Golden Son (Red Rising Saga 2)

“I didn’t mind that it was always about you, Darrow. That was what burned Tactus, but nor me. I’m not in love with you like Mustang. I don’t worship you like Sevro or the Howlers. I was a true friend. I was someone who saw your light and your dark and accepted both without judgment, without agenda. And what did you do to me? You used me like a man uses a horse. I’m better than that. Quinn was better than that.”

“Are you better than this friendship?” I ask quietly, afraid of the answer.

“I think I’m better than you,” he says. I step back, wounded. He watches the deer nibble at the grain in the feeder. “I’ve sat by the bedsides of three friends this year. Quinn, Tactus, and you. Each time I knew I would have gladly have switched places with any of you. Would you wish the same?”

“I’d give my life to bring them back,” I say, knowing it is a lie. Much as I love these Golds, I have greater responsibilities. Until this is over, it’s not my life to give.

He turns from the deer to watch me, eyes warm and sad and carrying so much more weight than they ever should. He’s different from me, from Cassius. We called him brother, and he was one better than either of us deserved. “Have you ever wondered why they put me in House Mars? I’m not the typical draft. Most would probably put me in Apollo or Juno.”

“Quinn always had that competition in her blood. But you … Yes, I’ve wondered.”

“Darrow.” I turn to see Sevro standing behind us in uniform. “It’s urgent.”

“Not now, Sevro.”

“Reap, I’m not shitting you,” he says.

I look back to Roque. “Go,” he says, and walks toward the deer, pulling berries from his pocket.

“Roque,” I call to him plaintively.

“Friendships take minutes to make, moments to break, years to repair,” he says, turning to glance over his shoulder. “We’ll talk again soon.”

I watch him go, feeling a small bit of hope warm me. I turn to Sevro and clap his shoulder. “Good to see you. Sorry about—”

“Piss off. I’m not a whiny little bitch like the poet. It’s Ares. Your friends, the Red, the Pink, and the Violet, have gotten themselves captured.”

“By whom?”

“Who do you think? The Jackal.”

45

Helldivers

My ship lands in the early morning snowfall of Attica, a southern mountain city set on seven peaks. Jagged buildings of steel and glass christen the peaks like icy thorn crowns, now dusted with fresh powder. The red morning sun rises over the mountain range to the east. Bridges link the seven peaks, and the city’s lesser wards spill around the roots of the mountains. My shuttle flies over them. Plows melt paths through the snow with pulsing orange blades. Soon, midColor landcars will flow along the avenues. And highColor shuttles will ferry Silvers and Golds to their offices on the mountain peaks. Remote and renowned for its banking, Attica is a prime seat of power. It belongs now to the Jackal.

Under heavy guard by ripWings, I land on a platform surrounded by evergreens. Several lurchers wait there in white tactical gear. A lone Gold stands with them. Victra embraces me with a hug, a white fur pelt pulled tight about her shoulders. Jade earrings clatter in the breeze as the Grays inspect the outside of my ship.

“Victra,” I say, holding her back to look at her. She grins devilishly and kisses my cheek, grabbing my butt as she does. I jump in surprise. She laughs merrily.

“Just making sure the pieces are in order. You had us worried, darling. Roque kept me apprised while I was with Lorn.”

“Brokering another alliance, I hear.”

“Who would have thought, Victra au Julii, the peacemaker.”

The Grays notify me that they have orders to search my ship.

“Ragnar,” I call. He steps out of the ship’s confines, near twice the size of the largest Gray. “Let the mice search the ship. They’re looking for …”

The Gray spares a glance at Ragnar, swallows. “Bombs, dominus.”

Victra escorts me into the Jackal’s new home—a fortress citadel atop the highest of Attica’s peaks. The city stretches far beneath us. Trees line the path from the landing pad to the citadel. “Adrius took the place soon as the last Bellona ship retreated. Came in with a thousand lurchers and displaced the Bellona allies who owned the place. Took all they had. Emptied their bank accounts. Full-on theft. But that’s war.” She nods to the west. “Wonderful slopes just a few klicks out. We’ll take a few days when this all settles down. You bring Virginia, I’ll find myself a man.” Nearly my own height, she looks sideways at me. “You do ski, don’t you?”

I snort out a laugh. “Never had the time.”

We find the Jackal in his living room. Walls and floor are glass. Fire swirls under the floor, licking up in columns near the window. Several minimalist chairs of steel and leather sit on fur rugs. The Jackal i