“History is not kind to Olympic Knights who break their oaths, is it? Most get the Kiss of a Thousand,” I say. I wouldn’t want that for my worst enemy, much less Cassius.
He pats his armor. “I like my skin where it is. Thank you.” He smiles. “Now, can we talk?”
“If you wanted to talk, why didn’t you come—”
“To the meeting? Wasn’t invited. Diomedes wouldn’t let me attend. Apparently it was for Imperators only, and no one’s rallied behind my banner in a long time. But I did hear what was said, for what it’s worth.” He raises his eyebrows. “Not going to sit. All right. I’ll stand.” He stands, feigning ease as he strides away from the couch to admire the room. “You redecorated. It’s quite stately now. Far less spartan.”
“I nearly forgot. You’ve been here before.”
He nods at the leading question. “Darrow brought me up from the brig when he was sailing on Luna. We spent the night watching old videos of ourselves at the Institute, drinking scotch. Or was it bourbon? Scotch. It was smoky. Regardless, I remember Darrow hadn’t had a chance to adjust the decor. Fabii’s blood was still wet on the bridge deck. These are nice.” He strokes the wooden walls and peers down some of the hallways. “A library too. Knowing you, I suppose there’s a garden somewhere.”
“Three doors down to the left. If they notice Pytha is hijacking the feeds of the cameras, this will end very badly for you,” I say.
“I trust her competence. Obviously you do too. This ship is a monster. The Archimedes must have felt like a very small prison for you. This is quite a home, one fit for a Lune.”
I shrug. It’s hard to keep my guard up around Cassius. “Truthfully, I haven’t spent much time here. The Archimedes. Well, that was home.”
“Not a prison like you said?”
“No. Not all the time,” I confess. “I often miss it.”
“It could be home again,” he says. “After this.”
I smile. “You haven’t changed. Ever the romantic, at the expense of any kind of realism. It’s your charm.”
“I do that. Don’t I?” he says, a little dark. “Suppose that’s natural for a man who makes so many mistakes.” He spots the display case that dominates the far wall. “Is that what I think it is?” He approaches the case. “May I?”
“It won’t bite.”
“Unlike its owner.” He picks up the spiked helmet of Ares from the case. He turns it in his hands. “I haven’t seen this in a long time.”
“I lost three men salvaging that from Sevro’s room. The whole place was booby-trapped.”
“Far less than Aja and I lost taking it from its first owner,” he says.
It’s easy to forget he killed Ares when he wore the cloak.
“Is he here?” I ask. “Sevro?”
“You mean did I bring him? Gods no. That wouldn’t go well at all. Have you ever put it on?” he asks of the helmet.
“Why would I?”
“Curiosity. Just for a lark?”
“It wouldn’t fit.”
He grins. “No. I suppose your head is too large. Not that I’m one to talk.” He sets the helmet back down on the shelf with incredible reverence. That reverence says everything. “What did you feel when you saw the Archimedes at Mercury? When you knew I was alive?” he asks.
“Are we Violets now?” I ask, still staring at the helmet.
“I know it’s terribly common, emotions. But still…I’ve wondered. Humor an old friend who’s risking life and limb to see you.”
I really do believe he means my body no harm, so I sit down on one of the leather couches to decide if I mean his any. I’ve both feared and yearned to speak to Cassius since I learned he was alive. Now that I can, I find myself at a loss for words. I consider his question.
“Shock. Confusion. Rage. Then relief. Then betrayal. Then a distant numb sadness,” I answer. “I didn’t want you to die in a Raa dueling pit, Cassius. I didn’t. I was trying to do what I thought to be right. But when I saw you there, saving Darrow, I felt…well I suppose I felt traded in. Like you’d chosen him over me. Like you’d been waiting to.”
He leans on the edge of the couch. “Do you still feel that way?”
“What room did Darrow bunk in? On the Archi,” I ask.
He grimaces. “He wanted yours. Nothing weird, mind you. Said he wanted to wake up every day and be reminded of his failure.” He pauses. “He’s very dramatic.”
“There’s your answer then,” I reply, more wounded than I thought I’d be. The idea of Darrow in my bunk falling asleep beneath my childhood scrawlings is a violation.
“How does he feel about me having this ship?” I ask.
“Did that factor into salvaging it?” Cassius asks.
“A little.” I shrug. “Even Lunes can be petty.”
He sighs and slips down onto the couch. “Have you ever wondered where we’d be if we didn’t have these last names?” he asks.
“No. What’s the point,” I say.
“Liar.”
“We’d be mangled in some ditch to be cleared off a battlefield by a plow with the other nameless dead,” I say.
“Life’s not all war, Lysander,” he says softly. “I’ve always wondered the people we’d be if we weren’t born with these names. Bellona. Lune. They’ve given us such…horrible choices to make. Choices we never asked for. I know we got the riches too, but it’s not fair, this inheritance of yours. Silenius squatting on your back since you were born. Everyone else thinks being born a Lune is a blessing. But I know it’s a curse.”
“Do you?” I ask.
He nods. “I saw it in you every day for a decade. Since your parents were killed, you’ve been under siege. Haven’t you? Magnus, Octavia, Aja, Atalantia, now Atlas and your Praetorians, all jockeying to harness the power of your name. Shape you in their image. That pressure. I can’t imagine it. It’s required you to shift your shape to survive. It’s not your fault. It’s kept you safe over all these years, shape-shifting. It’s the only thing that has kept you safe—being what Octavia wanted you to be, what your guards expect you to be, what Atlas needs you to be. What I needed you to be.”
He looks down at his gauntlets, rueful.
“Since I woke up on Europa after being cut to ribbons by those Raa cousins, I’ve thought about what I’d say when I saw you again. I was angry at first. Angry that you wanted this war. That you didn’t obey me, didn’t heed the lessons I’d tried to teach you. I saw that as a betrayal. But now I know I was angry because I was always asking you to be someone you weren’t. Someone you could never be.”
I look down. “Julian.”
He sighs, frustrated at himself.
“He was my twin, but he always felt like my younger, sweeter brother. He made me feel like a better person, because I had his love. Made me feel a like leader, because he always followed my lead. When he died, it punched a hole in me. I tried to whittle you down to fit that hole. When you did, I retreated and left you reaching out and confused because I felt dirty for replacing him, angry at you for trying to—even though it’s what I taught you I wanted.