“What praise?” I ask.
“He didn’t criticize you once,” Diomedes says.
“As raving an endorsement as you’ll receive from the old ass,” Dido clarifies with a roll of her eyes, then glares across the hangar. “Speak of the mule, and he appears.”
Helios and his castle of isolationists stride across the hangar. The god glove of the Dustmaker glints on Helios’s right hand. Helios glares at the Praetorians.
“I hear you want to go on a propaganda tour,” Helios says to me.
“Pride has ruined better men than either of us,” I say. “We will come with you, if you let us, with my Lightbringer following with a small fleet. My people have been repairing her for two weeks now. She’s not pretty, but she still punches. Consider that fleet as insurance. If you do not need our fleet, do not use us, but let us show our respect for you. Or cancel our alliance here and now.”
Helios doesn’t hate that reply. “Tell me, Lune. Have you ever fought an Ascomanni from the Far Ink? Have any of your…Guard even seen one? Their tactics are as alien to you as their language. You will be lost.”
“Consul Lux, have you ever fought Darrow’s Volk shock troopers?” Diomedes asks. Helios’s eyes flash with annoyance at his too-honest protégé. “I have not. But the Praetorians have, and Fá seems to have recruited many of Darrow’s veterans.”
“You doubt our arms?” Helios asks.
“No. Just our experience, as you doubted Lune’s. Perhaps we have something to teach one another after all.”
Helios says nothing for a long, odd moment. When he speaks, his tone is entirely different. It shows the respect he has for Diomedes, if not for me. “You ask me to trust you, Lune. Very well. Prove you trust me. Come, but I’ll allow no more than ten of your killers aboard my Dustmaker. The rest must follow in your snail ships.”
“Ten is an insult to a man of his station,” Rhone says from behind. “He’s a Lune.”
“Precisely,” Helios says.
I turn on Rhone, astounded by his lack of discipline. “Silence, Flavinius.”
The motion sends excruciating shocks of pain through my spinal cord and calves.
“He can bring all he likes onto the Dragon’s Song…” Dido offers, wary as she scrutinizes Helios.
“Ten,” Helios says. “And if he comes along with us, he must ride with me. You two are too cozy as is.”
“Ten will suffice,” I say. “Thank you.”
“Choose them and load. We’ve wasted time enough. Diomedes, you have his mark.” He turns on a heel and departs with his cadre. That took a lot of energy. Helios thought I wouldn’t do it, and Flavinius tried to stop me. I wheel on him.
“Flavinius—tell me now. Should I leave you behind? Answer truthfully.”
“No, dominus. I apologize.”
“Then pick nine of your best. Pack your gear. And get on board.” I look past him. We’ll be taking Demetrius, Drusilla, Markus, Coriolanus, and five more of Rhone’s best but my whisper is missing. “Have you seen Kyber?”
“Yes, dominus. She took a shot from a sniper,” Rhone says.
“What, just now? I only just saw her,” I say in concern. Rhone motions up Demetrius.
“Got hit on the way to barracks to get her kit, dominus. She’ll live. Sniper didn’t,” Demetrius says. “We got her back to the medBay before she bled out. Knowing her, she’ll follow in the Lightbringer.”
“Good,” I say. I waver. Pain pounds my temples and races along my spine, causing an ache between my shoulder blades. I feel sick. “Snipers, though?”
“They’ve been active since you’ve been under. So much for Lionheart’s word,” Rhone says.
“If they’re affiliated,” I muse, then I call out to the men not part of Rhone’s picked nine, and urge them to give Kyber my best wishes on a speedy recovery. As the Praetorians sort their equipment, I approach Dido and Diomedes.
“What did Helios mean by ‘your mark’？” I ask Diomedes.
“If you make any mischief, I lose my cloak,” Diomedes replies as if he’s won a great victory. Dido is not pleased. She frowns after Helios as if he’d sprouted horns.
“What is it?” I ask.
“The only reason he’d say yes is if he was worried we might need you.”
“Has he fought this Fá before, in the Far Ink?”
Dido shakes her head. “No. None of us have. Until this attack, we thought he was a myth. No matter. Ascomanni and Volk. They’re just genetic perversions and thick-brained infantry. They’ll probably tear one another apart before we even reach the Belt.” She presses something into my hand. “For the poison. It’ll help. Diomedes will show you how to use it. Goodspeed, boys. I will see you in Ilium.”
PART III
TEMPEST
Ah how shameless—the way these mortals blame the gods. From us alone, they say, come all their miseries. Yes, but they themselves, with their own reckless ways, compound their pains beyond their proper share.
—HOMER
37
DARROW
Cacophony
AS THE ARCHIMEDES APPROACHES the asteroid that is said to hold the Republic’s salvation, I fidget with Pax’s gravBike key. Thraxa’s razor, Bad Lass, rests in my lap. I am thankful for both. One is a reminder to stay the path, the other is a tool to help me do so.
The asteroid does not look like much. It is gray, oblong, and lies on an outer shoulder of the Belt mined long before the age of Ovidius.
“Well, we made it here in one piece,” Cassius says and sips his caf. His thermal is pulled tight up to his neck. A bruise peeks out and stretches to his right ear. “Hard part’s done.”
“You’ve never had a conversation with Quicksilver,” I say and kick my feet up on the wall. He slugs me in the shoulder. “Sorry.” I lower my feet.
“You and Quick are close,” he says. “At least from what you’ve said. I thought you were his favorite.”
“True, but…he can be tricky.”
“Still no energy readings. Metal, yes. But this was a mining sector… Should I start to hail the asteroid?” he asks.
“If he is here, he’s already seen us,” I say.
“We have a stealth hull.”
“Yes, one his company made. He doesn’t create questions to which he doesn’t have answers. My guess is if he’s in there, he’s been watching us for some time.”
“I bet he’s as horrified as I am about the state of the hull. My poor ship is falling to ruins. Honestly, between you and Sevro it’s a wonder there’s not literal shit in the halls.”
“Sorry. We usually have janitors,” I say.
“Really? He doesn’t even flush. A life of privilege is no excuse for slovenliness.” He sets his caf aside, and sprays the wall where my foot touched with cleaning solvent and wipes it down. “You really must take pride in the things you own, Darrow.”
We fall into silence as we creep closer to the asteroid. Occasional reports come up the hall from Aurae who helms the sensor station between the cockpit and the lounge. The only other sounds are the whispers of the engines and the tremble of Sevro’s music from the machine shop in the aft of the ship. With the asteroid only a half hour away, the moment of truth is at hand. Did we come all this way for nothing?