Golden Son (Red Rising Saga 2)

“Would that you had killed Octavia when you had the chance, boy,” Kavax says.

“If I had, everyone here would be dead,” I reply.

Daxo nods. “He meant no offense. Wistful thinking.”

“Why didn’t you kill Octavia?” Pliny squints at me skeptically.

“I couldn’t have. I was in a room with Aja au Grimmus. Perhaps if you were there, you could have done better, but I’m a mortal man.”

The Praetors who know their business laugh.

“Even Lorn au Arcos wouldn’t have dared,” Augustus mutters. “And I once saw him kill Stained without a razor. Darrow did as he could.” He turns his attention on me. “Do you think we should run now as well?”

“It makes you look weak.”

“We are weak,” Pliny replies. “But this makes him look wise.”

“Wise men read books about history, Pliny. Strong men write them.”

“Stop quoting Lorn au Arcos!” Pliny snaps.

“I thought you’d be open to all knowledge.”

“Your many years of life no doubt make you an authority on innumerable things,” Pliny says melodically. “Do recycle more maxims from old warriors so we may learn more of life and wisdom.”

“This isn’t about me, dear Pliny. So cut the ad hominems.” I gesture to the ArchGovernor “This is about our liege. This is about his fate.”

“How theatrical of you to note, Darrow.” Augustus rubs his eyes, tired.

“The young can’t help but be eager,” Pliny continues. “But we must remember, there is no dishonor in prudence, my liege. Six months’ delay is a small price to pay for victory.” He splays out his long-fingered hands. “In fact, time is our friend. Octavia cannot afford to scour the Solar System for us. Not with the Senate so divided at home. Her grasping hand will be like iron. It will rake along the backs of the other ArchGovernors, and it will not be long before those who follow her begin to chafe at her orders. They will learn why we fight against her; namely that she is not our representative, but is instead an Empress. This will give us time. Which will give us power. Which will give us the ability to sue for profitable peace.”

Praetor Kavax slams his fist on the table. “Piss on this.”

A titan of a man, he’s carved more from rock than flesh. His neck is so thick that I couldn’t wrap even my hands around it. Unlike most Golds, he has shaved his head and permitted his beard to grow. It is thick and dyed blood-red. When the lights dim, it glows like a brand in the night. Only three fingers remain on his left hand. They say his son, Daxo, bit them off as a child. Though Daxo always smiles and with his soft voice suggests that it was his younger brother, Pax. The Telemanuses are the only Praetors in the room not beholden, in one way or another, to Pliny. I like Kavax.

“It chafes my balls. This Pixie talk chafes my balls!” Kavax sneers. “We should not be in this position. Give me leave, my liege, and I will take a thousand of my guard to treat with the cowards who did not answer your summons. Apologies, my darling,” he whispers to his favorite fox, Sophocles, a red-gold, sharp-eared thing that flinches at the loud sound of its master’s voice. Sophocles eats little jelly beans from Kavax’s massive palm.

We wait for Kavax’s attention to return to his words.

“You were saying, Kavax?” Augustus prods with a quick smile he reserves for his favorites.

“Father.” Daxo nudges the larger man.

Kavax looks up, startled. “Oh. And when their balls are ripped off and made to dangle from their own earlobes, others will remember you are ruler of Mars and they will beg to aid you, Nero.”

Satisfied, he goes back to feeding Sophocles jelly beans.

“And they will know that we few lords were found loyal,” Daxo quickly adds, waving to the Golds around the table, who nod appreciatively. Daxo sucks on a stick of cinnamon. He smiles even more than Pax, though his are half as grand and twice as mischievous. The only frown I’ve yet seen on his face was when he saw the Jackal at the gala.

That particular grudge will not fade. Nor should it. The Jackal took their Pax. In reply, the Telemanuses demanded his head. In turn, Augustus banished the Jackal from Mars. But now war brings new complications, new necessities. And the Jackal seems to have been forgiven in his father’s eyes, if not those of the Telemanuses. I watch them carefully. They are not stupid, despite the guise they enjoy wearing. I only hope they remain ignorant of my alliance with Pax’s killer.

“All should be reminded that fealty is not easily cast off,” Daxo finishes, his voice astonishingly cordial. “A visit from my father and my sisters would remind other bannermen of their duties to you in times of war.” He tilts his head playfully, allowing us to admire the workmanship of the gold angels engraved into his scalp. “It is in the Telemanus nature to leave an impression. Perhaps it would swell our ranks.”

“My thunder lords.” Augustus smiles. “Ever eager for violence.” He traces a finger along the back of his long left hand. “But no. That reminder must wait. Punishment can only be doled out in victory. It would look petty, the sad flailing of a drowning man, considering my fleet is scattered and my legions trapped behind the shields of my cities.”

He looks to Pliny and asks how the rest of our trade allies fare. I sneak a glance at Mustang. She notices and raises an eyebrow at me, wondering when we shall begin.

“All our Politicos have been received,” Pliny says slowly. Today, Pliny wears a very serious coat of black lipstick. “As you know, my Politicos and I conferred after we fled from Luna. And we developed a rather advanced theoretical breakdown of potential alliance shifts—”