Chilled by my thoughts and the weather, I pull my red and gold cloak tighter around my shoulders. I squint through the falling snow toward the school. The snow is so heavy, the only feature of the school I can divine is the motto in huge iron letters on the façade:As Above, So Below. There’s no sign of Pax.
I glance up. Soon it won’t just be Republic ships flying above Mars. Kavax joins me from the shuttle with Sophocles the fox trotting dutifully behind. Fearing that assassination squads are already on Mars, or worse, the Fear Knight himself, Kavax seldom lets me out of his sight.
“The evacuation of the civilians from Phobos is behind schedule,” he grumbles. “There was a bombing this morning. Lune fundamentalist.”
“Affiliated with Lune’s household?”
“Doesn’t look like it. Lone wolf. A Green.”
“A Green?”
“It was a suicide bombing. Religion has returned to politics,” he replies. “In the grand scheme of things, the bombing is only a minor setback. Look on the bright side. You’ve unveiled four traitors in a week. All high ranking.”
“That we have four traitors is hardly a ‘bright side.’ Do they really think Lysander is any different from Octavia? It’s the same system, even if Lune has a prettier smile and more games. Those bloody chariot races…”
“I know it’s been frustrating watching him rise.”
“What’s frustrating is that he never comes into the field of battle so Victra can just kill the little bastard and end his delusions of grandeur before he becomes a problem.” Kavax puts an arm around me. “Sorry,” I say. “I know you know. It’s only that I just saw a holo of him.”
“I saw it too. He was wearing the hilt from the razor you gave Darrow.”
“As ifheearned it,” I say.
“I have a question to ask you, Virginia.” I try to pull away to look at him but he keeps his arm around me. “The reputation of your omniscience grows. Four traitors in a week, you know. But…if the gods have taught us anything, it is that prescience always comes with a price. Odin gave up one of his eyes in exchange for wisdom.”
I feared this moment from him. It was inevitable. I could not hide the source of my intel forever from a man like him. In fact, if Kavax’s wits were not so dimmed by Daxo’s death, he would have discovered it after the first traitor we clipped.
“You want to know what price I’m paying, Kavax?”
“There are those who say Kavax Telemanus is a bad Republican. It is true. I am…old in my ways. I have doubted many of this Republic’s policies. Especially concerning the Obsidians. But I hope you know my loyalty. And I like to think you trust me as much as I trust you.” I try to speak but he rumbles on. “It is also true I am not what I once was. My injury and my loss have…Well you are unaccustomed to seeing me weak.”
“You, weak?” I scoff at the notion.
“Don’t deny it. I know you and Niobe worry I take too much on. Iam not what I was, but I am still very much in the game. You understand? Whoever your source is, whoever has been helping you find these traitors, you can tell me.”
I close my eyes. He’s still not let me go. I enjoy the embrace while it lasts.
“Imagine the worst, and it is true.” I can’t bring myself to say it.
He holds me tighter and kisses my head. He knows already, I realize. Of course he knows.
I think of his sons, both of whom spent their lives in service to me until their deaths—Pax at the Institute, Daxo on the Day of Red Doves—and I want to cry. I loved them both, almost as much as their father did.
“I didn’t want to break your heart by telling you the truth,” I say.
“Daughter, youaremy heart,” he replies. “I trust you like I trust the vaulting sky. I look up, and there it is. Different shades, perhaps, but always there. Always true.”
There’s motion from the school. A door, obscured by the snow, opens.
Kavax kisses the top of my head again and releases me. Three figures make their way to us through the falling snow. My son and two instructors. Sophocles runs and leaps toward Pax, the tallest figure, to pester my son with kisses. When Kavax sees that my son has something on his head that is not hair, he darkens. A little startled myself, I put on my best face and beam a smile for Pax as he approaches. Instead of embracing me as I’d hoped, he salutes.
Six months at the school has made him nearly unrecognizable. His golden eyes are sunken, harder. His lips thinner. His skin pale as a miner’s. But he’s taller, far taller. “Pax. You’ve shot up like a godTree.” Already, he’s surpassed the height of the Blues behind him, his instructors. Soon he’ll tower over them. I eye the digital tattoos that now stain his laser-shaved head. They morph as snowflakes settle on his scalp. “Adept ink too. So soon?” I raise a disapproving eyebrow at the instructors.
The Blue instructors are both waifish but still cast more in the image of the school’s founder than your typical Blue. Veterans of our wars, both have scars, one a robotic right eye. By the phalera on their chests, I see both earned their scars under Darrow and Orion.
“It was due, my Sovereign,” the older, darker instructor says. “The Star Matron has chosen Adept Augustus for an accelerated track. Hewas fought over for three hours after his Divining before the navigators demurred.”
My son will be a hunter. It’s written on his forehead. The constellation Orion.
