Golden Son (Red Rising Saga 2)

I tell her.

“The Rage Knight’s son? Nasty little man. I don’t think he likes me.”

“Don’t take it personally.”

The cockpit is larger than my room in the Citadel’s villa. An array of lights ring the pilot and co-pilot chairs. Mustang sits to the left, a Blue pilot to the right. The Blue is jacked into the ship. A blue light glows under the dermis of her left temple. Mustang flies, right hand in a holographic control prism, speaking quickly with the Blue. Out the curved viewport, Earth hovers. Augustus, Pliny, and comically stooped Kavax au Telemanus discuss our options behind Mustang.

It is quiet.

“Well done, Darrow,” Augustus says without looking back to me. “Though you could have chosen a better ship …”

Mustang interrupts. “What’s going on back there? They said someone was hurt.”

“Quinn is dying,” I say. “We have to get her to a medBay, fastlike.”

“Even when we hit orbit, we’re thirty minutes out from our fleet,” Mustang says.

“Fly faster.”

The ship trembles as Mustang and the Blue push it hard.

“It was a good plan,” Kavax says, beaming down at Mustang. “It was a good plan, Virginia, infiltrating the Sovereign’s household. Just like when you were a girl. The time you and Pax hid in the shrubbery to listen to your father’s counsel. Except Pax was bigger than the shrub!” He booms a laugh that startles the quiet Blue.

Mustang reaches back to squeeze his forearm, hand smaller than his elbow. He preens like a hound with a pheasant in its jaws, looking around to see if we all noticed her compliment. She’s got a way with men bigger than bears.

The love on the man’s face makes Augustus’s own disinterest monstrous. And even worse, thinking about the Jackal killing this man’s son makes me sick.

Mustang spares me the slightest glance, her hair bound behind her head, the memory of a smile still creasing the corners of her lips, and it’s like I’ve been punched in the heart. There’s no smile for me. And the horse ring no longer graces her finger.

There’s silence for a long moment. Augustus turns to look at me. “I assume Octavia attempted to bring you into her fold as well?”

“She attempted.”

“Slag herself. Bet you told her to go slag herself, eh, boy?” Kavax booms. He slaps my shoulder, knocking me into Victra. “Sorry.” He’s bent like a hothouse tree grown too tall for its roof. Water drips from his red forked beard. “Sorry,” he repeats to Victra.

“Actually, Lord Telemanus, I thought her offer tempting. She manages to treat her lancers with respect. Unlike others.”

Augustus wastes no time with banter. “We’ll amend that. I owe you a debt, Darrow. Provided we make it to my fleet.”

“You owe it to Mustang and the Howlers as much as me,” I say.

“What is a Howler?” he asks.

“My friends in the black armor. Sevro’s the leader.”

“Sevro. That wretched little thing that was atop my lancer, yes?” The ArchGovernor raises an eyebrow. “Thought I recognized him. Fitchner’s boy.” His tone sits poorly with me. “The one that killed that Priam brat in the Passage.”

“He’s with us, my liege. Loyal as my own hands.”

The door hisses open and Sevro and Tactus join us. We all turn to look. Sevro recoils slightly. “What?” he challenges.

Tactus scoots off to the side, away from Sevro.

“Does your loyalty lie with me or with your father, Sevro?” Augustus asks.

“What father? I’m a bastard’s bastard.” Sevro looks the ArchGovernor up and down skeptically. “And all due respect, my

liege, I could give a cat’s frozen piss about you too. Your daughter brought me from the Rim. My allegiance is to her. But above all it’s to Reaper. That’s it.”