I glance through the columns out into the garden for signs of Praetorians or Gorgons. The only thing that moves are the weird lizards eating thorns from the rose trees. That doesn’t mean Atlas isn’t out there.
Shit.
I level Pyrphoros at Lysander. He’s taken a fighter’s stance and searches the recesses of the shrine just as I search the trees outside it for enemies. He didn’t know I’d be here either. What game is Diomedes playing?
“Diomedes, if that’s Gaia, compliments to your carvers,” I say.
“Diomedes, what is this?” Lysander asks.
“Civility.” Diomedes walks over to one of the benches and takes a seat. My fear dissipates a little, but the confusion remains. “Goodmen, enough. I’ll not have my guests shed each other’s blood.”
“Guests?” Lysander asks.
“This is my moon. You are my guests,” Diomedes replies. “Please. Rest your blades. They’ve had their say. Now I’ll have mine. We are alone here. I’ve made sure of it.” His gesture to the benches is gentle, but his voice is not. “Sit.”
“So much for never lying,” I say. “Atlas could be just outside.”
“Lysander,” Diomedes says. “Let us not play games. Where is Atlas?”
“I don’t know,” he replies. His eyes dart toward the box.
“Wouldn’t be his first lie either,” I say, still watching the garden beyond the columns.
“Darrow, stop,” Diomedes says.
Lysander looks embarrassed. “Diomedes—”
“No. It is not your time to speak. It is mine.” The authority in Diomedes’s voice goes unchallenged by Lysander. “Darrow, you’ve implored me to trust you and in return you have trusted me this far…”
Recalling my blade, I take a seat. Wary, Lysander stays on guard, his blade pointed at me until he reaches the bench opposite me on the other side of the pool. He sits but keeps his blade in his lap. I yearn to take it from him and shove it down his throat. My eyes drift to his sidearm, my thoughts to Alexandar.
Diomedes must see the machinations taking place in my mind.
“Our fight is not with him,” Diomedes says.
Lysander’s eyebrows float up. “Our?”
Diomedes walks to the box atop the Shield of Akari and pulls out Fá’s head. Lysander blanches. “You chose the twisted path we find ourselves upon, Lune.” Diomedes stuffs the head back in the box. “Darrow straightened part of it.”
“I—did not know what Atlas had planned. Not until it was too late.”
“That is why you are still alive,” Diomedes says. “And I am still alive thanks to the both of you. That is why we are here today.”
Lysander and I stare at each other across the pool. He keeps glancing at the box, and I keep searching for Atlas in the Garden. Diomedes rubs his hands together in thought. “After today, I will likely be appointed Hegemon. A post that has not existed since Akari retired it. Ilium may be on its knees, but the Rim is not bereft of strength. Though most of it is not here yet. When I hold the Spear of Akari, I will be in total command of the Shadow Armada, and the local garrisons of Uranus, Neptune, and Saturn. Unfortunately, even then, I will be the weakest party in this shrine. Yet even with the strength we three represent, there is one who eclipses our combined strength. Not Atlas. Atalantia au Grimmus. Many of the evils that have befallen us have been on her orders via her schemes and her agents. She has used Atlas to outplayus. I imagine, Lysander, that Atlas has given you her role in this little play?”
Lysander nods. “To spare further loss of life—”
“Three years. Yes. We know.” He nods to Fá’s box. “While we have torn each other apart, she has only grown stronger. As I see it, we have two choices before us. Either we can continue as we have and you two can pound each other apart over Io or Europa—”
“Happy to,” I say. “The last time we met, I was on my knees due to the efforts of your betters, boy. This time, you’ll have my full attention.”
“Agreed. I welcome the contest,” Lysander says. He is not afraid, and that makes me happy. It’s less fun killing people who are afraid. “But I have the advantage in mass and firepower, Darrow. And I have theLightbringer. You will lose.”
It’s a taunt. He believes it a fact.
“Maybe. But either way, I’ll still kill you,” I say.
“No matter who wins, you both lose,” Diomedes says. “The victor will limp home and Atalantia will open her jaws and chew the remains. Both of you pride yourselves on your logic and cold reason, tell me I am wrong in my assessment.”
