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Too little, too late.
—
I stand alone in the Ash Lord’s shuttle. The grim walls press in on me. I sit in the pilot’s chair and begin the preflight procedures. There’s a sound behind me. I turn to see Alexandar coming up the open ramp, leading the Gold prisoners we took from Deepgrave. Colloway, Tongueless, Thraxa, and Rhonna follow him, their starShells left dented and smoldering on the landing pad. They toss down several bags of gear, lock the prisoners in the cargo hold, and settle into the passenger compartment. “Sevro says you’d need them,” Thraxa says.
Colloway saunters up, a burner hanging between his lips. “You’re in my seat.”
I get up and find my way back toward the passenger compartment. A lone figure stands at the bottom of the ramp in bloodied armor. “Apollonius,” I say.
“The clock’s still ticking,” he says, tapping his head.
Sevro and I in our despair forgot about the man entirely. I look down at my dented datapad and pull up the program. Ten minutes left before the munitions in his head go off. “Are you a man of your word?” he asks.
I look down at the man and see nothing I value. Just a murderer who saved my life. But all the evils that have befallen us today, all the mistakes I’ve made, have come from my pride and the duplicity I’ve sown.
“Today I am.” I deactivate the bomb. “Venus is yours, if you can take her.”
“And the hostages?” he asks. “The Carthii and S
aud family members you promised me?”
“We need them more,” I say, and hammer my hand on the door control. The ramp rolls up, and the last I see is Apollonius staring at me in rage.
My men say nothing as I rejoin them in the passenger hold. I settle into my chair as Colloway lifts off and we trail in the Nessus’s wake. Thunder rolls outside as the frigate fires at the Society ripWings that pursue us. Colloway says something about capital ships cutting off our escape as we breach orbit. Over the com, I hear Sevro snarling at the Society Praetors, showing them pictures of the Gold family hostages we had in the Nessus’s brig. Just as planned. Even as I mourn for my own son, we use the sons and daughters of the Golds of Venus to escape. The dark irony is not lost on me. All that holds the guns of Venus from destroying us is the love of parents for their children. They do not fire, and I wonder if I had my enemy in my grasp, would I have done the same?
I say no farewell over the com to Sevro and Pebble and Clown, friends who have been with me for half my life. People think I believe my own myth, that I’m a singular whirlwind of nature. I know I am not. I was the concentrated force of the people around me, balanced, hardened, inspired by Ragnar, Fitchner, Lorn, Eo. Sevro.
Now I sit a world apart, in silence as my friends lie dead and the rest return to my son while I race away from him toward the war. Accompanied only by the tattered remains of the Howlers, an old prisoner, and a girl of barely twenty years.
I feel lost. But in the void, drifting away from my friends, I feel something else. Something I have not felt for some time. The Ash Lord claimed he did not take my son. But I know his designs. It was not a friend who took them. He and Atalantia played me for a fool. She thought I would abandon my army, my fleet, and rush home to save my son. But she does not know what she has awoken.
I pull the key Pax gave me from my neck and put it in my bag, setting aside the father, welcoming the Reaper, and letting the old rage take hold.
For the Howlers
INITIALLY, I WAS HESITANT to return to the world of Red Rising.
Not for fear of the labor, though labor there was. Not for fear of doing the story justice. But for another reason altogether.
A single, standalone book is a fling. A series such as this is a relationship between author and reader. You trusted me to give me your time, your imagination through the initial trilogy. And, by buying this book, you trusted me yet again.
So my greatest thanks is to you, the reader, for that trust. Know that I do not take it lightly, and will not abuse it as we spin further down the rabbit hole.
Thank you for your time, your emails, letters, and thoughts, all of which breathe new life into the veins of Darrow’s world and made me ache to return to the windswept tunnels of Mars, and the freezing sulfur flats of Io, and the manic boulevards of Luna.
Without you lot, this world would be the pale imaginings of a disconsolate wage-man.
Now, for more aimed acknowledgments. Cue the war drums. Cue the trumpets.
A hearty, backslapping, most-prime thanks goes out to the team at Del Rey. Charging once more into the Red Rising breech was a daring affair, but you lot made it as easy as walking in the front door.
Thank you to Hannah Bowman for the brainstorm lunches and for believing in me from the first haemanthus blossom. And to Mike Braff for his editorial wizardry and for cackling every time I say “Space Vikings!” A better friend and collaborator, there is none.
Thank you to Tricia Narwani for the Herculean labor of making me stay on pace and deciphering my convoluted family trees. David Moench, Emily Isayeff, Julie Leung—I could type away all I like, but without you three no one would ever find my words. Thank you for your tireless efforts promoting the book and helping Red Rising find a place in the hearts of readers. Thank you to Scott Shannon, Keith Clayton, and Gina Centrello for once again having faith in the series. Keith, I fully expect more breakdowns of the thematic nuances within the Fast and Furious franchise over eccentric IPAs.
Though I was a bit more secretive with the text this round through, the book would never have been composed were it not for the legion of friends at my back.
Josh Crook, thank you for the constant inspiration, stalwart friendship, and collaboration even when I’m pacing a hole in the carpet and fraying your nerve endings. Eric Olsen, for your contagious, ebullient spirit, boundless dreams, and for introducing me to the peerless Olsen Clan. Babar Peerzada, for torturing the stress out of me through burpees and deadlifts and breaking stories on rooftops. Tamara Price, for your love, empathy, and for trusting me enough to say the words to bind you and Jarrett together forever. Jarrett for the constant generosity and introducing me as “New York Times bestselling author Pierce Brown…” every damn time I meet a new person. The Phillips clan for tending my sanity on the phone. Max Carver for giving me company in my insanity. Madison Ainley for WWW forevermore. Jake and Ruth Bloom for their humble wisdom, inside scoop, and our unending gastronomic tour of LA.
