“Of course you’d say that,” Harnassus says.
“Because I’m a Blue?”
“Because you’re a fighter pilot, man. Red, Blue, Vermillion, you all fight to the last,” Harnassus says. His eyes twinkle at me. “Are you thinking we turtle the fleet? Play at friction between Lune and Atalantia?”
I smile. “They’re their own worst enemy. We give this to Lysander, he’s a competitor. He’s also our best chance of taking out Atalantia.”
“So we want to empower a Lune to unite the Society?” Char asks. “That’s mad.”
“He’s weaker. He depends on alliances. On pleasing greedy tyrants who all think they’re his most valuable ally,” Holiday says. “He can unite them because they are afraid of Atalantia. And we should be too. She is raw power and a realist. Lune is an idealist. When she’s gone, his allies will fight to fill her vacuum. There will be division. Factions. Weakness. Is that not a better plan than ramming our head against a wall up here?” Everyone turns and looks at the cinder block of a woman. Even Victra. “What? The price these people paid for Phobos, you think they want to take on Mars? All the people that died up here just bought Mars a reprieve, unless Atalantia swoops in. So let’s give her a problem, yeah?”
Victra sips her whiskey. “Well, that’s settled. We need to win so the grunt can run for office.” Holiday looks embarrassed. I couldn’t be prouder of her.
“It all comes down to one question in the end,” I say. “Who will crack first? Mars? Or the Golds? I bet my life on us a long time ago. Looking at the people in this room, I would do it again.”
“Oh, don’t get emotional,” Victra says. “You’re the Sovereign. We have to do as you say.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that, because I’ve agreed to not scuttle the dockyards as we depart.” No one speaks, but I sense their unease. “And you will have to give Ajax’s head back, Victra.”
Victra grimaces. “But I was crafting a chalice for Sevro.” She sighs. “Fine. But really, Virginia. The Minotaur is in my house. No word from Sevro or Darrow. We’ve lost Phobos. You said there was good news.”
I nod to Glaucus. He disappears out the door. Sophocles runs squealing from his pout in the back of the room and runs after Glaucus. Infectious laughter booms from the hall. A moment later, Glaucus returns pushing Kavax in a wheelchair. Niobe and Thraxa rush him as Sophocles tries to inhale his face.
Victra doesn’t move but tears well in her eyes. “Shit. I said don’t get emotional.”
33
LYSANDER
Master of the Spoils
The transfer of Phobosis nearly complete, and so far Virginia has honored her word. That is good. It means this war need not end with a genocide on Mars. Yet it is still war. So to rub salt in their wounds, I host the battle honors as the last Republic ship leaves the moon.
Amidst the Golds in their shining panoply and the Grays under their proud standards, a feeble man walks carrying my once-white cape. It is dark with blood and soot now. The man is as ruined as the cape. He is terribly burned, and looks like a wax sculpture that sat too close to a fire. He is not the same man I gave my cloak to. That man is dead. This one was from my own clawDrill. His gnarled hand trembles as he gives me back my cape. I drape it over my arm. It is filthy. His words are so slurred I cannot hear what he says.
I bend and pin on his uniform a golden phalera of a torch burning a moon. He looks down at the torch and begins to sob. I rest a hand on his unburned forearm. “This pain is temporary. Your glory is forever. Hail Orlow of Gamma!”
Thousands roar his name.
Softly, I say: “I will make you whole. You are part of my house, and so you are part of me. Come to me when you are healed, and whatever you ask you will have.”
“Hail Lune,” he whispers out his lipless mouth. “Hail Lune.”
Tears well in my eyes. I let them flow as I pin phalera on the few Helldivers who remain before moving up the hierarchy. All who partook in the battle will receive a phalera. Precious few are Gold, andcome with the patron favor—an opportunity to approach me at any time later in life and ask for a boon. When I come to the Grays, I kiss Markus, Demetrius, Kyber, and Drusilla on their cheeks. Rhone doesn’t want a medal. He’s already a Dux. Fresh honors would be stealing valor from the men, he said.
There are many Blues who earned honors, but none as much as Pytha. In addition to her charge on Phobos, when theLightbringerwas no longer fit to fight, she turned it into a refuge. She saved countless lives by using the ship to collect thousands of wounded and escape pods from damaged Rim crafts during the pitch of battle.
To her, I give the Civic Crown. Made of common oak leaves, it is the highest decoration a general can give. Unlike lesser phalera, its worth is not enhanced by the precious metals that make it, but rather only by the honor itself of receiving it, because no price can be put on the saving of lives. Later, it will be tattooed onto her head to carry with her for life. I feel immense gratitude for her. Only when I saw her again did I cry for Ajax. She knew what he meant to me. I told many stories of our childhood to her when we sailed on theArchimedes.She held me in her arms, and I felt safe not having to be strong.
When at last I come to the Golds I look out with particular affection at the several dozen new men and women who made their marks. “In you I see the future the Conquerors intended,” I tell them. “Virtuous knights defending the rights of all Colors to live in worlds of peace, order, and prosperity. It is you New Shepherds who will carry the flame of the Society. To you, no honors will be given. To be Gold is honor enough. Instead, I levy a burden.”
Rhone brings out custom razors. Each with a pearl crescent on the leather grip. I cut the cheek opposite their Peerless Scars before giving them their blades. They stare at me as if I were Silenius himself.
The room bursts into applause. I see Pytha watching the Red who brought the cape, Orlow. Though he is burned, he claps and hollers in almost pathetic joy. For a moment, she looks sad. Can she not see what I am doing here? She will. They all will. After I finish this blasted war.
With the ceremony done, I return to Rhone and he attaches my cape.
What was white is now stained in blood. I do not turn my back, as is custom, to see if they will give me the highest honor a citizen can receive, an honor higher even than the Civic Crown, because it can only be given to a general by the acclaim of his troops—the Grass Crown.
