“I’ll accompany you, dominus,” Rhone says, and passes his duties to a subordinate.
“You coming too?” I ask Cicero.
“No.” He turns toward the rifle-fire that still comes from the distant groves. “Less Grays will die if I’m in the field. Where do you need me, Flavinius?”
“Seventh Cohort is having trouble with a tribe holed up in an olive oil refinery. I’ll mark it on your HUD now,” Rhone says. Cicero nods to me and bursts into the sky. Rhone, Drusilla, and Demetrius watch him go like a pack of wolves, admiring, but no less feral.
“I like that one,” Drusilla says. “Hope he comes back.”
“Me too,” Demetrius replies. “Phobos, though. Shame if he slagged up our fine work again.”
“I think he’s learned. Olive oil and not even one masturbation joke.”
“Centurion Demetrius, Decurion Drusilla, open your mouths,” Rhone says. They snap to attention. “B-knives on tongues. Now.” They both stomp their right boot and knives pop up to waist height, they catch the knives and put them to their own tongues. “Dominus, your dragoons stand by to apologize for their insolence. Orders?”
I wave a hand. “Put them to use.”
Rhone turns on them. “Rarity gains privilege, it does not assure it. Respect the hierarchy. Prime?”
“Prime, Dux!”
He steps closer, and whispers. “Flex on your dominus again, I will fuck you to death with your own knives. Now go make sure our Sovereign’s friend and valuable ally comes back in one piece.” They replace their knives, salute him, me, then take off. “That will not happen again, dominus, I apologize. And for my language.”
Strange thing is he actually means it. A man with a code, Flavinius. Sadly not one I understand. “Thank you for handling it, Rhone.”
“Markus has relayed your alibi to the Moon Lords. Stick to the script, all will be well. Now to Gaia, dominus? The drags are just dying to see a Raa kiss your feet.”
* * *
—
I arrive at the Arbor of Akari to the sound of the enemy’s lamentations. The Arbor where Fá kept Gaia and a choice selection of Moon Lords for me has been liberated by my Praetorians and house legions. Hundreds of injured Ascomanni and Volk prisoners have been herded into the courtyard beneath the Arbor. They wail like hounds to their god.
Markus and Kyber lead out a procession of Golds. The Moon Lords are in a deplorable state from their captivity, a far cry from the haughty figures they cast when they declared war on the Republic. They are beaten, bald, and barefoot as they limp into the silver sunlight.
To Rhone this is just punishment for their hubris and mercy considering their treason. To me it is a tragedy, even if they did lord my own exiled state over me the last time I saw them. Many even called me a snake. Sadly true, but I became a snake only for their protection.
I soften my eyes as I greet them at the top of the Arbor’s steps. “My friends…” I pause, letting them see that I mourn their sorrows but respect them enough to not condescend with pity or condolences. They would never forgive that. Instead, I offer hard facts.
“The enemy fleet in orbit is annihilated. Rescue efforts are being made on every cosmosHauler. My army and allies are deployed hunting down the savages across the Garter and saving as many of your citizens as we can. Our priority is to protect the Garter and restore it to your stewardship. All control established is temporary and for the protection of your citizens and infrastructure. We are not here to stay, only to aid our friends.”
Their thanks are stoic, polite, and dignified.
“Where is Gaia? I’m told she is alive?” I ask.
They part to let a bent, wrinkled old woman shuffle through their ranks. I didn’t even see her. She holds Thalia’s hand. In the few weeks since I saw her in her cell, Gaia has aged decades. Her eyes are hollow. Her skin hangs loose and pale. When she reaches me, Gaia lets go Thalia’s hand and extends it to me. At first, I think she means to embrace me. Instead, she says, “Gun.”
All the Moon Lords extend their hands.
I nod to Rhone. He gives Gaia his pistol and has Markus’s men arm the rest. The tattered pants of the Moon Lords rustle against the steps like the robes of judges as they follow Gaia down to the courtyard. Without ceremony or even a declamation, the Moon Lords open fire on the Ascomanni prisoners. My Praetorians watch from the steps without expression but I know they are smiling inside. Kyber, my eerie whisper, leans against a pillar watching Thalia. The young girl’s face is blank. Her eyes flash with the flare of muzzles.
When the prisoners are dead, Gaia limps back up the steps and kisses me on the cheek. “Indebted,” she says. One by one the surviving Moon Lords follow her and kiss my cheek and repeat the most precious phrase in all the Rim. “Indebted. Indebted. Indebted.”
“Diomedes?” Gaia asks. The Moon Lords gather behind the old woman.
“I’m sorry. We did not see him as we escaped the Dustmaker. I fear the worst. We will avenge him together. We will avenge Io together.”
“Next?” Gaia asks.
“I will rally Ganymede to sail on Europa, crush the Volk, and bring Fá’s head to you on a pike.”
“No pike,” Gaia says. “Slow, and with fire.”
80
DARROW
Stirring Stuff
WE’VE BEEN FLOATING OFF the shoulder of Jupiter watching Lysander beat the living hell out of the Ascommani for not more than two hours before the powerful main coms array of the Lightbringer begins bombarding us with scenes of his heroism: the Lightbringer eradicating the best Ascomanni ships like a kid killing sparrows with a flamethrower; Lysander’s grand charge upon the Garter; Lysander rescuing the lows from flaming transports; Lysander liberating Gaia; Lysander kissing the heads of burned Browns; Lysander embracing freed captives.
I want to puke fire. It is undiluted propaganda and it is stirring stuff.
I’ve already got Sevro to convince Athena to take him to her ships by the time Lysander greets the Rim in battle-charred armor backed by the Moon Lords on the steps of a building with trees growing out of it.
“To the citizens of the Rim Dominion. This is Lysander au Lune. In these dark days you could not be blamed for believing yourselves forgotten by your friends in the Core. We are proof you have not been forgotten. My forces have won a great victory on Io and the Garter has been restored to the keeping of the Raa. The enemy’s vile garrison has been slaughtered to a man. Many of your countrymen, taken as slaves by Fá and his barbaric host, have been liberated. But Ilium is not yet saved. Fá and the iron heart of his fleet and host remain upon Europa. I call upon all brave children of Akari to join me over Io to form a joint force to bring this dark king and his evil brood to justice. For Kalyke. For Sungrave. For Ilium.” His voice darkens. “And to the warlord who calls himself Volsung Fá. Your life is already forfeit. If you sail out and meet us as warriors upon the field of battle, we will allow you—”
I have only one thing to say.
“That motherfucker’s gonna burn.”
Cassius and Diomedes both turn on me. “Darrow—”
“No, Cassius. I love you, but no. He is Atlas’s Good Tyrant. Don’t look at me like that. I’m gonna lather him in honey and feed him to the berserkers. I swear to Hades.”