—
My Praetorians follow along as Diomedes and I fly east of Plutus. He touches down in the high gardens etched into the side of a dormant volcano. I land next to him in the grass before a discreet door in thestone. He removes his helmet and breathes in the air. It still smells of smoke, but notes of cherry blossoms and citrus cut through the lingering stench of battle.
We head for the shrine and my Praetorians follow. He turns with a frown. “Only Golds are allowed inside.”
“Of course. Kyber, Markus. Wait here.”
Kyber obeys, but Markus’s eyes narrow.
I fall in with Diomedes. “I feared many of your relics would be stolen in the sack of Io,” I say.
“It is not always good to draw attention to precious things,” he replies and spits on the door. He smiles at my expression. The door does not open, but another one does ten meters to the right. I follow Diomedes through.
The sanctum is cold and lit with green globes. Somewhere water rushes. Diomedes leads me through an antechamber and down a stairwell. “I did not think it proper to ask for the shield until after the threat was gone,” I say, growing a little uneasy.
“Lysander, I have always treated you with respect. Do me that same courtesy,” he says.
I stop on the stairs. Diomedes has played me. “The shield is not here.”
“Are you calling me a liar?” he replies. He has stopped as well, beneath me on the stairs, but has not turned around. I have my razor. I could strike him down.
“Whatever you heard, I didn’t know about Kalyke. About any of this,” I say.
“Any of what?” he asks softly.
“Diomedes—”
“Say his name.”
“Atlas.”
“You know how I knew it was him, in the end? Back on Mercury. When he met us at the theater. He couldn’t resist mocking us. ‘Had I a moonBreaker in my palm, I’d shake even the devil’s hand with a grin.’ He is only a mortal man, Lysander. He errs, too.” He looks up at me. His eyes glint in the low light, measuring me. “I know you came out here for unity. That much is clear. You honored our alliance, and you had no knowledge of my uncle’s attack on theDustmaker. After Kalyke it must have been either Atlas’s version of unity or death. If it was not you, hewould hand the Morning Chair to Atalantia. I believe I understand why you chose what you chose.”
I feel ashamed, but there’s some relief in his words. The incisive fairness.
“It’s not what you would have chosen,” I say.
He smiles. “I would never have been given that choice. I’m not known as a man to compromise. I am working on that.”
“Have you told anyone else?” I ask.
“No. It can remain that way. It depends on the outcome of this conversation.” He walks on down. I frown, not understanding. “Honor does not mean I am absent discretion.”
I could run. I am very fast, but so is Diomedes. I doubt he would chase me, even then. He does not need to. He knows I have to follow, so I do. The stairs even lead out to a subterranean garden. Shafts of sunlight lance through the gloom and gather on strange chunks of stone which glow to spread the light evenly. The room pulses with a bluish white light. Several indigo rose trees reach for the nearest shafts. The air is fragrant, kind. In the center of the garden lies a stone shrine.
“You’ve had my back. Now I have yours,” Diomedes says and motions me to lead into the shrine. I walk up the steps. He follows. The walls of the shrine are composed of ionic columns and open. Passing through them into the dimmer light of the shrine I become aware of a scent. It is a heavy scent. A nostalgic scent. Wet fur. I’m taken back to that night on the Palatine when I saw a wolf floating outside my window. I step backward. Diomedes forms a wall behind me. Gently, he pushes me forward. Then I see the shrine’s lone occupant sitting on a bench by a white rose tree with a twirling trunk that spears its way through the shrine’s roof. Light lances in from many directions.
A broad-shouldered man sits on one of several benches surrounding a central pool before an altar where the Shield of Akari lies with a box set atop it. The man sits hunched, his back to us, a black hasta around his right arm, a razor around his left. Hearing our approach, he half turns. A pale scar runs down the right side of his hard face. My heart thunders in my chest. My feet slow. My hand grips my razor, and I know how it is Diomedes performed his miracle and survived Kalyke.
The man on the bench is Darrow of Lykos.
82
DARROW
Civil Discourse
Diomedes has betrayed me.Seeing him enter the shrine with Lysander instead of his grandmother, I bolt to my feet and draw my hasta. Lysander’s razor is already in his hand. At first I did not recognize the young man. War has that effect on the face and eyes. It’s reassuring that it touches even the shiniest boy on the Palatine. His face has been thinned out by anxiety, his eyes made brittle by concession and sacrifice.
