicrous claim.

“That’s better. I thought I recognized your voice. More like your father’s than you probably like. But yes, I’m a Son. The first Son, actually.”

“Well, then slag me blind as a Pinkwhore,” Sevro cries. “This is all just a misunderstanding!” He jumps forward and crouches beside Quicksilver to straighten the man’s robe. “We’ll get you cleaned up. Let you call your men. Sound good?”

“Yes, good, because you’ve managed to muck up something rather…”

Sevro hits the Silver right in his fleshly lips with a jab of his fist. It’s an intimate, familiar bit of violence that makes me flinch. Quicksilver’s head slams back against the chair. The man tries to move away, but Sevro pins him down easily. “Your tricks won’t work here, fat little toad man.”

“It’s not a trick—”

Sevro hits him again. Quicksilver sputters, blood dribbling down his cracked lip. Tries to blink the pain away. Probably seeing spots. Sevro hits him a third time, casually, and I think it was for me, not the tycoon, because Sevro looks back into the darkness where I stand with impudent eyes. As if dangling moral bait in front of me so we can explode into conflict again. His moral creed has always been simple: protect your friends, to hell with everyone else.

Sevro pushes a knife into Quicksilver’s mouth. “I know you think you’re being clever, boyo,” Sevro growls. “Saying you’re a Son. Thinkin’ you’re so smooth. Thinkin’ you can talk your way clear of us dumb brutes. But I’ve played this game with smarter kinds than you. And I’ve learned hard. Keen?” He pulls the knife sideways against Quicksilver’s cheek, causing the man to move his head with the blade. Still, it splits the corner of his mouth just slightly.

“So whatever your garble, you ain’t coming out on top of this, shitbrain. You’re a rat. A collaborator. And it’s time to reap what you’ve sown. So you’re going to tell us how to get out of here. If you’ve got a ship hidden. If you can get us past the navy. Then you’re going to tell us about the Jackal’s plans, his equipment, his infrastructure; then you’re going to give us the gear to equip our army.” Quicksilver’s eyes dart from the knife to Sevro’s face.

“Use your brains, you little savage,” Quicksilver snarls when Sevro takes the knife from his mouth. “Where do you think Fitchner got the money—”

“Don’t say his name.” Sevro points a finger to the man’s face. “Don’t you dare say his name.”

“I knew your father….”

“Then why’d he never mention you? Why does Dancer not know you? Because you’re lying.”

“Why would they know about me?” Quicksilver asks. “You never tie two boats together in a storm.”