I descend into the amphitheater to intercept two large men in dusky traveler cloaks just as they stand from their seats. No one could mistake them for being anything other than what they are: Peerless Scarred.
“They say Thessian could make a stone weep, yet your eyes are dry. Are you stoics or has Thessian lost his touch?” I say as they turn.
The older Scarred is thinner than his colleague. He answers laconically.
“Mercury is hot. I forgot to hydrate.”
Honestly the answer is like the man. Helios au Lux is austere, unimpressed, and as serious as a gun barrel. Nicknamed Sunburn for his affinity for torchShip raids and his flushed complexion, he was the Truth Knight of the Rim Dominion for forty years before becoming co-consul with Dido at the onset of the war. He is cordial, but clearly not excited to see me.
“Salve, au Lune.”
Helios shakes my hand. His is sheathed in an antiquated Cestus: a battle glove composed of interwoven golden bands that ensnare the user’s arm from the elbow to the tips of their fingers that gives the wearer mastery over his warship. War scenes and the word Dustmaker are etched into the metal along with a line from the Iliad: I TOO SHALL LIE IN THE DUST WHEN I AM DEAD, BUT NOW LET ME WIN NOBLE RENOWN. This particular Cestus is named the Binds of Zeus.
The younger Peerless Scarred is a hurricane contained in a lead drum that any man, even Apollonius, should be cautious in opening. He is thickset, gloomy, soft-spoken, and one of the rising heroes in the Rim military. His name is Diomedes au Raa, the eldest son of Romulus and Dido. I’m delighted to see the man. He may be the only person I desperately want to like me for no reason other than I find him honorable, admirable, and utterly immune to everything—charm, flattery, bribery, or any of the devices employed so often in the Core—everything, that is, save merit.
Diomedes likes unsung heroes, but all I have to my name so far are a few songs and one horse charge. It makes me a little insecure around the man.
I extend a hand to him. “Au Raa. Or should I say Storm Knight? Or Legate? Or Twin Taker? You’re truly racking up the honors, goodman.” He does not take my hand. I’m shocked, embarrassed. I’d thought he and I to be approaching friendship after journeying together to propose the Rim’s entry into the war to Atalantia, but our months apart seem to have chilled that growing intimacy. His sister Seraphina died in the desert on our mission to take down a Storm God on Mercury. Does he hold resentment?
Helios looks away.
Diomedes says, formal, “An apology is due, au Lune. I lied to you. I claimed Cassius was dead on Io when he was not. I have been censured by my order, but not by you.”
“You may have four strikes if you wish,” Helios murmurs, still looking away.
“Why did you lie?” I ask Diomedes.
“Cassius fought with honor but was shown none in return. I wished to spare his life. I knew no other way but to claim his death and secret him away. He broke his word by returning to the war.” Diomedes pauses. “As did one of my servants in abetting his escape.”
“If all lies were so kind, I’d never wish to hear the truth. I forfeit my strikes if only you take my hand,” I say and stick out my hand again. He takes it with a relieved smile. “I must admit my surprise in hearing you two were on-planet. When Dido rebuffed my invitation, I did not think to expect a Rim deputation.”
“Nor is this one,” Helios replies. I frown. If it is not a deputation, it can only be one thing. An insult. “I am here as a private citizen to honor an oath to my daughter.” His hand brushes the short-bladed kitari on his belt. A House Dionysus ring of the Ionian Institute is melted into the pommel. “Before she died, she made me swear I would see Thessian perform once more.” His grim face skews into the approximation of a smile. “She always thought I heeded duty so much that I forgot to live.”
A thin excuse. I mask my disappointment. “And how does living feel?”
“I yearn to return to my ship and the war,” he confesses.
“Living isn’t for everyone, I suppose,” I say.
They watch me, awkward, as if waiting for me to leave. I feel like a fool. When I was told the capital ship of the Rim’s fleet was in orbit, I thought Helios’s presence indicated a desire to speak with me. I was wrong. “You’re both to be complimented on your successes in the war. Thanks to the two of you, we have the Republic on their heels. They barely dare to leave Mars for fear of your fleets.”
Helios is polite, but barely. “You have done well on Mercury too, by the looks of your party.”
“Still much to be done, I fear. Especially in Tyche, but the iron rolls and the seas calm. I’d be honored if you would join me in the pulvinar tomorrow for the pegasus jousts, and then for the launch of the Lightbringer—”
Helios looks to the massive ship lying to the south. No doubt he thinks it Rim property, owing to the fact it was built in the Dockyards of Ganymede, and then killed those docks under Darrow’s command.
“No,” Helios says. “This was a stop of convenience. We are en route to Earth. Tomorrow we pass Sol for the summit. We depart in an hour.”
“What summit?” I ask.
“The Dictator’s in Rome. Nine days from now Atalantia has promised to unveil her plans for the next stage of the war.”
It’s plain as day they know I was not invited.
“The next stage?” I ask. “Mars?”
Helios shrugs. “If not, there will be consequences. Atalantia cannot continue to drag her feet while my people fight her war. It is time to end this. I would ask you to relay that, but I hear you don’t share her confidences, only her bed.” He looks over at Diomedes. “The Core is an odd place, is it not?”
Diomedes looks embarrassed. The rudeness from Helios, even for a Moonie, is startling. “You’re making a point of insulting me, it seems. Why?”
“I am aware you invited Consul Raa to your…games. Dido may flirt with Core power struggles. She is Venusian by birth after all. I do not flirt. Unless you can move Atalantia’s fleets off Earth and Luna and toward Mars, do not communicate with us. Your office is a domestic one. Stay in your lane.”
“Is that why the Moon Lords sent you to the Core? To make sure Dido shows…restraint?” I probe. It would make sense for the isolationist faction to get cold feet with both the Dust and Dragon armadas away, and only the Shadow Armada and the local garrisons left to defend the worlds of the Rim. Nervous people, Moonies.
“Dido wanted this war. I did not. I am here so the Moon Lords can be sure there are no hooks in our lip when the war is won.”
“Back to isolationism then.”
Helios glances at the Praetorians watching from the rim of the amphitheater. “What do your Praetorians think of you consorting with a man who led a squadron at the Battle of Ilium? Their brothers’ and sisters’ blood is on my blade.”
“My Praetorians are an extension of me, and I believe if we are defined by the conflicts of the past we will never grow to anything better than a gnarled reflection of ancient feuds.”
“Words. I watched Rhea burn, lad,” he says. “There is a sickness here in the Core for which the only cure is quarantine. We should not be here. But we are. And when we leave, I will burn the bridge behind us.”