Golden Son

“I think he broke Daxo,” Pebble giggles.

“Does anyone smell that?” Clown asks.

“I smell bacon,” Daxo tries. There’s a crunch as he bites into a piece.

“No,” Clown says. “Smells like a suicidal madman recently risen from the dead after conquering a planet and abandoning his friends to get himself cut to gory ribbons like a slagging fool.”

Daxo sniffs. “That’s a particular scent.”

“Oh, Darrow dear,” Clown calls. “Are you lurking behind the door?”

Mustang pushes me out awkwardly.

“You eavesdropping Pixie!” Daxo glides to his feet and pulls me into a surprisingly gentle hug. The golden angels on his bald head glitter in the morning light. “Glad to see you, my friend.”

They all greet me in turn. More hugs than I’ve ever received from Golds. Roque hugs me mechanically. A perfunctory gesture. There is still mending to be done.

I gorge myself on breakfast as my friends banter. We spend the day on the property, whiling away time in conversation and games. It’s been so long since I’ve had either that I’ve nearly forgotten how to do nothing. Mustang has to kiss my ear and tell me to relax three times before it really sticks. We’re in the library listening to music when she sees Roque out the window on the lawn. She nudges me.

“Go.”

I find Roque watching a pair of deer eat from a feeder underneath an old elm. He doesn’t turn to look at me as I sidle up next to him. It smells like fresh-cut grass. The sea somewhere over the hill.

“It makes sense this is where Mustang grew up,” I say. “It’s wild and tranquil all at once.”

“My home was in the city,” Roque says. “Though I snuck off to the country with my tutors whenever Mother was away. Which was often. She seemed to think there was nothing out here worthwhile. That the business of cities was more important than this. But this why we fight, isn’t it?”

“For land?” I ask.

“For peace, in whatever way we find it.” He turns to me. “Isn’t that why you fight?”

“Some of us weren’t born with peace,” I say, gesturing to the deer and the land. “I didn’t have this growing up. Anything I have now or will have in the future I have to earn. But you’re right. It’s why I fight, so I can have this for me and the people I care about.”

His eyes search my face. “Fair enough.”

“I want to apologize to you, Roque.”

“Oh?”

“Since the Academy, I’ve kept you at arm’s length. I’ve taken you for granted. I shouldn’t have done that. Not when you’ve always been so kind to me.”

“I didn’t mind that it was always about you, Darrow. That was what burned Tactus, but nor me. I’m not in love with you like Mustang. I don’t worship you like Sevro or the Howlers. I was a true friend. I was someone who saw your light and your dark and accepted both without judgment, without agenda. And what did you do to me? You used me like a man uses a horse. I’m better than that. Quinn was better than that.”

“Are you better than this friendship?” I ask quietly, afraid of the answer.

“I think I’m better than you,” he says. I step back, wounded. He watches the deer nibble at the grain in the feeder. “I’ve sat by the bedsides of three friends this year. Quinn, Tactus, and you. Each time I knew I would have gladly have switched places with any of you. Would you wish the same?”

“I’d give my life to bring them back,” I say, knowing it is a lie. Much as I love these Golds, I have greater responsibilities. Until this is over, it’s not my life to give.

He turns from the deer to watch me, eyes warm and sad and carrying so much more weight than they ever should. He’s different from me, from Cassius. We called him brother, and he was one better than either of us deserved. “Have you ever wondered why they put me in House Mars? I’m not the typical draft. Most would probably put me in Apollo or Juno.”

“Quinn always had that competition in her blood. But you … Yes, I’ve wondered.”

“Darrow.” I turn to see Sevro standing behind us in uniform. “It’s urgent.”

“Not now, Sevro.”

“Reap, I’m not shitting you,” he says.

I look back to Roque. “Go,” he says, and walks toward the deer, pulling berries from his pocket.

“Roque,” I call to him plaintively.

“Friendships take minutes to make, moments to break, years to repair,” he says, turning to glance over his shoulder. “We’ll talk again soon.”

I watch him go, feeling a small bit of hope warm me. I turn to Sevro and clap his shoulder. “Good to see you. Sorry about—”

“Piss off. I’m not a whiny little bitch like the poet. It’s Ares. Your friends, the Red, the Pink, and the Violet, have gotten themselves captured.”

“By whom?”

“Who do you think? The Jackal.”

45

Helldivers

My ship lands in the early morning snowfall of Attica, a southern mountain city set on seven peaks. Jagged buildings of steel and glass christen the peaks like icy thorn crowns, now dusted with fresh powder. The red morning sun rises over the mountain range to the east. Bridges link the seven peaks, and the city’s lesser wards spill around the roots of the mountains. My shuttle flies over them. Plows melt paths through the snow with pulsing orange blades. Soon, midColor landcars will flow along the avenues. And highColor shuttles will ferry Silvers and Golds to their offices on the mountain peaks. Remote and renowned for its banking, Attica is a prime seat of power. It belongs now to the Jackal.

Under heavy guard by ripWings, I land on a platform surrounded by evergreens. Several lurchers wait there in white tactical gear. A lone Gold stands with them. Victra embraces me with a hug, a white fur pelt pulled tight about her shoulders. Jade earrings clatter in the breeze as the Grays inspect the outside of my ship.

“Victra,” I say, holding her back to look at her. She grins devilishly and kisses my cheek, grabbing my butt as she does. I jump in surprise. She laughs merrily.

“Just making sure the pieces are in order. You had us worried, darling. Roque kept me apprised while I was with Lorn.”

“Brokering another alliance, I hear.”