“I have told you how this man saved my life after Kalyke, and his defense of the peoples of Europa, but now you wonder why I have asked him here,” Diomedes says. “It was a reason important enough for him to risk coming here. I’m sure you think it was no risk. After all, we know his life is not in jeopardy. If we found him in the field, or if he’d entered this chamber as an interloper, his life would—of course—be forfeit. But as a guest of the Moon Council, who has now eaten of the same loaf that filled your mouths, never.
“But in his mind, it was dangerous for him to even walk in here, where any one of you could charge down and cut off his head. Because that is the world he comes from. That is the type of Gold he has long battled and has been conditioned to expect. He is a consequence and product of Core Gold tyranny. He does not know us very well. For us and for him, that is a good thing. He came and risked your wrath because I, as Hegemon, have offered to restore the military alliance my father made with the Rising.”
The Moon Lords, silent so far, now erupt like a volcano. I glance back at Diomedes. He gives me an amused smile and motions me to stand. He tilts his head to Gaia.
She rises in a fury and raves with her staff at the other lords. “Now you roar? You, Pnyx? Who fled Europa and left your own people to die? You, Isegoras? Who cowered behind Ganymede’s shields? Now you are brave? Now that Darrow has slain the beast and saved Europa? Now that my grandson has unveiled the master? Shame! Shame! Ungracious toads. You listened to the bombardments. You listened to the screams of your people. Listen now to your Hegemon who still bears the shadow of battle upon his body.”
She sits and glowers. Diomedes forges ahead into the silence his grandmother carved.
“For almost twelve years we have known independence. Twelve years, out of the seven hundred of our existence. Twelve years, because we formed an alliance with a fledgling movement and a young warlord. Twelve years of independence purchased for the price of a dockyard. Who would not have paid that price?”
He peers around. In that moment, he’s not an orator—he’s a blacksmith eyeing a piece of iron that doesn’t want to bend. Now he works the bellows.
“Our worlds are fragile, far apart. It is in our nature to be practical. Except when we don’t want to be. We are furious because trading those dockyards was not our choice. We take pride in having a choice. But isolation is not a choice. It is a fate. If we do not pick a side, others will choose for us. Our history and this…fraudulent invasion prove that. Our enemy is and has always been the tyrannical nature of the Golds in the Core. Today they manifest as Atlas and Atalantia. That is why I have offered Darrow and Lysander to form a triumvirate against them.”
“Then where is Lune?” a Codovan woman asks. “Atlas. Lysander. It is easy to throw around their names when they are not here. Why does Lune not come and face his shame like Darrow has?”
“Lune has been unwavering in his respect toward the Rim,” Diomedes replies. “He sailed out here as a friend, as an ally. I have no doubt he will yet again prove himself to be a man of honor who seeks unity instead of division. When he joins us, he will bring the head of the puppet master to join that of the puppet.” He gestures to Fá’s head. “Then he will ask your pardon as Darrow has, for the concessions he made to Atlas.”
“When?” the Codovan asks.
“Soon,” Diomedes says with a glance at me.
I can barely think of anything but Cassius up there fighting the Fear Knight. He and Diomedes can’t both be wrong about Lysander, can they?
A Callistan asks very softly: “I do not understand. Are we not to seek vengeance then against the braves who did the raping, the killing, the burning? My moon is not just broken. It is ash.”
Diomedes considers. “An enemy sics a kuon hound on you. It rips out your liver, kills your friends. Do you spend your treasure, your life, hunting down the hound—or the enemy who unleashed it? Atalantia sponsored this attack. She helped lure us into the war. I would turn that kuon hound, the Volk, on her and watch with a smile as it rips her to shreds.”
“Am I to simply forget the wound Darrow rent in my moon when our docks fell?” the Codovan asks.
“Yes, if you want to keep your moon,” Gaia says. “Atalantia will come, not tomorrow, not the day after, but when she comes, she’ll kill everyone in this room who does not kneel. Even if you kneel, she will probably kill you and install one of her creatures in your ancestral home. She does not need to compromise. We cannot beat her alone, so we must compromise.”
Diomedes’s attention has shifted to a Green attendant signaling him. He motions the attendant over. The Green whispers in his ear and Diomedes lifts a hand for silence.
“We are receiving a tightbeam from the bridge of the Lightbringer,” he announces with a smile and motions the Green to put it on. The hairs on the back of my neck rise.
“Why a tightbeam?” I ask Diomedes. “Why is Lysander not coming in person?”
87
DARROW
Casus Belli
THE PYRAMIDAL HOLO CASTER glows to life. Hundreds of Golds fill the bridge of the Lightbringer and stand arrayed behind Lysander. I recognize a few. Cicero au Votum stands at Lysander’s right wearing an expression of contempt. Lysander is covered in blood and horrific wounds. His cheek has been punctured. His chest too. His left arm is savaged and hangs limp. His face is swollen. Yet it is the darkness of his eyes that haunts me.
All hope and warmth drain from my body. Something is terribly wrong.
As Lysander speaks, the wound on his cheek reveals his molars. “Salve, brothers and sisters of the Rim. In the spirit of friendship, unity, and honor, when you cried out for aid, I set sail without hesitation. I called on my allies to set aside your past treasons. To forget that it was the Raa that slaughtered the Sword Armada at Ilium with Darrow and the Rising. To forgive the Raa who made the deal that sent the Rising to attack Luna and set fire to the Society.”
I look over at Diomedes. He is stricken with confusion, but Lune isn’t done.
“My allies showed the strength of their character. They forgave. They forgot. They sailed. They risked their lives, their people, their treasure, and delayed the siege of Mars all to help you. Only to find Darrow—our great enemy—once again a guest in your house drawing up schemes for war in the Core. Only for me, who vouched for you, to be attacked by assassins sent up from the Garter. I bear the marks of their efforts on my body. I live only because of the sacrifice of Rhone ti Flavinius, one of our greatest patriots. I am sick with grief and disgusted you would send a man after me whom I once considered a brother. Look on what you’ve done.”
A body is dropped from above. It sways from a rope tied around its neck. His neck. I am gripped by a great stillness. My skin crawls. The world takes on a dreamlike quality. Words are muffled. Sight two-dimensional. I waver, struck dumb.
Cassius.
Pressure builds in my chest.
My beautiful, brave friend hangs like a carcass in a butcher’s freezer. He is naked and brutalized. His arms broken. Blood leaks from dozens of bullet holes and stab wounds. His sword hand is missing. The hand that used to reach over and squeeze my shoulder as we sat in the cockpit of his ship. The hand that used to grip my wrist to correct my blade form. The hand he drank with and would gesture with like a trained orator as he spoke. Tears pour down my face. I hurt all over.