“It’s not even nine. Aren’t you presenting the Mask in a few minutes?”
“I was, but it’s tedious statecraft. I asked your friend Roque to do it, if that’s fine with you. Actually, he asked me. Same difference.”
“No. No, that’s better actually.” It’ll be good for Roque to be included as much as possible. There’s mending that needs doing. Public displays of friendship are a good place to start.
Lorn props his back against the tree. “My old bones creak at night. I’m going to check on security so I don’t have to talk to any of these slippery people.” He watches a ripWing pass high overhead.
“Let someone else do that.” A Pink hands Lorn the tumbler of whiskey I ordered. His favorite label. He sniffs, subdued. “I only get to see you in armor. Act the proper mentor and stick around. We’ve got two bottles of the Lagavulin for you.”
“Back to your old tricks. Two bottles for an extra two hours of training, wasn’t that the deal? Should have charged more. Ha!”
He limps off with his whiskey to play tag with his grandchildren in the trees. I watch the Pink who delivered his drink slip back into the crowd, her movement vaguely familiar.
A woman loops her arm in mine. I turn excitedly only to find Victra. She doesn’t notice my disappointment.
“I do hope the Violets put lions instead of a pegasus on your Mask.” She laughs at my expression. “Yes, the rumor is already aflight. Darrow au Augustus.” She shivers playfully. “The women will come running.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, shut up.”
“Make me.” She slides her hand along my low back. “It’s a shame you already settled down.” Nodding to a group of young Peerless from the Gas Giants, she leans close. “But does it mean you can’t play?”
“Do you just enjoy trying to make me blush?”
She pulls the laurel wreath from my head and places it on her own, curtsying foolishly. “You’ve found me out. Where is your little Mustang anyway?”
“Why is everyone so damn curious?”
“Darrow.” Roque joins us, holding an ivory box large enough for the Triumph Mask. He’s sleek in a black Praetor’s uniform, hair slicked back. “I believe we’re supposed to gather for the Mask presentation. Do you know where? I’m a bit confused about this whole affair.”
Victra frowns. “Citadel staff is still discombobulated. The Bellona had the place for a month. Adrius had to comb through the Pinks for spies. Especially after what happened in Attica. He’s got his men everywhere tonight. Oh, hell. It’s starting.” She sets my laurel wreath back on my head and pulls me toward the clearing where the Golds assemble. Sevro cuts across my path, stopping us.
“Darrow,” he says quickly, then, looking to Victra, “take a hike.” She scrunches her face and leaves.
“You like her,” I tease. “I can tell.”
He ignores me. “He’s still not here.”
“Fitchner? You call his datapad?”
“Isn’t going through. The bastard said he was coming. So if he isn’t here, something important must be happening. I should check.”
“Check.” I grab his arm. “But call Ragnar. And be careful.”
“I’m always careful.”
It’s strange watching him leave. Like watching my shadow depart and realizing its destiny may be separate from mine. Perhaps in the end, he’s more important than I. Truly a child of two worlds.
I follow the crowd through the trees. Little lanterns make homes in the branches, bathing the clearing in a warm white glow. There are no Whites present. No formalities here. It’s as understated as the Triumph was grand. The crowd parts for me. I walk onto the white cobblestones where Lorn sits with his grandchildren on the edge of a dolphin fountain. Augustus motions me to stand by him near a statue of a blind maiden holding a scale and a sword. It drowns in ivy. The Jackal joins us.
“I hear we’re going to be brothers,” I tell him.
“Well, who says you can’t choose family?” He glances distractedly at his datapad. “Better you than that bastard Cassius. Glad Octavia failed in that little scheme.”
“Something the matter?” I ask.
“More gorydamn requisition orders.” He looks up from his datapad. “Sorry. All’s prime on Mars, my goodman. Just wish my sister were here. You still wouldn’t know where she is, would you?”
I shake my head. With each mention, Mustang grows a little more distant. I held out hope she’d appear. Make a grand entrance and I’d know all was well. But some fantasies don’t come true.
“Your pardon! My goodmen!” Augustus announces, cutting through the murmur of conversation. “Thank you.” He clears his throat and extends a welcome to Mars’s many guests, tipping his head to the ArchGoverness of Triton. “Though our glasses sparkle and bellies are full, this night will not last.” He peers through his guests, voice firm and dry in the damp air. Fireflies glow amongst the trees.
“We know that this is only the beginning. War will require much from us. But let us not be so hasty as to pass over a victory such as the one we saw just a few weeks ago. A triumph of will, loyalty, strength.
“All that grandeur of the parade was for them. Quiet moments like this are for us.” He taps his facial scar once. “Where we, despite our differences, can nod our heads and raises our glasses to a unique accomplishment of will. It was not done alone. But the Rain was called by one man. So, Darrow au Andromedus, we salute you.”
“Hail, Reaper!” Lorn calls, mocking me only slightly.
The glasses rise through the clearing as voices murmur agreement. And they drink. It feels so hollow looking to my left and seeing the Jackal instead of Mustang. To smile feels so false, knowing all this will soon crumble apart. Victra seems to sense my mood, and so she winks tilting her glass to me.
Augustus motions Roque, who comes forward with the large ivory box cradled in his arms. He sets the box in my hands and puts one of his atop so I can’t yet open it.
“You and I have seen much together.” His voice is calm and even. “The night I first met you, you were on the floor of Mars Castle looking at the blood on your hands. Do you remember what I said?”
His other hand touches my right wrist, the tenderness something out of the past, when our hands had less calluses, less scars.