Light bringer a red risi.., p.72
Light Bringer: A Red Rising Novel, page 72
part #6 of The Red Rising Saga Series
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Markus and five others—all part of the kill pool—escort me from the hangar to my quarters. The last thing I need is the business of the bridge buzzing in my ear and Pytha’s questioning looks as I contemplate Diomedes’s offer and Atlas’s arrival. Darrow might be desperate enough to bear the shame of compromise. But I can barely stand the thought of humbling myself before the haughty Moon Lords and begging for their forgiveness. If I do that, I will lose Bellona, and Votum, and Rath, and I will lose my reputation. Then again, all will be lost anyway if I don’t.
“Let me know when Atlas arrives,” I tell Markus as the door guards—kill pool, all four—part to allow me into my chambers. “And send me Flavinius.”
“Flavinius is escorting in our friend, my liege.” Markus snaps a crisp salute. I close the door and call for Exeter. He doesn’t answer. I slump toward the sitting room off which the halls to the other rooms branch out.
“Exeter, are you knitting again?” I call. “I need something to drink. Exeter?”
“Oh, fetch it yourself, you spoiled brat,” a familiar voice says from the sitting room. I stop and almost summon my Praetorians. Almost. Wary, I press on to find a large man sitting on one of the couches. He smiles at me. “Exeter is just taking a little nap.”
“Is he dead?” I ask.
“Well, that would be a very long nap, wouldn’t it?”
“How did you get in here?” I demand.
“Is that any way to greet an old friend?”
It’s been over a year since I’ve seen Cassius. He looks like he’s been through hell, and made all the healthier and handsomer for it. His face is leaner, like he’s been on the hunt and not hunted. His body is more relaxed. Though naturally an athlete of rare form, he’s a coiled spring now. I imagine he’s been fencing with Darrow. His hair is still all golden curls, but shorn shorter. There’s not a spot of stubble on his chin. I imagined him out there with the famous Ragnar beard that’s all the fashion in the Rising. The drinking bags under his eyes are not nearly as inflated. Instantly I know he has changed. What once was rusting iron has been infused with carbon. He’s steel and smiling and happy to see me.
It almost feels like a purposeful insult.
The tiger-styled armor he wears is not his. It belongs to a man named Strabo from Earth, one of my New Shepherds.
“And Strabo?”
“Of course, you know their names,” he says. “Strabo…well, he’s taking a long nap. I tried to make it short, but he was very tough and not very likable. Honestly, you can’t imagine what he was doing, or to whom.” Cassius’s eyes flare. “Let’s just say his life was the second thing he lost.”
Armor alone doesn’t explain how he accessed my quarters without my Praetorians noticing. How he can sit here without the security teams seeing him on the feeds, or how he could have gotten on the ship at all. Of course, there are secondary entrances built into my rooms. Two that the Praetorians know and guard. And one only two other people know about: Horatia and Pytha.
“Pytha,” I mutter. “You told her about Atlas.”
“I did.”
I close my eyes in anger. “Rather presumptuous of her to let you in.”
“She only wants to help you. I only want to help you. You’re no Strabo after all.”
I keep my distance. My hand rests on my razor. “So that’s why you’re traipsing around the system with Darrow, why you saved him on Mercury, helped him over Venus. To help me.”
Cassius watches my hand on my razor.
“Lysander, I am here to help you. If I wanted to kill you, I’d have hidden in a closet and burst out while you were meditating upside down practicing Mithridatism—or whatever new strange hobby you have. At any rate, do you think Pytha would have let me aboard if she thought I meant you any harm?”
He’s making an effort for it to feel like old times. Only it isn’t. Not just because of all the deeds between us, but because he is far more dangerous than he ever was.
“No,” I confess. “Though the fact that she left that decision in your hands is…troubling. If you aren’t going to kill me, why not ditch the armor?”
“Your drags. I imagine I’m the only person the Praetorians hate more than they hate Darrow. He is the enemy, so there is a measure of professional respect for him, no doubt. Me? Well, I betrayed the company. Shamed them by getting the Sovereign.”
“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.
“I know that…inconsistency on my part made you feel you were not enough. I know it bred contempt in you for me. I was selfish, then cowardly, then cruel.” He meets my eyes. “I’m sorry for it, Lys. I am. I’m sorry I couldn’t be the teacher you deserved. That I poisoned you with neglect. Suffocated you with judgment. I know when you looked at me you just wanted me to be happy. But I couldn’t be happy. I’ve…always had trouble with that. Without distractions…well. If I could do it all again, I wouldn’t try to shape you. I’d try to let you shape me into what you needed. I think we’d both have been better off for it.”
I look away.
I did not know how long I was waiting to hear him apologize until this moment. His words slip past the armor I’ve built around my heart. The emotions of childhood rush back. All the loss, the loneliness, the fear and instability. The need for him to be happy, and when he wasn’t, feeling like it was my fault.
I don’t know if I’ll see him again after this. I think of Ajax and the words we never got to speak. I think of Glirastes, and all the nights we could have spent surrounded by his trinkets talking in detail about nothing but how to capture magic.
“In my head, you were a giant,” I say slowly. “But now I’m the age you were when we set off from Luna. I don’t blame you, Cassius. I don’t know how I’d have raised me either.” I sigh. But more won’t come out. Fear and pressure have me too wound in knots.
“But now we get a second chance,” he says. “That is, if you take Diomedes’s offer, Lysander.”
I darken inside. “Ah.”
“We have to talk about it.”
“It’s why you’re really here. Why not? Let’s talk about it.”
“I’ll tell you why I’m really here when we get to that part. You know I care about you. But I’m afraid too, brother. You are surrounded by people who terrify me, Lysander. They don’t know me. What we have here.” He motions between us. “And even if they did, they’d tear me to shreds. Respect the risk, if not the reason.”
“Fair,” I say. “Very fair.”
“Diomedes told me what he’d propose. Asked my opinion. I told him he had the right of it. You are a man of honor. You’d do the right thing. You’d give them Atlas.”
“Honor. It sounds so silly when you say it enough,” I reply. “It can excuse anything. But we only pretend it protects. Yet it is there. A feeling of what is true and what is slippery and false. But you’re right. I do have it. That inclination, maybe more of a desperation, to have honor. But time and again, I’ve found that it’s like opening a vein while swimming with sharks.”
“Am I a shark?”
“No. Sharks don’t have such good hair,” I say. He laughs. My smile fades. “I can’t, Cassius. I can’t accept the offer.”
“You are Lysander au Lune. If you can’t, who can?”
“You don’t understand,” I snap. “At every turn, I try to take the right action.”
My heart is beating fast, but I can’t stop talking.
“I acted like the hero of the Rim, Cassius. But I’m not. I am called Imperator, but I am not. I could be. I really could help people, I think.” I swallow, seeing the truth of my condition. “I…I am just a puppet. That’s all I have ever been. A puppet or a prisoner or a pet. Octavia’s, Atalantia’s. Atlas’s. That meeting…Atlas may already know…my jailers were sniffing. Demetrius…Markus…”
The more I think of Atlas, the harder it becomes to breathe. I feel hot. My hands start to shake. This has never happened before, except once with Octavia. Once was enough for the Pandemonium Chair. It’ll get rid of the shakes. That’s what she said. When I got out of the chair, I was calm. It was a while after the chair before I realized I couldn’t remember my parents. I clench my fists but the shaking won’t stop.
“Atlas is coming back. If he does know…if he suspects anything, he’ll enslave me,” I say. “With chemicals. Pain. He can do that. If I’m lucky, he’ll just kill me and put a doppelgänger in my place. But no, he’ll take his time. He’ll peel me apart one layer at a time. He’ll kill Pytha. Cicero. Exeter. Horatia. Anyone I care about. My Praetorians can’t protect me. The ones who came with me on the Dustmaker, they are sociopaths. They kill hundreds of people and keep a running tally. They make bets about it. They serve him. Not me. They worship him. Call him a patriot. Me? I’m just a spoiled Palatine brat. He’ll skin me in front of them and they’ll just salute.”
His hand grasps my shoulder and I feel the strength in it.
“Then let’s kill him together. You asked me why I came here. Let’s kill that piece of shit.” Tears stream down my cheeks. “I told you I came here to help you. Let’s do it soon as he lands, Lysander. Let’s set you free. Enough shifting shapes. Enough compromises. Finally you can be the man you want to be.”
I jerk when a door hisses open in the distance. Cassius holds me steady. “Lysander?” It’s Pytha’s voice.
“It might not be her,” I say quickly.
Cassius looks at me with so much love I feel the shakes leave me. “In the sitting room,” he calls without even looking back. His hand slides to the razor and his face hardens.
“Is all prime?” Pytha says. He takes his hand off his blade when he sees her reflection in my eyes, but he doesn’t go to her till I give him a nod.
Cassius picks Pytha up and twirls her like a big brother, then pulls her into a hug. In his arms, my captain, once his captain, looks no larger than a child. She pulls back and beams at me. “Thank gods you haven’t killed each other. Did you ask him, Cassius?”
“Only just.”
She bends on a knee and cups my head. “Moonboy, tell me you said yes.”
“You’re not angry with me?” I ask her.
“I just wish you would have told me,” she says. “I could have helped. If I had known…But it doesn’t matter. We can end this now. We can do this, Lysander. Together.”
Anxiety claws at me. Atlas was a tool I needed to set things right, but there are other tools now. “It would have to be Rhone too. If we fail…”
“We won’t,” she says. “The three of us together. How can we?”
84
LYSANDER
