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I can’t tell which woman is playing the other. But with Karnus’s words at the gala, and the knowledge that the ships were grounded before I even started the skirmish, I know the Sovereign had plans. And now I think I can piece together just what they were.
“One last question. I’ve been saving it for the end.”
“Do ask, boy. We have no secrets here. But it must be the last. After this, I have some words for Agrippina au Julii.” Aja opens the box back up for the Oracles to go back inside.
“Tonight, at the gala, during the sixth course of the meal, did you plan to allow the Bellona to assassinate ArchGovernor Augustus and all those who sat at his table?”
Aja freezes. Mustang slowly turns to look at the Sovereign, whose face shows no hints of dishonesty. The woman breathes easily and with a soft smile lies through her teeth. “No,” she says. “I did not.”
The Oracle strikes at her.
16
The Game
Fitchner’s razor buzzes, and he chops away the tail faster than a bee beats its wings. It flops to the floor, transparent stinger hissing out poison. On the Sovereign’s arm, the wounded creature screams. Wailing and writhing like a dying cat. The Sovereign rips it off and throws it at the wall. My own releases slowly, as if connected with the other. Mewing pathetically, it retreats to its box to hide in the darkness. I dab away the faint trail of blood it left on my forearm.
“So you do lie,” I say with a wicked grin.
The Sovereign exhales a long sigh.
Mustang stands, enraged. “You promised you would not hurt them. You lied.”
“Yes.” Octavia rubs her temples. “Yes, I lied.”
“You said there were no lies here,” Mustang hisses. “That was a precondition of my allegiance to you. The only thing I asked for, and you planned to do it while I watched?”
“Sit.” The Sovereign stands, drawing nose-to-nose with Mustang. “Sit down.”
Mustang sits, breathing heavily. She won’t look at me or the Sovereign. She’s surrounded by betrayal. The Sovereign notes this, piecing together a new strategy as Mustang draws a gold ring from her pocket and rolls it compulsively through her fingers.
“Do you know why I need your family gone?” Octavia asks Mustang. She doesn’t reply. “I asked you a question, Virginia. Put aside petulance and answer.”
“He is a threat to peace,” Mustang replies flatly, slipping the ring on her finger. “He disregards your orders. He does not obey financial directives. He delays helium-3 quotas.”
“If I tried removing him from power, what would happen?”
Mustang looks up at her. “He would rebel.”
“So what am I to do? If he rebels while on Mars, it becomes his planet fortress. The monies it would take me to pry him out—to find him, to kill him, to reinstate order—is … incomprehensible. Ships. Men. Food. Munitions. Trade. Helium-3 shortages. The Society would not recover for years.
“We cannot afford an enemy like him. But we also cannot afford an ally to so publicly affront us. What if t
he Governors of the Gas Giants thought they were immune to my orders because we’re lenient with your father? Because we let him manipulate helium prices or ignore Sovereign directives? Sixty years ago, in the first year of my reign, the Moons of Saturn rebelled. The war did not end until I destroyed the moon, Rhea, outright. Fifty million dead. That is how stubborn our race is. They know how difficult it is for me to flex my hand billions of kilometers from the Core. But still they are afraid. So much of a ruler’s reign is a figment of the people’s imagination. My power isn’t ships. Isn’t Praetorians. My power is their fear. But they must have fresh reminders.
“And so my family was the reminder.”
“Yes. Tell me that doesn’t make sense.”
Mustang stays quiet for a long moment. “It is the logical political move. But he’s my father …”
“Then also consider this.”
She waves her hand and a holo ignites on the floor, rising to fill half the room. It’s a riot. Buildings smoke. Grays mow down women and men with pulse weapons. She changes the image. A dozen more dance across the room. A woman falls in front of me, dead. Hole in her skull. Smoking still.
I stare down at the sudden horror.
“Is this Mars?” I ask, fearing for my family.
