Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga 4)

“After the kidnapping, I see there’s more than money at play. You make power.”

“Yes. Yes. That is a good reason to return.”

“That and to visit the kiddies,” I say with a laugh that comes out too loud.

He smiles, but watches me, the comment arousing his suspicion. Dammit, Eph, stick to the script. I glance at the ant colony.

“What do you imagine my role would be here?” I ask, deflecting.

He drinks his wine and plays a finger on the edge of his glass. “Well, you would work under me, of course. The rest would depend upon your imagination.” I look past him to the patio outside. The glass is smoked, but I see the obscured outline of his personal yacht. The keys dangle from a gold chain on his neck. There’s my exit.

“And professionally?” I ask.

He smiles. “As you have no doubt noticed, the era of the freelancer, the prowler, is coming to an end. What an era it was. So much art, so many treasures ripe for the picking. It gave birth to you. To me. But now most of the treasures are consolidated and hoarded by a small enclave of individuals. We must turn our gaze outward before we cannibalize ourselves. Find new ways to steal. That is where you would come in.” He pours himself more wine. “I will need an architect who can create new unconventional streams of income. And I think that man could be you.”

It’s going to go like this for hours, I realize. The dance is more than half the fun to a man like him. But that still won’t take the Obsidians from the room. If I ask about the children again, it might cost me my hands. And I’m not a good enough liar to keep pace with this prim courtesan. So instead, I lean back and slide my leg under the table to the inside of his right calf. “Bored now,” I say. “Let’s change topics.” He watches me, eyes sparkling. He wets his lips, small, warm breaths escaping them as I slide my foot up his leg to the inside of his thigh. I feel him harden, so I push my foot gently down, encouraging him. Then, with a sigh, I pull my foot back to its original position on the floor. “But I don’t play with an audience.”

“Hvardin, Jorlnak…” He snaps his fingers at the Obsidians and they leave the room through the double doors. The Duke smooths out his robe and moves his fingers along the controls of an audio system. The deep percussion of synth music thuds through the room like the heartbeat in my chest, but the lights stay bright. He leans back. “Come around the table.” I walk around the table, my body numb with trepidation, my gut grumbling for zoladone. He’s moved his chair back so there’s room for me. He reaches for the tie to his robe, a bright, hungry look in his eyes as I stand over him, blood thundering in my ears. The ghost of a smile plays over his lips. His slender hand runs from my knee up to my hip. The music beats faster, and I realize it’s synced to his heart rate. “Go to your knees.” I stand there looking down at his soft face and see the predatory selfishness there. It eats the beauty like a cancer. “On your knees,” he says in irritation. My heart sticks a beat, like I stand on the edge of a cliff. Time to jump.

“Nah. I’m good.”

“I said…”

I flatten my hand into a blade and lurch it forward into his nose with a locked elbow. My basic instructor would applaud the strike. The base of my palm pulverizes the bottom cartilage of his nose. Afraid of killing the Pink, I don’t use all my strength. Still, the blow rocks him back in his chair, stunning him. He reaches up to his face. I snatch up my Omnivore and point it at the door. No Obsidians come through. Knowing he must have some sort of panic device, I grab both his hands and slam them down on the table. I frisk him and pull his datapad from his pocket. I wipe blood from his face on the pad for the DNA lock and rip the keys of his ship from the chain on his neck.

“Move your hands or scream, I shoot you in the head,” I say under the music. His nose is shattered, flayed up like a pig’s. I grab it between my fingers. “Are the children here?” I squeeze. He gasps and nods. The music is throbbing now with his heart. I dial the number Holiday gave me. Her face appears in the air above the pad.

“Ephraim, where the hell have you been?”

“I’m with the Duke,” I say over the music.

“It’s been hours since you were picked up!”

“How long?”

“Four. The children…”

“They’re here. Come save my ass.”

Four hours?

“Tracking your beacon,” she says. She curses under her breath. “Eph, you’re on the far side of the moon. You’re in Endymion.”

The dread that I feel whenever I hear the name wells up in me, formless and absolute, threatening to pull me down into the darkness. I hear their screams. The whir of the laser scalpel…

“Endymion…” I whisper. While I was in the hood, we must have gone suborbital. I thought I was still in Hyperion. How did time pass so fast? “Don’t you have local assets?” I ask.

“Not to punch in there. And none that have been vetted. I’m with Team One in Hyperion. Team Two is closest to you. They’re already in the air.”

“How long?”

“Two hours.”

“Two hours,” I repeat quietly. The adrenaline killed my nausea when I struck the Duke. But it comes slithering back now, accompanied by horrifying flashes of what the Duke’s men will do to me. I can’t keep him for two hours without his men knowing. They find out I have him, they’ll move the kids or kill them, then make me wish I’d never sucked down air. Then it’s a long goodnight for Volga. I look around the room with its trophies and thudding music and I laugh. Slag it.

“What the hell is so funny?” she asks, annoyed.

“Life. Same as always.” I sigh, knowing I’m going to die, and knowing I made my peace with it hours ago. But maybe I can get the little shits out and Volga will walk free. Maybe. “If you gotta leave the field, best to do it in style, Holi.”