My turn to rock on my feet.
“You want me to inherit the empire,” I guess. “The entire Society.”
I gawk at him. At Dancer. How can they look so serious?
“Yes,” Fitchner says. “After he dies, all will look to the strongest. Be the strongest. Win the game of succession and you can be Sovereign just as you were Primus. Just as you are Praetor. It’s all games. Except this time we’re helping you cheat. We will feed you information, guard you against assassination attempts. With me on your side, you will have a spy network even the Jackal and Sovereign cannot rival. We will bribe who we need to bribe and kill who we need to kill.”
I sit reflectively looking at my hands. “I thought the lies were nearly over. I want to declare what I am. I want to declare war.”
“We can’t yet. You know that.”
I do, but I don’t want to leave these people. “I won’t be in the dark again. We will communicate. We will plan. No more gray areas. Do you understand? I can’t be alone like before.”
“Say yes, Fitchner,” Sevro says. “Or I’m not going either.”
“We’ll communicate every day, if you need. I can’t come with. There’s a ghost war being fought that I have to manage. But in my stead, I’ll send some of my best agents. You’ll have a cabal you can trust. Spies. Assassins. Courtesans. Hackers. All with perfect covers. All willing to die to break the chains. You are no longer alone.”
Relief fills me. But there’s something I know I can’t do. “I have to go back.”
“Yes. They’ll be wondering where you are,” Fitchner agrees.
“No.” I say. “I have to go home.”
“Home?” Dancer asks. “To Lykos?”
“Why?” Fitchner asks. “What’s left for you there?”
“My family. It’s been four years. I need to see them.” I look each man in the eyes, each so scarred and so wounded in his own way. “You have to understand that. Things are about to break apart in ways we can’t predict. We pretend we know what we’re doing, pushing these Golds to war. Planning our own. Like we can control it, but we can’t. We’re just mortals opening Pandora’s box. And before everything turns upside down, I need to remember what I’m fighting for. I need to know it’s worth it.”
“You want their blessing,” Dancer says. “Her blessing.” He knows my heart better than Fitchner. If I’m to let Augustus adopt me, then I must go home first.
“You can’t tell them what you are. They won’t understand.” Fitchner steps forward, suddenly cautious of my temper. “You know that.”
“How much easier would this have all been if you and I had conspired the whole way through?” I say. “Lies breed lies. We have to trust.” I look at Sevro. “I’m taking her to Lykos.”
“Her?” Dancer asks.
“Mustang,” Sevro murmurs.
“No,” Fitchner almost yells. “Absolutely not. No. It’s not worth the risk. You’re set up now. She’s in love with you! Don’t lose that leverage because of a guilty conscience.”
“And what if I love her too?”
“Shit,” Fitchner curses. “Shit. Shit. Shit. You’re serious? I thought this was part of your gorydamn game. Shit. Boyo, you’ll ruin everything. Gorydamn idiot. Shit.”
“This is everything,” I say. “She loves me. I won’t use her anymore. I won’t leverage her. If I can’t trust her, Gold can’t change, and Titus and Harmony were right. Hell, the Society is right. You and I know that it’s not about our Color; it’s about our hearts. Now let’s put that to the test.”
“And if you’re wrong? If she rejects you for them?”
I don’t have an answer.
Sevro hops down from his perch. “Then I put a bullet in her head.”
47
Free
The Pot is a piece of shit—a three-hundred-meter-deep nest of metal and concrete humid with the stink of swill and cleaning agent. Once it seemed to tower above Lykos’s Common like some lofty castle. But as my ship descends, it’s just a dull metal blister in the southern Martian taiga, far removed from the grand cities where men marshal for the great effort against Octavia au Lune.
The Grays inside aren’t fit to get paid doing anything but intimidate Reds. To think I once considered the Grays like Ugly Dan crack troops. It depresses me, seeing how weak and petty the demons of my youth really were. As though I come from some hollow fantasy past.
They did not know my ship was coming. They don’t know why I’m here, nor must I tell them. They just scatter like horseflies as I stalk down my ship’s ramp into the engine-blackened landing pad, Obsidian bodyguards flowing out before me. Ragnar towering behind as I stalk through the metal-grated halls. Any of these Grays will know how to get where I need to go, but I am looking for a familiar face.
“Dan,” I ask one of the Brown janitors. “Where is he?”
I burst into one of their common rooms, where a dozen Grays play cards and smoke cigars. A woman notices me, turning her attention from an HC where several talking heads—a Silver, a Violet, and two Greens—debate the political ramifications of Mars’s conquest over a montage of my exploits. Her cigar falls out of her mouth. The man sitting at her side slaps the cigar as it falls on his pant leg and catches the fabric.
“Carly, you dumb meat sheath.” He flings himself back from the table. “Goddamn. The hell is your …”
Ugly Dan swivels to see me for the first time in four years. I can feel the hairs on his skin rise as the spring of discipline hidden in his slothful body snaps to attention. There’s no recognition in his eyes, no fear, just obedience.
This gives me no catharsis. Dan should have an impudent sneer on his lips, a nasty hyena cast to his aspect. But he’s doesn’t. He’s tame. Obedient. Face pocked from childhood acne. The greasy hair Loran and I teased him for behind his back, now gone. A crater of baldness has replaced it, fringed with shoots of withered gray. He’s as scary as a wet dog. This is the man I let kill Eo.
How could I not have stopped him? Was I ever so weak?
“The bubbleGarden,” I say to Dan, voice filling the metal common room. “Take me there.”
I’ve already turned on a heel. Ragnar pats his thigh. “Come, dog.”