“Fá said your people were an ouroboros. Do you know what that is?” She shakes her head. “It’s a circular symbol of a snake eating its own tale. It represents infinity. The Golds created for your culture a cycle of violence that can never be escaped, Volga. I think you see that in the Ascomanni. How deep a culture can sink if it gets trapped in that loop.” She nods. “We’re seeing it with this war everywhere now.
“Part of that is the fault of our enemy, and part of that is my fault.Especially when it comes to the Volk. I promised your father I would build a future for the Obsidian. I didn’t. I just took the handle the Golds made on their Obsidian axe and used it like they did. Sefi saw that, so did others, like Atlas and Fá. Sefi began to resent it and look at me the same way you’re looking at me now. With suspicion. Resentment.
“Sefi really was a great woman, Volga. A visionary, I think, who will never get the credit she deserves. She knew that to have a future, the Obsidians must escape the ouroboros that is war. She tried to change how others saw them, how they saw themselves, to give them an identity beyond war. She thought she could make education a bridge to the modern world.
“She wasn’t wrong. She just didn’t get a chance to see it through before Atlas swooped down and grabbed the axe by its handle. I let you kill Fá because I think you can see it through. I think you are the bridge Sefi was looking for.”
She snorts. “Ephraim was smoother at greasing a mark.”
“You think I am patronizing you. Do you think any of the other jarls would be mad at me for giving them my endorsement?” That lands. “You are skeptical because you know the modern world in a way Sefi never could. Your teacher was a Gray. You found a way to thrive in the city jungle that is Luna. It’s a pitiless place, I know. Most important, you never served anyone as a weapon of war. You know what it’s like to live in the Republic. The struggle of the lowColors in its cities, the mundanity of just being a citizen without the privilege or the weight of a uniform. You know what the Republic promises Obsidians and how it falls short better than Sefi could. Better than I could. Atop a throne, everything beneath it seems so small.
“The Golds made your people to be weapons to be wielded. Your warrior culture, the Volk religion, your superstitions are the handle. There will always be a hand reaching for it.”
“Like yours.”
“Is that what you think?” I ask.
“You want me to sail back to Mars and fight for you. And when we have, you will remember what we did out here. What I did. And you will discard us like you did Fá.”
“My hands are dirty too,” I say. “If the Daughters of Athena canforgive me, the Republic can forgive the Volk. At the end of today, Sevro will hand whoever sits on that throne an olive branch. That branch will be an offer of amnesty for the Volk braves from the Republic, and a blank slate with me. A chance to start fresh, and yes, an offer to return with me to fight for Mars. But it’s not just my family or people trapped on Mars. It is the heart of the Volk people too. This army is just the Volk’s fists, its feet, throwing a tantrum, while the children, the old, many of the women of the Volk, are back on Mars fighting for their lives. I would like this army to redeem itself, to unite the Volk and stand with the rest of the Republic against the Society, but it is not my choice to make.”
“And if…whoever sits on the throne says no?” she asks.
I lift my hands. “You are in hostile territory without the Gold strategist who made this campaign so easy or the strongman who bound you all together. You have mostly men, many of whom hate each other. You no longer have the Ascomanni as allies. The Rim may be vast, but sooner or later, the Shadow Armada will arrive. Until then you will be facing endless attacks from guerilla fighters. And if you outlast all that, when Atalantia is done with Mars, she will come out here at her leisure and annihilate you. So I will wish you good luck, and I will go home.”
She leans back. “This is what the braves are saying. They know we have no options. They know you are our only hope out of here. Fjod says we can take Ganymede, then keep raiding out to Titan. Uther says we should take the Garter and rule the Rim. Skarde says we should go back with you. But you didn’t let Skarde kill Fá. You let your choice be known. Why not just make me queen yesterday? Why manipulate us?”
“Because otherwise they would have felt you had been imposed upon them. You think you’re dirty, Volga. But to them, you are clean. You are literally the only Obsidian here who didn’t commit treason against the Republic and attack it with the Alltribe. You didn’t stand by and watch Sefi get butchered by Fá. You didn’t sack Martian cities. In fact, you gave yourself up to spare Mars more bloodshed. To protect the Republic.
“And yes, because you are a woman, and it is that half of their people they betrayed the most. Their mothers, their sisters, their queen. Not only that. A Red came for you, and they know Reds and Obsidians are a terrifying power when they are united. If they pick you, they believe they can come back from the dark to a home that just might forgivethem. You are not a puppet queen, Volga. You are hope. I can’t give that to them. The Volk must choose hope as we do in the Republic. With a vote.”
She looks overwhelmed. Terrified, even, by the weight suddenly thrust on her. “I called Fá unworthy,” she says. “I know nothing about leading a people. He made it look so easy. They are insane, many of the braves. Terrifying people.”
“Who will have voted for you,” I say. “You will not have the power of Fá over them. You should never want to. They will bitch, they will moan, that’s a demokracy. It will not be fun. It will not be easy. But you will have help, if you want it.”
She rocks a little, the weight of her people on her. It’s not fair, the responsibility she’s been given. She still feels like an outsider, and probably will for a long time. But it is what it is.
“I promised I wouldn’t talk about your da, but I have to. Everyone calls him the Shield back home. But I remember him mostly for what he said to me once: ‘A man thinks he can fly, but he is afraid to jump. A poor friend pushes him from behind. A good friend jumps with.’ He was that friend for me. You have that friend already in Lyria. But if you want, you will have me and Sevro too.”
She considers that and nods. “Be honest then. Do we sail to death? Atalantia is so strong, everyone says. If we lose again, we will be nothing.”
“You’ve only seen your people fight for greed, Volga. I have seen them fight for hope. It is another thing entirely. And you will not be fighting alone. Virginia is gathering her power. Storing it up for one last effort. When I return, Mars will rise and the Golds will fall.”
“If we win, you must not forget us,” she says, and plows on as if I don’t understand. “This is what they fear more than anything. To be made fools of twice. That we will be used and spat out. We have seen the Raa with you. We know you want peace with them. The Rim will never forgive us for what we have done here. What will happen when they ask for our heads from the Republic?”
“They won’t forgive, no. But you can start making amends.”
“How?”
“This is not my home. So before your coronation, perhaps you should meet with Diomedes, meet with Athena, and ask them.”
Her eyes rise as Lyria’s shuttle banks back around far more elegantlythan the first time and performs a perfect hot drop. Only it must be Cassius flying, because it is Lyria who jumps down.
“We just got a call from Sevro. The vote’s been tallied.”
She looks at Volga with a mixture of pride and terrible worry. Then she goes to a knee. Volga hangs her head for a long moment, then looks back and says, “I would like to be your friend. But if you mean what you say, when I am crowned, you should not be there.”
78
