Golden Son (Red Rising Saga 2)

“Mind your manners, you little puppy,” Kavax growls.

“You must be Pax’s father. Sorry he went. He’s a man I might have died for. But I see he got his good looks from his mother.”

Kavax isn’t sure if he’s been insulted.

Augustus observes this. “Darrow, I owe you an apology. You were right. Loyalty, it seems, can extend beyond the Institute. Now … Lysander.” Augustus glances out the shuttle’s viewports. We rise steadily. He kneels to speak with the boy. “I’ve heard tell that you are an exceptional lad.”

“I am, my liege,” Lysander says as firmly as he can. “They test me regularly, and I train in all manners of studies. I rarely lose in chess. And when I do, I learn, as I ought.”

“Do you now? I had a son like you, once, Lysander. But I’m sure you knew that.”

“Adrius au Augustus,” Lysander says, knowing the lineage.

“No.” Augustus shakes his head. “No. My younger son isn’t like you at all.”

The boy frowns. “Then the elder. Claudius au Augustus?”

Mustang glances back.

“Yes.” Augustus nods. “A kind, special boy with a lion’s heart. Better than me. Kinder. A ruler.” He spares a strange, meaningful glance at me. “You would have been friends.”

Lysander tries to look dignified. “What happened to him?”

“They left that part out, eh? Well, a large young man from the House Bellona by the name of Karnus took liberties with a certain young woman my son was courting. My son took umbrage and challenged Karnus to a duel. In the end, when my boy was broken and bleeding, Karnus knelt, cupped my son’s head”—he puts one hand around Lysander’s head—“and smashed it on the cobbled stones till it broke open and all his specialness dripped out.” He pats the boy on the cheek. “Let’s hope you never have to see such a thing.”

“Is that your plan for me, my liege?” Lysander asks bravely.

“I’m only a monster when it is practical.” Augustus smiles. “I don’t think I will have to be this time. You see, we’re just trying to get home. So long as your mother lets us, as it seems like she is doing, then you will be safe.”

“Mother says you’re a liar.”

“Ironic. You will tell her we’ve treated you well, I hope.”

“If I am well treated.”

“Fair enough.” Augustus touches the boy’s shoulder and stands. “Victra. Take him to the passenger hold.”

Victra glowers. Of course Augustus chooses the only woman but Mustang. Tactus notices her reaction and steps forward. “Might I, my liege? I’ve not seen my own brothers in some time. I wouldn’t mind talking with the lad.” Augustus nods as if to say he doesn’t care. Victra thanks Tactus, surprised by his gesture. He winks at her, punches my shoulder, and pats Lysander roughly on the head, almost knocking him down. I’d hate to know his brothers.

“Come, tiny one. Tell me, have you ever been to a Pearl club?” he asks, leading him away. “The girls and boys there are spectacular …”

The ponderous stork climbs higher and higher. In two minutes, we’ll hit atmosphere.

“They tried to kill me as I slept,” Augustus murmurs. “She knows I will not forgive this.”

“She’ll come to Mars,” I say.

“Is there no chance for amends to be made?” Pliny asks.

“Amends?” Mustang snarls. “Make amends with the woman who burned a moon, Pliny? Are you an idiot?”

“Peace will preserve your line, my liege. More than war. Set yourself against the Sovereign, and what hope can there be?” Pliny is no fool with rhetoric. “Her fleets are vast. Her monies endless. Your name, your honor, no matter how great, cannot stand beneath the weight of the Society. My liege, you raised me to your side because of my worth. Because you trusted my advice. Without you, I am nothing. Your care is all I value. So heed my advice now, if you still hold it in regard, and do not let this wound against the Sovereign fester. Do not let war come of this. Remember Rhea, yes, and how it burned. Preserve your honored family with peace, by any means.”

Augustus raises his voice. “When the Sovereign pushed against me, I bent like Gold should, with grace, with dignity. But now she cuts at me, and beneath the grace, beneath the aplomb, her knife will strike iron. We make for Mars, and for war.”

“We’re reaching the low atmosphere,” Mustang says. “Hold on.”

“What is that light?” Sevro asks. “The blinking one over the altimeter.”