Golden Son (Red Rising Trilogy, #2)(29)

I draw away from friends, from Victra. She’s asked Roque what is wrong with me. I know he will answer that I’m like the wind, a creature of vagary and moods. Or something like that. He draws closer to me, visiting my rooms when I’ve gone to bed, attempting to spar with me in the gymnasium. But I cannot smile with him or listen to his soft voice read poems or discuss philosophy or even share jokes. I can’t let myself feel for him, because I know he will soon be dead. I try to kill him in my heart before I kill him in the flesh.

Can I add him to the list of those I’ve already sent to the grave?

I finally find my answer the night of the gala, when Theodora brings me my pressed clothing from the laundry. She doesn’t say anything that reminds me of Roque. Doesn’t offer pithy wisdom. Instead, she does something I’ve never seen from her. She makes a mistake. While setting my uniform down on a chair, she knocks over a glass of wine on a nearby table. The wine splashes over the sleeve of my white uniform. What flashes through her eyes chills me—terror. The sort a deer might have when staring at an oncoming aircar. She streams out apologies as though I would hit her if she did not. It takes her a moment to compose herself, for the flash of panic to dissipate. When it does, she sits there on the floor, dabbing at the uniform in silence.

I don’t know what to do. I stand there awkwardly for a moment before putting a hand on her shoulder to tell her all’s well. That’s when she begins to cry in great heaving sobs that rack her small shoulders. She flinches from my touch and composes herself, telling me I’ll have to wear black instead of white. She may not know what is about to happen, but she can feel it in me, in the air.

While the other lancers play with each other, take microabrasion baths, and consult with stylists to prepare themselves for the gala, I lace up my thick military boots with trembling fingers. I’ve never been good at saving my friends. It seems I always drag them into harm’s way. Sevro, I believe, is only still alive because of the distance between us. Fitchner was always afraid I’d kill his son. Said my life’s strand was so strong that it frayed all those around it. Now, seeing Theodora like that … it reminds me how fragile and complicated we really are. I don’t know why she cried. Some past trauma? Some sense of what’s to come? Not knowing reminds me of the depth to the people around me. I am speechless, cold, but Roque is warm … he would have known what to say.

I knock on his door several minutes before Augustus’s entourage is set to depart the villa for the gala. There is no answer. I open the door and find my friend sitting on his bed, holding an ancient book gently by its spine. His smooth features ripple into a smile when he sees it is me.

“I thought you were Tactus come to beg me to shoot some stims before the gala. He always thinks because I’m reading, I’m not doing anything. There is no greater plague to an introvert than the extroverted. Especially that beast. He will run himself into the ground one of these days.”

I force a chuckle. “At least he’s sincere about his vices.”

“Have you met his brothers yet?” Roque asks. I shake my head. “They make Tactus look like a lamb.”

“Goryhell,” I swear. I lean against the door’s frame. “That bad?”

“The Rath brothers? They are terrible. Terribly rich. Terribly talented. And their chief virtue lies in their ability to sin. They’re prodigies at it.” Roque grins conspiratorially. “If you believe rumors—and I love rumors, remind me of Byron and Wilde—Tactus’s brothers opened a brothel in Agea when they were fourteen. Classy affair till they started arranging more … customized experiences.”

“Then what happened?”

“Ruined daughters, sons. Insults. Duels. Dead heirs. Debt. Poison.” He shrugs. “It’s the Rath family. What do you expect from those blackguards? It’s why everyone was so surprised Tactus had taken up with an Iron Gold like you,” he clarifies. “You know his brothers mock him for being in your shadow. It’s why he’s always so sarcastic. He wants to be like you, but he can’t. So he resorts to his usual defenses.” He frowns. “Sometimes I feel like you understand all of us better than we understand ourselves. Then other times, it’s like you could care less.” Roque tilts his head at me when I say nothing. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re never one for nothing.” He sets his book down on his chest and pats the edge of the bed, drawing me into the room. “Sit, please.”

“I came because I wanted to apologize,” I say very slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’ve been distant these last months, particularly these last days. I don’t think I was fair to you. Not when you’ve been my most loyal friend. Well, you and Sevro, but he won’t stop sending me strange pictures over the net.”

“More unicorns?”

I laugh. “I think he has a problem.”

Roque pats my hand. “Thank you. But you’re like a hound apologizing for wagging its tail. You’re always distant, Darrow. You don’t have to apologize for how you are, not to me.”

“More distant, perhaps?”

“Perhaps,” he agrees, allowing it. “We all have our own tides inside us. They go in. Out.” He shrugs. “Not really ours to control. The things, people, that orbit us do that, at least more than we’d like to admit.” After watching me a moment, he furrows his brow in thought. “Is this about Mustang? I know it was hard for you to leave her, no matter what you said at the time. You should seek her out while we’re here. I know you miss her.”