He leans back.
“I do not see a tyrant in either of you. I see two humans who want to leave the worlds a better place than they found them. Let us start here, now. From each of you, I request an act of humility and service. Darrow, you will present the head of Volsung Fá to the Moon Lords and ask for their mercy as your boon for the service you have rendered. Lysander, you will bring the head of Atlas to the Moon Lords and ask for their mercy as your boon. If you do not, then slag off.”
And like that, Diomedes returns to his usual stony silence to wait for us to speak.
Neither of us do.
The passions within me war. I want this fight with Lysander. I want it more than I wanted Nero’s death, but I remember all too well the hollowness I felt when he lay dead before me slain by his own son. Nero’s death did not fill the holes torn in my life. It was his daughter who did that. From the day Virginia stayed my hand at Octavia’s gala and stopped me from killing Cassius, she kept me from falling into the shadow within myself.
Today, I think of what she would say to this.
I study Lysander. Behind his petulance and the scars of war, behind even his awesome entitlement, I see the same conflict that rages in me. It is hard to put down the blade when you are afraid.
“Virginia treated with you at Phobos,” I say, halting. He looks over at me. “You let her withdraw to Mars, when you did not have to. Why?”
“I wanted her to know that there were options other than fighting to the death.”
“Why?”
“Mercury,” he says. “Your army. What Atalantia and Atlas did to them. The impalements. The massacres. How could Virginia ever surrender Mars if she thought that was all that awaited your people? How could they do anything but fight to the last?” He frowns. “I wanted her to know that I was not Atalantia or Octavia. That I was not Atlas.”
I can understand that. But I don’t know if I believe it.
“Then what are you?” I ask.
“A shepherd,” he replies. “That is all I want to be. To use the gifts given to me to make lasting peace. But this…this is a fantasy, Diomedes. Even if I agreed. Even if we did turn together on Atalantia, Darrow will never put down the sword until our people are dust. There would be no peace. Only a delayed end to what we can finish here.”
Diomedes turns to examine me. “We do not see the same man, Lysander. You have forgotten that Darrow let you live when you were a boy. That his son is half Gold. That his wife is Gold, born of the family who killed his first wife.”
“Lysander is right. There would be no peace,” I admit. “Not if there was no change. Not if the hierarchy remained. Not if my people continued on in slavery. Not if a Lune sat upon the Morning Chair. But…if there was a middle path, if there was a way forward without tyranny. For that, I could put down my sword. I could find compromise.”
I can’t believe the words coming out of my own mouth.
“Spheres of influence then?” Lysander shakes his head, adamant. “This won’t work. He has you around his finger, Diomedes. The last time he made peace with your father, he stabbed him in the back.”
“If a man cannot learn from his mistakes, then what hope is there but to kill us all at first sin?” he replies. More Stoneside.
“Diomedes, for a decade, he has given mankind nothing but war.”
Diomedes nods. “And if you were born a Red on Mars what would you have done?” Lysander flinches at the question in revulsion, unable to imagine such a thing. “When I was a boy, my father asked me that question. I said ‘rise up’ and he smiled.
“Darrow is not to blame for this war. Gold is. The hierarchy gave humanity the stars, but the decadence and cruelty of our rulers gave us this rebellion. You told me once that we have forgotten who we are, Lysander. You were right. We are not kings. We never were meant to be. We are shepherds. Shepherds do not rule. They guide. They nurture. They protect. Because they know it is not the shepherd who produces. It is the flock. Without the flock, we are just beggars with sticks and esoteric rites. It is our time to find humility. To show we are more than autocrats. I need you to be the man you claim to be, Lysander.”
Diomedes’s words seem to find Lysander’s heart. “I hear you, Diomedes. I do. But I have compromised once at the point of a sword. If I say no—”
“There is no sword to your throat. You may leave and consider our proposal aboard your ships if you wish,” Diomedes replies. “I am not my uncle any more than you are.”
I stand up. “Diomedes, you cannot just let him leave.”
“A man’s word may no longer matter in the Core, but it is all that matters in the Rim. Lysander came to help my people because I asked him to. He saved my life aboard the Dustmaker. He came to this garden without his guards as my guest. As my guest, he may come and go as he pleases. Seek to harm him, you are at war with me.”
He means that.
“Not to mention, I’m your only hope of catching your uncle,” Lysander says. “He’s run circles around Darrow for years.”
Diomedes smiles. “That too.”
I admire Diomedes’s consistency, but at any other time in my life, I’d leap across the pool and hack Lysander’s head off. That would cost me Diomedes today, forever. There’s a friendship between these two men.
Lysander stands to leave. He pauses, conflicted. “Darrow, you would really consider this? Even though I killed Alexandar?”
I tame the anger. Instead, I look down into the reflecting pool. “We were on a hill overlooking Tyche as the waves came in when Alexandar asked to go down to save people who called him the enemy. I know what he’d want if he were here today.”
Diomedes says, “Your fleets will remain where they are. Io and Europa. At nivalnight the Moon Lords will meet in the House of Bounty. Acta non verba, goodmen. I will have your answer there.”
“I need the shield as an alibi for this meeting,” Lysander says.
“The shield is for a true friend of the Rim. It will be waiting for you, I hope,” Diomedes replies. Lysander nods and departs.
When he’s gone I grimace at Diomedes. “You may regret that.”
“Come. You should wait on your ship. You have your own decision to make.”
* * *
—
With Diomedes as escort, I follow the tunnel from the shrine back to the grain warehouse where I left Cassius behind with the Archimedes. He does not wait outside where I left him. And when I call into the ship, he does not answer. My stomach sinks when I find a holodrop waiting for me on his captain’s chair.
I don’t need to listen to it to know where he’s gone. I rush out of the Archimedes. Diomedes turns with a frown and follows me to the open doors of the warehouse. I peer up to where the Lightbringer forms a dagger in the sky. I frisk myself. Diomedes finds it for me. A listening device as small as a ladybug.
“Bloodydamn Bellona,” I mutter.
“Darrow.” Diomedes squeezes my arm. “Do not draw your weapon.”
Something whispers behind us. I step back from the doors to see a dozen shadows falling from the ceiling of the warehouse. They land quieter than cats. One already has a blade at my throat. More appear outside the warehouse. Dustwalkers.