“Good. Then you know. This whole time, Sevro’s been giving me shit for missing the war. I don’t love my people very much. But I do feel sorry that they had to facethoseObsidians. They’re not like they used to be when I was your age.” He scratches his neck. “War isn’t like it used to be. Used to have a modicum of civility. Point is, the idea of you having anything to do with those monstrosities makes me nauseous with anxiety. Swear to me, we will talk before you do anything stupid or agree to anything stupid. Darrow is good at getting people to agree to do stupid things.”
“Like going to the Dockyards of Venus?”
“I have never claimed to be a role model.”
His concern makes me feel weird. Sad to leave him, I look back at the halls leading into theArchi.It feels a little like home. “Very well, I will seek your counsel prior to any bad decisions.” I spit in my hand and stick it out. He hates that. But he spits in his and we spitshake.
“Good. Now, get thee hence, foul ragamuffin. I hear the Deep is gloomy and dour as a Moonie’s sonnet. You won’t want to miss it.” He hands me a tiny flask. I take it and give a little shake, feeling its contents slosh around. “Had to make sure it was good enough for your discerning palate,” Cassius says.
I thank him and head down the ramp to join the others. I stop in the rain and jog back to him. He smiles, a little confused. I say in a rush,“What you did on Io. Why you did it. It’s just…” I look down, feeling stupid, knowing he doesn’t need compliments from me. “I dunno. I just think you’re a good man and you have a huge heart and I don’t think people say that enough. Just wanted you to know that I see it, Bellona.”
For once, he doesn’t have anything ironic to say. His eyes glitter, and he bends, looks into my eyes, and kisses me on the cheek. I’m filled with an urge to protect him and his too-fragile heart. “Go on now. Before I try to keep you,” he says.
I catch up with Darrow and the others just as they descend the ramp to meet a new group of heavily armored Red troopers. They are tough, thick-necked men and women with buzzed heads, faces like a vagrant’s heel, and big guns. They greet Cheon with salutes.
An Orange man with a thin jaw and huge eyes grasps Cheon’s arm. “Ares fought.”
“Athena fights,” she replies. He repeats the rite with Aurae with a little more flirtation.
The Pink seems nervous around her own people. If she was deep cover, I guess shewouldfeel like an outsider amongst the Daughters. She keeps glancing at Diomedes in worry. The Orange whistles when he spies Darrow and Sevro through the rain. “Honored, Reaper, Son of Ares. Honored. When the communique came through…Well. I didn’t believe it. Honored.” His eyes narrow when he sees Sigurd, as if he thinks the man’s hands should not be just bound behind his back but chopped off completely. His most unusual response is reserved for Diomedes.
He just starts laughing.
“How the mighty have fallen.” He spits on the Gold. Diomedes does not react, and the rain soon cleans the spit from his face. Par for the course: the man’s expression of boredom is chiseled in stone. Don’t think I’ve seen him emote once, except sometimes when he’s looking at Aurae when she can’t see him. Movement on the horizon draws my attention away. I squint through the rain, just making out the lights of an island city looming like a mountain out in the gloom.
When I look back to the group, almost everyone is gone down a stairwell. Cheon waves to me. “Any day now, lass.” I jog up. “You’re the pilot. Lyria of Lagalos. Cheon.” She extends a hand. It’s half again as big as mine, and her grip punishes.
“I’m not really a pilot,” I say and descend the stairs with her.
“I saw. And I’m not really a soldier either,” she rumbles, entirely unconvincing. “Was that mantheCassius au Bellona? Quite the gilded complement the Reaper has.”
“He saved those kids and Greens, I’ll remind you,” I say.
“Aye, at the cost of half my men.”
“I’m sorry.” She shrugs. “You’re a gas miner, yeah? From one of the floating rigs on Jupiter?” I ask.
“You a silk spinner? A spider breeder? Ain’t that what Red lasses do on Mars?” she replies.
“They also sing,” I say. “And serve on the front lines.”
“Just right, lass. Just right. We’re more than the utility they made us for,” she says.
Astounded by any Red who could or would go toe to toe with Obsidians, I had wanted to meet Cheon soon as she came aboard. Yet I find myself disliking her more with every passing second.
We reach the bottom of the stairs and come out onto a submarine dock. We pass a dozen lightly armored Grays stacked in a heap, dead. The former guards of the solar island, it seems. A black and gold sea beast is emblazoned on their chest plates. “Cyaxares,” I murmur.
“What you know about that monster?” Cheon says.
I shrug. “He might be on the menu soon. The dragon eaters are coming.”
The submarine that awaits us is shaped like a wedge of Lunese cheese. I file after the others into a pressurized hold located at the top of the dense and heavily patched craft. It stinks from a legacy of rust, brine, and sweating bodies. Cheon’s troopers lock into harnesses in a row of crash seats bolted to the floor. There’s enough for a hundred passengers. My party takes the row on the opposite side of the hold. Darrow locks in Diomedes’s harness before locking in his own. The bag he’s carried with him rests on the floor by his feet. Darrow and Diomedes look comical in the small seats. Sevro looks like he’d rather swim down than buckle himself into his seat. His anxiety is obvious.
I take my seat next to Aurae. She’s just as nervous as Sevro.
“Don’t like submarines?” I ask.
“Never been on one, but I do try to embrace new things,” she replies, her eyes on Cheon.
