Morning Star (Red Rising Saga 3)

“So…she pulled a coup?” Sevro asks.

I laugh. “Seems like.”

“We’ll see if it holds. Still…impressive,” Mustang says. “They always told us never to let a good crisis go to waste.”

Mickey shivers. “Obsidians playing politics…”

“So all that out there…was that strategy or was real?” Mustang asks Sevro.

“Dunno.” Sevro shrugs. “I mean, gotta stop the cycle somewhere. Sucks, but dad’s gone. No sense burning down the world to try and bring him back. You know? Cassius didn’t kill dad because he hated him. They were both soldiers doing what soldiers do.”

Mustang shakes her head, at a loss for words. So she sets a hand on his shoulder, and he knows how impressed she is. The compliment of silence is as deep a one as she can give, and Sevro favors her with a rare un-ironic smile. One that disappears when the door opens and Victra comes in. She’s red-eyed and agitated.

“I need to talk to you,” she says to Sevro.

“Get out,” Sevro says when we don’t move. “Everyone.”

—

We wait outside the door as Victra and Sevro speak inside. “How long do you think it will take to make the voyage?” Mustang asks.

“Forty-nine days,” I say, pulling Mickey back from the door where he cups his ear in an attempt to hear the happenings inside. “Key is keeping the Blues quiet.”

“Forty-nine days is a long time for my brother to make plans.”

Beyond our hull the worlds continue to turn. Reds are hunted. And though we’ve woken the spirit of the lowColors, and given this rebellion another victory, every day we spend crossing the distance to Core is another day that the Jackal can hunt our friends and the Sovereign can squelch the rebellions that plague her. My uncle’s already gone. How many more will die before I return?

“This won’t heal everything,” Mustang says. “The Obsidians still killed seven prisoners. My people are wary of this war. The consequences. Particularly if Sefi now has united the tribes. That makes her dangerous.”

“And more useful,” I say.

“Until she disagrees with you again. This could go wrong at any moment.”

She straightens as Mickey skitters back and the door to the infirmary opens. Sevro and Victra come out, both wearing smiles. “What are you two grinning about?” I ask.

“Just this.” Sevro thrusts out a House Jupiter Institute ring. It’s loose on his finger. I squint at it, not understanding right away. His own ring is missing and then I see it awkwardly jammed onto Victra’s pinky. “She proposed,” he says with delight.

“What?” I sputter.

Mustang’s eyebrows shoot up. “Proposed…as in…”

“Yeah, boyo!” Sevro beams. “We’re gettin’ hitched.”

—

Sevro and Victra marry seven nights later in a small ceremony in the auxiliary hangar of the Morning Star. When Victra asked me to give her away after they broke the news to us, I couldn’t speak. I hugged her then as I hug her now before taking her arm and walking her through the small line of scrubbed and washed Howlers and towering Telemanuses. It’s the cleanest I’ve ever seen Sevro, his unruly Mohawk combed to the side as he stands before Mickey. It is custom to have a White give the benediction. But Victra laughed at the idea of tradition and asked Mickey.

The Violet’s face glows now. Too much makeup on the day, but he’s a ray of light all the same. From Carver to slaver to slave to wedding officiant, he’s not had an easy road, but he’s lovelier for it. He was delighted when Clown and Screwface asked him to join us for Sevro’s bachelor night, and he howled along with us as we kidnapped Sevro from his room the night before and dragged him to the mess hall where the Howlers gathered to drink.

The animosity stemming from the riot has not abated entirely, but the wedding brings a sense of nostalgic normalcy. Surrounded by the insanity of war, it’s a special hope given knowing life can go on. Though some Sons gripe about the marriage of the Red leader to a Gold, Victra’s done enough to merit respect from the leaders within the Sons. And the bravery she showed in storming the Morning Star with Sefi and me around Ilium has bought her their respect. She shed blood for them, with them, so my fleet is quiet, at peace. At least for tonight.

I’ve never seen Sevro so happy. Nor so nervous as he was the hour before the ceremony when he combed his hair in my washroom. Not that you can do much with a Mohawk. “Is this insane? It seemed like a good idea yesterday,” he asked, staring at himself in the mirror.

“And it’s a good idea today too,” I told him.

“You’re not just saying that. Tell me the truth, man. I feel sick.”

“Before I married Eo, I threw up.”