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“My Sovereign.” His voice floats over the crowd. “Luna has fallen. The Senate is dissolved. The ArchGovernors hold planetary imperium. According to the New Compact of the Republic, in this time of peril, I exercise my power to grant total imperium to my Sovereign.” He pulls the Sword of the Rising from its sheath. It is the battered slingBlade of the slave once known as L17L6363, his brother. The very tool Darrow used in the mine of Lykos. Kieran passes it to me. It is heavier than I expected a Red could wield. I turn to the crowd beyond the obelisks and thrust the blade in the air.
“Hail libertas!” I bellow.
“Hail Reaper,” echoes the crowd.
* * *
—
After I have received my debrief, I find Pax sitting with Holiday in the garden where my brother killed my father twelve years before. The blood has been washed from the stone, but I still see it there. Whatever Pax has told Holiday has her in tears. He presses something into her hand, and she surprises me by kissing his forehead. She salutes as she passes me. Scampering around the edge of the garden, Sophocles salutes her departure with a bark and weaves through my son’s legs in delight to see him again.
My old memories of the garden disappear as my boy spots me. I feared he would greet me as I’ve seen him greet his father. With that cold, scolding remove. But my fears were unfounded. All pretense fails between us and we crash together in an embrace. That hollow his absence has made in me is filled. I feel as whole, as warm, as loved and proud as I did the day I first held him in my arms. How many times did my willpower almost break? How many times did I let myself imagine what sinister designs my enemies had in store for him? He has survived. As I pull back from him, I see his father’s anger in his eyes. His mother’s patience. His own animated curiosity. But he has changed.
* * *
—
The sounds of training razors clack through the seaside courtyard at Hippolyte. Victra curses loudly, then barks, “Again!”
Pax sees me hesitate to pass through the fighter’s arch. I am afraid to see my old friend. He takes my hand and steers me clear of the training yard and together we approach the burial place of Ulysses. Grass has begun to grow over the small mound. The burial stone is wet with the morning rain. This could have been my son. Pax knows my mind and steps closer to me.
“You were right about Lyria of Lagalos,” he says. “She did have virtue. Without her and Volga, it seems Victra would have been lost.”
“I would like to see her again. Her brother was evacuated by the—”
“He’s on the Reynard. I know. I’ve sent her away.”
I look at him without surprise. “Where to?”
“After Ragnar’s daughter, in a manner.”
I don’t understand. “She’s just a girl.”
He pauses. “Not anymore.”
We look back to the grave, guilty for speaking over it. Sevro told me he was having a girl. It seems Victra was waiting to surprise even him. A boy at last, a chance to make up for his own father’s absence.
“Mother wanted to give him a sundeath,” Electra says. Always fleet of foot, she has grown quieter. I didn’t hear her approach. Like Pax, she’s grown since I last saw her. “But she knew Father would want to visit him when he gets back.”
“Electra. Thank you for taking care of my son,” I say.
Her narrow eyes flick to him. “That his story? No one likes liars, Pax.” They flick back to me. They were always hard, but not like they are now. I can see that now all she wants is to grow up so she can kill. It’s no longer cute.
“Whatever the Obsidian were feeding you worked. Look how tall you are.”
She shrugs. “Maybe you’re just smaller.” She bows slightly for her Sovereign, then stalks away. Pax watches her go with a worried expression.
“She doesn’t like waiting,” Pax says.
I glance toward the training courtyard. “That makes two of us. Wait here.”
I find Victra in the center of the courtyard, facing down three of her best knights. I silence my datapad before entering. Even at her peak, three prime opponents would have been one too many. Sweat lathers muscular arms swollen with welts. She trains like a woman possessed. Already the curves of motherhood burn away.
Practice razors whisper through the air as I walk in. A clutch of sixty Peerless stiffen and bow at my arrival. I whisper hello to Victra’s youngest daughter, Selene, and the middle child, Calypso. When they hug me, I see their hands are bandaged from training. Sons of Ares practice martial arts along a bluff on Victra’s estate.
Both parts of House Julii and Barca are preparing for total war.
In the square, Victra eliminates one of the knights with a neat thrust to his neck, and then receives a sideways slash to her shin and another to her temple from the fastest of the three. The head strike is a killing blow. Blood trickles down Victra’s face. She stumbles, growls, returns to the center of the circle and shouts for them to go again. The knights stop and bow when they see me. Victra casts me an annoyed glance and stalks over to a towel to wipe the blood off her face. I join her there.
