Golden Son (Red Rising Saga 2)

“Hold,” I tell him.

“You forget.” Lorn pulls his own datapad from his pocket. “I could have my fleet destroy yours, boy.”

“Not before mine takes the Sovereign’s.”

“But she would know then where House Arcos stands. She would know that you tricked me. That my house is not part of this.”

“Then do it,” I tell Lorn. “Launch your ships if you think my cause evil. Put me down if you think me a monster.” I step forward close to him. “But you know the heart that beats here. Choose me. Or choose that darkness.” I nod down the hill of the forest garden to where we entered the place. Twelve Obsidian Praetorians file through the same glass door we used. Huge men and women in black and purple armor, skull helms. Only one Stained—this one thinner than the others, like a winter asp standing on its tail. His armor is white and splashed with colors like blood.

They are less than fifty meters away. With them, shorter than the rest, but more glorious, is the Protean Knight in her golden gear. Her razor shimmers with the colors of a nebula, and her armor writhes like the waves that batter the white walls of Lorn’s island. Aja peers up to the night sky, where she sees my ambush unfolding. She lets her helmet recoil into her armor.

“And then the traitors were two,” she calls. “House Arcos has embraced treason as well. Lorn. You stand with the lions?”

“The House Arcos stands apart,” Lorn calls back.

“Apart?” Quinn’s killer frowns and tilts her head so I can see the dueling scars on the right of her neck. Her cat eyes scan the woods for signs of a trap. “There is no such thing.”

“I was as deceived as you, Aja!” Lorn calls. “Darrow knew you were here. I don’t know how. But I am not your enemy. I want only to be left alone.”

“That was never a choice!” Aja calls. “You know this better than anyone. You are with us or you are against us, Lorn.”

“Aja. No. I have no part in this! None!”

“The strong always have a part,” I mutter.

“I will not have my hand forced.” He cuts me with an angry stare. “I have no quarrel with either of you. I am a man of peace now.”

“Then why is your blade out?” Aja smiles. “Do what you know. Come down and speak, teacher. We should not shout! Isn’t that what you said when I used to raise my voice in anger?” She eyes the griffin that now growls beside us. It’s larger than four horses. I wonder what those talons would do against their armor.

“Her ships are lost,” I whisper to Lorn. “What would Octavia have her do?”

“Kill us. For spite.”

I lower my voice. “Then you have no choice.”

“So it would seem.”

Aja watches me kneel to the ground and gather dirt in my hand. She has studied me. She knows what this must mean. And she must wonder what plan I have. Why I’ve come alone. If I really set an ambush in the sky, wouldn’t I set one below? I’m about to shout something to her when another figure steps through the gate to join Aja. He’s rangy. Darker skin than mine. A smirk on his bored, patrician face. Tactus. All in Praetorian armor. He slinks forward, a shadow of purple and black, eyeing the sky apprehensively before beaming me a lopsided smile.

“Speaking of traitors,” I shout. “Hello, Tactus. Pretty armor.”

“Reaper, my goodman!” Tactus bellows, and throws up the crux. “Where’s Sevro?” He leans in to tell Aja something. Aja straightens and looks again to the trees around. Her men condense in defensive formation. Tactus warns them of my tricks. They know something is awry. Their aegis shields activate, glittering over arms.

Lorn closes his eyes and lets his left hand into the air, feeling the whipping of the storm’s wind. “Leave Aja to me. You’ll have better luck against the Stained.”

“No. They’re all mine. Sevro, rise.”

The Howlers emerge from the sea beyond the castle. Water drips from them as they fly silently over the hundred-meter-high walls, armor glistening like black beetle shells. A golden lion has been painted on each breastplate. The gold winks as lightning flashes. They land silently around us.

“My stormsons,” I say to Lorn. Twenty new recruits have come from the families of the Howlers and the Telemanus ranks. Sevro held tryouts. I hear it was a bloody bit of fun. Snakes, alcohol and mushrooms were involved. That’s all they let me know.

“Goblin! Why are you always hiding?” Tactus calls. His voice is all jest, but he looks to the sky anxiously again. “Least it’s better than a horse’s belly this time.”

Sevro pulls out his skinning knife, the one he used to take scalps with Harpy years ago. It’s a curved customer. He taps it on his groin and points to Tactus. His eyes flick to Aja.

“You killed a Howler, Aja,” he says. “Wrong play.”

As I expected, the appearance of the Howlers reassures Aja and Tactus. This makes sense to them: I had soldiers hidden. Now I do not. A battle to the death. Honor. Pride. One force against another. The Obsidian Praetorians begin to keen their terrible throat song. All those men want is the glorious end. To join their relatives in the laughing halls of Valhalla with their blades in hand. They step forward on Aja’s command. The deadliest men and women in the Solar System, a Stained amongst them.