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“We are not,” Freihild says in a slow, mocking voice. “The Howlers and Gorgon are the best. It is truth.”
“Good thing you kept one of them as allies, eh?”
Freihild is amused.
“My skuggi are orphans from ruins of shattered tribes,” Sefi says. “They promise their spirits to their Queen. Their loyalty is beyond the flesh, so their wombs are stripped, their seed made infertile by my shaman. But do you know why my skuggi are not the best?” She motions for Freihild to step back. “Not because we do not know how to walk with the silent shadow, or bring the long death, but because Howlers and Gorgons are more than assassins. My skuggi are not. They provide one solution: death. Practical creatures provide many solutions. For Red Hand death works. Skuggi have hunted them these last weeks. Six thousand they have killed for me. Red Hand flees. The Republic was too soft on them. Soon they will be no more. But I will need my skuggi to beat the Gorgons, to beat the Howlers if necessary. Teach them to be…freelancers. To melt into city. To exist behind enemy lines. To gain allies. To sow discord.” She points a long finger of her gloved hand at me. “You stole the Sovereign’s child. You will give us your knowledge.”
If she wants a kingdom, she knows she’ll have to play dirty like all the rest.
With a grunt, Valdir bursts to his feet and stalks away. Sefi watches him go with a strange expression. “My mate believes we are mistaken to leave the Reaper. He does not wish us to change or practice shameful arts. But he is just a man. Men are impulsive and blinded by the snake between their legs.”
“Won’t argue that.” Then I say with narrowed eyes, “Skuggi are sacred to your people. Servants of Allmother Death, yes? Valdir won’t be the only one pissed. Your braves know it might’ve been Gold that held the chain, but Gray was the chain. You hate us even more than you hate them.”
She makes a dismissive motion.
“Your Majesty, I’ve seen berserkers rape wounded legionnaires on the battlefield as they scalp them. Your berserkers. I don’t have any loyalty to the legion. But those Grays were my people. Gold might be scariest. You might be biggest. Red might be toughest. Gray…we got the longest memory.”
The idea of teaching the skuggi to become even more effective makes me nauseous. This is selling my soul in a way I never considered.
“That world is past. Not all of the clans believe as I do. They resist change. But they follow strength. I am strength.” Sefi runs a long finger over the rim of her wine cup. “You are cunning. You made fool of Lionheart and the Fox Lords. I want that cunning. I know how this world works. I am willing to make you a very rich man.”
“And if I say no?”
“You are guest. When safe, you will be free.” Free to be tossed off a high cliff by Valdir, more like. “But a man on his own is nothing. You will be hunted by Syndicate, Julii, Lion, Republic…Goblin. You will be noman. No hearth. No blood. No aeta. No hands to carry your cold body to the sky when they find you.”
“Cat’s got nothing on me.” I lean forward with a feline grin. “I got a thousand lives. They can each have one. Anyway, Mars is for suckers. I got business on Luna.”
“You speak of your woman.” Her eyes glimmer as I flinch. “Volga Fjorgan is on Luna no longer. Xenophon.”
The White steps forward. “Six weeks ago, two known members of the Horn Gang were abducted from Augustan property and are currently on Phobos, pending transfer to Mars.”
I glance up at the twin moons moving over the city.
“Nah. Citadel is impenetrable. Place is crawling with heavies, tech even I’ve never seen. The Minotaur got chewed up with a full century of Peerless. Real Peerless…” I squint at them. They don’t look like they are capable of bluffing. “Who?”
“The Julii,” the White says.
“She doesn’t have the skill set.”
“But she has something better. Money,” Sefi replies.
Xenophon explains. “Ignorant of Virginia’s deal with you, she employed the freelancer known as the Figment to collect your gang members as leverage against you after frontal confrontation with the Sovereign promised to escalate.”
“That psycho?” A chill goes through me, but it makes sense. Birds of a feather, and all that. I squint at Sefi. “You said two. Who’s the extra?”
“The Red,” Xenophon replies. “Your inside woman.”
“Lyria? Lyria of bloodydamn Lagalos?” I can’t even laugh. I thought she was a cooked little rabbit. I lean back over the railing, mind whirling like a rubicon wheel. Get out, oldboy. Save your precious skin while you can.
But this voice is quieter without the Z. Lyria of Lagalos and Volga Fjorgan, alive after all, and above Mars. What a thing. That settles it, even if I pretend it doesn’t. Of course I have to throw a fit first, but I’d have had to agree anyway just to survive the meeting. Now I actually might stick around, till I get what I need.
“How do you know they’re alive?” I ask. “If the Julii took them—”
A holo appears in Sefi’s long hand. It is of a cell. Inside, Volga rocks back and forth. The poor girl. I see her smiling on race day in Hyperion. Laughing at the bar. Offering me a cocktail. She was just a kid when I pulled her in. I was all she had. But she didn’t have me. Not really. I bite my tongue bloody so I don’t belt out into tears. Without the Z valve, it’s all so much. Her image flickers away.
The cold bitch Queen stares at me. “The Julii does not waste resources. I told her I would pay her for their release. If you pledge fealty to me, they are yours.”
Don’t do it, oldboy. She’s gonna die bad. Dreamers all do. Don’t you know?
