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By the way Sefi’s looking at me, I might just be joining Amel in the fire. She’s cleaning house.
She watches me for a moment, her black eyes peering deep into me before flicking away toward Electra, who is still on her feet.
“Who did it?” the girl demands. “How did a mob kill Virginia au Augustus? Is my father alive? Tell us!”
“We do not know,” Xenophon answers. “Publius cu Caraval seems to be the instigator and perpetrator of the coup, and allied with ArchImperator Zan and Vox elements in the government. We have confirmed this with Niobe au Telemanus, who now leads the Ecliptic Guard to Luna to demand the Sovereign’s return. Whether she is dead or alive, we do not know.”
“Publius? That dreary little shit?” Electra is stunned. “Naw. He doesn’t have the juice, even with Zan.”
“He is likely the puppet of Atalantia,” Sefi says. At that, Pax loses his ability to listen. He stands, quivers, and bolts from the opera house. Electra glares down at Sefi.
“How long have you known? Three days? You cold bitch.”
Sefi nods. “World is hard. He must be too.”
“You weakened her by leaving,” Electra snaps. “You abandoned them. This is your fault. I know it. He knows it. We all fucking know it.”
“Your mother weakened her too.”
Electra flinches at that and storms after Pax. Sefi jerks her head, and Ozgard pursues. Valdir watches the child go with a deep sense of sadness. He is more complicated than just a warrior. The loyalty he feels to Darrow must be immense, and I wonder if Sefi isn’t the villain here after all.
“You didn’t have to do it like that,” I say.
“I did not bring you here to play nursemaid to children or lecture me, Mr. Horn. You asked me when first we met what Julii would pay for her firstborn. Today, I tell you. She has provided us with information and ore ships on which to transfer my forward legions under nose of Republic fleet.”
At Sefi’s instruction, Xenophon still steps forward to fling a holo onto the opera stage where Amel’s remains still burn. Blueprints unfold from a tiny mote like the tendrils of jellyfish. My eye darts, my brain decrypts, analyzes, reverse engineers the Byzantine mess to see the hundreds of complexes, sophisticated killzones, subterranean bunkers. No. Not bunkers. I feel for my Z dispenser.
“I was right. You want to start another war.”
“No. I want to end war. The Republic breaks under its own weight. Obsidian must not. These are schematics for helium mines of Cimmeria. I was hesitant to act when Virginia sat upon Morning Chair. Now, no precautions, no hesitation. We strike.” The Queen’s smile crawls upward, her devious nature burning hot and bright beneath that ice exterior. “Helium is blood of empires, Mr. Horn. Master it, master destiny. And I will master our destiny. In one week’s time, we take mines of Cimmeria, and the continent as our homeland. It is time to test your skuggi.”
“They are not ready,” Valdir says with a worried glance to Freihild. “My battle plan will get you the—”
Sefi holds up a hand. “You break planets, Valdir. I do not want a broken Mars. That is the last resort.
I want a Mars that welcomes me as protector, as Great Mother. Mr. Horn, I need defense grids lowered. Tell me. Are your skuggi ready?”
With the smell of Amel’s burning body in my nostrils, I look at Freihild, who gives me an eerie smile.
“Yeah, they’ll do your dirty trick. World’s burning anyway.”
I WAKE FEELING MORE TIRED than before I slept. It is still dark out. The quiet sounds of the soldiers preparing for the day’s trek north surround me. I sit up and gag at the pain of my wounded face. It is infected. My dreams were warped by fever and fear. Again the chair, again the door, again the shadows and laughter on the other side. I don’t know how I get to my feet.
It is in silence that we set out into the cool dark. Kalindora walks closer to me now, always keeping herself between me and Cicero. Despite her grievous wound, I feel safer in her shadow. She whispers quiet poems to herself as the sun begins to rise.
“What think you the dead are? Why, dust and clay,
What should they be? ’Tis the last hour of day.
Look on the west, how beautiful it is
Vaulted with radiant vapours! The deep bliss
of that unutterable light
Perhaps the only comfort which remains
Is the unheeded clanking of my chains,
