Golden Son (Red Rising Trilogy, #2)(124)

“He does.”

“What’s changed?”

I shrug and wonder how long Sevro has known about his father’s true identity. Seems impossible he was as blind as I. Was someone lying to me for a change?

“And Lorn?” I ask.

“He’s with that harpy, Victra.”

“What’s wrong with Victra?”

“Aside from the fact that she flirts with everything that moves? Nothing.”

“Wait. She flirts with you? Tell me more about that.”

“Shut it.” Mustang swats at me. But her smile falls just as quick and she pulls her hand back. “Lorn’s taken Victra under his wing. Seems he’s comfortable allying his family with the Julii. Victra’s mother has agreed to the pact. Three of the most powerful houses on Mars united under my family. A triumvirate against the Sovereign. The Governors of the Gas Giants are on their way to Agea for a summit. So too are the Reformers. You were right. We take Mars, we have a chance against Octavia. This isn’t just a battle any longer. It’s a civil war. And not a pointless one, it seems. Father is making talk of giving the Reformers a chance at the table. That … this means something.”

I remember my conversation with the man. “And you believe him?”

“I do, Darrow.” She smiles hopefully. “For the first time in a long time, I really do.”

I am not so sure. “What about …”

“Cassius?” she guesses quietly. “His father was killed by the Telemanuses, and he fought Ragnar on the wall. All his brothers and sisters are reported dead. But he and his mother are missing.”

I note her quiet. “Are you worried he’s dead?”

“He is our enemy,” she says flatly. “His welfare isn’t my concern.” She examines my eyes closely. “Are you worried?”

“I don’t know.” I consider.

“Goryhell. You’re so tender sometimes. Do you regret cutting off his arm, too?”

“I regret killing Julian.”

“We’re all stained by the past.” Mustang considers. “You forget I had to kill someone in the Passage too. Every Peerless Scarred you’ve ever met—Lorn, Sevro, Pebble, Tactus, Octavia, Daxo, we all started there. Often I think there’s too much to regret.”

Is she talking about us? Am I a regret?

“I want to hate Cassius,” I say slowly. “I really do. Even thinking of him makes me want to crush something. Break a window. Or, preferably, his ugly smug face.”

“Ugly?” she asks skeptically.

“So pretty he’s ugly.”

Mustang laughs at that. “But it’s hard to keep the hate going, isn’t it?” she asks.

I nod. Hate is what made Cassius’s family throw themselves against Augustus’s. Look what that brought them. “I pity him. Wherever he is.”

“Earlier I told you not to trust my brother,” Mustang says, redirecting the conversation. “I meant it. I know you continued your alliance with him. His companies are making you seem like a god. But it has to end. You owe him nothing. Be cordial. Be polite. Don’t disrespect him in public. But no more meetings. No more promises. Cut him off. You don’t need him anymore. You have me.”

This girl. Would that I could introduce her to Mother, to Kieran and Leanna. They’d like her fire. My throat tightens slowly. Eo would like her too.

“I don’t have you,” I say.

“Darrow …”

Something strange twists inside me. Like a tight spring of emotion finally allowed to uncoil. “When I was on the bottom of the river … I knew I wouldn’t see you again.”

She hesitates, wanting to reach for me, but resisting because of all we’ve said before. “You know you don’t have my leave to die,” she jokes instead. “Anyway, Sevro and the Howlers would never forgive you if you tried. None of them would. You’ve so many friends, Darrow. So many who’d run through fire for you.”

So many who have been burned. Shuddering, I take a long breath and close my eyes, trying not to let the guilt swallow me. The tears come quietly, trickling out the corners of my eyes.

“Darrow. Don’t cry,” Mustang whispers, reaching for me now. She scoots closer, holding me. “It’s all right. It’s all over. We’re safe.”

The sobs come, racking my chest.

She’s wrong. It’s not over. All I see behind my eyelids is a world of war. There is no other future for me, for us. Yet how many times have I already been pieced back together? How much longer can all these stitches hold? In the end, will there even be pieces left of me? I can’t stop crying. Can’t even catch my breath. Heart thundering. Hands shaking. It all comes out of me. Mustang, barely half my weight, holds me with her gentle arms till I’m exhausted and can do nothing but sink back into the bed. In time, my heart slows, finding rhythm to match hers.

We sit that way for what must be an hour. Eventually, she kisses my shoulder, my neck, lips pausing along the jugular as it pulses. I move my hands to move her away, but she pushes them to the side and cups my face with a hand.

“Let me in.”

I let my hands fall to the bed. Her mouth crafts a warm path to mine. There we share the taste of my tears as her top lips slides between my own and her tongue warms the inside of my mouth. Her hand slides up my neck, nails grazing the skin, till she finds purchase in my hair, tugging slightly at the tangle. Shivers lance my body.