RedRisingisaworkoffiction.Names,places,characters,andincidentseitheraretheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously.Anyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingor

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Copyright©2014byPierceBrownMapcopyright©byJoelDanielPhillips

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Contents

CoverTitlePageCopyrightMap

Prologue

PartI:Slave1:Helldiver2:TheTownship3:TheLaurel4:TheGift5:TheFirstSong6:TheMartyr

PartII:Reborn7:Lazarus8:Dancer9:TheLie10:TheCarver11:Mad12:TheCarving13:BadThings14:Andromedus15:TheTesting16:TheInstitute17:TheDraft18:Classmates19:ThePassage

PartIII:Gold20:TheHouseMars21:OurDominion22:TheTribes23:Fracture24:Titus’sWar

25:TribalWar26:Mustang27:TheHouseofRage28:MyBrother29:Unity30:HouseDiana31:TheFallofMustang32:Antonia33:Apologies

PartIV:Reaper34:TheNorthwoods35:Oathbreakers36:ASecondTest37:South38:TheFallofApollo39:TheProctor’sBounty40:Paradigm41:TheJackal42:WaronHeaven43:TheLastTest44:Rise

DedicationAcknowledgmentsAbouttheAuthorExcerptfromGoldenSon

Iwouldhavelivedinpeace.Butmyenemiesbroughtmewar.I watch twelve hundred of their strongest sons and daughters.

Listening to a pitilessGoldenman speakbetweengreatmarble pillars.Listeningtothebeastwhobroughttheflamethatgnawsatmyheart.“Allmenarenotcreatedequal,”hedeclares.Tall,imperious,aneagle

of a man. “The weak have deceived you. They would say the meekshouldinherittheEarth.Thatthestrongshouldnurturethegentle.ThisistheNobleLieofDemokracy.Thecancerthatpoisonedmankind.”Hiseyespiercethegatheredstudents.“YouandIareGold.Wearethe

end of the evolutionary line.We tower above the flesh heap of man,shepherding the lesser Colors. You have inherited this legacy,” hepauses,studyingfacesintheassembly.“Butitisnotfree.“Power must be claimed. Wealth won. Rule, dominion, empire

purchasedwithblood.Youscarlesschildrendeservenothing.Youdonotknowpain.Youdonotknowwhatyour forefathers sacrificed toplaceyouontheseheights.Butsoon,youwill.Soon,wewill teachyouwhyGoldrulesmankind.AndIpromise,ofthoseamongyou,onlythosefitforpowerwillsurvive.”ButIamnoGold.IamaRed.Hethinksmenlikemeweak.Hethinksmedumb,feeble,subhuman.I

wasnotraisedinpalaces.Ididnotridehorsesthroughmeadowsandeatmealsofhummingbirdtongues.Iwasforgedinthebowelsofthishardworld.Sharpenedbyhate.Strengthenedbylove.Heiswrong.Noneofthemwillsurvive.

PARTI

SLAVE

ThereisaflowerthatgrowsonMars.Itisredandharshandfitforoursoil.Itiscalledhaemanthus.Itmeans“bloodblossom.”

1

HELLDIVER

ThefirstthingyoushouldknowaboutmeisIammyfather’sson.Andwhentheycameforhim,Ididasheasked.Ididnotcry.NotwhentheSocietytelevisedthearrest.NotwhentheGoldstriedhim.NotwhentheGrays hanged him. Mother hit me for that. My brother Kieran wassupposed to be the stoic one. He was the elder, I the younger. I wassupposedtocry.Instead,KieranbawledlikeagirlwhenLittleEotuckeda haemanthus into Father’s left workboot and ran back to her ownfather’s side. My sister Leanna murmured a lament beside me. I justwatched and thought it a shame that he died dancing butwithout hisdancingshoes.OnMars there is notmuch gravity. So you have to pull the feet to

breaktheneck.Theyletthelovedonesdoit.

I smell my own stink inside my frysuit. The suit is some kind ofnanoplasticandishotasitsnamesuggests.Itinsulatesmetoetohead.Nothinggetsin.Nothinggetsout.Especiallynottheheat.Worstpartisyoucan’twipethesweatfromyoureyes.Bloodydamnstingsas itgoesthroughtheheadbandtopuddleat theheels.Not tomentionthestinkwhen you piss. Which you always do. Gotta take in a load of waterthrough the drinktube. I guess you could be fit with a catheter. Wechoosethestink.Thedrillersofmyclanchattersomegossipoverthecomminmyear

asIrideatoptheclawDrill.I’maloneinthisdeeptunnelonamachinebuiltlikeatitanicmetalhand,onethatgraspsandgnawsattheground.Icontrol its rockmeltingdigits fromtheholsterseatatop thedrill, justwheretheelbowjointwouldbe.There,myfingersfitintocontrolglovesthatmanipulatethemanytentacle-likedrillssomeninetymetersbelowmyperch.TobeaHelldiver, they sayyour fingersmust flicker fastastonguesoffire.Mineflickerfaster.Despite the voices in my ear, I am alone in the deep tunnel. Myexistenceisvibration,theechoofmyownbreath,andheatsothickandnoxiousitfeelslikeI’mswaddledinaheavyquiltofhotpiss.Anewriverofsweatbreaksthroughthescarletsweatbandtiedaroundmyforeheadandslipsintomyeyes,burningthemtillthey’reasredasmyrustyhair. Iusedtoreachandtrytowipethesweataway,onlytoscratchfutilelyatthefaceplateofmyfrysuit.Istillwantto.Evenafterthreeyears,thetickleandstingofthesweatisarawmisery.Thetunnelwallsaroundmyholsterseatarebathedasulfurousyellowbyacoronaoflights.ThereachofthelightfadesasIlookupthethinverticalshaftI’vecarvedtoday.Above,precioushelium-3glimmerslikeliquid silver, but I’m looking at the shadows, looking for the pitvipersthat curl through thedarkness seeking thewarmthofmydrill.They’lleatintoyoursuittoo,bitethroughtheshellandthentrytoburrowintothewarmest place they find, usually your belly, so they can lay theireggs.I’vebeenbittenbefore.Stilldreamofthebeast—black,likeathicktendrilofoil.Theycangetaswideasathighandlongasthreemen,butit’sthebabieswefear.Theydon’tknowhowtorationtheirpoison.Likeme, their ancestors came from Earth, thenMars and the deep tunnelschangedthem.It iseerie inthedeeptunnels.Lonely.Beyondtheroarof thedrill, Ihear the voices ofmy friends, all older. But I cannot see them a halfklickabovemeinthedarkness.Theydrillhighabove,nearthemouthofthe tunnel that I’ve carved,descendingwithhooksand lines todanglealongthesidesofthetunneltogetatthesmallveinsofhelium-3.Theymine with meter-long drills, gobbling up the chaff. The work stillrequiresmaddexterityoffootandhand,butI’mtheearnerinthiscrew.IamtheHelldiver.Ittakesacertainkind—andI’mtheyoungestanyonecanremember.I’ve been in the mines for three years. You start at thirteen. Old

enough toscrew,oldenough tocrew.At least that’swhatUncleNarolsaid. Except I didn’t getmarried till sixmonths back, so I don’t knowwhyhesaidit.EodancesthroughmythoughtsasIpeerintomycontroldisplayandslip the clawDrill’s fingers around a fresh vein. Eo. Sometimes it’sdifficult to think of her as anything but what we used to call her aschildren.LittleEo—atinygirlhiddenbeneathamaneofred.Redliketherockaroundme,not true red, rust-red.Red likeourhome, likeMars.Eo issixteentoo.Andshemaybelikeme—fromaclanofRedearthdiggers,aclanofsonganddanceandsoil—butshecouldbemadefromair,fromthe ether that binds the stars in a patchwork. Not that I’ve ever seenstars.NoRedfromtheminingcoloniesseesthestars.LittleEo.Theywantedtomarryheroffwhensheturnedfourteen,likeallgirlsoftheclans.Butshetooktheshortrationsandwaitedformetoreach sixteen, wedAge for men, before slipping that cord around herfinger.Shesaidsheknewwe’dmarrysincewewerechildren.Ididn’t.“Hold. Hold. Hold!” Uncle Narol snaps over the comm channel.“Darrow,hold,boy!”Myfingersfreeze.He’shighabovewiththerestofthem,watchingmyprogressonhisheadunit.“What’stheburn?”Iask,annoyed.Idon’tlikebeinginterrupted.“What’stheburn,thelittleHelldiverasks.”OldBarlowchuckles.“Gaspocket,that’swhat,”Narolsnaps.He’stheheadTalkforourtwo-hundred-plus crew. “Hold. Calling a scanCrew to check the particularsbeforeyoublowusalltohell.”“Thatgaspocket?It’satinyone,”Isay.“Morelikeagaspimple.Icanmanageit.”“Ayearonthedrillandhethinksheknowshisheadfromhishole!Poorlittlepissant,”oldBarlowaddsdryly.“Remember thewordsofourgoldenleader. Patience and obedience, young one. Patience is the better part ofvalor.Andobediencethebetterpartofhumanity.Listentoyourelders.”Irollmyeyesattheepigram.IftheelderscoulddowhatIcan,maybelisteningwould have itsmerits. But they are slow in hand andmind.Sometimes I feel like theywantme tobe just the same, especiallymyuncle.“I’monatear,”Isay.“Ifyouthinkthere’sagaspocket,Icanjusthopdownandhandscanit.Easy.Nodilldally.”

They’llpreachcaution.Asifcautionhaseverhelpedthem.Wehaven’twonaLaurelinages.“Want to make Eo a widow?” Barlow laughs, voice crackling with

static.“Okay byme. She is a pretty little thing. Drill into that pocket andleavehertome.OldandfatIbe,butmydrillstilldigsadent.”Achorusoflaughtercomesfromthetwohundreddrillersabove.My

knucklesturnwhiteasIgripthecontrols.“Listen to Uncle Narol, Darrow. Better to back off till we can get a

reading,” my brother Kieran adds. He’s three years older. Makes himthinkhe’sasage,thatheknowsmore.Hejustknowscaution.“There’llbetime.”“Time?Hell, it’ll take hours,” I snap. They’re all againstme in this.

They’reallwrongandslowanddon’tunderstandthattheLaurelisonlya bold move away. More, they doubt me. “You are being a coward,Narol.”Silenceontheotherendoftheline.Calling a man a coward—not a good way to get his cooperation.

Shouldn’thavesaidit.“I say make the scan yourself,” Loran, my cousin and Narol’s son,

squawks.“Don’tandGammaisgoodasGold—they’llgettheLaurelfor,oh,thehundredthtime.”The Laurel. Twenty-four clans in the undergroundmining colony of

Lykos,oneLaurelperquarter. Itmeansmorefoodthanyoucaneat. Itmeansmoreburnerstosmoke.ImportedquiltsfromEarth.AmberswillwiththeSociety’squalitymarkings.Itmeanswinning.Gammaclanhashaditsinceanyonecanremember.Soit’salwaysbeenabouttheQuotafor us lesser clans, just enough to scrapeby. Eo says the Laurel is thecarrottheSocietydangles,alwaysjustfarenoughbeyondourgrasp.Justenoughsoweknowhowshortwereallyareandhowlittlewecandoabout it.We’resupposedtobepioneers.Eocallsusslaves. I just thinkwenever tryhardenough.Never take thebig risksbecauseof theoldmen.“Loran, shut up about the Laurel. Hit the gas and we’ll miss all the

bloodydamnLaurelstokingdomcome,boy,”UncleNarolgrowls.He’sslurring.Icanpracticallysmellthedrinkthroughthecomm.He

wants to call a sensor team to cover his own ass.Or he’s scared. Thedrunkwasbornpissinghimselfoutoffear.Fearofwhat?Ouroverlords,

the Golds? Their minions, the Grays? Who knows? Few people. Whocares? Even fewer.Actually, just oneman cared formy uncle, and hediedwhenmyunclepulledhisfeet.Myuncleisweak.Heiscautiousandimmoderateinhisdrink,apaleshadowofmy father.Hisblinks are longandhard, as though it painshimtoopenhiseyeseachtimeandseetheworldagain.Idon’ttrusthimdownhere in themines, or anywhere for thatmatter. Butmymotherwould tell me to listen to him; she would remind me to respect myelders. Even though I amwed, even though I am theHelldiver ofmyclan, shewould say thatmy “blistershavenot yet become calluses.” Iwillobey,eventhoughitisasmaddeningasthetickleofthesweatonmyface.“Fine,”Imurmur.Iclenchthedrillfistandwaitasmyunclecallsitinfromthesafetyofthechamberabovethedeeptunnel.Thiswilltakehours.Idothemath.Eighthours tillwhistlecall.TobeatGamma, I’vegot tokeeparateof156.5kilosanhour.It’lltaketwoandahalfhoursforthescanCrewtogethereanddotheirdeal,atbest.SoI’vegottopumpout227.6kilosperhourafterthat.Impossible.ButifIkeepgoingandsquabthetediousscan,it’sours.IwonderifUncleNarolandBarlowknowhowcloseweare.Probably.Probablyjustdon’tthinkanythingiseverworththerisk.Probablythinkdivine intervention will squab our chances. Gamma has the Laurel.That’s theway things are andwill ever be.We of Lambda just try toscrapebyonourfoodstuffsandmeagercomforts.Norising.Nofalling.Nothing is worth the risk of changing the hierarchy.My father foundthatoutattheendofarope.Nothing isworthriskingdeath.Againstmychest, I feel theweddingbandofhairandsilkdanglingfromthecordaroundmyneckandthinkofEo’sribs.I’llseeafewmoreoftheslenderthingsthroughherskinthismonth.She’llgoaskingtheGammafamiliesforscrapsbehindmyback.I’llactlikeIdon’tknow.Butwe’llstillbehungry.IeattoomuchbecauseI’msixteenandstillgrowingtall;Eoliesandsaysshe’snevergotmuchofanappetite.SomewomensellthemselvesforfoodorluxuriestotheTinpots(Grays,tobetechnicaboutit),theSociety’sgarrisontroopsofourlittleminingcolony.Shewouldn’tsellherbodytofeedme.Wouldshe?But

thenIthinkaboutit.I’ddoanythingtofeedher…Ilookdownovertheedgeofmydrill.It’salongfalltothebottomof

theholeI’vedug.Nothingbutmoltenrockandhissingdrills.ButbeforeIknowwhat’swhat,I’moutofmystraps,scannerinhandandjumpingdownthehundred-meterdroptowardthedrill fingers. Ikickbackandforth between the vertical mineshaft’s walls and the drill’s long,vibratingbodytoslowmyfall.ImakesureI’mnotnearapitvipernestwhenIthrowoutanarmtocatchmyselfonagearjustabovethedrillfingers.The tendrillsglowwithheat.Theair shimmersanddistorts. Ifeeltheheatonmyface,feelitstabbingmyeyes,feelitacheinmybellyandballs.Thosedrillswillmeltyourbonesifyou’renotcareful.AndI’mnotcareful.Justnimble.Ilowermyselfhandoverhand,goingfeetfirstbetweenthedrillfingers

sothatIcanlowerthescannercloseenoughtothegaspockettogetareading.Theheatisunbearable.Thiswasamistake.Voicesshoutatmethrough the comm. I almost brush one of the drills as I finally lowermyselfcloseenoughtothegaspocket.Thescannerflickersinmyhandasittakesitsreading.MysuitisbubblingandIsmellsomethingsweetandsharp,likeburnedsyrup.ToaHelldiver,itisthesmellofdeath.

2

THETOWNSHIP

My suit can’t handle the heat down here. The outer layer is nearlymeltedthrough.Soonthesecondlayerwillgo.Thenthescannerblinkssilver and I’ve got what I came for. I almost didn’t notice. Dizzy andfrightened,Ipullmyselfawayfromthedrills.Handoverhand,Itugmybody up, going fast away from the dreadful heat. Then somethingcatches.Myfootisjammedjustunderneathoneofthegearsnearadrillfinger.Igaspdownairinsuddenpanic.Thedreadrisesinme.Iseemybootheelmelting.Thefirstlayergoes.Thesecondbubbles.Thenitwillbemyflesh.Iforcealongbreathandchokedownthescreamsthatarerisinginmy

throat. I remember the blade. I flip outmyhinged slingBlade from itsback holster. It’s a cruelly curved cutter as long asmy leg,meant fortakingoffandcauterizinglimbsstuckinmachinery,justlikethis.Mostmen panic when they get caught, and so the slingBlade is a nastyhalfmoonweaponmeant tobeusedbyclumsyhands.Even filledwithterror,myhandsarenotclumsy.IslicethreetimeswiththeslingBlade,cutting nanoplastic instead of flesh.On the third swing, I reach downand jerk freemy leg. As I do,my knuckles brush the edge of a drill.Searingpainshootsthroughmyhand.Ismellcracklingflesh,butI’mupand off, climbing away from the hellish heat, climbing back to myholsterseatandlaughingallthewhile.Ifeellikecrying.Myunclewasright.Iwaswrong.ButI’llbedamnedifIeverlethim

knowit.

“Idiot,”ishiskindestcomment.“Manic!Bloodydamnmanic!”Loranwhoops.“Minimalgas,”Isay.“Drillingnow,Uncle.”The haulBacks take my pull when the whistle call comes. I pushmyselfoutofmydrill, leaving it in thedeep tunnel for thenightshift,andsnagawearyhandonthelinetheothersdropdownthekilometer-long shaft tohelpmeup.Despite the seepingburnon thebackofmyhand,IslidemybodyupwardonthelinetillI’moutoftheshaft.KieranandLoranwalkwithmetojointheothersatthenearestgravLift.Yellowlightsdanglelikespidersfromtheceiling.My clan and Gamma’s three hundred men already have their toesunderthemetalrailingwhenwereachtherectangulargravLift.Iavoidmyuncle—he’smadenoughtospit—andcatchafewdozenpatsonthebackformystunt.Theyoungoneslikemethinkwe’vewontheLaurel.They know my raw helium-3 pull for the month; it’s better thanGamma’s.Theoldturdsjustgrumbleandsaywe’refools.Ihidemyhandandduckmytoesin.Gravityaltersandweshootupward.AGammascabwithlessthanaweek’sworth of rust under his nails forgets to put his toes under therailing. So he hangs suspended as the lift shoots up six verticalkilometers.Earspop.“GotafloatingGammaturdhere,”BarlowlaughstotheLambdas.Petty as it may seem, it’s always nice seeing a Gamma squabsomething.Theygetmorefood,moreburners,moreeverythingbecauseof the Laurel.We get to despise them. But then, we’re supposed to, Ithink.Wonderifthey’lldespiseusnow.Enough’s enough. I grip the rust-red nanoplastic of the kid’s frysuitandjerkhimdown.Kid.That’salaugh.He’shardlythreeyearsyoungerthanI.He’sdeathly tired,butwhenhe sees theblood-redofmy frysuit, hestiffens,avoidsmyeyes,andbecomes theonlyone to see theburnonmyhand. IwinkathimandI thinkheshitshissuit.Wealldo itnowandthen.IrememberwhenImetmyfirstHelldiver.Ithoughthewasagod.He’sdeadnow.Uptopinthestagingdepot,abiggraycavernofconcreteandmetal,we pop our tops and drink down the fresh, cold air of a world far

removedfrommoltendrills.Ourcollectivestinkandsweatsoonmakeabogofthearea.Lightsflickerinthedistance,tellingustostayclearofthemagnetichorizonTramtracksontheothersideofthedepot.Wedon’tminglewiththeGammasasweheadforthehorizonTraminastaggeredlineofrust-redsuits.HalfwithLambdaLs,halfwithGammacanes painted in dark red on their backs. Two scarlet headTalks. Twoblood-redHelldivers.A cadre of Tinpots eye us as we trudge by over the worn concretefloor. Their Gray duroArmor is simple and tired, as unkempt as theirhair.Itwouldstopasimpleblade,maybeanionblade,andapulseBladeor razorwouldgo through it likepaper.Butwe’veonly seen thoseontheholoCan.TheGraysdon’tevenbothertomakeashowofforce.Theirthumpersdangleattheirsides.Theyknowtheywon’thavetousethem.Obedienceisthehighestvirtue.TheGraycaptain,UglyDan,agreasybastard,throwsapebbleatme.Thoughhis skin isdarkened fromexposure to the sun,hishair isgraylike the rest of his Color. It hangs thin andweedy over his eyes—twoicecubesrolledinash.TheSigilsofhisColor,ablockygraysymbollikethenumberfourwithseveralbarsbesideit,markalongeachhandandwrist.Cruelandstark,likealltheGrays.I heard they pulled Ugly Dan off the frontline back in Eurasia,whereverthatis,afterhegotcrippledandtheydidn’twanttobuyhimanewarm.Hehasanoldreplacementmodelnow.He’sinsecureaboutit,soImakesureheseesmegivethearmaglance.“Sawyouhadanexcitingday,darling.”Hisvoiceisasstaleandheavyastheairinsidemyfrysuit.“Braveheronow,areyou,Darrow?Ialwaysthoughtyou’dbeabravehero.”“You’rethehero,”Isay,noddingtohisarm.“Andyouthinkyou’resmart,doncha?”“JustaRed.”Hewinksatme.“Sayhellotoyourlittlebirdieforme.Aripethingforpiggin’.”Lickshisteeth.“EvenforaRuster.”“Neverseenabird.”ExceptontheHC.“Ain’tthatathing,”hechuckles.“Wait,whereyougoing?”heasksasI turn. “A bow to your betters won’t go awry, doncha think?” Hesnickerstohisfellows.Carelessofhismockery,Iturnandbowdeeply.Myuncleseesthisandturnsfromit,disgusted.

WeleavetheGraysbehind.Idon’tmindbowing,butI’llprobablycutUglyDan’sthroatifIevergetthechance.KindoflikesayingI’dtakeazipouttoVenusinatorchShipifiteversuitedmyfancy.“Hey, Dago. Dago!” Loran calls to Gamma’s Helldiver. Theman’s a

legend;alltheotherdiversjustaflashinthepan.Imightbebetterthanhim.“What’dyoupull?”Dago,apalestripofoldleatherwithasmirkforaface,lightsalong

burnerandpuffsoutacloud.“Don’tknow,”hedrawls.“Comeon!”“Don’tcare.Rawcountnevermatters,Lambda.”“Likebloodyhellitdoesn’t!What’dhepullontheweek?”Lorancalls

aswe load into the tram.Everyone’s lightingburnersandpoppingouttheswill.Butthey’realllisteningintently.“Nine thousand eight hundred and twenty-one kilos,” a Gamma

boasts. At this, I lean back and smile; I hear cheers from the youngerLambdas.Theoldhandsdon’treact.I’mbusywonderingwhatEowilldowithsugarthismonth.We’veneverearnedsugarbefore,onlyeverwonit at cards. And fruit. I hear the Laurel gets you fruit. She’ll probablygive it all away to hungry children just to prove to the Society shedoesn’tneedtheirprizes.Me?I’deatthefruitandplaypoliticsonafullstomach. But she’s got the passion for ideas, while I’ve got no extrapassionforanythingbuther.“Stillwon’twin,”Dago drawls as the tram starts away. “Darrow’s a

youngpup,butheissmartenoughtoknowthat.Ain’tyou,Darrow?”“Youngornot,Ibeatyourcraggyass.”“Yousure’boutthat?”“Deadlysure.”Iwinkandblowhimakiss.“Laurel’sours.Sendyour

sisters tomy township for sugar this time.”My friends laughand slaptheirfrysuitlidsontheirthighs.Dagowatchesme.Afteramoment,hedragshisburnerdeep.Itglows

brightandburnsfast.“Thisisyou,”hesaystome.Inhalfaminutetheburnerisahusk.

After disembarking the horizonTram, I funnel into the Flush with therestofthecrews.Theplaceiscold,musty,andsmellsexactlylikewhat

it is: a crampedmetal shedwhere thousands ofmen strip off frysuitsafterhoursofpissingandsweatingtotakeairshowers.Ipeeloffmysuit,putononeofourhaircaps,andwalknakedtostandinthenearesttransparenttube.TherearedozensofthemlinedupintheFlush.Herethereisnodancing,noboastfulflips;theonlycamaraderieisexhaustionandthesoftslappingofhandsonthighs,creatingarhythmwiththewhooshandshootoftheshowers.Thedoortomytubehissesclosedbehindme,mufflingthesoundsofmusic.Afamiliarhumcomesfromthemotor,followedbyagreatrushof atmosphere and a sucking resonance as air filledwith antibacterialmoleculesscreamsfromthetopofthemachineandshootsovermyskintowhiskawaydeadskinandfilthdownthedrainatthebottomofthetube.Ithurts.After,IpartwithLoranandKieranastheygototheCommontodrinkanddanceinthetavernsbeforetheLaureltidedanceofficiallystarts.TheTinpotswillbehandingouttheallowancesoffoodstuffsandannouncingtheLaurelatmidnight.Therewillbedancingbeforeandafterforusofthedayshift.The legends say that the god Mars was the parent of tears, foe todanceandlute.Astotheformer,Iagree.ButweofthecolonyofLykos,oneofthefirstcoloniesunderMars’ssurface,areapeopleofdanceandsongandfamily.Wespitonthatlegendandmakeourownbirthright.Itis the one resistancewe canmanage against the Society that rules us.Givesusabitofspine.Theydon’tcarethatwedanceorthatwesing,solongasweobedientlydig.Solongaswepreparetheplanetfortherestof them. Yet to remind us of our place, theymake one song and onedancepunishablebydeath.My fathermade that dance his last. I’ve seen it only once, and I’veheardthesongonlyonceaswell.Ididn’tunderstandwhenIwaslittle,oneaboutdistantvales,mist,loverslost,andareapermeanttoguideustoourunseenhome.Iwassmallandcuriouswhenthewomansangitasher sonwashanged for stealing foodstuffs.Hewouldhavebeena tallboy,buthecouldnevergetenoughfoodtoputmeatonhisbones.Hismotherdiednext.ThepeopleofLykosdidtheFadingDirgeforthem—atragicthumpingoffistsagainstchests,fadingslowly,slowly,tillthefists,likeherheart,beatnomoreandalldispersed.Thesoundhauntedmethatnight.Icriedaloneinoursmallkitchen,

wonderingwhyIcriedthenwhenIhadnotformyfather.AsIlayonthecoldfloor,Iheardasoftscratchingatmyfamily’sdoor.WhenIopenedthedoor,Ifoundasmallhaemanthusbudnestledinthereddirt,notasoultobeseen,onlyEo’stinyfootprintsinthedirt.Thatisthesecondtimeshebroughtflowersafterdeath.Sincesonganddanceare inourblood, I suppose it isnotsurprising

thatitwasinboththatIfirstrealizedIlovedEo.NotLittleEo.Notasshewas.ButEoassheis.Shesaysshelovedmebeforetheyhangedmyfather.Butitwasinasmokytavernwhenherrustyhairswirledandherfeet moved with the zither and her hips to the drums that my heartforgotacoupleofbeats.Itwasnotherflipsorcartwheels.Noneoftheboastful foolery that so marks the dance of the young. Hers was agraceful,proudmovement.Withoutme,shewouldnoteat.Withouther,Iwouldnotlive.Shemay teaseme for saying so, but she is the spirit of our people.

Life’sdealtusahardhand.We’re tosacrifice for thegoodofmenandwomen we don’t know. We’re to dig to ready Mars for others. Thatmakessomeofusnastymindedfolks.ButEo’skindness,herlaughter,herfiercewill,isthebestthatcancomefromahomesuchasours.Ilookforherinmyfamily’soffshoottownship,justahalfmile’sworth

of tunnelroad away from the Common. The township is one of twodozen townships surrounding the Common. It is a hivelike cluster ofhomescarvedintotherockwallsoftheoldmines.Stoneandearthareourceilings,ourfloors,ourhome.TheClanisagiantfamily.Eogrewupnotastone’sthrowfrommyhouse.Herbrothersarelikemyown.HerfatherliketheoneIlost.Amess of electricalwires tangle together along the cavern’s ceiling

likeajungleofblackandredvines.Lightshangdownfromthejungle,swaying gently as air from the Common’s central oxygen systemcirculates.AtthecenterofthetownshipdanglesamassiveholoCan.It’sa squareboxwith imagesoneachside.Pixelsareblackedoutand theimageisfadedandfuzzy,butneverhasthethingfaltered,neverhasitturnedoff. Itbathesourclusterofhomes in itsownpale light.VideosfromtheSociety.Myfamily’shomeiscarvedintotherockahundredmetersfromthe

bottomfloorofthetownship.Asteeppathleadsfromittotheground,though pulleys and ropes can also bear one to the township’s greatest

heights.Onlytheoldorinfirmusethose.Andwehavefewofeither.Ourhousehasfewrooms.EoandIonlyrecentlywereabletotakea

room for ourselves. Kieran and his family have two rooms, and mymotherandsistersharetheother.All Lambdas in Lykos live in our township. Omega and Upsilon

neighbor us just a minute’s worth of wide tunnel over to either side.We’re all connected. Except for Gamma. They live in the Common,above the taverns, repair booths, silk shops, and trade bazaars. TheTinpots live in a fortress above that, nearer the barren surface of ourharshworld. That’s where the ports lie that bring the foodstuffs fromEarthtousmaroonedpioneers.The holoCan aboveme shows images ofmankind’s struggles,which

arethenfollowedbysoaringmusicastheSociety’striumphsflashpast.TheSociety’ssigil,agoldenpyramidwiththreeparallelbarsattachedtothepyramid’sthreefaces,acirclesurroundingall,burnsintothescreen.ThevoiceofOctaviaauLune,theSociety’sagedSovereign,narratesthestrugglemanfacesincolonizingtheplanetsandmoonsoftheSystem.“Since the dawn of man, our saga as a species has been one of tribal

warfare. It has been one of trial, one of sacrifice, one of daring to defynature’snaturallimits.Now,throughdutyandobedience,weareunited,butourstruggleisnodifferent.SonsanddaughtersofallColors,weareaskedtosacrificeyetagain.Hereinourfinesthour,wecastourbestseedstothestars.Where first shall we flourish? Venus? Mercury? Mars? The Moons ofNeptune,Jupiter?”Her voice grows solemnas her ageless facewith its regal cast peers

down from the HC. Her hands shimmer with the symbol of Goldemblazonedupontheirbacks—adot inthecenterofawingedcircle—goldwingsmarkthesidesofherforearms.Onlyoneimperfectionmarshergoldenface—alongcrescentscarrunningalongherrightcheekbone.Herbeautyislikethatofacruelbirdofprey.“YoubraveRedpioneersofMars—strongestofthehumanbreed—sacrifice

forprogress,sacrificetopavethewayforthefuture.Yourlives,yourblood,are a down payment for the immortality of the human race as we movebeyond Earth and Moon. You go where we could not. You suffer so thatothersdonot.“Isaluteyou.Iloveyou.Thehelium-3thatyoumineisthelife-bloodofthe

terraforming process. Soon the red planet will have breathable air, livable

soil.Andsoon,whenMarsishabitable,whenyoubravepioneershavemadeready the red planet for us softerColors,wewill join youandyouwill beheld in highest esteem beneath the sky your toil created. Your sweat andbloodfuelstheterraforming!“Brave pioneers, always remember that obedience is the highest virtue.Aboveall,obedience,respect,sacrifice,hierarchy…”I find the kitchen room of the home empty, but I hear Eo in thebedroom.“Stoprightwhereyouare!”shecommandsthroughthedoor.“Donot,underanycondition,lookinthisroom.”“Okay.”Istop.She comes out a minute later, flustered and blushing. Her hair iscovered in dust and webs. I rakemy hands through the tangle. She’sstraightfromtheWebbery,wheretheyharvestthebioSilk.“Youdidn’tgointheFlush,”Isay,smiling.“Didn’thavetime.HadtoskirtoutoftheWebberytopicksomethingup.”“Whatdidyoupickup?”She smiles sweetly. “You didn’t marry me because I tell youeverything,remember.Anddonotgointothatroom.”Imakea lunge for thedoor.Sheblocksmeandpullsmysweatbanddown over my eyes. Her forehead pushes against my chest. I laugh,movetheband,andgriphershoulderstopushherbackenoughtolookintohereyes.“Orwhat?”Iaskwitharaisedeyebrow.Shejustsmilesatmeandcocksherhead.Ibackawayfromthemetaldoor.Idiveintomoltenmineshaftswithoutablink.Buttherearesomewarningsyoucanbuckoffandothersyoucan’t.Shestandsonhertiptoesandpecksmegoodonthenose.“Goodboy;Iknewyou’dbeeasytotrain,”shesays.Thenhernosewrinklesbecauseshe smellsmyburn.Shedoesn’t coddleme,doesn’tberateme,doesn’tevenspeakexcepttosay,“Iloveyou,”withjustthehintofworryinhervoice.She picks themelted pieces of my frysuit out of the wound, whichstretchesfrommyknucklestomywrist,andpullstightawebwrapwithantibioticandnervenucleic.“Where’dyougetthat?”Iask.

“IfIdon’tlectureyou,youdon’tquizmeonwhat’swhat.”I kiss her on the nose and play with the thin band of woven hairaround her ring finger. My hair wound with bits of silk makes herweddingband.“Ihaveasurpriseforyoutonight,”shetellsme.“And I have one for you,” I say, thinking of the Laurel. I put mysweatband on her head like a crown. She wrinkles her nose at itswetness.“Oh,well,Iactuallyhavetwoforyou,Darrow.Pityyoudidn’tthinkahead. You might have gotten me a cube of sugar or a satin sheetor…maybeevencoffeetogowiththefirstgift.”“Coffee!”Ilaugh.“WhatsortofColordidyouthinkyoumarried?”She sighs. “No benefits to a diver, none at all. Crazy, stubborn,rash…”“Dexterous?”IsaywithamischievoussmileasIslidemyhandupthesideofherskirt.“Reckonthathasitsadvantages.”Shesmilesandswatsmyhandawaylikeit’saspider.“Nowputtheseglovesonunlessyouwantjabberfromthewomen.Yourmother’salreadygoneonahead.”

3

THELAUREL

Wewalkhand inhandwith theothers fromour township through thetunnelroadstotheCommon.LunedronesonaboveusontheHC,highabove,astheGoldbrows(Aureatetobetechnic)oughttobe.TheyshowthehorrorsofaterroristbombkillingaRedminingcrewandanOrangetechniciangroup.TheSonsofAres areblamed.Their strangeglyphofAres, a cruel helmetwith spiked sunbursts exploding from the crown,burnsacrossthescreen;blooddripsfromthespikes.Childrenareshownmangled.TheSonsofAresarecalledtribalmurderers,calledbringersofchaos.Theyarecondemned.TheSociety’sGraypoliceandsoldiersmoverubble. Two soldiers of the Obsidian Color, colossal men and womennearly twice my size, are shown along with nimble Yellow doctorscarryingseveralvictimsfromtheblast.TherearenoSonsofAresinLykos.Theirfutilewardoesnottouchus;

yetagainarewardisofferedforinformationonAres,theterroristking.We have heard the broadcast a thousand times, and still it feels likefiction.TheSonsthinkwearemistreated,sotheyblowthingsup.Itisapointless tantrum.Any damage they do delays the progress ofmakingMarsreadyfortheotherColors.Ithurtshumanity.Inthetunnelroad,whereboyscompetetotouchtheceiling,thepeople

of the townships flow in merriment toward the Laureltide dance. WesingtheLaureltidesongaswego—aswoopingmelodyofamanfindinghis bride in a field of gold. There’s laughter as the young boys tryrunningalongthewallsordoingrowsofflips,onlytofallontheirfaces

orbebestedbyagirl.Lights are strung along the lengthy corridor. In the distance, drunkUncleNarol,oldnowatthirty-five,playshiszitherforthechildrenwhodance about our legs; even he cannot scowl forever. He wears theinstrumentsuspendedonshoulderstrapssothatitrestsathiships,withitsplasticsoundboardanditsmanytautmetalstringsfacinguptowardtheceiling.Theright thumbstrums the strings,exceptwhen the indexfingerdropsdownorwhenthethumbpickssinglestrings,allwhiletheleft hand picks out the bass line string by string. It is maddeninglydifficulttomakethezithersoundanythingbutmournful.UncleNarol’sfingersareequaltothetask,thoughmineonlymaketragicmusic.Heusedtoplaytome,teachingmetomovetothedancesmyfathernever had the chance to teach me. He even taught me the forbiddendance,theonethey’llkillyoufor.We’ddoitintheoldmines.Hewouldhit my ankles with a switch till I pirouetted seamlessly through theswoopingmovements,alengthofmetalinmyhand,likeasword.AndwhenIgotitright,hewouldkissmybrowandtellmeIwasmyfather’sson.Itwashislessonsthattaughtmetomove,thatletmebesttheotherkidsasweplayedgamesoftagandghostsintheoldtunnels.“TheGoldsdance inpairs,Obsidians in threes,Grays indozens,”hetoldme.“Wedancealone,becauseonlyalonedoHelldiversdrill.Onlyalonecanaboybecomeaman.”Imissthosedays,dayswhenIwasyoungenoughthatIdidn’t judgehim for the stink of swill on his breath. I was eleven then. Only fiveyearsago.Yetitfeelsalifetime.IgetpatsonthebackfromthoseofLambdaandevenVarlothebakertiltsmehisbrowandtossesEoafistofbread.They’veheardabouttheLaurel,nodoubt.Eo tucks thebread intoher skirts for laterandgivesmeacuriouslook.“You’regrinninglikeafool,”shesaystome,pinchingmyside.“Whatdidyoudo?”Ishrugandtrytowipethegrinfrommyface.Itisimpossible.“Well,you’reveryproudofsomething,”shesayssuspiciously.Kieran’ssonanddaughter,mynieceandnephew,patterby.Threeandthree, the twinsare just fast enough tooutracebothKieran’swifeandmymother.Mymother’s smile isoneofawomanwhohasseenwhat lifehas to

offer and is, at best, bemused. “It seems you’ve burned yourself, myheart,” she says when she sees my gloved hands. Her voice is slow,ironic.“Ablister,”Eosaysforme.“Nastyone.”Mothershrugs.“Hisfathercamehomewithworse.”Iputmyarmaroundhershoulders.Theyarethinnerthantheyusedtobewhenshetaughtme,asallwomenteachtheirsons,thesongsofourpeople.“WasthatahintofworryIheard,Mother?”Iask.“Worry?Me?Sillychild.”Mothersighswithaslowsmile.Ikissheronthecheek.Half theclansarealreadydrunkwhenwearrive in theCommon. Inadditiontoadancingpeople,we’readrunkenpeople.TheTinpotsletusalone in that.Hangaman forno real reasonandyoumightget somegrumblingsfromthetownships.Butforcesobrietyuponus,andyou’llbepickingup thepieces forabloodydamnmonth.Eo isof themind thatthe fungus, grendel, which we distill, isn’t native to Mars and wasinstead planted here to enslave us to the swill. She brings this upwhenevermymothermakesanewbatch,andmymotherusuallyrepliesbytakingaswigandsaying,“Ratheradrinkbemymasterthanaman.Thesechainstastesweet.”They’ll taste even sweeterwith the syrupswe’ll get from the Laurelboxes. They have flavors for alcohol, like berry and something calledcinnamon.Perhaps I’ll evengetanewzithermadeofwood insteadofmetal.Sometimestheygivethoseout.Mineisanold,frayedthing.I’veplayedittoolong.Butitwasmyfather’s.The music swells ahead of us in the Common—bawdy tunes ofimprovisedpercussionandwailingzithers.We’rejoinedbyOmegasandUpsilons,jostlingaboutmerrilytowardthetaverns.Allthetaverndoorshave been thrown open so their smoke and sound billow into theCommon’s plaza. Tables ring the plaza and a space is left clearsurroundingthecentralgallowssothatthereisroomtodance.Gammahomesfillthenextseverallevels,followedbysupplydepots,asheerwall, and then, high above in the ceiling, a sunkenmetal domewithnanoGlass viewports.Wecall thatplace thePot. It is the fortresswhere our keepers live and sleep. Beyond that is the uninhabitablesurfaceofourplanet—abarrenwastelandthatI’veonlyseenontheHC.

Thehelium-3wemineissupposedtochangethat.The dancers and jugglers and singers of the Laureltide have already

begun. Eo catches sight of Loran and Kieran and gives them a holler.They’reatalong,packedtableneartheSoggyDrop,atavernwheretheoldest of our clan, Ol’ Ripper, holds court and tells tales to drunkenfolks.He’spassedouton the table tonight. It’s a shame. IwouldhavelikedforhimtoseemefinallygetustheLaurel.Atourfeasts,wherethere’shardlyfoodenoughforeachsoultoholda

bitintheirgob,thedrinkanddancetakecenter.LoranpoursmeamugofswillbeforeIevensitdown.He’salwaystryingtogetotherstodrinksohecanputridiculousribbonsintheirhair.HeclearsthewayforEotositbesidehisownwife,Dio,hersister,twininlooksifnotbirth.Loranhasa love forEo likeherbrotherLiamwould,but Iknowhe

wasonceastakenwithherasheeverwaswithDio.Infact,hebentakneetomywifewhensheturnedfourteen.Butthenagain,halftheladsjoinedhiminthat.Nosweatingit.Shemadeherchoicerightandclear.Kieran’schildrenswarmhim.Hiswifekisseshis lips;minekisseshis

brow and tousles his red hair. After a day in theWebbery harvestingspiderwormsilk,Idon’tknowhowthewivesmanagetolooksolovely.Iwas born handsome, face angular and slim, but the mines have donetheirparttochangeme.I’mtall,stillgrowing.Hairstilllikeoldblood,irises stillas rust-redasOctaviaauLune’saregolden.Myskin is tightand pale, but I’m pockedwith scars—burns, cuts.Won’t be long till IlookhardasDagoortiredasUncleNarol.But the women, they’re beyond us, beyond me. Lovely and spry

despitetheWebbery,despitethechildrentheybear.Theywearlayeredskirts down past their knees and blouses of half a dozen reds. Neveranythingelse.Alwaysred.They’retheheartoftheclans.AndhowmuchmorebeautifultheywilllookwrappedintheimportedbowsandribbonsandlacescontainedintheLaurelboxes.I touch the Sigils onmy hands, a bonelike texture. It’s a crudeRed

circlewithanarrowandcross-hatching.Itfeelsright.Eo’sdoesn’t.Herhairandeyesmaybeours,but shecouldbeoneof theGoldbrowsweseeontheholoCan.Shedeservesit.ThenIseehersmackLoranhardonthe head as he throws back amug ofMa’s swill. God, if he’s placingaboutthepieces,placedherwell.Ismile.ButasIlookbehindher,mysmilefades.Abovetheleapingdancers,amidthehundredswirlingskirts

and thumpingboots and clappinghands, sways a single skeletonuponthecold, tallgallows.Othersdonotnotice it.Tome, it isashadow,areminderofmyfather’sfate.Thoughwearediggers,wearenotpermitted toburyourdead. It isanotheroftheSociety’slaws.Myfatherswayedfortwomonthstilltheycuthisskeletondownandgroundhisbonestodust.IwassixbutItriedto pull him down the first day. My uncle stopped me. I hated himbecause he keptme frommy father’s body. Later, I came to hate himagainbecauseIdiscoveredhewasweak:myfatherdiedforsomething,whileUncleNarollivedanddrankandsquanderedhislife.“He’s a mad one, you’ll see someday. Mad and brilliant and noble,Narol’sthebestofmybrothers,”myfatheroncesaid.Nowhe’sjustthelast.I never thought my father would do the Devil’s Dance, what theoldfolkcalldeathbyhanging.Hewasamanofwordsandpeace.Buthisnotionwasfreedom,lawsofourown.Hisdreamswerehisweapons.HislegacyistheDancer’sRebellion.Itdiedwithhimonthescaffold.Ninemen at once doing theDevil’sDance, kicking and flailing, till only hewasleft.It wasn’t much of a rebellion; they thought peaceful protest wouldconvincetheSocietytoincreasethefoodrations.SotheyperformedtheReapingDanceinfrontof thegravLiftsandremovedbitsofmachineryfrom the drills so that they wouldn’t work. The gambit failed. OnlywinningtheLaurelcangetyoumorefood.It’s onelevenwhenmyuncle sitsdownwithhis zither.Heeyesmesomething nasty, drunk as a fool on Yuletide. We don’t share words,thoughhehasakindoneforEoandsheforhim.EveryonelovesEo.It’swhenEo’smother comes over and kissesme on the back ofmyhead and says very loudly, “Weheard the news, you golden boy. TheLaurel!Youareyourfather’sson,”thatmyunclestirs.“What’sthematter,Uncle?”Iask.“Havegas?”Hisnostilsflarewide.“Youlittleshiteater!”Helauncheshimselfacrossthetableandsoonwe’reamuddleoffistsandelbowsontheground.He’sbig,butIfliphimdownandpoundhisnosewithmy bad hand till Eo’s father and Kieran pullme off. UncleNarol spits at me. It’s more blood and swill than anything else. Thenwe’redrinkingagainatoppositeendsofthetable.Mymotherrollsher

eyes.“He’s just bitter he didn’t do a bloodydamn thing to get the Laurel.

Shownupisall,”Loransaysofhisfather.“Bloodydamn coward wouldn’t know how to win the Laurel if it

landedinhislap,”Isay,scowling.Eo’s father pats me on the head and sees his daughter fixing my

burnedhandunderthetable.Islipmyglovesbackon.Hewinksatme.Eo’s figured out the fuss about the Laurel by the time the Tinpots

arrive,butshe’snotexcitedasI’dhopedshe’dbe.Shetwistsherskirtsinher hands and smiles atme. But her smiles aremore like grimaces. Idon’tunderstandwhyshe’ssoapprehensive.Noneoftheotherclansare.Manycometopaytheirrespects;alloftheHelldiversdo,exceptDago.He’ssittingatagroupofshinyGammatables—theonlyoneswithmorefoodthanswill—smokingdownaburner.“Can’twait for thesodtobeeatingregularrations,”Loranchuckles.

“Dago’snevertastedpeasantfarebefore.”“Yetsomehowhe’sthinnerthanawoman,”Kieranadds.IlaughalongwithLoranandpushameagerpieceofbreadtoEo.“Cheerup,”Itellher.“Thisisanightforcelebrating.”“I’mnothungry,”shereplies.“Notevenifthebreadhascinnamononit?”Soonitwill.Shegivesmethathalfsmile,asifsheknowssomethingIdonot.At twelve, a coterie of Tinpots descend in gravBoots from the Pot.

Their armor is shoddy and stained. Most are boys or oldmen retiredfrom Earth’s wars. But that’s not what matters. They carry theirthumpers and scorchers in buckled holsters. I’ve never seen eitherweaponused.There’snoneed.They’vegot theair, the food, theport.Wehaven’tascorchertoshoot.NotthatEowouldn’tliketostealone.ThemuscleinherjawflexesasshewatchestheTinpotsfloatintheir

gravBoots, now joined by MineMagistrate, Timony cu Podginus, aminutecopper-hairedmanofthePennies(Coppertobetechnic).“Notice,notice.GrubbyRusters!”UglyDancalls.Silencefallsoverthe

festivities as they float above us. Magistrate Podginus’s gravBoots aresubstandard things, so he wobbles in the air like a geriatric. MoreTinpots descend on a gravLift as Podginus splays open his small,manicuredhands.“Fellowpioneers,howwonderfulitistoseeyourcelebrations.Imust

confess,” he titters, “I have a fondness for the rustic nature of yourhappiness.Simpledrink.Simplefare.Simpledance.Oh,whatfinesoulsyou have to be so entertained. Why, I wish I were so entertained. Icannotevenfindpleasureoff-planetinaPinkbrothelafteramealoffinehamandpineappletartthesedays!Howsadforme!Howyoursoulsarespoiled.IfonlyIcouldbelikeyou.ButmyColorismyColor,andIamcursed as a Copper to live a tedious life of data, bureaucracy, andmanagement.”Hecluckshis tongueandhiscoppercurlsbounceashisgravBootsshift.“Buttothematter:AllQuotashavebeenmet,savebyMuandChi.As

such, they will receive no beefs, milks, spices, hygienics, comforts, ordentalaid thismonth.Oatsandsubstantialsonly.Youunderstand thatthe ships from Earth orbit can only bring so many supplies to thecolonies. Valuable resources! And we must give them to those whoperform.Perhapsnextquarter,MuandChi,youwilldallyless!”MuandChi lost a dozenmen in a gas explosion like the oneUncle

Narolfeared.Theydidnotdally.Theydied.Heprattlesonawhilebeforecomingto therealmatter.Heproduces

the Laurel and holds it in the air, pinched between his fingers. It’spainted in fake gold, but the small branch sparkles nonetheless. Lorannudgesme.UncleNarolscowls.I leanback,consciousoftheeyes.Theyoungtaketheircuesfromme.ThechildrenadoreallHelldivers.Buttheolder eyeswatchme too, just asEo always says. I’m their pride, theirgoldenson.NowI’ll showthemhowarealmanacts. Iwon’t jumpupanddowninvictory.I’lljustsmileandnod.“Anditbecomesmydistincthonorto,onbehalfoftheArchGovernor

of Mars, Nero au Augustus, to award the Laurel of productivity andmonthly excellence and triumphant fortitude and obedience, sacrifice,and…”GammagetstheLaurel.Andwedon’t.

4

THEGIFT

AstheLaurel-wreathedboxescomedowntoGamma,Ithinkabouthowcleveritreallyis.Theywon’tletuswintheLaurel.Theydon’tcarethatthemathdoesn’twork.Theydon’tcarethattheyoungscreaminprotestandtheoldmoantheirsametiredwisdoms.Thisisjustademonstrationof their power. It is their power. They decide the winner. A game ofmeritwonbybirth.Itkeepsthehierarchyinplace.Itkeepsusstriving,butneverconspiring.Yet despite the disappointment, some part of us doesn’t blame the

Society.WeblameGamma,whoreceivesthegifts.Aman’sonlygotsomuchhate,Isuppose.Andwhenheseeshischildren’sribsthroughtheirshirtswhilehisneighborslinetheirbellieswithmeatstewsandsugaredtarts,it’shardforhimtohateanyonebutthem.Youthinkthey’dshare.Theydon’t.Myuncleshrugsatmeandothersareredandmad.Loranlookslike

hemightattacktheTinpotsortheGammas.ButEodoesn’tletmeboilinit. Shedoesn’t letmyknuckles turnwhiteas I clenchmy fists in fury.She knows the temper I have inside me better even than my ownmother,andsheknowshowtodraintheragebeforeitrises.MymothersmilessoftlyasshewatchesEotakemebythearm.Howshelovesmywife.“Dancewithme,”Eowhispers.Sheshoutsforthezitherstogetgoing

and thedrums toget rolling.Nodoubt she’spissin’ fire.Shehates theSocietymorethanIdo.ButthisiswhyIlovemywife.

Soonthefastzithermusicswellsandtheoldmenslaptheirhandsontables.Thelayeredskirtsfly.Feettapandshuffle.AndIgraspmywifeas theclans flow indance throughout the square to joinus.We sweatandwe laughand try to forget theanger.Wegrew together,andnowaregrown.Inhereyes,Iseemyheart.Inherbreath,Ihearmysoul.Sheismyland.Sheismykin.Mylove.She pulls me away with laughter. We wend our way through thecrowdtobealone.Yetshedoesnotstopwhenwearefree.Sheguidesmealongmetalwalkwaysand low,darkceilings to theold tunnels, totheWebbery,wherethewomentoil.Itisbetweenshifts.“Wherearewegoingexactly?”Iask.“Ifyouremember,Ihavegiftsforyou.Andifyouapologizeforyourowngiftgoingflat,I’llsmackyouinthegob.”Seeing a bloody-red haemanthus bulb peeking out from the wall, Isnatchitupandhandittoher.“Mygift,”Isaid.“Ididintendtosurpriseyou.”She giggles. “Well then. This inner half is mine. This outer half isyours. No! Don’t pull at it. I’m keeping your half.” I smell thehaemanthusinherhand.ItstinkslikerustandMother’smeagerstews.InsidetheWebbery,thigh-thickspiderwormsofbrownandblackfur,withlongskeletallegs,knitsilkaroundus.Theycrawlalongthegirders,thinlegsdisproportionatetotheircorpulentabdomens.EoleadsmeintotheWebbery’shighestlevel.Theoldmetalgirdersarelacedwithsilk.Ishiver in looking at the creatures above and below; pitvipers Iunderstand, spiderworms I do not. The Society’s Carvers made thecreatures. Laughing, Eo guides me to a wall and pulls back a thickcurtainofwebbing,revealingarustedmetalduct.“Ventilation,” she says. “Mortar on the walls gave way to reveal itaboutaweekago.Anoldtubetoo.”“Eo,they’lllashusiftheyfindus.We’renotallowed…”“I’m not going to let them ruin this gift too.” She kissesme on thenose. “Come on, Helldiver. There’s not even a molten drill in thistunnel.”Ifollowherthroughalongseriesofturnsinthesmallshafttillweexitout a grate into a world of inhuman sounds. A buzz murmurs in thedarkness.Shetakesmyhand.It’stheonlyfamiliarthing.“Whatisthat?”Iaskofthesound.

“Animals,” she says, and leadsme into the strangenight. Somethingsoft is beneath my feet. I nervously let her pull me forward. “Grass.Trees.Darrow,trees.We’reinaforest.”The scentof flowers.Then lights in thedarkness. Flickeringanimalswith green abdomens flutter through the black. Great bugs withiridescentwingsrise fromtheshadows.Theypulsewithcolorandlife.My breath catches and Eo laughs as a butterfly passes so close I cantouchit.They’reinoursongs,allthesethings,butwe’veonlyeverseenthemon theHC. Their colors are unlike any I could believe.My eyes haveseen nothing but soil, the flare of the drill, Reds, and the gray ofconcrete andmetal. TheHC has been thewindow throughwhich I’veseencolor.Butthisisadifferentspectacle.The colorsof the floatinganimals scaldmyeyes. I shiver and laughand reach out and touch the creatures floating before me in thedarkness. A child again, I cup them and look up at the room’s clearceiling.Itisatransparentbubblethatpeersatthesky.Sky.Onceitwasjustaword.I cannot seeMars’s face, but I can see its view. Stars glow soft andgraceful in the slick black sky, like the lights that dangle above ourtownship.Eolooksasthoughshecouldjointhem.Herfaceisaglowasshewatchesme,laughingasIfalltomykneesandsuckinthescentofthe grass. It is a strange smell, sweet and nostalgic, though I have nomemoriesofgrass.Astheanimalsbuzznearinthebrush,inthetrees,Ipullherdown,Ikissherwithmyeyesopenforthefirsttime.Thetreesandtheirleavesswaygentlyfromtheairthatcomesthroughthevents.AndIdrinkthesounds,thesmells,thesightasmywifeandImakeloveinabedofgrassbeneatharoofofstars.“ThatisAndromedaGalaxy,”shetellsmelateraswelieonourbacks.Theanimalsmakechirpingnoisesinthedarkness.Theskyabovemeisafrighteningthing.IfIstaretoointently,Iforgetgravity’spullandfeelasthoughIamgoingtofallintoit.Shiverstrickledownmyspine.Iamacreatureofnooksandtunnelsandshafts.Themineismyhome,andpartofmewants toruntosafety, run fromthisalienroomof living thingsandvastspaces.Eorolls to lookatmeandtraces thesteamscars thatrun likeriversdownmy chest. Farther down she’d find scars from thepitviper along

mybelly.“MumusedtotellmestoriesofAndromeda.She’ddrawwithinks given to her by that Tinpot, Bridge. He always liked her, youknow.”As we lie together, she takes a deep breath and I know she has

plannedsomething,savedsomethingtotalkaboutinthismoment.Thisplaceisleverage.“YouwontheLaurel,weallknow,”shesaystome.“Youneedn’tcoddleme.I’mnotangryanylonger.Itdoesn’tmatter,”I

say.“Afterseeingthis,noneofthatmatters.”“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”sheaskssharply.“Itmattersmorethan

ever.YouwontheLaurel,buttheydidn’tletyoukeepit.”“Itdoesn’tmatter.Thisplace…”“Thisplaceexists,buttheydon’tletuscomehere,Darrow.TheGrays

mustuseitforthemselves.Theydon’tshare.”“Whyshouldthey?”Iask,confused.“Becausewemadeit.Becauseit’sours!”“Isit?”Thethoughtisforeign.AllIpossessismyfamilyandmyself.

EverythingelseistheSociety’s.Wedidn’tspendthemoneytosendthepioneershere.Withoutthem,we’dbeonthedyingEarthliketherestofhumanity.“Darrow!AreyousoRedthatyoudon’tseewhatthey’vedonetous?”“Watchyourtone,”Isaytightly.Herjawflexes.“I’msorry.It’sjust…weareinchains,Darrow.Weare

not colonists. Well, sure we are. But it’s more on the spot to call usslaves. We beg for food. Beg for Laurels like dogs begging for scrapsfromthemaster’stable.”“Youmaybeaslave,”Isnap.“ButIamnot.Idon’tbeg.Iearn.Iama

Helldiver.Iwasborntosacrifice,tomakeMarsreadyforman.There’sanobilitytoobedience.…”She throws up her hands. “A talking puppet, are you? Spitting out

their bloodydamn lines. Your father had the right of it. Hemight nothavebeenperfect,buthehadtherightofit.”Shegrabsaclumpofgrassandtearsitoutoftheground.Itseemslikesomesortofsacrilege.“Wehaveclaimoverthisland,Darrow.Oursweatandbloodwatered

thissoil.YetitbelongstotheGolds,totheSociety.Howlonghasitbeenthisway?Ahundred,ahundredandfiftyyearsofpioneersmininganddying?Ourbloodandtheirorders.WepreparethislandforColorsthat

havenevershedsweatforus,ColorsthatsitincomfortontheirthronesondistantEarth,ColorsthathaveneverbeentoMars.Isthatsomethingtolivefor?I’llsayitagain,yourfatherhadtherightofit.”I shake my head at her. “Eo, my father died before he was eventwenty-fivebecausehehadtherightofit.”“Yourfatherwasweak,”shemutters.“Whatthebloodydamnisthatsupposedtomean?”Bloodrisesintomyface.“It means he had too much restraint. It means your father had therightdreambutdiedbecausehewouldnot fight tomake it real,” shesayssharply.“Hehadafamilytoprotect!”“Hewasstillweakerthanyou.”“Careful,”Ihiss.“Careful?ThisfromDarrow,themadHelldiverofLykos?”Shelaughspatronizingly.“Yourfatherwasborncareful,obedient.Butwereyou?Ididn’t think so when I married you. The others say you are like amachine,becausetheythinkyouknownofear.They’reblind.Theydon’tseehowfearbindsyou.”Shetracesthehaemanthusblossomalongmycollarboneinasuddenshowoftenderness.Sheisacreatureofmoods.Thefloweristhesamecolorastheweddingbandonherfinger.Irollonanelbowtofaceher.“Spititout.Whatdoyouwant?”“DoyouknowwhyIloveyou,Helldiver?”sheasks.“Becauseofmysenseofhumor.”She laughs dryly. “Because you thought you could win the Laurel.Kierantoldmehowyouburnedyourselftoday.”I sigh. “The rat. Always jabbering. Thought that’s what youngerbrothersweresupposedtodo,notelder.”“Kieran was frightened, Darrow. Not for you, like you might bethinking.Hewas frightenedofyou,becausehecan’tdowhatyoudid.Boywouldn’teventhinkit.”Shealwaystalkscirclesaroundme.Ihatetheabstractsshelivesfor.“So you love me because you believe that I think there are thingsworththerisk?”Ipuzzleout.“OrbecauseI’mambitious?”“Becauseyou’veabrain,”sheteases.Shemakesmeaskitagain.“Whatdoyouwantmetodo,Eo?”

“Act.Iwantyoutouseyourgiftsforyourfather’sdream.Youseehowpeoplewatchyou,taketheircuesfromyou.Iwantyoutothinkowningthisland,ourland,isworththerisk.”“Howmucharisk?”“Yourlife.Mylife.”Iscoff.“You’rethateagertoberidofme?”“Speakandtheywill listen,”sheurges.“It is thatbloodysimple.All

earsyearnforavoicetoleadthemthroughdarkness.”“Grand,soI’llhangwithatroop.Iammyfather’sson.”“Youwon’thang.”Ilaughtooharshly.“SocertainawifeIhave.I’llhang.”“You’re not meant to be a martyr.” Sighing, she lies back in

disappointment.“Youwouldn’tseethepointtoit.”“Oh?Well then, tellme,Eo.What is thepoint todying? I’monly a

martyr’sson.Sotellmewhatthatmanaccomplishedbyrobbingmeofafather.Tellmewhatgoodcomesofallthatbloodydamnsadness.Tellmewhyit’sbetter I learnedtodancefrommyuncle thanmyfather.” Igoon.“Didhisdeathputfoodonyourtable?Diditmakeanyofourlivesany better? Dying for a cause doesn’t do a bloodydamn thing. It justrobbedusofhislaughter.”Ifeelthetearsburningmyeyes.“Itjuststoleawayafatherandahusband.Sowhatiflifeisn’tfair?Ifwehavefamily,thatisallthatshouldmatter.”Shelicksherlipsandtakeshertimeinreplying.“Death isn’t empty like you say it is. Emptiness is life without

freedom, Darrow. Emptiness is living chained by fear, fear of loss, ofdeath. I say we break those chains. Break the chains of fear and youbreak the chains that bind us to the Golds, to the Society. Could youimagine it? Mars could be ours. It could belong to the colonists whoslavedhere,diedhere.”Herfaceiseasiertoseeasnightfadesthroughtheclearroof.Itisalive,onfire.“Ifyouledtheotherstofreedom.Thethingsyoucoulddo,Darrow.Thethingsyoucouldmakehappen.”Shepauses and I see her eyes are glistening. “It chillsme. You have beengivenso,somuch,butyousetyoursightssolow.”“Yourepeatthesamedamnpoints,”Isaybitterly.“Youthinkadream

isworthdyingfor.Isayitisn’t.Yousayit’sbettertodieonyourfeet.Isayit’sbettertoliveonourknees.”“You’re not even living!” she snaps. “We are machine men with

machineminds,machinelives.…”“Andmachinehearts?”Iask.“That’swhatIam?”“Darrow…”“What do you live for?” I ask her suddenly. “Is it forme? Is it for

familyandlove?Orisitforsomedream?”“It’snotjustsomedream,Darrow.Iliveforthedreamthatmychildren

willbebornfree.Thattheywillbewhattheylike.Thattheywillownthelandtheirfathergavethem.”“Iliveforyou,”Isaysadly.Shekissesmycheek.“Thenyoumustliveformore.”There’salong,terriblesilencethatstretchesbetweenus.Shedoesnot

understandhowherwordswrenchmyheart,howshecan twistmesoeasily. Because she does not loveme like I love her. Hermind is toohigh.Minetoolow.AmInotenoughforher?“Yousaidyouhadanothergiftforme?”Isay,changingthesubject.Sheshakesherhead.“Someothertime.Thesunrises.Watchitwith

meonce,atleast.”Welieinsilenceandwatchlightslipintotheskyasthoughitwerea

tidemadefromfire.ItisunlikeanythingIcouldhavedreamedof.Ican’tstopthe tears thatwell in thecornersofmyeyesas theworldbeyondturnstolightandthegreensandbrownsandyellowsofthetreesintheroomarerevealed.Itisbeauty.Itisadream.Iamsilentaswereturn to thegrimnessof thegrayducts.The tears

lingerinmyeyesandasthemajestyofwhatIsawfades;IwonderwhatEowants ofme. Does shewantme to takemy slingBlade and start arebellion?Iwoulddie.Myfamilywoulddie.Shewoulddie,andnothingwouldmakemeriskher.Sheknowsthat.Iampuzzlingoutwhatherothergiftmaybewhenweexittheducts

fortheWebbery.IrollfirstfromtheductandextendahandbacktoherwhenIhearavoice.Itisaccented,oily,fromEarth.“Redsinourgardens,”itoozes.“Ain’tthatathing.”

5

THEFIRSTSONG

UglyDanstandswith threeTinpots.Their thumpersperchcrackling intheir hands. Two of themen lean on themetal rails of theWebbery’sgirders.Behindthem,thewomenofMuandUpsilonwrapsilkfromtheworms around long silver poles. They shake their heads insistently atme,asiftellingmenottobefoolish.We’vegonebeyondthepermittedzones.Thiswillmeanaflogging,butifIresist,itwillmeandeath.TheywillkillEoandtheywillkillme.“Darrow…,”Eomurmurs.IsetmyselfbetweenEoandtheTinpots,butIdon’tfight.Iwon’tlet

usdieforasimpleglimpseofthestars.IputmyhandsouttoletthemknowIwillsurrender.“Helldivers,”UglyDanchucklestotheothers.“Thetoughestantisyet

but an ant.” He swings his thumper into my stomach. It’s like beingbittenbyaviperandkickedbyaboot.Ifallgasping,handsonthemetalgrate.Electricityslithersthroughmyveins.Itastethebilerisinginmythroat. “Take a swing, Helldiver,” Dan coos. He drops one of thethumpers in front of me. “Please. Take a swing. Won’t be anyconsequences.Justsomefunbetweentheboys.Takeapiggin’swing.”“Doit,Darrow!”Eoshouts.I’m not a fool. I thrustmy hands up in surrender and Dan sighs in

disappointment as he clacks themagneticmanacles aroundmywrists.WhatwouldEohavehadmedo? She curses at themas they lockherarmstogetheranddragusawaythroughtheWebberytothecells.This

willmeanthelash.ButitwillbejustthelashbecauseIdidnotpickupthethumper,becauseIdidnotlistentoEo.

It’s threedaysinacell inthePotbeforeIseeEoagain.Bridge,oneoftheold,kinderTinpots,takesusouttogether;heletsustouch.Iwonderif she’ll spitatme, curseme formy impotence.But sheonlygripsmyfingersandbringsherlipstomine.“Darrow.”Herlipsbrushmyear.Thebreathiswarm,thelipscrackedandtrembling.She’sfrailasshehugsme—alittlegirl,allwirewrappedin pale skin. Her knees wobble and she shudders against me. ThewarmthIsawinherfaceaswewatchedthesunrisehasfledandleftherlike a fadedmemory. But I hardly see anything but her eyes and herhair.IwrapmyarmsaroundherandhearthemutteringofthecrowdedCommon.The facesofourkinandclan stareatusaswe standat theedge of the gallows,where theywill flog us. I feel like a child undertheirstares,undertheyellowishlights.It’slikeadreamwhenEotellsmeshelovesme.Herhandlingersonmine.Butthere’ssomethingstrangetohereyes.Theyshouldonlywhipher,yetherwordsarefinal,hereyessadbutnotafraid.Iseehermakingagoodbye.Anightmare iscomingtomyheart. Icanfeel it likeanaildraggedalongthebonesofmyspineasshemurmursanepigraminmyear.“Breakthechains,mylove.”AndthenIamjerkedawayfromherbymyhair.Tearsstreamdownherface.Theyareforme,thoughIdonotyetunderstandwhy.Icannotthink.Theworldisswimming.Iamdrowning.Roughhandsshovemetomyknees,thenjerkmeup.I’veneverheardtheCommonsoquiet.Theshufflingofmycaptors’feetechoesastheymovemearound.TheTinpotsfitmeintomyHelldiverfrysuit.Itsacridsmellmakesmethink Iamsafe, Iam incontrol. Iamnot. I’mdraggedaway fromherinto the very center of the Common and tossed at the edge of thegallows. Themetal stairs are rusted and stained. I grip themwithmyhandsandlooktothetopofthegallows.Twenty-fouroftheheadTalkseachhaveacordofleather.Theywaitformeatoptheplatform.“Oh, the horror of such occasions as this, my friends,” MagistratePodginuscries.HiscoppergravBootshumabovemeashefloatsthroughtheair.“Oh,howthetiesthatbindusarestretchedwhenonedecidesto

breakthelawswhichprotectusall.“Even the youngest, even the best, are subject to Law. To Order!Without these we would be animals! Without obedience, withoutdiscipline,therewouldbenocolonies!Andthosefewcoloniestherearewould be torn asunder by disorder!Manwould be confined to Earth.Manwouldwallowforevermoreonthatplanetuntiltheendofdays.ButOrder!Discipline!Law!Theseare the thingswhichempowerour race.Cursedisthecreaturewhobreakswiththesecompacts.”Thespeechismoreeloquentthanusual.Podginusistryingtoimpresshisintelligenceuponsomeone.IlookupfromthestairsandseeasightIdidnoteverthinktoseewithmyowntwoeyes.Itstingstolookathim,todrinkintheradianceofhishair,ofhisSigils.IseeaGold.Inthisdrabplace,he iswhat I imagineangelswouldbe like.Cloaked ingold andblack.Wrappedinthesun.Alionroaringuponhisbreast.Hisfaceisolder,severe,andpurewithpower.Hishairshines,combedback against his head.Neither a smilenor a frownmarkhis thin lips,and the only line I see is that of a scar, which runs along his rightcheekbone.I’velearnedfromtheHCthatsuchascarisborneonlybythefinestoftheGolds.ThePeerlessScarred,theycallthem—menandwomenoftheruling Colorwho have graduated from the Institute,where they learnthesecretsthatwillpermitmankindtoonedaycolonizealltheplanetsoftheSolarSystem.Hedoesnotspeaktous.HespeakstoanotherGold,onetallandthin,so thin I thought itawomanat first.Withoutascar, theman’s faceiscoatedwithstrangepastetobringoutthecolorofhischeeksandcoverthe linesonhis face.His lips shine.Andhishairglistens inawayhismaster’sdoesnot.Heisagrotesquethingtolookupon.Hethinkssoofus.Hesniffstheair,contemptuous.TheolderGoldspeakstohimsoftlyandnottous.Andwhyshouldhespeaktous?WearenotworthyofaGold’swords.Iscarcelywanttolookathim.IfeellikeIdirtyhisgoldandblackfinerywithmyredeyes.ShamecreepsuponmeandthenIrealizewhy.HisisafaceIknow.Itisafaceeverymanandwomanofthecolonieswouldknow.BesidesOctaviaauLune, this is themost famous faceonMars—thatofNeroauAugustus.TheArchGovernorofMarshascometoseemeflogged,andhehasbroughtaretinue.TwoCrows(Obsidiansto

betechnic)floatquietlybehindhim.TheirskullhelmetssuittheirColor.Iwasborntominetheearth.Theywereborntokillmen.MorethantwofeettallerthanI.Eightfingersoneachmassivehand.Theybreedthemforwar, andwatching them is likewatching the coldbloodedpitviperswhoinfestourmines.Reptilesboth.There are a dozen others in his retinue, including another, slighter

Gold who seems his apprentice. He’s even more beautiful than theArchGovernorandheappears todislike the thin,womanishGold.AndthereisanHCcameracrewofGreens,tinycreaturescomparedwiththeCrows. Their hair is dark. Not green like their eyes and the Sigils ontheir hands. Frenetic excitement shimmers in those eyes. It’s not oftentheyhaveHelldiverstomakeintoanexample,sotheymakeaspectacleofme. Iwonderhowmanyotherminingcoloniesarewatching.Allofthem,iftheArchGovernorishere.Theymakeashowofstrippingawaythefrysuittheyonlyjustdressed

me in. I see myself on the HC display above, see my wedding banddangling from the cord around my neck. I look younger than I feel,thinner.Theyjerkmeupthestairsandbendmeoverametalboxbesidethenoosewheremyfatherhung.Ishiverastheylaymeacrossthecoldsteelandtightenmyhandsinrestraints.Ismellthesynthleatherofthelashes,hearoneoftheheadTalkscough.“Forevermore,letjusticebedone,”Podginussays.Thenthelashescome.Forty-eightinall.Theyaren’tsoft,notevenmy

uncle’s.Theycan’tbe.Thelashesbiteandwailintomyflesh,makingastrangekeeningnoiseastheyarchthroughtheair.Musicofterror.Icanbarely see by the end of it. I pass out twice, and each time I wake IwonderifyoucanseemyspineontheHC.It’sashow,allashowoftheirpower.TheylettheTinpot,UglyDan,

actsympathetic,asthoughhepitiesme.Hewhispersencouragementinmyearloudenoughforthecameras.Andwhenthelastlashslashesmyback, he steps in as if to stop another from coming down.Subconsciously,Ithinkhesavesme.I’mthankful.Iwanttokisshim.Heissalvation.ButIknowI’vehadmyforty-eight.Thentheyaredraggingmetotheside.Theyleavemyblood.I’msureI

screamed,sureIshamedmyself.Ihearthembringoutmywife.“Eventheyoung,eventhebeautifulcannotescapejustice.Itisforall

the Colors that we preserve Order, Justice. Without, we would find

anarchy. Without Obedience, chaos! Man would perish upon theirradiatedsandsofEarth.Hewoulddrink fromtheblastedseas.Theremustbeunity.Forevermore,letjusticebedone.”MineMagistratePodginus’swordsringhollow.No one is offended that I’m bloody and beaten. But when Eo isdragged atop the gallows, there are cries. There are curses. Even nowshe isbeautiful, evendrainedof the light I saw inher threedaysago.Even as she seesme and lets the tears comedownher face, she is anangel.Allthisforalittleadventure.Allthisforanightunderthestarswiththemansheloves.Yetsheiscalm.Ifthereisfear,itisinme,becauseIfeelastrangenessintheair.Herskinpricklesastheylayheracrossthecoldbox.Sheflinches.Iwishmybloodhadwarmeditbetterforher.WhentheywhipEo,Itrynottowatch.Butithurtsmoretoabandonher.Her eyes findmine. They shine like rubies, twitch every time thelashfalls.Soonthiswillbeover,mylove.Soonwewillgobacktolife.Justlast the lashandweget everythingback.But can sheeven take somanylashes?“Endit,”IsaytotheTinpotbesideme.“Endit!”Ibegofhim.“I’lldoanything. I’ll obey. I’ll take her lashes. Just end it, you bloodydamnbastards!Endit!”TheArchGovernorlooksdownatme,buthisfaceisgolden,poreless,andwithout care. I amnothingbut the bloodiest of ants.My sacrificewill impress him. He’ll feel compassion if I abase myself, if I throwmyselfintothefireforlove.He’llfeelpity.Thisishowthestoriesgo.“YourExcellency, givemeher punishment!” I plead. “Please!” I begbecauseinmywife’seyesIseesomethingthatterrifiesme.Iseefightinherastheystreakherbackbloody.Iseeangerbuildinginsideher.Thereisareasonsheisnotafraid.“No.No.No,”Ipleadtoher.“No,Eo.Please,no!”“Gag that wretched thing! He prickles the ArchGovernor’s ears,”Podginusorders.Bridgeforcesaknotofstoneintomymouth.Igagandcry.Asthethirteenthlashfalls,asImumbleforhernottodoit,Eostaresintomyeyesonelastmomentandthenshebeginshersong.Itisaquietsound,amournfulsound,likethesongthedeepmineswhisperaswindmoves intheabandonedshafts. It is thesongofdeathandlament, the

songthatisforbidden.ThesongIhaveonlyheardoncebefore.Forthis,theywillkillher.Hervoice issoftandtrue,neverasbeautifulasshe. Itechoesacross

the Common, rising up like a Siren’s unearthly call. The lashes pause.The headTalks shiver. Even the Tinpots sadly shake their heads whentheyplacethewords.Fewmentrulylikeseeingbeautyburn.PodginusglancesembarrassedlyoveratArchGovernorAugustus,who

descends on golden gravBoots towatchmore closely.His shining hairglistensagainsthisnoblebrow.Highcheekbonescatchthelight.Thosegoldeneyesexaminemywifeasthoughawormhadsuddenlysproutedabutterfly’s wings. His scar curves as he speaks with a voice drippingpower.“Let her sing,” he says to Podginus, not bothering to hide his

fascination.“But,mylord…”“No animal but man throws themselves willingly into the flames,

Copper.Relish the sight. You’ll not see it again.” Tohis camera crew:“Continuerecording.Wewilleditoutthepartswefindintolerable.”Howfutilehiswordsmakehersacrificeseem.ButneverhasEobeenmorebeautifultomethaninthatmoment.In

thefaceofcoldpower,sheis fire.This isthegirlwhodancedthroughthe smoky tav with a mane of red. This is the girl who wove me aweddingbandofherownhair.Thisisthegirlwhochoosestodieforasongofdeath.

Mylove,myloveRememberthecriesWhenwinterdiedforspringskiesTheyroaredandroaredButwegrabbedourseedAndsowedasongAgainsttheirgreed

AndDowninthevale

Hearthereaperswing,thereaperswingthereaperswingDowninthevaleHearthereapersingAtaleofwinterdone

Myson,mysonRememberthechainsWhengoldruledwithironreinsWeroaredandroaredAndtwistedandscreamedForours,avaleofbetterdreams

Ashervoice finally swellsand the songrunsoutofwords, IknowIhave lost her. She becomes something more important; and she wasright,Idonotunderstand.“Aquainttune.Butisthatallyouhave?”theArchGovernorasksher

whensheisthrough.Helooksatherbuthespeaksloudly,tothecrowd,tothosewhowillwatchintheothercolonies.HisentouragechucklesatEo’sweapon,asong.Whatisasongbutnotesuntotheair?Uselessasamatchinastormagainsthispower.Heshamesus.“Doanyofyouwishto join her in song? I implore you, bold Reds of…” He looks to hisassistant,whomouthsthename.“…Lykos,joinhernowifyouwish.”Icanbarelybreathepastthestone.Itchipsmymolars.Tearsstream

downmyface.Novoicesrisefromthecrowd.Iseemymothertremblingwith anger. Kieran clutches hiswife close.Narol stares at the ground.Loranweeps.Theyareallhere,allquiet.Allafraid.“Alas, Your Excellency, we find the girl alone in her zealotry,”

Podginusdeclares.Eohaseyesonlyforme.“’Tisclearheropinionisanoutlier’s,anoutcast’s.Mayhapsweshouldproceed?”“Yes,”theArchGovernorsaysidly.“IhaveanappointmentwithArcos.

Hangtherustybitchlestshecontinuetohowl.”

6

THEMARTYR

ForEo, Idonotreact. Iamanger. Iamhatred.Everything.But Iholdhergazeevenastheytakeherawayandfitthenoosearoundherneck.IlookupatBridgeandhequietlytakesthegagfrommymouth.Myteethwillneverbethesame.TearsbuildintheTinpot’seyes.Ileavehimandstumblenumbly to thebottomof the scaffold soEocanseemeas shedies.Thisisherchoice.Iwillbewithhertotheend.Myhandsshake.Sobscomefromthecrowdbehindme.“Thelastwords,towhomwillyouspeakthembeforejusticeisdone?”

Podginusasksher.Hedripssympathyforthecamera.Ireadyforhertosaymyname,butshedoesnot.Hereyesneverleave

mine,but shecallsher sisterout. “Dio.”Theword trembles in theair.Sheisfrightenednow.IdonotreactasDioclimbsthescaffoldstairs;Idonotunderstand,butIwillnotbejealous.Thisisnotaboutme.Iloveher.Andherchoiceismade.Idonotunderstand,butIwillnotletherdieknowinganythingbutmylove.Ugly Dan has to help Dio climb the gallows; she’s stumbling and

senselessassheleansclosetohersister.Whateverissaid,Idonothear;butDioletslooseamoanthatwillhauntmeforever.Shelooksatmeasshe weeps.What didmywife tell her?Women are crying.Men wipetheireyes.TheyhavetostunDiotopullheraway,butsheclingstoEo’sfeet,weeping.ThereisanodfromtheArchGovernor,thoughhedoesn’tevencareenoughtowatchas,likemyfather,Eoishanged.“Live formore,” shemouths tome. She reaches into her pocket and

pullsoutthehaemanthusIgaveher.Itissmashedandflat.Thenloudlyshescreamstoallthosegathered,“Breakthechains!”Thetrapdoorbeneathher feetopens.She falls,andforonemoment,herhairhangssuspendedaboutherhead,aflourishofred.Thenherfeetscrambleatairandshefalls.Herslimthroatgags.Eyesopensowide.IfonlyIcouldsaveherfromthis.IfonlyIcouldprotecther;buttheworldiscoldandhardtome.ItdoesnotbendasIwishittobend.Iamweak.Iwatchmywifedieandmyhaemanthusfallfromherhand.Thecamerarecordsitall.Irushforwardtokissherankle.Icradleherlegs.Iwillnotlethersuffer.OnMars there is notmuch gravity, so you have to pull the feet tobreaktheneck.Theyletthelovedonesdoit.Soon,thereisnosound,noteventhecreakingoftherope.Mywifeistoolight.Shewasonlyjustagirl.Then the thumping of the Fading Dirge begins. Fists on chests.Thousands.Fast,likearacingheartbeat.Slower.Abeatasecond.Abeatevery five. Every ten. Then never again, and themournfulmass fadesawaylikedustheldinthepalmastheoldtunnelswailwithdeepwinds.AndtheGolds,theyflyaway.

Eo’s father, Loran, andKieran sit bymydoor through thenight. Theysaytheyaretheretokeepmecompany.Buttheyaretheretoguardme,toensureIdonotdie.Iwanttodie.Motherdressesmywoundwithsilkmysister,Leanna,stolefromtheWebbery.“Keepthenervenucleicdry,oryouwillscar.”Whatarescars?Howlittletheymatter.Eowillnotseethem,sowhyshouldIcare?Shewillnotrunherhandalongmyback.Shewillneverkissmywounds.Sheisgone.IlieinourbedonmybacksoIcanfeelthepainandforgetmywife.ButIcannotforget.Shehangsevennow.Inthemorning,Iwillpassheronthewaytothemines.Soonshewillstinkandsoonshewillrot.Mybeautifulwifeshonetoobrighttolivelong.Istillfeelherneckcrackingagainstmyhands;theytremblenowinthenight.ThereisahiddentunnelIcarvedinmybedroomlongagointherock

soIcouldsneakoutasachild.Iuseitnow.Ileaveoutthesecretpath,climbing stealthily down frommy home, somy kin never seeme slipawayinthelowlight.Itisquietinthetownship.QuietexceptfortheHC,whichmakesmywife die to a soundtrack. They intended to show the futility ofdisobedience.And they succeed in that, but there is something else inthe video. They show my flogging, and Eo’s, and they play her songthroughout.Andasshedies,theyplayitagain,whichseemstogivethevideothewrongeffect.Evenifshewerenotmywife,Iseeamartyr,ayounggirl’sprettysongsilencedbytheropeofcruelmen.ThentheHCflashesblack forseveralmoments. Ithasnevergonetoblack before. And Octavia au Lune comes back on with the same oldmessage. It almost seems as though someone has hacked into thebroadcast,becausemywifeflickersontothegiantscreenagain.“Breakthechains!”shecries.Thenshe’sgoneandthescreenisblack.Itcrackles.Theimagecomesback.Shecriesitagain.Blackoncemore.Standardprogramminggoes up, then it cuts toher screamingone lasttimeandthenthere’smepullingherlegs.Thenstatic.ThestreetsarequietasImakemywaytotheCommon.Thenightshiftwill be returning soon. Then I hear a noise and aman steps into thestreet in frontofme.Myuncle’s face leersatme fromthe shadows.Asinglebulbhangsoverhishead, illuminatingthe flask inhishandandhistatteredredshirt.“Youareyourfather’sson,littlebastard.Stupidandvain.”Myhandsclench.“Cometostopme,Uncle?”Hegrunts.“Couldn’tstopyourfatherfromkillinghisbloodyself.Andhewasabetterbloodymanthanyou.Morerestraintinhim.”Istepforward.“Idon’tneedyourpermission.”“Nay,youlittlesquabber,youdon’t.”Herunsahandthroughhishair.“Don’t dowhat you’re gonna do, though. It’ll break yourmother; youmight think shedidn’t knowyou’d slip out. Shedid.Toldme so. Saidyouweregonnagodielikemybrother,likeyourgirl.”“IfMotherknew,shewouldhavestoppedme.”“Nah. She lets us menmake our ownmistakes. But this ain’t whatyourgirlwould’vewanted.”I point a finger atmy uncle. “You don’t know a thing. Not a thingaboutwhatshewanted.”EosaidIwouldn’tunderstandbeingamartyr.I

willshowherIdo.“Righto,”he sayswitha shrug. “I’llwalkwithyou, then, sinceyour

headisfullofrocks.”Hechuckles.“WeLambdasdolovethenoose.”HetossesmehisflaskandIfallintotentativestepbesidehim.“Itriedtotalkyourfatheroutofhislittleprotest,youknow.Toldhim

wordsanddancemeanasmuchasdust.Triedsquaringupwithhim.Isquabbedthatoneup.Helaidmedowncold.”Hethrowsaslowright.“Comesatimeinlifewhenyouknowamanhashismindsetandit’saninsulttogainsay.”Idrink fromhis flaskandhand itback.The swill tastes strangeand

thickerthanusual.Strange.Hemakesmefinishtheflask.“Your’sset?”heasks,tappinghishead.“Courseitis.Iforget,Itaught

youhowtodance.”“Stubborn as a pitviper, wasn’t that how you put it?” I say quietly,

allowingalittlesmile.Iwalkinsilenceforamomentwithmyuncle.Heputsahandonmy

shoulder.Asobwantstocomeoutofmychest.Iswallowit.“Sheleftme,”Iwhisper.“Justleftme.”“Mustahadareason.Notadumbgirl,thatone.”ThetearscomeasIentertheCommon.Myuncletakesmeinaone-

armedhugandkisses thecrownofmyhead. It’sallhecanoffer.He’snot amanmade for affection.His face is pale andghostly.Thirty-fiveand soold, so tired.A scar twistshisupper lip.Gray streakshis thickhair.“Tell themhello forme in thevale,”he says intomyear,hisbeard

coarseagainstmyneck.“Givemybrothersa toastandmywifeakiss,speciallyDancer.”“Dancer?”“You’llknowhim.Andifyouseeyourgrampandgran,tellthemwe

still dance for them. Theywon’t be long alone.”Hewalks away, thenpausesandwithoutturningsays,“Breakthechains.Hear?”“Hear.”HeleavesmethereintheCommonwithmyswayingwife.Iknowthe

cameraswatchmefromthecanasIwalkupthegallows.Itismetal,sothestairsdon’tcreak.Shehangslikeadoll.Herfaceispaleaschalkandherhairshiftsslightlyastheventilatorsraspabove.WhentheropehasbeencutwiththeslingBladeIstolefromthemines,

Igrabits frayedendandlowerherdowngently. I takemywifeinmyarms and together wend our way from the square to theWebbery. Anightshiftisworkingtheirfinalhours.ThewomenwatchinsilenceasIcarryEototheventilationduct.ThereIseeLeanna,mysister.Tallandquiet like my mother, she watches me with hard eyes, but she doesnothing.Noneof thewomendo.Theywillnotgossipaboutwheremywifeisburied.Theywillnotspeak,notevenforthechocolategiventospies.Only five soulshavebeenburied in threegenerations—someonealwayshangsforit.Thisistheultimateactoflove.Eo’ssilentrequiem.Womenbegin to cry, andas Ipass they reach to touchEo’s face, totouch mine and help me open the ventilation duct. I drag my wifethrough the tight metal space, taking her to where we made lovebeneath the stars,where she toldme her plans and I did not listen. Iholdher lifelessbodyandhopeher soul seesme inaplacewherewewerehappy.Idigaholenearthebaseofatree.Myhands,coveredwiththedirtofourland,areredlikeherhairasItakeherhandandkissherweddingband.Iplacetheouterbulbofthehaemanthusatopherheartandtaketheinnerandputitnearmyown.ThenIkissherlipsandburyher.ButIsobbefore Ican finish. Iuncoverher faceandkissheragainandholdmy body to hers till I see a red sun rising through the artificialbubbleroof.ThecolorsoftheplacescaldmyeyesandIcannotstopmytears.WhenIpullaway,Iseemyheadbandpokingfromherpocket.Shemadeitformetotakemysweat.Igiveitmytearsnowandtakeitwithme.

Kieran strikesme in the facewhen he seesme back in the township.Lorancannotspeak,whileEo’sfatherslumpsagainstawall.Theythinktheyfailedme.IhearEo’smother’scries.Mymothersaysnothingasshemakesmeameal.Idon’tfeelwell.It’shardtobreathe.Leannacomesinlateandhelpsher,kissingmeontheheadasIeat,lingeringlongenoughtosmellmyhair.ImustuseonehandasImovethefoodfromplatetomouth. Mymother holds my other hand between her callused palms.Shewatchesitinsteadofme,asthoughrememberingwhenitwassmallandsoftandwonderinghowitbecamesohard.

I finish themeal justasUglyDancomes.Mymotherdoesnot leavethetableasI’mpulledaway.Hereyesstayfixedonwheremyhandlay.I thinkshebelievesifshedoesnot lookup,thiswillnothappen.Evenshecanonlybearsomuch.Theywillhangmebeforeafullassemblyatnineinthemorning.I’m

dizzy for some reason. My heart feels funny, slow. I hear theArchGovernor’swordstomywifeecho.“Isthatallyourstrength?”Mypeoplesing,wedance,welove.Thatisourstrength.Butwealso

dig.Andthenwedie.Seldomdowegettochoosewhy.Thatchoiceispower.Thatchoicehasbeenouronlyweapon.Butitisnotenough.Theygivememylastwords.IcallDioup.Hereyesarebloodshotand

swollen.She’safragilething,sounlikehersister.“What were Eo’s last words?” I ask her, though my mouth moves

slowly,oddly.SheglancesbacktoMother,whofinallyfollowedbutnowshakesher

head.Thereissomethingtheyarenottellingme.Somethingtheydon’twantmetoknow.AsecretheldbackeventhoughIamabouttodie.“Shesaidshelovedyou.”Idon’tbelieveher,butIsmileandkissherforehead.Shecan’thandle

morequestions.AndI’mdizzy.Hardtospeak.“I’lltellheryousayhello.”Idonotsing.Iammadeforotherthings.Mydeathissenseless.Itislove.ButEowasright,Idon’tunderstandthis.Thisisnotmyvictory.This

isselfish.Shetoldmetoliveformore.Shewantedmetofight.ButhereIam,dyingdespitewhatshewanted.Givingupbecauseofthepain.Ipanicassuicidesdowhentheyrealizetheirfolly.Toolate.Ifeelthedoorbeneathmeopen.Mybodyfalls.Ropeflaysmyneck.

My spine creaks. Needles lance my lumbar. Kieran stumbles forward.Uncle Narol shoves him away. With a wink, he touches my feet andpulls.Ihopetheydonotburyme.

PARTII

REBORN

Thereisafestivalwherewewearthefacesofdemonstowardevilspiritsfromourdeadinthevale.Thefacessparklewithfool’sgold.

7

LAZARUS

IdonotseeEoindeath.Mykinbelieveweseeourlovedoneswhenwepasson.Theywaitforusinagreenvalewherewoodfiresmokeandthescentofstewsthickentheair.ThereisanOldManwithdewonhiscapwhomakessafethevale,andhestandswithourkinwaitingforusalongastoneroadbesidewhichsheepgraze.Theysaythemistthereisfreshand the flowers sweet, and thosewho are buriedpass along the stoneroadfaster.But I do not see my love. I do not see the vale. I see nothing but

phantom lights in darkness. I feel pressure, and I know, aswould anyminer, that I amburiedbeneath theearth. I loosea soundless scream.Dirtentersmymouth.Panicfillsme.Icannotbreathe,cannotmove.TheearthhugsmetillfinallyIclawmywayfree,feelair,gaspoxygen,pantandspitdirt.It is minutes before I look up from my knees. I crouch in an

abandonedmine,anoldtunnellongdesertedbutstillconnectedtotheventilationsystem.Itsmellsofdirt.Asingleflareburnsbesidemygrave,splayingweird shadowsover thewalls. It singesmy sight like the sundidasitroseoverEo’sgrave.I’mnotdead.Therealizationtakeslongerincomingthanonemighthavethought.

Butthere’sabloodywoundaroundmyneckwheretheropecuttheskin.There’sdirtinthelashesonmyback.Still,I’mnotdead.

UncleNaroldidn’tpullmy feethardenough.But surely theTinpotswouldhavechecked,unlesstheywerelazy.Notastretchtothinkthat,but something else is at play. I was toowoozywhen I walked to thegallows. I feel something inmy veins even now, a lethargy as thoughI’ve been drugged.Narol did this.He druggedme.He buriedme. Butwhy?Andhowwouldheescapebeingcaughtwhenhepulledmybodydown?When a low rumbling comes from the darkness beyond the flare, IknowIwillhaveanswers.Atumbler,likeametalbeetleonsixwheels,crawlsoverthecrestofa longtunnel. Its frontgrillehissessteamas itcomestoastopinfrontofme.Eighteenlightssingemyvision;shapesexitthesidesofthevehicle,cuttingacrosstheglareoftheheadlightstograbme.I’mtoostunnedtoresist.Theirhandsarecallusedlikeminers’and their faces are coveredwithOctobernacht demonmasks.Yet theymovemegently,guidinginsteadofforcingmeintothetumbler’shatch.Inside the tumbler, theglobe light is redandbloody. I sit inawornmetalbucketseatacrossfromthetwofiguresthatfetchedmefrommygrave. The female’s mask is pale white and gold, horned like acacodemon. Her eyes glitter darkly out from the eyeholes. The otherfigure is a timidman.He’swillowyandquiet, seemingly frightenedofme.Hissnarlingbatfacemaskcan’tconcealhisshyglancesorthewayinwhich he hides his hands—a trait of the frightened, as Uncle Narolalwaysclaimedwhenhetaughtmetodance.“You’reSonsofAres,aren’tyou?”Iguess.Theweaklingflinches,whilethewoman’seyesaremocking.“And you’re Lazarus,” she says. I find her voice cold, lazy; it playswiththeearsasacatplayswithacaughtmouse.“IamDarrow.”“Oh,weknowwhoyouare.”“Don’t tell him anything, Harmony!” the weakling gibbers. “Dancerdidn’ttellustodiscussanythingwithhimtillwegethome.”“Thank you,Ralph.” Harmony sighs at theweakling and shakes herhead.After realizing his error, the weakling shifts uncomfortably in hisbucketseat,butI’vestoppedpayinghimanymind.Here,thewomanisking.Unliketheweakling’s,hermaskislikethatofanoldcrone,oneofthewitchesofEarth’s fallencitieswhomadesoupfromthemarrowof

children’sbones.“You’reamess.”Harmonyreachestotouchmyneck.Igrabherhandand squeeze. Her bones are brittle as hollow plastic in a Helldiver’shand.Theweaklingreachesforhisthumper,butHarmonymotionshimtocalmdown.“WhyamInotdead?”Iask.Afterthehanging,myvoiceislikegraveldraggedovermetal.“BecauseAreshasamissionforyou,littleHelldiver.”ShewincesasIsqueezeherhand.“Ares …” My mind flashes to images of bomb blasts, disembodiedlimbs,chaos.Ares.Iknowwhatsortofmissionhe’llwant.I’mtoonumbtoevenknowwhatI’llsaywhenheasks.MymindisonEo,notthislife.Iamashell.WhycouldInothavestayedintheground?“MayIhavemyhandbacknow?”Harmonyasks.“Ifyoutakeoffyourmask.Otherwise,I’mkeepingit.”Shelaughsandstripsawayhermask.Herfaceisdayandnight—theright side a ragged and distended mess of skin running and foldingtogetherinsmoothscarrivers.Asteamburn.Afamiliarsight,butnotonwomen.Rareforawomantobeonadrillteam.Yet it is theunburned sideofher face that startles.She isbeautiful,morebeautiful even thanEo. Skin soft, pale asmilk, bones prominentanddelicate.Yetshelookssocold,soangryandcruel.Herbottomteethareunevenandhernailspoorlymaintained.Shehasknivesinherboots.IcantellbythewaysheflincheddownwhenIgrabbedherhand.Theweakling,Ralph,isunremarkablyugly—darkfacelikeahatchet,teethallajarandgrimy.Hestaresoutthetumbler’swindowhatchaswedrive through abandoned tunnels till we reach lit paved tunnelroadsmeantforfastmoving.IdonotknowtheseReds,andthoughtheyhavetheRedSigilemblazonedontheirhands,Idonottrustthem.TheyarenotofLambdaorLykos.MightaswellbeSilvers.EventuallyIglimpseotherutilityvehiclesandtumblersoutthehatch.Idon’tknowwhereweare,yet thatbothersme less than the swellingsadnessinmychest.ThefartherwerideandthemoretimeI’mgiventomythoughts,theworsethepainbecomes.Ifingermyweddingband.Eoisstilldead.She’snotwaitingformeattheendofthisride.WhydidIsurvivewhen shedidnot?Whydid Ipullher feet sohard?Could shehave lived too? My guts feel like a black hole. A terrible weight

compressesmychest,andIachetojustjumpfromthetumblerintothepathofautilityvehicle.Deathiseasywhenyou’vealreadytriedtofindit.ButIdon’tjump;IsitwithHarmonyandRalph.Eowantedmorefor

me.Iclenchthescarletheadbandinmyfist.The tunnelroad widens slightly when we come to a checkpoint

mannedbydirtyTinpotsinworndowngear.Theelectricgateisn’tevencharged.Theyletthetumbleraheadofusthroughafterscanningapanelonitsside.Thenit’sourturnandI’mshiftinguncomfortablyinmyseatright along with Ralph. Harmony chuckles disdainfully as the grey-hairedTinpot scans the side of the tumbler andwaves us through thegate.“Wehaveapasscode.Nobrainsinslaves.MineTinpotsareidiots.It’s

theGrey elites, or theObsidianmonsters youwatch out for. But theydon’twastetheirtimedownhere.”IamtryingtoconvincemyselfthatthisallisnotsomeGoldtrick,that

Harmony and Ralph are not enemies, when we pull off the maintunnelroadintoacul-de-sacofutilitywarehousesnotmuchlargerthantheCommon.Harsh sulfur lightshangdown fromutility fixtures.Halfthebulbsareburnedout.Oneflickersonandoffaboveagaragenearawarehousemarkedwithaqueersymboldoneinstrangepaint.Westeerintothegarage.ThedoorclosesandHarmonymotionsformetogetoutofthetumbler.“Homesweethome,”shesays.“NowtimetomeetDancer.”

8

DANCER

Dancer looks throughme.He’s near enoughmyheight,which is rare.Buthe’s thickand terriblyold,maybe inhis forties.White swirls fromhis temples. A dozen twin scars mark his neck. I’ve seen their sortbefore.Pitviperbites.Thearmonthe leftsideofhisbodyhangs limp.Nerve damage. But his eyes arrest me; they are brighter than most,swirlingwithpatternsoftruered,notrustred.Hehasafatherlysmile.“Youmust bewonderingwhowe are,”Dancer says gently.He’s big

but his voice is easy. Eight Reds are with him, all men except forHarmony, and theywatch himwith adoring eyes. Allminers, I think,eachwith the scarred, strong hands of our kind. Theymovewith thegraceofourpeople.Nodoubt somewere jumpersandboasters,aswecallthosewhorunalongthewallsandperformtheflipsatdances.AnyHelldivers?“He’s not wondering.” Harmony takes time with the words, rolling

themalonghertongue.ShesqueezesDancer’shandasshepassesaroundhimtolookatme.“Bloodydamnruntpeggeditanhourago.”“Ah.”Dancer smiles softly at her. “Of coursehedid, otherwiseAres

wouldn’thaveaskedustoriskextractinghimhere.Doyouknowwhere‘here’is,Darrow?”“Itdoesn’tmatter,”Imurmur.Ilookaroundatthewalls,themen,the

swayinglights.Everythingissocold,sodirty.“Whatmattersis…”Ifailto finish my own sentence. A thought of Eo severs my voice. “Whatmattersisthatyouwantsomethingfromme.”

“Yes,thatmatters,”saysDancer.Hishandtouchesmyshoulder.“Butthatcanwait. I’msurprisedyou’restanding.Thewoundsonyourbackaresullied.You’llneedantibacandskinrestostopthescarring.”“Scarsdon’tmatter,”Isay.Istareatthetwoblooddropsthattricklefrommyshirttailtothefloor.MywoundsreopenedwhenIclimbedfromthegrave.“Eois…dead,yes?”“Yes.Sheis.Wecouldn’tsaveher,Darrow.”“Whynot?”Iask.“Wejustcouldn’t.”“Whynot?”Irepeat.Iglareupathim,glareathisfollowersandhissthewordsonebyone.“Yousavedme.Youcouldhavesavedher.Sheisthe one you would have wanted. The bloodydamn martyr. She caredaboutallthis.OrdoesAresonlyneedSons,notDaughters?”“Martyrsareadimeadozen.”Harmonyyawns.Islipforwardlikeaserpentandgrabheraroundthethroat;wavesofanger ripple throughmy face till itgoesnumband I feel tearswellingbehind my eyes. Scorchers whine as they’re primed around me. Onejamsintothebackofmyneck.Ifeelitscoldmuzzle.“Lethergo!”someoneshouts.“Doit,boy!”Ispitatthem,shakeHarmonyonceandtossheraside.Shecrouchesonthefloor,hacking,andthenaknifeglimmersinherhandassherises.Dancerstumblesbetweenus.“Stopit!Bothofyou!Darrow,please!”“Yourgirlwasadreamer,boy,”Harmony spits atme fromDancer’sotherside.“Asworthlessasaflameoverwater…”“Harmony, shut your bloodydamn gob,” Dancer barks. “Put thosedamnthingsaway.”Thescorchersgoquiet.Atensesilencefollowsandheleansinclosetospeakwithme.Hisvoicelowers.Mybreathisfast.“Darrow, we’re friends.We’re friends. Now, I can’t answer for Ares—whyhecouldn’thelpussaveyourgirl;Iamjustoneofhishands.Ican’twashawaythepain. Ican’tbringyourwifeback toyou.But,Darrow,lookatme.Lookatme,Helldiver.”Ido.Rightintothoseblood-redeyes.“Ican’tdomanythings.ButIcanbringyoujustice.”Dancer goes to Harmony and whispers something, likely telling herthatwe’retobefriends.Wewon’tbe.ButIpromisenottochokeherandshepromisesnottostabme.Sheisquietassheguidesmefromtheothersthroughcrampedmetalhallwaystoasmalldooropenedbytwistingaknob.Ourfeetechoover

rusting walkways. The room is small and littered with tables andmedical supplies.Shehasmestripandsitononeof thecold tables soshecancleanmywounds.Herhandsarenotgentleas they scrubdirtfrommylaceratedback.Itrynottoscream.“You’rea fool,” she saysas she scrapes rockoutofadeepwound. Iwheezeinpainandtrytosaysomething,butshejamsherfingerintomyback,cuttingmeshort.“Dreamerslikeyourwifearelimited,littleHelldiver.”ShemakessureIdon’tspeak.“Understandthat.Theonlypowertheyhave is indeath.Theharder theydie, the louder theirvoice, thedeeper theechoes.Butyourwifeservedherpurpose.”Herpurpose.Itsoundssocold,sodistantandsad,asthoughmygirlofsmilesandlaughterwasmeantfornothingbutdeath.Harmony’swordscarveintomeandIstareatthemetalgratingbeforeturningtolookintoherangryeyes.“Thenwhatisyourpurpose?”Iask.Sheholdsupherhands,cakedwithdirtandblood.“Thesameasyours,littleHelldiver.Tomakethedreamcometrue.”

AfterHarmonyscoursmybackofdirtandgivesmeadoseofantibac,shetakesmetoaroomnexttohumminggenerators.Thesquatquartersarelinedwithcotsandaliquidflush.Sheleavesmetoit.Theshowerisaterrifyingthing.Thoughit’sgentlerthantheairoftheFlush,halfthetimeI feel likeI’mdrowning,theotherhalf I findamixtureofecstasyandagony. I turn theheatnozzle till steamrises thickandpain lancesmyback.Clean,Idressinthestrangegarmentsthey’vesetoutforme.It’snotajumpsuitorhomespunweave like I’mused towearing.Thematerial issleek,elegant,likesomethingsomeoneofadifferentColorwouldwear.DancercomesintotheroomwhenI’mhalfdressed.Hisleftfootdragsbehindhim,almostasuselessashisleftarm.Yetstillhe’sanimpressiveman, thicker thanBarlow,handsomer thanmedespitehisageand thebitescarsonhisneck.Hecarriesatinbowlandsitsononeofthecots,whichcreaksagainsthisweight.“Wesavedyourlife,Darrow.Soyourlifeisours,doyounotagree?”“Myunclesavedmylife,”Isay.

“Thedrunk?”Dancer snorts. “Thebest thingheeverdidwas tellusaboutyou.Andheshouldhavedonethatwhenyouwereaboy,buthekeptyouasecret.He’sworkedforussincebeforeyourfather’sdeathasaninformer,youknow.”“Ishehangednow?”“Now that he pulled you down? I should hope not.We gave him a

jammertoshutofftheirancientcameras.Hedidtheworkofaghost.”Uncle Narol. HeadTalk, but drunk as a fool. I always thought him

weak.Hestillis.Nostrongmanwoulddrinklikehimorbesobitter.ButheneverearnedthedisdainIgavehim.YetwhydidhenotsaveEo?“Youactlikemyunclebloodydamnowedyou,”Isay.“Heoweshispeople.”“People.” I laugh at the term. “There is family. There is clan. There

may even be township andmine, but people? People. And you act asthoughyou’remyrepresentative,asthoughyouhavearighttomylife.Butyouarejustafool,allyouSonsofAres.”Myvoiceiswitheringinitscondescension. “Fools who can do nothing but blow things up. Likechildrenkickingpitvipernestsinrage.”That’s what I want to do. I want to kick, to lash out. That’s why I

insulthim,that’swhyIspitontheSonseventhoughIhavenorealcausetohatethem.Dancer’shandsomefacecurlsintoatiredsmile,andit’sonlythenthat

I realizehow feeblehis dead arm really is—thinner thanhismuscularright arm, bent like a flower’s root. But despite the withered limb,there’s a twisted menace to Dancer, a less obvious sort than that inHarmony.ItcomesoutwhenIlaughathim,whenIscornhimandhisdreams.“Our informantsexist to feedus informationand tohelpus find the

outlierssowecanextractthebestofRedfromthemines.”“Soyoucanuseus.”Dancer smiles tightly and picks up the bowl from the cot. “Wewill

playagametoseeifyouareoneoftheseoutliers,Darrow.Ifyouwin,IwilltakeyoutoseesomethingfewlowRedshaveseen.”LowReds.I’veneverheardthetermbefore.“AndifIlose?”“ThenyouarenotanoutlierandtheGoldswinyetagain.”Iflinchatthenotion.

Heholdsoutabowlandexplains the rules. “Thereare twocards inthebowl.Onebearsthereaper’sscythe.Theotherbearsalamb.Pickthescytheandyoulose.Pickthelambandyouwin.”ExceptInoticehisvoicefluctuatewhenhesaysthislastbit.Thisisatest. Which means there is no element of luck to it. It must then bemeasuringmyintelligence,whichmeans there isakink.Theonlywaythegamecouldtestmyintelligenceisifthecardsarebothscythes;that’sthesingularvariablethatcouldbealtered.Simple.IstareintoDancer’shandsome eyes. It is a rigged game; I’m used to these, and usually Ifollowtherules.Justnotthistime.“I’llplay.”Ireachintothebowlandpullfreeacard,takingcarethatonlyIcanseeitsface.Itisascythe.Dancer’seyesneverleavemine.“Iwin,”Isay.He reaches for the card to see its face, but I shove it inmymouthbeforehecantakeholdofit.HeneverseeswhatIdrew.Dancerwatchesmechewonthepaper.Iswallowandpulltheremainingcardfromthebowlandtossitathim.Ascythe.“Thelambcardsimplylookedtoogoodnottoeat,”Isay.“Perfectlyunderstandable.”The red in his eyes twinkles andhe sets the bowl aside.Warmth ofcharacterreturnstohim,asifhe’dneverbeenamenace.“DoyouknowwhywecallourselvesSonsofAres,Darrow?TotheRomans,Marswasthegodofwar—agodofmilitaryglory,defenseofthehearthandhome.Honorableandall.ButMarsisafraud.HeisaromanticizedversionoftheGreekgodAres.”Dancerlightsaburnerandhandsasecondonetome.Thegeneratorsbuzz freshly and the burner fills mewith a similar haze as its smokecurlsthroughmylungs.“Areswasabastard, anevil patronof rage, violence,bloodlust, andmassacre,”hesays.“So by naming yourselves after him, you’re pointing to the truth ofthingswithintheSociety.Cute.”“Somethinglikethat.TheGoldswouldpreferforustoforgethistory.Andmostofushave,orwerenevertaughtit.ButIknowhowGoldroseto power hundreds of years ago. They call it the Conquering. Theybutchered any who contested them. Massacred cities, continents. Not

many years ago, they reduced an entireworld to ash—Rhea. TheAshLordnukedittooblivion.ItwaswithAres’swraththattheyacted.Andnowwearethesonsofthatwrath.”“Are you Ares?” I ask, voice hushed. Worlds. They’ve destroyed

worlds.ButRheaissomuchfartheroutfromEarththanMars.It’soneofSaturn’smoons,Ithink.Whywouldtheynukeaworldallthewayoutthere?“No.I’mnotAres,”heanswers.“Butyoubelongtohim.”“I belong to no one but Harmony and my people. I am like you,

Darrow,borntoaclanofearthdiggers,miners fromthecolonyTyros.OnlyIknowmoreoftheworld.”Hefrownsatmyimpatientexpression.“Youthinkmeaterrorist.Iamnot.”“No?”Iask.Heleansbackandtakesadragonhisburner.“Imaginetherewasatablecoveredwithfleas,”heexplains.“Thefleas

wouldjumpandjumptoheightsunknown.Thenamancamealongandupturnedaglassjaroverthefleas.Thefleasjumpedandhitthetopofthejarandcouldgonofarther.Thenthemanremovedthejarandyetthefleasdidnotjumphigherthantheyhadgrownaccustomed,becausetheybelievedtheretostillbeaglassceiling.”Hebreathesoutsmoke.Iseehiseyesglowthroughitliketheembertipofhisburner.“Wearethefleaswhojumphigh.Nowletmeshowyoujusthowhigh.”Dancertakesmedownaricketycorridortoacylindricalmetallift.It’s

arustything,heavy,anditsquealsaswerisesteadilyupward.“You should know that your wife didn’t die in vain, Darrow. The

Greenswhohelpushijackedthebroadcast.WehackedinandplayedthetrueversionovereveryHConourplanet.Theplanet, the clansof thehundred thousandmining colonies and those in the cities, have heardyourwife’ssong.”“Youtelltalltales,”Igrumble.“Therearen’thalfthatmanycolonies.”He ignoresme. “They heard her song and they call her Persephone

already.”I flinch and look over at him.No. That is not her name. She is not

their symbol. She doesn’t belong to these brigands with trumped-upnames.“HernameisEo,”Isneer.“AndshebelongstoLykos.”

“Shebelongstoherpeoplenow,Darrow.Andtheyremembertheoldtalesofagoddessstolenfromherfamilybythegodofdeath.Yetevenwhen she was stolen, death could not forever keep her. She was theMaiden, the goddess of spring destined to return after each winter.Beauty incarnate can touch life even from the grave; that’s how theythinkofyourwife.”“She’s not coming back,” I say to end the conversation. It is futile

debatingwiththisman.Hejustrollson.Ourliftcomestoahaltandweexitintoasmalltunnel.Followingit,

we come to another lift of sleekermetal, bettermaintained.TwoSonsguarditwithscorchers.Soonwe’regoingupwardagain.“Shewillnotcomeback,butherbeauty,hervoice,willechountilthe

end of time. She believed in something beyond herself, and her deathgave her voice power it didn’t have in life. She was pure, like yourfather.We,youandI”—hetouchesmychestwiththebackofhisindexfinger—“are dirty.We aremade for blood.Roughhands.Dirty hearts.We are lesser creatures in the grand scheme of things, butwithout usmenofwar,nooneexceptthoseofLykoswouldhearEo’ssong.Withoutourroughhands,thedreamsofthepureheartswouldneverbebuilt.”“Cuttothepoint,”Iinterrupt.“Youwantmeforsomething.”“Youtriedtodiebefore,”Dancersays.“Doyouwanttodosoagain?”“I want …” What do I want? “I want to kill Augustus,” I say,

rememberingthecoldGoldenfaceasitcommandedmywife’sdeath.Itwassodistant,souncaring.“HewillnotlivewhileEoliesdead.”IthinkofMagistratePodginusandUglyDan.Iwillkillthemtoo.“Vengeancethen,”hesighs.“Yousaidyoucouldgiveittome.”“IsaidIwouldgiveyoujustice.Vengeanceisanemptything,Darrow.”“Itwillfillme.HelpmekilltheArchGovernor.”“Darrow,yousetyoursightstoolow.”Theliftpicksupspeed.Myears

pop.Upandupandup.Howfardoesthisliftrise?“TheArchGovernorismerelyoneof themost importantGoldsonMars.”Dancerhandsmeapairoftintedglasses.Iputthemontentativelyasmyheartthudsinmychest.We’regoingtothesurface.“Youmustwidenyourgaze.”Theliftstops.Thedoorsopen.AndIamblind.Behindtheglasses,mypupilsconstricttoadjusttothelight.Whenat

lastI’mabletoopenmyeyes,Iexpecttoseeamassiveglowingbulbor

aflare,somesourcetothelight.ButIseenothing.Thelightisambient,fromsomedistant,impossiblesource.Somehumaninstinctinmeknowsthispower,knowsthisprimaloriginoflife.Thesun.Daylight.MyhandstrembleandIstepwithDancerfromtheelevator.Hedoesnotspeak.IdoubtIwouldhearhimevenifhedid.We stand in a room of strange makings, unlike any I’ve imagined.Thereisasubstanceunderfoot,hardbutneithermetalnorrock.Wood.Iknow it from the HC pictures of Earth. A carpet of a thousand huesspreadsover it, softundermy feet.Thewallsaroundareof redwood,carvedwithtreesanddeer.Softmusicplaysinthedistance.Ifollowthetunedeeperintotheroom,towardthelight.Ifindabankofglass,alargewallthatletsthesunintoshineacrossthelengthofasquatblackinstrumentwithwhitekeys,whichplaysitselfin a tall room with three walls and a long bank of glass windows.Everything is so smooth.Beyond the instrument,beyond theglass, liessomethingIdon’tunderstand.Istumbletowardthewindow,towardthelight,andfalltomyknees,pressingmyhandsagainstthebarrier.Imoanonelongnote.“Nowyouunderstand,”Dancersays.“Wearedeceived.”Beyondtheglasssprawlsacity.

9

THELIE

Thecityisoneofspires,parks,rivers,gardens,andfountains.Itisacityof dreams, a city of bluewater and green life on a red planet that issupposedtobeasbarrenasthecruelestdesert.ThisisnottheMarstheyshowusontheHC.Thisisnotaplaceunfitforman.Itisaplaceoflies,wealth,andimmenseabundance.Igaspatthegrotesquerie.Men and women fly. They shimmer Gold and Silver. Those are the

onlyColorsIseeinthesky.TheirgravBootscarrythemaboutlikegods,the technology somuchmore graceful than the clumsy gravBoots ourkeeperswearinthemines.Ayoungmansoarspastmywindow,hisskinburnished, his hair fluttering loosely behind him as he carries twobottles of wine toward a nearby garden spire; he’s drunk and hiswobbling through the air remindsme of a time I saw a drillBoy’s airsystem break down in his frysuit; he gasped for oxygen as he died,twitchinganddancing.ThisGoldlaughslikeafoolanddoesamirthfulspin.Fourgirls,notatallolderthanme,flyafterhiminamerryhunt,giddy and giggling. Their tight dresses seem to bemade of liquid anddriparoundtheiryoungcurves.Theylookmyage,inaway,butseemsobloodyfoolish.Idonotunderstand.Beyond them, ships flit through the air along beacon-lit avenues.

Smallships,ripWings,asDancercallsthem,escortthemostintricateofairyachts.Ontheground,Iseemenandwomenmovingthroughwide

avenues. There are automobiles, Color-coded lamps along the lowerlevels—Yellow,Blue,Orange,Green,Pink,ahundredshadesofadozenColors to form a hierarchy so complex, so alien, I scarcely think it ahumanconcept.Thebuildingsthroughwhichthepathswindarehuge,someofglass,someofstone.ButmanyremindmeofthoseI’veseenontheHC,thosebuildingsoftheRomans,madethistimeforgodsinsteadofman.Beyondthecity,whichstretchesnearlyasfarasIcansee,Mars’sredand barren surface is scarred with the green of grass and strugglingwoods. The sky above is blue, stained with stars. The terraforming iscomplete.Thisisthefuture.Itshouldnotbethiswayforgenerations.Mylifeisalie.SomanytimeshasOctaviaauLunetoldusofLykosthatwearethepioneersofMars,thatwearethebravesoulswhosacrificefortherace,thatsoonourtoilsforhumanitywillbeover.SoonthesofterColorswilljoinus,onceMars ishabitable.But theyhavealready joinedus.Earthhas come to Mars and we pioneers were left below, slaving, toiling,suffering to create andmaintain the foundationof this… this empire.WeareasEoalwayssaid—theSociety’sslaves.DancersitsinachairbehindmeandwaitstillIcanspeak.Hesaysaword and thewindowsdarken. I can still see the city, but the sun nolongerblindsmyeyes.Besideus, the squat instrument, calledapiano,whispersadrearymelody.“They told uswewereman’s only hope,” I say quietly. “That Earthwasovercrowded, that all thepain, all the sacrifice,was formankind.Sacrificeisgood.Obediencethehighestvirtue…”ThelaughingGoldhasreachedthenearbyspire;hesurrenderstothegirls and their kisses. Soon they will drink their wine and have theiramusement.Dancertellsmehowitis.“Earth ain’t overcrowded, Darrow. Seven hundred years back, theyexpanded to their moon, Luna. Because it is so difficult to launchspacecraftthroughEarth’sgravityandatmosphere,LunabecameEarth’sport through which it colonized the moons and planets of the SolarSystem.”“Sevenhundredyears?”Igasp,feelingsuddenlyverystupid.

“On Luna, efficiency and order became the chief concern. In space,every set of lungs must have a purpose. So the first Colors weregraduallyinstitutedandtheRedsweresenttoMarstogatherthefuelformankind.TheminingcolonieswereestablishedtheresinceMarshasthehighestconcentrationofhelium-3,whichisusedtoterraformtheotherworldsandmoons.”Atleastthatwasn’talie.“Aretheyterraformed,theothermoonsandworlds?”“The small moons, yes. Most of the planets. Obviously not the gasgiants.”Hesitsinachair.“ItwasintheearlystagesoftheColonizationwhenthewealthyofLunabegantorealizeEarthwasnothingmorethanadrainontheirprofits.EvenasLunacolonizedtheSolarSystem, theyweretaxedandownedbycorporationsandcountriesonEarth,butthosesameentitiescouldnotenforce theirownership.SoLunarebelled—theGoldsandtheirSocietyagainstthecountriesofEarth.Earthfoughtbackand Earth lost. Thatwas the Conquering. Economics turned Luna intothepowerandportoftheSolarSystem.AndtheSocietybegantochangeintowhatitistoday—anempirebuiltonRedbacks.”I watch the Colors move about below. They are small, hard todistinguishfromourheight—andmyeyesarenotusedtoseeingsofarorseeingsomuchlight.“Reds were sent to Mars five hundred years ago. The other ColorscametoMarsaboutthreehundredyearsback,whileourancestorsstilltoiled beneath the surface. They lived in the paraterraformed cities—citieswithbubblesofatmosphereoverthem—whiletherestoftheworldterraformedslowly.Nowthebubblesarecomingdownandtheworldisfitforanyman.“HighReds live asmaintenanceworkers, sanitation, grainharvesters,assemblyworkers.LowRedsarethoseofusbornbeneaththesurface—thetruestslaves.Inthecities,theRedswhodancedisappear.Thosewhovoicetheirthoughtsvanish.Thosewhobowtheirheadsandaccepttheruleof theSocietyand theirplace inSociety, as allColorsdo, liveonwithrelativefreedom.”Heexhalesacloudofsmoke.I feel outsidemy body, as though I’mwatching the colonization ofworlds, thetransformationofthehumanspecies, througheyesthatarenotmyown.Thegravityofhistorydrewmypeopleintoslavery.Weare

thebottomoftheSociety,thedirt.Eoalwayspreachedsomethingofthelike,thoughsheneverknewthetruth.Ifshehadknownthis,howmuchmorepassionatelywouldshehavespoken?Thisexistenceisworsethanshe ever could have imagined. It is not hard to understand theconvictionwithwhichtheSonsofAresfight.“Five hundred years.” I shake my head. “This is our bloodydamn

planet.”“Throughsweatandtoilitwasmadeso,”heagrees.“Thenwhatwillittaketotakeitback?”“Blood.”Dancersmilesatmelikeatownshipalleycat.There’sabeast

behindthisman’sfatherlysmiles.Eowasright.Itcomestoviolence.Shewasthevoice,likemyfather.SowhatamItobe?Theavenging

hand?Icannotgraspthatsomeonesopure,sofulloflove,wouldwantmetoplaythispart.Butshedid.Ithinkofmyfather’slastdance.Ithinkofmymum,Leanna,Kieran,Loran,Eo’sparents,UncleNarol,Barlow,everyone I love. Iknowhowhard theywill liveandhowquickly theywilldie.AndInowknowwhy.I look down at my hands. They are what Dancer called them—cut,

scarred,burnedthings.WhenEokissedthem,theygrewgentleforlove.Nowthatsheisgone,theygrowhardforhate.Iclenchthemintofiststillmyknucklesarewhiteasicecaps.“Whatismymission?”

10

THECARVER

Igrewupwithaquicksmilinggirlof fifteenso in lovewithheryounghusbandthatwhenhewasburnedintheminesandhiswoundfestered,shesoldherbodytoaGammainreturnforantibiotics.Shewasstrongerthan her husband.When he grewwell and discoveredwhat had beendoneonhisbehalf,hekilledtheGammawithaslingBladesnuckfromthemines.Easytoguesswhathappenedafterthat.HernamewasLanaandshewasUncleNarol’sdaughter.Shelivesnolonger.I think of her as I watch the HC in what Harmony called the

penthouse as Dancer makes preparations. I flip through the manychannelswiththetwitchofmyfinger.EventhatGammahadafamily.Hedug likeme.Hewasborn likeme,went throughtheflush likeme,and he never saw the sun either. Hewas just given a little packet ofmedicine by the Society, and look at the effect. How clever of them.Howmuchhate theycreatebetweenpeoplewho shouldbekin.But ifthe clans knew what luxury exists on the surface, if they knew howmuchhadbeenstolenfromthem,theywouldfeelthehatredIfeel,theywouldunite.Myclanisahot-temperedbreed.Whatwouldarebellionoftheirslooklike?ProbablylikeDago’sburner—burninghotbutfast,tillitwasallash.IaskedDancerwhytheSonsstreamedmywife’sdeathtothemines.

Why not instead show the lowReds the wealth of the surface? Thatwouldsowanger.“Because a rebellion now would be crushed in days,” Dancer

explained. “We must take a different path. An empire cannot bedestroyedfromwithouttillitisdestroyedfromwithin.Rememberthat.We’reempire-breakers,notterrorists.”WhenDancertoldmewhatIamtodo,Ilaughed.IdonotknowifIcandoit. Iamaspeck.AthousandcitiesspanthefaceofMars.Metalbehemothssailbetweentheplanetsinfleetscarryingweaponsthatcancrackthemantleofamoon.OndistantLuna,buildingsrisesevenmileshigh; there the Sovereign Consul, Octavia au Lune, rules with herImperators and Praetors. The Ash Lord, whomade theworld of Rheacinders,isherminion.ShecontrolsthetwelveOlympicKnights,legionsofPeerlessScarred,andObsidiansasinnumerableasthestars.AndthoseObsidiansareonlytheelite.TheGraysoldiersprowlthecitiesensuringorder, ensuring obedience to the hierarchy. TheWhites arbitrate theirjusticeandpushtheirphilosophy.PinkspleasureandserveinhighColorhomes. Silvers count and manipulate currency and logistics. Yellowsstudy the medicines and sciences. Greens develop technology. Bluesnavigate the stars. Coppers run the beauracracy. Every Color has apurpose.EveryColorpropsuptheGolds.TheHCshowsmeColorsIdidnotknowexisted.Itshowsmefashion.Ludicrousandseductive.Therearebiomodificationsandflesh implants—womenwith skin so smooth and polished, breasts so round, hair soglossedthattheyappearadifferentspeciesfromEoandallthewomenI’veeverknown.Themenare freakishlymuscularand tall.Theirarmsand chests bulge with artificial strength, and they flaunt their musclelikegirlsshowingoffnewtoys.IamaLambdaHelldiverofLykos,butwhatisthatcomparedwithallthis?“Harmonyishere.Timetogo,”Dancersaysfromthedoor.“I want to fight,” I tell him as we ride the gravLift down withHarmony.They’vedoctoredmySigilssothattheyarebrightertomatchthe highReds. Iwear the loose garb of a highRed and carry a pack ofstreet-scrubbingequipment.There’sdye inmyhairandcontacts inmyeyes,allsothatIlookabrightershadeofred.Lessdirty.“Idon’twantthismission.Worse,Ican’tdoit.Whocould?”“You said you would do anything that needed to be done,” Dancersays.“Butthis…”Themissionhehasgivenmeismadness,yet that’snot

whyI’mfrightened.Myfear is that IwillbecomesomethingEowouldnotrecognize.I’llbecomeademonfromourOctobernachtstories.“Givemeascorcherorabomb.Letsomeoneelsedothis.”“Webroughtyououtforthis,”Harmonysighs.“Andonlythis.IthasbeenAres’sgreatestgoalsincetheSonswereborn.”“How many others have you brought out? How many others havetriedwhatyou’reaskingmetotry?”Harmony looks over at Dancer. He says nothing, so she answersimpatientlyonhisbehalf.“Ninety-sevenhavefailedtheCarving…thatweknowof.”“Bloodydamn,”Icurse.“Andwhathappenedtothem?”“Theydied,”shesaysblandly.“Ortheyaskedfordeath.”“MaybeNarolshouldhaveletmehang.”Itrytolaugh.“Darrow.Comehere.Come.”Hegrabsmyshoulderandpullsmein.“Othersmayhavefailed.Butyou’llbedifferent,Darrow.Ifeelitinmybones.”

MylegsgoshakywhenIfirstlookupatthenightskyandthebuildingsstretchingaroundme.Islipintovertigo.IfeellikeIamfalling,liketheworldisoffitsaxis.Everythingistooopen,somuchsothatitseemsasthoughthecityshouldtumbleintothesky.Ilookatmyfeet,lookatthestreet, and try to imagine that I am in the tunnelroads from thetownshipstotheCommon.The streets of Yorkton, the city, are a strange place at night.Luminescentballsoflightlinethesidewalksandstreets.HCvideosrunlikeliquidstreamsalongpartsoftheavenueinthishi-techsectorofthecity, so most walk upon the moving pathways or ride in publictransportationwiththeirheadscrookeddownlikecanehandles.Garishlightsmake thenight almost asbright asday. I see evenmoreColors.This sectorof the city is clean.TeamsofRed sanitationworkers scourthestreets.Itsroadsandwalkingpathsstretchinperfectorder.There’safaintribbonofredwherewearetowalk,anarrowribboninabroadstreet.Ourpathdoesnotmoveliketheothers.ACopperwomanwalks along her wider path; her favorite programs play wherever shewalks, unless she strides beside a Gold, in which case all the HCs goquiet. Butmost Golds do not walk; they are permitted gravBoots and

coaches, as are anyof theCoppers,Obsidians,Grays, and Silverswiththeproperlicense,thoughthelicensedbootsarehorriblyshoddythings.Anadvertisementforablistercreamappearsonthegroundinfrontof

me.Awomanof strangely slenderproportions slinks out of a red lacerobe.Suitablynaked,shethenappliesthecreamtoaplaceonherbodywherenowomanhaseverbeforegottenablister.IblushandlookawayindisgustbecauseI’veonlyeverseenonewomannaked.“You’ll want to forget your modesty,” Harmony advises. “It’ll mark

youworsethanyourColor.”“Itisdisgusting,”Isay.“It’sadvertising,darling,”Harmonypurrscondescendingly.Sheshares

achucklewithDancer.AnelderlyGoldsoarsoverhead,olderthananyhumanI’veeverseen.

Welowerourheadsasshepasses.“Redsupherehavetogetpaid,”Dancerexplainswhenwearealone.

“Notmuch. But they’re givenmoney and enough treats tomake themdependent.Whatmoneytheyhave,theyspendongoodsthey’remadetothinktheyneed.”“Samewithallthedrones,”Harmonyhisses.“Sothey’renotslaves,”Isay.“Oh,they’reslaves,”Harmonysays.“Enslavedbytheirsucklingonthe

teatsofthosebastards.”Dancer struggles tokeepup, so I slowdownashe speaks.Harmony

makesanirritatednoise.“Goldsstructureeverythingtomaketheirownliveseasier.Theyhave

showsproducedtoentertainandplacate themasses.TheygivemoniesandhandoutstomakegenerationsdependentontheseventhdayofeachnewEarthmonth.Theycreategoodstograntusasemblanceofliberty.IfviolenceistheGoldsport,manipulationistheirartform.”We pass into a lowColor district where there are no designated

walkingpaths.The storefrontsare linedwithelectronicGreen ribbons.Somestorespeddleamonthofalternaterealityinanhour’stimeforaweek’s wages. Two small men with quick green eyes and bald headsstudded with metal spikes and tattooed with shifting digital codessuggest forme a trip to someplace calledOsgiliath. Other stores offerbanking services or biomodifications or simple personal hygieneproducts.TheyshoutthingsIdon’tunderstand,speakinginnumbersand

acronyms.Ihaveneverseensuchcommotion.BrothelslinedwithPinkribbonmakemeblush,asdothewomenandmen in the windows. Each has a flashing price tag playfully hangingfromathread;it’samovingnumberthatsuitsdemand.AlustygirlcallstomeasDancerexplainstheideaofmoney.InLykos,wetradedonlyingoodsandswillandburnersandservices.Someblocksofthecityarereservedfortheuseofhighcolors.Accesstothesedistrictsdependsonbadgesofwarrant.Icannotsimplywalkorride intoaGoldorCopperdistrict.ButaCoppercanalwayssluminaReddistrict, frequentingabarorbrothel.Nevertheotherwayaround,even in the wild, free-for-all that is the Bazaar—a riotous place ofcommerceandnoise andairheavywith the scentsofbodies and foodandautomobileexhaust.WewalkdeepintotheBazaar.IfeelsaferinthebackalleysherethanIdidintheopenavenuesofthehigh-techsectors.Idonotyetlikevastspaces,andseeingthestarsabovefrightenedme.TheBazaarisdarker,though lights still shine and people still bustle. The buildings seem topinchtogether.Ahundredbalconiesformribsinthealleyway’sheights.Walkwayscrisscrossabove,andallaroundus,lightsblinkfromdevices.Itismorehumidhere,dirty.AndIseefewerTinpotspatrolling.Dancersays thereareplaces in theBazaarwhereevenanObsidianshouldnotgo.“Inthedensestplacesofman,humanitymosteasilybreaksdown,”hesays.Itisstrangebeinginacrowdwherenooneknowsyourfaceorcaresforyourpurpose.InLykos,IwouldhavebeenjostledbymenI’dgrownupwith,runacrossgirls I’dchasedandwrestledwithasachild.Here,otherColorsslamintomeandoffernotevenafaintapology.This isacity,andIdonotlikeit.Ifeelalone.“Thisisus,”Dancersays,gesturingmeintoadarkdoorwaywhereanelectronicflyingdragonshimmersonthesurfaceofthestone.AmassiveBrownwithamodjobforanosestopsus.Wewaitforthemetalnosetosnortandsniff.He’sbiggerthanDancer.“Dye in his hair,” he growls at me, taking a whiff of my hair. “ARuster,thisonebe.”Ascorcherpeeksoutfromhisbelt.He’sgotashivbehindhiswrist—Ican tell by the way his hand moves. Another thug joins him on thestoop.He’sgot jewelryprocessorsonhiseyeballs, little redrubies that

flickerwhenlightcatchesthemjustright.Istareatthejewelryandthebrowneyes.“What’s what with this one? He want a go?” the thug spits. “Keep

eyein’me,andI’lltakeyourlivertosellatmarket.”ThinksI’mchallenginghim.I’mactuallyjustcuriousabouttherubies,

butwhen he threatensme I smile at him and give a littlewink like Iwould in themines.Aknife flips intohishand.Rules aredifferentuphere.“Boy,keepplayin’.Dareya.Keepplayin’.”“Mickeyisexpectin’us,”Dancertellstheman.IwatchModjob’sfriendashetriestostaremedownlikeI’msomesort

ofchild.ModjobsmirksandleersatDancer’slegandarm.“Don’tknowaMickey,cripple.”Helookstohisfriend.“YouknowaMickey?”“Nah.Ain’tgotnoMickeyhere.”“Whatarelief.”Dancersetsahandonthescorcherunderhis jacket.

“Sinceyoudon’tknowMickey,youwon’thavetoexplaintoMickeywhymy…generousfriendcouldn’treachhim.”Hemoveshisjacketsotheycanseeaglyphetchedonthebuttofhisgun.ThehelmetofAres.Whenhe sees theglyph,Modjobgulpsand says, “Squab,” then they

fall over each other to open the door. “G-g-gotta take your shooters.”Threeothersmovetowardus,scorchershalfup.Harmonyopenshervestand shows themabomb strapped toher stomach. She rolls ablinkingdetonatoroverhernimbleRedfingers.“Nah.We’regood.”Modjobswallows,nods.“You’regood.”Theinteriorofthebuildingisdark.Itisadarknessthickwithsmoke

andthrobbinglights—muchlikemymine.Musicpulses.Glasscylindersstandaspillarsamongstchairsandtableswheremendrinkandsmoke.Inside the glass, women dance. Some writhe in water, their strangewebbedtoesandsleekthighsmovingtothemusic.Othersgyratetothethuddingmelodyinenvironsofgoldensmokeorsilverpaint.More thugs guide us to a back table that seemsmade of iridescent

water.Aslimmanreclinestherewithseveralcreaturesofthestrangestsort. I thought themmonsters at first, but the closer I look, themoreconfusedIbecome.Theyarehumans.Butthey’vebeenmadedifferently.Carveddifferently.Aprettyyounggirl,noolderthanEo,sitslookingatmewithemeraldeyes.Thewingsofawhiteeaglesproutfromtheflesh

of her back. She’s like something torn froma fever dream, except sheshould have been left there. Others like her lounge in the smoke andstrangelights.Mickey the Carver is a scalpel of a man with a crooked smile and

blackhairthathangslikeapuddleofoildownonesideofhishead.Atattoo of an amethyst mask wreathed in smoke winds around his lefthand. It is theSigilofaViolet—thecreatives—so it is always shifting.Othervioletsymbolsstainhiswrists.He’splayingwithalittleelectronicpuzzle cube that has changing faces. His fingers are fast, thinner andlonger than theyshouldbe,and thereare twelveof them.Fascinating.I’veneverseenanartistbefore,notevenontheHC.They’reasrareasWhites.“Ah,Dancer,”hesighswithoutlookingupfromhiscube.“Icouldhear

you from the drag in your step.”He squints at the cube in his hands.“AndHarmony. I could smell you from the door,my darling. Terriblebomb,by thebye.Next timeyouneedreal sneakycraftsmanship, lookMickeyup,yes?”“Mick,”Dancersays,andseatshimselfatthetableofdream-things.I

can tell Harmony is growing a bit dizzy from the smoke. I’m used tobreathingworsestuff.“Now,Harmony,mylove,”Mickeypurrs.“Haveyougivenuponthis

crippleyet?Cometojoinmyfamily,perhaps?Yes?Getyourselfapairofwings?Clawsonyourhands?A tail?Horns—youwould look fierce inhorns.Especiallywrappedinmysilkenbedsheets.”“Carveyourselfasoulandyoumightgetashot,”Harmonysneers.“Ah,ifittakesbeingaRedtohaveasoul,onthisIshallpass.”“Thentobusiness.”“So abrupt, my darling. Conversation should be considered an art

form,orlikeagranddinner.Eachcourseinitsowntime.”Hisfingersflyoverthecube.He’smatchingthembasedontheirelectronicfrequency,buthe’sabittooslowtomatchthembeforetheychange.Hestillhasn’tlookedup.“Wehaveapropositionforyou,Mickey,”Dancersaysimpatiently.He

glancesdownatthecube.Mickey’s smile is long and crooked. He does not look up. Dancer

repeatshimself.“Straighttothemaincoursethen,eh,cripple?Well,proposeaway.”

Dancer swats the cube out ofMickey’s hands. The table goes silent.Thethugsbristlebehindusandthemusiccontinuestopound.MyheartissteadyandIeyethescorcheronthethighofthenearestthug.Slowly,Mickey looks up and cuts the tension with a crooked smile. “What’swhat,myfriend?”DancernodstoHarmonyandsheslipsasmallboxovertoMickey.“A present? You shouldn’t have.”Mickey examines the box. “Cheapstuff.SuchatastelessColor,Red.”Thenheslidestheboxopenandgaspsinhorror.Herecoilsfromthetable,slammingtheboxshut.“Youstupidsoddingbastards.Whatisthis?”“Youknowwhattheyare.”Mickey leans forward and his voice becomes one lone hiss. “Youbrought themhere?Howdid you get them?Are you insane?”Mickeyglancesathisfollowers,whopeerdownattheboxwonderingwhathassounbalancedtheirmaster.“Insane? We’re bloodydamn manic.” Dancer smiles. “And we needthemattached.Soon.”“Attached?”Mickeystartslaughing.“Tohim.”Dancerpointsatme.“Leave!” Mickey screams at his entourage. “Leave, you simperingsycophanticmiscreants!I’mtalkingtoyou…youfreaks!Getout!”Whenhis entourage has scurried away, he opens the box and dumps thecontentsontothetable.Twogoldenwings, theSigilsofaGold,clatterontothetable.Dancersits.“WewantyoutomakeourboyhereintoaGold.”

11

MAD

“You’remad.”“Thankyou.”Harmonysmiles.“Iassumeyoumisspoke;prayrepeatyourself,”MickeysaystoDancer.“Ares will pay you more money than you’ve ever seen if you can

successfullyattachthosetomyyoungfriendhere.”“Impossible,”Mickeydeclares.Helooksovertome,measuringmefor

thefirsttime.Heisunimpresseddespitemyheight.Idon’tblamehim.Once,Ithoughtmyselfahandsomemanoftheclans.Strong.Muscular.Uphere,Iampaleandwiry,youngandscarred.Hespitsontothetable.“Impossible.”Harmonyshrugs.“It’sbeendonebefore.”“Bywhom?Iask.”Heturnshishead.“No.Youcannotbaitme.”“Someonetalented,”Harmonytaunts.“Impossible.”Mickeyleansevenfartherforward;histhinfacehasnota

single pore. “There’s DNA matching him with the wings, cerebralextraction.Didyouknowtheyhavesubdermalmarkingsintheirskulls?Of course you didn’t—datachips attached to their frontal cortexes tosubstantiate their caste? Then there’s synapse linkage, molecularbonding, tracking devices, the Quality Control Board. And there’s thetrauma and the associative reasoning. Say we make his body perfect,there’s still one problem: we cannot make him smarter. One cannotmakeamousealion.”“Hecanthinklikealion,”Dancersaysplainly.

“Oho!Hecanthinklikealion,”Mickeysnickers.“AndAreswantsitdone.”Dancer’svoiceiscold.“Ares. Ares. Ares. It doesn’t matter what Ares wants, you baboon.Nevermind the science.His physical andmental dexterity is probablydaftasadamnbowlcleaner’s.Andhistangibleswon’tmatch.He’snottheirspecies!He’saRuster!”“I’maHelldiverofLykos,”Isay.Mickey raises his eyebrows. “Oho! A Helldiver! Clear the halls! AHelldiver, you say!” Hemocksme, but he squints suddenly as if he’sseen me before. My whipping was televised. Many know my face.“Buggermeblind,”hemutters.“Yourecognizemyface,”Iconfirm.He pulls up the viral video and watches it, looking back and forthbetweenitandme.“Aren’tyoudeadwiththatgirlfriendofyours?”“Wife,”Isnap.Mickey’sjawmusclesflickerunderhisskinasheignoresme.“You’remaking a savior,” he accuses, looking over at Dancer. “Dancer, youbastard.You’remakingamessiahforyourgorydamncause.”Ineverlookedatitthatway.Myskinpricklesuneasily.“Yes”isDancer’sanswer.“IfImakehimaGold,whatwillyoudowithhim?”“He will apply to the Institute. He will be accepted. There, he willexcel well enough to reach the ranks of the Peerless Scarred; as aScarred, he can train tobe aPraetor, a Legate, aPolitico, aQuaestor.Anything. Hewill advance to a prime position, the primer the better.Fromthere,hewillbeinapositiontodoasAresrequiresfortheCause.”“Mother of God,” Mickey murmurs. He stares at Harmony, then atDancer. “You want him to be a bona fide Peerless Scarred. Not aBronzie?”ABronzeisafadedGold.Ofthesameclass,butlookeddownonforinferior appearance, lineage, and capabilities. “Not a Bronze,” Dancerconfirms.“OraPixie?”“Wedon’twanthimtogotonightclubsandeatcaviarliketherestofthoseworthlessGolds.Wewanthimtocommandfleets.”“Fleets. You lot are mad. Mad.” Mickey’s violet eyes settle on mineaftera longmoment. “Myboy, theyaremurderingyou.Youarenota

Gold. You cannot do what a Gold can do. They are killers, born todominateus;haveyouevermetoneoftheAureate?Sure,theymaylookall pretty and peaceful now. But do you knowwhat happened in theConquering?Theyaremonsters.”Heshakeshisheadandlaughswickedly.“TheInstituteisnotaschool,itisacullinggroundwheretheGoldsgotohackatoneanothertillthestrongestinmindandbodyisfound.You.Will.Die.”Mickey’s cube liesat theoppositeendof the table. Iwalkover to itwithout saying a word. I don’t know how it works, but I know thepuzzlesoftheearth.“Myboy,what are youdoing?”Mickey sighs inpity. “That is not atoy.”“Haveyoueverbeeninamine?”Iaskhim.“Everusedyourfingerstodigthroughafaultlineatatwelve-degreeanglewhiledoingthemathtoaccommodateeightypercentrotationpowerandfifty-fivepercentthrustsoyoudon’tsetoffagas-pocketreactionwhilesittinginyourownpissandsweatandworryingaboutpitvipers thatwant toburrowintoyourguttolaytheireggs?”“Thisis…”His voice fades as he sees how the clawDrill taught my fingers tomove, how the grace with which my uncle taught me to dance isconvertedintomyhands.IhumasIwork.Ittakesamoment,maybeaminuteorthree.ButIlearnthepuzzleandthensolveiteasilyaccordingto frequency. There seems another level to it, mathematical riddles. Idon’tknowthemath,but Iknowthepattern. I solve itand fourmorepuzzles, then it changes once more in my hands, becoming a circle.Mickey’s eyes widen. I toss the device back to him. He stares at myhandswhileworkinghisowntwelvefingers.“Impossible,”hemurmurs.“Evolution,”Harmonyreplies.Dancersmiles.“Wewillneedtodiscussprice.”

12

THECARVING

Mylifebecomesagony.My Sigils are attached to the metacarpus in each hand. Mickey

removes the oldRed Sigils and cultivates new skin andbone over thewounds.Thenhesetstoinstallingastolensubdermaldatachipintomyfrontallobe.Iamtoldthetraumakilledmeandtheyhadtorestartmyheart.I’vediedtwicethen.TheysayIwasinacomafortwoweeks,buttomeitwasnothingbutadream.IwasinthevalewithEo.ShekissedmeontheforeheadandthenIwokeandfeltthestitchesandthepain.I lie in bed asMickey testsme.He hasmemovemarbles from one

containerintoothercontainerscodedbycolors.Idothisforwhatseemsalifetime.“Weareformingsynapses,mydarling.”Hetestsmewithwordpuzzlesandtriestomakemeread,butIdon’t

know how to read. “Youwill have to learn that for the Institute,” hegiggles.Mydreamsarecruel things towake from. In them,Eocomfortsme,

butwhenIwake,sheisnothingbutafleetingmemory.IamhollowasIlieinMickey’smakeshiftmedicalcell.Aniongermkillerbuzzesnexttomybed.Everythingiswhite,yetIcanhearthethumpingofmusicfromhisclub.Hisgirlschangemydiapersandemptymypissbags.Agirlwhonever speaks bathesme three times a day.Her arms arewillowy, herfacesoftandsadaswhenIfirstsawhersittingwithMickeyathisliquidtable. The wings that curl outward from her back are bound with a

crimsonribbon.Shenevermeetsmyeyes.Mickey continues to make me develop synapse connections as herepairsthescartissuefrommyneuralsurgery.He’salllaughsandsmilesand lingeringtouchesonmyforeheadashecallsmehisdarling. I feellikeoneofhisgirls,oneoftheangelshesculptedforhisownpleasure.“Butwemustnotbesatisfiedonlywiththebrain,”hesays.“ThereismuchworktobedoneonthisRusterbodyofyoursifwewanttomakeyouintoanironGold.”“Andthatis?”“Thegoldenancestors,theycallthemtheironGolds.Theywerehardmen. They stood lean and fierce upon their battlecruisers as they laidwaste to the armies and republic fleets of Earth.What creatures theywere.” His eyes go distant. “It took generations of eugenics andbiologicaltamperingtomakethem.ForcedDarwinism.”He’squietforamoment,anditseemsanangerbuildsinhim.“TheysayCarverswillneverduplicatethebeautyoftheGoldenMan.The Board of Quality Control taunts us. Personally, I do not want tomakeyou aman.Menare so very frail.Menbreak.Mendie.No, I’vealwayswishedtomakeagod.”Hesmilesmischievouslyashedoessomesketchesonadigitalpad.HespinsitaroundandshowsmethekillerIwillbecome.“Sowhynotcarveyoutobethegodofwar?”MickeyreplacestheskinofmybackandtheskinofmyhandswhereEoappliedbandagestomyburns.This,hesays,isnottobemyrealskin.Itisonlyahomogeneousbaselayer.“Your skeleton is weak because Mars gravity is zero point three ofEarth’s,mydelicatelittlebird.Also,youhaveadietdeficientincalcium.Gold Standard bone density is five times stronger than naturallyoccurringbonedensityonEarth.Sowewillhavetomakeyourskeletonsixtimesstronger;youmustbeofironifyouwanttolasttheInstitute.Thiswillbefun!Forme.Notyou.”Mickey carves me again. The agony is beyond language orcomprehension.“SomeonehastodotGod’si’s.”Thenextday,hereinforces thebonesofmyarms.Thenhedoesmyribs,myspine,myshoulders,myfeet,mypelvis,andmyface.Healsoalters thetensilequalitiesofmytendonsandmuscletissue.Mercifully,hedoesnotletmewakefromthislastsurgeryforseveralweeks.WhenI

dowake, I seehis girls aroundmeapplyingnewcultures of flesh andkneadingmymuscleswiththeirthumbs.Slowly, my skin begins to heal. I am a patchwork fleshquilt. Theybeginfeedingmesynthesizedprotein,creatine,andgrowthhormonetopromotemusclegrowthand tendonregeneration.Mybody trembles inthenightsanditchesasIsweatthroughnew,smallerpores.Icannotusepainmedicationstrongenoughtonumbtheagony,becausethealterednervesmustlearntofunctionwiththenewtissueandmyalteredbrain.Mickeysitsbesidemeonmyworstnightstellingmestories.It’sonlythen that I like him, only then that I think he is not some monstercookedupbythispervertedSociety.“My profession is to create, little bird,” he says one night aswe sittogether in the darkness. Light from the machines bathes his face inqueer shadows. “When I was young, I lived in a place they call theGrove. It was what you might think of as a circus culture. We hadspectacleseverynight.Celebrationsofcolorandsoundanddance.”“Soundsterrible,”Imuttersarcastically.“Justlikethemines.”Hesmilessoftlyandhiseyesfindthatdistantplace.“Isupposeitmayseemaplush life to you.Yet therewas amadness to theGrove.Theymadeustakepills.Pills thatcouldmakeusflybetweentheplanetsonwingsofdusttovisitthefaeriekingsofJupiterandthedeepmermaidsofEuropa.Mymindalwaysseparatefrombody.Nopeacetoit.Noendto the madness.” He clapped his hands then. “And now I Carve thethingsIsawinmyfeverdreams,justastheyalwayswished.Idreamedofyou,I think.Intheyend,Isupposethey’llwishIhadn’tdreamedatall.”“Wasitagooddream?”Iask.“What?”“Theonewithme.”“No.No, itwasanightmare.Oneofaman fromhell, loverof fire.”He’ssilentforaspell.“Whyisitsohorrible?”Iaskhim.“Life.Allthis.Whydotheyneedtomakeusdothis?Whydotheytreatuslikewe’retheirslaves?”“Power.”“Powerisn’treal.It’sjustaword.”Mickeyponderssilently.Thenheshrugshisthinshoulders.“Mankindwasalwaysenslaved,they’llsay.Freedomenslavesustolust,togreed.

Takefreedomaway,andtheygivemealifeofdreaming.Theygaveyoualifeofsacrifice,family,community.Andsocietyisstable.Thereisnofamine. No genocide. No great wars. And when the Golds fight, theyobeyrules.Theyare…nobleaboutitwhenthegreathousesbicker.”“Noble?Theyliedtome.SaidIwasapioneer.”“Andwouldyouhavebeenhappier if youknewyouwerea slave?”

Mickeyasks.“No.Noneof thebillion lowRedsbeneathMarswouldbehappyiftheyknewwhatthehighRedsknew—thattheyareslaves.Soisitnotbettertolie?”“Itisbettertonotmakeslaves.”WhenIamready,heinsertsaforceGeneratorintomysleepingtubeto

simulateincreasedgravityonmyframe.I’veneverknownpainlikethis.My body aches. My bones and skin and muscles scream against thepressureandthechangetillI’monmedicationthatturnsthescreamintoadullforever-moan.Isleepfordays.Idreamofhomeandfamily.EverynightIwakeafter

seeingEohangyetagain.Sheswaysacrossmymind.Imissherwarmthinbedbesideme,eventhoughtheygivemeanHCimmersionmaskfordistraction.Gradually, I amweaned from the painmedication.Mymuscles still

aren’t used to the density of my bones, so my existence becomes amelodicache.Theybegintofeedmerealfood.Mickeysitsontheedgeof my cot strokingmy hair well into the nights. I don’t care that hisfingersfeellikespiderlegs.Idon’tcarethathethinksIamsomepieceofart, his art.He givesme something called a hamburger. I love it. Redmeatsandthickcreamsandbreadsandfruitsandvegetablesmakemydiet.Ihavenevereatensowell.“You need the calories,”Mickey coos. “You have been so strong for

me;eatwell.Youdeservethisfood.”“HowamIdoing?”Iask.“Oh,thehardpartsareover,mydarling.Youareabrilliantboy,you

know.TheyhaveshownmethetapesfromtheotherprocedureswhereotherCarvers tried this.Oh, how clumsy the otherCarverswere, howweaktheothersubjects.ButyouarestrongandIambrilliant.”Hetapsmychest.“Yourheartislikethatofastallion’s.I’veneverglimpsedonelike it before. Youwere bitten by a pitviper when youwere young, Iassume?”

“Iwas.Yes.”“Ithoughtso.Yourhearthadtoadjusttocounteracttheeffectsofthepoison.”“MyunclesuckedmostofthepoisonoutwhenIwasbitten,”Isay.“No,” Mickey laughs. “That’s a myth. The poison cannot be suckedout. It still runs throughyour veins, forcingyourheart tobe strong ifyouwanttocontinuetolive.Youaresomethingspecial,justlikeme.”“ThenIwillnotdieinhere?”Imanage.Mickeylaughs.“No!No!Wearebeyondthatnow.Therewillbepain.Butwe arepast the threat ofmortality. Soonwewill havemademanintogod.RedintoGold.Evenyourwifewouldnotrecognizeyou.”ThatisallI’veeverfeared.Whentheytakemyeyesandgivemeonesofgold,Ifeeldeadinside.It’sasimplematterofreconnectingtheopticnervetothe“donor’s”eyes,Mickey says. A simple thing he’s done a dozen times for cosmeticpurposes;thehardpartwasthefrontallobesurgery,hesays.Idisagree.Thereisthepain,yes.Butwiththeneweyes,IseethingsIoncecouldnot.Elementsareclearer,sharper,andmorepainfultobear.Ihatethisprocess.AllitisisaconfirmationofthesuperiorityoftheGolds.Ittakesallthistomakemetheirphysicalequal.Nowonderweservethem.It’snotmine.Noneof this ismine.Myskin is too soft, too lustrous,toofaultless.Idon’tknowmybodywithoutscars.Idon’tknowthebackofmyownhands.Eowouldnotknowme.Mickeytakesmyhairnext.Everythingischanged.Itisweeksofphysicaltherapy.WalkingslowlyaroundtheroomwithEvey, thewinged girl, I’m left tomyown thoughts.Neither one of uscaresmuch to speak. Shehasherdemonsand Ihavemine, sowearequiet and calm except when Mickey comes to coo about what prettychildrenwewouldmaketogether.One day, Mickey even brings an antique zither for me, with asoundboardofwood insteadofplastic. It is thekindest thinghe’severdone.Idonotsing,butIplaythesolemnsongsofLykos.Thetraditionalonesofmyclanthatnoonebeyondtheminewilleverhaveheard.HeandEveysitwithmesometimes,andthoughIthinkMickeyawretchedsortofcreature,Ifeelasthoughheunderstandsthemusic.Itsbeauty.Itsimportance. And afterward, he says nothing. I like him then, too. Atpeace.

“Well,you’reabit sterner than I firstmeasured,”Harmonysays tomeonemorningasIwake.“Wherehaveyoubeen?”Iask,openingmyeyes.“Findingdonors.”Sheflinchesassheseesmyirises.“Theworlddoes

notstopbecauseyouarehere,”shesays.“Wehadworktodo.Mickeysaysyoucanwalk?”“Iamgrowingstronger.”“Notstrongenough,”shesurmises,lookingmeover.“Youlooklikea

babygiraffe.I’llfixthat.”HarmonytakesmebeneathMickey’sclubtoagrungygymnasiumlit

bysulfurousbulbs.Ilikethefeelofthecoldstoneonmybarefeet.Mybalancehasreturned,anditisagoodthing,becauseHarmonydoesnotoffer me her arm; instead, she waves to the center of the darkgymnasium.“Weboughttheseforyou,”Harmonysays.She points to two devices in the center of the dark space. The

contraptionsaresilverandremindmeofthesuitsknightsworeinpastcenturies.Thearmorhangssuspendedbetweentwometalwires.“Theyareconcentractionmachines.”Islidemybodyintothemachine.Drygelhugsmyfeet,mylegs,my

torsoandarmsandneck,tillonlymyheadisfree.Themachineisbuilttoresistmymovements,yetitrespondseventothetinieststimuli.Theidea of building muscle is to exercise it, which is nothing more thanusing the muscle intensely enough to create microscopic tears in thetissue fiber. This is the pain one feels in the days after an intenseworkout—torn tissue—not lactic acid. When the muscle repairs thetears,itbuildsonitself.Thisistheprocesstheconcentractionmachineisbuilttofacilitate.Itisthedevil’sowninvention.Harmonyslidesthedevice’sfaceplateovermyeyes.Mybodyisstillinthegym,butIseemyselfmovingacrosstherugged

landscape of Mars. I’m running, pumping my legs against theconcentraction machine’s resistance, which increases according toHarmony’smoodorthelocationofthesimulation.SometimesIventuretothejunglesofEarth,whereIracepanthersthroughtheunderbrush,orItaketothepockedsurfaceofLunabeforeitwaspopulated.ButalwaysIreturnhometoMarstorunacrossitsredsoilandjumpoveritsviolentravines.HarmonysometimesaccompaniesmeintheothermachinesoI

havesomeonetorace.Shepushesmehard,andsometimesIwonderifshe’stryingtobreak

me.Idon’tlether.“Ifyou’renotvomitingduringaworkout,you’renottrying,”shesays.The days are excruciating. My body is a misery of aches from the

archesofmy feet to thebackofmyneck.Mickey’sPinksmassagemeeveryday.Thereisnobetterpleasureintheworld,butthreedaysafterbeginningmytrainingwithHarmony,Iwakeupvomitinginmybed.Ishiverandshakeandhearcursing.“There’sasciencetothis,youwickedlittlewitch,”Mickeyisshouting.

“Hewillbeaworkofart,butnotifyoupourwateronthepaintbeforeit’sset.Donotruinhim!”“Hemust be perfect,” Harmony says. “Dancer, if he isweak in any

way,theotherchildrenwillbutcherhimlikeafreshmadedrillBoy.”“Youarebutcheringhim!”Mickeywhines.“Youareruininghim!His

bodycannothandlethemusclebreakdown.”“Hehasnotobjectedtothetreatment,”Harmonyremindshim.“Becausehedoesnotknowhecanobject!”Mickeysays.“Dancer,she

has nounderstanding of the biomechanics involved in this.Donot letherruinmyboy.”“Heisnotyourboy!”Harmonysneers.Mickey’svoicebecomessofter.“Dancer,Darrowislikeastallion,one

oftheoldstallionsofEarth.Beautifulbeaststhatwillrunashardasyoupushthem.Theywillrun.Andrun.Andrun.Untiltheydon’t.Untiltheirheartsexplode.”Thereissilenceforamoment,thenDancer’svoice.“Ares once toldme that it is the hottest fire that forms the sternest

steel.Keeppushingtheboy.”Iresenttwoofmyteachersafteroverhearingtheirwords:Mickeyfor

thinking me weak; Dancer for thinking me his tool. Only Harmonydoesn’tangerme.Hervoice,hereyes,seethewithanangerIfeelinmyown soul. She may have Dancer now, but she lost someone. Theunscarredpartofherfacetellsmethat.SheisnoschemerlikeDancerorhismaster,Ares. She is likeme—brimmingwitha rage thatmakesallelsesoinconsequential.ThatnightIcry.Over the next days, they feed me drugs to expedite the protein

synthesisandmuscleregeneration.Aftermymuscletissuehasrecoveredfromtheinitialtrauma,theytrainmeharderthanbefore,evenMickey—though his eyes are underlined with dark rings and his thin face issallow, he does not object. He has grown distant these lastweeks, nolongertellingmestories—asthoughhefearswhathehascreated,nowthatI’mtakingfullershape.HarmonyandIspeakverylittletooneanother,butthereisasubtleshiftinourrelationship,somesortofprimalunderstandingthatwearethesamesortofcreature.Butasmybodygrowsstronger,Harmonycannolongerkeepupeventhoughsheisahardenedwomanofthemines.That is after only two weeks. The distance between our capabilitiescontinuestogrow.Afteranothermonth,sheislikeachildtome.EventhenIdonotplateau.Mybodybeginstochange.Ithicken.Mymusclesbecomestrongandcorded in the concentraction machine, which I now supplement withweightworkouts inhighGrav.Gradually, strengthbuilds.Myshouldersgrow broader, rounded; I see tendons emerge inmy forearms; a tensemassofhardmusclesbindmytorso,likearmor.Evenmyhands,whichwere always stronger than the rest ofme, growmore powerful in theconcentraction machine. With a simple squeeze, I can pulverize rock.Mickeyjumpedupanddownwhenhesawthat.Nooneshakesmyhandanylonger.I sleep inhighGrav, so thatwhen ImoveaboutonMars, I feel fast,quick,moreagilethaneverbefore.Myfasttwitchfibersform.Myhandsmovelikelightning,andwhentheyhitthegymnasium’shuman-shapedpunching bag, it leaps like it’s been struck by a scorcher. I can punchthroughitnow.My body is becoming that of a Gold, one of the prime stock, not aPixie,notaBronze.ThisisthebodyoftheracethatconqueredtheSolarSystem.Myhandsare freaks.Theyaresmooth, tanned,anddexterous,asanyGold’sshouldbe.Butthereisapowerinthemoutofproportionwiththerestofme.IfIamablade,theyaremyedge.Mybodyisnotall thatchanges.BeforeIsleep, Idrinkatonic ladenwith processing enhancers and speed-listen to The Colors, The Iliad,Ulysses,Metamorphosis, theThebanplays,TheDraconicLabels,Anabasis,andrestrictedworkslikeTheCountofMonteCristo,LordoftheFlies,LadyCasterly’s Penance, 1984, andThe Great Gatsby. I wake knowing three

thousandyearsofliteratureandlegalcodeandhistory.My last day at Mickey’s comes two months after my last surgery.Harmonysmileswithmeafterourworkoutas shedropsmeoff inmyroom.Music thuds in the background.Mickey’s dancers are going fulltilttonight.“I’llgetyouyourclothing,Darrow.DancerandIwanttohavedinnerwithyoutocelebrate.Eveywillcleanyouup.”SheleavesmealonewithEvey.Today,asalways,herfaceisasquietasthesnowI’veseenontheHC.Iwatchherinthemirrorasshecutsmyhair.Theroomisdarkbut forthe lightoverthemirror. Itshinesfromabove, so she looks like an angel. Innocent and pure. But she’s notinnocent,notpure.She’saPink.Theybreedthemforpleasure, for thecurvesof theirbreastsandhips, for the tautnessof their stomachsandtheplumpfoldsoftheirlips.Yetsheisagirlandhersparkhasnotyetgoneout.IrememberthelasttimeIfailedtoprotectonelikeher.Andme?It’shardtolookatmyselfinthemirror.I’mwhatIknowthedeviltobe.Iamarroganceandcruelty,thesortofmanwhokilledmywife.IamGold.AndIamascoldasit.My eyes shine like ingots. My skin is soft and rich. My bones arestronger.Ifeelthedensityinmyleantorso.WhenEveyisdonecuttingthegoldenhair,shestandsbackandstaresatme.Icanfeelherfear,andI suffer it inmyself. I amno longer a human. Physically, I’ve becomesomethingmore.“You’re beautiful,” Evey says quietly, touching my golden Sigils.They’re much smaller than her feather wings. The circle is set in thecenter of each hand’s backside. Wings swoop back along the flesh,curvinglikescythesupthesidesofmywristbones.IlookatEvey’swhitewingsandknowhowuglyshemustthinkthemto be on her back, how shemust hate them. Iwant to say somethingkindtoher. Iwanttomakehersmile, if shecan. Iwouldtellher thatsheisbeautiful,butshe’slivedalifeofmensayingthatforsomegainoranother. She wouldn’t believe a boy like me. And I don’t believe herwordstome.Eowasbeautiful.Istillremembertheflushofbloodinhercheeksasshedanced.Shehadalltherawcolorsoflife,thecrudebeautyofnature.Iamthehumanconceptofbeauty.Goldmadesoftandsuppleintoman’sform.Eveykisses the topofmyheadbeforedartingawayand leavingme

alonetowatchtheHCinthemirror’sreflection.Ididnotnoticeherslipafeatherfromherwingsintomybreastpocket.I’m tired of watching the HC. I know their history now and I’m

learningmoreeveryday.ButI’mtiredofbeinginside,tiredoflisteningto Mickey’s club thump its music and smelling the minty leaves hesmokes. Tired of seeing the girls he brings into his family only to sellawaywhensomeonebidshighenough.Tiredofseeingallthefulleyesgohollow.This isnotLykos.There isno love,no familyor trust.Thisplaceissick.“My boy, you look fit to captain a fleet of torchShips,”Mickey says

fromthedoor.Heslidesin,smellinglikehisburners.HisspindlyfingerstakeEvey’sfeatherfrommybreastpocketandrollitbackandforthoverhisknuckles.HetapsthefeathertoeachofmygoldenSigils.“Wingsaremyfavorite.Aren’ttheyyours?Theygotomankind’sbetteraspirations.”HecomesupbehindmeasIsitstaringintothemirror.Hishandsgo

tomyshouldersandhespeaksdownatmyhead,restinghischinuponitasthoughIamhisproperty.It’seasytoseehethinksIam.Mylefthandgoestothesigilonmyright,lingeringthere.“Itoldyouyouwerebrilliant.Nowit’syourtimetofly.”“Yougivethegirlswings,butyoudon’tletthemfly.Doyou?”Iask.“It’simpossibleforthemtofly.Theyaresimplerthingsthanyou.AndI

can’taffordtobuyalicensetohavegravBoots.Sotheydanceforme.”Mickeyexplains.“Butyou,you’llfly,won’tyou,mybrilliantboy?”I stare at him but say nothing. His lips slice into a smile because I

unnervehim.Ialwayshave.“You’refrightenedofme,”Itellhim.Helaughs.“AmI?Oho!AmInow,myboy?”“Yes.You’reusedtoknowingwhat’swhat.Youthinkliketherestof

them.”InodtotheHC’sreflection.“Thingsaresetinstone.Thingsarewellordered.Redsatthebottom,everyoneelsestandingonourbacks.Now you’re looking at me and you’re realizing that we don’tbloodydamnlikeitdownthere.Redisrising,Mickey.”“Oh,you’vegotfartogo…”Ireachupandgrabhiswristssothathecannotmove.Hestaresatme

inthemirror’sreflection,strugglingagainstmyhold.NothingisstrongerthanaHelldiver’sgrip. Ismile intothemirror, lockingmygoldeneyeswith his violet ones. He smells like fear. Primal terror. Like a mousecorneredbyalion.

“BekindtoEvey,Mickey.Don’tmakeherdance.GiveheraplushlifeorI’llcomebacktopullyourhandsoffyourbody.”

13

BADTHINGS

MatteoisatallwispofaPinkwithlonglimbsandalean,beautifulface.He is a slave.Orwas a slave for carnal pleasures.Yethewalks like awater lord. Beauty in his step.Manners and grace in the wave of hishand. He has a penchant for wearing gloves and sniffing at even thesmallestbitofdirt.Bodymaintenancehasbeenhislife’spurpose.Sohedoesn’tfinditstrangewhenhehelpsmeapplyahairfolliclekillertomyarms, legs, torso, andprivates.But Ido.Whenwe’redone,we’rebothcursing—mefromthesting,himfromthepunchIthrewathisshoulder.Iaccidentallydislocateditjustbypunchingit.Istilldon’tknowmyownstrength.AndtheydomaketheirPinksfragile.Ifheistherose,Iamthethorns.“Baldasatoddler,youfreneticlittlebaby,”Matteosighsasproperly

asonecansaysucha thing.“Justas thenewestLuna fashionrequires.Now, with a bit of eyebrow sculpting—oh, how your brows are likefungus-nibbling caterpillars—and nose-hair eradication, cuticlereadjustment,teethwhiteningonthoseslicknewchompers—which,ifImaysay,areyellowasmustarddappledwithdandelions…tellme,haveyoueverbrushedyournewteeth?—andblackheadremoval(whichshallbe like probing for helium-3), toner adjustment, and melatonininjections,andyou’llbeprimandroseproper–ish.”Isnortatthefoolishnessofitall.“IalreadylooklikeaGold.”“You look likeaBronze!A fool’sGold!Oneof the lowbredbastards

wholooksmorekhakithanGold.Youmustbeperfect.”

“You’reabloodydamnoddlark,Matteo.”Hesmacksme.“Mindyourself!AGoldwouldratherdiethanusethatslitheringmineslang. ‘Gorydamn’or‘gory’;and‘slag’insteadof‘squab.’Everytimeyousay‘bloody’or‘bloodydamn,’Iwillsmacknotyourgob,butyourmouth.And ifyousay ‘squab’or ‘gob,’ Iwillkickyou in thescrotum—whichIdoknowmywayaround—asIwilldoifyoudonotget rid of that horrible accent. You sound like you were born in agorydamndumpster.”Hefrownsandsetshishandsonhisnarrowhips.“And then we’ll have to teach you manners. And culture, culture,goodman.”“Ihavemanners.”“Bythemaker,weareso,sogoingtohavetomakeyouforswearthatbrogueaswellasthecursing.”Hepokesmeashelistsoutmyflaws.“Mighttryadoptingsomemannersofyourown,buttboy,”Igrowl.Hepullsoffoneofmyglovesandslapsmeacrossthefaceandtakesabottleinhandandholdsittomythroat.Ilaugh.“You’llhavetogetyourHelldiverreflexesbacksoontogowiththatgawkynewbody.”Ieyethebottle.“Goingtopokemetodeath?”“It is a polyenne sword, goodman. A razor, in other words. Onemoment it is soft ashair, butwithanorganic impulse, it turnsharderthandiamond. It is theonly thing thatwill cut throughapulseShield.Onemomentawhip,thenextmomentaperfectsword.Itistheweaponofagentleman.AGold.ForanyotherColortocarryitisdeath.”“Itisabottle,youdaft—”HejamsmeinthethroatsothatIgag.“And it was your manners that forced me to draw my razor andchallengeyou,therebyprecipitouslyendingyourimpudentlife.Youmayhavefoughtwithfistsforhonorinthathovelyoucalledhome.Youwerea bug then. An ant. An Aureate fights with a blade at the slightestprovocation. They have honor the likes of which you know nothingabout. Your honor was personal; theirs is personal, familial, andplanetary. That is all. They fight for higher stakes, and they do notforgivewhenthebloodlettingisdone.LeastofallthePeerlessScarred.

Manners, goodman. Manners will protect you until you can protectyourselffrommyshampoobottle.”“Matteo…,”Isay,rubbingmythroat.“Yes?”hesighs.“Whatisshampoo?”AnotherstintinMickey’scarvingroommighthavebeenpreferabletoMatteo’stutelage.AtleastMickeywasafraidofme.

ThenextmorningDancertriestorenameme.“You will be the son of a relatively unknown family from the farasteroidclusters. Soon, the familywillbedead ina shippingaccident.Youwillbethelonesurvivorandtheonlyheirtotheirdebtsandpoorstatus.Hisname,yourname,willbeCaiusauAndromedus.”“Slagthat,”Ireply.“IwillbeDarroworIwillbenothing.”Hescratcheshishead.“Darrowisan…oddname.”“YouhavemademegiveupthehairFathergaveme,theeyesMotherleftme, theColor Iwasborn to, so Iwillkeep thename theygrantedme,andyoucanmakeitwork.”“Ilikeditbetterwhenyoudidn’tactlikeaGold,”Dancergrumbles.

“Now,thekeytodininglikeanAureateistoeatslowly,”MatteosaysaswesittogetheratatableinthepenthousewhereDancerfirstshowedmetheworld.“YouwillfindyourselfsubjectedtomanyTrimalchianfeasts.On such occasions, there will be seven courses—appetizer, soup, fish,meat,salad,dessert,andlibations.”He gestures to a small tray laden with silverware and explains thevariousmethodsforeatingwitheach.Then he tellsme, “If youmust urinate or defecate during themeal,you hold it in. Controlling one’s bodily functions is expected of anAureate.”“Sothesenamby-pambyGoldbrowsaren’tallowedtoshit?Andwhentheydo,Iwonder,doesitcomeoutgold?”Matteo slapsmycheekwithhisglove. “Ifyou’re soeager to see redagain, let your tongue slip in their presence, goodman, and they’ll behappy to remind youwhat color allmen bleed.Manners and control!

Youhaveneither.”Heshakeshishead.“Now,tellmewhatthisforkisusedfor.”Iwanttotellhimit’susedforpickinghisarse,butIsighandgivehim

thecorrectanswer.“Fish,butonlyifthebonesarestillinthedish.”“Andhowmuchofthisfishareyoutoeat?”“Allofit,”Iguess.“No!”hecries.“Wereyouevenlistening?”Hissmallhandsclutchhis

hair and he takes a deep breath. “Must I remind you? There areBronzies.ThereareGolds.AndtherearePixies.”Heleavestherestformetofinish.“Pixieshavenoself-control,”Irememberaloud.“Theytakeinallthe

treats of power, but do pissall tomerit them. They are born and theychasepleasure.Righto?”“Prime, not righto. Now what is expected of a Gold? Of a Peerless

Scarred?”“Perfection.”“Whichmeans?”My voice is cold as I mimic a Gold’s accent. “It means control,

goodman. Self-control. I am permitted to indulge in vices so long as Ineverpermit them tousurp control. If there is akey tounderstandingAureates, it is found in understanding control in all its forms. Eat thefish,leavetwentypercenttoindicateitsdeliciousnessdidnotoverpowermyresolveormakeslavesofmytaste-buds.”“Soyouwerelisteningafterall.”Dancer findsmethenextdayas IpracticemyAureateaccent in the

penthouse’s holomirror. I can see a three-dimensional depiction ofmyheadinfrontofme.Theteethmovestrangely,catchingmytongueasItrytorollmywords.Iamstillbecomingusedtomybody,evenmonthsafterthelastofthesurgeries.MyteetharelargerthanIinitiallythoughtthem. It also doesn’t help that theGoldbrows speak as though they’vehad golden shovels stuck up their bloodydamn stinkholes. So I find iteasier to speak like one if I see that I am one. The arrogance comeseasier.“Softenyourr’s,”Dancertellsme.HesitsattentivelyasIreadfroma

datapad. “Pretend as though there is an h in front of each one.” Hisburner reminds me of home and I remember how ArchGovernorAugustus seemed in Lykos. I remember theman’s serenity.His patient

condescension.Hissmirk.“Elongatethel’s.”“Isthatallthestrengthyouhave?”Isayintothemirror.“Perfect,”Dancerpraiseswithahumorous shiver.He clapshis goodhandonhisknee.“SoonI’llbedreaminglikeI’mabloodydamnGoldbrowtoo,”Isayindisgust.“Youshouldn’tsay‘bloodydamn.’Say‘gory’or‘gorydamn’instead.”Iglareathim.“IfIsawmyselfonthestreet,Iwouldhateme.IwouldwanttotakeaslingBladeandcarvemefrompuckertostinkerandthenburntheremains.Eowouldpuketolookatme.”“You’re young still,” Dancer laughs. “God, I sometimes forget howyoung.”Hetakesaflaskoutofhisbootanddownssomebeforetossingittome.Ilaugh.“LasttimeIdrank,UncleNaroldruggedme.”Itakeadrink.“Maybeyou’veforgottenwhattheminesarelike.I’mnotyoung.”Dancer frowns. “I didn’t mean to insult, Darrow. It’s just youunderstandwhatyou’retodo.Youunderstandwhyyou’retodoit.Butyoustillloseperspectiveandjudgeyourself.Rightnowyouprobablygetsicklookingatyourgoldenself.Righto?”“Rightothere.”Idrinkdeepfromtheflask.“Butyou’reonlyplayingapart,Darrow.”Hetwitcheshisfingerandabladeslips fromtheringonhis finger.Myreflexesarebackandquickenough that Imight have shoved it up into his throat if I thought hemeantmeharm,but I lethimswipe thebladeacrossmy index finger.Bloodwellsout.Redblood.“Justincaseyouneedremindingwhatyoureallyare.”“Smellslikehome,”Isay,suckingonthefinger.“Mumusedtomakebloodsoupoutofthepitvipers.Nothalfbadtothetruthofit.”“Youdipflaxbreadinitandsprinkleinokrablossom?”“How’dyouknow?”Iask.“Mymumdidthesame,”Dancerlaughs.“We’dhaveitatDancetide,or before the Laureltide when they’d announce the winner. AlwayssquabbingGamma.”“Here’stoGamma.”Ilaughandfinishanotherswig.Dancerwatchesme.Thesmileeventually slips fromhis faceandhiseyesgrowcold.“Matteo’stoteachyoutodancetomorrow.”“Thoughtyou’dbetheonedoingthat,”Isay.

Hethumpshisbadleg.“BeenawhilesinceI’vedonethat.BestdancerinOikos.Icouldmovelikeadeeptunneldraft.AllourbestdancerswereHelldivers.Iwasoneforseveralyears,youknow.”“Ifigured.”“Didyou,now?”Igesture tohis scars. “OnlyaHelldiverwouldbebit somany times

withoutdrillBoysaroundtohelppullthevipersoff.Beenbittentoo.Gotabiggerheartforit,atleast.”Henodsandhiseyesgodistant.“Fellintoanestwhenfixingtorepair

anoduleontheclawDrill.TheywereupinoneoftheductsandIdidn’tseethem.Theywerethedangerouskind.”Iseewherehe’sgoingwiththis.“Theywerebabies,”Isay.Henods.“Theyhavelessvenom.Muchlessthantheirparents,sotheyweren’t

burrowersbentonlayingeggsinsideofme.Butwhentheybit,theyusedall the evil in them. Fortunately, we had antivenom with us. TradedsomeGammasforit.”InLykoswehadnoantivenom.Heleanstowardme.“We’re tossing you into a nest of baby vipers, Darrow. Mark that.

Admissions testing is threemonths fromnow. Iwillbe tutoringyou inconjunction with your lessons from Matteo. But if you do not quitjudgingyourself, if youcontinue tohateyourguise, thenyouwill failthe test orworse—youwill pass it and then slip up and be found outwhileattheInstitute.Andeverythingwillbesquabbed.”I shift in my seat. For once, there’s another fear in me—not of

becomingsomethingEowouldnotrecognize,butamoreprimalfear,amortal fearofmyenemies.Whatwill theybe like? I already see theirsneers,theircontempt.“Doesn’tmatter if they findmeout.” I clapDancer’s knee. “They’ve

takenwhattheycanfrommealready.ThatiswhyIamaweaponyoucanuse.”“Wrong,” Dancer snaps. “You’re of use because you’re more than a

weapon.Whenyourwifedied,shedidn’t justgiveyouavendetta.Shegave youher dream.You’re its keeper. Itsmaker. So don’t be spittinganger and hate. You’re not fighting against them, no matter whatHarmonysays.You’refightingforEo’sdream,foryourfamilythatisstillalive,yourpeople.”

“IsthatAres’sopinion?Imean,isityours?”“IamnotAres,”Dancerrepeats.Idon’tbelievehim.I’veseentheway

hismenlookathim,howevenHarmonypayshimdeference.“Lookintoyourself,Darrow,andyou’ll realize thatyouareagoodmanwhowillhavetodobadthings.”MyhandsareunscarredandfeelstrangewhenIclenchthemtill the

knucklesturnthatfamiliarshadeofwhite.“See.That’swhatIdon’tget.IfIamagoodman,thenwhydoIwant

todobadthings?”

14

ANDROMEDUS

Matteocannot teachme todance.He showsmewhateachof the fiveform dances of the Aureate looks like and we are through. Moreemphasis is put on your partner in Gold dances than the dances myuncletaughtme,butthemovementsaresimilar.Iperformallfivewithgreater skill than he canmanage. To show off, I blindfoldmyself andperform each dance again in succession without music, by memory.UncleNarol taughtme todance, andwitha thousandnightsof fillingtimewithnothingbutdanceandsong,Iammasterful inrecordingthemotionsofmybody,even thisnewbody. It cando thingsmyoldonecould not. The muscle fibers contract differently, the tendons stretchfarther, thenerves fire faster.There’sa sweetburn in themusclesas Iflowthroughthemovements.Onedance,thePolemides,hasanostalgicfeel.Matteohasmeholda

baton as I move about in swirling steps, baton arm outstretched asthoughfightingwitharazor.Evenasmybodymoves,Iheartheechoesofthepast.Ifeelthevibrationsofthemine,thescentofmyclan.Ihaveseenthisdancebefore,andIperformitbetterthanalltheothers.Itisadancemybody ismade for, one sovery similar to the illegalReapingDance.WhenIfinish,Matteoisangry.“Isthissomesortofgame?”hesnarls.“Whatdoyoumean?”Heglaresatmeandtapshis foot.“Youhaveneverbeenbeyondthe

mines?”“Youknowthatanswer,”Ireply.“Youhaveneverfoughtwithaswordorshield?”“Yes.Ihave.I’vealsocaptainedstarcruisersanddinedwithPraetors.”Ilaughandaskwhatthisisabout.“Thisisnogame,Darrow.”“Did I say it was?” I’m confused.What did I do to provoke him? Imakeamistakeinlaughingtorelievethetension.“Youlaugh?Boy,thisistheSocietywithwhichyoutangle.Andyoulaugh?Theyarenotsomedistantidea.Theyarecoldreality.Iftheyfindoutwhoyouare,theywillnothangyou.”Hisfacelookslostashesaysit.Asthoughheknowsonlytoowell.“Iknowthis.”He ignores me. “The Obsidians will catch you and give you to theWhitesand theywill takeyou to theirdarkcells and theywill tortureyou.Theywillpulloutyoureyesandcutawayanythingthatmakesyouaman.Theyhavemoresophisticatedmethods,butIwagerinformationwon’tbetheironlyaim;theyhavechemicalsforthatiftheywant.Soonafteryoutellthemeverything,theywillkillme,Harmony,Dancer.Andtheywill kill your familywith fleshPeelers and stompon theheadsofyourniecesandnephews.Thesearethethingstheydon’tputontheHC.Thesearetheconsequenceswhentherulersofplanetsareyourenemies.Planets,boy.”I feelachillcreep intomybones. Iknowthesethings.Whydoeshekeephammeringmewiththem?I’malreadyfrightened.Idon’twanttobe,butIam.Mytaskisswallowingmewhole.“SoIaskyouagain,areyouwhoDancersaysyouare?”Ipause.Ah.IassumedthattrustrandeepwiththeSonsofAres,thattheywereof onemind.Here is a crack, adivision.Matteo isDancer’sally,butnotafriend.Somethinginmydancingmadehimthinktwice.ThenIrealizeit.HedidnotseeMickeycarveme.HeistakingthisallonfaiththatIwasonceaRed,andhowdifficultthatmustbe.Somethinginmydancingmadehim think Iwasborn to this. Something todowiththatlastdance,theonecalledthePolemides.“IamDarrow,sonofDale,Lambda’sHelldiverofLykos.Ihaveneverbeenanyoneelse,Matteo.”Hecrosseshisarms.“Ifyouarelyingtome…”

“IdonotlietolowColors.”Later that evening, I research the dances I performed. Polemides isGreek for“childofwar.” It is thedance that remindedmesomuchofUncleNarol’sdances. It is theGold’sdanceofwar, theone they teachyoungchildrentopreparethemforthemotionsofmartialwarfareandtheuseoftherazor.IwatchaholoofGoldsinbattle,andmyheartfallsinto my stomach. They fight like a summer song. Not like thethunderous, monstrous Obsidians. But like birds banking into a freshwind.They fight inpairs, swerving,dancing,killing, rippingthroughafieldofObsidianandGrayasthoughtheywereatplaywithscythesandall the bodies that fell to themwere like stalks of grain that sprayedblood instead of sallow chaff. Their golden armor shines. Their razorsflash.Theyaregods,notmen.AndImeantodestroythem?I sleep poorly in my bed of silk that night. Long after kissing Eo’shaemanthusblossom, I fallasleepanddreamofmy fatherandwhat itwouldhavebeenliketohaveknownhimintomanhood,tohavelearnedto dance from him instead of from his drunken brother. I clutch thescarletheadbandinmyhandasIwake.HoldingitasdearlyasIclutchmyweddingband.Allthosethingsthatremindmeofhome.Yettheyarenotenough.Iamafraid.Dancerfindsmeatmymorningbreakfast.“You’llbehappytoknow,ourhackershavespenttwoweekshackinginto the Board of Quality Control’s cloud to change Caius auAndromedus’snametoDarrowauAndromedus.”“Good.”“That’sallyouhavetosay?Doyouknowhowmuch—Nevermind.”Heshakeshisheadandgivesachuckle.“Darrow.ItissooffColor.Therewillberaisedeyebrows.”I shrug to concealmy fear. “So I’ll butcher their gorydamn test andthey’llcarelessthanalick.”“SpokenlikeaGold.”Thenextday,MatteotakesmebyshiptothestablesofIshtar,notfarfrom Yorkton. It’s a place by the sea, where green fields stretch overrollinghills.I’veneverbeeninsowideaplace.I’veneverseenthelandcurveawayfromme.Neverseenatruehorizonoranimalssoterrifying

asthebeastsMatteoarrangedforourlesson.Theystompandstampandsnort, flicking their tails and baring their monstrous yellow teeth.Horses. I’ve always been scared of horses, despite Eo’s story ofAndromeda.“They’remonsters,”IwhispertoMatteo.“Nevertheless,”hewhispersback,“itisthegentleman’sway.Youmust

ridewell,lestyoufindyourselfembarrassedinsomeformalsituation.”I look at the other Golds riding past. There are only three at the

stables today, each accompanied by a servant like Matteo, Pinks andBrowns.“A situation like this one?” I hiss at him. “Fine. Fine.” I point to a

massiveblack stallionwithhooves thatpaw theground. “I’ll take thatbeast.”Matteosmiles.“Thisoneismoreyourspeed.”Matteogivesmeapony.Abigpony,but apony.There isno social

interaction here; the other riders trot past and tip their heads to saygoodday,butthatisall.SotheirsmilesareenoughformetoknowhowridiculousIlook.Idonottaketoridingwell.AndItaketoitevenmorepoorlywhenmyponyboltsasMatteoandInavigateapathintoacopseoftrees.Outtheothersideofthecopse,Ijumpoffthecreatureandlanddeftlyinthegrass.Someonelaughsinthedistance,agirlwithlonghair.SheridesthestallionIpointedtoearlier.“Maybeyououghttosticktothecity,Pixie,”sheshoutsatme,then

kicksherhorseaway. I rise frommykneeandwatchherride into thedistance. Her hair spills out behind her,more golden than the settingsun.

15

THETESTING

MytestcomesaftertwomonthsoftrainingmymindwithDancer.Idonotmemorize. I do not even really learnwhenwith him. Instead, histraining is designed to help my mind adapt to paradigm shifts. Forinstance,ifafishhas3,453scalesonitsleftsideand3,453onitsrightside,whichsideofthefishhasthemostscales?Theoutside.Theycallitextrapolationalthinking.ItwashowIknewthatIshouldeatthescythecardwhenIfirstmetDancer.Iamverygoodatit.IfinditironicthatDancerandhisfriendscancreateafakehistoryfor

me,afakefamily,afakelife,buttheycannotfakemyadmittancetest.So, three months after my training begins, I take the test in a brightroomnexttoanoisymouseofaGoldbrowgirlwhoincessantlytapsherstylus on a jade bracelet. Shemay be part of the test for all I know.Whenshe’snotlooking,Isnatchthestylusfromherfingersandhideitdownmysleeve.IamaHelldiverofLykos.Soyes,Icanstealastupidgirl’sstyluswithoutherknowinganythingaboutit.Shegawksaroundasifmagichasbeendone.Thenshebeginstowhine.Theydon’tgiveheranother stylus, so she runs out in tears. Afterward, the Penny ProctorlooksathisdatapadandrewindsavideofromananoCamera.Helooksatmeandsmiles.Suchtraitsareapparentlyadmirable.AGoldenrazorbladeofagirldisagreesandsneers“Cutter”inmyear

assheslicespastmeinthehalloutside.MatteotoldmenottospeaktoanyonebecauseIamnotyetreadytosocialize,so Ibarelybitebackavery Red reply. Her words linger. Cutter. Cutthroat. Machiavellian.

Ruthless.Theyalldescribewhatshethinksofme.Funnythingis,mostGoldswouldseethetermasanaccolade.Amusicalvoiceaddressesme.“I thinksheactually justpaidyouacompliment.Sodon’tmindher.She’sprettyasapeach,butshe’sallrotteninside.Itookabiteonce,ifyoucatchmyflow.Tasty,thenputrid.Fantasticgrabinthere,bytheby.I was about to rip that ninny’s eyes from her skull myself. Damnabletapping!”The shining voice comes from a youngman torn fromGreek verse.Arroganceandbeautydripoffofhim. Impeccablebreeding. I’veneverseenasmilesowideandwhite,skinsosmoothandlustrous.He’sall Idespise.Heclapsmeontheshoulderandgraspsmyhandinoneoftheseveralwaysof semiformal introduction. I squeezeslightly.Hehasa firmgriptoo,butwhenhetriestoestablishdominance,Isqueezehishandtillhejerksitback.Aflashofworryinhiseyes.“By God, your hand is like a vise!” He chuckles. He calls himselfCassius very quickly, and I’m lucky he gives me little time to speak,becausehisbrowwrinkleswhenIdo.Myaccentisstillnotperfect.“Darrow,”he repeats. “Well, that’s quite theoffColorname.Ah…”Helooksathisdatapad,pullingupmypersonalhistory.“Well,youcomefrom no one at all. A farplanet hayseed. No wonder Antonia sneeredyourway.Butlisten,I’llforgiveyouforitifyoutellmehowyoufaredonthetest.”“Oh,you’llforgiveme?”His brows knit together. “I’m trying to be kind here. We Bellonasaren’t reformers, but we know that good men can come from loworigins.Workwithme,mate.”Becauseofthewayhelooks,Ifeelaneedtoprovokehim.“Well,IdaresayIexpectedthetesttobemoredifficult.Imighthavemissedtheoneaboutthecandle,butbesidesthat…”Cassiuswatchesmewitha forgivinggrin.His livelyeyesdanceovermyfaceasIwonderifhismothercoilshishairwithgoldenironsinthemorning.“Withhandslikeyours,youmustbeaterrorwiththerazor,”hesaysleadingly.“I’mfair,”Ilie.Matteowon’tletmetouchthething.

“Modesty!WereyouraisedbytheWhitecowls,man?Nevermind,I’moff to Agea after the physical tests. Joinme? I hear the Carvers havedonesomesplendidworkwiththenewladiesatTemptation.Andtheyjust had gravfloors installed at Tryst; we can float about withoutgravBoots.Whatsayyou,man?Doesthatinterestyou?”Hetapsoneofhiswingsandwinks.“Plentyofpeachesthere.Noneofthemrotten.”“Unfortunately,Icannot.”“Oh.”HejumpsasifjustrememberingI’mafarplanethayseed.“Don’tworryaboutit,mygoodman,I’llpayandallthat.”I politely decline, but he’s alreadymoving on. He tapsmy datapadbefore he leaves. The holoscreen cast over the inside of my left armflickers. The dimensions of his face and information about ourconversationareleftbehind—theaddressfortheclubshespokeof,theencyclopedicreferenceforAgea,andhisfamily’sinformation.CassiusauBellona, it reads. Son of Praetor Tiberius au Bellona, Imperator of theSociety’s Sixth Fleet and perhaps the only man on Mars to rivalArchGovernor Augustus in power. Apparently the families hate oneanother. Seems like they have a nasty habit of killing each other off.Babypitvipersindeed.IthoughtIwouldbefrightenedofthesepeople.Ithoughttheywouldbe little godlings. But aside from Cassius and Antonia, many areunimpressive.Thereareonlyseventyinmytestingroom.SomelooklikeCassius. But not all are beautiful. Not all are tall and imperious. Andvery few strikeme asmen andwomen. For all their physical stature,theyarechildrenwithexaggeratedsensesofself-worth;theydon’tknowhardship.Babies.PixiesandBronzies,mostly.Theytestmyphysicalpropertiesnext. I sitnaked inanairchair inawhiteroomastheCoppertestersoftheQualityControlBoardwatchmethroughnanoCams.“Hopeyou’regettingagoodlook,”Isay.ABrownworkercomesinandappliesapinchtomynose.Hiseyesareblank.Nofightinthisone,nocontemptforme.Hisskinispallidandhismovementsawkwardandclumsy.Iaminstructedtoholdmybreathaslongasmylungswillallow.Tenminutes.Afterward,theBrownremovestheclampandleaves.Next,I’mtotakeabreathandexhale.Idoandrealizethereissuddenlynooxygeninthechamber.WhenIstarttotiltinmyseat,theoxygenreturns.Theyfreeze the room and measure how long it takes for me to shiver

uncontrollably. Then they heat it to see when my heart begins tostruggle. They amplify the grav in the room till my heart can’t pushsufficient blood and oxygen to my brain. Then they see how muchmotionIcantaketillIvomit.I’musedtoridinganinety-meterdrill,sotheyhavetogiveup.They measure the flow of oxygen to my muscles, the beats of my

heart,thedensityandlengthofmymusclefibers,thetensileratingsofmybones.It’slikeawalkintheparkaftermyhellwithHarmony.Theyhavemethrowballs,thenlinemeupagainstawallandaskme

to stop small balls that they shoot atmewith a circularmachine.MyHelldiverhandsarefasterthantheirmachine,sotheybringinaGreentechietoadjustthethingtill it’sshootingveritablerockets.Eventually,I’mhitwithaballintheforehead.Iblackoutbriefly.Theymeasurethattoo.Aneye,ear,nose,andmouthtestlaterandIamdone.Ifeelvaguely

distantfrommyselfafterthetest.Liketheymeasuredmybodyandmybrainbutnotme.I’vehadnopersonalinteractionsexceptthatonewithCassius.I stumble into the locker rooms, soreandconfused.There’sacouple

otherschanging,soItakemyclothesandmovealongtoamorediscreetsection of the long rows of plastic lockers. Then I hear a strangewhistling.AtuneIknow.Onethatechoesthroughmydreams.TheoneEo died to. I follow the sound and come upon a girl changing in thecornerofthelockerroom.Herbackistome,musclesleanasshedonsher shirt. I make a noise. She turns suddenly, and for an awkwardmoment, I stand there blushing.Golds are not supposed to care aboutnudity.ButIcan’thelpmyreaction.She’sbeautiful—heart-shapedface,full lips, eyes that laugh at you. They laugh like they did as she rodeawayonthehorse.It’sthesamegirlwhocalledmeaPixiewhenIrodethepony.Oneofhereyebrowsarchesupward.Idon’tknowwhattosay,so,ina

panic,IturnandwalkfastasIcanoutofthelockerrooms.AGoldwouldn’thavedonethat.ButasIsitwithMatteoontheshuttle

asitferriesusbackhome,Irememberthegirl’sface.Sheblushedtoo.It is a short flight, not long enough. I watch Mars through the

duroglass floor. Though the planet is terraformed, vegetation is sparsealong our flightpath. The planet’s surface is streaked with ribbons of

green in its valleys and around her equator. The vegetation looks likegreenscarsthatcutacrossherpockedsurface.Water fillsher impactcraters,creatinggrand lakes.And theBorealisbasin,whichstretchesacrossthenorthernhemisphere,brimswithfreshwaterandteemswithbizarremarinelife.Greatplainswheredustdevilsgathercloaksoftopsoilandtearthroughcroplands.StormsandicerulethepoleswheretheObsidianstrainandlive.Theweatherthereissaidtobe brutal and cold, though temperate climes are prevalent throughoutmuchofMars’ssurfacenow.ThereareonethousandcitiesonMars,eachruledbyaGovernor,theArchGovernor presiding over all. Each city is set in the center of ahundred mining colonies. The Governors manage these colonies, withtheindividualMineMagistrateslikePodginusoverseeingtheday-to-day.Withsomanyminesandsomanycities,itwaschance,Isuppose,thatbrought theArchGovernor tomy homewith his camera crew. ChanceandmypositionasaHelldiver.Theywantedtomakeanexampleoutofme; Eo was an afterthought. And she would not have sung if theArchGovernorhadnotbeenthere.Life’sironiesarenotcharming.“WhatwilltheInstitutebelikeifIgetin?”IaskMatteoasIpeeroutthewindow.“Fullofclasses,Iimagine.HowshouldIknow?”“Istherenointel?”“No.”“No?”Iask.“Well, some, I suppose,” Matteo admits. “Three sorts of peoplegraduate: the Peerless Scarred, the Graduates, and the Shamed. ThePeerless can ascend in society; the Graduates can as well, but theirprospectsarerelativelylimitedandtheystillmustearntheirscars;andtheShamedare sent to thedistant,hardcolonies likePluto tooverseethefirstyearsofterraforming.”“HowdoesonebecomeaPeerless?”“Iimaginethereissomesortofrankingsystem;perhapsacompetition.Idonotknow.ButtheGoldsareaspeciesbuiltuponconquest.Itwouldmakesenseifthatweretobepartofyourcompetition.”“Howvague.”Isigh.“You’reashelpfulasaleglessdogsometimes.”“Thegame,goodman,inGoldsocietyispatronage.YouractionsintheInstitutewillserveasanextendedauditionforthatpatronage.Youneed

anapprenticeship.Youneedapowerfulbenefactor.”Hegrins.“Soifyouwanttohelpourcause,you’lldoasbloodydamnwellasyoucan.ImagineifyoubecameanapprenticetoaPraetor.Intenyears’time,youcouldbeaPraetoryourself.Youcouldhaveafleet!Imaginewhatyoucoulddowithafleet,mygoodman.Justimagine.”Matteoneverspeaksaboutsuchflightsoffancy,sotheexcitementin

hiseyesiscontagious.Itmakesmeimagine.

16

THEINSTITUTE

MytestresultscomewhenIampracticingmyculturalrecognitionandaccentmodulationwithMatteo in our high-rise penthouse.Wehave aview of the city, the setting sun behind. I’mmidway through a cleverretort about the Yorkton Supernova fauxWar sports club when mydatapad beeps with a priority message sent to my datapad stream. Ialmostspillmycoffee.“My datapad has been slaved by another,” I said. “It’s the Board of

QualityControl.”Matteoshootsupfromhischair.“Wehaveperhapsfourminutes.”He

runsintothesuite’slibrary,whereHarmonyisreadingonanergocouch.Shejumpsupandisdownandoutofthesuiteinlessthanthreebreaths.I make sure that the holopictures of me with my fake family arearranged in my bedroom and throughout the penthouse. Four hiredservants—BrownsandaPink—goaboutdomestictasksinthepenthouse.TheywearthePegasusliveryofmyfakefamily.One of the Browns goes to the kitchen. The other, a Pink woman,

massagesmyshoulders.Matteoshinesmyshoesinmyroom.Ofcoursetherearemachinestodothesethings,butanAureatewouldneveruseamachineforsomethingapersoncoulddo.Thereisnopowerinthat.The towncraft appears likeadistantdragonfly. It growsas it buzzes

closer and hovers outside my penthouse window. Its boarding doorslidesopenandamaninaCoppersuitgivesabowofformality.Iletmydatapadopentheduroglasswindowandthemanfloatsin.ThreeWhites

arewithhim.EachhasawhiteSigilupontheirhands.MembersoftheAcademiansandaCopperbureaucrat.“DoIhavethepleasureofaddressingoneDarrowauAndromedus,sonof the recently deceased Linus au Andromedus and Lexus auAndromedus?”“Youhavethehonor.”The bureaucrat looks me up and down in a very deferential, butimpatientmanner.“IamBondiluscuTancrusoftheInstitute’sBoardofQualityControl.Therearesomequestionswemustbegtoaskofyou.”Wesitacross fromoneanotheratmyoakkitchentable.There, theyhookmyfingertoamachineandoneoftheWhitesdonsapairofglassesthatwillanalyzemypupilsandotherphysiologicalreactions.TheywillbeabletotellifIamlying.“Wewillstartwithacontrolquestiontoassessyournormalreactionwhentellingtruths.AreyouoftheFamilyAndromedus?”“Yes.”“AreyouoftheAureategenus?”“Yes.”Iliethroughmyteeth,ruiningtheircontrolquestions.“Didyoucheatinyouradmissionstesttwomonthsprior?”“No.”“Did you use nervenucleic to stimulate high comprehension andanalyticalfunctionsduringthetestitself?”“No.”“Did you use a networkwidget to aggregate or synthesize outsideresourcesinrealtime?”“No.” I sigh impatiently. “Therewas a jammer in the room, ergo itwouldhavebeenimpossible.I’mgladyou’vedoneyourresearchandarenotwastingmytime,Copper.”Hissmileisbureaucratic.“Didyouhavepriorknowledgeofthequestions?”“No.”Ideemanangryresponseproperatthispoint.“Andwhatisthisabout? I’m not accustomed to being called a liar by someone of yourilk.”“It is procedure with all elite scorers, Lord Aureate. I beg yourunderstanding,”thebureaucratdrones.“Anyupwardoutlierfarremovedfrom the standard deviation is subject to inquiry. Did you slave yourwidgettothatofanotherindividualduringthetest?”

“No. As I said, there was a jammer. Thank you for keeping up,pennyhead.”They takea sampleofmybloodand scanmybrain.The results areinstantaneous, but the bureaucrat will not share them. “Protocol,” heremindsme.“Youwillhaveyourresultsintwoweeks.”Wereceivetheminfour.IpasstheQualityControlexamination.Ididnotcheat.Thencomesmyexamscore,twomonthsafterItookthedamnthing,andIrealizewhytheythoughtIdidcheat.Imissedonequestion.Just one. Out of hundreds. When I share the results with Dancer,Harmony,andMatteo,theysimplystareatme.Dancerfallsintoachairandbeginstolaugh;it’sanhystericalsort.“Bloodyhell,”heswears.“We’vedoneit.”“Hedidit,”Matteocorrects.IttakesDanceraminutebeforehehaswitsenoughtofetchabottleofchampagne, but I still feel his eyes watching me as though I amsomething different, something strange. It’s like they suddenly don’tunderstandwhatitistheyhavecreated.Itouchthehaemanthusblossominmypocketand feel theweddingbandaroundmyneck.Theydidn’tcreateme.Shedid.It iswhenavaletarrives toescortme to the Institute that I saymygoodbyestoDancerinsidethepenthouse.Heholdstighttomyhandaswe shake and gives me the look my father gave me before he washanged.It’soneofreassurance.Butbehindthatisworryanddoubt.Didhepreparemefortheworld?Didhedohisduty?Myfatherwastwenty-fivewhen he looked atme like that. Dancer is forty-one. Itmakes nodifference.Ichuckle.UncleNarolnevergavemesuchalook,notevenwhenheletmecutEodown.Probablybecausehe’dtakenenoughofmyrighthooks to know the answer.But if I think aboutmy teachers,myfathers, Uncle Narol shapedme themost. He taughtme to dance; hetaughtmehowtobeaman,perhapsbecauseheknewthiswouldbemyfuture.AndthoughhetriedtostopmefrombeingaHelldiver,itwashislessonsthatkeptmealive.I’velearnednewlessonsnow.Let’shopetheydothetrick.Dancer gives me the knifeRing he used to slice my finger monthsbefore.Buthe’sreshapedittolooklikeanL.“TheywillthinkitthechevrontheSpartansboreontheirshields,”hesaid.“LforLacadaemonia.”ButitisforLykos.ForLambda.

Harmony surprisesme by takingmy right hand, kissingwhere oncemy Red sigil was emblazoned. She’s got tears in one eye, the cold,unscarredeye.Theothercannotcry.“Eveywillbecomingtolivewithus,”shetellsme.ShesmilesbeforeI

canaskwhy.Itlooksstrangeonherface.“Youthinkyou’retheonlyonewhonoticesthings?We’llgiveherabetterlifethanMickeywould.”MatteoandIshareasmileandabow.Weexchangeproperhonorifics

andheextendshishand.Itdoesn’tgraspmine.Instead, itsnatchestheflowerfrommypocket. Ireachafter it,buthe’sstill theonlymanI’veevermetwhoisfasterthanme.“Youcannottakethiswithyou,goodman.Theweddingbandonyour

handisqueerenough.Thefloweristoomuch.”“Givemeapetalthen,”Isay.“Ithoughtyouwouldaskforthat.”Hepullsoutanecklace.It isthe

sigilofAndromedus.Mysigil,Iremember.Itisiron.Hedropsitinmyhand. “Whisper her name.” I do and the Pegasus unfurls like ahaemanthusbud.Hesetsapetal in thecenter. Itclosesagain.“This isyourheart.Guarditwithiron.”“Thankyou,Matteo,” Isay, tears inmyeyes. Ipickhimupandhug

him despite his protests. “If I livemore than aweek, I’ll have you tothank,mygoodman.”HeblusheswhenIsethimdown.“Manage your temper,” he reminds me, his small voice darkening.

“Manners,manners,thenburntheirbloodydamnhousetotheground.”

IclutchthePegasusinmyhandastheshuttlecrossesovertheMartiancountryside. Fingers of green stretchover the earth I’ve lived todig. IwonderwhotheHelldiverofLambdaisnow.Loranistooyoung.Barlowis tooold.Kieran?He’s too responsible.He’s got children to love, andhe’sseenenoughofourfamilydie.There’snofireinhisbelly.Leanna’sgotenough,butwomenaren’tallowedtodig. It isprobablyDain,Eo’sbrother.Wild,butnotbright.The typicalHelldiver.He’ll die fast.Thethoughtmakesmenauseous.It’s not just the thought. I’m nervous. I realize it slowly as I look

aroundtheshuttle’sinterior.Sixotheryouthssitquietly.One,aslenderboywithanopengazeandpretty smile, catchesmyeye.He’s the sortwhostilllaughsatbutterflies.

“Julian,”hedeclaresproperly,andtakesmyforearm.Wehavenodatato offer each other through our datapads; they took them when weboarded the shuttle. So instead I offer him the seat across from me.“Darrow,averyinterestingname.”“HaveyoueverbeentoAgea?”IaskJulian.“Course,” he says, smiling.He always smiles. “What, youmean youhaven’t?It’sstrange.IthoughtIknewsomanyGolds,buthardlyanyofthemmanagedtogetpasttheentranceexams.It’sabravenewworldoffaces,Ifear.Anyway,Ienvyyouthefactyouhaven’tbeentoAgea.It’sastrange place. Beautiful, no doubt, but life there is fast, and cheap, sotheysay.”“Butnotforus.”Hechuckles.“Isupposenot.Notunlessyouplayatpolitics.”“I don’t much like playing.” I notice his reaction, so I laugh myseriousness off with a wink. “Not unless there’s a wager, man. Youhear?”“Ihear!What’syourgame?Bloodchess?Gravcross?”“Oh,bloodchessisallright.ButfauxWartakestheprize,”IsaywithaGoldengrin.“Especiallyifyou’reaNortownfan!”heagrees.“Oh…Nortown.Idon’tknowifwe’llgetalong,”Isay,wincing.Ijabmyselfwithathumb.“Yorkton.”“Yorkton!Idon’tknowifwe’llevergetalong!”helaughs.And though I smile, he doesn’t know how cold I am inside; theconversation,thejibes,thesmiles,areallapatternofsociality.Matteo’sdonemewell,buttoJulian’scredit,hedoesn’tseemamonster.Heshouldbeamonster.“MybrothermustalreadyhavearrivedattheInstitute.HewasalreadyinAgeaatourfamily’sestate,causingtroublenodoubt!”Julianshakeshisheadproudly.“BestmanIknow.He’llbethePrimus,justyouwatch.Ourfather’sprideandjoy,andthat’ssayingsomethingwithhowmanyfamilymembersIhave!”Notaflickerofjealousyinhisvoice,justlove.“Primus?”Iask.“Oh,Institutetalk;itmeansleaderofhisHouse.”The Houses. I know these. There are twelve loosely based onunderlyingpersonality traits.Each isnamed foroneof thegodsof theRoman pantheon. The SchoolHouses are networking tools and social

clubsoutsideofschool.Dowell,andthey’llfindyouapowerfulfamilytoserve.ThefamiliesarethetruepowersintheSociety.TheyhavetheirownarmiesandfleetsandcontributetotheSovereign’s forces.Loyaltybegins with them. There is little love for the denizens of one’s ownplanet.Ifanything,theyarethecompetition.“Yousobsdonebeatingeachotheroffyet?”animpishkidsneersfrom

thecornerof the shuttle.He’s sodrabhe iskhaki insteadofGold.Hislipsare thinandhis face likeacruelhawk justas it spiesamouse.ABronzie.“Arewebotheringyou?”Mysarcasmhasapolitenip.“Doestwodogshumpingbotherme?Likely,yes.Iftheyarenoisy.”Julianstands.“Apologize,cur.”“Go slag yourself,” the small kid says. In half a second, Julian has

drawnawhiteglove fromnowhere. “That towipemyass,yougoldenpricklick?”“What?Youlittleheathen!”Juliansaysinshock.“Whoraisedyou?”“Wolves,afteryourmother’scootchspatmeout.”“Youbeast!”Julianthrowsthegloveatthesmallkid.I’mwatching,thinkingthisis

theheightofcomedy.ThekidseemspulledstraightfromtheLykoscrop,Betamaybe.He’slikeanugly,tiny,irritableLoran.Juliandoesn’tknowwhattodo,sohemakesachallenge.“Achallenge,goodman.”“Aduel?You’rethatoffended?”Theuglykidsnortsattheprinceling.

“Fine.I’llstitchyourfamilypridetogetherafterthePassage,pricklick.”Heblowshisnoseintotheglove.“Whynotnow,coward?”Juliancalls.Hisslenderchest ispuffedout

justashisfathermusthavetaughthim.Nooneinsultshisfamily.“Areyoustupid?Doyouseerazorsabout?Idiot.Goaway.We’llduel

afterthePassage.”“Passage…?”JulianfinallyaskswhatI’mthinking.Thescrawnykidgrinswickedly.Evenhisteetharekhaki.“It’s the last test, idiot. And the best secret this side of the rings

aroundOctaviaauLune’scootch.”“Thenhowdoyouknowaboutit?”Iask.“Insidetrack,”thekidsays.“AndIdon’tknowaboutit.Iknowofit,

yougiantpisshead.”

HisnameisSevro,andIlikehisangle.But the talk of a Passage worries me. There is so little I know, I

realize, as I listen in as Julian strikes up a conversationwith the lastmember of our shuttle. They talk about their test scores. There is aseveredisparitybetweentheirlowscoresandmine.InoticeSevrosnortastheysaytheirsaloud.Howdidapplicantswithsuchlowscoresgetin?I’vegotanillfeelinginmygut.AndwhatdidSevroscore?WecometotheVallesMarinerisindarkness.Itisagreatscaroflight

acrossMars’sblacksurface,goingasfaraseyescansee.Atthecenterofit, the capital city of my planet rises in the night like a garden ofjewelswords. Nightclubs flicker on rooftops, dance floors made ofcondensed air. Scantily-dressed girls and foolish boys rise and fall asgravMixersplaywithphysics.NoiseBubblesseparatecityblocks.Wecutthroughthemandhearworldsofdifferentsounds.TheInstituteisbeyondAgea’snightdistrictsandisbuiltintotheside

oftheeight-kilometer-highwallsoftheVallesMarineris.Thewallsriselike tidal waves of green stone cradling civilization with flora. TheInstituteitselfismadeofwhitestone—aplaceofcolumnsandsculpture,Romantoitscore.I have not been here before. But I have seen the columns. Seen the

destination of our voyage. Bitterness wells inme like bile rising fromstomachtothroatasIthinkofhisface.Thinkofhiswords.Hiseyesastheyscannedthecrowd.IwatchedontheHCastheArchGovernorgavehisspeechtimeandagaintotheclassesbeforemyown.SoonI’llhearitfromhislipsmyself.SoonI’llsuffertherage.FeelthefirelickovermyheartasIseehiminpersononceagain.We landonadroppadandare shepherded intoanopen-airmarble

squarelookingoverthevastvalley.Thenightairiscrisp.AgeasprawlsbehindandthegatesoftheInstitutestretchbeforeus.IstandwithoverathousandGoldbrows,allglancingaboutwiththecocksurenessoftheirrace.Manyclumptogether, friendsfrombeyondthewhitewallsoftheschool.Ididnotthinktheirclassessolarge.AtallGoldenmanflankedbyObsidiansandacoterieofGoldadvisors

rises on a pair of gravBoots before the gate. My heart goes cold as Irecognizehis faceandhearhisvoiceand see theglimmer inhis ingoteyes.“Welcome,childrenofAureate,”ArchGovernorNeroauAugustussays

in a voice as smoothasEo’s skin. It is preternaturally loud. “I assumeyouunderstandthegravityofyourpresencehere.OfthethousandcitiesofMars.OfalltheGreatFamilies,youarethechosenfew.Youarethepeak of the human pyramid. Today, youwill begin your campaign tojoin the best caste of our race. Your fellows stand like you in theInstitutesofVenus,oftheEasternandWesternHemispheresofEarth,ofLuna,oftheGasGiantMoons,ofEuropa,oftheAstrodianGreekClusterand the Astrodian Trojan Cluster, of Mercury, of Callisto, of the jointventureEnceledasandCeres,andofthefarpioneersofHildas.”ItseemsonlyadayagothatIknewIwasapioneerofMars.Onlyaday ago that I suffered so that humanity, desperate to leave a dyingEarth,couldspreadtotheredplanet.Oh,howwellmyrulerslied.BehindAugustus,inthestars,there’smovement,butitisnotthestarsthatmove.Norisitasteroidsorcomets.ItistheSixthandFifthFleets.TheArmadaofMars.Mybreathcatchesinmychest.TheSixthFleetiscommandedbyCassius’sfather,whilethesmallerFifthFleetisundertheArchGovernor’sdirectcontrol.Mostof theshipsareownedby familieswhooweallegiancetoeitherAugustusorBellona.Augustusshowsuswhywe,they,rule.Myfleshtingles.Iamsosmall.A billion tons of durosteel and nanometalmove through the heavens,andIhaveneverbeenbeyondMars’satmosphere.Theyarelikespecksof silver in an ocean of ink. And I am somuch less. But those speckscould ravageMars. They could destroy amoon. Those specks rule theink.AnImperatorcommandseachfleet;aPraetorcommandssquadronswithinthatfleet.WhatIcoulddowiththatpower…Augustus ishaughtyashegiveshisspeech. Iswallowthebile inmythroat.Becauseoftheimpossibledistanceofmyenemies,myangerwasonceacold,quietsort.Nowitburnsinme.“Societyhasthreestages:Savagery,Ascendance,Decadence.ThegreatrisebecauseofSavagery.TheyruleinAscendance.TheyfallbecauseoftheirownDecadence.”He tellsushow thePersianswere felled,how theRomans collapsedbecausetheirrulersforgothowtheirparentsgainedthemanempire.Heprattles aboutMuslimdynasties andEuropean effeminacy andChineseregionalism and American self-loathing and self-neutering. All theancientnames.“Our Savagery began when our capital, Luna, rebelled against the

tyrannyofEarthandfreedherselffromtheshacklesofDemokracy,fromtheNobleLie—theideathatmenarebrothersandarecreatedequal.”Augustusweaves lies of his ownwith that golden tongue of his.Hetells of the Goldens’ suffering. The Masses sat on the wagon andexpectedthegreattopull,hereminds.Theysatwhippingthegreatuntilwecouldnolongertakeit.Irememberadifferentwhipping.“Men are not created equal; we all know this. There are averages.There are outliers. There are the ugly. There are the beautiful. Thiswould not be if we were all equal. A Red can no more command astarshipthanaGreencanserveasadoctor!”There’s more laughter across the square as he tells us to look atpatheticAthens,thebirthplaceofthecancertheycallDemokracy.Lookhow it fell to Sparta. TheNoble LiemadeAthensweak. Itmade theircitizensturnontheirbestgeneral,Alcibiades,becauseofjealousy.“Even the nations of Earth grew jealous of one another. TheUnitedStatesofAmericaexactedthisideaofequalitythroughforce.Andwhenthenationsunited,theAmericansweresurprisedtofindthattheyweredisliked!TheMassesarejealous!Howwonderfuladreamitwouldbeifallmenwerecreatedequal!Butwearenot.“ItisagainsttheNobleLiethatwefight.ButasIsaidbefore,asIsayto you now, there is another evil against whichwewar. It is amorepernicious evil. It is a subversive, slowevil. It isnot awildfire. It is acancer. And that cancer is Decadence. Our Society has passed fromSavagerytoAscendance.Butlikeourspiritualancestors,theRomans,wetoocanfallintoDecadence.”HespeaksofthePixies.“Youarethebestofhumanity.Butyouhavebeencoddled.Youhavebeen treated like children. Were you born to a different Color, youwouldhavecalluses.Youwouldhavescars.Youwouldknowpain.”Hesmilesasifheknowspain.Ihatethisman.“Youthinkyouknowpain.YouthinktheSocietyisaninevitableforceofhistory.YouthinkHertheendofhistory.Butmanyhavethoughtthatbefore. Many ruling classes have believed theirs to be the last, thepinnacle.Theygrewsoft.Fat.Theyforgot thatcalluses,wounds,scars,hardship,preserveall thosefinepleasureclubsyouyoungboyslovetofrequentandallthosefinesilksanddiamondsandunicornsyougirlsask

foronbirthdays.“Many Aureates have not sacrificed. That is why they do not wear

this.”Heshowsalongscaronhisrightcheek.OctaviaauLunehasthesame scar. “The Scar of a Peer. We are not the masters of the SolarSystem because we are born. We are the masters because we, thePeerlessScarred,theironGolds,madeitthatway.”Hetouchesthescaronhischeek.I’dgivehimanotherifIwerecloser.

Thechildrenaroundmesuckdownthisman’sgarbagelikeoxygen.“Right now, the Colors who mine this planet are harder than you.

Theyarebornwithcalluses.Bornwithscarsandhatred.Theyaretoughas nanosteel. Fortunately, they are also very stupid. For instance, thisPersephoneyouhavenodoubtheardofisnothingmorethanadimgirlwhothoughtsingingasongwasworthahanging.”Ibiteabloodyholeinmycheek.MyskinshiversfromrageasIfind

outthatmywifeispartofthisbastard’sspeech.“Thegirldidnotevenknowthevideowouldbeleaked.Yetit isher

willingnesstosufferhardshipthatgaveherpower.Martyrs,yousee,arelike bees. Their only power comes in death.Howmany of youwouldsacrifice yourself to not kill, butmerely hurt your enemy?Not one ofyou,Iwager.”Itastebloodinmymouth.IhavetheknifeRingDancergaveme.ButI

breathethe furydown. Iamnomartyr. Iamnotvengeance. IamEo’sdream. Still, doing nothing while her murderer gloats feels like abetrayal.“IntimeyouwillreceiveyourScarsfrommysword,”Augustuscloses.

“Butfirstyoumustearnthem.”

17

THEDRAFT

“Son of Linus and Lexus au Andromedus, both of the House Apollo.Would you prefer to mark yourself as requesting House Apollopreferentiality?”atediousAureateadministratorasksme.Goldbrows’ first loyalty is to Color, then family, then planet, then

House.MostHousesaredominatedbyoneortwopowerfulfamilies.OnMars, the Family Augustus, the Family Bellona, and the Family Arcosinfluenceallothers.“No,”Ireply.He shuffles over his datapad. “Very well. How do you believe you

performedontheslangSmartstest?Thatistheextrapolationaltest,”heclarifies.“Ithinkmyresultsspeakforthemselves.”“Youwerenotpayingattention,Darrow.Ishallmarkthatagainstyou.

I’maskingforyoutospeakforyourresults.”“IthinkItookagorypissonyourtest,sir.”“Ah.”He smiles. “Well, you did. You did.HouseMinerva for brains

mightberightforyou.PerhapsPluto,forthedeviousness.Apolloforthepride.Yes.Hmm.Well, Ihavea test foryou.Pleasecomplete it to thebestofyourability.Interviewswillcommencewhenyouhavefinished.”Thetestisquickanditisintheformofanimmersiongame.Thereisa

gobletonahillthatIneedtoacquire.Manyobstaclesstandinmyway.Ipassthemasrationallyaspossible,tryingtohidemyangerwhenalittleelfstealsakeyIacquire.Buteverystepoftheway,there’ssomedamn

setback, some inconvenience.And it is alwaysunforeseen. It is alwayssomethingbeyond theboundsof extrapolation. In theend, I reach thegoblet,butonlyafterkillinganannoyingwizardandcruellyenslavingtheraceofelvesbymeansofsaidwizard’smagicwand.Icouldhavelefttheelvesbe.Buttheyannoyedme.Soon, the interviewers come in intervals. I learn they are calledProctors.EachoneofthemisaPeerlessScarred.TheyarechosenbytheArchGovernor to teachand represent the students of theHousewithintheInstitute.Allsaid,theProctorsareimpressive.There’sahugeScarredmanwithhairlikealionandalightningboltonhiscollarforJupiter,amatronlywomanwith gentle golden eyes, and a quick-wittedmanwithwingedfeetonhiscollar.Hecan’t sit stillandhisbaby face seems immenselyfascinatedbymyhands.HemakesmeplayagamewithhiminwhichheputsoutbothhandsflatandfacingupandIputmineatopfacingdown.He tries slappingmy hands, but never quitemanages. He leaves afterclappinghishandstogetherinjoy.Another strange encounter comeswhen a beautifulmanwith coiledhair interviewsme. A bowmarks his collar. Apollo. He asks me howattractiveIbelievemyselftobeandisdispleasedwhenIundershoothisestimate.Still,Ithinkhelikesme,becauseheasksmewhatIwouldliketobeoneday.“AnImperatorofafleet,”Isay.“Youcoulddogreatthingswithafleet.Butaloftynotion,”hesighs,accenting every word with a feline purr. “Perhaps too lofty for yourfamily. Maybe if you had a benefactor of better familial origin. Yes,maybethen.”He looksathisdatapad.“Butunlikelyduetoyourbirth.Hm.Bestofluck.”Isitaloneforanhourormoretillasullenmancomestojoinme.Hisunfortunate face is pinched like a hatchet, but he has the Scar and arazorhilthangsonhiship.HisnameisFitchner.Awadofgumfillshismouth.Theuniformhewearsisblackwithgold,anditnearlyconcealsthe slight belly paunch that sticks outward despite the faint smell ofmetabolizers. Like many of the others, he wears badges about hispersonage. A golden wolf with two heads decorates his collar. And astrangehandmarkshiscuff.“Theygiveme themaddogs,”he says. “Theygiveme thekillers of

ourrace,theonesfullofpissandnapalmandvinegar.”Hesniffstheair.“Yousmellfullofshit.”Isaynothing.Heleansagainstthedoorandfrownsatitasthoughitoffendedhiminsomeway.Thenbacktome,sniffingimproperly.“Problemis,weofHouseMarsalwaysburnout.KidsruletheInstituteat first. Then they find out that napalm lasts about…” He snaps hisfingers. I have no reply. He sighs and plops down in a chair. After awhile ofwatchingme, he stands and punchesme in the face. “If youpunchmeback,youwillbesenthome,Pixie.”Ikickhimintheshin.Helimpsaway,laughinglikeadrunkUncleNarol.I’mnot senthome. Instead, I findmyself escortedwithonehundredothersintoalargeroomwithfloatChairsandalargewalldominatedbyivorygridwork.Thegridworkformsacheckerboardsquareonthewall,ten rowshigh, ten rows across. I’m takenon a lift to themiddle row,somefiftyfeetofftheground.Ninety-nineotherstudentsareusheredintilleachboxisfilled.Thisistheprimecrop,thebestofthestudents.Ilookoutfrommybox,peeringupaboveme.Agirl’sfeetdangleoutoftheboxabovemyhead.Numbersandlettersappearinfrontofmybox.My statistics. Supposedly I am very rash and have upper-outliercharacteristicsinintuitionandloyaltyand,mostnoticeably,rage.There are twelve groups in the audience. Each group sits closetogetherinfloatChairsaroundverticalgoldenstandards.Iseeanarcher,alightningbolt,anowl,awolfwithtwoheads,anupside-downcrown,and a trident, amongst others. One of the Proctors accompanies eachgroup. They alone do not have their faces covered. The others wearceremonialmasks,featurelessandgoldenandslightlyliketheanimalsoftheirHouses.IfonlyIhadknownthiswasgoingtohappen,Imighthavebroughtanuke.ThesearetheDrafters,themenandwomenofhighestprestige. Praetors and Imperators and Tribunes and Adjudicators andGovernorssittherewatchingme,tryingtochoosethenewstudentsfortheirHouse,tryingtofindyoungmenandwomentheycantestandofferapprenticeships.Withonebomb,IcouldhavedestroyedthebestandthebrightestoftheirGoldenrule.Maybethat’stherashnessspeaking.TheDraft beginswhen a titanof a genAlt boy is chosen first to theHouseofthelightningbolt.HouseJupiter.Thengomoregirlsandboysof unnatural beauty and physical prowess. I can only guess they are

geniusesaswell.Thefifthpickcomes.Thebaby-facedinterviewerwiththewingedfeetfloatsuptomeongoldenboots.SeveraloftheDraftersof House Mercury float along with him. They speak quietly amongstthemselvesbeforeaskingmequestions.“Whoareyourparents?Whataretheirfamily’saccomplishments?”Itellthemaboutmymodestfalsefamily.Oneofthemseemstothink

highlyofarelativeofminewhohaslongsincepassedaway.ButdespitetheProctor’s objections, theypassmeover for another student fromafamilywiththeownershipofninetyminesandastakeononeofMars’ssoutherncontinents.TheMercuryProctorcursesandshootsmeaquicksmile.“Hopeyou’reavailablenextround,”hesays.Next goes a delicate girl with a mocking smile. I can barely pay

attention,and,at times, it isdifficult toseewhoelse isbeingselected.We’re arrayed in an odd way. With the tenth pick, the Proctor whostruck me in the interviews floats my way. There is disagreementamongst the Drafters. I have two ardent advocates: one is as tall asAugustus,butherhair flowsdowntoherspine in threegoldenbraids.Andthesecondisbroader,notverytall.He’sold.Cantellbythescarsandwrinklesonhis thickhands.Hands thatbear the signet ringofanOlympicKnight.Iknowhimimmediatelyevenwithoutseeinghisface.Lorn auArcos. TheRageKnight, the third-greatestmanonMars,whochose to serve the Society by safeguarding the Society’s Compact,instead of reaching for crowns in politics. When he points to me,Fitchnergrins.Iamchosententh.Tenthoutofonethousand.

18

CLASSMATES

I feela sinking inmystomachas Iwalkwith thechatteringmass intothedininghall.Itisovergrand—whitemarblefloors,columns,aholoskydisplayingbirdsinflightatsunset.TheInstituteisnotwhatIexpected.AccordingtoAugustus,theclassesaretobehardontheselittlegodlings.Isnortdownalaugh.Letthelotofthemspendayearinamine.There are twelve tables, each with one hundred place settings. Our

namesfloatabovethechairsingoldenletters.Minefloatstotherightofa table’s head. It is a place of distinction. The firstDraft. A single barfloatstotherightofmyname.A-1istotheleft.Thefirsttogetfivebarsbecomes Primus of hisHouse. Each bar is bounty for an act ofmerit.Apparentlymyhighscoreonthetestwasthefirstbitofmerit.“Wonderful,acutterintheleadforPrimus,”afamiliarvoicesays.The

girlfromtheexam.Ireadhername.AntoniaauSeverus.Shehascruelgood looks—highcheekbones,a smirking smile, scorn inhereyes.Herhairislong,full,andgoldenasMidas’stouch.Shewasborntobehatedandtohate.A-5floatsbesidehername.Itisthesecond-closestscoretomineatthetable.Cassius,theboyImetattesting,sitsdiagonallyacrossfrom me. A -6 shimmers by his broad smile. He runs a hand backthroughhiscurls.Anotherboysitsdirectlyacrossfromme;-1andagoldenbarfloatby

hisname.WhileCassiuslounges,thisotherboy,Priam,sitsasstraightasablade.Hisfaceiscelestial.Hiseyesalert.Hishaircoiffed.He’stallasme, but broad in the shoulders. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more

perfect human being. A bloodydamn statue. He wasn’t in the Draft, Idiscover. He is what they call a Premier; they cannot be drafted. HisparentschoosehisHouse.ThenIdiscoverwhy.Hisscandalousmother,abannerwomanoftheHouseBellona,ownsourplanet’stwomoons.“Fatebringsustogetheragain,”Cassiuschucklestome.“AndAntonia.Mylove!Itseemsourfathersconspiredtoplaceussidebyside.”Antoniareplieswithasneer,“Remindmetobeamhimathank-you.”“Toni!Noneedfornastiness.”Hewagsafinger.“Nowtossmeasmilelikeagooddoll.”She flips him the crux with her fingers. “Rather toss you out awindow,Cassi.”“Rawr.”Cassiusblowsherakiss.Sheignoresit.“So,Priam,IsupposeyouandIwillhavetoplaygentlywiththesefools,eh?”“Oh,theylooklikeswellsortstome,”Priamrepliesprimly.“I fancywe’lldoverywellasagroup.”TheytalkinhighLingo.“If the dregs of theDraft don’tweigh us down,my goodman!”Hegesturestotheendofthetableandstartsnamingthem:“Screwface,forobvious reasons. Clown because of that ridiculous puffy hair. Weedbecause,well,he’sthin.Oy!You,you’reThistlebecauseyournoselookshookedasone.And…thatitty-bittyonerighttherenexttotheBronzie-lookingfellow,that’slittlePebble.”“Ithinktheywillrathersurpriseyou,”Priamsaysindefenseofthefarend of the table. “They may not be as tall or as athletic or even asintelligentasyouorme, if intelligence really canbemeasuredby thattest,butIdonotthinkitcharitytosaythattheywillbethespineofourgroup.Saltoftheearth,ifyouwill.Goodsorts.”Iseethesmallkidfromtheshuttle,Sevro,attheveryfootofthetable.The salt of the earth is notmaking friends. And neither am I. Cassiusglancesatmy-1.IseehimconcedethatPriammighthavescoredbetterthan he, but Cassius makes a point in saying he’s never heard of myparents.“So,dearDarrow,howdidyoucheat?”heasks.AntoniaglancesoverfromherconversationwithArria,asmallgirlmadeofcurlinghairanddimples.“Oh,comenow,man.” I laugh.“TheysentQualityControlafterme.How could I have cheated? Impossible. Did you cheat? Your score is

high.”I speak the midLingo. It’s more comfortable than that highLingofartdustPriamjabbersonin.“Me?Cheat!No.Justdidn’t tryenough,apparently,”Cassius replies.“If I hadmywits, I’dhave spent less timewith thegirls andmoreonstudying,likeyou.”He’stryingtotellmeifhetriedhecouldhavedonejustaswell.Buthe’stoobusytoputinasmucheffort.IfIwantedhimasafriend,I’dlethimgetawaywithit.“Youstudied?”Iask.Ifeelasuddenurgetoembarrasshim.“Ididn’tstudyatall.”Achillgoesthroughtheair.Ishouldn’thavesaidit.Mystomachplummets.Manners.Cassius’s face sours and Antonia smirks. I’ve insulted him. Priamfrowns.IfIwantacareerinthefleet,thenIwilllikelyneedCassiusauBellona’sfather’spatronage.SonofanImperator.Matteodrilledthisintome.Howeasy it is to forget.The fleet iswhere thepower is. Fleet orgovernmentorarmy.AndIdon’t likegovernment,not tomentionthatthissortof insult ishowduelsbegin.Fear tricklesdownmyspineas Irealizehowthina line there is to tread.Cassiusknowshowtoduel. I,forallmynewskills,donot.Hewouldripmetopieces,andhe lookslikehewantstodojustthat.“Ijoke.”ItiltmyheadtoCassius.“Comeon,man.HowcouldIscoresohighandnothavestudiedtillmyeyeswerebleeding?WishI’dspentmoretimefoolingofflikeyou—we’reinthesamespotnow,afterall.Fatlotthatstudyingdidforme.”Priamnodshisapprovalatthepeaceoffering.“Ibetitwasaslog!”Cassiuscrows,tippinghisheadtoacknowledgemypeculiarbreedofapology. Iexpected theplay togooverhishead.Thoughthispridewouldblindhimtomysuddenapology;theGoldmaybeproud,butheisn’tstupid.Noneofthemare.Havetorememberthat.Afterthat,IdoMatteoproud.IflirtwithagirlnamedQuinn,befriendandjokewithCassiusandPriam—whohasprobablyneversworninhislife—throwmyhandout to a tall brutenamedTituswhoseneck is asthickasmythigh.Hesqueezestoohardonpurpose.He’ssurprisedwhenI nearly break his hand, but damn is his grip strong. The boy is eventallerthanCassiusandI,andhe’sgotavoice likeatitan,buthegrins

when he realizes that my grip, if nothing else, is stronger than his.Something strange about his voice, though. Something decidedlydisdainful.There’salsoafeatherofaboynamedRoquewholooksandspeakslikeapoet.Hissmilesareslow,few,butgenuine.Rare.“Cassius!”Juliancalls.Cassius standsand throwsanarmaroundhis

thinner, prettier twin. I didn’t piece it together before, but they arebrothers.Twins.Notidentical.JuliandidsayhisbrotherwasalreadyinAgea.“Darrowhereisnotwhatheseems,”Juliantellsthetablewithavery

graveface.Hehasaknackfortheatrics.“Youdon’tmean…”Cassiusputsahandtohismouth.Myfingergrazesmysteakknife.“Yes.”Juliannodssolemnly.“No.”Cassiusshakeshishead.“He’snotaYorktonsupporter?Julian,

tellmeitisn’tso!Darrow!Darrow,howcouldyoube?Theyneverwinagame!Priam,areyouhearingthis?”Ithrowmyhandsupinapology.“Acurseofbirth,Isuppose.Iama

product ofmyupbringing. I cheer for theunderdog.” Imanagenot tosneerthewords.“Heconfessedittomeontheshuttle.”Julian isproud toknowme.Proudhisbrotherknowsheknowsme.

HelooksforCassius’sapproval.Cassiusisn’toblivioustothiseither;hegently doles out a compliment and Julian leaves the highDrafts andreturnstohismidDraftseathalfwaydownthetablewithacontentsmileandsquaredshoulders.Ididn’tthinkCassiuswouldbethekindsort.Of those Imeet,onlyAntoniaopenlydislikesme.Shedoesn’twatch

meliketheothersatthetable.Fromher,I feelonlyadistantbreedofcontempt. Onemoment she is laughing, flirtingwith Roque, and thenshefeelsmygazeandbecomesice.Thefeelingismutual.Mydormitory is fromadream.Gold trim linesawindow that looks

outintothevalley.Abedisladenwithsilksandquiltsandsatins.Ilieinit when a Pinkmasseur comes in and stays for an hour kneadingmymuscles.Later,threelithePinksfilethroughtotendtomyneeds.Isendthem to Cassius’s room instead. To calm the temptation, I take a coldshower and immerse myself in a holoexperience of a digger in themining colony Corinth. The Helldiver in the holoexperience is lesstalented than Iwas, but the rattling, the simulated heat, the darkness

andthevipers,theycomfortmesomuchthatIwrapmyoldscarletragaroundmyhead.More food comes. Augustus was all talk. Gob full of exaggerations.Thisistheirversionofhardship.IfeelguiltyasIfallasleepwithafullstomach,clutchingthelocketwithEo’sflowerinside.Myfamilywillgoto bed hungry tonight. I whisper her name. I take the wedding bandfrommypocket and kiss it. Feel the ache. They stole her. But she letthem.Sheleftme.Sheleftmetearsandpainandlonging.Sheleftmetogivemeanger,andIcannothelpbuthateherforamomenteventhoughbeyondthatmomentthereisonlylove.“Eo,”Iwhisper,andthelocketcloses.

19

THEPASSAGE

IvomitasIwake.Asecondfiststrikesmyfullstomach.Thenathird.I’memptyandgasping forair.Drowning inmysick.Coughing.Hacking. Itrytoscrambleaway.Aman’shandgrabsmebythehairandthrowsmeintothewall.God,he’sbloodystrong.Andhe’sgotextrafingers.Ireachfor my knifeRing, but they’ve already dragged me into the hall. I’veneverbeensomanhandled;evenmynewbodycan’trecoverfromtheirstrikes. There’s four of them in black—Crows, the killers. They’vediscoveredme.TheyknowwhatIam.It’sover.Allover.Theirfacesareexpressionlessskulls.Masks.IpulltheknifeItookfromdinnerfrommywaistandamabouttostaboneoftheminthegroin.ThenIseetheflashofgoldon theirwristsand theyhitme till Idrop theknife. It’sa test.Their strikesagainstahigherColorare sanctionedby the issuerof thebracelets.Theyhaven’tfoundmeoutatall.Atest.Thatiswhatthisis.Itisatest.Theycouldhaveusedstunners.There’sapurposetothebeating. It’s

somethingmostGoldshaveneverexperienced.SoIwait.Icurlupandletthembeatme.WhenIdon’tresist,theythinkthey’vedonetheirjob.Theysortofdo;I’mraggedshitbythetimethey’resatisfied.I’mdragged through thehallwaybymennearly threemeters tall.A

bag is shovedovermyhead.They’re stayingaway from technology toscareme.Iwonderhowmanyofthesekidshavefeltphysicalforcelikethis?Howmanyhavebeensodehumanized?Thebagsmellslikedeathandpissastheydragmealong.Istartlaughing.It’slikemybloodydamn

frysuit.ThenafisthitsmychestandIcrumple,gasping.The hood also has a sound device installed. I’m not breathing hard,butmy breaths come back louder than they should. There are over athousandstudents.Dozensatatimemustsufferthissamefate,yetIhearnothing.Theydon’twantmetohear theothers. I’msupposedto thinkI’m alone, that my Color means nothing. Surprisingly, I find myselfoffended that theydare strikeme.Don’t theyknow I’mabloodydamnGold?ThenIsnortbackalaugh.Effectivetricks.I’mliftedupandthrownhardontoafloor.Ifeelavibration,thesmellof exhaust. Soon we’re in the air. Something in the bag covering myheaddisorientsme. I can’t tellwhichdirectionwe’re flying, howhighwe’ve risen.The soundofmyown raspybreathhasbecome terrible. Ithink thebagalso filtersout theoxygen,because I’mhyperventilating.Still,it’snotworsethanafrysuit.Later. An hour? Two? We land. They drag me by my heels. Headbumpsonstone,jarringme.It’snottillmuchlaterthattheytakethebagoff of my head in a barren stone room lit by a single light. Anotherpersonisalreadyhere.TheCrowsstripawaymyclothing,ripawaythepreciousPegasuspendant.Theyleave.“Coldinhere,Julian?”IchuckleasIstand,unclenchingmylefthandfrom thedirty redHelldiver sweat band.Myvoice echoes.We’re bothnaked.Ifakealimpwithmyrightleg.Iknowwhatthisis.“Darrow,isthatyou?”Julianasks.“Areyouwell?”“I’mprime.Theybustedupmyrightleg,though,”Ilie.He stands too, pushing himself up with his left hand. That’s hisdominant one. He looks tall and feeble in the light. Like bent hay. Icaughtmorekicksandpunches thanhim, though, loadsmore.Myribsmightbecracked.“Whatdoyouthinkthisis?”heasks.“ThePassage,obviously.”“Buttheylied.Theysaiditwouldbetomorrow.”ThethickwoodendoorsquealsonrustedhingesandProctorFitchnersauntersinpoppingagumbubble.“Proctor! Sir, you lied to us,” Julian protests. He brushes his prettyhairbackoutofhiseyes.Fitchner’smovement is sluggish but his eyes are like a cat’s. “Lyingtakestoomucheffort,”hegruntsidly.

“Well… how dare you treat us like this!” Julian snaps. “Youmustknowwhomyfatheris.AndmymotherisaLegate!Icanhaveyouuponchargesforassaultinamoment’snotice.AndyouhurtDarrow’sleg!”“It’s one A.M., dipstick. It’s tomorrow.” Fitchner pops anothergumbubble.“Therearealsotwoofyou.Alas,onlyonespotisavailableinyourclass.”HetossesagoldenringemblazonedwiththewolfofMarsanda star shieldof the Institute onto thedirty stone ground. “I couldmakeitambiguous,butyoulooklikerustyheadedlads.Onlyonecomesoutalive.”He leaves theway he came. The door squeals and then slams shut.Julian flinches at the sound. I donot.Weboth stare at the ring and Ihave a sick feeling inmy gut that I’m the only one in the roomwhoknowswhatjusthappened.“Whatdotheythinktheyaredoing?”Julianasksme.“Dotheyexpectusto…”“Killeachother?”Ifinish.“Yes.That’swhattheyexpect.”Despitetheknotinmythroat.Iballmyfists,Eo’sweddingbandtightonmyfinger.“Iintendtowearthatring,Julian.Willyouletmehaveit?”I am bigger than he. Not quite as tall. But that doesn’t matter. Hedoesn’tstandachance.“I have to have it, Darrow,” hemurmurs. He looks up. “I am of theFamilyBellona. Ican’tgohomewithout it.Doyouknowwhoweare?Youcangohomewithoutshame.Ican’t.Ineeditmorethanyou!”“We’renotgoinghome,Julian.Onepersoncomesoutalive.Youheardhim.”“Theywouldn’tdothat.…”hetries.“No?”“Please.Please,Darrow.Justgohome.Youdon’tneeditlikeIdo.Youdon’t.Cassius…hewouldbesoashamedifIdidn’tmakeit.Iwouldn’tbeabletolookathim.EverymemberofmyfamilyisScarred.MyfatherisanImperator.AnImperator!Ifhissondidnotevenmakeit throughthePassage…whatwouldhissoldiersthink?”“Hewouldstillloveyou.Minewould.”Julianshakeshishead.Hetakesabreathandstandstall.“IamJulianauBellonaoftheFamilyBellona,mygoodman.”Idon’twanttodothis.Ican’texplainhowbadlyIdon’twanttohurtJulian.ButwhenhaswhatIwantedevermattered?Mypeopleneedthis.

Eo sacrificed happiness and her life. I can sacrifice my wants. I cansacrificethisslenderprinceling.Icanevensacrificemysoul.ImakethefirstmovetowardJulian.“Darrow…,”hemurmurs.DarrowwaskindinLykos.Iamnot.Ihatemyselfforit.IthinkI’mcrying,becausemyvisionis

unclear.The rulesandmannersandmoralsof societyarepulledaway.All it

takesisastoneroomandtwopeopleneedingthesamescarcething.Yettheshift isn’t instantaneous.EvenwhenIpunchJulian in the faceandhisbloodsmearsmyknuckles,itdoesn’tseemafight.Theroomisquiet.Awkward.Ifeelrudepunchinghim.LikeI’macting.Thestoneiscoldonmyfeet.Myskinprickles.Breathechoes.Theywantmetokillhimbecausehedidn’tdowellontheirtests.This

isamismatch. IamDarwin’sscythe.Naturescrapingawaythechaff. Idon’t know how to kill. I’ve never killed a man. I have no blade, nothumper,noscorcher.ItseemsimpossiblethatIcouldmakethisboyofmeat and muscle bleed dry just with my hands. I want to laugh andJuliandoes.Iamanakedchildslappingatanothernakedchildinacoldroom. His hesitancy is obvious. His feet move like he’s trying toremember a dance. Butwhen his elbows come to eye level, I panic. Idon’t know how he is fighting. He strikes halfheartedly at me in aforeign,artisticway.He’stentative,slow,buthistimidfistgetsmynose.Rageovertakesme.My face goes numb.My heart thunders. It’s inmy throat.My veins

prickle.Ibreakhisnosewithastraight.God,myhandsarestrong.Hewailsandducks intome,grapplingmyarmintoanoddangle. It

pops.Iusemyforehead.Ittakeshimjustatthebridgeofhisnose.Igrabthebackofhisneckandhithimagainwithmyforehead.Hecan’tbreakaway.Idoitagain.Somethingcracks.Bloodandspitlathermyhair.Histeethcutmyscalp.IdropbacklikeI’mdancing,reverseoffmyleftfoot,weave forwardandhithimwithallmyweightbehindmyright fist inhischest.MyHelldiverknucklesshatterhisreinforcedsternum.There’s a great wheezing gasp. And a crackling noise like snapping

twigs.Hetipsbackwardontotheground.I’mdazedfromstrikinghimwith

my forehead. Seeing red. Seeing double. I stumble toward him. Tearsstreamdownmycheeks.He’stwitching.WhenIgrabhisgoldenhair,Ifindhimalreadylimp.Likeawetgoldenfeather.Bloodpulsesfromhisnose.Heisquiet.Henolongermoves.Nolongersmiles.I mutter my wife’s name as I fall to cradle his head. His face hasbecomelikeabloodblossom.

PARTIII

GOLD

“ThisisyourslingBlade,son.Itwillscrapetheearth’sveinsforyou.Itwillkillpitvipers.Keepitsharpandifyougetstuckinthedrills,itwillsaveyourlifeforthepriceofalimb.”Sosaidmyuncle.

20

THEHOUSEMARS

There’s stillness inmy soul as I look at the broken boy. Even Cassiuswouldnot recognizeJuliannow.Acavity is carved intomyheart.Myhands tremble as the blood dribbles off them onto cold stone. Riversalong thegoldenSigilsuponmyhands. I amaHelldiver,but the sobscomeevenasthetearsaregone.Hisbloodtricklesfrommykneedownmyhairless shin. It’s red.Notgolden.Myknees feel the stoneandmyforeheadtouchesitasIsobtillexhaustionfillsmychest.WhenIlookup,heisstilldead.Thiswasn’tright.IthoughttheSocietyonlyplayedgameswithitsslaves.Wrong.Julian

didn’tscorelikeIdidonthetests.Hewasn’tasphysicallycapableasI.Sohewasa sacrificial lamb.Onehundred studentsperHouseand thebottom fifty are only here to be killed by the top fifty. This is just abloodydamntest…forme.Even theFamilyBellona,powerfulas theyare,couldnotprotecttheirlesscapableson.Andthatisthepoint.Ihatemyself.Iknowtheymademedothis,yetitstillfeelslikeachoice.Likewhen

IpulledEo’s legs and felt the snapof her small spine.My choice. Butwhat other choice was there with her? With Julian? They do this tomakeusweartheguilt.There’snowheretowipetheblood,onlystoneandtwonakedbodies.

ThisisnotwhoIam,whoIwanttobe.Iwanttobeafather,ahusband,adancer.Letmedig in theearth.Letme sing the songsofmypeople

and leap and spin and run along the walls. I would never sing theforbiddensong.Iwouldwork.Iwouldbow.Letmewashdirtfrommyhands instead of blood. I want only to livewithmy family.Wewerehappyenough.Freedomcoststoomuch.ButEodisagreed.Damnher.I wait, but no one comes to see the mess I’ve made. The door isunlocked.IslipthegoldenringovermyfingerafterIcloseJulian’seyes,andwalknakedintothecoldhall.Itisempty.Asoftlightguidesmeupnever-endingstairs.Waterdripsfromthesubteranneantunnel’sceiling.Iuse it to try tocleanmybody,butall Ido is lather theblood intomyskin,thinningit.Icannotescapeit,whatI’vedone,nomatterhowfarIfollow the tunnel. I amalonewithmy sin.This iswhy they rule. ThePeerless Scarred know that dark deeds are carried through life. Theycannotbeoutrun.Theymustbewornifoneistorule.Thisistheirfirstlesson.Orwasitthattheweakdonotdeservelife?Ihatethem,butIhearthem.Win.Beartheguilt.Reign.Theywantmepitiless.Theywantmymemoryshort.ButIwasraiseddifferently.All my people sing of are memories. And so I will remember thisdeath. It will burdenme as it does not burdenmy fellow students—Imust not let that change. Imust not become like them. I’ll rememberthateverysin,everydeath,everysacrifice,isforfreedom.YetnowI’mafraid.CanIbearthenextlesson?CanIpretendtobeascoldasAugustus?Inowknowwhyhedidnotflinchinhangingmywife.AndIambeginningtounderstandwhyGoldsrule.TheycandowhatIcannot.

ThoughIamalone,IknowIwillsoonfindothers.Theywantmetosoakin the guilt for now. They wantme lonely, mournful, so that when Imeet theothers, thewinners, Iwillberelieved.Themurderswillbindus,andI’llfindthecompanyofthewinnersasalvetomyguilt.Idonotlovemyfellowstudents,butIwillthinkIdo.Iwillwanttheircomfort,

theirreassurancesthatIamnotevil.Andtheywillwantthesame.Thisismeanttomakeusafamily—onewithcruelsecrets.Iamright.My tunnel leads me to the others. I see Roque, the poet, first. Hebleeds from the back of his head. Blood is slick on his right elbow. Ididn’tthinkhimcapableofkilling.Whoseblood?Hiseyesareredfromcrying.We find Antonia next. Like us, she is naked; shemoves like agolden ship, drifting along, quiet and aloof. Her feet leave bloodyfootprintswhereshewalks.IdreadfindingCassius.Ihopeheisdead,becauseI’mafraidofhim.He reminds me of Dancer—handsome, laughing, yet a dragon justbeneaththesurface.Butthat’snotwhyI’mafraid.I’mafraidbecausehehasareasontohateme,towanttokillme.Nooneinmylifehashadjustcausebefore.Noonehaseverhatedme.Hewillifhefindsout.ThenIrealizeit.HowcouldtheHouseeverbeknittightlywithsuchsecrets?Itcan’t.Cassiuswillknowsomeoneherekilledhisbrother.Otherswillhave lost friends, and so theHousewill devour itself. The Society didthisonpurpose;theywantchaos.Itwillbeoursecondtest.Tribalstrife.The threeof us find theother survivors in a cavernous stonedininghalldominatedbyalongwoodentable.Torcheslighttheroom.Night’smist slithers through openwindows. It is like something from the oldtales.ThetimestheycallMedieval.Towardthefarendofthelongroomisaplinth.Agiantstonetowersthere;embeddedinitscenterisagoldenPrimushand.Goldenandblacktapestriesflankthestone.Awolfhowlsupon the tapestries, as though calling out a warning. It is the PrimushandthatwilltearthisHouseapart.Eachoneoftheselittleprincesandprincesses will think themselves deserved of the honor of leading theHouse.Yetonlyonecan.Imovelikeaghostwiththeotherstudents,driftingaroundthestonehallsofwhatseemstobeagiantcastle.Thereisaroominwhichwearetocleanourselves.Atroughrunsicywateralongthecoldfloor.Nowbloodrunswiththewatertotherightanddisappearsintothestone.Ifeellikesomesortofspecterinalandoffogandrock.Black and gold fatigues are laid out for us in a relatively barrenarmory. Each student finds the fatigue bundle tagged with his or hername. A golden symbol of a howlingwolfmarks the high collars and

sleevesofourclothing. I takemyclothingwithmeanddressalone insomestorageroom.There,Ifallintothecornerandsit,silent.Thisplaceissocoldandquiet.Sofarfromhome.Roque finds me. He’s striking in his uniform—lean like a strand of

golden summer wheat, with high cheekbones and warm eyes, but hisfaceispale.Hesitsonhishaunchesacrossfrommeforseveralminutesbeforehereachesovertoclaspmyhands.Idrawback,butheholdsontillIlookathim.“Ifyouarethrownintothedeepanddonotswim,youwilldrown,”he

says,andraiseshisthineyebrows.“Sokeepswimming,right?”Iforceachuckle.“Apoet’slogic.”Heshrugs.“Doesn’tcountformuch.SoI’llgiveyoufacts,brotherman.

This is the system. The lower Colors have their children by use ofcatalysts. Fast births, sometimes only five months of gestation beforelaborisinduced.ExceptfortheObsidians,onlywewaitninemonthstobe born. Our mothers receive no catalysts, no sedatives, no nucleics.Haveyouaskedyourselfwhy?”“Sotheproductcanbepure.”“Andsothatnatureisgivenachancetokillus.TheBoardofQuality

Control is firmly convinced that 13.6213 percent of all Gold childrenshoulddiebeforeoneyearofage.Sometimestheymakerealityfit thisnumber.” He splays out his thin hands. “Why? Because they believecivilizationweakensnaturalselection.Theydonature’sworksothatwedonot become a soft race. ThePassage, it seems, is a continuation ofthatpolicy.Onlywewerethetoolstheyused.My…victim…was,blesshissoul,afool.Hewasfromafamilyofnoworth,andhehadnowits,nointelligence,noambition,”hefrownsatthewordsbeforesighing,“hehadnothingtheBoardvalues.Thereisareasonhewastodie.”WasthereareasonJulianwastodie?Roque knowswhat he does because hismother is on the Board.He

loatheshismother,andonlythendoIrealizeIshouldlikehim.Notonlythat, I take refuge in his words. He disagrees with the rules, but hefollowsthem.Itispossible.IcandothesameuntilIhavepowerenoughtochangethem.“Weshouldjointheothers.”Isay,standing.Inthedininghall,ournamesfloatabovethechairsingoldenletters.

Our test scores are gone. Our names have also appeared beneath thePrimushandintheblackstone.Theyfloat,golden,upwardtowardthegoldenhand.I’mclosest,thoughthere’sstillmuchdistancetocover.Someofthestudentscrytogetherinsmallgroupsbythelongwoodentable.Others sit against thewall, heads in their hands. A limping girllooksforherfriend.AntoniaglaresoveratthetablewheresmallSevrosits eating. Of course he’s the only onewith an appetite. Frankly, I’msurprisedhesurvived.Heistinyandwasourninety-ninthandlastdraftpick.ByRoque’sproposedrules,heshouldbedead.Titus,thegiant,isaliveandbruised.Thoseknucklesofhislooklikeadirtybutcher’sblock.Hestandsarrogantlyapartfromtherest,grinninglikethisisallsplendidfun.Roquespeaksquietlywiththelimpinggirl,Lea. She falls down crying and throwsher ring. She looks like adeer,eyeswideandglistening.Hesitswithherandholdsherhand.There’sapeacefulnesstohimthatisuniqueintheroom.Wonderhowpeacefulheseemedwhenstranglingsomeotherkidtodeath.Irollmyringonandoffmyfinger.Someonesmacksmyheadlightlyfrombehind.“Oy,brotherman.”“Cassius.”Inod.“Cheers to yourvictory. Iwasworriedyouwere all brains,”Cassiuslaughs.Hisgoldencurlsarenoteventousled.Hethrowsanarmaroundme and surveys the room with a wrinkled nose. He feigns thisnonchalance;Icantellhe’sworried.“Ah. Is there anythingmoreugly than self-pity?All this crying.”Hesmirks and points at a girl with a busted nose. “And she just becameaggressivelyunpleasant.Notthatshewasevermuchtosniffat.Eh?Eh?”Iforgettospeak.“Shell-shocked,man?Theygetyourwindpipe?”“Justnotmuchforjokingaboutrightnow,”Isay.“Tooksomeknockstothehead.Shoulderisabitslaggedtoo.Thisisn’tmyusualscene.”“Shouldercanbefixedstraightoff.Let’sgetitbackinthesocket.”HecasuallygripsmydislocatedshoulderandjerksitintoitssocketbeforeIcanprotest.Igaspinpain.Hechuckles.“Prime.Prime.”Heslapsmeonthesameshoulder.“Helpmeout,won’tyou?”He extends his left hand. His dislocated fingers look like lightningbolts. I pull them straight. He laughs with the pain, not knowing his

brother’sbloodisundermyfingernails.I’mtryingnottohyperventilate.“SpottedJulianyet,man?”hefinallyasks.HespeaksinmidLingonow

thatPriamisnowheretobeseen.“Notasight.”“Meh, the kid is probably trying to be gentle with his fight. Father

taughtustheSilentArt,Kravat.Julianisaprodigyatit.HethinksI’mbetter.” Cassius frowns. “Thinks I’m better at everything—which isunderstandable. Just got to get him going. Speaking of it, who’d youslag?”Myinsidesknot.Imakeupalie,anditisagoodone.Vagueandboring.Heonlywants

to talk about himself now anyway. After all, this is what Cassiuswasbredfor.Thereareroughlyfifteenkidswhohavethatsamequietgleamin their eye. Not evil. Just excited. And those are the ones to watch,becausethey’rethebornkillers.Lookingaround, it’seasy to see thatRoquewas right.Thereweren’t

manytoughfights.Thiswasforcednaturalselection.Bottomoftheheapgettingslaughteredbythetop.Hardlyanyoneisseverelyinjuredexcepta couple of small lowDrafts. Natural selection sometimes has itssurprises.Cassius’s fightwas easy,he says.Hedid it right and fair andquick.

Crushed the windpipe with a bladejab ten seconds into squaring up.Caughthisfingersoddly,though.Prime. I’vemadeacorpseof thebestkiller’sbrother.Dreadcreepsintometomakeahome.CassiusgrowsquieterwhenFitchnersauntersinandordersustothe

table.Onebyone,thefiftyseatsfill.Andbitbybit,hisfacedarkensaseachchance forJulian to join the tabledisappears.When the last seatfills, he does not move. It is a cold anger that radiates. Not hot as Ithought it would be. Antonia sits across from us, opposite me, andwatcheshim.Hermouthworksbutshesaysnothing.Youdon’tcomforthissort.AndIdidn’tthinkherthekindtotry.Julianisn’ttheonlyonemissing.Arria,allcurlsanddimples,islying

limponacold floor somewhere.AndPriam isgone.PerfectPriamthePremier, heir ofMars’smoons. I heard hewas the First Sword in theSolarSystemforhisbirthyear.Aduelistwithoutpeer.Iguesshewasn’ttoolethalwithhisfists.Ilookaroundthetiredfaces.Whothehellkilledhim?TheBoardmessedthatoneup,andIwagerhismotherwillcause

hell,becausehecertainlywasn’tmeanttodie.“We’rewastingthebestofus,”Cassiusmurmursmeasuredly.“Hello,youlittleshiteaters.”Fitchneryawnsandkickshisfeetuponto

thetable.“Now,itmighthavedawnedonyouthatthePassagemayaswellbecalledtheCulling.”Fitchnerscratcheshisgroinwithhisrazor’shilt.Hismannersareworsethanmine.“Andyoumay think it awasteofgoodGolds,butyou’rean idiot if

you think fifty childrenmake a dent in our numbers. There aremorethanonemillionGoldsonMars.MorethanonehundredmillionintheSolarSystem.NotallgettobePeerlessScarred,though,eh?“Nowifyoustillthinkthiswasvile,considerthattheSpartanswould

killmorethantenpercentofallchildrenborntothem;naturewouldkillanother thirty. We are gory humanitarians in comparison. Of the sixhundred students that are left, most were in the top one percent ofapplicants.Of the sixhundred thataredead,mostwere in thebottomonepercentofapplicants.Therewasnowaste.”Hechucklesandlooksaroundthetablewithasuprisingamountofpride.“Exceptforthatidiot,Priam. Yeah. There’s a lesson for you lot. He was a brilliant boy—beautiful,strong,fast,ageniuswhostudieddayandnightwithadozentutors. But hewaspampered.And someone, Iwon’t saywho, becausethat’d undermine the fun of this whole curriculum, but someoneknockedhimdownontothestoneandthenstompedonhistracheatillhedied.”Heputshishandsbehindhishead.“Now! This is your new family.HouseMars—one of twelveHouses.

No,youarenotspecialbecauseyouliveonMarsandareinHouseMars.Those in House Venus on Venus are not special. They merely fit theHouse. You get the flow. After the Institute, you’re looking forapprenticeships—hopefully with the families Bellona, Augustus, orArcos, if youwant to dome proud. Prior graduates fromHouseMarsmayhelpyoufindtheseapprenticeships,mayofferyouapprenticeshipsof their own, or maybe you’ll be so successful that you don’t needanyone’shelp.“But let us make it crystal. Right now you are babies. Stupid little

babies. Your parents handed you everything. Others wiped your littleasses. Cooked your food. Fought your wars. Tucked your little shiny

noses in at night. Rusters dig before they get a chance to screw; theybuildyourcitiesandfindyourfuelandpickupyourshit.Pinkslearntheart of getting someone’s jollies off before they even need to shave.Obsidianshavetheworstgorylifeyoucouldimagine—nothingbutfrostandsteelandpain.Theywerebredfortheirwork, trainedearlyfor it.All you little princelings and princesses have had to dowas look likelittleversionsofMommyandDaddyand learnyourmanners andplaypianoandequestrianandsport.ButnowyoubelongtotheInstitute,toHouseMars, to the Prefecture of Mars, to your Color, to the Society.Blah.Blah.”Fitchner’ssmirkislazy.Hisveinyhandrestsonhispaunch.“Tonight you finallydid somethingyourselves.Youbeat ababy justlikeyou.Butthat’sworthaboutasmuchasaPinkwhore’sfart.OurlittleSocietybalancesonthetipofaneedle.TheotherColorswouldripyourgorydamnheartsoutgiventhechance.Andthenthere’stheSilvers.TheCoppers.TheBlues.Youthinkthey’dbeloyaltoabunchofbabies?Youthink the Obsidians will follow little turds like you? Thosebabystranglers would make you their little cuddleslaves if they sawweakness.Soyoumustshownone.”“So, what, the Institute is supposed to make us tough?” huge Titusgrunts.“No, you colossal oaf. It’s supposed tomake you smart, cruel,wise,hard. It’s supposed toageyou fiftyyears in tenmonthsand showyouwhatyourancestorsdidtogiveyouthisempire.MayIcontinue?”Heblowsagumbubble.“Now,HouseMars.”His thinhand scratcheshisbelly. “Yeah.We’vegot a proud House that could maybe even match some of the ElderFamilies. We’ve got Politicos, Praetors, and Justiciar. The currentArchGovernors ofMercury and Europa, a Tribune, dozens of Praetors,twoJustices,anImperatorofafleet.EvenLornauArcosoftheFamilyArcos,thirdmostpowerfulfamilyonMars,forthosenotkeepingtrack,maintainshisbondswithus.“All of those highUps are looking for new talent. They picked youfromtheothercandidatestofilltheroster.Impresstheseimportantmenandwomenandyou’llhaveanapprenticeshipafterthis.Winandyou’llhaveyourpickofapprenticeshipswithintheHouseoranElderFamily;maybeevenArcoshimselfwillwantyou. If thathappens,you’llbeon

thefasttracktoposition,fame,andpower.”Ileanforward.“Butwin?”Iask.“Whatistheretowin?”Hesmiles.“At this moment, you are in a remote terraformed valley in thesouthernmost part of VallesMarineris. In this valley, there are twelveHousesintwelvecastles.Afterorientationtomorrow,youwillgotowarwithyourfellowstudentstodominatethevalleybyanymeansatyourdisposal.Consideritacasestudyingainingandrulinganempire.”Therearemurmursofexcitement. It isagame.AndhereI thoughtIwouldhavetostudysomethinginaclassroom.“AndwhatifyouarePrimusofthewinningHouse?”Antoniaasks.Shetwirlsafingerthroughhergoldencurls.“Thenwelcometoglory,darling.Welcometofameandpower.”So,ImustbePrimus.Weeat aplaindinner.WhenFitchner leaves,Cassius stirs,his voicecomingcoldandfilledwithdarkhumor.“Letusallplayagame,myfriends.Wewilleachsaywhomwekilled.Iwillstart.NexusauCelintus.Iknewhimwhenwewerechildren,asIknowsomeofyou.Ibrokehistracheawithmyfingers.”Noonespeaks.“Comenow.Familiesshouldnotkeepsecrets.”Still,nooneanswers.Sevroisthefirsttoleave,makinghisderisionforCassius’sgameclear.First to eat. First to sleep. Iwant to follow. Instead, Imake small talkwith peaceful Roque and massive Titus after Cassius gives up on hisgameandretiresaswell.Titusisimpossibletolike.He’snotfunny,buteverything is a joke to him. It’s like he’s sneering atme, at everyone,eventhoughhe issmiling. Iwanttohithim,buthedoesn’tgivemeareason.Everythinghesaysisperfectlyinnocuous.YetIhatehim.It’slikehe doesn’t thinkme a human; instead I’m just a chess piece and he’swaitingtomovemearound.No.Shovemearound.Hesomehowforgottobeseventeenoreighteen like therest.He isaman.Taller thantwometers,easy.Maybenearingtwoandahalfmeters.LitheRoque,ontheotherhand,remindsmesomuchofmybrotherKieran,ifKierancouldkill.Hissmilesarekind.Hiswordspatientandwistfulandwise,justastheyhadbeenearlier.Lea,thegirlwholookslikealimpingbabydeer,followshimeverywhere.He’spatientwithherinawayIcouldn’tbe.

Late in the night, I look for the places where the students died. Icannot find them.The stairsno longerexist.Thecastlehas swallowedthem.Ifindrestinalongdormitoryfilledwiththinmatresses.Wolveshowlfromtheshiftingmiststhatcloakthehighlandsbeyondourcastle.Ifindsleepquickly.

21

OURDOMINION

Fitchner wakes us from the long dormitories in the dark of morning.Grumbling,werolloutofdoublebunkbedsandsetoutfromthekeeptothecastle’ssquare,wherewestretch,thensetoffatarun.Welopeeasilyinthe.37grav.Cloudsdropsoftshowers.Thecanyonwallsfiftykilometerswestand

forty kilometers east of our little valley tower six kilometers high.Betweenthemisanecosystemofmountains,forests,rivers,andplains.Ourbattlefield.Ours isahighlandterritory.Thererisemossyhillsandcraggypeaks

that dip into U-shaped, grassy glens.Mist blankets all, even the thickforeststhatlielikehomespunquiltsoverthefoothills.Ourcastlestandson a hill just north of a river in themiddle of a bowl-like glen—halfgrass,halfwoods.Greaterhillscupthegleninasemicircletothenorthandsouth.Ishouldlikeithere.Eowouldhave.Butwithouther,Ifeelaslonelyasourcastlelooksonitshigh,removedhill.Ireachforthelocket,forourhaemanthus.Neitheriswithme.Ifeelemptyinthisparadise.Threewallsofourhillcastlestandatopeighty-meterstonecliffs.The

castleitselfishuge.Itswallsrisethirtymeters.Thegatehouseswellsoutfrom the walls as a fortress with turrets. Inside the walls, our squarekeep is part of the northwestern wall and rises fifty meters. A gentleslopeleadsupfromtheglen’sfloortothecastle’swesterngate,oppositethekeep.Werundownthisslopealongalonelydirtroad.Mistembracesus.Irelishthecoldair.Itpurifiesmeafterhoursoffitfulsleep.

Themistburnsawayasthesummerdaydawns.Deerling,thinnerandfaster than the creatures of Earth, graze in the fir woods. Birds circleabove. A single raven promises eerie things. Sheep litter the field andgoatswanderthehighrockyhillswerunupina lineof fiftyandone.OthersofmyHousemayseeanimalsofEarth,orcuriouscreaturestheCarversdecidedtomakeforfun.ButIseeonlyfoodandclothing.The sacred animals of Mars make their home in our territory.Woodpeckers hammer oak and fir. At night, wolves howl across thehighlands and stalk during the day through thewoodlands. There aresnakes near the river. Vultures in the quiet gulches. Killers runningbesideme.WhatfriendsIhave.IfonlyLoranorKieranorMatteowerehere to watch my back. Someone I could trust. I’m a sheep wearingwolves’clothinginapackofwolves.AsFitchnerrunsusuptherockyheights,Lea,thegirlwiththelimp,falls. He lazily nudges at her with his foot till we carry her on ourshoulders. Roque and I bear the load. Titus smirks, and only Cassiushelps when Roque tires. Then Pollux, a lean, craggy-voiced boy withbuzzed hair, takes over for me. He sounds like he’s been smokingburnerssincehewastwo.Wetrudgethroughasummervalleyofforestsandfields.Bugsnipatus there. TheGoldbrows dripwith sweat, but I do not. This is an icybathcomparedtotherigorsofmyoldfrysuit.Allaboutmearetrimandfit, but Cassius, Sevro, Antonia,Quinn (the bloodydamn fastest girl orthingI’veeverseenontwofeet),Titus, threeofhisnewfriends,andIcould leave the rest behind. Only Fitchner with his gravBoots wouldoutpaceus.Heboundsalong likeadeerling, thenhechasesonedownand his razor whips out. It encircles the deerling’s throat, and hecontractsthebladetokilltheanimal.“Supper,”hesays,grinning.“Dragit.”“Youcouldhavekilleditclosertothecastle,”Sevromutters.Fitchnerscratcheshisheadandlooksaround.“DidanyoneelsehearasquatuglylittleGoblingo…well,whateversoundGoblinsmake?Dragit.”Sevrograbsthedeer’sleg.“Dickwit.”Wereach the summitof a rockyheight fivekilometers southwestofourcastle.Astonetowerdominatesthepeak.Fromthetop,wesurveythe battlefield. Somewhere out there, our enemies do the same. The

theaterofwarstretches to thesouthfarther thanwecansee.Asnowymountainrangefillsthewesternhorizon.Tothesoutheast,aprimordialwood knots the landscape. Dividing the two is a lush plain split by amassivesouthboundriver, theArgos,and its tributaries.Farther south,pasttheplainsandrivers,thegrounddipsawayintomarshes.Icannotseebeyond.Agreat floatingmountainhoverstwokilometersupinthebluishsky.ItisOlympus,Fitchnerexplains,anartificialmountainwheretheProctorswatcheachyear’sclass.Itspeakshimmerswithafairy-talecastle.Leashufflesclosertostandbesideme.“Howdoesitfloat?”sheaskssweetly.Ihaven’tthefaintestclue.Ilooknorth.Tworiversinaforestedvalleysplitournorthernterritory,whichisattheedgeofavastwilderness.TheyformaVpointingsouthwesttothelowlands, where they eventually form one tributary to the Argos.Surrounding the valley are the highlands—dramatic hills and dwarfmountainsscarredwithgulcheswheremiststillclings.“This is Phobos Tower,” Fitchner says. The tower lies in the farsouthwestofourterritory.Hedrinksfromacanteenwhilewegothirsty,and points northwestwhere the two riversmeet in the valley to formtheir V. Amassive tower crowns a distant dwarfmountain range justbeyondthejunction.“AndthatisDeimos.”HetracesanimaginarylinetoshowustheboundsofHouseMars’sterritory.The eastern river is called the Furor. The western, which runs justsouth of our castle, is theMetas. A single bridge spans theMetas. AnenemywouldhavetocrossittoenterbetweentheVintothevalleyandstrikenortheastacrosseasy,woodedgroundtoreachourcastle.“Thisisaslaggin’joke,isn’tit?”SevroasksFitchner.“Whateverdoyoumean,Goblin?”Fitchnerpopsagumbubble.“OurlegsareaswideasaPinkwhore’s.Allthesemountainsandhillsand anyone can just walk right in the front door. It’s a perfect flatpassage from the lowlands right toourgate. Justone stinking river tocross.”“Pointingouttheobvious,eh?Youknow,Ireallydonotlikeyou.YoufoullittleGoblin.”FitchnerstaresatSevroforapurposefulmomentandthenshrugs.“Anyway,I’llbeonOlympus.”“Whatdoesthatmean,Proctor?”Cassiusaskssourly.Hedoesn’t like

thelookofthingseither.Thoughhiseyesareredfromweepingthroughthenightforhisdeadbrother,ithasn’tdulledhisimpressiveness.“Imeanit’syourproblem,littleprince.Notmine.Noone’sgoingtofix

anythingforyou.IamyourProctor.Notyourmommy.You’reinschool,remember?Soifyourlegsareopen,well,makeachastitybelttoprotectthesoftspot.”There’sgeneralgrumbling.“Could be worse,” I say. I point past Antonia’s head toward the

southernplainswhereanenemyfortressspansagreatriver.“Wecouldbeexposedlikethosepoorbastards.”“Thosepoorbastardshavecropsandorchards,”Fitchnermuses.“You

have…”Helooksovertheledgetofindthedeerhekilled.“Well,Goblinhereleftthedeerbehind,soyouhavenothing.Thewolveswilleatwhatyoudonot.”“Unlessweeatthewolves,”Sevromutters,drawingstrangelooksfrom

therestofourHouse.Sowehavetogetourownfood.Antoniapointstothelowlands.“Whataretheydoing?”Ablackdropshipslidesdownfromtheclouds.Itsettlesinthecenter

of the grassy plain between us and the distant enemy river fortress ofCeres. Three Obsidians and a dozen Tinpots stand guard as Brownshustleout tosethams, steaks,biscuits,wine,milk,honey,andcheesesontoadisposabletableeightkilometersfromPhobosTower.“Atrap,obviously,”Sevrosnorts.“Thank you, Goblin.” Cassius sighs. “But I haven’t had breakfast.”

Circlesringhisrecklesseyes.Heglancesoveratmethroughthecrowdofourfellowsandoffersasmile.“Upforarace,Darrow?”Istartwithsurprise.ThenIsmile.“Onyourmark.”Andhe’soff.I’vedonedumberthingstofeedmyfamily.Ididdumberthingswhen

someoneIloveddied.Cassiusisowedthecompanyasheracesdownthesteephillside.Forty-eightkidswatchusscampertofillourbellies;nonefollow.“Bringmeasliceofhoneyedham!”Fitchnershouts.Antoniacallsus

idiots. The dropship floats away aswe leave the highlands behind forgentlerterrain.Eightkilometersin.376grav(Earthstandard)isacinch.

Wescrambledownrockyhillsides,thenhitthelowlandplainsatfulltiltthrough ankle-high grass. Cassius beats me to the tables by a bodylength.He’s fast.We each take a pint of the icewater on the table. Idrinkminefaster.Helaughs.“Looks like the House Ceres’s mark on their flagpole. The HarvestGoddess.”Cassiuspointsoveracross thegreenplains to the fortress.Afewtreesdottheseveralkilometersbetweenusandthecastle.Pennantsflap from their ramparts.Hepopsagrape intohismouth. “We shouldtakeacloserlookbeforechowin’down.Alittlescouting.”“Agreed…butsomethingisn’trighthere,”Isayquietly.Cassiuslaughsattheopenplain.“Nonsense.We’dseetroubleifitwascoming.AndIdon’tthinkanyoneofthemisgoingtobefasterthanustwo.Wecanstrutuptotheirgatesandtakeashitifwesolike.”“Idohavesomethingbrewing.”Itouchmystomach.Yetstill,somethingiswrong.Andnotjustinmybelly.It’s six kilometers of open groundbetween the river fortress andus.Therivergurglesinthedistancetotheright.Foresttothefarleft.Plainsinfront.Mountainsbeyondtheriver.Windrustlesthelonggrassandasparrowcoasts inwith thebreeze. It swoops low to thegroundbeforeflinchingupandaway.Ilaughloudlyandleanagainstthetable.“Theyareinthegrass,”Iwhisper.“Atrap.”“Wecanstealsacksfromthemandcarrymoreofthisback,”hesaysloudly.“Run?”“Pixie.”He grins, though neither of us is sure if we’re allowed to start thefightingduringorientationday.Whatever.Onthree,wekickapartthedisposabletable’slegstillweeachhaveameter of duroplastic as aweapon. I scream like amadman and sprinttowardthespotwherethesparrowfled,Cassiusatmyside.FiveHouseCeres Golds rise from the grass. They’re startled by our mad rush.Cassiuscatchesthefirstinthefacewithaproperfencer’slunge.I’mlessgraceful.Myshoulder is stiffandsore. I screamandbreakmyweaponacrossoneoftheirknees.Hegoesdownhowling.Ducksomeone’sswing.Cassius deflects it. We dance as two. There’s three of them left. Onesquares up with me. He doesn’t have a knife or a bat. No, he hassomething I’m far more interested in. A questionmark of a sword. AslingBladeforreapinggrain.Hefacesmewithhisbackhandonhiship

andthecrookedbladeoutlikearazor.Ifitwerearazor,I’dbedead.Butit’snot.Imakehimmiss,blockoneofCassius’sattackers’blows.Lurchforwardatmyattacker. I’mmuchquicker thanheandmygrip is likedurosteeltohis.SoItakehisslingBladeandhisknifebeforeIpunchhimdown.When he sees how I twirl the slingBlade in my hand, the last

uninjured boy knows it’s time to surrender. Cassius jumps high in the.376grav and executes an unnecessary twirling sideways kick to theboy’sface.RemindsmeofthedancersandleapersofLykos.Kravat.TheSilentDance.Eerilysimilartotheboastdancingofyoung

Reds.Nothing is silent about the boys’ curses. I feel no pity for these

students. They all murdered someone the night before, just like me.Therearenoinnocentsinthisgame.TheonlythingthatworriesmeisseeinghowCassiusdispatchedhisvictims.Heisgraceandfinesse.Iamrageandmomentum.Hecouldkillmeinasecond,ifheknewmysecret.“Whatalark!”hecroons.“Youweregoryterrifying!Youjusttookhis

weapon! Gory fast! Glad we weren’t paired earlier. Prime stuff!Whathaveyoutosayforyourselves,yousneakingfools?”ThecapturedGoldsjustswearatus.Istandoverthemandcockmyhead.“Isthisthefirsttimeyou’velost

atsomething?”Noanswer.Ifrown.“Well,thatmustbeembarrassing.”Cassius’sfaceshines—foramomenthe’sforgottenhisbrother’sdeath.

Ihaven’t.Ifeeldarkness.Hollow.Evilwhentheadrenalinefades.Isthiswhat Eo wanted? For me to play games? Fitchner arrives in the airaboveus,clappinghishands.HisgravBootsglimmergolden.He’sgothishamslicebetweenhisteeth.“Reinforcementscome!”helaughs.Titusandahalfdozenofthefasterboysandgirlsruntowardusfrom

the highlands. Opposite, a golden shape rises from the distant riverfortressandfliestowardus.Abeautifulwomanwithshort-croppedhairsettles next to Fitchner in the air. The Proctor of House Ceres. Shecarriesabottleofwineandtwoglasses.“Mars!Apicnic!”shecalls,referringtohimbyhisHouse’sdeity.“Sowhoarrangedforthisdrama,Ceres?”Fitchnerasks.“Oh,Apollo, Isuppose.He’s lonelyupinhismountainestates.Here,

thisiszinfandelfromhisvines.Muchbetterthanlastyear’svarietal.”

“Delicious!”Fitchnerproclaims.“Butyourboysweresquattinginthegrass.Almostas if theyexpected thepicnic to spontaneouslymanifest.Suspicious,no?”“Details!”ProctorCereslaughs.“Pedanticdetails!”“Well,here’sadetail.Itseemstwoofmineareworthfiveofyoursthis

year,mydear.”“Theseprettyboys?”Ceressnickers.“Ithoughtthevainoneswentto

ApolloandVenus.”“Oho!Well, yours certainly fight like housewives and farmers.Well

placed,theywere.”“Don’t judge them yet, you cad. They are midDraft picks. My

highDraftsareelsewhere,earningtheirfirstcalluses!”“Learningtheovens?Huzzah,”Fitchnerdeclaresironically.“Bakersdo

makethebestrulers,soI’veheard.”Shenudgeshim. “Oh,youdevil.Nowonder you interviewed for the

RageKnightpost.Suchascoundrel!”Theyclinktheirglassestogetheraswewatchfromtheground.“How I love orientation day,” Ceres titters. “Mercury just let a

hundred thousandrats loose inJupiter’scitadel.ButJupiterwasreadybecause Diana tattled and arranged the delivery of a thousand cats.Jupiter’s boys won’t go hungry like last year. Cats will be as fat asBacchus.”“Dianaisaharlot,”Fitchnerdeclares.“Bekind!”“Iwas.Isentheragreatphalliccakefilledwithlivewoodpeckers.”“Youdidn’t.”“Idid.”“You beast!” Ceres caresses his arm and I note the free-loving

demeanor these people have. I wonder if other Proctors are lovers aswell. “Her fortress will be riddled with holes. Oh, the soundmust behorrible.Wellplayed,Mars.TheysayMercuryisthetrickster,butyourjapesalwayshaveacertain…flair!”“Flair, eh? Well, I’m sure I could rustle up some tricks for you on

Olympus…”“Huzzah,”shecoossuggestively.Theytoastagain,floatingabovetheirsweatingandbloodystudents.I

can’thelpbutlaugh.Thesepeoplearemad.Bloodydamncrazyintheir

emptyGoldenheads.Howaretheymyrulers?“Oy!Fitch!Ifyoudon’tmind.Whatarewesupposedtodowiththesefarmers?”Cassiuscallsup.Hepokesoneofourinjuredcaptivesonthenose.“Whataretherules?”“Eatthem!”Fitchnercries.“AndDarrow,putdownthatgoryscythe.Youlooklikeagrainreaper.”Idon’tdrop it. It is close to the shapeofmy slingBlade fromhome.Not as sharp, because it isn’t meant to kill, but the balance is nodifferent.“You know you could let my children go and give them back thereapingscythe,”Ceressuggeststous.“Givemeakissandyouhaveadeal,”Cassiuscallsup.“TheImperator’sboy?”sheasksFitchner.Henods.“Comeaskforonewhenyou’reScarred, littleprince.”She looksoverhershoulder.“Untilthen,Iwouldadviseyouandthereapertorun.”Wehearthehoovesbeforeweseethepaintedhorsesgallopingatusacross the plain. They come from the opened gates of House Ceres’scastle.Thegirlsonthehorses’backscarrynets.“They gave you horses! Horses!” Fitchner complains. “That is sounfair!”We run and barely make it to the woods. I didn’t like my firstencounterwithhorses.They still scare thepissoutofme.All snortingandstomping.CassiusandIgaspforbreath.Myshoulderaches.TwoofTitus’sreinforcementsarecapturedas theyfindthemselvesstrandedinopen ground. Bold Titus knocks a horse over and is laughing as he’sabouttolaywastetooneofthegirlswithhisboot.Cereszapshimwitha stunfist andmakes peacewith Fitchner. The stunfist causes Titus topiss himself. Only Sevro is careless enough to laugh. Cassius sayssomethingaboutbadmanners,buthesnickersquietly.Titusnotices.

“Areweallowedtokillthemornot?”Titusgrowlsthatnightatdinner.WeeattheleftoversfromBacchus’sfeast.“OramIgoingtogetstunnedeverytime?”“Well,thepointisn’ttokillthem,”Fitchnersays.“Sono.Let’snotgoaroundmassacringyourclassmates,youmadape.”“Butwedidbefore!”Titusprotests.

“Whatiswrongwithyou?”Fitchnerasks.“ThePassagewaswheretheculling is done. It’s no longer survival of the fittest, youmad, stupid,colossal sack of muscle.What would be the point if we now had thefittestjustmurdereachothertillonlyafewareleft?Therearenewteststopassnow.”“Ruthlessness.”Antoniacrossesherarms.“Sonowit’snotacceptable?Isthatwhatyou’resaying?”“Oh, itbetterbeacceptable.”Titusgrinsbroadly.He’sbeenboastingallnightaboutknockingoverthehorse,asifit’dmakeeveryoneforgetthepissthatstainedhispants.Somehave.He’salreadygatheredapackofhounds.OnlyCassiusandIseemtohaveanounceofhisrespect,butevenwe’resmirkedat.SoisFitchner.Fitchnersetsdownhishoneyedham.“Let us clarify, children, so this water buffalo doesn’t go aroundstompingonskulls.Ruthlessnessisacceptable,dearAntonia.Ifsomeonediesbyaccident,thatisunderstandable.Accidentshappentothebestofus.Butyouwillnotmurdereachotherwithscorchers.Youwillnothangpeoplefromyourrampartsunlessthey’realreadydead.MedBotsareonstandby in case any medical attention is direly needed. They are fastenoughtosavelives,mostofthetime.”“Remember,though, thepointisnottokill.Wedon’tcareifyou’reasruthlessasVladDracula.Hestill lost.Thepoint is towin.That’swhatwewant.”Andthatsimpletestofcrueltyisalreadypast.“Wewantyoutoshowusyourbrilliance.LikeAlexander.LikeCaesar,Napoleon,andMerrywater.Wewantyoutomanageanarmy,distributejustice, arrange for provisionsof foodandarmor.Any fool can stick abladeintoanother’sbelly.Theschool’sroleistofindtheleadersofmen,notthekillersofmen.Sothepoint,yousillylittlechildren,isnottokill,but to conquer. And how do you conquer in a gamewhere there areelevenenemytribes?”“Takethemoutoneatatime,”Titusanswersknowingly.“No,ogre.”“Dumbass,”Sevrosnickerstohimself.Titus’spackquietlywatchesthesmallestboyintheInstitute.Nothreatsaresnarled.Nofacestwitch.Justasilentpromise.It’shardtorememberthattheyareallgeniuses.Theylooktoopretty.Tooathletic.Toocrueltobegeniuses.

“AnyonebesidesOgrehaveaguess?”Fitchnerasks.Nooneanswers.“Youmakeonetribeoutoftwelve,”Ifinallysay.“Bytakingslaves.”Just liketheSociety.Buildonthebacksofothers. It isn’tcruel. It is

practical.Fitchnerclapsmockingly.“Prime,Reaper.Prime.Lookslikesomeone

is bucking for Primus.” Everyone shifts in agitation at that last bit.Fitchner pulls a long box from under the table. “Now, ladies andgentlemen, this iswhat youuse tomake the slaves.”Hepulls out ourstandard.“Protectthis.Protectyourcastle.Andconqueralltheothers.”

22

THETRIBES

Fitchnerisgoneinthemorning.Inhischairliesthestandard.Itisaone-footlengthofirontippedwithourhowlingwolf;aserpentcoilsbeneaththewolf’s feet, the star-tipped pyramid of the Society beneath that. Afive-footoakpoleconnectstotheironend.Ifthecastleisourhome,thestandard is our honor. With it, we are able to turn enemies into ourslaves by pressing it to their foreheads. There awolf sigilwill appearuntilanotherstandardispressedtotheforehead.SlavesmustobeyourexpresscommandsorforeverbeShamed.I sit across from the standard in the morning dark, eating Apollo’s

leftovers.Awolfcallsoutinthemist.Itshowlcomesthroughthekeep’shighwindow. Tall Antonia is the first to joinme. She glides in like alonelytowerorabeautifulgoldenspider.Ihaven’tdecidedwhichwayherpersonalityruns.Weexchangeglancesbutnogreetings.ShewantsPrimus.Cassius and raspy Pollux saunter in next. Pollux grumbles about

havingtogotobedwithouthavingPinkstotuckhimin.“Apositivelyhideousstandard,don’tyouthink?”Antoniacomplains.

“Theycouldatleasthavegivenitasplashofcolor.Ithinkitshouldbedrapedwithredforrageandblood.”“It’snottooheavy.”Cassiusheftsthestandardbyitspole.“Reckoned

it’d be gold.”He admires the golden Primus handwithin the block ofblackstone.Hewantsittoo.“Andtheygaveusamap.Swell.”A new stone map dominates one of the walls. The detail near our

castleisremarkable.Therestlessso.Thefogofwar.Cassiusclapsmeonthebackandjoinsineating.Hedoesn’tknowIheardhimweepagaininthenight.Wesharedanewbunkinabarracksinthekeep’shightower.Many others still sleep in the main tower. Titus and his friends havetakenthelowtowereventhoughtheydon’thaveenoughbodiestofillit.MostoftheHousehaswokenbythetimeSevrodragsinadeadwolfbyitslegs.It’salreadyguttedandskinned.“Goblinhasbrought victuals!”Cassius applaudsdaintily. “Hmm.Wewillneedfirewood.Doesanyoneknowhowtomakeafire?”Sevrodoes.Cassiusgrins.“Ofcourseyoudo,Goblin.”“Found the sheep too easy to kill?” I ask. “Where’d you get theweapon?”“Bornwiththem.”Hisfingernailsarebloody.Antoniawrinkleshernose.“Whereinthehellwereyouraised?”Sevropresentshismiddlefingertoher,thecrux.“Ah,”Antoniasniffs.“Hell,then.”“So,asI’msureyou’veallnoticed,itwillbesometimebeforeanyonehas enough bars of merit to become Primus,” Cassius declares whenwe’veallgatheredaroundthetable.“Naturally,IwasthinkingthatweneedaleaderbeforePrimusischosen.”HestandsandscootsawayfromSevrosothathisfingersrestontheedgeofthestandard.“Inorderforustofunction,wemusthaveimmediateandcoordinateddecisions.”“Andwhichofyoutwofoolsdoyouthinkitshouldbe?”Antoniaasksdryly. Her large eyes glance from him tome. She turns to regard theothers,voicesweetlikethicksyrup.“Atthispoint,whatmakesanyofusbettersuitedtoleadthananyoneelse?”“Theygotusdinner…andbreakfast,” Lea saysmeekly frombesideRoque.Shegesturestotheleftoverpicnicvictuals.“Whilerunningrightintoatrap—”Roqueremindseveryone.Antonianodssagely.“Yes,yes.Awisepoint.Rashnesscanhurtus.”“—but they did fight free,” Roque finishes, earning a glare fromAntonia.“With table legs against real weapons,” Titus rumbles his approval,withaqualification.“But thentheyfledandleft thefoodbehind.Soitwas Fitchner who gave us the food. They would have given it to theenemy,deliveringfoodlikeBrowns.”“Yeah,that’satwistonwhathappened,”Cassiussays.

Titusshrugs.“IonlysawyourunninglikealittlePixie.”Cassiusgoescold.“Watchyourmanners,goodman.”Titus holds up his hands. “Merely observing; why so angry, littleprince?”“Youwatchyourmanners,goodman,orwe’llhavetotradeourwordsfor blades.” Cassius wields his looted pitchfork and points it at Titus.“Youheed,TitusauLadros?”Titusholdsgazewithhim,thenglancesoveratme,groupingmewithCassius. Suddenly Cassius and I form a tribe in everyone’s eyes. Theparadigmshiftsthatquickly.Politics.Itakemytimetwirlingmylootedknife between my fingers. The whole table watches the knife. Sevroespecially. My Red right hand has collected a millionmetric tones ofhelium-3with itsdexterity.My left,halfamillion.Thedexterityofanaverage lowRedwould startle theseGolds. I dazzle them. The knife islike a hummingbird’swings inmynimble fingers. I look calmbutmymindisracing.Wehaveallkilled.Thosewerethestakes.Whataretheynow?Titushasalreadymadeitclearthathewantstokill.Icouldstophimnow,Iwager.Drivemyknife intohisneck.Butthethoughtalmostmakesmedropmyblade. I feelEo’sdeathinmyhands. IhearthewetthumpofJulian dying. I can’t bear the blood, especially when it doesn’t seemnecessary.Icanbackthishugepuppydown.I levelmyeyes coldly atTitus.His smile is slow, thedisdainbarelynoticeable.He’s callingmeout. Ihave to fighthimor something ifhedoesn’tlookaway—that’swhatwolvesdo,Ithink.My knife spins and spins. And suddenly Titus is laughing. He looksaway.Myheartslows.I’vewon.Ihatepolitics.Especiallyinaroomfullofalphas.“Ofcourse Ihearyou,Cassius.You’restanding ten feetaway,”Tituschuckles.Titus doesn’t think he’s strong enough to challenge Cassius andmeopenly,evenwithhispack.HesawwhatwedidtotheCeresboys.Butjustlikethatthelinesaredrawn.Istandsuddenly,confirmingthatIamwithCassius.ItstripsTitusofanymomentum.“Isthereanyonewhowouldn’twanteitherofustolead?”Iask.“Iwouldn’twantAntoniatolead.She’sabitch,”Sevrosays.

Antoniashrugsheragreementbutcocksherhead.“Cassi,whyareyouinsucharushtofindusaleader?”sheasks.“Ifwedonothaveoneleader,thenwewillfractureanddoasweeach

thinkisbest,”Cassiussays.“That’showwelose.”“Insteadofwhatyou think isbest,” she sayswitha soft smileanda

nod.“Isee.”“Don’t give me that condescension, Antonia. Priam even agreed we

neededoneleader.”“Who is Priam?” Titus laughs. He’s trying to get attention back on

himselfoncemore.EveryGoldkidontheplanetknewPriam.NowTitustries to make it clear who killed him, and the others take note.Momentum regained. Except I know Titus didn’t kill Priam. Theywouldn’tput someone likehim inwithPriam.Theywouldhaveputaweaklinginthere.SoTitusisaliaraswellasabully.“Ah,Isee.BecauseyouplottedwithPriam,youknowwhatneedsto

bedone,Cassius?Youknowbetterthanallofus?”Antoniawavesatthetable.“You’retellinguswe’rehelplesswithoutyourguidance?”She’strappedhim,andmetoo.“Listen,boys,Iknowyou’reeagertolead,”shecontinues,“Igetthat.

Weareallleadersbynature.Eachpersoninthisroomisaborngenius,aborn captain. But that is why the Primus merit system exists. WhensomeonehasearnedfivefingersofmeritandisreadytobePrimus,thenwewillhavealeader.“Untilthen,Isayweholdout.IfCassiusorDarrowearnsit,thensobe

it.I’lldowhatevertheycommand,obedientasaPink,simpleasaRed.”Shegestures to theothers. “Until then, I thinkoneof you should alsohaveachancetoearnit.…Afterall,itmaydecideyourcareer!”She’sclever.Andshe’ssunkus.Everybratintheroomwasnodoubt

wishingthey’dbeenmoreassertivefromtheget-go,wishingtheycouldhaveanotherchancetomakepeoplenoticethem.NowAntoniagivesittothem.Thiswillbechaos.AndshemayendupasPrimus.Definitelyaspider.“Look!”LeasaysfromRoque’sside.Ahornbellowsbeyondthecastle.Thestandardchoosesthatmomenttoshimmer.Snakeandwolfshed

iron for gleaming gold. Not only that, but the stonemap on thewallcomes alive. Our wolf banner ripples over a miniature of our castle.

Ceres’s bannerdoes the same.Noother castlesmark themap, but thebannersoftheundiscoveredHousesflapoffinthemap’skey.Nodoubtthey’llfindahomeassoonaswescoutthesurroundingterritory.Thegamehasbegun.AndnoweveryonewantstobethePrimus.I see why Demokracy is illegal. First comes yelling. Frustration.Indecision.Disagreements.Ideas.Scout.Fortify.Gatherfood.Laytraps.Blitz. Raid. Defense. Offense. Pollux spits. Titus knocks him out cold.Antonia leaves.SevrosayssomethingsnidetoTitusanddragshiswolfoff to God knows where, never having lit a fire. It’s like my Lambdadrillteamwhenever a headTalkwould take an hour sick. That’s how IlearnedIcoulddrill.BarlowsnuckofftotakeasmokeandIhoppedontheriganddidasIthoughtwasbest.Idothesamenowasthechildrenbicker.Cassius,Roque,andLea—whofollowsRoqueeverywhere—comewithme,thoughCassiuslikelythinkswefollowhim.Weagreethattheotherswillnotknowwhattodoandsowillinevitablydonothingtoday.Theywill guard the castleor seekoutwood fora fireor clusteraround thestandardforfearofitwalkingoff.I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if our enemies are slinkingthrough the hills toward us. I don’t know if they aremaking allianceagainstMars.Idon’tknowhowthedamngameisevenplayed.Butforsomereason,IassumethatnotalloftheotherHouseswillfalltodiscordlikethis.WeofMarsseemmorepronetodisagreement.IaskCassiuswhathethinksweshoulddo.“Once, I challenged this prancingoaf to a duel for disrespectingmyfamily—anAugustusfop.Hewasverymethodical—tightenedhisgloves,tiedbackhisprettyhair,swishedhisrazorashedidbeforeeverygorypracticebouthe’severhadattheAgeaMartialClub.”“And?”“And I hooked him and stabbed him through the kneecapwhile hewas still swishing his razor in preparation.” He catches Lea’sdisapproval.“What?Theduelhadbegun.I’mfoxy,butI’mnotabeast.Ijustwin.”“Ifeellikeyouallthinkthat,”Isay.“Weall,Imean.”Theydon’tnoticemyslipup.Hispointstands.OurHousecan’tattackanenemyinourstate,butanenemycouldattackusaswerunaboutpreparing,andruinallmyhopes

of risingwithin the Society. So, information.We need to know if ourenemiesareinaglenhalfakilometertothenorthoriftheyarefifteenkilometerssouth.Areweatacorneroftheplayingfieldorinthecenter?Arethereenemiesinthehighlands?Northofthehighlands?CassiusandIagree.Wemustscout.We split up. Cassius and I head to Phobos and then move

counterclockwise.LeaandRoquestriketoDeimosandscoutclockwise.We’retomeetatdusk.Wedon’tseeasoulfromthetopofPhobos.Thelowlandsareemptyof

horsesandCeres’sfighters,andthehighlandrangetothesouthisfulloflochsandgoats.Southeast,atopahighdwarfmountain,weglimpsepartoftheGreatwoodstothesouthandsoutheast.Anarmyofgiantscouldbehidingthereforallweknow,andwecan’tinvestigate;itwouldtakehalfadaytocoverthedistancetoevenmakeitclosetothetreeline.Sometenkilometersfromourcastle,wefindaweatherwornstonefort

uponalowhillguardingapass.Insideisarusticsurvivalboxofiodine,food,a compass, rope, sixdurobags,a toothbrush, sulfurmatches,andsimplebandages.Westoretheitemsinacleardurobag.So supplies have been hidden about the valley. Something tells me

there are more important items hidden in the countryside than littlesurvivorkits.Weapons?Transportation?Armor?Technology?Theycan’tmeanforustomakewarwithsticksandstonesandmetaltools.Andiftheydon’twantus tokill eachother, stunweaponsmust soon replaceourmetalones.We earn nasty sunburns that first day. The mist chills them as we

return.Titusandhispack, sixnow,have just returned froma fruitlessincursiontotheplains.They’vekilledtwogoatsbutdon’thaveafiretocookwith,sinceSevroslippedoffsomewhere.Idon’ttellthemaboutmymatches.CassiusandIagreethatTitus, ifhewantstobethebigman,shouldatleastbeabletoconquerfire.Sevro,whereverheis,mustagreeaswell.Titus’sboyshitmetalonstone trying tocreatesparks,but thestonesofthecastledon’tspark.CleverProctors.Titus’s packmakes the dregs, the lowDrafts, fetchwood despite the

factthattheyhavenofires.Theyallgohungrythatnight.OnlyRoqueandLeadon’t.Theygetsomeofoursurvivalbars.IlikethepaireveniftheyareGolds,andIexcusebefriendingthembytellingmyselfthatIdoitonlytobuildmyowntribe.CassiusseemstothinkthatfastmidDraft

girl, Quinn, will be useful. But he canmake himself think that aboutmostprettygirls.Thetribesgrow,andthefirstlessonisalreadyunderway.Antonia finds friends with a squat, sour, curlyheaded fellow named

Cipio, and she manages to send groups armed with shovels and axesfound in the castle to garrisonDeimos andPhobos.Thegirlmaybe aspoiledwitch,butatleastsheisn’tstupid.ThenTitus’spackstealstheiraxesastheysleepandIrevisemyopinion.CassiusandIscouttogether.Onthethirdday,weseesmokerisingin

the distance, maybe some twenty kilometers to the east. It is like abeacon in thedusk.Enemy scoutingpartieswouldbeout likeus. If itwerecloserorwehadhorses,wewouldinvestigate.Orifwehadmoremen,wemightsetoutovernightandplanaraidforslaves.Thedistanceandour lackofcoherencemakeall thedifference.Betweenusandthesmokeare ravines andgulches that couldhidewarbands.Then there’smanykilometersofplainstowalkexposed.Wewon’tmakethetrek.NotwhensomeHouseshavehorses.Idon’ttellCassiusthis,butIamafraid.Thehighlands feelsafe,but justout there in the landscapebeyondarerovingbandsofpsychoticgodlings.GodlingsIdonotwanttorunacrossquiteyet.ThethoughtofmeetingotherHouses ismadeall themoreterrifying

bytheideathatevenhomeisnotsafe.It’slikeOctaviaauLunealwayssays:nomancanpursueanyendeavorinthefaceoftribalwarfare.Wecan’taffordtoleaveTitusalonefortoolong.He’salreadystolenberriesLeaandQuinncollected.AndthismorninghetriedtousethestandardonQuinntoseeifitcouldmakeslavesforhisraidingpartiesoutoftheHouse’sownmembers.Itcouldn’t.“Wehave tobind theHouse together somehow,”Cassius tellsmeas

wescoutthenorthernhighlands.“TheInstituteiswithusfortherestofourlives.Ifwelose,wemaynevergainposition,ever.”“Andifwe’reenslavedduringthecourseofthegame?”Iask.Helooksworriedlyoveratme.“Whatworselosscouldtherebe?”AsifIneededmoremotivation.“Yourfatherwonhisyear,Iwager.HewasPrimus?”Iask.Tobean

Imperator,he’dhavetohavewonhisyear.“Right.Alwaysknewhewonhisyear,thoughIhadnoslaggingidea

whatthatmeanttillwegothere.”

Weboth agree that in order to bind ourHouse back together, Titusmustgo.But it is futile to fighthimoutright; that chancepassedafterthefirstday.Histribehasgrowntoolarge.“Isaywekillhiminhissleep,”Cassiussuggests.“YouandIcoulddoit.”Hiswordschillme.Wemakenodecision,yetthepropositionservestoremindme thatheand Iaredifferent creatures.Orarewe really?Hiswrath is a cruel, cold thing.Yet I never see the anger again, not evenaroundTitus.He’sall smilesand laughterandchallengingmembersofTitus’spacktoracesandwrestlingwhentheyaren’tgoingoutonraids—justasIamaroundmyenemies.YetwhileI’mregardedwarilybymost,CassiusislovedbyallexceptTitus’spack.He’sevenstartedsneakingoffwithQuinn. I likeher.Shekilledadeerwithatrap,thentoldastoryabouthowshekilledthethingwithher teeth. Even showedus evidence—hair betweenher teeth andgumsalongwithbitemarkson thedeer.We thoughtwehadaprettierSevroonourhandstillshelaughedtoohardtogoonwiththetalltale.Cassiushelpedhergetthedeerhairoutofherteeth.Ilikeacommittedliar.Conditionsworseninthefirstfewdays.Peopleremainhungrybecausewe’veyet tobuilda fire in thecastle,andhygiene isquickly forgottenwhentwoofourgirlsaresnatchedupbyCereshorsemenastheybathein the river just beneath our gate. TheGolds are confusedwhen eventheirfineporesbegincloggingandtheygainpimples.“Lookslikeabeesting!”RoquelaughstoCassiusandme.“Oraradial,distantsun!”Ipretendtobefascinatedbyit,asthoughIdidn’thavethemallmyRedlife.Cassiusleansforwardtoinspectit.“Brotherman,thatisjust—”ThenRoquepopsthepimplerightintoCassius’sface,causinghimtoreelbackandgagfromdisgust.Quinnfallsovergiggling.“Idowonder sometimes,”Roquebegins afterCassiushas recovered,“astothepurposeofallthis.Howcanthisbethemostefficientmethodoftestingourmerit,ofmakingusintobeingswhocanruletheSociety?”“And do you ever come to a conclusion?” Cassius asks warily. Hekeepshisdistancenow.“Poetsneverdo,”Isay.

Roquechuckles.“Unlikemostpoets,Isometimesmanage.AndIhaveouranswertothis.”“Spititout,”Cassiusurges.“As though I wasn’t going to without instruction from our residentprimadonna.”Roquesighs.“Theyhaveusherebecause thisvalleywashumanitybeforeGoldruled.Fractured.Disunitedeveninourveryowntribe.Theywantustogothroughtheprocessthatourforefatherswentthrough. Step by step, this gamewill evolve to teach us new lessons.Hierarchies within the game will develop. We’ll have Reds, Golds,Coppers.”“Pinks?”Cassiusaskshopefully.“Makessense,”Isay.“Oh,thatwouldberipestrange,”Cassiuslaughs,twistinghiswolfringonhisfinger.“Mothersandfatherswouldbethrowingfits if thatwenton.ProbablywhyTitusleersatthegirls.Helikelywantsatoy.Speakingoftoys,wheredidhesendVixus?”Ilaugh.Vixus,likelythemostdangerousofTitus’sfollowers,andtheothers departed nearly two hours ago on Titus’s orders to use PhobosTower’sheightadvantagetoscouttheplainsinpreparationforaraidonHouseCeres.“It’dbebesttohaveVixusonoursideifwemakeaplay,”Isay.“He’sTitus’srighthand.”Roquecontinuesonadifferenttrainofthought.“I…don’tknowaboutPinks,”Roquesays.TheideaofaGoldbeingaPinkoffendshim.“But…therestissimple.ThisisamicrocosmoftheSolarSystem.”“Seems to me like capture the flag with swords, if you recall thatgame,” I reply. I neverplayed the sport, butmy studyingwithMatteobrought me up to speed on the games these children played in theirparents’gardens.“Mhm.” Cassius nods. He shoves a mock-serious finger in Roque’schest.“Agreed.Soyoucantakeyourquicktalkandputitwherethesundarenotshine,Roque.Wetwogreatmindshavedecided.It’sagameofcapturetheflag.”“I see.” Roque laughs. “Not all men can understand metaphor andsubtlety like me. But do not fear, muscular friends, I will be here toguideyouthroughthemind-bendingthings.Forinstance,Icantellyou

thatourfirsttestwillbetopiecetheHousebacktogetheragainbeforeanenemycomesa-knocking.”“Hell,”Imutter,lookingoutovertheedgeoftheparapet.“Somethinginyourbum?”Cassiusasks.“Lookslikethegamejuststarted.”Ipointdownward.Across the glen, just where the forest meets the grass plain, Vixus

drags a girl by her hair. The first slave of HouseMars. And far frombeing revolted, I’m jealous. Jealous that I did not capture her. Titus’sminiondid,andthatmeansthatTitusnowwieldscredibility.

23

FRACTURE

Thoughweallstillsleepunderthesameroof,ittookonlyfourdaysfortheHousetodissolveintofourtribes.Antonia,apparentlythescionofafamilythatownsasizableasteroidbelt,getsthemidDrafters:thetalkers,thewhiners, thebrains, thedependents, thewimps, thesnobs,andthePoliticos.TitusdrawsmostlyhighDraftsormidDrafts—thephysical specimens,

the violent, the fast, the intrepid, the prototypically intelligent, theambitious, theopportunists, theobvious selection forHouseMars.Theprodigy pianist, quiet Cassandra, is his. So is raspy Pollux and thepsychoticVixus,whoshiverswithpleasureat themere ideaofputtingmetalintoflesh.IfCassiusand Ihadbeenmorepolitical,wemighthavemanagedto

stealthehighDraftsfromTitus.Hell,wemighthavehadeveryonereadytofollowifwejusttoldthemtheyhadtoobey.Afterall,CassiusandIwere the strongest forabriefmoment,but thenwegaveTitus time tointimidateandAntoniatimetomanipulate.“DamnedAntonia,”Isay.Cassiuslaughsandshakeshisgoldenheadasweboundeastalongthe

highlandsinsearchofmorehiddencachesofsupplies.Mylonglegscancoverakilometerinjustoveraminute.“Oh,youcometoexpectthesethingsfromher.Ifourfamilieshadn’t

spentholidaystogetherwhenwewerelittlethings,Imighthavecalledheroutasademokratonthefirstday.Butshe’shardlythat.Morelike

Caesaror…whatdidtheycallthem,Presidents?—atyrantinnecessity’sclothing.”“She’saturdintheswillbowl,”Isay.“Whatthegoryslagdoesthatmean?”Cassiuslaughs.UncleNarolcouldhavetoldhim.“Sorry?Oh.Heardit inYorktononcefromahighRed.Meansshe’saflyinthewine.”“A highRed?” Cassius snorts. “One of my nannies was a highRed. Iknow.Odd.ShouldhavebeenaBrown.But thewomanwould tellmestoriesasItriedtogotosleep.”“That’snice,”Isay.“Ithoughtheranuppitybugger.TriedtotellMothertomakehershutup and leaveme alone, because all she wanted to do was talk aboutvales and dreary romances that always end in some sort of sadness.Depressingcreature.”“Whatdidyourmotherdowhenyoucomplained?”“Mother? Ha! She clapped me on the head and said there’s alwayssomethingtolearnfromanybody.EvenahighRed.SheandFatherliketopretendthey’reprogressives.Confusesme.”Heshakeshishead.“ButYorkton.Juliancouldn’tbelieveyouwerefromYorkton.”Thedarknessreturnsinme.EventhinkingofEodoesn’tdispelit.Eventhinking of my noble mission and all the license it gives me doesn’tbanish the guilt. I’m the only one who shouldn’t feel guilty for thePassage,yetbesidesRoque,IthinkIamtheonlyonewhodoes.IlookatmyhandsandrememberJulian’sblood.Cassiuspointsupsuddenlytotheskysouthwestofus.“Whatthegoryhell?”DozensofblinkingmedBotspour fromfloatingOlympus’scastle.Weheartheirdistantwhine.Proctorsflickerafterthemlikeflamingarrowstoward the distant southern mountains. Whatever has happened, onethingiscertain:chaosreignsintheSouth.Althoughmytribecontinuestosleepinthecastle,we’vemovedfromthehightowertothegatehousesowedon’thavetorubshoulderswithTitus’slot.Tokeepsafe,weleaveourcookingasecret.We meet our tribe for supper by a loch in the northern highlands.TheyarenotallhighDrafts.Wehavesome—CassiusandRoque.Butthennooneaboveseventeenthpick.We’vesomemidDrafts—QuinnandLea

—but the rest are the dregs, the lowDrafts—Clown, Screwface,Weed,Pebble, andThistle.This bothersCassius even though thedregsof theInstituteare still certifiably superhumancomparedwith the restof theColors. They are athletic. They are resilient. They never ask you torepeat yourself unless they are making a point. And they accept myorders,evenanticipatingwhatnextI’llaskthemtodo.Icredittheirlessprivilegedupbringings.Most are smarter than I. But I have that unique thing they callslangsmarts,provenbymyhighscoreintheextrapolationalintelligencetest.Not that itmatters, Ihave sulfurmatchesand thatmakesme thegodPrometheus.NeitherAntonianorTitushavefireasfarasIknow.SoI’mtheonlyonewhocanfillbellies.Imakeeachofmytribekillgoatsorsheep.Nooneisallowedtofreeload,eventhoughScrewfacetrieshisbest.Theydon’tnoticemyhands tremblingwhen I cutmy first goat’sthroatwithaknife.There’ssomuchtrustinthebeast’seyes,followedbyconfusionasitdies,stillthinkingmeitsfriend.Thebloodiswarm,likeJulian’s.Theneckmuscletough.Ihavetosawwiththedullknife,justas Lea doeswhen she kills her first sheep, squealing as she does it. ImakeherskinittoowithThistle’shelp.Andwhenshecannot,Itakeherhandsintomyownandguideheralong,givinghermystrength.“Daddygonnahavetocutupyourmeatforyoutoo?”Thistletaunts.“Shutit,”Roquesays.“She can fight her own battles, Roque. Lea, Thistle asked you aquestion.”Leablinksoveratme,wideeyesconfused.“Askheranother,Thistle.”“What’sgonnahappenwhenwegetinatightspotwithTitus,willyousquealthentoo?Child.”ThistleknowswhatIwanthertodo.Iaskedhertodoitthirtyminutesago,beforeIbroughtthegoattoLea.ImotionmyheadatLeatoThistle.“Yougoingtocry?”Thistleasks.“Wipeyoureyesin—”Leasnarlsandjumpsather.Thetworollaroundpunchingeachotherintheface.It’snotlongbeforeThistle’sgotLeainachoke-hold.Roquestirsbesideme.Quinnpullshimbackdown.Lea’sfacegoespurple.Herhands slap at Thistle’s. Then she passes out. I give Thistle a nod ofthanks.Thedarkfacedgirlgivesaslownod.Lea’s shoulders are squarer the next morning. She even mustersenoughcourage toholdRoque’shand.Shealso claimed tobeabetter

cookthantherestofus;sheisn’t.Roquetrieshishandbuthe’shardlyany better. Eating their grub is like taking down stringy, dry sponges.EvenQuinn,withallherstories,can’tmusteruparecipe.We cook goat and deer meat over our camp kitchen six kilometers

from the castle, andwe do it at night in the gulches so the light andsmokecannotbeseen.Wedonotkillthesheep;insteadwecollectanddeposittheminanorthernfortforsafekeeping.Icouldbringmoreovertomytribewiththefood,butthefoodisasbigadangerasitisaboon.WhatTitusandhiskillerswoulddoifhefoundthatwehadfire,food,cleanwater…I am returning to the castlewith Roque from a scouting trip to the

southwhenwehearnoisescomingfromasmallgroveoftrees.Creepingcloser,weheargruntsandhackingsounds.Expectingtoseeawolfpackravaging a goat, we peer through the brush and find four of Titus’ssoldiers squatting around a deer corpse. Their faces are bloody, eyesdark and ravenous as they tear strips out of the dead deerwith theirknives. Fivedayswithout fire, fivedaysof badberries, and theyhavealreadyturnedintosavages.“We have to give them matches,” Roque tells me afterward. “The

stonesheredon’tsparkwithflint.”“No.Ifwegivethemmatches,thenTituswillhaveevenmorepower.”“Doesitmatteratthispoint?Theyaregoingtogetsickiftheykeep

eatingrawmeat.Theyalreadyaresick!”“Sotheyshittheirpants,”Igrunt.“Thereareworsethings.”“Tellme,Darrow.WoulditbeworsetohaveTitusinpowerandhave

MarsstrongorforDarrowtobeinpowerwithMarsweak?”“Betterforwhom?”Iaskpetulantly.Heonlyshakeshishead.“Let them rot their gory bellies,” is Cassius’s opinion. “They made

theirbeds.Nowletthemshitinthem.”Myarmyagrees.Iamfondofmyarmy,thedregs,thelowDrafts.Theyaren’tasentitled

orwell-bredasthehighDrafts.MostremembertothankmewhenIgivethem food—at first they didn’t. They don’t prance off after Titus onmidnight axe-raids simply because it gets their jollies off. No, theyfollowusbecauseCassius isascharismaticasthesunand, inhis light,theshadowIcastlookslikeitknowswhatit’sdoing.Itdoesn’t.It,like

me,wasborninamine.Still, itdoesseemlikeIhavesomestrategy.Ihaveusmakemapsofour territory on digislates we found in a waterlogged cellar at thebottom of a ravine, but we still have no weapons other than myslingBladeandseveralknivesandsharpenedsticks.Sowhateverstrategywehaveisbasedinacquiringinformation.Funnythingis,onlyonetribehasasilvershit’sideawhatisgoingon.Andit’snotours.It’snotAntonia’s.Anditsureashellisn’tTitus’s.It’sSevro’s,andI’mnearlycertainhe’stheonlymemberinthattribe,unlesshe’s adoptedwolvesbynow. It is hard to say if hehasorhasn’t.OurHousedoesnothavefamilydinners.Thoughoccasionallywe’llseehimrunningalong thehillsidesatnight inhiswolfskin, looking,asCassiusputitbest,“likesomesortofhairydemonchildonhallucinogens.”AndonceRoqueevenheardsomething,notawolf,howlingintheshroudedhighlands. Some days Sevro walks around all normalish—insultingeverythingthatmoves,exceptforQuinn.Hemakesanexceptionforher,deliveringmeats and ediblemushrooms instead of insults. I think he’ssweetonhereventhoughshe’ssweetonCassius.Weaskhertotellusstoriesabouthim,butshewon’t.She’sloyal,andmaybe that’swhy she remindsme of home. She’s always telling goodstories,mostallofthemcertainlygildedlies.Alifesparkisinher,justlike the one that was inmywife. She is the last of us to call Goblin“Sevro.”She’salsotheonlyonewhoknowswherehelives.Evenwithallour scouting,wecan’t finda traceofwherehe sleeps. For all I know,he’souttakingscalpsbeyondthehighlands.IknowTitushassentscoutstostalkhim,butIdon’tthinktheyaresuccessful.Theycan’tevenfollowme.IknowthatrubsTitusraw.“I think he’s wanking off in the bushes,” Cassius chuckles. “Justwaitingforustoallkilleachother.”It’s when Lea comes limping back to the castle that Roque seeksCassiusandmeout.“Theybeather,”hesays.“Notbad,buttheykickedherinthestomachandtookherday’slabor.”“Who?”Cassiusbristles.“Who’stheslagger?”“Doesn’tmatter.Whatmatters is theyarehungry.Sostopplayingatan eye for an eye. This can’t go on,” Roque says. “Titus’s boys arestarving.Whatdoyouexpect they’ddo?Hell, thebigbrute ishunting

Goblinbecauseheneeds fireand food. Ifwe justgive that tohim,wecanunite theHouse,maintain civility.Maybe evenAntoniawill bringhertribetoreason.”“Antonia?Reason?”Cassiusasks,guffawing.“Even if that happens, Titus will still be themost powerful,” I say.

“Andthat’snotthecureforanything.”“Ah. Yes. That’s something you can’t abide, someone else having

power.Finethen.”Roquetugsathislonghair.“TalktoVixusorPollux.Take away his captains if you must. But heal the House, Darrow.Otherwise,we’lllosewhenanotherHousecomesknocking.”OnthesixthdayItakehisadvice.KnowingTitusisoutraiding,Irisk

seeking Vixus in the keep. Unfortunately, Titus returns earlier thanexpected.“You’relookinglivelyandspry,”hesaystomebeforeIcanfindVixus

in the keep’s stone halls. He blocks my path with his large body—shoulders nearly spanning thewidth of thewall. I feel another in thehallwaybehindme.Vixusandtwoothers.Mystomachsinksa little. Itwasstupidtodothis.“Whereareyougoing,ifImayask?”“I wanted to compare our scouting maps to the main map in the

commandroom,”Ilie,knowingIhaveadigislateinmypocket.“Oh,youwanted to compare scoutingmaps to themainmap… for

thegoodofMars,nobleDarrow?”“Whatothergoodisthere?”Iask.“Weareallonthesameside,no?”“Oh, we are on the same side,” he says. Titus booms an insincere

laugh. “Vixus, ifweareon the sameside,don’tyou think itwouldbebestifwesharedhislittlemapswithoneanother?”“Itwouldbefortheverybest,”Vixusagrees.“Mushrooms.Maps.All

thesame.”SoheassaultedlittleLea.Hiseyesaredead.Likeraveneyes.“Yes.SoI’lltakealookforyou,Darrow.”Titussnatchesthescouting

mapsfromme.There’snothingIcandotostophim.“You’re welcome to them,” I say. “So long as you know there are

enemyfirestothefareastandlikelyenemiesintheGreatwoodstothesouth.Raidallyoulike.Justdon’tgetcaughtwithyourpantsdown.”Titussniffstheair.Hewasn’tlisteningtome.“Sincewe are sharing, Darrow.”He sniffs again, closer tomy neck.

“Perhapsyou’llsharewithuswhyyousmelllikewoodsmoke.”Istiffen,notknowingwhattodo.

“Look at him squirm. Look at himweave a lie.” Titus’s voice is alldisgust. “I can smellyourdeceit. Smell the liesdripping fromyou likesweat.”“Like a woman in heat,” Pollux says sardonically. He shrugs

apologeticallyatme.“Disgusting,”Vixussneers.“He’savile thing.Awretched,womanish

thing.”Idon’tknowwhyIthoughtI’dbeabletoturnhimonTitus.“You’re a little parasite,” Titus continues. “Nibbling away atmorale

becauseyouwillnotcometoheel;waitingformynobleboysandgirlstostarve.”They’reclosinginonmefrombehind,fromthesides.Titusishuge.PolluxandVixusarecruel,nearlyasbigasI.“You’reawretchedcreature.Aworminourspine.”Ishrugcasually,tryingtoletthemthinkI’mnotworried.“Wecanfixthis,”Isay.“Oh?”Titusasks.“Thesolutionissimple,bigman,”Icounsel.“Bringyourboysandgirls

home.StopraidingCereseverydaybeforesomeotherHousecomes inandslaughtersyouall.Thenwe’lltalkaboutfire.Aboutfood.”“Youthinkyoucantelluswhattodo,Darrow?Thatthethrustofit?”

Vixusasks.“Thinkyou’rebetterbecauseyouscoredhigheronastupidlittletest?BecausetheProctorschoseyoufirst?”“Hedoes,”Tituschuckles.“HethinkshedeservesPrimus.”Vixus’s hawkish face leans close to mine, lips sneering each word.

Handsomeinrepose,hislipspeelbackcruellynow,andhisbreathstinksashelooksmeover,measuringmeandtryingtomakemethinkhe’snotimpressed.Hesnortsacontemptuouslaugh.Iseehimshiftinghisheadtospitonmyface. I lethim.Theglobofphlegmhitsanddripsslowlydownmycheektowardmylips.Tituswatcheswithawolfishsmile.Hiseyesglimmer;Vixus looksto

himforencouragement.Polluxcomescloser.“You’reapampered littleprick,”Vixussays.Hisnosenearlybrushes

mine. “So that’s what I’m gonna take from you, goodman—your littleprick.”“Or you could let me leave,” I say. “You seem to be blocking the

door.”“Oho!”helaughs,lookingathismaster.“He’stryingtoshowhe’snot

afraid,Titus.Tryingtoavoidafight.”Helooksasmewiththosegolden,

dead eyes. “I’ve broken uppity boys like you in the dueling clubs athousandtimes.”“Youhave?”Iaskincredulously.“Broken them like twigs. And then taken their girls for sport.WhatembarrassmentsI’vemadetheminfrontoftheirfathers.WhatweepingmessesImakeofboyslikeyou.”“Oh,Vixus,”Isaywithasigh,keepingthetrembleofangerandfearoutofmyvoice.“Vixus,Vixus,Vixus.Therearenoboyslikeme.”IlookbackatTitustomakesureoureyesarejoinedwhenIcasually,asifIweredancing,loopmyHelldiverhandaroundandslamitintotheside of Vixus’s neck at the jugular with the force of a sledgehammerstrike.Itruinshim,yetIhithimwithanelbow,aknee,myotherhand,ashefalls.Hadhislegsbeenanchoredbetter,thefirststrikemighthavesnapped his neck in half. Instead, he cartwheels sideways in the lowgravity, goinghorizontal and shuddering frommy rainingblowsashehitstheground.Hiseyesgoblank.Fearrisesinmybelly.Mybodyissostrong.TitusandtheothersaretoostartledbythesuddenviolencetostopmeasIspinpasttheiroutstretchedhandsandrundownthehalls.Ididnotkillhim.Ididnotkillhim.

24

TITUS’SWAR

IdidnotkillVixus.ButIkilledthechanceofunitingtheHouse.Isprintdown the keep’s winding stairwells. Shouts behind me. I pass Titus’sloungingstudents;they’resharingbitsofrawfishtheymanagedtospearfrom the river. They could tripme if they knewwhat I’ve done. Twogirlswatchmegobyand,hearing their leaders shouts, are too late inmoving. I’mpast theirhands,past thekeep’s lowergatehouseand intothemainsquareofthecastle.“Cassius!”Icallupatthegatehousetothecastlewheremymensleep.

“Cassius!”Hepeekshisheadoutthewindowandseesmyface.“Oh.Shit.Roque!”heshouts.“Ithappened!RaisetheDregs!”Three of Titus’s boys and one of his girls chase afterme across the

courtyard.They’reslowerthanI,butanotheriscomingfromherpostonthe wall to cut me off, Cassandra. Her short hair jingles with bits ofmetalshe’swovenin.Effortlessly,shehopsdowntheeightmetersfromthe parapet, an axe in hand, and races to intersect my path before Ireachthestairs.Hergoldenwolfringglimmersintheebbinglight.She’sabeautifulsight.Then my entire tribe pours out of the gatehouse. They bring their

makeshift packs, their knives and the beating sticks we carved fromfelledbranches taken fromourwoods.But theydonot set towardme.Theyarebright,sotheycrankopenthehugedoublegatesthatseparatethe castle from the long sloping path leading down to the glen. Mistseeps through the open gate and they disappear into the murk. Only

Quinnisleftbehind.Quinn, the fastest ofMars. She bounds along the cobblestone like agazelle,comingtomyaid.Herbeatingsticktwirlsintheair.Cassandradoesn’t see her. A long golden ponytail flops in the chill night air asQuinnwindsup,asmileonherface,andblindsidesCassandrafromtheflank,hittingherfull-forceinthekneewithherbeatingstick.ThecrackofwoodonstrongGoldboneisloud.SoisCassandra’sscream.Herlegdoesn’tbreak,but she flipsonto thecobblestone.Quinndoesnot slowherstride.Sheswoopsinbesideme,andtogetherweleaveTitus’spackbehind.Wecatchupwiththeothersinthebowloftheglen.Settingacrosstheruggedhills,weaimtowardournorthernfortinthedeepmist-shroudedhighlands.Vaporclingstoourhair,drippingoffinpearls.Wereachthefortwellpastmidnight.Itisacavernous,barrentowerthatleansoveraravine like adrunkenwizard. Lichen covers the thickgray stone.Mistswaddles its parapets and wemake our first meal of the birds in theeavesof the single tower. Someescape. I hear theirwings in thedarknight.Ourcivilwarhasbegun.

Unfortunately,Titusisnotastupidenemy.Hedoesnotcomeforusaswethoughthewould.Ihadhopedhewouldcometryandlaysiegetoournorthfort, thathis armywould seeour fires inside the stonewallsand smell themeat as it sizzled in fat. The sheepwe gathered earlierwould have lasted usweeks,months if we hadwater.We could havefeastedeverynight.Theywouldhavebrokenthen.TheywouldhaveleftTitusbehind.ButTitusknowsofmyweapon,fire,soheavoidsussothathisboysandgirlscannotseewhatluxurieswehave.He does not let his tribe alone long enough to think. Frenzy, war,numbthesenseinman.SotheyraidHouseCeresfromthesixthdayon,andhecreatestrophiesforactsofbraveryandviolence,givingboysandgirlsmarks in blood on their cheeks that they bear proudly.We slinkalongwatchingtheirwarparties fromthebrushandthetallgrassesoftheplains.SometimeswegainavantageonthesouthernhighlandpeaksnearPhobos.FromtherewewitnessthesiegeofHouseCeres.AroundHouseCeres, the smoke rises in a sullen crown.Apple treesare hewn down.Horses stolen. Titus’s raiders even lasso a torch from

oneof theCeres ramparts in an attempt to bring fire toMars’s castle.Cereshorsemen ride themdownwithpails ofwaterbefore they reachhome.TitusshrieksinragewhenthishappensandtheCereshorsesflyby, dashing the flamewith water before circling home.With his bestsoldier,Vixus,heupendsoneofthehorseswithatreebranchfashionedlikeapike.Theriderspills fromthesaddleandPollux isonher.TheytaketwomoreslavesthatdayandTitustakesthehorseforhimself.It is on our eighth day in the Institute that I watch the siege withCassiusandRoque fromthehighlands.Today,Titus rides thecapturedhorsebeneaththewallofHouseCereswithalasso,daringtheirarcherstoshoottheirarrowsathimandhishorse.Onepoorgirlleansherheadouttogetabetteranglewithherbow.Shedrawsthearrowbacktoherear,aims,andjustbeforesheisabouttoloosethearrow,Titushurlshislassoupward.It flailsthroughtheair.Shejerksback.Notfastenough.ThelassoloopsherneckandTituskickshishorseawayfromthewall,tightening the lasso.Her friends scramble tograbher.Theyhold tightbutareforcedtoletgobeforehernecksnaps.Her friends’ screams echo across the plains as she’s jerked violentlydownfromthetopofthewallanddraggedbyTitusbacktohischeeringfollowers.There,Cassandrakicksthegirltoherkneesandenslavesherwithour standard.The flames from theburning crops lickup into thetwilightwhereseveralProctorshoverwithflagonsofwineandatrayofsomeraredelicacy.“Andviolentheartssetharshestflame,”Roquemurmursfromhisknee.“He’sbold,”Isaydeferentially,“andhelikesthis.”HiseyessparkledwhenIstruckVixusinthethroat.Cassiusnodsalong.“Toomuch.”“Heislethal,”Cassiusagrees,buthemeanssomethingdifferent.Ilookoverathim.There’sarawedgetohisvoice.“Andhe’saliar.”“Ishe?”Iask“Hedidn’tkillPriam.”Roquebecomesquiet.Smallerthanus,heseemsachildasheremainsonaknee.Hislonghairisheldinaponytail.Dirtcrustshisnails,whichscrabbleintyinghisshoesashelooksup.“Hedidn’tkillPriam,”Cassiusrepeats.Thewindmoansoverthehillsbehindus.Night comes slow today.Cassius’s cheeks sink into shadow;still,he’shandsome.“Theywouldn’thaveputPriamwithamonsterlikeTitus.Priam’sa leader,notawarlord.They’dputPriamwithsomeone

easylikeoneofourDregs.”I knowwhereCassius is goingwith this. It’s in thewayhewatches

Titus; the coldness in his eyes reminds me of a pitviper’s gaze as itfollowsitsprey.MyinsidesturnsourasIdoit,butIleadCassiusinthedirection he seems towant to go, inviting him to bite. Roque tilts hisheadatme,noticingsomethingstrangeinmyinteractionwithCassius.“AndtheywouldgiveTitussomeoneelse,”Isay.“Someoneelse,”Cassiusrepeats,nodding.Julian,he is thinking.Hedoesn’t say it.Neitherdo I.Better to let it

festerinhismind.Letmyfriendthinkourenemykilledhisbrother.Thisisawayout.“Bloodbegetsbloodbegetsbloodbegetsblood…”Roque’swordsintothe

wind,whichcarrieswest toward the longplainand toward the flamesthatdanceinthelowhorizon.Beyond,themountainshunkercoldanddark. Snow already gathers on their peaks. It’s a sight to steal one’sbreath,yetRoque’seyesneverleavemyface.

I finditasmallpleasurethatTitus’sslavesarenotveryeffectivealliesforhim.FarfrombeingindoctrinatedasthoroughlyasaRedmightbe,thesenewlymade slavesare stubborncreatures.They followordersorriskbeinglabeledShamedaftergraduation.Buttheypurposefullyneverdomoreorlessthanhedemands;itistheiractofrebellion.Theyfightwhere he tells them to fight,whomhe tells them to fight, evenwhentheyshouldretreat.Theygathertheberriesheshowsthem,eveniftheyknow theyarepoisonous, andpile stones till thepile falls over.But ifthere isanopengate leading to theenemy’s fortressandTitusdoesn’ttellthemtogointoit,they’llstandthereandpicktheirbutts.Despite the addition of slaves and the razing of Ceres’s crops and

orchards,Titus’sforce,whichisquitesoundatviolence,ispitifulwhentheyattempttodoanythingelse.Hismenemptytheirbowelsinshallowlatrines or behind trees or in the river in an attempt to poison thestudentsofHouseCeres.Oneofhisgirlsevenfallsinafteremptyingherbowelsintothewater.Sheflailsaroundinherownwaste.It’sasceneofcomedy, but laughter has become seldom except from the students ofCeres.Theysitbehindtheirhighwallsandcatchfishfromtheriverandeatbreadsfromtheirovensandhoneyfromtheirapiaries.

Inresponse to the laughter,Titusdragsoneof themaleslavesup infront of the gate. The slave is a tall one with a long nose and amischievoussmilemeantfortheladies.HethinksthisisallagametillTituscutsoffoneofhisears.Thenhecriesforhismotherlikeayoungchild.Hewillnevercommandwarships.The Proctors, even House Ceres’s, do not stop the violence. Theywatchfromtheskyintwosandthrees,floatingaboutasmedBotswhinedownfromOlympustocauterizeawoundortreatsevereheadtrauma.On the twentieth morning of the Institute, the defenders throw abasketofbreadloavesdownasTitus’smenattempttobatterinthetallgatewithafelledtree.Thebesiegersendupfightingeachotherforthefood only to find that the bread was baked around razor blades. Thescreamslasttilltheafternoon.Titus’s reply comes just before night falls. With five newly mintedslaves,includingthemalewiththemissingear,heapproachesthegatetillhe’snearamileoff.Heparades in frontof theslaves,holdingfourlongsticks inhishand.Thesehegivestoeachof theslavesexceptthegirlhepulleddownfromtherampartswithalasso.With a lowbow to theCeres gate, hewaves a hand and orders theslavestocommencebeatingthegirl.LikeTitus,sheistallandpowerful,soitisdifficulttopityher.Atfirst.The slaves hit the girl gingerly with the initial swings. Then Titusremindsthemoftheshamethatwillforevermarktheirnamesiftheydonotobey; theyswingharder; theyaimfor thegirl’sgoldenhead.Theyhitherandhither tillher shoutshave long fadedandbloodmatsherblondehair.WhenTitusgrowsbored,hedragsthewoundedgirlbacktohiscampbyherhair.Sheslideslimplyovertheearth.Wewatchfromourplaceinthehighlands,andittakesLeaandQuinnboth to stopCassius from sprintingdown into theplains.Thegirlwilllive,Itellhim.Thesticksareallshow.RoquespitsbitterlyintothegrassandreachesforLea’shand.It’soddseeinghergivehimstrength.Thenextmorning,wediscoverthatTitus’sreplydidnotstopwiththebeating.Afterweretiredtoourcastle,Titussnuckback in thedeadofnight to hide the girl directly in front of the Ceres gate underneath athickblanketofgrass,gaggedandtied.Thenhehadoneofhis femalefollowers shriek during the night to pretend she was the slave at thecamp.Shescreamedofrapeandviolations.

Maybe thecapturedCeresgirl thought shewas safeunder thegrass.MaybeshethoughttheProctorswouldsaveherandshewouldgohometo mother and father, home to her equestrian lessons, home to herpuppiesandherbooks.Butintheearlydarkofmorningsheistrampledasriders,enragedbythefakescreams,gallopfromtheCeresfortresstorescue her fromTitus’smakeshift camp. They only learn of their follywhen they hear the medBots descending behind them to carry herbrokenbodyuptoOlympus.Sheneverreturns.StilltheProctorsdonotinterfere.I’mnotsurewhy

theyevenexist.Imisshome.Lykos,ofcourse,butalsotheplacewhereIwassafewith

Dancer,Matteo,andHarmony.

Soontherearenomoreslaves to take.HouseCeresdoesnotcomeoutafterdarkanymore,andtheirhighwallsareguarded.Thetreesoutsidethewallhaveallbeencutdown,buttherearecropsandmoreorchardsinsidetheirlongwalls.Breadstillbakesandtheriverstillflowswithintheirramparts.Tituscandonothingbutsavagetheirlandandstealwhatremainsoftheirapples.Mosthavebeensownwithneedlesandstingersfromwasps.Titushas failed.And so, asdo thoseof any tyrantafterafailedwar,hiseyesturninward.

25

TRIBALWAR

Thirty days into the Institute and I’ve not seen evidence of anotherenemyHouseexcept for thesmokesignsofdistant fires.HouseCeres’ssoldiers roam theeastern fringesofour land.They ridewith impunitynow that Titus’s tribe has retreated into our castle. Castle. No. It hasbecomeahovel.IcomeuponitwithRoqueintheearlymorning.Fogstillclingstothe

four spires and light struggles to penetrate the dreary sky of ourhighlandclimate.Soundsfrominsidethestonewallsechointothequietmorninglikecoinsrattlingaboutinatincan.Titus’svoice.He’scursingathistribesmentogetup.Apparentlyfewdo.Someonetellshimtogoslag himself, and it’s little wonder. The bunk beds are the only realamenitythecastlehas,nodoubtputtheretoencourageslothfulness.Mytribe has no such amenities; we sleep on stone curled next to oneanotheraroundourcracklingfires.Oh,whatI’dgiveforabedagain.Cassius and I slink along the slanted dirt road that leads to the

gatehouse.Wecanhardlyevensee it, the fog is so thick.Moresoundsfrom inside. It seems like the slaves are up. I hear coughs, grumbling,andafewshouts.Alongcreakandtheclatterofchainsmeansthegateisopening.Cassiuspullsmeofftothesideoftheroad,tuckingusintothemistastheslavesshufflepast.Theirfacesarepallidinthelowlight.Hollowsmake homes in their sunken cheeks, and their hair has beendirtied.Mud-cakedskinaroundtheirSigils.HepassesnearenoughtomethatIsmellhisbodyodor.Istiffensuddenly,worriedhewillagainsmell

thesmokeonme,buthedoesn’t.Besideme,Cassiusisquiet,yetIfeelhisanger.We sneak back down the path and watch the slaves toil from therelativesafetyofthewoods.TheyarenotAureatesastheyscrubshitandscavengeforberries in thesharpthistlebushes.Oneor twoaremissingears.Vixus,recoveredfrommyattackexceptforahugepurplebruiseonhisneck,walksaroundslappingatthemwithalongstick.IfthetestistouniteafractiousHouse,Iamfailing.Asearlymorningfadesandappetiteschangewiththearrivalofwarmsunshine, Cassius and I hear a sound that makes our skin prickle.Screams. Screams from the high tower ofMars. They are a particularsort,akindtodarkenthespirits.When Iwasaboy inLykos,mymotherwas servingme soupatourstonefamilytablethenightofaLaureltide.Itwasayearaftermyfatherdied.KieranandLeannasatwithme,neitheryetolderthanten.Asinglelightunitflickeredonandoffabovethetable,soMumwasshroudedindarknessexceptherarmfromtheelbowdown.Thencamethescream,muffledbydistanceandthetwistsofourcaverntownship.Istillseehowthebrothquiveredintheladle,howmymother’shandshookwhensheheardit.Screams.Notofpain,butofhorror.

“Whathe’sdoingtothegirls…,”Cassiushissestomeasweslinkawayfromthecastleasnightdescends.“He’sabeast.”“Thisiswar,”Isay,thoughthewordssoundholloweveninmyownears.“It’s school!”heremindsme.“What ifTitusdid this toourgirls?ToLea…toQuinn?”Isaynothing.“Wewouldkillhim,”Cassiusanswersforme.“Wewouldkillhim,cuthisprickoffandshoveitinhismouth.”AndIknowhe’salsothinkingofwhatTitusmusthavedonetoJulian.DespiteCassius’smutterings, I takehisarmandpullhimaway fromthecastle.Thegatesare lockedagainst thenight.There isnothingwecando. I feelhelplessagain.HelplessaswhenUglyDan tookEo fromme.ButIamdifferentnow.Myhandsturntofists.IammorethanIwasthen.

Onourwaybacktoournorthfort,weseeaglimmerintheair.GoldengravBoots shimmer as Fitchnerdescends.He’s chewinggumandholdshisheartwhenheseesourevilglances.“WhateverdidIdo,youngfriends,toearnsuchglares?”“He’streatingthegirlslikeanimals!”Cassiusseethes.Veinsinhisneckstandout.“TheyareGoldsandheistreatingthemlikedogs,likePinks.”“Ifhe is treating them likePinks, then it isbecause theymeritednobetterinthislittleworldthanPinksdoinourbigworld.”“You’rejoking.”Cassiuscan’tunderstand.“TheyareGolds,notPinks.He’samonster.”“Thenproveyou’reamanand stophim,”Fitchner says. “As longashe’snotmurderingthemonebyone, it isnotourconcern.Allwoundsheal.Eventhese.”“That’salie,”Itellhim.I’llneverbehealedofEo.Thatpainwilllastforever. “Some things do not fade. Some things can never be maderight.”“Yetwedonothingbecausehehasmorefighters,”Cassiusspits.Anideasweepsoverme.“Wecanfixthat.”Cassiusturnstome.HehearsthedeadnessinmyvoicejustasIseeitin his eyeswhenhe speaks of Titus. That’s a peculiar thingwe share.We’remadeoffireandice—thoughIamnotsurewhichofusisiceandwhichisfire.Nevertheless,extremesruleusmorethanwe’dlike;thatiswhyweareofMars.“Youhaveaplan,”Cassiussays.Inodcoldly.Fitchnerwatchesustwoandhegrins.“Aboutgorydamntime.”

Theplan startswitha concessiononly someoneonceahusbandcouldmake. Cassius cannot stop laughing when I tell him the details. EvenQuinn snorts a laugh the nextmorning. Then she’s off, running like adeertoDeimosTowertobringmyformalapologytoAntonia.She’s tomeetmewithAntonia’s responseatoneofour supplycachesnear theFurorRiver,northofthecastle.Cassiusguardsournew fortwith the remainderofour tribe, incaseTitustriestoattackwhileRoqueandIgotothesupplycacheduringthe

day.Quinn does not come. Dusk does. Despite the dark,we trace thepathshewouldhavetakenfromDeimosTower.Wegotillwereachthetoweritself,whichsitsinthelowhillssurroundedbythickwoods.Fiveof Titus’s men lounge around its base. Roque grabs me and pulls medown into the woods’ brush. He points to a tree fifty meters distantwhereVixussitshiddeninwaitonahighbranch.DidtheycatchQuinn?No,she’stoofasttobecaught.Didsomeonebetrayus?Wereturntoourfortbyearlymorning.I’msureI’vebeenmoretired,

butIcan’trememberwhen.Blistersruinmyfeetdespitethefittedshoes,andmyneckpeelsfromlongdaysinthesun.Somethingiswrong.Leameetsmebythefort’sgate.ShehugsRoqueandlooksupatme

like I’m her father or something. She is not her usual timid self. Herbirdlikebodyshakesnotfromfear,butanger.“You have to kill that piece of filth, Darrow. You have to cut his

slaggingballsoff.”Titus.“Whathappened?”Ilookaround.“Lea.WhereisCassius?”Shetellsme.Titus captured Quinn as she was on her way back from the tower.

Theybeather.ThenTitussentoneofherearshere.Itwasmeantforme.TheythoughtQuinnwasmygirl,andTitusthinksheknowsmytemper.Theygotthereactiontheywanted,justnotfromme.Cassiuswas onwatch and as the others slept he snuck away to the

castletochallengeTitus.SomehowthebrilliantyoungmanwasarrogantenoughtothinkhundredsofyearsofAureatehonorandtraditionwouldsurvivethesicknessthathasconsumedTitus’stribeinonlyafewweeks.The Imperator’s son was wrong. And he is also unused to having hisheritagebeofsuchlittleconsequence.Intherealworld,hewouldhavebeensafe.Inthissmallone,heisnot.“Buthe’salive,”Isay.“Yeah,I’malive,youPixie!”Cassiusstumblesshirtlessoutofthefort.“Cassius!”Roquegasps.Hisfacepalessuddenly.Cassius’slefteyeisswollenshut.Lipsaresplit.Ribspurpleasgrapes.

His other eye is bloody. Three dislocated fingers shoot out like treeroots,andhisshoulderisodd.Theothersstareathimwithsuchsadness.Cassius was the Imperator’s boy—their shining knight. And now hisbody is a ruin, and the looks upon their faces, the pallid cast to theirskin, tell me that they have never before seen someone beautiful

mutilated.Ihave.Hesmellslikepiss.Hetriestoplayitoffassomelark.“TheybeattheslagoutofmewhenI challengedhim.Hitmewith a shovel on the side of thehead. Thenstoodaroundandhadthemselvesacirclepiss.Thentheytiedmeupinthat stinkhole keep, but Pollux set me free, like a good lad, and he’sagreedtoopenthegateifweneeditdone.”“Ididn’tthinkyouweresostupid,”Isay.“Ofcourseheis,hewantstobeoneoftheSovereign’sknights,”Roquemutters. “Andall theydo isduel.”Heshakeshis longhair.Dirtcruststheleatherbandthatholdsitinaponytail.“Youshouldhavewaitedforus.”“What’sdoneisdone,”Isay.“Wegoaheadwiththeplan.”“Fine,”Cassiussnorts.“Butwhenthetimecomes,Titusismine.”

26

MUSTANG

Part of Cassius is gone. That invincible boy I first met is somehowdifferent.Thehumiliationchangedhim.Ican’tdecidehow,though,asIstraightenhisfingersandhelphimfixhisshoulder.Hefallsdownfromthepain.“Thankyou,brother,”hesaystome,andcupsthesideofmyheadto

helphimselfup.Itisthefirsttimehesaysit.“Ifailedthetest.”Idon’tdisagree with him. “I went in there like a plum fool. If this wereanywhereelse,theywouldhavekilledme.”“Leastitdidn’tcostyouyourlife,”Isay.Cassiuschuckles.“Justmypride.”“Good.Somethingyouhaveinabundance,”Roquesayswithasmile.“Wehavetogetherback.”Cassius’sowngrimacefadesashelooksat

Roque,thenatme.“Quinn.Wehavetogetherbackbeforehetakesheruptohistower.”“Wewill.”Webloodywill.

CassiusandIgoeastaccordingtomyplan, farther thanwehavegonebefore.We stay to thenorthernhighlands,butwemake surewewalkalongthehighcrestsvisibletotheopenplainsbelow.Eastandeast,ourlonglegstakingusfastandfar.“Aridertothesoutheast,”Isay.Cassiusdoesn’tlook.Wepassthroughahumidglenwhereadarklochoffersusthechance

tocatchadrinkacross fromafamilyofdeerling.Mudcoversour legs.Bugsflitoverthecoldwater.TheearthfeelsgoodbetweenmyfingersasIbendtodrink.IdunkmyheadandjoinCassiusineatingsomeofouraginglamb.Itneedssalt.Mybellycrampsfromalltheprotein.“How far east of the castle do you reckon we are?” I ask Cassius,pointingbehindhim.“Maybetwentyklicks.Hardtopegit.Feelsfartherbutmylegsarejusttired.”HestraightensandlookswhereIpoint.“Ah.Gotit.”Agirlonadappledmustangwatchesusfromtheedgeoftheglen.Shehasalongcoveredbartiedtohersaddle.Can’tmakeoutherHouse,butI have seenherbefore. I rememberher like itwas yesterday.ThegirlwhocalledmeaPixiewhenIfelloffthatponyMatteoputmeon.“Iwantherhorsetorideback,”Cassiustellsme.Hecan’tseeouthislefteyebuthisbravadoisback,alittletooforcefully.“Hey,darling!”hecalls.“Shit,thathurtstheribs.Primeride!WhatHouseareyou?”I’mworriedaboutthis.Thegirlridestowithintenmeters,butshehasthesigilsonsleeveandneckcoveredwithtwolengthsofsewncloth.Herfaceisstreakedwiththreediagonallinesofblueberryjuicemixedwithanimalfat.Wedon’tknow if she is fromCeres. Ihopenot.Shecouldbe fromthe southernwoods,fromtheeast,fromthefarnortheasternhighlandseven.“Lo,Mars,”shesayssmugly,lookingatthesigilonourjackets.Cassiusbowspathetically.Idon’tbother.“Well,thisisswell.”Ikickastonewithmyshoe.“Lo…Mustang.Nicesigil.Andhorse.”Iletherknowhavingahorseissomethingrare.She is small, delicate. Her smile is not. Itmocks us. “What are youboysaboutinthehinterlands?Reapinggrain?”IpatmyslingBlade.“Wehaveenoughbackhome.”Igesturesouthofourcastle.Shesuppressesalaughatmyfeeblelie.“Sureyoudo.”“Iwillbeevenwithyou.”Cassiusforceshisbatteredfaceintoasmile.“You are stunningly beautiful. Youmust be from Venus. Hit me withwhatever isunder thatclothonyoursaddleand takemeback toyourfortress.I’llbeyourPinkifyoupromisenottosharemeandtokeepmewarm every night.” He takes an unsteady step forward. “And everymorning.”Hermustang takes four back till he gives up trying to steal

herhorse.“Well, aren’t you the charmer, handsome. And by that pitchfork inyourhand,youmustbeaprimefightertoo.”Shebatshereyelashes.Cassiuspuffsouthischestinagreement.Shewaitsforhimtounderstand.Thenhefrowns.“Yup. Uh-oh. You see, we didn’t have any tools in our strongholdexceptthosepertainingtoourdeity,sooooyoumusthaveencounteredHouseCeresalready.”Sheleansforwardinthesaddlesardonically.“Youdon’thavecrops.Youjustfoughtthosewhodo,andyoudon’thaveanybetter weapons, clearly, or youwould be carrying themwith you. SoCeresisinthesepartsaswell.Likelyinthelowlandsnearthewoodsforcrops.Ornearthatbigrivereveryoneistalkingabout.”She’sall laughingeyesandasmirkingmouthinafaceshapedlikeaheart.Hairsogoldenitsparklesinthesunandflowsdownherbackinbraids.“So you are in the woods?” she asks. “North in the highlands,probably.Oh,thisisfun!Howbadareyourweapons?Youclearlydon’thavehorses.WhatapoorHouse.”“Slag,”Cassiusmakesapointofsaying.“You seem pretty proud of yourself.” I put my slingBlade on myshoulder.Sheraisesahandandwigglesitbackandforth.“Sortof.Sortof.Moreproud than Handsome there should be. He’s full of tells.” I shift myweightonmytoestoseeifshenotices.Shemovesherhorseback.“Now,now,Reaper,areyougoingtotryandgetinmysaddletoo?”“Justtryingtoknockyououtofit,Mustang.”“Fancyarollinthemud,dowe?Well,howaboutIpromisetoletyouup here with me if you give me more clues as to where your castlesquats?Towers?Sprawls?Icanbeakindmaster.”She looks me up and down playfully. Her eyes sparkle like a fox’smight.Thisisstillagametoher,whichmeansherHouseisacivilplace.I’menviousasIexamineherinkind.Cassiusdidn’tlie;sheissomethingto lookat.But I’d ratherknockheroffhermustang.My feet are tiredandwe’replayingadangerousgame.“What Draft number were you?” I ask, wishing I’d paid moreattention.

“Higherthanyou,Reaper.IrememberMercurywantedyousomethingawful, but his Drafters wouldn’t let him pick you in the first round.Somethingaboutyourragemetric.”“Youwerehigherthanme?Soyou’renotMercurythen,becausethey

choseaboyinsteadofme,andyou’renotaJupiter,becausetheytookagorydamn monstrous kid.” I try to remember who else was chosenbeforeme,butIcan’t,soIsmile.“Maybeyoushouldn’tbesovain.ThenIwouldn’tknowwhatDraftyouwere.”Inoticetheknifeunderherblacktunic,butIstillcan’trememberher

from the Draft. Wasn’t paying attention. Cassius should haverememberedherthewayhelooksatgirls,butmaybehecanonlythinkofQuinnandhermissingear.Ourjobisdone.WecanleaveMustang.She’ssmartenoughtofigure

outtherest.Butleavingmightbeaproblemwithoutahorse,andIdon’tthinkMustangreallyneedshers.Ifeignboredom.Cassiuskeepsaneyeonthehillsaround.ThenIstart

suddenly as if I’ve noticed something. I whisper “Snake” into his earwhilelookingatthehorse’sfronthooves.Helookstoo,andatthispoint,thegirl’smovementis involuntary.Evenassherealizesit’satrick,sheleansforwardtopeeratthehooves.Ilungetoclosetheten-metergap.I’mfast.Soisshe,butshe’sjustahairoffbalanceandhastoleanbackinordertojerkherhorseaway.Itscramblesbackinthemud.Idiveforherandmystrongrighthandgripsherlongbraidsjustasthehorsedartsaway.Itrytojerkheroutofthesaddle,butshe’sallhellfire.I’mleftwithahandfulofcoiledgold.Themustangisoffandthegirl

laughs and curses about her hair. Then Cassius’s pitchfork wobblesthroughtheairandtripsthehorse.Girlandbeastgodowninthemuddygrass.“Dammit,Cassius!”Ishout.“Sorry!”“Youmighthavekilledher!”“Iknow!Iknow!Sorry!”Iruntoseeifshe’sbrokenherneck.Thatwouldruineverything.She’s

notmoving.Ileanintofeelherpulseandsenseabladegrazemygroin.Myhand isalready there to twistherwristaway. I take theknifeandpinherdown.“Iknewyouwantedtorollmeinthemud.”Herlipssmirk.Thenthey

purseasifshewantsakiss. Irecoil. Instead,shewhistlesandtheplanbecomesabitmorecomplicated.Ihearhooves.Everyonehasbloodydamnhorsesbutus.The girl winks and I force the cloth from her sigil. HouseMinerva.Greeks would have called it Athena. Of course. Seventeen horses teardown the glen from the crest of the hill. Their riders have stunpikes.Wherethehelldidtheygetstunpikes?“Timetorun,Reaper,”Mustangtaunts.“Myarmycomes.”There’s no running.Cassius dives into the loch. I jumpoffMustang,runafterhimthroughthemud,andthrowmyselfoverthebanktojoinhiminthewater.Icannotswim,butIlearnquickly.The horsemen of HouseMinerva taunt Cassius andme as we treadwaterinthecenterofthesmallloch.It’ssummerbutthewateriscoldanddeep.Duskiscoming.Mylimbsarenumb.TheMinervansstillcirclethelake,waitingforustotire.Wewon’t.Ihadthreeofthedurobagsinmypockets.IblowthemfullofairandgivetwotoCassius,keepingoneformyself. They help us float, and since none of theMinervans seemintentonswimmingtomeetus,we’resafeforthetimebeing.“Roque should have lit it by now,” I tell Cassius some hours into ourswim.He’sinbadshapefromhiswoundsandthecold.“Roquewilllightit.Faith…goodman…faith.”“We’realsosupposedtobealmosthome.”“Well,it’sstillgoingbetterthanmyplandid.”“Youlookbored,Mustang!”Ishoutoutwithchatteringteeth.“Comeinforaswim.”“And get hypothermia? I’m not stupid. I’m in Minerva, not Mars,remember!”Shelaughsfromtheshore.“I’dratherwarmmyselfbyyourcastle’shearth.See?”Shepointsbehindusandspeaksquickly to threetall boys, one of whom looks as big as an Obsidian—shoulders like ahugethunderhead.Athickcolumnofsmokerisesinthedistance.Finally.“Howtheslagdid thoseprickspass the test?” Iask loudly.“They’vegivenourcastleaway.”“Ifwegetback,I’mgoingtodrownthemintheirownpiss,”Cassiusrepliesevenlouder.“ExceptforAntonia.She’stooprettyforthat.”

Ourteethchatter.The eighteen raiders think House Mars is stupid, horseless, and

unprepared.“Reaper,Handsome,Imustleaveyounow!”Mustangcallstous.“Try

nottodrownbeforeIreturnwithyourstandard.Youcanbemyprettybodyguards.Andyoucanhavematchinghats!Butwe’llhave to teachyoutothinkbetter!”Shegallopsawaywithfifteenriders, thehugeGoldreininghishorse

inbesideherslikesomesortofcolossalshadow.Herfollowerswhoopasthey ride. She also leaves us company. Two horsemenwith stunpikes.Ourfarmingtoolslieinthemudontheshore.“M-mustangisas-sexp-p-pot,”Cassiusmanagestoshiverout.“She’ss-s-scary.”“R-r-remindsm-m-meofmym-mother.”“S-s-somethingiswrongw-withy-ou.”Henodsinagreement.“So…thep-planissortofw-w-working.”Ifwecangetoutofthelochwithoutbeingcaptured.Night falls in earnest, andwith the darkness come the howls of the

wolvesinthemistyhighlands.Webegintosinkasourdurobagsleakairfromsmallstressholes.Wemighthavehadachancetoslinkawayinthenight,but theremainingMinervansarenot lazilysittingarounda fire.Theystalkthroughthedarknesssothatweneverevenknowwheretheyare.Whycan’ttheybestupidlysittingintheircastleinfightinglikeourfellows?I’mgoing tobea slaveagain.Maybenota real slave,but itdoesn’t

matter.Iwon’tlose.Icannotlose.EowillhavediedfornothingifIletmyselfsinkhere,ifIletmyplanfail.YetIdonotknowhowtobeatmyenemies.Theyarecleverand theoddsare stackedheavilyagainstme.Eo’sdreamsinkswithmeintothedarknessoftheloch,andI’mabouttoswim to shore, regardless the outcome, when something spooks thehorses.Thenascreamslicesacrossthewater.Fear tricklesdownmy spineas somethinghowls. It is not awolf. It

can’tbewhatIthinkitis.Bluelightflashesasastunpikeflailsintheair.Theboyscreamsanothercurse.Aknifegothim.Someonerunstohisaidand electricity flares blue again. I see a blackwolf standing over onebodyasanotherfalls.Darknessagain.Silence,thenthemournfulwhine

ofmedBotsdescendingfromOlympus.Ihearafamiliarvoice.“Clearnow.Comeoutofthewater,fishies.”Wepaddletoshoreandpantinthemud.Mildhypothermiahassetin.

Itwon’t kill us butmy fingers are still slow asmud squishes betweenthem.MybodyshakeslikeadrillBoyatwork.“Goblin,youpsychopath.Isthatyou?”Icall.Thefourthtribeslidesoutofthedarkness.He’swearingthepeltofthe

wolfhekilled.Itcovershisheadtohisshins.Damnsmallkid.Thegoldofhisblackfatiguesiscoatedinmud.So’shisface.CassiuscrawlsfromhiskneestoclaspSevroinahug.“Oh,y-youare

b-beautiful,Goblin.B-beautiful,beautifulb-b-oy.Andsmelly.”“He been nibbling on mushrooms?” Goblin asks over Cassius’s

shoulders. “Stop touching me, you Pixie.” He pushes Cassius away,lookingembarrassed.“Did youk-kill these t-two?” I ask, shivering. I bendover themand

takeofftheirdryclothingtoexchangeformyown.Ifeelpulses.“No.”Sevrocockshisheadatme.“ShouldIhave?”“W-w-why are you asking m-me like I’m your P-praetor?” I laugh.

“Youknowwhat’swhat.”Sevroshrugs.“You’relikeme.”HelooksatCassiuswithdisdain.“And

somehowstilllikehim.So,shouldIkillthem?”heaskscasually.CassiusandIsharestartledglances.“N-n-no,”weagree justas themedBotsarrive to take theMinervans

away.Hehurtthembadlyenoughtoendtheirtimeinthegame.“Sowhat,p-p-praytell,areyoudoingw-w-wanderingab-b-boutina

wolfsk-k-kinallthewayouth-here?”Cassiusasks.“Roquesaidyoulotwouldbeouteast,”Sevrorepliescurtly.“Planis

stillago,sayshe.”“Hav-v-vetheMinervansarrivedatthecastle?”Iask.Sevrospits in thegrass.Thetwinmoonscasteerieshadowsoverhis

dark face. “How thepiss should I know?Theypassedmeon theway.But you have no leverage, you know. It is a dead-end plan.” Is Sevroactually helping us? Of course his help begins with listing out ourinadequacies.“IftheMinervansgettothekeep,theywilldestroyTitusandtakeourterritory.”“Yes.Thatisthepoint,”Isay.

“Theywillalsotakeourstandard—”“That’sar-riskwehavetotake.”“—soIstolethestandardfromthekeepandburieditinthewoods.”Ishouldhavethoughtofthat.“Youjuststoleit.Justlikethat.”Cassiusstartslaughing.“Crazylittlesod.You’reprimemad.Onehundredthpick.Primemad.”Sevro looks annoyed. Pleased. But annoyed. “Even then, we cannotguaranteetheyleaveourterritory.”“Your sug-g-g-gestion?” I ask, still shiveringbut impatient.He couldhavehelpedusbefore.“Get leverage toget themoutafter theydo their jobof takingTitusdown,obviously.”“Yes.Y-yes.Igetit.”Ishakeoffthelastofmyshivers.“Buthow?”Sevroshrugs.“We’lltakeMinerva’sstandard.”“W-wait,”Cassiussays.“Youknowhowtodothat?”Sevrosnorts.“WhatdoyouthinkI’vebeendoingthiswholetime,yousilkyturd?Wankingoffinthebushes?”CassiusandIlookateachother.“Kindof,”Isay.“Yeah,actually,”Cassiusagrees.

We ride the Minervan horses east of the highlands. I’m not a soundequestrian.OfcourseCassiusis,soIlearntoclutchhisbruisedribsverywell. Our faces are paintedwithmud. It will look like shadow in thenight,sotheywillseeourhorses,ourpikes,oursigils,andwillthinkustheirown.TheMinervan castle lies in rolling country quiltedwithwildflowersandolivetrees.Themoonsglimmerbrightoverthepitchinglandscape.Owlshoot in thegnarledbranchesabove.Aswe reach their sprawlingsandstone fortress, a voice challenges us from the rampart above thegate. Sevro is not very presentable in his wolfcloak, so he guards theescape.“WefoundMars,”Icallup.“Oy!Openthedamngate.”“Password,”thesentrydemandslazilyfromthebattlements.“Bosombutthead!”Ishoutup.Sevrohearditlasttimehewashere.“Prime.Where’sVirginiaandtheraiders?”thesentrycallsdown.

Mustang?“Took their standard,man! The pissers didn’t even have horses.Wemightstillmanagetotakethecastle!”Thesentrybites.“Primenews!Virginia is adevil. June’smade supper.Fetch some inthe kitchen and then join me, if you like. I’m bored and need to beentertained.”Thegatecreaksopenvery,veryslowly. I laughwhen it finallypartsenoughforustorideinabreast.CassiusandIaren’tevenmetbyguards.Their castle isdifferent—drier, cleaner,and lessoppressive.They havegardensandolivetreesthatwendbetweenthesandstonecolumnsofthebottomlevel.Wehideintheshadowsastwogirlspasswithcupsofmilk.Theyhaveno torches or fires an enemy can spot from the distance, only smallcandles.Itmakesiteasytoslinkabout.Apparentlythegirlsarepretty,becauseCassiusmakesafaceandpretendstofollowthemupthestairs.Afterflashingmeasmile,hesneakstowardthesoundsofthekitchenasIlookfortheircommandroom.Ifinditonthethirdlevel.Windowsoverlookthedarkplain.InfrontofthewindowsliesMinerva’satlas.AburningflagfloatsabovemyHouse’scastle.Idon’tknowwhatitmeans,but it can’t be good. Another fortress, House Diana’s, lies south ofMinerva’sintheGreatwoods.Thoseareallthathavebeendiscovered.Theyhave their own score sheets tokeep trackof accomplishments.SomeonenamedPaxseemsabloodynightmare.He’stakeneightslavespersonally,andcausedmedBotstocomedowntofetchninestudents,soIassumehe’stheonethatstoodastallasanObsidian.Idon’t find their standardanywhere in thecommandroom.Likeus,they weren’t stupid enough to leave it just lying about. No problem,we’ll find itourownway.Oncue, I smellCassius’ssmokefiresseepingthroughthewindows.Whataprettywarroomtheyhave.MuchprettierthanMars’s.Ibreakeverything.AndwhenIhaveruinedtheirmapandamfinisheddefacingastatueofMinerva, Iuse theaxe I found to chop thenameofMars into theirlong,beautifulwartable.I’mtemptedtoetchanotherHouse’snameintothedebristoconfusethem,butIwantthemtoknowwhodidthis.ThisHouse is too put together, too ordered and level headed. They have a

leader, raiders, sentries (naïve ones), cooks, olive trees, warm milk,stunpikes, horses, honey, strategy.Minervans. Proud piggers. Let themfeelabitmorelikeHouseMars.Letthemfeelrage.Chaos.Shouts come. Cassius’s fire spreads. A girl runs into thewarroom. I

nearlymakeher faintas I liftmyaxe.There’snopoint inhurtingher.Wecan’ttakeprisoners,noteasily.SoIpulloutboththeslingBladeandthestunpike.Mudonmyface.Mygoldenhairwild.Ilookaterror.“AreyouJune?”Igrowl.“N-no…why?”“Canyoucook?”She laughs despite her fear. Three boys turn the corner. Two are

thickerbutshorterthanme.Iscreamlikearagegod.Oh,howtheyrun.“Enemies!”theyscream.“Enemies!”“They’re in the towers!” I roar toconfuse themagainandagainas I

descend the stairs. “The top levels! Everywhere! Too many! Dozens!Dozens!Marsishere!Marshascome!”Smokespreads.Sodotheircries.“Mars!”theyshout.“Marshascome!”Ayoungman flashespastme. Igrabhiscollarand throwhimouta

window into the courtyard below, scattering the Minervans massedthere. I go to the kitchen. Cassius’s fire is not bad.Mostly grease andbrush.Ahowlinggirlbeatsatit.“June!” I call out. She turns into my stunpike and shudders as the

electricitydumbsdownhermuscles.That’showIstealtheircook.Cassius findsme runningwith June overmy shoulder through their

gardens.“Whatthehell?”“She’sacook!”Iexplain.Helaughssohardhecanbarelybreathe.Minervansfallintochaos,runningfromtheirbarracks.Theythinkthe

enemyisintheirtowers.Theythinktheircitadelisburningdown.Theythink Mars has come in full force. Cassius pulls me along into theirstables.Sevenhorseshavebeenleftbehind.Westealsixaftertossingacandle into their hay stores and ride out themain gate as smoke andpanic consumes the fortress. I don’t have the standard. Just as weplanned. Sevro said there was a hidden back gate to the fortress.Wewageredthatsomeoneverydesperatetofleeafallenfortresswoulduseittoescape,someonetryingtoprotectthestandard.Wewereright.

Sevro joins us two minutes later. He howls out from under hiswolfcloakashecomes.Farbehind,theenemychaseshimonfootwithstunpikes.Nowthey’retheoneswithouthorses.Andthey’venochancetogetbacktheowlstandardthatglittersinhismuddyhands.Thecookunconsciousacrossmysaddle,werideunderthestarrynightbacktoourbattle-tornhighlands,thethreeofuslaughing,cheering,howling.

27

THEHOUSEOFRAGE

We find Roque at Phobos Tower with Lea, Screwface, Clown, Thistle,Weed, and Pebble. We have eight horses—two stolen at the lake, sixstoleninthecastle.Weaddthemtoourplan.Cassius,Sevro,andIcrossthe bridge that spans the river Metas. An enemy scout bolts north towarnMustang.Ourotherstolenhorses,ledbyAntonia,followoncethescoutisaway,loopingnorth.Roque,horseless,loopssouth.Myhorsealoneisnotcoveredwithmud.Sheisabrightmare.AndI

amabrightsight.IcarryMinerva’sgoldenstandardinmylefthand.Wecouldhavehiddenit.Couldhavekeptitsafe.Buttheyneedtoknowwehaveit,andeventhoughSevrostoleit,hedoesn’twanttocarryit.Helikes his curved knives too much. I think he whispers to them. AndCassiusweneedforother thingsbesidescarryingthestandard.Plus, ifhecarriedit,thenhewouldlooktheleader.Andthatwillnotdo.Deadsilenceasweride throughour lowlands.Fogseepsaround the

trees.Icutthroughit.CassiusandSevroridetoeitherside.Icannotseeor hear them now, but wolves howl somewhere. Sevro howls back. Istruggle to keepmy seat as themare spooks. I fall off twice.Cassius’slaughscomefromthedarkness.It’shardtorememberI’mdoingallthisforEo, all this to start a rebellion. It feels likeagame thisnight; inawayitis,becauseI’mfinallybeginningtohavefun.Our castle is taken. Firelight along its ramparts tells me this. The

castlestandshighabovetheglenonitshill, itstorchesmakingstrangehalosinthefog-quilteddarkness.Myhorse’shoovesthumpsoftlyonwet

grass as to my right the Metas gurgles like a sick child in the night.CassiusridestherebutIcannotseehim.“Reaper!”Mustangshouts throughthemist.Hervoice isnotplayful.She’sfortymetersoff,nearthebaseoftheslopedroadthatleadstothecastle.Sheleansforward,armscrossedoverthepommelofhersaddle.Sixriders flankher.Therestmustbegarrisoning thecastle.OtherwiseI’dhearaboutit.I lookattheboysbehindher.Paxissolargethathispikelookslikeascepterinhishugemitts.“Lo,Mustang.”“So,youdidn’tdrown.Thatwouldhavebeeneasier.”Herquickfaceisdark.“Youareavilebreed,youknowthat?”She’sbeeninsidethekeepandshedoesn’thavewordsforheranger.“Rape?Mutilation?Murder?”Shespits.“Ididnothing,”Isay.“AndneitherdidtheProctors.”“Yes. You did nothing. Yet now you have our standard and what?Handsome somewhere out there in the mist? Go ahead, pretend likeyou’renottheirleader.Likeyou’renotresponsible.”“Titusisresponsible.”“Thebigbastard?Yes,Paxlaidhimlow.”Shegesturestothemonsterofaboybesideher.Pax’shairisshornshort,hiseyessmall,chinlikeaheelwithadentinit.Beneathhim,hishorselookslikeadog.Hisbarearmsarefleshstretchedoverboulders.“Ididn’tcometotalk,Mustang.”“Cometocutmyearoff?”shesneers.“No.Goblindid.”Thenoneofhermenslipsscreamingfromhissaddle.“Whatthe…,”aridermurmurs.Behind them, knives alreadydripping, Sevrohowls like amaniac.AhalfdozenotherhowlsjoinhisasAntoniaandhalfherPhobosgarrisonridefromthenorthhillsonthestolenmudblacksteeds.Theyhowllikementalsinthemist.Mustang’ssoldierswheelabout.Sevrotakesanotheronedown.Hedoesn’t use stunpikes.MedBots scream through the sky,whichissuddenlyfilledwithProctors.Allofthemhavecometowatch.Mercury trails behind the rest, carrying an armful of spirits,which hetosses to his fellows. Each of us peers up to watch their strangeappearance;thehorsescontinuetorun.Timepauses.“Tothefray!”darkApollomocksfromonhigh.Hisgoldenrobesshow

he’sjustrisenfrombed.“Tothefray.”Then chaos hits as Mustang shouts orders, strategy. Four morehorsemenridedowntheslopedroadfromthegatetosupporthertroop.My turn. I slamMinerva’s standard upright into the earth and screambloody murder. I kick my heels into my mare. She lurches forward,almostlosingme.Mybodyshuddersasshepoundsthemoistearthwithher hooves. My strong left hand grips the reins and I draw myslingBlade.IfeelaHelldiveragainwhenIhowl.Theenemyscattersastheyseemeragingtowardthem.Itistheragethat confuses them. It is the insanity of Sevro, themanic brutality ofMars.Thehorsemenscatter,exceptone.Pax jumps fromhishorseandsprintsatme.“Pax au Telemanus” he screams, a titan possessed, foaming at themouth. I digmy heels intomy horse and howl. Then Pax tacklesmyhorse. His shoulder hits my horse’s sternum. The beast screams. Myworldflips.Iflyoutofmysaddle,overmyhorse’shead,andcrashtotheground.Dazed,Istumbletomykneeinthehoof-churnedfield.Madness consumes the field. Antonia’s force crashes into Mustang’sflank.Theyhaveprimitiveweapons,buttheirhorsesareshockenough.SeveralMinervansflyfromthesaddle.Otherskicktheirmountstowardtheirabandonedstandard,butCassiusappearsoutofthefogatagallopand swipes the standard away to the south. Two enemies give chase,dividing their force. The other six soldiers from Antonia’s towergarrisons arewaiting to ambush them in thewoods,where the horsescannotgallop.Reflexesmakemeduckasapikesweepstowardmyskull.I’mupwithmy slingBlade. I slash it at awrist.Too slow. Imoveas if inadance,remembering the thumping pattern my uncle taught me in theabandoned mines. The Reaping Dance carries my motions into oneanother likeflowingwater. IswooptheslingBladeintoakneecap.TheAureate bone does not break, but the force knocks the rider from thesaddle.Ispinsidewaysandstrikeagain,andagain,andsweepthehoofofahorseaway,breakingafetlock.Theanimalfalls.Adifferentstunpikestabsatme.IavoidthepointandripitfreewithmyRedhandsandjamtheelectrocutingtipintoanotherassailant.Theboyfalls.Amountainpushesitasideandrunsatme.Pax.IncaseIam

anidiot,heroarshisnameatme.HisparentsbredhimtoleadObsidianlandingpartiesintohullbreaches.“PaxauTelemanus!”Hebeatshishugepikeagainsthischestandhits

puffy-hairedClown so hard,my friend flies back fourmeters. “Pax auTelemanus.”“Isapricklicker!”Imock.Thenahorse’s flank thumps intomybackand I stumble toward the

monstrous boy. I’m doomed. He could have gotten me with his pike.Instead,hehugsme.It’slikebeingembracedbyagoldenbearthatkeepsscreaming its own damn name. My back cracks. Mother-mercy. He’ssqueezingmyskull.Myshoulderaches.Bloodyhell.Ican’tbreathe.I’venever met a force like this. Dear God. He’s a bloodydamn ogre. Butsomeoneishowling.Dozensofhowls.Backpopping.Pax roars his personal victory. “I have your captain! I piss on you,

Mars!PaxauTelemanushasslaggedyourcaptain!PaxauTelemanus!”Myvisionflickersblackandfades.Buttherageinmedoesnot.I roar out one last bit of wrath before I faint. It’s cheap. Pax is

honorable.Istillmashhisgrapesflatwithmyknee.Imakesuretogetboth as many times as I can. One. Two. Three. Four. He gawps andcollapses.IfaintatophiminthemudtothesoundofProctorscheering.

Sevrotellsmethestoryashepicksthroughthepocketsofourprisonersafter thebattle.AfterPaxandI finishedoneanotheroff,Roquesalliedinto the glenwith Lea andmy tribe.Mustang, the crafty girl, escapedinto the castle and manages yet to hold it with six fighters. All theprisonersofMarsshecapturedwon’tbehersuntilshetouchesthemwiththe tip of her standard. Fat chance. We have eleven of her men andRoquedigsupourstandardtomakethemourslaves.Wecouldbesiegeourowncastle—there’snostormingitshighwalls—butCeresortherestofMinerva could comeat any time. If theydo,Cassius is supposed toride to give CeresMinerva’s standard. It also keeps him awaywhile Icementmypositionasleader.Roque andAntonia comewithme to negotiatewithMustang at the

gate.Ilimpupandfavoracrackedrib.Ithurtstobreathe.Roquetakesastepback so that I ammost prominentwhenwe reach the gate itself.Antonia wrinkles her nose and eventually does the same. Mustang is

bloodyfromtheskirmishandIcan’tfindasmileonherprettyface.“The Proctors have been watching all of this,” she says scathingly.“They’veseenwhathappenedinthat…place.Everything—”“WasdonebyTitus,”Antoniadrawlstiredly.“And no one else?” Mustang looks at me. “The girls won’t stopcrying.”“No one died,”Antonia says in annoyance. “Weak as they are, theywillrepairthemselves.Despitewhathappened,there’sbeennodepletionofGoldenstock.”“TheGoldenstock…,”Mustangmurmurs.“Howcanyoubesocold?”“Littlegirl,”Antoniasighs,“Goldisacoldmetal.”MustanglooksupatAntoniaincredulouslyandthenshakesherhead.“Mars.Agruesomedeity.You’re fit for this, aren’t you lot?Barbarity?Pastcenturies.Darkages.”Idon’thaveamindtobelecturedbyanAureateaboutmorality.“Wewould likeyouto leavethecastle,” I tellher.“Dosowithyourmen and youmay have those we captured.We won’t turn them intoslaves.”Downthehill,Sevrostandsbeside thecaptiveswithourstandard inhand;he’sticklingadisgruntledPaxwithahorsehair.Mustangjamsafingerintomyface.“This is a school. You realize that, yes? No matter the rules yourHousedecidestoplayby.Beruthlessallyougorywelllike.Buttherearelimits.Thereareslagginglimitstowhatyoucandointhisschool,inthegame. The more brutal you are, the more foolish you look to theProctors, to the adultswhowill knowwhat you’vedone—what you’recapable of doing. You think they want monsters to lead the Society?Whowouldwantamonsterforanapprentice?”I see a vision ofAugustuswatchingmywife dangle, eyes dead as apitviper’s.Amonsterwouldwantastudentinhisownimage.“Theywant visionaries. Leaders ofmen.Not reapers of them. Therearelimits,”shecontinues.Isnap.“Therearenogoddamnedlimits.”Mustang’sjawtightens.Sheunderstandshowthiswillplayout.Intheend,givingusbackourhorriblecastlewon’tcostheranything;tryingtokeep itwould.Shemightevenendup likeoneof thegirls in thehightower.Sheneverthoughtofthatbefore.Icantellshewantstoleave.It’s

her sense of justice that is killingher. Somehow she thinkswe shouldpay,thattheProctorsshouldcomedownandinterfere.Mostofthekidsthinkthatabout thisgame;hell,Cassiussaid itahundredtimesaswescoutedtogether.Butthegameisn’tlikethat,becauselifeisn’tlikethat.Gods don’t comedown in life tomete out justice. Thepowerful do it.That’swhattheyareteachingus,notonlythepainingainingpower,butthe desperation that comes from not having it, the desperation thatcomeswhenyouarenotaGold.“WewillkeeptheCeresslaves,”Mustangdemands.“No, they are ours,” I drawl. “And we will do with them what we

like.”Shewatchesmeforalongmoment,thinking.“ThenwegetTitus.”“No.”Mustangsnaps.“WewillkeepTitusortherearenoterms.”“Youwillkeepnoone.”She’snotusedtobeingtoldno.“Iwantassurancestheyaresafe.IwantTitustopay.”“Itdoesn’tmatteraflyingpisswhatyouwant.Hereyougetwhatyou

take.That’spartofthelessonplan.”IpulloutmyslingBladeandsetitstipintothesoil.“TitusisofHouseMars.Heisours.Soplease,tryandtakehim.”“He’llbebroughttojustice,”RoquesaystoMustangtoreassureher.Iturntohim,eyesblazing.“Shutup.”Helooksdown,knowingheshouldnothavespoken.Itdoesn’tmatter.

Mustang’s eyesdon’t look toAntoniaorRoque.Theydon’t lookdowntheslopewhereLeaandCipiohaveherwarbandontheirknees intheglen,andThistlesitsonPax’sbackwithWeed,takingtheirturnticklinghimnow.Hereyesdon’tlookattheblade.Theyareonlyforme.Ileanin.“IfTitusrapedalittlegirlwhohappenedtobeaRed,howwouldyou

feel?”Iask.She doesn’t know how to answer. The Law does. Nothing would

happen. It isn’t rape unless shewears the sigil of an elderHouse likeAugustus.Eventhen,thecrimeisagainsthermaster.“Nowlookaround,”Isayquietly.“TherearenoGoldshere.I’maRed.

You’reaRed.WeareallRedstilloneofusgetsenoughpower.Thenwe

getrights.Thenwemakeourownlaw.”Ileanbackandraisemyvoice.“Thatisthepointofallthis.Tomakeyouterrifiedofaworldwhereyoudo not rule. Security and justice aren’t given. They are made by thestrong.”“Youshouldhopethatisnottrue,”Mustangsaysquietlytome.“Why?”“Because there is a boy here like you.”Her face takes on a gloomy

aspect,asthoughsheregretswhatshemustsay.“MyProctorcallshimtheJackal.Heissmarterandcruelerandstrongerthanyou,andhewillwin thisgameandmakeushis slaves if the restofusgoaboutactinglikeanimals.”Hereyesimploreme.“Soplease,hurryupandevolve.”

28

MYBROTHER

IpretendthematchescamefromoneoftheMinervanswhenIlightourfirst fire inside castleMars. June is fetched fromhermakeshiftprison,andsoonshehaspreparedusafeastfromthemeatofgoatsandsheepand herbs gathered by my tribe. My tribe pretends it’s the first mealthey’ve had in weeks. The others of the House are hungry enough tobelieve the lie. Minerva and her warband have long since slunk onhome.“Whatnow?”IaskRoqueastheotherseatinthesquare.Thekeepisa

placeofsqualorstill,andthelightofthefiredoesnothingbutilluminatethefilth.CassiushasgonetoseeQuinn,soIamaloneforthemomentwithRoque.Titus’s tribesits inquietgroups.Thegirlswillnotspeakto theboys

becauseofwhatthey’veseensomeofthemdo.Alleatwiththeirheadsdown.There’sshamethere.Antonia’speoplesitwithmineandglareatTitus’s.Disgustfillstheireyes.Betrayaltoo,evenastheyfilltheirbellies.Severalscuffleshavealreadyescalatedfromminorwordstothrownfists.I thought the victory might bring them together. But it did not. Thedivisionisworsethanever,onlynowIcannotdefineitandIthinkthereisonlyonewaytomendit.Roquedoesn’thavetheanswerIwanttohear.“TheProctorsaren’tinterfering,becausetheywanttoseehowandif

we handle justice, Darrow. It is the deeper trait that this situationprobes.HowdowemanageLaw?”

“Brilliant,”Isay.“Sowhat?We’resupposedtowhipTitus?Killhim?ThatwouldbeLaw.”“Wouldit?Orwoulditjustbevengeance?”“You’rethepoet.Youfigureitout.”Ikickastoneofftheramparts.“He can’t stay tied up in the cellars. You know this.Wewill nevermoveonfromthis torpor ifhedoes,andithas tobeyouwhodecideswhattodowithhim.”“NotCassius?”Iask.“Ithinkhe’searnedasay.Afterall,hedidclaimhim.”Idon’twantCassiustoshareleadership,butIdon’twanthimtocomeoutoftheInstitutewithoutanyprospects.Iowehim.“Claimhim?”Roquecoughs.“Andhowbarbaricdoesthatsound?”“SoCassiusshouldplaynorole?”“I lovehimlikeabrother,butno.”Roque’snarrowfacetensesashesetsahandonmyarm.“CassiuscannotleadthisHouse.Notafterwhathappened.Titus’sboysandgirlsmightobeyhim,buttheywon’trespecthim.Theywon’t thinkhim stronger than them, even if he is.Darrow,theypissedonhim.WeareGolds.Wedonotforget.”He’sright.I pullmy hair in frustration and glare at Roque as though hewerebeingdifficult.“Youdon’tunderstandhowmuchthismeanstoCassius.AfterJulian’sdeath…Hehas tosucceed.Hecannotberememberedsolely forwhathappened.Hecan’t.”WhydoIcaresomuch?“Doesn’t matter a flying piss how much it means to him,” Roqueechoesmywordswithasmile.Hisfingersarethinlikehayonmybicep.“They’llneverfearhim.”Fearisnecessaryhere.AndCassiusknowsit.Whyelseisheabsentinvictory? Antonia has not left my side. Pollux, the gate opener, hasn’teither. They linger several meters away to associate with my power.SevroandThistlewatchthemwithslygrins.“Is that why you’re here too, you scheming weasel?” I ask Roque.“Sharingtheglory?”HeshrugsandgnawsonthelegofmuttonLeabringshim.“Slagthat.I’mhereforthefood.”

I findTitus inthecellar.TheMinervanstiedhimandbeathimbloodyaftertheysawtheslavegirlsinhistower.That’stheirjustice.HesmilesasIstandoverhim.“HowmanyofHouseCeresdidyoukillinyourraids?”Iask.“Suckmyballs.”Hespitsbloodyphlegm.Idodge.I resistkickinghim there,barely.AlreadygotPax for theday.Titushasthegalltoaskwhathashappened.“IruleHouseMarsnow.”“OutsourcedyourdirtyworktotheMinervans,eh?Didn’twanttofaceme?TypicalGoldencoward.”Iamafraidofhim.Idon’tknowwhy.YetIbendonakneeandstarehimintheeye.“Youareapissingfool,Titus.Youneverevolved.Nevergotpastthefirst test. You thought this whole thing is about violence and killing.Idiot. It’s about civilization, notwar. Tohave an army, youmust firsthaveacivilization—youwentstraighttoviolenceliketheywantedusto.Whydoyou think theygaveusofMarsnothingand theotherHouseshavesomanyresources?We’remeanttofightlikemad,butwe’remeanttoburnoutlikeyoudid.ButIbeatthattest.NowI’mthehero.Nottheusurper.Andyou’rejusttheogreinthedungeon.”“Oh, huzzah. Huzzah!” He tries clapping his bound hands. “I don’tgiveapiss.”“Howmanydidyoukill?”Iask.“Notenough.”Hetiltshislargehead.Hishairisgreasyanddarkwithdirt,almostasthoughhe’striedtoblackoutthegold.Heseemstolikethe dirt. It’s under his fingernails, coats his burnished skin. “I tried tobashtheirheadsin.KillthembeforethemedBotscame.Buttheywerealwayssofast.”“Whydidyouwanttokillthem?Idon’tunderstandwhatthepointis.Theyareyourownpeople.”Hesmirksatthis.“Youcouldhavechangedthings,youbastard.”Hislargeeyesarecalmer,sadderthanIremember.Hedoesnotlikehimself,Irealize.Somethingabouthimistoomournful.TheprideIthoughthehadisnotpride;itisjustscorn.“YousayI’mcruel,butyouhadmatchesand iodine. Don’t think I didn’t know even before I smelled you.Westarved, and you used what you found to become leader. So do notlecturemeonmorality,youbackstabbingpiss-sucker.”

“Thenwhydidn’tyoudosomethingaboutit?”“PolluxandVixuswere frightenedofyou.So therestwere too.And

theythoughtGoblinwouldkillthemintheirsleep.WhatcouldIdoifIwastheonlyonewhowasn’tscared?”“Whyaren’tyou?”He laughshard.“You’re justaboywitha slingBlade.First I thought

youwerehard.Thoughtwesawthingssimilarly.”Helicksabloodylip.“Thoughtyouwerelikeme,onlyworsebecauseofthatcoldnessinyoureyes.Butyou’renotcold.Youcareaboutthesepiss-pricks.”Myeyebrowspinchtogether.“How’sthat?”“Simple.Youmadefriends.Roque.Cassius.Lea.Quinn.”“Sodidyou.Pollux,Cassandra,Vixus.”Titus’sfacecontortshorribly.“Friends?”hespits.“Friendswiththem?

ThoseGoldbrows?They aremonsters, soulless bastards.Nothingbut abunchofcannibals,allofthem.TheydidthesameasIdid,but…pfah.”“I still don’t understandwhyyoudidwhat youdid to the slaves,” I

say.“Rape,Titus.Rape.”Hisfaceisquietandcruel.“Theydiditfirst.”“Who?”Buthe’snot listening.Suddenlyhe’s tellingmeabouthowthey took

“her” and raped “her” in front of him.Then the slaggers cameback aweeklatertodoitsomemore.Sohekilledthem;bashedtheirheadsin.“Ikilledthebloodydamnmonsters.Nowtheirdaughtersbloodywellgetwhatshegot.”It’slikeI’vebeenpunchedintheface.Ohhell.Achillspreadsthroughme.Bloodydamn.Istumbleback.“Whatthehellisthematterwithyou?”Titusasks.IfIwereaGold,I

mighthavenotnoticed,might’vejustbeenbefuddledbytheoddword.I’mnoGold.“Darrow?”Ipullmywayintothehall.Imoveinahaze.Itallmakessense.The

hate. The disgust. The vengeance. Cannibals eat their own. He calledthem cannibals. Pollux, Cassandra, Vixus—who are their own? Theirown.Golden.Bloodydamn.Notgory.Titussaidbloodydamn.NoGoldsaysthat.Ever.AndhecalleditaslingBlade,notareaper’sscythe.

Ohhell.TitusisaRed.

29

UNITY

Titus iswhatDancerdidnotwantme tobecome.He is likeHarmony.Heisacreatureofvengeance.ArebellionwithTitusatthehelmwouldfailinweeks.Worse,ifTituscontinuesthisway,continuesunstably,heputsmeatrisk.Dancerlied,orelsehedidnotknowthatthereareotherRedswho’vebeencarved,otherRedswhohavedonnedthemaskoftheGolds.Howmanymorearethere?HowmanyhasAresplantedhere,intheSociety?IntheInstitute?Itdoesn’tmatterifitisathousandorjustone.Titus’sinstabilityputseveryRedevercarvedintoaGoldatrisk.HeputsEo’sdreamatrisk.AndthatissomethingIcannotabide.EodidnotdiesothatTituscankillafewkids.IsobinthearmoryasIresolvewhatmustbedone.More bloodwill stain these hands, because Titus is amad dog and

mustbeputdown.

In themorning, Ipullhim into the square in frontof theHouse.Theyclearawaytheremnantsofthenight’sfeast.Ievenhavetheslavestheretowatch.AfewProctorsflickerhighabove.ThereisnomedBotfloatingbesidethem,whichmuststandastheirsilentconsent.I push Titus down on the ground in front of his former tribe. They

watchquietly,misthangingintheairabovethem,nervousfeetscrapingthe cold cobblestones of the courtyard. A chill seeps into my handsthroughthedurosteelofmyslingBlade.

“Forcrimesofrape,mutilation,andattemptedmurderoffellowHousemembers,IsentenceTitusauLadrostodeath.”Ilistthereasons.“Doesanyonecontestmyrighttodoso?”First,IglancetotheProctorsabove.Notonemakesasound.I stare at cruel Vixus. His bruise is not yet gone. My eyes go toCassandranext.IevenlookatcraggyPollux,theonewhosavedCassiusand opened the gates for us. He stands by Roque. How loyalties shifthere.Howmyownshift.IwillmakeaReddiebecausehekilledGolds.Hedugtheearthlikeme.Hehasasoullikemine.Indeath,itwillgotothevale,butinlifehewasstupidandselfishwithhisgrief.Heshouldhavebeenbetterthanthis.Redsarebetterthanhim,aren’twe?Titus’s tribe stays silent; their guilt is bound up with their leader.Whenhegoes,it’llgo.ThatiswhatItellmyself.Everythingwillbewell.“I contest the sentence,” Titus says. “And issue a challenge to you,turdlicker.”“Iaccept,goodman.”Ibowcurtly.“Then a duel per custom of the Order of the Sword,” Roqueannounces.“I choose then,” Titus says, eyeing my slingBlade. “Straight blades.Nothingcurved.”“Asyouhaveit,”Isay,butasIstepforward,Ifeelahandatmyelbowandfeelmyfriendcomeclosebehind.“Darrow,heismine,”Cassiuswhisperscoldly.“Remember?”Imakenosignofacknowledgment.“Please,Darrow.LetmehonorHouseBellona.”IlooktoRoque;heshakeshishead“No.”AsdoesQuinn,whostandsbehindCassius.ButIamleaderhere.AndIdidpromisemyfriend,whonowrecognizesmyascendance.Herequestsinsteadofdemands,andsoImakeashowofconsideringandthenacceptinghisrequest.IstandasideasCassiusstepsforwardwithastraightbladeheldinhisfencer’sgrip.Itisanuglyweapon,buthe’ssharpeneditonstones.“Thelittleprince,”Titussnickers.“Wonderful.I’llbehappytodrenchyourcorpsewithpissagainwhenwe’rethrough.”Titusismeantforbrawls.Meantformuddybattlefieldsandcivilwars.Iwonderifheknowshoweasilyhewilldietoday.Roquedrawsa circle in ash around the two combatants.ClownandScrewface walk out with arms full of weapons. Titus picks a long

broadsword he took from a Ceres soldier five days before. The metalscrapes over stone. Echoes around the courtyard. He swings it once,twicetotestthemetal.Cassiusdoesnotmove.“Pissing your pants already?” Titus asks. “No fretting, I’ll be quickaboutit.”Roqueperformsthenecessitiesandcommencesthefight.Cassiusisnotquickaboutit.Theuglybladessoundbrittleagainsteachother.Theclangsareharsh.The blades chip. They grind. But how silent they are when they findflesh.TheonlysoundisTitus’sgasp.“YoukilledJulian,”Cassiussaysquietly.“JulianauBellonaofHouseBellona.”HepullshisbladefreeofTitus’s legandslides it insomewhereelse.Heripsitout.Tituslaughsandswingsfeebly.Itispatheticatthispoint.“YoukilledJulian.”Athrustaccompaniesthewords,wordsherepeatsuntilInolongerwatch.“YoukilledJulian.”ButTitusislongdead.TearsstreamdownQuinn’s face.Roque takesherandLeaaway.Myarmy issilent. Thistle spits on the cobbles and puts her arm over Pebble’sshoulders.Clownlooksevenmoredejectedthanusual.EventheProctorsmake no comment. It is Cassius’s rage that fills the courtyard, a cruellamentforakindbrother.Hesaidhediditforjustice,forthehonorofhisfamilyandHouse.Butthisisrevenge,andhowhollowitseems.Igrowcold.Thiswasmeant forme.Not formypoorbrother,Titus—if thatwaseverreallyhisname.Hedeservedbetterthanthis.I’m going to cry. The anger and sadnesswell inmy chest as I pushthroughthearmy.RoquelooksatmewhenIpasshim.Hisfaceislikeacorpse’s.“Thatwasn’tjustice,”hemurmurswithoutlookingmeintheeyes.Ifailedthetest.He’sright.Itwasn’tjustice.Justiceisdispassionate;itis fair. I am the leader. I passed the sentence. I should have done it.Instead,Igavelicensetovengeanceandvendetta.Thecancerwillnotbecutaway;Imadeitworse.“AtleastCassiusisfearedagain,”Roquemutters.“Butthat’stheonlythingyougotright.”

PoorTitus.Iburyhiminagroveneartheriver.Ihopeitspeedshimonhiswaytothevale.ThatnightIdonotsleep.Idon’tknowifitwashiswifeorhissisterorhismothertheyhurt.I

do not knowwhatmine he came from.His pain ismy own.His painbrokehimasminebrokemeonthescaffold.ButIwasgivenasecondchance.Wherewashis?Ihopehispainfadesindeath.Ididnotlovehimtillhewasdead;and

heshouldbedead,butheisstillmybrother.SoIprayhefindspeaceinthe vale and that I will see him again one day and we’ll embrace asbrothersasheforgivesmeforwhatIdidtohim,becauseIdidit foradream,forourpeople.Myname,threebarsbesideitnow,floatsnearerthePrimushand.Cassiushasrisentoo.ButtherecanbeonlyonePrimus.

Since I cannot sleep, I take the guard shift fromCassandra.Mist curlsaround the battlements, so we tie sheep around the walls. They willbleatifanenemycomes.Ismellsomethingstrange,richandsmoky.“Roastduck?”IturnandfindFitchnerstandingbesideme.Hishair is

messyoverhisnarrowbrowandhewearsnogoldenarmortoday,onlyablack tunic stripedwithgold.Hehandsmeapieceofduck.Thesmellmakesmystomachrumble.“Weshouldallbepissedatyou,”Isay.Hisfaceisoneofsurprise.“Totswhosaythatusuallymeantoexplain

whytheyarenotpissed.”“YouandtheProctorscanseeeverything,yes?”“Evenwhenyouwipeyourass.”“Andyoudidn’tstopTitus,becauseit’sallpartofthecurriculum.”“Therealquestioniswhywedidnotstopyou.”“Fromkillinghim.”“Yes, little one. Hewould have been valuable in themilitary, don’t

you think?Perhapsnot as aPraetorwith ships in the ink.Butwhat aLegatehewouldhavemade, leadingmen in starShells throughenemygatesasfireraineddownagainsttheirpulseShields.HaveyoueverseenanIronRain?Wheremenarelaunchedfromorbittotakecities?Hewas

meantforthat.”Idonotanswer.Fitchnerwipesgreasefromhislipswiththeblacksleeveofhistunic.“Lifeisthemosteffectiveschoolevercreated.Onceuponatimetheymadechildrenbowtheirheadsandreadbooks.Itwouldtakeagestogetanythingacross.”Hetapshishead.“Butwehavewidgetsanddatapadsnow,andweGoldshavethelowerColorstodoourresearch.Weneednot study chemistry or physics. We have computers and others to dothat.Whatwemuststudyishumanity.Inordertorule,oursmustbethestudyofpolitical,psychological,andbehavioralscience—howdesperatehuman beings react to one another, how packs form, how armiesfunction,howthings fallapartandwhy.Youcould learn thisnowhereelsebuthere.”“No,Iunderstandthepurpose,”Imurmur.“IlearnmorewhenImakemistakes,solongastheydon’tkillme.”HowwellIlearnedfromtryingtobeamartyr.“Good.Youmakeplentyofthem.You’reanimpulsivelittleturd.Butthis is theplace to fragup.To learn.This is life…butwithmedBots,second chances, artificial scenarios. You might have guessed that thefirsttest,thePassage,wasthemeasurementofnecessityversusemotion.Thesecondwastribalstrife.Thentherewasabitofjustice.Nowtherewillbemoretests.Moresecondchances,morelessonslearned.”“Howmanyofuscandie?”Iasksuddenly.“Don’tworryaboutthat.”“Howmany.”“There is a limit set each year by theBoard ofQualityControl, butwe’rewellwithin theboundsdespitewhathappenedwith theJackal.”Fitchnersmiles.“TheJackal…,” I say.“Is thatwhathappenedtheothernightwhenthemedBotsblitzedsouth?”“DidIsayhisname?Oops.”Hegrins.“ImeantosaythatthemedBotsare very effective. They heal nearly all wounds. But will they be soeffectivewhenCassiusfindsoutwhoreallykilledhisbrother?”Mystomachtightens.“He already killed Julian’s murderer. Apparently you weren’twatching.”“Of course. Of course. Mercury thinks you brilliant. Apollo thinks

you’reuppity.Hereallydoesnotlikeyou,youknow.”“Icouldgiveapiss.”“Oh,youshouldcaremuchmorethanthat.Apollo’sapeach.”“Right.Sowhatdoyouthink?YouaremyProctor.”“Ithinkyouareanancientsoul.”Hewatchesmeandleansagainstthe

rampart.Thenight ismistybeyond the castle. From itsdepths, awolfhowls.“Ithinkyou’relikethatbeastoutthere.Partofapackbutdeeplysad,deeplyalone.AndIcan’tpuzzleoutwhy,mydearboy.Thisisallsomuchfun!Enjoyit!Lifedoesn’tgetbetter.”“You’re the same,” I say. “Lonely. You’re all japes and snide

comments, just like Sevro, but it’s just amask. It’s because you don’tlook like the others, isn’t it? Or are you poor? Somehow you’re anoutsider.”“My looks?”Hebarksa laugh. “Whatdoes thatmatter?Think I’m a

BronziebecauseI’mnotanAdonis?”Heleansforward,becausehereallydoescareaboutwhatI’mgoingtosay.“You are ugly and you eat like a pig, Fitchner, but you chew

metabolizerswhenyoucouldjustgotoaCarverandfixyourselftolookliketheothers.Theycouldtakecareofthatpaunchinasecond.”Fitchner’sjawmuscleflickers.Isitanger?“WhyshouldIhavetovisitaCarver?”hehissessuddenly.“Icankill

anObsidianwithmybarehands.AnObsidian. IcanoutwitaSilver inparlance and negotiation. I can do math Greens only dream of. WhyshouldImakemyselflookanydifferent?”“Becauseitiswhatholdsyouback.”“Despitemylowbirth,Iamofnote.Iamimportant.”Hishatchetface

daresmetocontradict.“IamGold.Iamakingofman.Idonotchangetosuitothers.”“Ifthat’strue,whydoyouchewmetabolizers?”Hedoesnotanswer.

“AndwhyareyouonlyaProctor?”“Becoming a Proctor is a position of prestige, boy,” Fitchner snaps.

“TheDraftersvotedmetorepresenttheHouse.”“Yetyou’renoImperator.Youleadnofleets.You’renotevenaPraetor

in command of a squadron. Nor are you any sort of Governor. Howmanymencandothethingsyousayyoucando?”“Few,”hesaysveryquietly, faceallanger.“Very few.”He looksup.

“WhatisthebountyyoudesireforcapturingtheMinervanstandard?”

“Isn’t that Sevro’s deal?” I say, understanding the conversation isnearingitsend.“Hehaspassedittoyou.”Iaskforhorsesandweaponsandmatches.Heagreescurtlyandturns

to leave before I can ask him one last question. I grab his arm as hestartstoascend.Somethinghappens.Mynervesfry.Likeneedlesinacidthroughmyhandandarm.Igasp.Mylungscan’tfunctionforasecond.“Goryhell,”Icoughout,andfalltotheground.HewearspulseArmor.

I can’t even see thegenerator. It’s like apulseShield, but inlaid in thearmoritself.Hewaitswithoutasmile.“The Jackal,” I say. “You mentioned him. The Minervan girl

mentionedhim.Whoishe?”“He’stheArchGovernor’sson,Darrow.AndhemakesTituslooklikea

blubberingchild.”

Large horses graze in the fields the nextmorning.Wolves try to takedownasmallmare.Apalestalliontrotsupandkicksoneofthewolvestodeath. I claimhim.TheotherscallhimQuietus. Itmeans“the finalstroke.”He remindsmeof thePegasus that savedAndromeda.The songswe

sanginLykosspokeofhorses.IknowEowouldhavelikedachancetorideone.IdonotrealizetilldayslaterthatwhentheynamedmyhorseQuietus,

theyweremockingmeformypartinTitus’sdeath.

30

HOUSEDIANA

A month passes. In the wake of Titus’s death, House Mars becomesstronger.ThestrengthcomesnotfromthehighDraftsbutfromthedregs,frommy tribeand themidDrafts. Ihaveoutlawed theabuseof slaves.The Ceres slaves, though still skittish around Vixus and a few of theothers, provide our food and fires; they are good for little else. Fiftygoatsandsheephavebeengathered inthecastle incaseofasiege;sotoohasfirewoodbeenstockpiled.Butwehavenowater.Thepumpstothewashroom shut off after the first day, andwe have no buckets tostorewaterinsideincaseofasiege.Idoubtitwasanaccident.Wehammershields intobasinsandusehelmets tobringwater from

theriverglenbelowourhighcastle.Wecutdowntreesandcarvethemhollowtomaketroughsinwhichtostorethewater.Stonesarepulledupand awell is dug, butwe cannot dig far enough to get past themud.Instead,we line thewellwith stone and timber and try to use it as atank forwater. Italways leaks.Sowehaveour troughs,and that is it.Wecannotletourselvesbebesieged.Thekeepiscleaner.After seeingwhat happened to Titus, I ask Cassius to teachme the

blade.I’manunreasonablyfaststudy.Ilearnwithastraight.IneverusemyslingBlade;italreadyislikepartofmybody.Andthepointisnottolearnhowtousethestraightblade,whichismuchliketherazors,buttolearnhowitwillbeusedagainstme.IalsodonotwantCassiustolearnhow to fight the curved blade. If he ever finds out about Julian, the

curveismyonlyhope.Iamnotasproficient inKravat. I can’tdo thekicks. I learnhow tobreaktracheas,though.AndI learnhowtoproperlyusemyhands.Nomorewindmillpunches.Nomorefoolishdefense.Iamdeadlyandfast,butIdonotlikethedisciplineKravatrequires.Iwanttobeanefficientfighter.Thatisall.Kravatseemsintentonteachingmeinnerpeace.Thatisalostcause.YetnowIholdmyhandslikeCassius,likeJulian,intheair,elbowsateye level so I am always striking or blocking downward. SometimesCassiuswillmentionJulianand Iwill feel thedarkness rise. I thinkoftheProctorswatchingandlaughingaboutthis;Imustlooklikeanevil,manipulativething.IforgetthatCassius,Roque,Sevro,andIareenemies.RedandGold.IforgetthatonedayImighthavetokillthemall.Theycallmebrother,andIcannotbutthinkoftheminthesameway.The battle with House Minerva has broken down into a series ofwarband skirmishes, neither side gaining enough advantage over theothertoeverscoreadecisivevictory.MustangwillnotriskthepitchedbattlethatIwant,norcantheyreallybegoaded.Theyarenotsoeasilytemptedasmysoldiersaretoboutsofgloryorviolence.Still the Minervans are desperate to capture me. Pax turns into amadmanwhenhe seesme.Mustangeven triedofferingAntonia, or soAntoniaclaims,amutualdefensecompact,adozenhorses,sixstunpikes,andsevenslavesinexchangeforme.Idon’tknowifsheis lyingwhenshetellsmethis.“Youwouldbetrayme in aheartbeat if it got you toPrimus,” I tellher.“Yes,”shesaysirritably,asIinterruptherfastidiousnailmaintenance.“Butsinceyouexpectit,itshan’treallybeabetrayal,darling.”“Thenwhydidn’tyouaccepttheoffer?”“Oh, the dregs look up to you. Itwould be disastrous at this point.Maybe after you have failed at something, yes, maybe then whenmomentumisagainstyou.”“Oryou’rewaitingforahigherprice.”“Exactly,darling.”Neither of us mentions Sevro. I know she’s still afraid he’ll cut herthroat if she touches me. He follows me now, wearing his wolfskin.

Sometimes hewalks. Sometimes he rides a small blackmare.He doesnotlikearmor.Wolvesapproachhimatrandom,asthoughhewereoneoftheirownpack.Theycometoeatdeerhekillsbecausethey’vegrownhungryaswelockawaythegoatsandsheep.Pebblealwaysleavesthemfoodatthewallswheneverweslaughterabeast.Shewatchesthemlikeachildastheycomeinfoursandthrees.“I killed their pack leader,” Sevro says when I ask why the wolvesfollowhim.He looksme up and down and flashesme an impish grinfrombeneaththewolfpelt.“Don’tworry,Iwouldn’tfitinyourskin.”I’vegivenSevrothedregstocommandbecauseIknowtheymightbetheonlypeoplehe’llever like.At firsthe ignores them.Thenslowly, Ibeginnoticingthatmoreunearthlyhowlsfillthenightthanbefore.Theothers call them the Howlers, and after a few nights under Sevro’stutelage, each wears a black wolfcloak. There are six: Sevro, Thistle,Screwface,Clown,Pebble,andWeed.Whenyoulookatthem,itseemsas though eachof their passive faces stares out from theopen, fangedmawofawolf.Iusethemforquiettasks.Withoutthem,I’mnotsureIwouldstillbeleader.MysoldierswhisperslursaboutmeasIpass.Theoldwoundshavenothealed.Ineedavictory,butMustangwillnotmeetincombat,andthethirty-meter walls of House Minerva are not as easy to pass as they wereinitially.Inourwarroom,Sevropacesbackandforthandcallsthegamestupidlydesigned.“Theyhadtoknowwecouldn’tgorywellgetpasteachother’swalls.Andnooneisdumbenoughtosendoutaforcetheycan’taffordtolose.EspeciallynotMustang.Paxmight.He’sanidiot,builtlikeagod,butanidiotandhewantsyourballs.Ihearyoupoppedoneofhis.”“Both.”“ShouldjustputPebbleorGoblininacatapultandlaunchthemoverthewall,”Cassiussuggests.“Coursewe’dhavetofindacatapult…”I’mtiredofthiswarwithMustang.Somewhereinthesouthorwest,the Jackal is building his strength. Somewhere my enemy, theArchGovernor’sson,isreadyingtodestroyme.“Weare lookingat this thewrongway,” I tell Sevro,Quinn,Roque,andCassius.They’realonewithmeinthewarroom.Anautumnbreezebringsinthesmellofdyingleaves.“Oh,doshareyourwisdom,”Cassiussayswithalaugh.He’slyingon

severalchairs,hishead inQuinn’s lap.Sheplayswithhishair. “We’redyingtohear.”“Thisisaschoolthathasexistedfor,what,morethanthreehundred

years?Soeverypermutationhasbeenseen.Everyproblemwefacehasbeendesigned tobeovercome.Sevro,yousay the fortressescannotbetaken?Well,theProctorshavetoknowthat.Sothatmeanswehavetochangetheparadigm.Weneedanalliance.”“Againstwhom?”Sevroasks.“Hypothetically.”“AgainstMinerva,”Roqueanswers.“Stupid idea,” Sevrogrunts, and cleans a knife and slides it intohis

blacksleeve.“Theircastleistacticallyinconsequential.Novalue.None.Thelandweneedisneartheriver.”“Thinkwe need Ceres’s ovens?” Quinn asks. “I could dowith some

bread.”We all could. A diet of meat and berries has made us muscle and

bones.“Ifthegamelaststhroughwinter,yeah.”Sevropopshisknuckles.“But

these fortresses don’t break. Stupid game. Soweneed their bread andtheiraccesstothewater.”“Wehavewater,”Cassiusremindshim.Sevro sighs in frustration. “Wehave to leave the castle to get it, Sir

Numbnuts. A real siege?We’d last five days without replenishing ourwater. Seven if we drank the animals’ blood like Morgdy. We needCeres’sfortress.Also,theharvestprickscan’tfighttosavetheirlives,buttheyhavesomethinginthere.”“Harvestpricks?Hahaha,”Cassiuscrows.“Stoptalking,everyone,”Isay.Theydon’t.Tothemthisisfun.Itisa

game. They have no urgency, no desperate need. Every moment wewasteisamomenttheJackalbuildshisstrength.SomethinginthewayMustangandFitchnertalkedabouthimscaresme.Orisitthefactthatheisthesonofmyenemy?Ishouldwanttokillhim;instead,Iwanttorunandhideatthethoughtofhisname.It’sasignofmyfadingleadershipthatIhavetostandup.“Quiet!”Isay,andfinallytheyare.“We’veseenfiresonthehorizon.WarconsumestheSouthwherethe

Jackalroams.”Cassius chuckles at the idea of the Jackal. He thinks him a ghost I

conjuredup.“Willyoustop laughingateverything?” I snapatCassius.“It’snotagorydamnjoke,unlessyouthinkyourbrotherdiedforamusement.”Thatshutshimup.“Before we do anything else,” I stress, “we must eliminate HouseMinervaandMustang.”“Mustang. Mustang. Mustang. I think you just want to snakeMustang,”Sevrosneers.Quinnmakesasoundofobjection.IsnatchSevro’scollarandlifthimupintotheairwithonehand.Hetriestodartaway,buthe’snotasfastasme,sohedanglesfrommygrip,twofeetofftheground.“Notagain,”Isay,loweringhimnearermyface.“Registers, Reap.” His beady eyes are inches from my own. “Offlimits.” I set him down and he straightens his collar. “So, it’s to theGreatwoodsforthisalliance,right?”“Yes.”“Thenit’stobeamerryquest!”Cassiusdeclares,sittingup.“We’llbeatroop!”“No.JustmeandGoblin.Youaren’tgoing,”Isay.“I’mbored,IthinkI’llcomewith.”“You’restaying,”Isay.“Ineedyouhere.”“Isthatanorder?”heasks.“Yes,”Sevrosays.Cassiusstaresatme.“Yougivingmeorders?”hesaysinastrangeway.“Perhapsyou’veforgottenthatIgowhereIwant.”“Soyou’llleavecontroltoAntoniawhilewebothgoriskournecks?”Iask.Quinn’s hand tightens on his forearm. She thinks I don’t notice.Cassius looksbackatherandsmiles.“Ofcourse,Reaper.Ofcourse I’llstayhere.Justasyou’vesuggested.”

Sevro and Imake camp in the southern highlandswithin view of theGreatwoods.Wedo not light a fire.Our scouts and others roam thesehills at night. I see two horses on a far hill, silhouetted against thesettingsunbehindthebubbleroof.Thewaythesuncatchesontheroofmakessunsetsofpurplesandredsandpinks;itremindsmeofthestreets

inYorktonasseenfromthesky.Thenit isgoneandSevroandIsit indarkness.Sevrothinksthisisastupidgame.“Thenwhydoyouplayit?”Iask.“Howwas I toknowwhat it’dbe like?Think Igotapamphlet?Did

youget a slaggingpamphlet?”he asks irritably.He’s pickinghis teethwithabone.“Stupid.”YetheseemedtoknowontheshuttlewhatthePassagewas.Itellhim

that.“Ididn’t.”“Andyouseemtohaveeverygoryskillrequiredforthisschool.”“So? If your mother was good in bed, you suppose she’s a Pink?

Everyoneadapts.”“Lovely,”Imutter.Hetellsmetocuttothepointofit.“Yousnuckintothekeepandstoleourstandardandburiedit.Saving

it.AndthenyoumanagedtostealMinerva’spiece.Yetyoudon’tgetasinglebarofmeritforPrimus.Doesn’tstrikeyouasodd?”“No.”“Beserious.”“WhatshouldIsay?I’veneverbeenliked.”Heshrugs.“Iwasn’tborn

prettyandtalllikeyouandyourbuttboy,Cassius.IhadtofightforwhatI want. That doesn’t make me likeable. Just makes me a nasty littleGoblin.”ItellhimwhatI’veheard.Hewasthelastonedrafted.Fitchnerdidn’t

wanthim,but theDrafters insisted.Sevrowatchesme in thedark.Hedoesn’tspeak.“Youwere picked because youwere the smallest boy. Theweakest-

looking.Terriblescoresandsosmall.Theydraftedyouliketheydraftedall theother lowDrafts,becauseyou’dbeeasytokill in thePassage.Asacrificial lamb for someone they had plans for, big plans. You killedPriam,Sevro.That’swhytheywon’tletyoubePrimus.AmIontarget?”“You’reontarget.IkilledhimlikeI’dkillaprettydog.Quick.Easy.”

He spits the bone onto the ground. “And you killed Julian. Am I ontarget?”WeneverspeakofthePassageagain.Inthemorning,weleavethehighlandsbehindforthefoothills.Trees

interspersewithgrass.WemoveatagallopincaseMinerva’swarbandsarenear.Iseeoneinthedistanceaswereachthetrees.Theydidn’tseeus. Far to the south, the sky is smoke. Crows gather over the Jackal’sdomain.I would like to say more to Sevro, ask about his life. But his gaze

penetrates toodeep. Idon’twanthim toaskaboutme, to see throughmeaseasilyasIsawthroughTitus.Itisstrange.Thisboylikesme.Heinsultsme,buthelikesme.Evenstranger,Idesperatelywanthimtolikeme. Why? I think it is because I feel as though he is the only one,includingRoqueandCassius,whounderstandslife.Heisuglyinaworldwhere he should be beautiful, and because of his deficiencies, hewaschosentodie.He,inmanyways,isnobetterthanaRed.Iwant to tellhim I’maRed.Somepartofme thinkshe is too.And

someotherpartofmethinkshe’llrespectmemoreifheknowsIamaRed. Iwasnotbornprivileged. I am likehim.But Iguardmy tongue;there’snodoubttheProctorswatchus.Quietusdoesnotlikethewoods.Atfirsttheshrubberyissothickthat

wemustcutourwayforwardwithourswords.ButsoontheshrubberythinsandweentertherealmofgodTrees.Littleelsecanexisthere.Thecolossusesblockthelight,theirrootsstretchingupliketentaclestosapthe energy from the soil as they grow tall as buildings. I am in a cityagain, onewhere animals bustle and tree trunks instead ofmetal andconcreteobstructmyview.Then,asweventuredeeperintothewoods,I’m reminded ofmymine—dark and cramped beneath the boughs, asthoughthereisnoskyorsun.Autumnleavesthesizeofmychestcrinkleunderfoot.Iknowweare

beingwatched.Sevrodoesnotlikethis.Hewantstoslinkawaytofindtheeyesatourbacks.“Thatwoulddefeatthepurpose,”Itellhim.“Thatwoulddefeatthepurpose,”hemocks.Webreakforalunchofpillagedolivesandgoatmeat.Theeyesinthe

treesthinkI’mtoostupidtoshiftmyparadigm,asthoughIwouldneversupposethey’dhideabovemeinsteadofontheground.YetIdon’tlookup.NoneedtofrightentheidiotsorletthemknowIknowtheirgame;I’ll have to conquer them soon, if I still am the leaderofmyHouse. Iwonder if theyhave ropes to traverse the trees.Orare the limbswideenough?

Sevro still itches to pull out his knives and scale one of the trees. Ishouldn’thavebroughthim.He’snotmeantfordiplomacy.Atlastsomeonechoosestospeakatme.“Hello, Mars,” one says. Other voices echo it to my right. Stupidchildren. Should have saved their tricks for the night. It would bemiserable in thesewoods in the dark, voices coming from all around.Somethingstartlesthehorses.ThegoddessDiana’sanimalsarethebear,theboar, and thedeer.Webrought spears for the first two.There aresupposedtobehugebloodbacksinthesewoods—monstrousbearsmadeby Carvers because, most likely, the Carvers grew bored of makingdeerlings. We hear the bloodbacks roaring in the deeper parts of thewood.IsettleQuietus.“My name is Darrow, leader of HouseMars. I’m here tomeet withyourPrimus,ifyouhaveone.Ifyoudon’t,yourleaderwillsuffice.Andifyoudon’thaveoneofthoseeither,takemetowhoeverhasthebiggestballs.”Silence.“Thankyouforyourassistance,”Sevrocallsout.Iraiseaneyebrowathim,andhejustshrugs.Thesilenceissilly.Itistomakemethinktheyaren’ttakingordersfromme.Theydothingsontheirownschedule.Whatbigboysandgirlstheyare.Thentwotallgirlscome from behind a distant tree. They wear fatigues the color of thewoods.Bowshang from theirbacks.Knives in theirboots. I thinkonehasaknifeinhercoiledhair.They’veusedtheberriesofthewoodstopaint thehuntingmoonon their faces.Animalpelts dangle from theirbelts.Idonotlooklikewar.Ihavewashedmyhairtillitshines.Myfaceisclean,wounds covered, the tears inmy black fatigues stitched. I evenwashedoutthesweatstainswithsandandanimalfat.Ilook,asQuinnand Lea both confirmed, devilishly handsome. I do not want HouseDianaintimidated.That’swhyIletSevrocome.Helooksridiculousandchildish,solongashisknivesarekeptaway.These two girls smirk at Sevro and can’t help but soften their eyeswhentheyseeme.Morecomedown.Theytakemostofourweapons—those they can find.And they throw furs over our faces sowe cannotknowthewaytotheirfortress.Icountthesteps.Sevrocountstoo.Thefurs stinkof rot. Ihearwoodpeckersand I rememberFitchner’sprank.

Wemust be close, so I stumble and fall to the ground.No shrubbery.We’respunaroundagain,thenledawayfromthewoodpeckers.AtfirstI’mworriedthatthesehuntersaresmarterthanIgavethemcredit for.ThenIrealizetheyarenot.Woodpeckersagain.“Hey,Tamara,wegothimdownhere!”“Don’t bring themup, you chowderheads!” a girl shouts. “We’renotletting them have a free scouting party.Howmany times do I… Justwait.I’llcomedown.”Theywalkmesomewhereandshovemeagainstatree.Aboyspeaksovermyshoulder.Hisvoiceisslowandlanguid,likeadriftingknifeblade.“Isaywepeeltheirballsoff.”“Shut up, Tactus. Just make them slaves, Tamara. There isn’tdiplomacyhere.”“Lookathisblade.Fraggingreaperscythe.”“Ah,sothat’shim,”someonesays.“Iclaimhisbladewhenwedecidespoils.I’dalsolikehisscalp,ifnooneelsehasintentionsonit.”Tactussoundslikeaveryunpleasantboy.“Shutup.Allofyou,”agirlsnaps.“Tactus,putthatknifeaway.”Theytakethefurfrommyhead.IstandwithSevroinasmallgroveoftrees.IseenocastlebutIcanhearthewoodpeckers.Ilookaroundandreceive a sharp strike to thehead froma lean,wiry youthwith boredeyesandbronzehairspikedupwithsapandredberryjuice.Hisskinisdarklikeoakhoneyandhishighcheekbonesanddeep-seteyesgivehimalookofpermanentderision.“So, you’rewho they call theReaper,” Tactus drawls.He swingsmybladeexperimentally.“Well,youjustlooktooprettytobemuchdamageatall.”“Isheflirtingwithme?”IasktheTamaragirl.“Tactus, go away! Thank you, but now go away,” says the thin,hawkishgirl.Herhairisshorterthanmine.Threelargeboysflankher.ThewaytheyglareatTactusconfirmsmyjudgmentofhischaracter.“Reaper,whyareyouwithapygmy?”Tactusasks,gesturingtoSevro.“Doesheshineyourshoes?Pickthingsoutofyourhair?”Hechucklestotheotherboys.“Maybeabutler?”“Goaway,Tactus!”Tamarasnarls.“Of course,” Tactus bows. “I shall go play with the other children,Mother.” He tosses the blade to the ground and winks at me like we

aloneknowthejokethat’sabouttobeplayed.“Sorryaboutthat,”Tamarasays.“He’snotquitepolite.”“It’sfine,”Isay.“I am Tamara of… I almost said my real family,” she laughs. “Of

Diana.”“Andtheyare?”Iaskabouttheboys.“Mybodyguard.Andyouare…”Sheholdsupafinger.“Letmeguess.

Letme guess.Reaper. Oh,we’ve heard of you.HouseMinerva doesn’tlikeyouatall.”Sevrosnortsatmyinfamy.“Andheis?”sheaskswithraisedeyebrows.“Mybodyguard.”“Bodyguard?Butheissoveryshort!”“Andyoulooklike—”Sevrogrowls.“Soarewolves,”Ireply,interruptingSevromidcurse.“We’remoreafraidofJackalsherethanwolves.”MaybeCassiusshouldhavecomealong,justtoknowI’mnotmaking

thebastardup.IaskherabouttheJackal,butsheignoresmyquestion.“Helpmeouthere,”Tamara says cordially. “If someonewere to say

thatReaperof thebutcherHousewouldcometomygladeandaskfordiplomacy, I would think it a Proctor’s joke. So, what do you reallywant?”“HouseMinervaoffmyback.”“Soyoucancomehereandfightusinstead?”oneofherbodyguards

growls.I turn to Tamara with a reasonable smile and tell her the truth. “I

wantMinervaoffmybacksoIcancomehereandbeatyou,sure.”Andthenwinthestupidgameanddestroyyourcivilization,please.Theylaugh.“Well,you’rehonest.Butnot toobright, so it seems.Fitting.Letme

tellyousomething,Reaper.OurProctorsaysyourHousehasnotwoninyears.Why?Becauseyoubutchersarelikeawildfire.Intheearlystagesofthegame,youburneverythingyoutouch.Youdestroy.Youconsume.You ruin Houses because you can’t sustain yourselves. But then youstarve because there is nothingmore to burn. The sieges. Thewinter.Theadvanceintechnology.Itkillsyourbloodlust,yourfamousrage.Sotellme,whywouldIshakehandswithawildfirewhenIcanjustsitback

andwatchitrunoutofthingstoconsume?”Inodanddanglethebait.“Firecanbeuseful.”“Explain.”“Wemay starvewhile youwatch, but will youwatch as a slave of

some otherHouse?Orwill youwatch from your strong fortress, yourarmiestwiceaslargeandreadytosweepuptheashes?”“Notenough.”“Iwillpersonallypromise thatHouseMarswill brooknoaggression

towardHouseDianasolongasouragreementisnotviolated.IfyouhelpmetakeMinerva,IwillhelpyoutakeCeres.”“HouseCeres…,”shesays,lookingovertoherbodyguards.“Don’t be greedy,” I say. “If you go after Ceres on your own, both

MarsandMinervawillsetuponyou.”“Yes.Yes.”Shewavesanannoyedhand.“Ceresisnear?”“Very.Andtheyhavebread.”Ilookatthepeltshermenwear.“Which

Iimaginewouldbeanicechangefromallthatmeat.”HerweightshiftsonhertoesandIknowIhaveher.Alwaysnegotiate

withfood.Imakeanote.Tamaraclearsherthroat.“SoyouweresayingIcouldmakemyarmy

twiceaslarge?”

31

THEFALLOFMUSTANG

I ride dressed forwar.All in black.Hairwild and bound by goat-gut.Forearms covered with durosteel vambraces looted in battle. Mydurosteelcuirassisblackandlight;itwilldeflectanyedgelessthananionBladeora razor.Myboots aremuddy.Streaksofblackand redgoacross my face. SlingBlade on my back. Knives everywhere. Nine redcrossbonesandtenwolvescoverQuietus’sflank.Leapaintedthem.Eachcrossbone is an incapacitated opponent, who are often healed bymedBotsandthenthrownbackintothefray.Eachwolfaslave.Cassiusridesatmyside.Heshimmers.Thedurosteelhereceivedasabountyispolishedasbrightashisglimmeringswordandhishair,whichbounceslikecoiledgoldenspringsabouthisregalhead.It’sasthoughhe’sneverbeenstoodaroundandpissedon.“Well,IdobelieveIamthelightning,”Cassiusdeclares.“Andyou,my

broodingfriend,arethethunder.”“Thenwhatam I?”Roqueasks,kickinghishorseupbesideus.Mud

flies.“Thewind?”“You’refullenoughofit,”Isnort.“Thehotsort.”TheHouseridesbehindus.AllofitexceptQuinnandJune,whostay

behind as our castle’s garrison. It is a gamble.We ride slowly so thatMinerva knowswe are coming.What they do not know is that I wasthere in the night just hours before and that Sevro is there now.Mudstillsticksunderneathmyfingernails.Minerva’sscoutsdartacrosstheirrockyhilltops.Theymakeashowof

mocking us, but really they count our number to better know ourstrategy.Yettheyseemconfusedwhenwerideintotheircountryofhighgrassandolivetrees.Soconfusedthattheywithdrawtheirscoutsbehindtheirwalls.We’venever come in full force like this.TheHowlers, ourscouts,rideinfullviewontheirblackhorses,blackcloaksflutteringlikecrow wings. Our highDraft killers move as the vanguard of the mainbody—cruel Vixus, craggy Pollux, spiteful Cassandra, many of Titus’sband.Theslavesjogabouttheirowners,thosewhocapturedthem.IrideforwardwithCassiusandAntoniaflankingme.Shecarries thestandard today.Only a few archersman thewalls, so I tell Cassius tomakesurewearenotambushedfromtheflanksincaseanyofMinervaareabout.Hegallopsaway.Minerva’sfortressisringedbyahundredmetersofbarrenearthmademudfromthetorrentialrainsofthelastweek.Itisthekillingfield.Stepintotheringandthearcherswilltrytokillyourhorse.Ifyoustilldonotretreat, theywill try to kill you.Nearly twenty horses of bothHouseslitterthefield.CassiusledabloodyassaultonaMinervanwarbanduptotheverygatesofthecastleitselfjusttwodaysbefore.Beyond the killing field is grass. Oceans of grass so high in someplacesthatSevrocouldstandtallandstillnotbeseen.Westandattheedge of the mud ring amidst a meadow of autumn wildflowers. ThegroundsquishesunderfootandQuietuswhinniesbeneathme.“Pax!”Ithenshout.“Pax.”I hurl the name against the walls until their main gate opensponderously,asponderouslyasitonceopenedthatnightwhenCassiusandIsnuckinside.Mustangridesout.Shetrotsslowlythroughthemudandpullsshortofus.Hereyestakeineverything.“Is it to be a duel?” she asks with a grin. “Pax ofWise and NobleMinervaversustheReaperoftheBloodyButcherHouse?”“Youmakeitsoundsoexciting,”Antoniayawns.She’snotgotaspotofdirtonher.Mustangignoresher.“Andyou’resureyou’venoonehidinginthatgrasswaitingtoambushus when we come out to support our champion?” Mustang asks me.“Shouldweburnitandfindout?”“We’vebroughteveryone,”Antoniasays.“Youknowournumbers.”“Yes. I can count. Thank you.”Mustang doesn’t look at her. Just at

me.Sheseemsworried;hervoicelowers.“Paxwillhurtyou.”“Pax,howareyourballs?”Ishoutoverherhead.Shewincesasadrumbeats suddenly from inside the fortress. Except it’s not a drum. Paxcomesout of the gate.Hiswar axe thumpshis shield.Mustang shoutshim back and he obeys like a dog, but the beating of the axe on theshield does not cease. We agree that the stakes should be all theremainingslavesbetweenthetwoofus.Aheftybounty.“IthoughtHandsomewastheduelist?”Mustangsays,thenshrugs.Hereyeskeepgoingtothegrass.“Whereisthatmadfellow?Yourshadow—theonewholeadsthatwolfpack?Ishehidinginthegrass?Idon’twanthimpoppingupbehindmeagain.”IshoutforSevro.AhandrisesamongsttheHowlers.Mudcoversthefacesthatpeeroutfrombeneaththeblackwolfcloaks.Mustangcounts.All fiveHowlersaccounted for. In fact, allour forces saveone,Quinn,are accounted for. Still Mustang isn’t satisfied.We are to remove ourarmysixhundredmetersfromtheedgeofthemudring.Shewillburnawayall thegrasswithinonehundredmetersofwherewenowstand.When the grass is done burning, the scorched earth will be the duelfield.Tenmenofherchoosingwilljointenofmychoosingincreatingacircle inwhich to fight. The rest of herswill stay inside the city, andminewillstaysixhundredmetersremoved.“Don’ttrustme?”Iask.“Idon’thavemeninthegrass.”“Good.Thennoonewillburn.”Nooneburns.When the firedwindlesand theground isallashandsmokeandmudwithin thekilling field, I leavemyarmy.Tenofmineaccompanyme.Paxthumpshiswaraxeonashieldemblazonedwithawoman’shead,herhairallofsnakes.Medusa.I’veneverfoughtamanwith a shield before.His armor is tight and covers everything but hisjoints.IheftastunpikeinthehandI’vepaintedredandmyslingBladeinthehandI’vepaintedblack.My heart rattles as the circle forms around us. Cassius motions meover.Eveninthemutedlight,heglowswithcolor.Hesharesanironicsmile.“Neverstopmoving. It’s likeKravat, this.”HeeyesPax.“Andyou’refasterthanthisgorybastard.Right?”Igetawink.Hethumpsmeontheshoulder.“Right,brother?”“Damnright.”Ireturnhiswink.

“Thunderandlightning,brother.Thunderandlightning!”PaxisbuiltlikeanObsidian.He’soversevenfeettall,easliy,andhe

moves likeabloodydamnpanther. In this .37grav,he could throwmethirtymetersormore.Iwonderhowhighhecanjump.Ijumptostretchmylegs.Nearlythreemeters.Icaneasilyclearhishead.Thegroundstillsmokes.“Jump.Jump, littlegrasshopper,”hegrumbles.“It’llbe the last time

youuseyourlegs.”“What’sthat?”Iask.“Isaidit’llbethelasttimeyouuseyourlegs.”“Odd,”Imurmur.Heblinksatmeandfrowns.“What’s…odd?”“Yousoundlikeagirl.Didsomethinghappentoyourballs?”“Youlittle…”Mustang trotsupwith their standardandsays somethingaboutgirls

neverchallengingeachothertostupidduels.“Theduelisto—”“Yielding,”Paxsaysimpatiently.“To the death,” I correct. Really it doesn’tmatter. I’m just screwing

withthematthispoint.AllIhavetodoisgivethesignal.“Toyielding,”Mustangconfirms.Shefinishesnecessariesandtheduel

begins.Almost.AseriesofpopsintheskyabovesignalsonicboomsastheProctorscometojoinusfromOlympus.Theyspindownfromtheirhigh-floating mountain, coming from several different towers. Eachwears his or her sign today, great headpieces of glittering gold. Theirarmor is a spectacle. They do not need it, but they love to dress up.Today they’vebroughta tablewith them. It floatson itsowngravLift,supportinghugeflagonsofwineandtraysoffoodastheysettohavingadinnerparty.“I hope we’re sufficient entertainment,” I cry up. “Mind dropping

somewine?It’sbeenawhile!”“Good luckagainst the titan, littlemortal!”Mercurycriesdown.His

babyfacelaughsjoviallyandheshowilybringsaflagonofwinetohislips. Some of it tumbles the quarter mile from the sky to fall on myarmor.Itdripsdownlikeblood.“Isupposeweoughttogivethemashow,”Paxbooms.PaxandIsharearealgrin.It’sacompliment,ofsorts,thattheywould

allcometowatch.ThenNeptune,hertridentheaddresswobblingasshe

swallows a quail egg, shouts for us to get on with it, and Pax’s axesweeps at my legs like an evil broom. I know he wants me to jump,becausehe’s about to charge forwardwithhis shield to swatme fromtheairlikeafly.SoIstepback,thenspringforwardashisarmfinishesitsstroke.He’smovingtoo,butupwardinanticipation,soIshootrightpasthis rightarmand jamthestunpike intohisarmpitwithallofmystrength. It snaps inhalf.Buthedoesn’t fallevenaselectricitycoursesthroughhim. Instead, he backhandsme so hard that I fly through thecircle and into the mud. Broken molar. Mouthful of mud and blood.Whiplash.I’malreadyrolling.IstumbletomyfeetwithmyslingBlade.Mudcoversme.Iglanceatthe walls. Their army rings the parapet—couldn’t help but watch thechampionsfight.Thisisthepoint.Icouldgivethesignal.Thegatesareopenincasetheyhavetosendaid.Ournearesthorsemanissixhundredmetersaway,muchtoofar.Iplannedforthat.YetIdonotsignal.Iwantmyownvictory today,even if it’sa selfishone.Myarmyhas toknowwhyIlead.Icomebackintothecircle.Ihavenothingclevertosay.He’sstronger.I’m faster. That’s allwe’ve learned about one another. This is not likeCassius’s fight. There is no pretty form. Only brutality. He bashesmewith his shield. I stay close so he can’t swing his axe. The shield isruiningmyshoulder.Everystrikeshootsagonyintomymolar.HelungeswithitagainandIjump,pullontheshieldwithmylefthandandlaunchmyselfoverhim.AknifeflickersfrommywristandIstabitathiseyesasIpass.Imissandscrapehishelmet’svisor.Putting a little distance between us, I reach for a knife and try afamiliar trick. He bats the flying blade away contemptuouslywith hisshield.Butwhenhelowersittolookatme,I’mintheair,landingonhisshieldwith allmyweight. The suddenness of it pulls the shield downjustahair.Islammudintohishelmetwithmyoffhand.He’sblind.Onehandholdstheaxe.Oneholdstheshield.Neithercanwipehisvisorclean.It’dbeasimplematterifhecouldjustdothat.Buthecan’t.Ihithimadozentimesonhiswristtillhedropshisaxe.ThenItakethemonstrousthingandhithimonthehelmetwithit.Thearmorstilldoesn’tbreak.Healmostknocksmeunconsciouswithhis shield. Iswing the heavy axe again and finally Pax crumples. I fall to a knee,panting.

ThenIhowl.Theyallhowl.Howls fill the lands of Minerva. Howls from my far-distant army.

HowlsfrommytenhighDraftkillerswhohelpmakethisduelingcircle.Howlsfromthekillingfield.Mustanghearsthedreadsoundbehindherand she wheels her horse. Her face is one of terror. Howls from thelaughingProctors,exceptMinerva,Apollo,andJupiter.Howlsfromthebelliesofthedeadhorsesinthemiddleofthekillingfield.Theonesnearheropengate.“They’reinthemud!”Mustangshouts.She’s almost right. But she thinks like a Gold. Someone screams as

theyseeSevroandhisHowlerscuttingtheirwayoutofthestitched-upbelliesofthedeadandbloatedhorsesthatlitterthemuduptothegate.Like demons being born, they slither from swollen guts and partedstomachs. A half-score of House Diana’s best soldiers exit with them.Tactusandhisspikedhairburstfromthebellyofapalemare.Herunswith Weed and Thistle and Clown. All within fifty meters of theponderouslyslowgates.TheMinervanguardsallstandupontherampartswatchingtheduel.

They cannot repel the sudden blitz of demon soldiers by closing theirslow gates. They hardly manage to nock and draw their bows beforeSevro,theHowlers,andouralliesslipthroughtheclosinggate.Ontheothersideof thecity, theHouseDiana’ssoldierswillbeslowlyscalingthe walls with the ropes they use to climb their silly trees. Yes. Thewhistle soundsnow from theother side.Aguard therehas seen them.Noonewillcometohelphim.Myarmymovesforward,eventhefakeHowlersweborrowedfromDianaanddresseduptolooklikeSevroandhisband.WedestroyHouseMinervainminutes.Highabove, theProctorsstill

howlandlaugh.Ithinktheyaredrunk.ItisoverbeforeMustangcandoanything except gallop away across themuddy field through the still-smolderinggrass.Adozenhorsessetoffinpursuit,VixusandCassandraamongst them. She’ll be caught before nightfall, and I’ve seen whatVixusdoestoprisonersandtheirears,soImountQuietusandsetoffinpursuit.Mustangabandonsherhorseattheedgeofasmallwoodtothesouth.

We dismount and leave three men to guard the horses in case she

doubles back. Cassandra plunges into the woods. Vixus follows me,purposefullystalkingasthoughImightknowwhereMustangishiding.Ido not like this. I do not like being in the woods with Vixus andCassandra.Allitwouldtakeisabladeinthespine.Eitherwoulddoit.Unlike Pollux, they still hateme, andmyHowlers andCassius are faraway.Yetnoknifecomes.I findMustang bymistake. Two golden eyes peer out from a pit of

mud. Theymeet mine. Vixus is with me. He swears something abouthowexcitedheistobreakthegorydamnmare,seewhatshelookslikewith a bridle on. Standing there, leering into the brush, he looks bentand twisted and evil—like a withered tree after a fire. He has lessbodyfat than anyone I’ve ever seen, so each of his veins and tendonsripple beneath his tight skin. His tongue flits over his perfect teeth. Iknowhe’sgoadingme,soIleadhimawayfromthemudpit.Eodidn’tdeservetodieaslavetotheSociety.AnddespiteherColor,

Mustangdoesn’tdeserveanysortofbridle.

32

ANTONIA

I passed this test. The interminable war with HouseMinerva is done.AndI’vealsotrappedHouseDiana.House Diana had three choices before the battle. They could have

betrayedmetoMinervaandtakenmyHouseasslaves,butIhadCassiussend pickets to intercept any rider. They could have accepted myproposal.Or they couldhave gone to our castle and tried to take it. Icouldn’t care less if they chose that option; it was a trap.We left nowaterinsideandcouldhavebesiegedthemeasily.NowtheyhavetheMinervanfortressandweareoutsideintheplains.

They could honor their agreement. We would get the standard; theywould get the city and all its inhabitants. But I know they’ll becomegreedy.Andtheydo.Thegatescloseandtheythinkthey’veastrategicbastion.Good.That’swhyIhaveSevroinsidewiththem.Smokeplumessoonrise.Hedestroys the foodstoresas theyenslave

theMinervans and guard the walls frommy army. Then he fouls thewellswithfecesandhideswithhisHowlersinthecellars.HouseDianaisnotusedtothissortofwarfare.Theyhaveneverreally

left theirwoods behind. It is hardly an effort towait themout. Threedaysinandtheyareapparentlystillsurprisedwedonotleave.Instead,wecampnorthandsouthofthecitywithourhorsesandlightbonfiresallaroundsotheycannotslipawayinthenight.Theyarethirsty.Theirleader, Tamara, does not receiveme. She is too embarrassed at beingcaughtinherbetrayal.

Eventually,onthefourthday,TamaraoffersmetenMinervanslavesandallourenslavedsoldiersifIallowherpassagehome.IsendLeatotellhertogoslagherself.Leagiggleslikeachildwhenshereturns.Sheflips her hair, grabs my arm, and leans in close to mock Tamara’sdesperateness.“Havedecency!”shecries.“Areyounotamanofyourword?”Whentheytrytobreakoutthefifthnight,wecaptureeverylastoneof them. Except Tamara. She fell fromher horse andwas trampled todeathinthemud.“Hersaddlewascutthroughunderneath.”Sevroshowsmethecleanlyseveredstripofleather.“Tactus?”“Probably.”“His mother’s a Senator, Father’s a Praetor.” Sevro spits. “Met himwhenwewerechildren.Beatagirlhalftodeathwhenshewouldn’tkisshimonthecheek.Madbastard.”“Letitslide,”Isay.“Wecan’tproveanything.”Tactusisourslave,asisallofDianaandMinerva.EvenPax.IsitwithCassiusandRoqueatopourhorsesaswewatchournewslaveslaborinstackingwoodandhaythroughouttheMinervanfortress.Theysetamassiveblazeandwethreetoasteachotherinvictory.“Thiswillbeyourlastbarofmerit,”Cassiustellsme.“ThatmakesyouPrimus, brother.” He pats my shoulder, and I see only a twinge ofjealousyinhiseyes.“Couldn’tbeabetterpick.”“Lordonhigh,IneverthoughtIwouldseethissideofourhandsomefriend,”Roquesays.“Humility!Cassius,isthattrulyyou?”Cassiusshrugs.“Thisgameisbutayearofourlives,maybeless.Afterthat,wehaveourapprenticeshipsoracademies.Afterthat,wehaveourlives.I’monlygladthatwethreewereinthesameHouse—justrewardswillbethereeventuallyforallofus.”Isqueezehisshoulder.“Agreed.”He’sstilllookingdown,unabletomeetoureyestillhefindshisvoiceagain.“I…mayhavelostabrotherhere.Thatpainwon’tfade.ButIfeellikeI’ve gained twomore.”He looksup fiercely. “And Imean that, lads. Igorywellmean that.We’llhave todoourselvesproudhere.Beat somemore Houses, win the whole damn thing; but my father will needofficersfortheshipsinhisarmada…ifyouareinterested,thatis.The

HouseBellonaalwaysneedsPraetorstomakeusstronger.”Hesaysthatlastparttimidly,asthoughwe’dhavesomethingbettertodo.IgriphisshoulderoncemoreandnodevenasRoquesayssomethingsmartass about being a politician because he’d rather send people totheir deaths than go to his own. The Sons of Ares would drool if IbecameaPraetortoHouseBellona.“Anddon’tworry,Roque,I’llmentionyourpoetrytoFather,”Cassiuslaughs.“He’salwayswantedawarriorbard.”“Ofcourse,”Roqueembellishes.“BesuretoletdearImperatorBellonaknowthatIamamasterwithmetaphorandaroguewithassonance.”“Roquearogue…ohGod,”IlaughasSevroridesupwithQuinnandagirlonatypeofhorseIhavenotseenbefore.Thegirlwearsabagoverherhead.QuinnannouncesherasanemissaryfromHousePluto.Hername is Lilath and they foundherwaitingnear the edgeof thewoods.ShewishestospeakwithCassius.Lilathwasonceamoonfacedgirlwithcheeksthatdidsmilebutnowdon’t.Theyaredrawnandnewlyburned,pockedandcruel.She’sseenhunger, and there’s a coldness to her that I don’t recognize. I’mfrightened.IfeellikeMickeywhenhelookedatme.Iwasacold,quietthinghedidn’tunderstand.Soisshe.It’slikelookingatafishfromanundergroundriver.Lilath’swordscomeslowandlingerintheair.“IcomefromtheJackal.”“Callhimbyhisrealname,ifyouwill,”Isuggest.“I did not come to speak with you,” she says without a hint ofemotion.“IcameforCassius.”Herhorse is smalland lean. Itshoovesnicked.Extraclothingmakesher saddle fat. I see no weapons other than a crossbow. They are amountainHouse—more clothing for colder climates, smallerhorses forharderrides.Unlessitisdeception.Imakehershowmeherring.Itisamourningtree—thecypressofPluto.Itsrootsleakintotheground.Twoofherfingersaregone.Burnssealthestumps,sotheyhaveionweapons.Herhairclatterswhenshemoves.Idon’tknowwhy.Shelooksmeoverquietly,asthoughjudgingmeagainsthermaster.ApparentlyIamlacking.“Cassius au Bellona, my master desires the Reaper.” She goes on

beforeeitherofuscansayaword.We’retoosurprised.“Alive.Dead.Wedon’t care. In return for him, you will receive fifty of these foryour…army.”ShetosseshimtwoionBlades.“Youcantellyourmasterheshouldcomefacemehimself,”Isay.“Imakenowordswithdeadboys,”Lilathsaystotheair.“Mymaster

hasputthemarkontheReaper.Beforewintercomes,hewillbedead.Byonehandoranother.”“Youcangoslagyourself,”Cassiusreplies.ShetossesCassiusasmallpouch.“Tohelpyoumakeyourdecision.”Shedoesnot speakagain.Quinnraiseshereyebrowsandshrugsher

confusionassheleadsLilathaway.I look at the small pouch Cassius holds in his hands. Paranoia

overwhelmsme.Whatisinside?“Openit,”Isay.“Nah.She’smadasaViolet,thatone,”Cassiuslaughs.“Don’tneedher

toinfectus.”Yethetucksthepouchinhisboot.Iwanttoscreamathimtoopenit,butIsmileasthoughthereisnothingtoworryabout.“Somethingwaswronginher.Didn’tseemhuman,”Isaycasually.“Lookedlikeoneofourstarvedwolves.”CassiusgivestheionBladea

swing.Theairshrieks.“Atleastwegotthesetwo.NowIcanteachyouhow to duel properly. These’ll go straight through duroArmor.Dangerousthings,really.”The Jackal knows aboutme. The thoughtmakesme shiver.Roque’s

wordsareworse.“Did younotice howher hair clattered?” he asks.His face iswhite.

“Herbraidswerelacedwithteeth.”WemustpreparetomeettheJackal’sarmy.Thatmeansconsolidating

my forces and eliminating lingering threats. I need the remainder ofHouse Diana in the Greatwoods destroyed. And I needHouse Ceres. Isend Cassius with the Howlers and a dozen horsemen to destroy theremainderofDiana.TherestofmyarmyandslavesItakebacktoourcastle toprepare for theJackal. I’venotyetdevisedaplan,but I’llbereadyforhimifherearshishead.“Aftersleepingindeadhorses,ourHowlerswillprobablystinkthem

outoftheGreatwoods!”Cassiuslaughsashespurshishorseawayfromthe main column. “I’ll sic Goblin on them and be back before you’re

eveninbed.”Sevrodoesnotwant togowithoutme.HedoesnotunderstandwhyCassiusneedshishelptomopuptheremaindersofDiana.Itellhimthetruth.“Cassiushasapouchinhisboot,theoneLilathgavehim.Ineedyoutostealit.”Hiseyesdonotjudge.Notevennow.TherearetimeswhenIwonderwhatIdidtoearnsuchloyalty,thenotherswhenItrynottopressmyluckbylookingthegifthorseinthemouth.

ThatnightasCassiuslayssiegetoDianaintheGreatwoods,therestofmyarmyfeastsbehindourtallhighlandwallsinMarsCastle.Thekeepiscleanandthesquaremerry.EventheslavesaregivenJune’sthyme-roastedgoatandvenisondrizzledwitholiveoil.Iwatchoveritall.TheslaveslookdownoutofembarrassmentasIpass,evenPax.Thehowlingwolfonhisforeheadhascrushedhispride.Tactusalonemeetsmyeyes.His dark honey skin is like Quinn’s, but his eyes remind me of apitviper’s.Hewinksatme.Aftermy victory over Pax,myhighDrafts seem to have finally fullyembraced my leadership, even Antonia. It reminds me of how I wastreatedonthestreetsafterMickeycarvedme.IamtheGoldhere.Iamthepower.It’sthefirsttimeI’vefeltthiswaysincesentencingTitustodeath.SoonFitchnerwillcomedownandgivemethePrimushandfromthestoneandallwillbewell.Roque, Quinn, Lea, and now Pollux eat with me. Even Vixus andCassandra,who normally sit in communewithAntonia, have come togivetheircongratulationsonthevictory.Theylaughandclapmeontheshoulder. Cipio, Antonia’s plaything, is counting the many slaves.Antoniaherselfdoesnotventuremyway,but shedoes tilthergoldenheadinapproval.Miraclesdohappen.I am Primus. I have five golden bars. Soon Fitchner will come tobestowthehonorifics.Inthemorning,HouseCereswillfall.Theyhaveless thanone-thirdournumber.With theirgrain to feedmyarmyandtheirfortresstouseasabaseofoperations,IwillhavethepoweroffourHouses. We will sweep away whatever is left in the North and then

descendupontheSouthbeforethefirstsnowevenfalls.ThenIwillfacetheJackal.Roquecomestostandbesidemeaswewatchthefeast.“I’vebeenthinkingofkissingLea,”hesayssuddenlytome.Iseeher

laughingwithseveralmidDraftsnearoneofthefires.She’scutherhairshort,and she sparesusaglance, coquettishlyduckingherheadwhenRoqueholdshergaze.Heblushestooandlooksaway.“Ithoughtyoudidn’tlikeher.Shefollowsyouaboutlikeapuppy.”I

laugh.“Well,yes.At first shedidn’t intriguemebecause I thought shewas

attaching herself to me as one would to a … life raft to stop fromsinking.But…she’sgrown…”Ilookoverathimandlaugh.Ican’tstoplaughing.We look like blond wolves. We’re leaner than when the Institute

began.Dirtier.Ourhairislong.Wehavescars.Memorethanmost.I’mlikelytoodependentonredmeat.Oneofmymolarsissplit.ButIlaugh.I laugh till mymolar can’t take it anymore. I’d forgotten that we arepeople,kidswhohavecrushes.“Well,don’twastethefirstkiss,”Isay.“That’smyonlyadvice.”I tell him to take her somewhere special. Take her somewhere here

thatmeanssomethingtohim,orthem.ItookEotomydrill—LoranandBarlowmade jokes about that. The thing was off and in a ventilatedtunnel, so we didn’t have to wear frysuit lids, just had to watch forpitvipers.Stillshesweatedfromexcitement.Hairclingingtoherface,tothe nape of her neck. She grippedmy wrist so hard, and only let gowhensheknewshehadme.WhenIkissedher.I grin and slap Roque on the butt for luck. Uncle Narol says it’s

tradition.HeusedtheflatofaslingBladeonme.Ithinkhewaslying.IdreamofEo inthenight. Idonotoftensleepwithoutdreamingof

her.Thecastle’shightowerbunkbedsareempty.Roque,Lea,Cassius,Sevro,theHowlers,aregone.ExceptforQuinn,allmyfriendsareoff.Iam Primus, yet I feel so alone. The fire crackles. Cold autumn windcomes in. Itmoans like awind from the abandonedmine tunnels andmakesmethinkofmywife.Eo. Imissherwarmth in thebedbesideme. Imissherneck. Imiss

kissing her soft skin, smelling her hair, tasting her mouth as shewhisperedhowshelovedme.

ThenIhearfeetandshefades.Lea bursts through the dormitory door. She talks frantically. I can

barelyunderstandher.Istand,toweringoverher,andputahandonhershouldertocalmher.It’simpossible.Maniceyeslookatmefrombehindhershort-cuthair.“Roque!” she wails. “Roque has fallen into a crevice. His legs are

broken.Ican’treachhim!”I follow her so fast I don’t even bringmy cloak or slingBlade. The

castleisasleepexceptfortheguards.Weflythroughthegate,forgettingthehorses.Ishoutforoneoftheguardstocomehelpme.Idon’twatchtosee if shedoes.Learunsahead,guidingmedowninto theglenandthenup over the northern hills to the highland gulchwherewemadeour first fires as a tribe. Themists are thick. The night is dark.And IrealizehowstupidIam.It’satrap.IstopfollowingLea.Idon’ttellher.Idon’tknowifthey’llcomefrom

behindme,soIdivetomybellyandshuffletoagullysothatIamlostin the mist. I put ferns over myself. I hear them now. The sound ofswords.Offeetandstunpikes.Curses.Howmanyarethere?Leacallsmyname frantically. She is not alone now. She’s led me to them. I hearcrookedVixus. I smell Cassandra’s flowers. She’s always rubbing themonherskintocoverherbodyodor.Their voices call to each other in themist. They know I discovered

theirtrap.HowcanIgetbacktomyarmy?Idarenotmove.Howmanyarethere?Theylookforme.IfIrun,wouldImakeit?OrwouldIendupontheendofasword?Ihavetwoknivesinmyboots.Thatisit.Ipullthemout.“Oh,Reaper!”Antoniacallsfromthemist.She’ssomewhereaboveme.

“Fearlessleader?Oh,Reaper.There’snoneedtohide,darling.We’renotmadatyouorderingusaboutlikeyou’reourking.We’renotindignantenoughtoburyknivesinyoureyes.Notatall.Darling?”Theycalltaunts,playingonmyvanity.I’veneverhadmuch,butthey

can’t understand that. A boot steps near my head. Green eyes peerthrough the darkness. I think they see me. They don’t. NightOptics.Someone gave them nightOptics. I hear Vixus and Cassandra. Antoniagrowsfrustrated.“Reaper,ifyoudonotcomeouttoplay,thereshallbeconsequences.”

She sighs. “What consequences, you ask? Why, I will cut little Lea’sthroattothebone.”IhearayelpasLea’shairisseized.“Roque’slover.…”Idon’tcomeout.Goddammit.Idon’tcomeout.Mylifeismorethanmyown.ItisEo’s,myfamily’s.Icannotthrowitaway,notformypride,notforLea,nottoavoidthepainoflosinganotherfriend.DotheyhaveRoquetoo?Myjawaches.Iclenchmyteeth.Mymolarscreams.Antoniawon’tdoit.Shecan’t.“Lastchance,mydarling.No?”There’sameatysoundfollowedbyagurgleandathumpasabodycrumplestotheground.“Pity.”IlooseasilentscreamasIseethemedBotwhinethroughthenight’smist.Forallthepowerinmyhands,inmybody,I’mpowerlesstostopthis,them.Idonotmoveuntiltheearlymorning,whenIamsuretheyaregone.The medBots did not take Lea’s body away. The Proctors left it so Iwouldknowshedied,soIcouldnotholdontohopethatsomehowshelived.Thebastards.Herbody is fragile indeath.Likea littlebird thathasfallenfromthenest.Ibuildacairnoverher.Thestonesarehighbuttheywillnotkeepthewolvesaway.IdonotfindRoque’sbody,soIdonotknowwhathasbecomeofhim.Ismyfrienddead?I feel aghostas Ipickmywayalong thehighlands, circlingaroundthecastletoavoidAntonia’shenchmen.IputmyselfinthepathCassiuswill take in returning from the Greatwoods, hiding beneath shrubs tostay from sight. It is midday when he returns at the head of a smallcolumnofhorseandslaves.HekickshishorseforwardtogreetmeasIcomefromtheshrubs.“Brother!”hecalls.“Ibroughtyouagift!”HehopsoffandgivesmeahugbeforepullingoutoneofDiana’s tapestriesandwrapping itaboutmyshoulders.Hepullsbackfromme.“You’reaspaleasaghost.What’sthematter?”Hepicksaleafoutofmyhair.Maybethat’swhenheseesthesadnessinmyeyes.SevroridesupbehindhimasItellthemwhathashappened.“Thebitch,”Cassiusmurmurs.Sevroissilent.“PoorLea.PoorLea.Shewasasweetheart.DoyouthinkRoqueisdead?”

“Idon’tknow.”Isay.“Ijustdon’tknow.”“Gorydamn.”Cassiusshakeshishead.“A Proctor must have given Antonia nightOptics,” Sevro speculates.“OrtheJackalbribedher.Itfits.”“Who cares about that?” Cassius cries, flinging out his arm. “Roquemaybewoundedordeadoutthere,man.Don’tyouregister?”Hegripsthe back of my neck and bringsmy forehead to his. “We’ll find him,Darrow.We’llfindourbrother.”Inod,feelinganumbnessspreadinginmychest.Antonianeverreturnedtoourcastle.Neitherdidherhenchmen,VixusandCassandra.Theyfailedtokillmeandmusthavefled.Buttowhere?Quinn flings her hands up in the air and shouts at us as we comethroughthegate.“I didn’t know where the goryblazes anyone was! The slavesoutnumberedusfourtoonetillyougotback.Butit’sfine.It’sfine.”ShegripsCassius’shandwhenwetellherwhat’shappened.Thetearswellinher eyes for Lea, but she refuses to believe Roque is dead. She keepsshakingherhead.“WecanusetheslavestosearchforRoque.Probablywoundedandhidingoutthere.That’sit.Thathastobeit.”Wedonotfindhim.Theentirearmysearches.Notasign.Weconveneinourwarroomaroundthelongtable.“He’sprobablydeadatthebottomofaditch,”Sevrosaysthatnight.Ialmosthithim.Buthe’sright.“TheJackaldidthis,”Imutter.“Toughshit,”hesays.“Comeagain?”“Doesn’t matter if he did it, is what Sevro means. We can’t doanythingagainsttheJackalnow.Evenifhetriedtotakeyourlife,we’renot in a position to hurt him,” Quinn declares. “Let’s deal with ourneighborsfirst.”“Stupid,”Sevromutters.“Whatasurprise.ItlookslikeGoblindisagrees,”Cassiussnaps.“Speakupifyougotsomethinginyourcraw,pygmy.”“Don’ttalkdowntome,”Sevrosneers.Cassiuschuckles.“Don’tpissonmyfootbecauseyouonlycometomyknees.”“I’meverybityourequal.”ThelookonSevro’sfaceissuchthatIlean

forward suddenly, frightened a knifewill suddenly appear in Cassius’seye.“Myequal?Atwhat?Birth?”Cassiusgrins.“Oh,wait,Imeantheight,

looks,intelligence,money?ShallIstop?”Quinnkickshischairhardwithherfoot.“Whatthehellisyourproblem?”shesnapsathim.“Nevermind.Just

shutthehellup.”Sevrolooksattheground.Ihavethesuddenurgetoputahandonhis

shoulder.“Whatwereyousaying,Sevro?”Quinnasks.“Nothing.”“Comeon.”“Hesaidnothing.”Cassiuschuckles.“Cassius.”Myvoicealoneshutshimup.“Sevro,please.”Sevro sighs and looks up at me, cheeks flushed with anger. “Just

thought we should not pick our butts here while the Jackal doeswhatever he wants.” He shrugs. “Send me south. And let me causetrouble.”“Trouble?”Cassiusasks.“Whatyougoingtodo,killtheJackal?”“Yes.” Sevro looksquietly atCassius. “I’ll put adagger inhis throat

andthencarveaholetillIseehisspine.”Thetensionisenoughtomakemeuneasy.“Youcan’tbeserious,”Quinnsaysquietly.“He’sserious.”Cassius’sforeheadcreases.“Andhe’swrong.We’renot

monsters.NotyouandI,atleast,Darrow.BellonaPraetorsaren’tknivesinthenight.Wehavefivehundredyearsofhonortoguard.”“Pissandlies.”Sevrodismisseshimwithawave.“It’sinthebreeding.”Cassiuselevateshisnoseeversoslightly.Sevro’smouthtwistscruelly.“You’reaPixieifyoubuyallthat.Think

yourpapacuthiswayuptoImperatorbybeinghonorable?”“Callitchivalry,Goblin,”Cassiussneers.“Itwouldn’tberighttryingto

murdersomeoneincoldblood,particularlynotataschool.”“IagreewithCassius,”Isay,breakingmysilence.“Smallwonder.”Sevrostandstoleaveverysuddenly.Iaskhimwhere

heisgoing.“Youobviouslydon’tneedme.Havealltheadviceyoucanhandle.”“Sevro.”

“I’m gonna search the ditches.Again. Bet Bellona wouldn’t do that.Wouldn’t get his precious knees dirty.”He bowsmockingly to Cassiusbeforeleaving.Quinn, Cassius, and I remain in the warroom until Cassius yawns

somethingaboutcatchingabitofREMbeforethedawnhitsinsixhours.Quinn and I are left alone. Her hair has been cut short and jagged,thoughthebangshangjustoverhernarroweyes.Sheslouchesboyishlyinherchairandpicksathernails.“Whatareyouthinkingon?”sheasksme.“Roque…andLea.”Ihearthegurgleinmymind.Withitechoesall

thesoundsofdeath.Eo’spop.Julian’ssilenceashetwitchedinhisownblood.IamtheReaperanddeathismyshadow.“Isthatall?”sheasks.“Ithinkweshouldgrabsomesleep,”Ireply.Shesaysnothingasshewatchesmeleave.

33

APOLOGIES

Cassiuswakesmeinthemiddleofthenight.“SevrofoundRoque,”hesaysquietly.“He’samess.Come.”“Where?”“North.Theycan’tmovehim.”We gallop away from the castle under the light of twinmoons. An

early winter snow fills the air with dancing flurries. Sucking soundscomefromthemudasweheadtowardthenorthMetas.Nosoundsbutthegurglingof thewaterandthewindinthetrees.Wipingsleepfrommyeyes,IlookovertoCassius.HehasourtwoionSwords,andsuddenlya pit opens inmy stomach as I realizewhat’swhat. He doesn’t knowwhereRoqueis.Butheknowssomethingelse.HeknowswhatI’vedone.ThisisatrapIcannotrideawayfrom.Iguesstherearethosetimesin

life.It’s likestaringatthegroundasyoufallfromaheight.Seeingtheendcomingdoesn’tmeanyoucandodgeit,fixit,stopit.Weridefortwentymoreminutes.“Itwasnosurprise,”Cassiussayssuddenly.“What’sthat?”“I’veknownforoverayearthatJulianwasmeanttodie.”Thesnow

fallssilentlyaswemovetogetherthroughthemud.Thehothorsemovesbetweenmylegs.Stepbystepthroughthemud.“Hemadeamessofhistest.Hewasneverthebrightest,notinthewaytheywanted.Oh,hewaskindandbrightwithemotions—hecouldsensesadnessorangeraklick

away.ButempathyisalowColorthing.”Isaynothing.“Therearefeudsthatdonotchange,Darrow.Catsanddogs.Iceandfire.AugustusandBellona.MyfamilyandtheArchGovernor’s.”Cassius’s eyes are fixed ahead even as his horse stumbles and hisbreathmakesfogintheair.“Butdespitewhat itportended,Julianwasexcitedwhenhereceivedthe acceptance letter stamped with the ArchGovernor’s personal seal.Didn’t seem right to me or my other brothers. Never thought Julianwouldbethesorttomakeitin.Ilovedhim,allmybrothersandcousinsdid; but youmet him. Oh, you’vemet him—hewasn’t the keenest ofmind,buthewasn’tthedullest;hewouldn’thavebeenthebottomonepercent. No need to cull him from the stock. But he had the nameBellona. A name which our enemy loathes. And so our enemy usedbureaucracy,usedhistitle,hisdulyappointedpowers,tomurderakindboy.“Toturndownan invitationto the Institute isan illegalact.Andhewas so delighted, and we—my mother and father and brothers andsistersandcousinsandlovedones—weresohopefulforhim.Hetrainedsohard.”Hisvoicetakesamockingtone.“Butintheend,Julianwasfedtothewolves.OrshouldIsaywolf?”Hepullshishorsetoahalt,eyesburningintome.“How did you find out?” I ask, staring ahead over the dark water.Flakesofsnowdisappearintotheblacksurface.Themountainsarebutshadowedmoundsinthedistance.Therivergurgles.Idonotdismount.“ThatyoudidAugustus’sdirtywork?”Helaughsscornfully.“Itrustedyou,Darrow.SoIdidnotneedtoseewhattheJackalsentme.ButwhenSevro tried to steal it from me as I slept in the Greatwoods, I knewsomethingwasthematter.”Henoticesmyreaction.“What?Youthoughtyouconsortedwithdullards?”“Sometimes.Yes.”“Well,Iwatchedittonight.”Aholo.WithRoqueandLea,Ihadforgottenaboutthepackage.BetterthatIhad.BetterthatIhadtrustedhimandnotsentSevrotostealit.Maybehewouldhavediscardeditthen.Maybethingswouldbedifferent.“Watchedwhat?”Iask.

“AholothatshowsyoukillingJulian,brother.”“The Jackal got a holo,” I snort. “His Proctor gave it to him then.Guess thatmeans thegame is rigged.Suppose itdoesn’tmatter toyouthattheJackalistheArchGovernor’ssonandthathe’smanipulatingyouintogettingridofme.”Heflinches.“Didn’tknowtheJackalwashisson,eh?Ireckonyou’drecognizehimifyousawhimandthat’swhyhesentLilath.”“Iwouldn’trecognizehim.I’venevermetthebastard’sspawn.HekeptthemhiddenfromusbeforetheInstitute.Andmyfamilykeptmefromhimafter…”Hisvoicefadesashiseyessinkintoadistantmemory.“Wecanbeathim,together,Cassius.Weneedn’tbedivided—”“Because you killed my brother?” He spits. “There is no we, youfecklessquim.Getoffyourgorydamnhorse.”IdismountandCassiusthrowsmeoneoftheionSwords.Istandfacingmy friend in themud.Noone towatchbut thecrowsand themoons.AndtheProctors.MyslingBladeisonthesaddle;itatleasthasacurve,butit’suselessagainstanionBlade.Cassiusisgoingtokillme.“Ididn’thaveachoice,”Itellhim.“Ihopeyouknowthat.”“Youwillrotinhell,youmanipulativesonofabitch,”hecries.“Youallowedmetocallyoubrother!”“Sowhatwouldyouhavehadmedo?ShouldIhaveletJuliankillmeinthePassage?Wouldyou?”Thatfreezeshim.“It’s how you killed him.” He’s quiet for a moment. “We come asprincesandthisschoolissupposedtoteachustobecomebeasts.Butyoucameabeast.”Ilaughbitterly.“AndwhatwereyouwhenyourippedapartTitus?”“Iwasnotlikeyou!”Cassiusshouts.“I let you kill him,Cassius, so theHousewouldn’t remember that adozen boys took a good long piss on your face. So don’t treat me asthoughI’msomemonster.”“Youare,”hesneers.“Oh,shutyourgoddamnedgobandlet’sjustcuttoit.Hypocrite.”Theduelisnotlong.Ihavebeenpracticingwithhimformonths.Hehas played at duels his entire life. The blades echo across themovingriver. Snow falls.Mud sticks and sloshes.Wepant.Breathbillows.My

arms rattle as the blades clang and scrape. I’m faster than him,morefluid.Almostgethisthigh,butheknowsthemathematicsofthisgame.Withalittleflickofhiswriststomovemyswordsideways,hestepsinand drives his ionBlade through my armor into my belly. It shouldcauterizeinstantlyanddestroythenerves, leavingmedamagedthoughalive,buthehastheionchargeoff,soIonlyfeelahorribletightnessasalienmetalslidesintomybodyandwarmthgushesout.I forget tobreathe.Then Igasp.Mybodyshivers.Hugs thesword. I

smellCassius’sneck.He’sclose.Closeaswhenheusedtocupmyheadandcallmebrother.Hishairisoily.DignityleavesmeandIbegintowhimperlikeadog.Throbbingpainblossoms—beginslikeapressure,afullnessofmetalin

my stomach, becomes an achinghorror. I shudder forbreaths, gulp atthem.Can’tbreathe.It’slikeablackholeinmygut.Ifallbackmoaning.Thereispain.Thatisonething.Thisisdifferent.Itisterrorandfear.Mybodyknowsthisishowlifeends.Thentheswordisgoneandthemiserybegins.Cassiusleavesmebleedingandsnivelinginthemud.EverythingthatIamgoesawayandIamaslavetomybody.Icry.I become a child again. I curl around the wound. Oh God, it is

horrible.Idon’tunderstandthepain.Itconsumesme.I’mnoman;I’machild.Letmediefaster.Isinkinthecold,coldmud.Ishiverandweep.Ican’t help it. My body does things. It betrays me. The metal wentthroughmyguts.Myblood goes out.With it goDancer’s hopes,my father’s sacrifice,

Eo’sdream.Icanhardlythinkofthem.Themudisdarkandcold.Thishurtssomuch.Eo.Imissher.Imisshome.Whatwashersecondgift?Ineverfoundout.Hersisternevertoldme.NowIknowpain.Nothingisworththis.Nothing.Letmebeaslaveagain,letmeseeEo,letmedie.Justnotthis.

PARTIV

REAPER

TheElderwomenofLykossaythatwhenamanisbittenbyapitviper,allthepoisonmustbedrawnoutofthebite,forthepoisoniswicked.WhenIwasbitten,UncleNarolleftsomeinonpurpose.

34

THENORTHWOODS

Thereisagony.Andclaustrophobia.Iamsickandwounded.Thepainisindreams.Itisindarkness.Inthepitofmystomach.Iwakeupandscreamintoagentlehand.Iglimpsesomeone.Eo? Iwhisper her name and reach up.Mymuddy hand smears her

face.Herangel’s face.She’scome to takeme to thevale.Herhairhasturned Golden. I always thought she could be Golden. Her Colors aregoldenwings.NoRedsigilonherhands.Ittookdeath.Isweatdespitetherainsandsnowsthatcome.Somethingsheltersme.

I shiver.Clutchmy scarlet headband. Lost thehaemanthus.Whenwasthat again?Mud inmy hair. Eowashes it away. Tenderly strokesmybrow.Iloveher.Somethinginsidemebleeds.IhearEospeaktoherself,tosomeone.Ihaven’tlong.HaveItimeatall?AmIinthevale?Thereismist.Thereisskyandagreattree.Fire.Smoke.Ishiverandsweat.Rotinhell,Cassius.Iwasyourfriend.Imighthave

killedyourbrother,but Ihadnochoice.Youdid.Youarrogant slag. Ihatehim.IhateAugustus. IseethemhangingEotogether.Theymockme. They laugh atme. I hate Antonia. I hate Fitchner. I hate Titus. Ihate.Ihate.Iamburningandmadandsweating.IhatetheJackal.TheProctors.Ihate.IhatemyselfforallI’vedone.AllI’vedone.Forwhat?

Towinagame.TowinagameforsomeonewhowillneverknowaboutanythingIdo.Eoisdead.It isn’tas ifshewilleverbecomingbacktoseeallIhavedoneforher.Dead.ThenIwake.Thepainisthereinmygut.Itgoesthroughme.ButInolongersweat.Thefeverisgone,andtheangryredlinesofinfectionhavefaded.I’minacave’smouth.There’sasmallfireandasleepinggirljustinchesaway.Furscoverher.Shebreathessoftlythesmokyair.Herhairistousledandgold.Sheisn’tEo.Mustang.Icry silently. IwantEo.Whycan’t Ihaveher?Whycan’t Iwillherbacktolife?IwantEo.Idon’twantthisgirlbesideme.Itachesworsethan thewound. I cannever fixwhathappened toEo. I couldn’t evenrunmyarmy.Icouldn’twin.Icouldn’tbeatCassius,nottomentiontheJackal.IwasthebestHelldiver;I’mnothinghere.Theworldistoobigand cold. I am too small. The world has forgotten Eo. It has alreadyforgottenhersacrifice.There’snothingleft.Isleepagain.WhenIwake,Mustangsitsbythefire.SheknowsI’mawakebutletsmepretendotherwise. I lie therewithmyeyesclosed, listening toherhum.It’sasongIknow.It isasongIhear indreams.Theechoofmylove’sdeath.Thesongsungby theone theycallPersephone.HummedbyanAureate,anechoofEo’sdream.Iweep. If ever I’ve felt therewasaGod, it isnowas I listen to themournfulchords.Mywifeisdead,butsomethingofherslingersstill.IspeaktoMustangthenextmorning.“Wheredidyouhearthatsong?”Iaskherwithoutsittingup.“FromtheHC,”shesays,blushing.“Alittlegirlsangit.It’ssoothing.”“It’ssad.”“Mostthingsare.”It has been fourweeks,Mustang tellsme. Cassius is Primus.Winterhas come. Ceres is no longer under siege. Jupiter’s soldiers sometimescome into the woods. There are sounds of battle between the twosuperpowersoftheNorth,JupiterandMars.Jupitertothewest,Marstotheeast. Since the river froze, they’vebeenable to crossand raidoneanother. Our buzzards have risen out of their winter gulches. Hungrywolves howl at night. Crows flock from the south. ButMustang reallyknowsverylittle,andIgrowimpatientwithher.

“Keepingyoubreathingwasalittledistracting,”sheremindsme.Herstandardliesunderneathablanketnearmyfeet.She’sthelastofHouseMinerva.Yetunbridled.Andshedidn’tenslaveme.“Slavesarestupid,”shesays.“Andyou’realreadyagimp.Whymakeyoustupidtoo?”ItisdaysbeforeI’mabletowalk.IwonderwherethoseniftymedBotsarenow.TendingsomeonetheProctorslike,nodoubt.IwonPrimusandtheynevergaveittome.NowIknowwhytheJackalwillwin.Theyaregettingridofhiscompetition.

Mustang stalks with me through the woods during the next weeks. Imove stiffly through the thick snow butmy strength is returning. Shecreditsmedicineshefoundlyingconspicuouslyunderabush.AfriendlyProctor placed it there.We pausewhenwe spot the deer. I draw thebow, but I can’t get the string to my ear. My wound aches. Mustangwatchesme.Itryagain.Paindeepinside.Iletthearrowfly.Imiss.Weeat leftover rabbit that night. It tastes funny and gives me cramps. Ialwayshavecrampsnow.It’sthewatertoo.Wehavenothingtoboilitin.Noiodine.Justsnowandalittlecreektodrinkfrom.Sometimeswecan’thavefire.“YoushouldhavekilledCassiusorsenthimaway,”Mustangtellsme.“Wouldhavethoughtyounoblerthanthat,”Isay.“I like to win. Family trait. And sometimes cheating is in the rule-book.”Shesmiles.“Yougetameritbareverytimeyourecaptureyourstandard.SoIarrangedforittobelosttoHouseDianabysomeoneelseseveraltimes.Thenrodeouttocaptureit.GottoPrimusinaweek.”“Tricky.Yetyourarmylikedyou,”Isay.“Everyone likes me. Now eat your damn rabbit. You’re skinny as arazor.”Thewintergrowscolder.Weliveinthedeepnorthwoods,farnorthofCeres,northwestofmyformerhighlands.IhavenotyetseenasoldierofMars.Idon’tknowwhatIwoulddoifIdid.“I’vehiddenfromeveryonebutyou,”Mustangsays.“Itkeepsmealiveandticking.”“What’syourplan?”Iask.Shelaughsatherself.“Tobealiveandticking.”

“You’rebetteratitthanIam.”“Howdoyoumean?”“NooneinyourHousewouldhavebetrayedyou.”“Because I didn’t rule like you,” she says. “You have to remember,

peopledon’tlikebeingtoldwhattodo.Youcantreatyourfriendslikeservants and they’ll love you, but you tell them they’re servants andthey’llkillyou.Anyway,youputtoomuchstockinhierarchyandfear.”“Me?”“Whoelse?Icouldspotitamileaway.Allyoucaredaboutwasyour

mission,whateveritis.You’relikeadrivenarrowwithaverydepressingshadow. First time I met you, I knew you’d cut my throat to getwhateveritisyouwant.”Shewaitsforamoment.“Whatisitthatyouwant,bytheway?”“Towin,”Isay.“Oh,please.You’renotthatsimple.”“Youthinkyouknowme?”Thecoalscrackleinoursmallfire.“IknowyoucryinyoursleepforagirlnamedEo.Sister?Oragirlyou

loved?ItisaveryoffColorname.Likeyours.”“I’mafarplanethayseed.Didn’ttheytellyou?”“Theywouldn’ttellmeanything.Idon’tgetoutmuch.Strictfather.”

Shewavesahand.“Anyway,doesn’tmatter.Allthatmattersisthatnoonetrustsyoubecauseit’sobviousyoucaremoreaboutyourgoalthanyoudoaboutthem.”“Andyou’resomethingdifferent?”“Oh,verymuchso,SirReaper. I likepeoplemore thanyoudo.You

are the wolf that howls and bites. I am themustang that nuzzles thehand.Peopleknow theycanworkwithme.Withyou?Hell, killorbekilled.”She’sright.WhenIhadatribe,Ididitright.Imadeeveryboyandeverygirllove

me.Madethemearntheirkeep.ItaughtthemhowtokillagoatasifIknewhow.Igavethemfireas if Ihadcreatedthematches. Isharedasecretwith them—thatwehad foodandTitusdidn’t. They sawmeastheirfather.Irememberit intheireyes.WhenTituswasalive,Iwasasymbolofgoodnessandhope.Thenwhenhedied…Ibecamehim.“SometimesIforgetthattheInstituteismeanttoteachmethings,”I

saytoMustang.

The golden girl tilts her head at me. “Like how we must live formore?”Her words strike my heart. They echo through time from another’slips.Liveformore.Morethanpower.Morethanvengeance.Morethanwhatwe’regiven.Imustlearnbetterthanthem,notsimplybeatthem.ThatishowIwillhelpReds.Iamaboy.Iamfoolish.ButifIlearntobecomealeader,IcanbemorethananagentoftheSonsofAres.Icangivemypeopleafuture.ThatiswhatEowanted.

Deepwinter.Thewolvesarehungrynow.Theyhowlinthenight.WhenMustang and Imake a kill,we sometimes have to scare themoff. Butwhenwe kill a caribou at dusk, a pack descends from the northlands.They come from the trees like dark specters. Shadows. The biggest ofthemismysize.Hisfuriswhite.Thefuroftheothersisgray,nolongerblack.Thesewolveschangewiththeseason.Iwatchhowtheysurroundus.Eachmoveswithindividualcunning.Yeteachmovesaspartofthepack.“Thisishowweshouldfight,”IwhispertoMustangaswewatchthewolvesapproach.“Couldwetalkaboutthislater?”We take down the pack leader with three arrows. The rest flee.MustangandIsettoskinningthebigwhitebrute.Assheslipsherknifealongbeneaththefur,shelooksup,noseredfromthecold.“Slavesaren’tpartofthepack,sowecan’tfightlikethem.Notthatitmatters.Thewolvesdon’thaveitrighteither.Theytaketoomuchfromtheirpackleader.Cutoffthehead,thebodyretreats.”“Sotheanswerisautonomy,”Isay.“Maybe.”Shebitesherlip.Later thatnight, sheelaborates. “It’s likeahand.”Shesitscloseandcozy,legtouchingmine.Closeenoughforguilttocrawlalongmyspine.Thecaribouroasts,fillingthecavewithacozy,thickaroma.Ablizzardragesoutsideandthewolffurdriesoverthefire.“Givemeyourhand,”shesays.“Whichisyourbestfinger?”“Theyareallbetteratdifferentthings.”“Don’tbeobstinate.”

I tell her my thumb. She has me try to hold a stick with only mythumb. She easily pulls it from my grasp. Then she has me hold itwithoutmythumbandonlytheotherfingers.Withatwist,thestickisfree.“ImaginethatyourthumbisyourHousemembers.Thefingersareall

theslavesyouhaveconquered.ThePrimusorwhoeveristhebrain.Itallworksprettygoryseamlessly.Yeah?”She can’t pull the stick frommygrip. I set it downandaskher the

point.“Nowtrytodosomethingbeyondsimplygrabbingthestandard.Just

move your thumb counterclockwise and your fingers clockwise exceptyourmiddle.”I do it. She stares at my hands and laughs incredulously. “Ass.” I

ruinedherdemonstration.Helldiversaredexterous.Iwatchherhandsasshetriestodoittoo.Ofcourseshefails.Iunderstand.“AhandisliketheSociety,”Isay.ItisthestructureofthearmiesattheInstitute.Thehierarchyisgood

forsimpletasks.Somefingersaremoreimportantthanothers.Somearebetteratcertain things.All fingersarecontrolledby thehighestorder,the brain. The brain’s control is effective. It makes your thumb andfingersworktogether.Butthesinglebrain’scontrol is limited.Imagineeachoneof the fingershadabrainof itsownthat interactedwith themain brain. The fingers obey, but they function independently. Whatcouldthehanddothen?Whatcouldanarmydo?Itwirlthestickalongmyfingersinintricatepatterns.Exactly.Hereyes lingeronmine,andherfingerstracealongmypalmasshe

explains.Iknowshewantsmetoreacttohertouch,butIforcemymindtobelostonotherthings.Thisideaofhersisn’tpartoftheProctors’lesson.Theirlessonisabouttheevolutionfromanarchytoorder.Itisabout

control. About the systematic accumulation of power, the structure ofthatpower,andthenitspreservation.ItisamodeltoshowthattheRuleof Hierarchies is the best. The Society is the final evolution, the onlyanswer.Shejustslaggedthatrule,oratleastshoweditslimitations.IfIcouldearnthevoluntaryallegianceoftheslaves,thearmycreated

wouldlooknothingliketheSociety.Itwouldbebetter.LikeiftheRedsofLykos thought theycouldactuallywin theLaurel, theywouldbeso

muchmore productive. Or if a Praetor on board his starcruiser couldutilizenotonlyhisowngenius,butthatofhiscrewofBlues.Mustang’sstrategyisEo’sdream.It’slikeanelectricshockjoltsthroughme.“Whydidn’tyoutryitwiththeslavesyoucaptured?”ShepullsherhandawayfrommineafterIdon’trespondtohertouch.“Itried.”She’squiettherestofthenight.Nearmorning,shedevelopsacough.Mustang takes sickover thenext fewdays. I hear fluid inher lungs

andfeedherbrothmadefrommarrowandwolfandleavesboiledinahelmet I found. She looks like shewill die. I don’t knowwhat to do.We’relowonfood,soIhunt.Butthegameisscarceandthewolvesarehungry.Preyhas fled thesewoods, sowesurviveonsmallhares.All IcandoiskeepherwarmandprayamedBotdescendsfromtheclouds.TheProctorsknowwhereweare.Theyalwaysknowwhereweare.Ifindhumantracksinthewoodsthenextweek.Asetoftwo.Ifollow

them to an abandoned campsite, hoping they might have food I cansteal.There are animalbones and embers still hot.Nohorses, though.Probably not scouts then.Oathbreakers, the Shamedwhohave brokentheirvowsafterbeingenslaved.There’splentyofthemnow.I follow their tracks through the woods for an hour before I grow

worried.Theycirclebackaround, leading somewhere familiar, leadingto our cave. It is night by the time I return. I hear laughter from thehomeIsharewithMustang.ThearrowfeelsthininmyfingersasInockit on the bowstring. I should kneel to gather my breath. My woundaches.Ipant.ButIcan’tgivethemmoretime.NotiftheyhaveMustang.TheycannotseemeasIstandattheedgeofthefrozencaribouskin

andhardpacked snow thatwallsoffourcave fromsightandelements.The firecrackles inside.Smokeseepsout throughventsMustangand Itook a day inmaking. Two boys sit together eatingwhat’s left of ourmeat,drinkingourwater.They are dirty and ragged. Hair like greased weeds. Stained

complexions. Blackheads. Once beautiful, I’m sure. One boy sits onMustang’s chest. The girl who saved my life is gagged and in herundergarments.Sheshiversfromthecold.Oneoftheboysbleedsfromabitewoundonhisneck.Theyareplanningonmakingherpayforthatwound. Knives heat till red in the fire. One boy obviously enjoys the

sightofhernakedness.He reaches to touchher skinas though she’satoymeantforhispleasure.My thoughts are primal, wolflike. A terrifying emotion sweeps overme,onethat IdidnotknowIhadforthisgirl.Nottillnow.It takesamomenttocalmmyselfandstopmyhandsfromshaking.Hishandisontheinsideofherthigh.Ishootthefirstboyinthekneecap.ThesecondIshootashereachesforaknife.I’mabadaim.Igethisshoulderinsteadofhiseyesocket.Islideintotheshelterwithmyskinningknife,readytofinishtheboysoffastheyhowlinpain.Somethinginme,thehumanpart,hasturnedoff,andit’sonlywhenIseeMustang’seyesthatIstop.“Darrow,”shesayssoftly.Even shivering, she is beautiful—the small, quick-smiling girl whobroughtmebacktolife.Thebright-eyedsoulwhokeepsEo’ssongalive.I shudderwithanger. If Ihadbeentenminutes later inreturning, thisnight could have broken me forever. I cannot bear another death.EspeciallynotMustang’s.“Darrow, let them live,” she says again, whispering it to me as Eowouldwhispershelovedme.Itcutstomycore.Ican’ttakethesoundofhervoice,theangerinsideme.Mymouthdoesn’twork.Myfaceisnumb;Ican’tlosethegrimaceofragethatcontrolsit.IdragthetwoboysoutbytheirhairandkickthemtillMustang joinsus. I leave themmoaning in the snowand return tohelpherdress.ShefeelssofragileasIpullheranimalskinsaroundherbonyshoulders.“Knifeorsnow,”sheaskstheboyswhenshe’sdressed.Sheholdstheknives heated in the fire in her trembling hands. She coughs. I knowwhat she’s thinking. Let themgoand theykillus aswe sleep.Neitherwilldie from theirwounds.ThemedBotswouldcome if thatwere thecase.Ormaybetheywon’tforOathbreakers.Theychoosesnow.I’mglad.Mustangdidn’twanttousetheknife.Wetiethemtoatreeattheedgeofthewoodsandlightasignalfireso that someHousewill find them.Mustang insistedoncomingalong,coughingalltheway,asifshewereworriedIwouldn’tdoassheasked.Shewasrighttothinkthat.Inthenight,afterMustanghasgonetosleep,Igetuptogobackand

killtheOathbreakers.IfJupiterorMarsfindsthem,thentheywillspillwhereweareandwewillbetaken.“Don’t,Darrow,”shesaysasIpullbackthecaribouskin.Iturn.Herfacepeersoutfromourblankets.“Wewillhave tomove if they live,” I say.“Andyou’realreadysick.You’lldie.”Wehavewarmthhere.Shelter.“Thenwewillmove in themorning,” she says. “I’m tougher than Ilook.”Sometimesthatistrue.Thistimeitisnot.Iwakeinthemorningtofindthatsheshiftedinthenighttocurlintomeforwarmth.Herbodyissofrail.Ittrembleslikealeafinthewind.Ismellherhair.Shebreathessoftly.Salttracksmarkherface.IwantEo.Iwish it were her hair, her warmth. But I don’t push Mustang away.There’s pain when I hold her, but it comes from the past, not fromMustang. She is somethingnew, somethinghopeful. Like spring tomydeepwinter.Whenmorning comes,wemove deeper into thewoods andmake alean-toshelteragainstarockfacewithfallentreesandpackedsnow.WeneverfindoutwhathappenedtotheOathbreakersorourcave.Mustangcanbarelysleep,shecoughssomuch.Whenshesleepscurledintome, I kiss the nape of her neck softly, softly so that shewill notwake;thoughIsecretlywishshewouldifjusttoknowthatI’mhere.Herskinishot.IhumtheSongofPersephone.“Icanneverrememberthewords,”shewhisperstome.Herheadliesinmylaptonight.“IwishIdid.”I have not sung since Lykos.My voice is raspy and raw. Slowly thesongcomes.

Listen,listenRememberthewaneOfsun’sfuryandwavinggrainWefellandfellAnddancedalongTocroonaknell

Ofrightsandwrongs

And

Myson,mysonRemembertheburn

WhenleaveswerefireandseasonsturnedWefellandfellAndsangasongToweaveacellAllautumnlongAndDowninthevaleHearthereaperswing,thereaperswingthereaperswingDowninthevaleHearthereapersingAtaleofwinterlong

Mygirl,mygirlRememberthechillWhenrainsfrozeandsnowsdidkillWefellandfellAnddancedalongThroughicyhellTotheirwintersong

Mylove,myloveRememberthecriesWhenwinterdiedforspringskiesTheyroaredandroared

ButwegrabbedourseedAndsowedasongAgainsttheirgreed

Myson,mysonRememberthechainsWhengoldruledwithironreinsWeroaredandroaredAndtwistedandscreamedForours,avaleofbetterdreams

AndDowninthevaleHearthereaperswing,thereaperswingthereaperswingDowninthevaleHearthereapersingAtaleofwinterdone

“Itisstrange,”shesays.“Whatis?”“Father toldmethat therewouldberiotsbecauseof thatsong.That

peoplewoulddie.Butitissuchasoftmelody.”Shecoughsbloodintoapelt.“Weusedtosingsongsbythecampfire,outinthecountry,wherehekeptusoutof…”coughsagain“…ofthepublic…eye.When…mybrotherdied…Fatherneversangwithmeagain.”She will soon die. It’s only a matter of time. Her face is pale, her

smilesfeeble.There’sonlyonethingIcando,sincethemedBotshaven’tcome.Iwillhavetoleavehertoseekoutmedicine.OneoftheHousesmighthavefoundsomeorreceivedinjectablesasabounty.I’llhavetogosoon,butIneedtogetherfoodfirst.Someone followsme thatdayas Ihuntalone in thewinterwoods. I

wearmynewwhitewolfcloak.Theyarecamouflagedaswell. Idonot

seewhoever it is,buthe is there. Ipretendmybowstringneeds fixingand steal a glance back.Nothing.Quiet. Snow. The sound ofwind onbrittlebranches.TheystillfollowasImovealong.Ifeelthembehindme.It’sliketheacheinmybodyfrommywound.I

pretend to see a deer and pass quickly through a thicket only toscrambleupatallpineontheotherside.Ihearapop.Theypassbeneathme.Ifeelitonmyskin,inmybones.SoIshakethe

branches under my legs. Gathered snow tumbles down. A distortedhollowintheshapeofamanformsinthesnowfall.Itislookingatme.“Fitchner?”Icalldown.Hisbubblegumpopsagain.“Youmaycomedownnow,boyo,”Fitchnerbarksup.Hedeactivates

his ghostCloak andgravBoots and sinks into the snow.He’swearing athinblackthermal.Mylayeredfatiguesandstinkinganimalskinsdon’tkeepmehalfaswarm.It’sbeenweekssinceIlastsawhim.Helookstired.“GoingtofinishwhatCassiusstarted?”IaskasIhopdown.Helooksmeoverandsmirks.“Youlookhorrible.”“Youdotoo.Thesoftbed,warmfood,andwinegivingyoutrouble?”I

pointup.WecanjustbarelyseeOlympusbetweentheskeletalbranchesofthewintertrees.Hesmiles.“Readoutsaysyou’velosttwentypounds.”“Babyfat,”Itellhim.“Cassius’sionSwordcarveditoff.”Ipullupmy

bowandpointitathim.Iwonderifhe’swearingapulseShield.It’llstopanythingshortofpulseWeaponsandrazors.OnlyrecoilPlatecangirdoffthoseweapons—andeventhen,notwell.“Ishouldshootyou.”“Youwouldn’tdare.I’maProctor,boyo.”Ishoothiminthethigh.Exceptthearrowlosesvelocitybeforeithits

the invisible pulseShield, which flickers iridescent, and the arrowbounces to the ground. So they wear it at all times, even when theydon’twearrecoilArmor.“Well,thatwaspetulant.”Heyawns.PulseShield,gravBoots,ghostCloak, looks likehehasapulseFist too,

andthosefamousrazors.Snowmeltsasittoucheshisskin.Hesawmeinthetree,soI’mguessinghiseyeshaveinjectedoptics.Certainlythermalscopes andnight vision.Hehas awidget andan analyzerMod too.He

knew my weight. Probably knows my white blood cell count. Whataboutspectrumanalysis?Heyawnsagain.“LittlesleepthesedaysonOlympus.Busydays.”“WhogavetheJackaltheholoofmekillingJulian?”Iask.“Well,youdon’tdallyawaytime.”HedidsomethingjustasIspoke,andthesoundarounduslocalizes.I

can’thearanythingbeyondaninvisiblefive-meterbubble.Didn’tknowtheyhadtoyslikethat.“TheProctorsgaveittotheJackal,”hetellsme.“Whichones?”“Apollo.Allofus.Doesn’tmatter.”Idon’tunderstand.“Iassumeit’sbecausetheyfavortheJackal.AmI

right?”“Asusual.”Hisgumpops.“Unfortunately,you’re justnotallowed to

win,andyouweregainingmomentum.Sooo…”Iaskhimtoexplain.Hesayshejustdid.Hiseyesareringedandtired

despite the collagen and cosmetics he nowwears to cover his fatigue.His stomachhas grown.Armsare still skinny. Somethingworrieshim,anditisn’tjusthisappearance.“Allowed to?” I echo. “Allowed to.No one can beallowed towin. I

thoughtthegorydamnpointwastocarveourownladdertothetop.SoifI’mnotallowedtowin,thatmeanstheJackalis.”“Peggedit.”Hedoesn’tsoundveryhappy.“Then that doesn’t make any lick of sense. It corrupts the entire

thing,”Isayhotly.“Youbroketherules.”ThebestofGold is supposed torise,yet theyalreadyhavechosena

winner.Not only does this ruin the Institute, it ruins the Society. Thefittest reign. That’s what they say. Now they’ve betrayed their ownprinciples by taking sides in a schoolyard fight. This is the Laurel alloveragain.Hypocrisy.“Sothiskidiswhat?ApredestinedAlexander?ACaesar?AGenghis?

AWiggin?”Iask.“Thisisslaggingnonsense.”“AdriusisthesonofourdearArchGovernorAugustus.That’sallthat

matters.”“Yes, you’ve told me that, but why is he supposed to win? Simply

becausehisfatherisimportant?”“Unfortunately,yes.”

“Bemorespecific.”Hesighs.“TheArchGovernorhassecretly threatenedandbribedand

cajoledalltwelveofustillwecametoagreeuponthefactthathissonshouldwin.Butwehavetobecarefulinourcheating.TheDrafters,myrealbosses,watcheverymovefromtheirpalaces,ships,etcetera.Theyareveryimportantpeopleaswell.Andthenthere’stheBoardofQualityControltoworryabout,andtheSovereignandSenatorsandalltheotherGovernors themselves.Because, though therearemany schools, anyofthemcanwatchyouwhenevertheylike.”“What?How?”Hetapsmywolfring.“Biometric nanoCam.Don’tworry, it’s showing them something else

right now. I threw down a jamField, and anyway, there’s a half-daydelayforeditingpurposes.Allothertimes,anyDrafter,anyScarred,canwatchyoutoseeiftheywouldliketoofferyouanapprenticeshipwhenthisisover.Oh,dotheylikeyou.”ThousandsofAureateshavebeenwatchingme.Myinsides,alreadycold,tighten.DemetriusauBellona, Imperatorof theSixthFleet, fatherofCassius

and Julian, Drafter of House Mars, has watched me kill one son anddeceivetheother.Ittakesthewindoutofme.WhatifIhadtoldTitusthatIknewhewasaRedbecauseIwasaRed?Didtheynoticehimsay“bloodydamn”?DidIsayhewasaRedoutloudorwasthatjustinmyhead?“WhatifItaketheringoff?”“Thenyoudisappear, except for the cameraswehavehidden in the

battlefield.”Hewinks.“Don’ttellanyone.Now,iftheDraftersdiscovertheArchGovernor’sscheme…therewillbehelltopay.Tensionbetweenthe school Houses, certainly. But more importantly, there could be aBloodWarbetweentheAugustusesandBellonas.”“Andyou’llbeintroubleiftheyfindoutaboutthebribery?”“I’llbedead.”Hefailsintryingasmile.“That’swhyyoulooklikehell.You’reinthemiddleofashitstorm.So

howdoIfitintothis?”Hechucklesdryly.“ManyDrafters likeyou.ThoseofHouseMarsget toofferyouyour

firstapprenticeships,butyoucanentertainoffersoutside theHouse. If

youdie,theywillbeveryunhappy.EspeciallytheSwordofHouseMars.HisnameisLornauArcos;nodoubtyou’veheardofhim.Heisprimegoodwithhisrazor.”“How.Do.I.Fit.In?”Irepeat.“Youdon’t.Stayalive.StayoutoftheJackal’spath.Otherwise,JupiterorApollowillkillyouandtherewillbenothingIcandotostopit.”“Sothey’rehisguarddogs,eh?”“Amongstothers,yes.”“Well,iftheykillme,theDrafterswouldknowsomethingiswrong.”“They won’t. Apollo will use other Houses to do it or we’ll do itourselves and edit out the footage from the nanoCams. Apollo andJupiterarenotstupid.Sodon’tfiddlewiththem.LettheJackalplayandyou’llhaveafuture.”“Andsowillyou.”“AndsowillI.”“Iunderstand,”Isay.“Good.Good.Iknewyou’dseesense.Youknow,manyoftheProctorslike you.Minerva even does. She hated you at first, but since you letMustang go, she’s been able to stay around on Olympus. Much lessembarrassingthatway.”“She’sallowedtostayaroundonOlympus?”Iaskinnocently.“Naturally.It’stherulesoftheInstitute.OnceyourHouseisdefeated,theProctorheadshometofacethemusicandexplainwhatwentwrongto the Drafters.” Fitchner’s smile contorts when he sees the suddenglimmerinmyeyes.“SoiftheirHouseisdestroyed,theyhavetoleave?AnditwasApolloandJupiterwhowantmedead,yousay?”“No…,”hebegs,suddenlyhearingthemenaceinmyvoice.Itiltmyhead.“No?”“You…can’t!”hesputters,confused.“Ijusttoldyou,theSwordofthedamnHouseMarswantsyouas anapprentice.And thereareothers—Senators,Politicos,Praetors.Don’tyouwantafuture?”“I want to rip the Jackal’s balls off. That’s all. Then I will findmyapprenticeship.IimagineitwillbeanimpressiveoneifIdothat.”“Darrow!Bereasonable,man.”“Fitchner, my friends Roque and Lea died because of theArchGovernor’smeddling.Let’sseehowhelikesitwhenImakehisson,

theJackal,myslave.”“You’re mad as a Red!” he says with a shake of his head. “You’rescrewing with the Proctors’ livelihoods. None are content with theircurrent station.Theyareall looking toascendaswell. If you threatentheir futures,ApolloandJupiterwill comedownand theywill cutoffyourhead!”“NotifIdestroytheirHousesfirst.”Ifrown.“Becausedon’ttheyhavetoleaveif Idothat?Someonereliabletoldmethoseweretherules.”Iclapmyhandstogether.“Now, Ihaveanother friendwho isdyingandI’dlikesomeantibiotics.It’dbeprimeifyoucouldgivemesome.”Hegawpsatme.“Afterthis,whywouldI?”“Becauseyou’vebeenapiss-poorProctorupuntilnow.Youowemebounties.Andyouhaveyourownfuturetolookafter.”Hesnortsadefeatedlaugh.“Fairenough.”Hetakesaninjectablefromamedcaseonhislegandhandsittome.InoticehowthepulseShielddoesn’thurtmewhenhishandtouchesmine.So they can turn it off. I thank him by clapping his shoulderaffectionately.Herollshiseyes.Thearmoristurnedoffovertheentirebody. Then it’s back. I hear the microhum at his waist where thecontraptionsits.NowthatI’vegotProctorsforenemies,it’sagoodthingtoknow.“Sowhatwillyoudo?”Fitchnerasks.“Whoismoredangerous?ApolloorJupiter?Behonest,Fitchner.”“Botharemonstersofmen.Apolloismoreambitious.Jupiterissimple—hejustenjoysplayinggodhere.”“ThenHouseApollofirst.Afterthat,I’llcrushJupiter.Andwhentheyaregone,whowillprotecttheJackal?”“TheJackal,”hesaysdryly.“Thenwe’llseeifhereallydoesdeservetowin.”BeforeIgo,Fitchnertossesasmallpackagetotheground.“Notthatitmattersnow,butthiswasgiventome.Iwastoldtosaythatyou’retoknowthatyourfriendshavenotforsakenyou.”“Who?”“Icannotsay.”Whoever gave it to him is a friend, because inside the box is myPegasus,andinsidethat isEo’shaemanthusblossom.IputthePegasusnecklaceaboutmyneck.

35

OATHBREAKERS

Myfriendsarewithme.Whatwouldtheymeanbythat?Whichfriends?The Sons of Ares? Or was the mystery friend being more general,alludingtothosewhosupportmychancesattheInstitute?DotheyknowthesignificanceofthePegasus?OrweretheysimplyreunitingmewithsomethingtheythoughtImightmiss?Somanyquestions;noneofthemmatter.Theyareoutsidethegame.

Thegame.What else is therebut thegame?All the true things in theworld, allmy relationships, allmyaspirationsandneeds, arewrappedupinthisgame,wrappedupinmewinning.Towin,I’llneedanarmy,butitcannotbemadeofslaves.Notagain.Inowneed,asI’llneedattheheadofarebellion,followers,notslaves.Mancannotbefreedbythesameinjusticethatenslavedit.Aweekafter I injectMustangandher fever fades,we set off to the

north.Herstrengthgrowsthemorewemove.Hercoughisgoneandherquick smile returns. Sometimes she needs a rest, but soon she comesclosetooutpacingme.Sheletsmeknowittoo.Wemakeasmuchnoiseaspossiblewhenwemovetodrawourpreytous.Onthesixthnightofsettingobnoxiouslylargefires,wegetourfirstnibble.TheOathbreakerscomealongastream,usingitssoundstomasktheir

approach.Ilikethemimmediately.Wereourfirenotatrap,theywouldhavecaughtusunawares.But it is a trap,andwhen two step into thelight,wealmost spring it.Yet if theyare smart enough tocomealongthestream,theyaresmartenoughtoleavesomeoneinthedark.Ihear

anarrownockonabowstring.Then there’s a yelp.Mustang takes theoneinthedark.Itaketheothertwo.Istandupfrommysnowpile,mywolfcloaksheddingsnow,andknock themdownfrombehindwith theflatofmybow.Afterward,theoneMustangstrucknurseshisswolleneyebyourfireasIspeakwiththeirleader.HernameisMilia.She’satallwillowwithalonghorsefaceandaslighthunchtohershoulders.Ragsandstolenfurscover her bony frame. The other uninjured one isDax. Short, comely,withthree frostbitten fingers.Wegivethemextra fursandI thinkthatmakesallthedifferenceintheconversation.“You understand we could make you slaves, yes?” Mustang asks,brandishing her standard. “So you’d be twice Oathbreakers and twiceshunnedoncethisgameisover.”Miliadoesn’tseemtocare.Daxdoes.TheotherjustfollowsMilia.“Could give a rat’s prick. No difference between once and twice,”Miliasays.TheyallbeartheslavemarkofMars.Idon’trecognizethembuttheirringssaytheyarefromJuno.“Ratherbearshamethanbruisemyknees.Doyouknowmyfather?”“Idon’tcareaboutyourfather.”“My father,” she persists, “is Gauis au Trachus, Justiciar of thesouthernMartianhemisphere.”“Istilldon’tcare.”“Andhisfatherwas—”“Idon’tcare.”“Thenyouareafool,”shedrawls.“Twiceafoolifyouthinktomakemeyourslave.Iwillcutyouinthenight.”InodtoMustang.ShestandssuddenlywiththestandardandputsittoMilia’s head. The mark of Mars becomes that of Minerva. Then sheerasestheMinervamark.Dax’seyeswiden.“EvenifIfreeyou?”IaskMilia.“You’restillgoingtocutme?”Shedoesn’tknowwhattosay.“Mily,”Daxsaysquietly.“Whatareyouthinking?”“Noslavery,”Ielaborate.“Nobeatings.Ifyoudigashitpit,Idigtwoshitpitsforthecamp.Ifsomeonecutsyou,Iripthemapart.So,willyoujoinourarmy?”“Hisarmy,”Mustangcorrects.Ilookoveratherwithafrown.“Andwho’she?”Miliaasks,hereyesnotleavingmyface.

“He’stheReaper.”It takes aweek to gather ten Oathbreakers. Theway I look at it isthose ten alreadymade it clear they don’t want to be slaves. So theymightlikethefirstpersonwhowillgivethempurpose,food,furs,whoisnot demanding that they lick a bootheel.Most of them have heard ofme, but all are disappointed that I don’t have the famous slingBlade IusedtobeatPax.Apparentlyhe’sbecomequitethelegend.Theysayhepickedupand threwahorseand rider into theArgosasMars’s slavesfoughtJupiter’s.Aswegrow,wehidefromthelargerarmies.MarsmaybemyHouse,butwithRoquedeadandCassiusanenemy,onlyQuinnandSevroareleft as friends. Pollux perhaps, but he’ll go whatever way the windblows.Ratbastard.IcannotbewithmyHouse.There’snoplaceformethere.Imayhavebeentheirleader,butIrememberhowtheylookedatme.AndnowitiscrucialtheyknowIamalive.Despite the war between Mars and Jupiter, stalwart Ceres standsunconqueredbytheriverside.Behindtheirhighwalls,breadsmokestillrises. Mounted warbands from both armies roam the plains aroundCeres, crossing the frozen Argos at will. They carry low-chargedionSwordsnow, so they can electrocute andmaimoneanotherwith abrush of metal. MedBots scream over the battlefield when skirmishesbreak into pitched frays, healing wounded students as they bleed ormoanfrombrokenbones.ThechampionsofeacharmywearionArmortoprotectthemselvesagainstthenewweapons.Horsessmashtogether.IonArrows fly. Slavesmill about hitting each otherwith older, simpleweapons across the wide plain that separates the highlands from thegreatriverArgos.Itisaspectacularthingtosee—butfoolish,sofoolish.IwatchwithMustangandMiliaastwoarmoredwarbandsofMarsandJupiter streak toward each other across the plains in front of PhobosTower. Pennants flap. Horses trample the deep snow. It’s a clash ofarmored glory when the two metal tides collapse into one another.Lances spark with stunning electricity on broad shields and armor.Dazzling swords slam other blades like their own. HighDrafts battlinghighDrafts.Slavesruninscorestosmashintoeachother,pawnsinthisgiantchessmatch.I seePax ina rustybulkof crimsonarmor soancient it looks likea

frysuit. I laughashe tacklesahorseandrider.But ifever therewasapictureofaperfectknight,itwouldnotbePax.No,it’dbeCassius.Iseehim now. His armor glows as he stuns opponent after opponent,galloping through the enemy, his sword humming left and right,flickering like a tongue of fire. He can fight, but I’m shocked at howfoolishlyhechoosesto—divingnoblyintotheenemy’sgutwithaforceoflancers,capturingenemies.Andthenthesurvivingtroopsregroupanddo the same to him. Over and over, neither side taking substantialadvantage.“What idiots,” I say toMustang. “All that pretty armor and swords

blindthem. Iknow.Maybe if theyslamintooneanother threeor fourmoretimes,itmayjustwork.”“They’vegottactics,”shesays.“Look,awedgeformationthere.Anda

feinttherethat’llturnintoaflanksweep.”“YetI’mright.”“Yet you’re notwrong.” Shewatches for amoment. “Like our little

waralloveragain,exceptyou’renotrunningaroundhowlingatpeoplelike a moontouched wolf.” Mustang sighs and puts a hand on myshoulder.“Ah,thegoodolddays.”Miliawatchesuswithawrinklednose.“Tacticswinbattles.Strategywinswars,”Isay.“Oooo. I am Reaper. God of wolves. King of strategy.” Mustang

pinchesmycheek.“Youarejusttooadorable.”Iswatheraway.Miliarollshereyes.“So,whatisourstrategy,milord?”Mustangasksme.ThelongerIdrawoutanyconflictwithanenemy,themorechances

theProctorswillget to ruinme.Myrisemustbemeteoric. Idon’t tellherthis.“Speedisourstrategy,”Isay.“Speedandextremepredjudice.”

Thenextmorning,HouseMars’swarband finds their bridgeacross theMetas blocked by trees felled in the night. As expected, the warbandturnsaroundandridesbacktothecastle,fearingsomesortoftrap.Theirwatchmen in Phobos and Deimos cannot see us; they peer down andsend smoke signals that there is no enemy in the barren deciduouswoods around the bridge. They do not see us because we have been

bellydowninthesamepositioninthewoodsfiftyyardsfromthebridgesince black dawn. Each of my Oathbreakers has a white or graywolfcloaknow.Ittookaweektofindthewolves,butperhapsthatwasfor thebetter.Thehunt createdabond.My ten soldiersarea scrappylot. Liars, wicked cheats who would rather ruin their futures than beslavesinthisgame.Soaproud,practicalbutnotveryhonorablelot.Justthesort Ineed.Their facesarepaintedwhitewithbirddungandgrayclay,sowe’vethelookofspectralwinterbeastsasbreathbillowsfromourgrinningmaws.“They like being valued by someone fearsome,” Milia told me thenightbefore,hervoiceascoldandbrittleastheicicleshangingfromtheaspentrees.“AsdoI.”“Mars’ll take the bait,”Mustangwhispers tomenow. “Not somuchbrainpowerleftintheHouse.”NotwithRoquegone.Shechoseaplaceclosetomeinthesnow.Soclosethatherlegsstretchalongmine,andher face, twistedsidewaysas she liesonherbelly, isonly inches frommyownunderneathourwhitecloaks.WhenIinhale,theairisalreadywarmfromherbreath.IthinkthisisthefirsttimeI’vethoughtofkissingher. I chase the thought away, and summon the sight of Eo’smischievouslips.ItismiddaywhenCassiussendstroops—mostlyslaves,forfearofanambush—toclearthefelledtreesfromthebridge.Infact,Cassiusplaystoo clever a game. Since he believes he is fighting Jupiter, hisassumptionisthattheambushwillbeasuddencavalrychargeoncethebridgeisclear.Sohehashishorsesgoaroundtheriver,souththroughthehighlands,andlooparoundonthefarsideofthebridgenearPhobosto spring an ambush on the cavalry he assumes will come from theGreatwoodsor theplains.Milia, the shiftygirl,bringsmenewsof thismovementofhorseintheformofahowlfromherperchnearlyamileoff,wheresheservesaslookoutinthehighpines.Itistimetomove.Wedonothowlorshoutaswetensprintthroughtheleaflesswoodstoward the toiling slaves. Four highDrafts sit on horses watching thework. One is Cipio.We sprint faster. Faster through the barren trees,coming from their flank. They do not see us.We fan out. Racing oneanothertomakethefirststrike.Iwin.Jumping fivemeters forward in the lowGrav, I fly out of thewoods

like a demonpossessed and takeCipio at the shoulderwith a bluntedsword.He spills from the saddle.Horseswhinny.Mustang takesdownanother highDraftwith her standard.My troops swarm forward, silentandshadowedwithwhiteandgray.TwomoreofmyOathbreakersleaponto the highDrafts’ horses and bludgeon the riders with clubs andbluntedaxes. Iorderednokilling; it’sover in fourseconds.Thehorsesdon’tevenknowwheretheirriderswent.Mytroopsflowpastthehorsesintotheslavesastheyclearthebridgeofthefelledlogs.Halfdon’tevenhearustillMustanghasturnedsixintoMinervaslavesandorderedthemto help us subdue the rest. Then there’s shouting and theMars slavesturntheiraxesagainstmytroops.Those from Minerva recognize Mustang and are set free when she

clearsawaythemarkofMars.It’slikeashiftingtide.Sixslavesareours.TheytackleMars’sotherslavesandpinthemdownasMustangrunsoverandconvertsthem.Eight,bythesameprocess.Ten.Eleven,tillonlyoneofferstrouble.Andhe’stheprize.Pax.Hedoesn’thavehisarmor,thankGod.He’shereforlabor,butitstilltakessevenofustotakehimtotheground.He’sroaringandscreaminghisname.Idiveathimandtakeafisttotheface.I’mspittingandlaughingaswepileontillthere’stwelveofusholdingthegeneticmonsterdown.MustangfreeshimofthemarkofMarsandhisroarsbecomelaughtersohighpitched,itsoundslikeagirl’s.“Freeeeeedom!”heroars.Hejumpsup, lookingforsomeonetomaim.

“DarrowauAndromedus!”heshoutsatme,readytobreakmyfacetillMustangshoutshimdown.“He’sonourside,”Mustangsays.“Thetruth?”Paxasks.Hisgiantfacesplitsintoasmile.“Whatnews!”

Andhe’sgotmeinabearhug.“Freeeedom,brothers…andsisters!Sweetfreedom!” We leave Cipio and the other highDrafts moaning on theground.The smoke signals plume up from Phobos and Deimos as we sprint

throughthevale’swoods intothedwarfmountainstothenorthbeforethehorsemenofMarscanloopbackaroundtheblockedbridgetoassailus.Thewatchmensawitall.Andtheymustbehorrified.Ithappenedinlessthanaminute.Paxwon’tstoplaughinglikeagirl.HouseMarswillbeconfusedby thesuddendepletionof their ranks.

ButIneedmorethanthat.Ineedthemtoreplacethevisiontheyhaveof

me, one of a flawed leader, with something supernatural, somethingbeyondtheirunderstanding.IneedtobeliketheJackal—namelessandsuperhuman.That night, I slither through the snow north of Castle Mars. Riders

patrol theglen.Theirhoovesare soft on thegrass in thenight. I heartheirbridlesclinkinginthedarkness.Idonotseethem.Mywolfcloakiswhite as the falling snow. I’ve pulled its head up, so I look like aguardiancreaturefromthecolderlevelsofhell.TherockfaceissteeperthanIremember.InearlyfallasIpullmyselfalongthesnowyvertical.Ireach thecastlewall.Torches flickeron the ramparts.Windwhips theflamesabout.Mustangshouldbeabouttolighttheblaze.Istripawaymycloakandballitup.Myskiniscoatedincharcoal.I

push the metal tongs into the spaces between the stones. It is likeclimbing my drill again except I’m stronger and I’m not wearing afrysuit.Easy.ThePegasusbouncesagainstmychestasIpullmyselfup.I’mnotevenpantingwhenIreachthetopsixminuteslater.My fingers cling to the stone just beneath the ramparts. I hang,

listening to the passing sentry. Of course it is a slave. And she’s notstupid.SheseesmeasIpullmyselfovertherampartandshovesaspearagainstmythroat.IflashmyMarsringandholdmyfingertomylips.“WhyshouldInotcallout?”sheasks.ShewasonceofMinerva.“Did they tell you toguard thewall for enemies? I’m sure theydid.

ButI’mofHouseMars.Theringsaysso.Ican’tbeanenemythen,yes?”Shefrowns.“ThePrimustoldmetowatchthewallsforintrudersand

tokillorcallout…”“This is my home. I am rightful Primus of House Mars. I am your

masterandIdemandyoucontinuetowatchthewallforintruders.Itisimperative.” Iwink. “I swearVirginiawouldbehappy if you followedyourorderstotheletter.”ShecocksherheadatMustang’srealnameandlooksmeover.“MyPrimusisalive?”“HouseMinervahasnotyetfallen,”Isay.The girl’s face almost breaks she smiles so hard. “Well… then… I

suppose this is your home. Can’t stop you from entering it. Bound byoathtoobey,Iam.Wait…Iknowyou.Theysaidyouweredead.”“ThankyourPrimusthatIdrawbreath.”IlearnfromherthattheHousememberssleepwhiletheslavesguard

thefortressatnight.Thatistheproblemwithslaves.Theyaresowillingtofindawayaroundtheirduty,andsoexcitedtosharesecrets.Ileaveherbehindandstealintothekeepusingakeysheaccidentallydroppedintomyhand.Sneakingthroughmyhome,IamtemptedtopayCassiusavisit.ButI’mnothere tokillhim.Violence is the fool’swayout.Sometimes I’mthe fool, but tonight I’m feeling smart. I’m also not there to steal thestandard.Theywillbeguardingthat.No.I’mtheretoremindthemthattheyoncewere afraidofme.That I am thebest of themall. I cangowhereIplease.DowhatIplease.IstayintheshadowseventhoughIcouldusethesameargumentoneveryslaveguardtheyhave.Instead,IcarveaslingBladeoneverydoorinthekeep.IslipintothewarroomandcarveaslingBladeintothehugetabletheretocreatethemyth.ThenIcarveaskull intoCassius’schairand slab a knife deep into the back of the wood chair to create therumor.AsIleavethewayIcame,Iseethehillsidenorthofthecastleeruptinflame.Thebrushstacked in theshapeof theReaper’sslingBladeburnshotinthenight.Sevro,ifheisstillwithMars,willfindme.AndIcouldusethelittlebastard’shelp.

36

ASECONDTEST

Inorder tohaveanarmy, Imustbeable to feed it. So Iwill take theovensofCeresthatJupiterandMarsbothlustover.Thenewmembersofourband fromHouseMinerva find itperfectly

reasonable to acceptmy authority. I don’t foolmyself. Yes, theywereimpressedbymehidingmyHowlersinsidedeadhorsesmonthsago,andthey remembermedefeatingPax.But it’s onlybecauseMustang trustsmethattheyobey.WeleavethoseofHouseDianaasslavesfornow.Ineedtoearntheirtrust.Tactus,oddly,istheonlyonewhoseemstotrustme.Thenagain,thelaconicyouthwasallsmileswhenItoldhimI’dbesewinghiminsideofadeadhorseoveramonthago.TherearetwomoreofDianathat I sewedaway.Theotherscall themtheDeadHorses,andtheyeachwearbraidsofwhitehorsehair.Ithinkthey’reabitmental.Ifthereisanythinginthewoodsandhighlands,itisanabundanceof

wolves.Wehuntthemtotrainournewrecruitsinmywayoffighting.Noglamorouscavalrycharges.Nodamnlances.Andcertainlynostupidrules of engagement. Everyone gets cloaks,which are smelly things astheydryandwepeelawaytherot.EveryoneexceptPax.Theyhaven’tyetmadeawolfbigenoughforhim.“House Ceres is no stranger to siege,”Mustang says. She’s right. At

night, they seem to have more soldiers awake than in the day. Theywatchforsneakassaults.Blazingbundlesoftinderlightthebaseoftheirwalls at night. Somehow, they have dogs now. Those prowl along thebattlements. The way from the water is guarded ever since I tried

sendingSevro in through the latrines longagoduringa sneakattack IarrangedwhenwewereatwarwithMinerva.Hebarelyforgavemeforthat one. The Ceres students come out no longer. They’ve learned therisks of battling stronger Houses on open ground. They’ll hole up forwinter,andwhenthecoldandhungerhaveweakenedtheotherHouses,they’ll emerge from their fortress in the spring—strong, prepared, andorganized.Butthey’llnevermakeittothespring.“Soweattackduringtheday?”Mustangguesses.“Naturally,”Isay.SometimesIwonderwhyweevenbotherspeaking.Sheknowsmythoughts.Eventhemadones.Thisideaisanespeciallymadone.WepracticeditinaclearingintheNorthwoodsforawholedayafterflatteningoutthewoodwithaxes.Paxmakestheplanpossible.Weholdcompetitionstoseewhohasthebestbalance on the wood. Mustang wins. Horsefaced Milia is second, andshe’sspittingbitterthatshedoesn’tbeatMustang.I’mthird.AswedidwhenspringingthetraponHouseMars,wesneakascloseaswedarethenightbeforeandburyourselvesinthedeepsnow.Again,MustangandIpairoff,huddlingtightwithoneanotherunderthesnow.TactustriespairingwithMilia,butshetellshimtogoslaghimself.“Ifyoulookatitproperly,Iwastryingtodoyouafavor,”hemuttersover at Milia as he huddles down under Pax’s smelly armpit. “You’reabout as pretty as a gargoyle’s wart. So when else would you get achancetosnugglewiththelikesofme?Ungratefulsow.”Mustang and the other girls snort their derision. Then the quiet ofnightandthechilloftheopeniceplainbiteintousandwegrowsilent.Come morning, Mustang and I shiver into one another, and a newsnowfallthreatenstoruinourplan,buryingusevendeeperintheplain.But thewind ismanageableand the flakesdonotburyus toodeepastheyspinthroughtheair.I’mfirstup,thoughIdonotmove.AndsoonafterIyawnawaythelastvestigeofsleep,myarmywakesorganically,one student stirring and grumbling into another till there’s a snake ofsniffingandcoughingGoldsburiedtogetherinashallowtunnelbeneaththesnow’ssurface.Ican’tseethem,butIheartheirwakingdespitethesoundofthesnowstorm’swind.Iceformedaroundmeinthenightoutsidemythickcloaks.Mustang’shandsare insidemypelts,warmagainstmyside.Herbreathheatsmy

neck.As I stir, she yawns and straightens, pulling a little away as shestretches,catlike,underthesnow.Snowcrumblesinbetweenus.“Goryhell,thisismiserable,”Dax,Milia’scompanion,mutters.Ican’tseehiminoursnowtunnel.Mustang nudges me. We can just barely see Tactus curled into thehollow of Pax’s armpit. The twomen snuggle together and wake likelovers, only to flinch away from one another when their ice-crustedeyelidsflutteropen.“WonderwhichisRomeo,”Mustangwhispers,herthroatraspy.I chuckle and carve a hole in the roof of our tunnel to see thatmybandoftwenty-fourisaloneintheplainsexceptforearlymorninghorsescouts in thedistance.Theywillnotbeaproblem.Wind rolls in fromthenorthriver,bitingdeepintomyface.“Youreadyforthis?”MustangasksmewithagrinasIbringmyheadbackintoourshelter.“Orareyoutoocold?”“ItwascolderinthelochwhenIfirsttrickedyou,”Isay,smiling.“Ah,theolddays.”“Allpartofmymasterplantowinyourtrust,littleman.”Shesmirksmischievously.Sheseestheworryinmyeyes,soshegripsmythighandcomescloseso theotherscan’thear.“ThinkI’dbesquattingherewithyouinthesnowifthisplancouldgobellyup?Negative.ButI’mfreezingmyballsoffandthewindisdying,solet’sgo,Reaper.”Igivethecountdownandwe’reup,snowcrumblingaroundus,windstingingourfaces,andsprintingthehundredmetersacrosstheplainstothewalls.Alltwenty-fourofus.Silentagain.Thewindcomesinfits.Wecarrythelongtreebetweenus,huddlingtighttoitaswedidinthenightwhenitsharedourtunnelwithus.It’sheavy,butwe’retwenty-fourandPax’s parents gave him the genes to knock over bloodydamn horses.Panting.Legsburning.Grittingasthewoodweighsdownourshouldersinthedeepsnow.It’satrudge.Ashoutcomesfromthewall.Alonely,hollowcallthatechoesoverthestillwintermorning.Moreshouts.Stillfew. Barks. Confusion. An arrow whistles past. Then another. It’samazinghowquiettheworldisasthearrowssail,carryingdeath.Thewind has faded again. Sun peeks from behind a cloudlayer andwe’rebathedwithmorningwarmth.We’reat thewall.Shoutsspreadbeyondthestone fortification, fromtheir towers. A signal horn. Barking of dogs. Snow falls from the

parapetsasarchersleanoverthestonebattlements.Anarrowshiversinthewoodbymyhand.Someonegoesdownbloodylike,Dax.ThenPaxroars thewordandhe,Tactus,andfivemoreofourstrongest takethelongwoodbeamwecutfromthetreetrunkandshovethetipashardastheycanintothewall.Theyholditthereatanangle.Theyareroaringfromtheburden.It’sstillfivemetersshortofthetopofthewall,butI’malreadysprintingupthethinslope.Paxgruntslikeaboarasheheavesagainsttheangledstrain.He’sshouting,roaring.Mustangisrightbehindme,thenMilia.Ialmostslip.MybalanceandHelldiverhandskeepmescrabblingup theknottedwood. Inour fur,we look like squirrels,notwolves.Anarrowhisses throughmycloak. I’magainst thewall at thetop of the wobbling beam. Pax and his boys roar gutturally from theexertion.Mustangiscoming.Icupmyhands.ShestirrupsherfootattherunandIhurlherupthelast fivemeterstoclearthebattlements.Herswordslashesandshescreamslikeabanshee.ThenMilia launchesthesamewayoffmyhands,andtheropeshehastiedtoherwaistdanglesafterher.Sheanchorsup topas Iuse it topullmyselfup the last fivemeters.Thewoodenbeamcrashestothegroundbehindme.Myswordisout.It’smayhem.HouseCereswascaughtunaware.They’veneverhadanenemyonthebattlements.Andtherearethreeofus,screamingandslashing.RageandexcitementfillmeandIbeginmydance.They only have bows. It’s been months since they’ve used swords.

Oursaren’tsharporfusedwithelectricity,butcolddurosteelisnastytotakeinanyform.Thedogsarethehardesttomanage.Ikickoneinthehead.Throwanotheroneoffthebattlements.Miliaisdown.Shebitesadogintheneckandpunchesitintheballstillitwhimpersoff.Mustangtacklessomeoneoffthebattlements.Islidetackleoneofthe

archersashelevelshisbowather.Outside,Paxshoutsformetoopenthegates.He’sactuallycryingforcombat.I follow Mustang down into their courtyard, jumping from the

parapets down towhere she fights a big Ceres student. I end the boywithmyelbowandtakemyfirstglimpseofthebreadfortress.Thecastleis anunfamiliardesign, a courtyard leading to severalbuildings andahugekeepwhere thebreadbakes,makingmystomachrumble;butallthatmatterstomeisthegate.Werushtoit.Shoutsfrombehindus.Toomanyforustofight.WegettothegatejustasthreedozenHouseCeresstudentsrunatusacrossthecourtyardfromtheirkeep.

“Hurry!”Mustangshouts.“Uh,hurry!”Miliashootsarrowsattheenemyfromtheparapets.ThenIopenthegate.“PAXAUTELEMANUS!PAXAUTELEMANUS!”He shovesmeaside.He’s shirtless,massive,muscled, screaming.Hishairispaintedwhiteandspikedwithsaptoformtwohorns.Apieceofwoodas longasmybodyservesashisclub.TheHouseCeresstudentsflinch back. Some fall. Some stumble. A boy screams as Pax thundersclose.“PAXAUTELEMANUS!PAXAUTELEMANUS!”He wants no nickname as he charges forward like a minotaurpossessed.When he hits the mass of House Ceres students, it is ruin.Boysandgirlsflythroughtheairlikechaffonreapingday.Therestofmyarmysprintsinbehindthemadbastard.Theybegintohowl,notbecauseItoldthemto,notbecausetheythinktheyareSevro’sHowlers,butbecauseitwasthesoundtheyheardwhenmysoldierscuttheirwayoutofhorses’bellies,thesoundthatmadetheirheartssinkastheywereconquered.Nowit’stheirturntohowlastheyturnthebattleinto amadmelee. Pax screams his name, and he screamsmine as heconquers the citadel almost single-handedly.Hepicks aboyupby theleganduseshimasaclub.MustangdriftsaboutthebattlefieldlikesomeValkyrie,enslavingthosewholiestunnedontheground.In fiveminutes, theovens and citadel areours.We shut their gates,howl,andeatsomebloodydamnbread.IfreetheHouseDianaslaveswhohelpedmecapturethefortressandtake amoment with each to share a laugh. Tactus sits on some poorboy’sback,braidingtheprisoner’shairingirlishpigtails,tillInudgehimtogetoff.Heslapsatmyhand.“Don’ttouchme,”hesnaps.“Whatdidyousay?”Igrowl.He stands fast, his nose coming only to my chin, and speaks veryquietlysoonlywecanhear.“Listen,bigman. Iamof thegensValii.Mypure blood goes back to theConquering. I could buyand sell youwithmyweekly allowance. So you don’t demeanme in this little game like all theothers,you schoolyardking.” Then louder soothers canhear: “I doas Ilike,becauseI tookthiscastle foryouandslept inadeadhorsesowecouldtakeMinerva!Ideservetohavesomefun.”

Ileanclose.“Threepints.”Herollshiseyes.“Whateverareyougrowlingabout?”“That’showmuchbloodI’mabouttomakeyouswallow.”“Well,mightmakesright,”hechuckles,andturnshisbackonme.Then,masteringmyanger, I tell themembersofmyarmy that they

will never be slaves in this game again, so long as they wear mywolfskin.Iftheydon’tlikethatnotion,theycanclearout.Nonedo,butthat’s expected. They want to win, but to follow my orders, tounderstandthatIdon’tthinkI’msomehighandmightyemperor,theirproudheartsneedtofeelvalued.SoImakesuretheyknowtheyare.Ipayeachstudentaspecificcompliment.Onetheyrememberforever.Even when I am ruining their Society at the vanguard of a billion

screamingReds, theywill tell their children thatDarrowofMarsonceclappedthemontheshoulderandpaidthemacompliment.The defeated students from House Ceres watch me free my army’s

slaves and they gape. They don’t understand. They recognizeme, buttheydon’t comprehendwhy there isn’t a singleotherMars student, orwhyI’minpower,orwhyIthinkitisallowedtofreeslaves.Whiletheyare still gaping, Mustang enslaves them with the symbol of HouseMinerva,andtheybecomedoublyconfused.“Winmeafortress,andyougetyourfreedomtoo,”Itellthem.Their

bodiesaredifferentfromours.Softerfrommuchbreadandlittlemeat.“Butyoumustbestarvingforsomevenisonandwildmeat.Someproteinismissinginyourdiets,Ithink.”Webroughtplentytoshare.WefreeseveralslavestakenbyHouseCeresmonthsprior.Thereare

few, but most are House Mars or Juno. They find this new alliancestrange,but it is aneasypill to swallowaftermonthsof toiling in theovens.The night ends on a sour note as I am woken an hour into sleep.

Mustangsitsontheedgeofmybedasmyeyesflutteropen.WhenIseeher, I feel a spikeof terror inme, assuming she’s come for adifferentreason, that her hand on my leg means something simple, somethinghuman.Instead,shebringsmenewsIwishednevertohearagain.TactusfloutedmyauthorityandtriedtorapeaCeresslaveduringthe

night.Milia caughthim, andMustangbarely stoppedher fromcuttingTactusathousanddifferentways.Everyoneisupinarms.“It’sbad,”Mustangsays.“TheDianastudentsareintheirwargearand

areabouttotryandtakehimbackfromMiliaandPax.”“They’remadenoughtofightPax?”“Yeah.”“I’llgetdressed.”“Please.”I meet her in the Ceres warroom two minutes later. The table is

already carvedwithmy slingBlade. I didn’tdo it, and it’smuchbetterworkthanIcouldhavemanaged.“Thoughts?”I fall intotheseatoppositeMustang.We’reacouncilof

two.It’stimeslikethiswhenImissCassius,Roque,Quinn,allofthem.EspecialySevro.“WhenTitusdidthis,yousaidwemakeourownlaw,if Iremember

right.Yousentencedhimtodeath.Soarewestilldoingthat?Orarewedoingsomethingmoreconvenient?”sheasksmeasthoughshealreadythinksI’mlettingTactusoffthehook.Inod,surprisingher.“He’llpay,”Isay.“This…itjustpissesmeoff.”Shetakesherfeetoffthetableandleans

forward toshakeherhead.“We’remeant tobebetter than this.That’sall Peerless are supposed to be—transcendent of the urges that”—sheholdsupironicairquotes—“enslavetheweakerColors.”“Itisn’tabouturges.”Itapthetableinfrustration.“It’saboutpower.”“Tactus isofHouseValii!”Mustangexclaims. “His family isancient.

Howmuchpowerdoesthatassholewant?”“Power overme, Imean. I told himhe couldn’t do something.Now

he’stryingtoprovehecandowhateverhewants.”“Sohe’snotanotherheathenlikeTitus.”“You’vemethim.Ofcoursehe’saheathen.Butno.Thiswastactical.”“Well,theclevershithasputyouinatightspot.”Islapthetable.“Idon’tlikethis—someoneelsepickingthebattlesor

thebattlefield.That’showwewilllose.”“It’sano-win,really.Wecan’tcomeoutahead.Someoneisgoingto

hateyoueitherway.Sowejusthavetofigureoutwhichwayistheleastdamaging.Prime?”“Whataboutjustice?”Iask.Her eyebrows float upward. “What about winning? Isn’t that what

matters?”“Youtryingtotrapme?”

Shegrins.“Justtestingyou.”I frown. “Tactus killedTamara,hisPrimus.Cuther saddle and thenrodeoverher.He’swicked.Hedeservesanypunishmentwegivehim.”Mustangraiseshereyebrowsasifthisisalltobeexpected.“Heseeswhathewants,andhetakesit.”“Howadmirable,”Imutter.Shetiltsherheadatme,livelyeyesgoingovermyface.“Rare.”“What’sthat?”“Iwaswrong,aboutyou.That’srare.”“AmIwrongaboutTactus?”Iask.“Ishewicked,really?Orishejustaheadofthecurve?Doeshejustgraspthegamebetter?”“Noonegraspsthegame.”Mustangputshermuddybootsonthetableagainandleansback.Hergoldenhairfallspasthershouldersinalongbraid.Thefirecracklesinthe hearth, her eyes dance over my face. I don’t miss my old friendswhenshesmileslikethat.Iaskhertoexplain.“No one grasps the game, because no one knows the rules. No onefollowsthesamesetofrules.Itislikelife.Somethinkhonoruniversal.Somethinklawsbinding.Othersknowbetter.Butintheend,don’tthosewhorisebypoisondiebypoison?”Ishrug.“Inthestorybooks.Inlifethere’snoonelefttopoisonthem,often.”“Theyexpectaneyeforaneye,theHouseCeresslaves.PunishTactus,youpissofftheDianakids.Theygetyouafortressandyouspitonthemfor it.Remember,as faras theyareconcerned,Tactushid inahorse’sbellyhalfadayforyouwhenyoutookmycastle.ResentmentwillswelllikeaCopperbureaucracy.Butifyoudon’tpunishhim,you’llloseallofCeres.”“Can’tdo that.” I sigh. “I failed this testbefore. IputTitus todeathandthoughtIwasmetingoutjustice.Iwaswrong.”“TactusisanIronGold.HisbloodisasoldastheSociety.Theylookatcompassion,atreform,asadisease.Heishisfamily.Hewillnotchange.Hewillnotlearn.Hebelievesinpower.OtherColorsarenotpeopletohim.LesserGoldsarenotpeopletohim.Heisboundtohisfate.”Yet I’maRedacting likeaGold.Noman isboundtohis fate. Icanchangehim.IknowIcan.Buthow?“WhatdoyouthinkIshoulddo?”Iask.

“Ha! The great Reaper.” She slaps her thigh. “When have you evercaredwhatanyonethinks?”“You’renotjustanyone.”She nods and, after amoment, speaks. “I was once told a story byPliny,mytutor—aghastlyfellow,really.AndaPoliticonow,sotakethisallwithashiploadofsalt.Anyway:OnEarth,therewasamanandhiscamel.”Ilaugh.Shekeepsgoing.“Theyweretravelingacrossthisgranddesertfullofallsortsofnasties.Oneday,asthemanpreparedcamp,thecamel kicked him for no reason. So themanwhipped the camel. Thecamel’swoundsgrewinfected.Itdiedandleftthemanstranded.”“Hands.Camels.Youandmetaphors…”Sheshrugs.“Withoutyourarmy,you’reamanstrandedinadesert.Sotreadcarefully,Reaper.”

IspeakwithNyla,theCeresgirl,inprivate.She’saquietone.Smartasawhip,butnotphysicalinanyway.Likeashudderingsongbird,likeLea.Shehasabloodyswollenlip.ItmakesmewanttocastrateTactus.Shedidn’t come in wicked like the rest. Then again, she got through thePassage.“Hetoldmehewantedmetorubhisshoulders.Toldmetodowhathe said because hewasmymaster because he spent blood taking thecastle.Thenhetried…well…youknow.”A hundred generations of men have used that inhuman logic. Thesadnessherwordscreateinmemakesmemisshome.Butthathappenedtheretoo.Irememberthescreamsthatmadethesoupladletrembleinmymother’s hand. Remember howmy cousin earned antibiotics fromthatGamma.Nylablinksandstaresforamomentatthefloor.“ItoldhimIwasMustang’sslave.HouseMinerva’s.It’sherstandard.Ididn’thavetoobeyhim.Hejustkeptpushingmedown.Iscreamed.Hepunchedme,thenhejustheldmythroattillthingsstartedtofadeandIbarelysmelledhiswolfcloakanymore.Thenthattallgirl,Milia,knockedhimoff,Iguess.”Shedidn’tmentionthattherewereotherDianasoldiersintheroom.Otherswatched.Myarmy.Igavethempowerandthisishowtheyuseit. It’smy fault. They aremine but they arewicked. Thatwill not be

fixedbypunishingoneofthem.Theyhavetowanttobegood.“Whatwouldyoulike formetodotohim?”Iaskher. Idon’treach

out to comfort her. Shedoesn’t need it, even though I think I do. SheremindsmeofEveytoo.Nylatouchesherdirtycurlsandshrugs.“Nothing.”“Nothingisn’tenough.”“Tofixwhathetriedtodotome?Tomakeitright?”Sheshakesher

headandherhandsclutchhersides.“Nothingisenough.”Thenextmorning, IassemblemyarmyintheCeressquare.Adozen

limp;fewAureatebonescanreallybebrokenbecauseoftheirstrength,somostoftheinjuriessufferedintheassaultweresuperficial.IsmelltheresentmentfromCeresstudents,fromDianastudents.It’sacancerthat’lleatawayatthebodyofthisarmy,nomatterwhoitisfocusedon.PaxbringsTactusoutandshoveshimtohisknees.IaskhimifhetriedtorapeNyla.“Lawsaresilentintimesofwar,”Tactusdrawls.“Don’tquoteCicerotome,”Isay.“Youareheldtoahigherstandard

thanamaraudingcenturion.”“In that, you’re hitting the mark at least. I am a superior creature

descended fromproud stock and glorious heritage.Mightmakes right,Darrow.IfIcantake,Imaytake.IfIdotake,Ideservetohave.ThisiswhatPeerlessbelieve.”“Themeasure of aman iswhat he doeswhenhe has power,” I say

loudly.“Just comeoff it,Reaper,”Tactus replies, confident inhimselfasall

likehimare.“She’saspoilofwar.Mypowertookher.Andbeforethestrong,bendtheweak.”“I’mstrongerthanyou,Tactus,”Isay.“SoIcandowithyouasIwish.

No?”He’ssilent,realizinghe’sfallenintoatrap.“Youarefromasuperiorfamilytomine,Tactus.Myparentsaredead.

Iamthesolememberofmyfamily.ButIamasuperiorcreaturetoyou.”Hesmirksatthat.“Doyoudisagree?”I tossaknifeathisfeetandpullmyownout.“I

begyoutovoiceyourconcerns.”Hedoesnotpickhisbladeup.“So,byrightofpower,IcandowithyouasIlike.”

Iannouncethatrapewillneverbepermitted,andthenIaskNylathepunishmentshewouldgive.Asshe toldmebefore, shesaysshewantsno punishment. I make sure they know this, so there are norecriminationsagainsther.Tactusandhisarmedsupportersstareatherinsurprise.Theydon’tunderstandwhyshewouldnot takevengeance,but that doesn’t stop them from smiling wolfishly at one another,thinkingtheirchiefhasdodgedpunishment.ThenIspeak.“But I say you get twenty lashes froma leather switch, Tactus. You

triedtotakesomethingbeyondtheboundsofthegame.Yougaveintoyourpatheticanimalinstincts.Herethatislessforgivablethanmurder;Ihopeyoufeelshamewhenyoulookbackatthismomentfiftyyearsfromnowandrealizeyourweakness.Ihopeyoufearyoursonsanddaughtersknowingwhatyoudid toa fellowGold.Until then, twenty lasheswillserve.”SomeoftheDianasoldiersstepforwardinanger,butPaxheftshisaxe

on his shoulder and they shrink back, glaring atme. They gaveme afortress and I’m going to whip their favorite warrior. I see my armydyingasMustangpullsoffTactus’sshirt.Hestaresatmelikeasnake.Iknowwhat evil thoughts he’s thinking. I thought themofmy floggerstoo.I whip him twenty brutal times, holding nothing back. Blood runs

downhisback.PaxnearlyhastohackdownoneoftheDianasoldierstokeepthemfromchargingtostopthepunishment.Tactus barely manages to stagger to his feet, wrath burning in his

eyes.“Amistake,”hewhisperstome.“Suchamistake.”Then I surprisehim. I shove the switch intohishandandbringhim

closebycuppingmyhandaroundthebackofhishead.“You deserve to have your balls off, you selfish bastard,” I whisper to

him.“Thisismyarmy,”Isaymoreloudly.“Thisismyarmy.Itsevilsaremineasmuchasyours,asmuchastheyareTactus’s.Everytimeanyofyou commit a crime like this, something gratuitous and perverse, youwillownitandIwillownitwithyou,becausewhenyoudosomethingwicked,ithurtsallofus.”Tactusstandstherelikeafool.He’sconfused.I shove him hard in the chest. He stumbles back. I follow him,

shoving.

“What were you going to do?” I push his hand holding the leatherswitchbacktowardhischest.“Idon’tknowwhatyoumean…”hemurmursasIshovehim.“Comeon,man!Youweregoingtoshoveyourprickinsidesomeone

inmyarmy.Whynotwhipmewhileyou’reatit?Whynothurtmetoo?It’llbeeasier.Miliawon’teventrytostabyou.Ipromise.”Ishovehimagain.Helooksaround.Noonespeaks.Istripoffmyshirt

andgotomyknees.Theairiscold.Kneesonstoneandsnow.MyeyeslockwithMustang’s.ShewinksatmeandIfeellikeIcandoanything.ItellTactustogivemetwenty-fivelashes.I’vetakenworse.Hisarmsareweakandso ishiswill todo it. It still stings,but I standupafter fivelashesandgivethelashtoPax.Theystartthecountatsix.“Start over!” I shout. “A little rapist cur can’t swinghard enough to

hurtme.”ButPaxbloodywellcan.Myarmycriesinprotest.Theydon’tunderstand.Goldsdon’tdothis.

Goldsdon’tsacrificeforoneanother.Leaderstake;theydonotgive.Myarmycriesoutagain. Iaskthem,howis thisworsethantherapetheywereallsocomfortablewith?IsnotNylanowoneofus?Isshenotpartofthebody?LikeRedsare.LikeObsidiansare.LikealltheColorsare.Pax tries togo light.But it’sPax, sowhenhe’sdone,myback looks

likechewedgoatmeat.Istandup.DoeverythingIcantopreventmyselffromwobbling. I’mseeingstars. Iwanttowail.Wanttocry. Instead, Itellthemthatanyonewhodoesanythingvile—theyknowwhatImean—willhavetowhipmelikethis infrontof theentirearmy.Iseehowthey look at Tactus now, how they look at Pax, how they look atmyback.“YoudonotfollowmebecauseIamthestrongest.Paxis.Youdonot

follow me because I am the brightest. Mustang is. You follow mebecauseyoudonotknowwhereyouaregoing.Ido.”ImotionTactus to come towardme.Hewavers,pale, confusedasa

newborn lamb. Fearmarks his face. Fear of the unknown. Fear of thepainIwillinglybore.Fearwhenherealizeshowdifferentheisfromme.“Don’tbeafraid,” I tellhim. Ipullhim forward intoahug.“Weare

bloodbrothers,youlittleshit.Bloodbrothers.”

I’mlearning.

37

SOUTH

“Shit on a pike!” I yelp as Mustang puts salve on my back in thewarroom.Sheflicksmybackwithafinger.“Why?”Imoan.“The measure of a man is what he does when he has power.” She

laughs.“YoumockhimforCiceroandthenspitoutPlato.”“Platoisolder.HetrumpsCicero.Ow!”“And what was that about blood brothers? That means absolutely

nothing.Youmightaswellhavesaidyouwerepineconecousins.”“Nothingbindslikepainshared.”“Well, here’s somemoreof that.” Shepulls abit of leatherout of a

wound.Iyelp.“Painshared…”Ishudder.“Notinflicted.Psychotic…ow!”“Yousoundlikeagirl.Thoughtmartyrsweretough.Thenagain,you

could be barking mad. Fever when you were stabbed, probably. YoutraumatizedPax,bytheway.He’scrying.Goodwork.”IactuallyhearPax’ssnifflesfromthearmory.“Butitdidwork,eh?”“Sure,Messiah.Youmadeyourselfacult,”shemocksdryly.“They’re

building idols to you in the square. Kneeling in supplication of yourwisdom.Omightylord.Iwilllaughwhentheyfindouttheydon’tlikeyou and can have you flogged anytime they do a naughty. Now holdstill,youPixie.Andstoptalking.Youannoyme.”“Youknow,whenwegraduate,maybeyou should look intobeinga

Pink.Yourtouchissotender.”

Shesmirks.“SendmetoaRoseGarden?Hah!Now,thatwouldticklemyfatherpink.Oh,stopsquealing.Thepunwasn’tthatbad.”

Thenextday,Iorganizemyarmy.IgiveMustangthedutyofchoosingsixsquadsofthreescoutseach.Ihavefifty-sixsoldiers;morethanhalfare slaves. Imakeher put aCeres in each group, themost ambitious.They get six of the eight commUnits I found in Ceres’swarroom. Thethings are primitive, crackling earpieces, but they give my armysomethingI’veneverhad—anevolutionbeyondsmokesignals.“SoI’massumingyouhaveaplanbesidesjustgoingsouthlikesomeMongolhorde…,”Mustangsays.“Ofcourse.We’regoingtofindtheHouseApollo.”TruetomypromisetoFitchner.ThescoutsstrikeoutthatnightfromHouseCeres,fanningouttothesouthinsixdirections.Myarmyfollowsatdawn,justbeforethewintersun rises. I will not squander this opportunity. Winter has forced theHouses into fortresses. Deep snows and hidden ravines make heavycavalrysluggish,lessuseful.Thegamehasslowed,butIwon’t.MarsandJupitercanbattleitoutforallIcare.I’llcomebackforbothlater.Atnightfallontheseconddayofourmovesouth,weseethefortressofJuno,alreadyconqueredbyJupiter.Itliestothewestonatributaryof the Argos. Mountains frame it. Beyond that are the wintry six-kilometer-highwallsoftheVallesMarineris.Myscoutsbringmenewsofthreeenemyscouts,cavalry,inthefringesofthewoodstotheeast.TheythinkitisPluto,theJackal’smen.Thehorsesareblack,andthehairoftheriders isdyed thesame.Theywearbones in theirhair. Ihear thattheyrattlelikebamboowindchimesastheyride.Whoever the riders are, they never come close. Never fall into mytraps.Agirlissaidtoleadthem.Sheridesasilverhorsedrapedwithaleather mantle sewn with unbleached bones—apparently the medBotsare not so good in the South. Lilath, I think. She and her scoutsdisappear south as a larger warband appears from the southeast andskirtsalongtheGreatwoods.Thesearenowrealarmiesofheavyhorse.Asingleridercomesforwardfromthelargerwarband.HecarriesthearcherpennantofApollo.Hishairislongandunbraided,hisfacehard

fromthewinterwinds that roll in fromthe southern sea.Acutonhisforehead nearly claimed both his eyes, eyes that stare now atme liketwoburningcoalssetinafaceofhammeredbronze.Iwalkforwardtomeethimaftertellingmyarmytolookasweatheredandpatheticashumanlypossible.Paxmanagespoorly.Mustangmakeshim go to his knees so he looks relatively normal. She stands on hisshoulders for comic relief, and starts a snowball fight as the emissarycomes near. It’s a rowdy, foolish affair, and it makes my army lookwonderfullyvulnerable.I fakealimp.Tossawaymywolfcloak.Fakeashiver.Makesuremypathetic durosteel sword looksmore a cane than a weapon. BendmylongbodyasheapproachesandIsparealookbackatmyplayingarmy.Mylookofembarrassmentisalmostsplitinhalfwithalaugh.Iswallowitdown.Hisvoiceislikesteeldraggedoverroughstone.Nohumortohim,norecognition that we’re all teenagers playing a game and that the realworld still flows on outside this valley. In the South, things havehappenedtomakethemforget.SowhenIofferhimaself-effacingsmile,hedoesnotreturnit.Heisaman.Notaboy.IthinkitisthefirsttimeI’veseensomeonefullytransformed.“And you are but a ragged remnant from the North,” the ApolloPrimus, Novas, scoffs. He tries guessing the House we hail from. I’vemade sure the Ceres standard is the one he sees. His eyes flicker. Hewants it forhisownglory.Healsohappilynoticesthatmorethanhalfmy army of fifty-six is enslaved. “Youwill not last long in the South.Perhapsyouwouldlikeshelterfromthecold?Warmfoodandbed?TheSouthisharsh.”“Ican’twageritwillbeworsethantheNorth,man,”Isay.“TheyhaverazorsandpulseArmorthere.Proctorsturnedtheirfavorfromus.”“Theyarenottheretofavoryou,weakling,”hesays.“Theyhelpthosewhohelpthemselves.”“Wehelpedourselvesasbestwecould,”Isaymeekly.He spits on the ground. “Little child.Donotwhinehere. The Southdoesnotlistentotears.”“But…buttheSouthcannotbeworsethantheNorth.”IshudderandtellhimoftheReaperfromthehighlands.Amonster.Abrute.Akiller.Evil,evilthings.

HenodswhenIspeakoftheReaper.Sohehasheardofme.“The Reaper of yours is dead. A shame. I would have liked to test

myselfagainsthim.”“Hewasademon!”Iprotest.“We have our own demons here. A one-eyedmonster in thewoods

and a worse monster in the mountains to the west. The Jackal,” heconfides as he continues with his pitch. I would be allowed to joinApollo as amercenary, not a slave, never a slave. Hewould helpmedefeattheJackal,thenretaketheNorth.Wewouldbeallies.Hethinksmeweakandstupid.Ilookatmyring.TheProctorofApollowillknowwhatIsayhere.I

wanthim toknow Iamgoing to ruinhisHouse. Ifhewants to try tostopme,thisishisinvitation.“No,”IsaytoNovas.“Myfamilywouldshameme.Iwouldbenothing

tothemifIjoinedyou.No.I’msorry.”Ismileinside.“Wehaveenoughfoodtomarchthroughyourlands.Ifyouletus,wewillbrookno—”Heslapsmeacrosstheface.“YouareaPixie,”hesays.“Stiffenyourquiveringlip.Youembarrass

your Color.” He leans toward me over his saddle pommel. “You arecaught between giants, and you will be crushed. But make a man ofyourselfbeforewecomeforyou.Idonotfightchildren.”It is thenthatMustangthrowsasnowballathishead;naturally,her

aimistrueandherlaughisloud.Novas does not react. All thatmoves is his horse beneath him as it

wheelstotakehimbacktohisrovingwarband.Iwatchthemango,andfeeldisquietseepintome.“Ride on home, little archer!” Tactus calls out. “Ride home to your

mommy!”Novas rejoinshis thirtyheavyhorse.Ouronly cavalry is our scouts.

TheycannotstandagainstionBladesandionLancesatfulltilt,evenwiththedeepsnowbankstomuddletheheavierhorses.Ourweaponsarestilldurosteel.Armornobetterthanduroplateorwolfskin.Idon’tevenweararmor. I don’t plan on fighting a battle where I need to for a while.We’ve not had a bounty after capturing Ceres’s fortress and theirstandard. The Proctors have forsaken me, but the weather has not.Normally, infantryfalls likedrywheattocavalry,butthesnowanditstreacherousdepthsprotectus.

We camp on the western bank of the river that night, nearer themountains,awayfromtheopenplainsinfrontofthedarkGreatwoods.Apollo’sheavycavalrynowhastocrossthefrozenriverinthedarknessiftheywanttoraidourcampaswesleep.Iknewthey’dtrywhentheythoughtusweak,ripeforthetaking.Theyfailmiserably.Arrogants.Asdusk settled, I had Pax and his strongmen take axes out to soften thethick ice of the river bordering our camp.Wehearhorse screams andplungingbodiesinthenight.MedBotswhinedowntosavelives.Thoseboysandgirlsareoutofthegame.Wecontinuesouth,aimingforwheremyscoutsguessApollo’scastlelies.Atnightweeatwell.Soupsaremadefromthemeatandbonesofanimalsmyscoutsbringback.Breadiskeptstoredinmakeshiftpacks.Itisthefoodthatkeepsmyarmycontent.AsthegreatCorsicanoncesaid,“Anarmymarchesonitsstomach.”Thenagain,hedidn’tfaresowellinthewinter.MustangwalksbesidemeasIleadthecolumn.Thoughshe’sswaddledwith wolfcloaks as thick as my own, she hardly comes up to myshoulder.Andwhenwewalkthroughdeepsnow,it’salmostalaughtoseehertrytokeepapacewithme.ButifIslow,Iearnascowl.Herbraidbouncesasshekeepsup.Whenwereacheasierground,sheglancesoveratme.Herpertnoseisredasacherryinthecold,buthereyeslooklikehothoney.“Youhaven’tbeensleepingwell,”shesays.“WhendoIever?”“Whenyousleptnexttome.Youcriedoutthefirstweekinthewoods.Afterthat,yousleptlikealittlebaby.”“Isthisyouinvitingmeback?”Iask.“Inevertoldyoutoleave.”Shewaits.“Sowhydidyou?”“Youdistractme,”Isay.She laughs lightly before drifting back to walk beside Pax. I’m leftconfusedbothbymyresponseandbyherwords.Ineverthoughtshe’dcareonewayor theother if I left.A stupid smile spreadsonmy face.Tactuscatchesit.“Smittenasalovebird,”hehums.Ihurlahandfulofsnowathishead.“Notawordmore.”“But I need another word, a serious word.” He steps closer, takes adeepbreath.“Doesthepaininyourbackgiveyouahard-onlikeitgives

me?”Helaughs.“Areyoueverserious?”Hissharpeyessparkle.“Oh,youdon’twantmeserious.”“Howaboutobedient?”Heclapshishands together. “Well,youknow I’mnotprime fondof

theideaofaleash.”“Doyouseealeash?”Iask,pointingtohisforehead,wherehisslave

markcouldbe.“AndsinceyouknowIdon’tneedaleash,itmaydototellmewhere

wearebound.Iwouldbemore…effectivethatway.”He’s not challenging me, because he speaks quietly. After the

whipping we both received, he’s taken to me in a frighteningly loyalway.Despiteallthesmilesandsneersandlaughs,Ihavehisobedience.Andhisquestionissincere.“We’regoingtoruinApollo,”Itellhim.“ButwhyApollo?”heasks.“ArewemerelycheckingofftheHousesat

random,orshouldIknowsomething?”Thetoneinhisvoicemakesmecockmyhead.He’salwaysreminded

meofsomekindofgiantcat.Maybeit’sthefrighteninglycasualwayinwhichhelopesalong.Likehe’dkillsomethingwithouteventensinghismuscles.Ormaybeit’sbecauseIcanimaginehimcoilinguponacouchandlickinghimselfclean.“I’veseenthingsinthesnow,Reaper,”hesaysquietly.“Impressionsin

thesnow,tobespecific.Andtheseimpressionsarenotmadebyfeet.”“Paws?Hooves?”“No, dear leader.” He steps closer. “Linear impressions.” I get his

meaning.“GravBoots flyingvery low.Dotellme,whyaretheProctorsfollowingus?AndwhyaretheywearingghostCloaks?”All his whispers mean nothing because of our rings. Yet he doesn’t

knowthat.“Becausetheyareafraidofus,”Itellhim.“Afraidofyou,youmean.”Hewatchesme.“WhatdoyouknowthatI

don’t?WhatdoyoutellMustangthatyoudon’ttellus?”“Youwanttoknow,Tactus?”I’venotforgottenhiscrimes,butItake

hisshoulderandbringhimclose likehe’sabrother. Iknowthepowertouch can have. “Then knock House Apollo off the gory-damnedmapandIwilltellyou.”

Hislipscurlintoaferalsmile.“Apleasure,goodReaper.”

Westayaway from theopenplainsandcling to the riveraswemovefarthersouth,listeningtoourscoutsrelaynewsofenemyholdingsoverthecomms.Apolloseemstocontroleverything.AllweseeoftheJackalare his small bands of scouts. There’s something strange about hissoldiers,somethingthatchillstheheart.Forthethousandthtime,Ithinkofmy enemy.Whatmakes the faceless boy so frightening? Is he tall?Lean?Thick?Fast?Ugly?Andwhatgiveshimhisreputation,hisname?Nooneseemstoknow.The Pluto scouts never come near despite the temptation we offer

them. I havePax carry thebanner ofCereshigh, so that everyApollocavalryman in the surroundingmiles can see it glimmer. Each realizesthechance forglory.Partiesofcavalrydash intous.Scouts think theycanpryourprideawayandgainthemselvesstatusintheirHouse.Theycome stupidly in threes, in fours, and we ruin them with the CeresarchersorMinerva’s spearmenorwithburiedpikes in the snow.Littlebylittle,wegnawatthemasthewolfgnawsattheelk.Alwaysweletthemescape, though. Iwant themangryashellwhenIarriveontheirdoorstep.Slaveslikethemwouldslowusdown.Thatnight,PaxandMustangsitwithmebyasmallfireandtellmeof

their livesoutsidetheschool.Paxisariotwhenyougethimgoing—asurprisingly energetic talker with a penchant for complimentingeverything in his stories, including the villains, so half the time youdon’tknowwhoisgoodandwhoisbad.Hetellsusofatimehebrokehis father’s scepter in half, and another time he was mistaken for anObsidianandnearlyshippedofftotheAgoge,wheretheytraininspacecombat.“I notion you could say I always dreamt of being an Obsidian,” he

rumbles.Whenhewasaboy,hewouldsneakfromhisfamily’ssummermanor

in New Zealand, Earth, and join the Obsidians as they performed theNagoge,thenightlynecessityoftheirtraining,inwhichtheylootedandstole in order to supplement the paltry diet they were given at theAgoge.Hewouldscrapandfightwiththemformorselsoffood.Hesayshewouldalwayswin,thatisuntilhemetHelga.MustangandIlockeyes

andtrynottobustoutwithlaughsashewaxesgrandiloquentonHelga’sampleproportions,herthickfists,heramplethighs.“Theirswasalargelove,”ItellMustang.“Alovetoshaketheearth,”shereplies.I’mwokenthenextmorningbyTactus.Hiseyesarecoldasthedawn’sfreeze.“Ourhorseshavedecidedtorunaway.Allofthem.”HeguidesustotheCeresboysandgirlswhowerewatchingthehorses.“Noneofthemsaw a thing. One minute the horses were there; the next they weregone.”“Poorhorsesmustbeconfused,”Paxsayssorrowfully.“Itwasstormylastnight.Perhapstheyranforsafetytothewoods.”Mustang holds up the ropes that held the horses during the night.Pulledinhalf.“Strongerthantheylooked,”shesaysdubiously.“Tactus?”Inodmyheadtothescene.HelooksoveratPaxandMustangbeforeanswering.“Therearefoottracks…”“But.”“Why waste my breath?” He shrugs. “You know what I’m going tosay.”Proctorspulledtheropesapart.Idonottellmyarmywhathappened,butrumorspreadsquicklywhenpeoplehuddletogetherforwarmth.Mustangdoesnotaskquestionseventhough she knows I’m not telling her something. After all, I did notsimplyfindthemedicineIgaveherintheNorthwoods.Itrytolookatthisnewestkinkasatest.Whentherebellionbegins,things like this will happen. How do I react? Breathe the anger out.Breatheitoutandmove.Easiersaidthandoneforme.Wemove to thewoods to the east.Without horses, we’ve nomoreplaytomakeintheplainsneartheriver.MyscoutstellmethecastleofApolloisnear.HowwillItakeitwithouthorses?Withoutanyelementofspeed?Asnight falls, another kink reveals itself. The souppotswebroughtfromCerestocookoverourfiresarecrackedthrough.Allofthem.Andthebreadwhichwekept so securelywrapped inpaper inourpacks isfullofweevils.TheycrunchlikejuicyseedsasIeatasupperofbread.

TotheDraftersitwilllookanunfortunateturnofevents.ButIknowitissomethingmore.TheProctorswarnmetoturnback.“WhydidCassiusbetrayyou?”Mustangasksmethatnightaswesleepin ahollowbeneath a snowdrift.OurDiana sentrieswatch the camp’sperimeterfromthetrees.“Don’tlietome.”“Ibetrayedhim,actually,”Isay.“I…itwashisbrotherthatIhadtokillinthePassage.”Hereyeswiden.Andafteramomentshenods.“Ihadabrotherdie.It’snot…itwasn’tthesamething.But…adeathlikethat,itchangesthings.”“Diditchangeyou?”“No,” she says, as though she just realized it. “But it changed myfamily.MadethemintopeopleIdon’trecognizesometimes.That’slife,Isuppose.”Shepullsback suddenly. “Whydidyou tellCassius thatyoukilledhisbrother?Areyouthatmad,Reaper?”“Ididn’ttellhimslag.TheProctorsdidthroughtheJackal.Gavehimaholocube.”“Isee.”Hereyesgocold.“SotheyarecheatingfortheArchGovernor’sson.”

I leaveherand thewarmthof the fire topiss in thewoods.Theair iscoldandcrisp.Owlshoot in thebranches,makingme feelwatched inthenight.“Darrow?”Mustangsaysfromthedarkness.Iwheelabout.“Mustang, did you follow me?” Darrow. Not Reaper. Something isamiss.Somethinginthewayshesaysmyname,thatshesaysmynameatall.Itislikeseeingacatbark.ButIcan’tseeherinthedarkness.“I thought I saw something,” she says, still in shadow, voiceemanating from the deeperwoods. “It’s just over here. It’ll blow yourmind.”I follow the sound of her voice. “Mustang. Don’t leave the camp.Mustang.”“We’vealreadyleftit,darling.”Aroundme,thetreesstretchominouslyupward.Theirbranchesreachforme.Thewoodsaresilent.Dark.Thisisatrap.ItisnotMustang.

TheProctors?TheJackal?Someonewatchesme.Whensomethingwatchesyouandyoudon’tknowwhereitis,thereis

onlyonesensiblethingtodo.Changethebloodydamnparadigm,trytoeventheplayingfield.Makeithavetolookforyou.I break intomovement. I sprint back towardmy army. Then I dash

behindatree,scrambleupitandwait,watching.Knivesout.Readytothrow.Cloakcurledaboutme.Silence.Then the snapping of twigs. Something moves through the woods.

Somethinghuge.“Pax?”Icalldown.Noresponse.ThenIfeelastronghandtouchmyshoulder.ThebranchIcrouchin

sinks with the new weight as a man deactivates his ghostCloak andappears fromthinair. I’veseenhimbefore.Hiscurlyblondhair iscuttighttohisheadandframeshisdusky,godlikeface.Hischiniscarvedfrommarble, and his eyes twinkle evilly, bright as his armor. ProctorApollo.Thehugethingmovesagainbelowus.“Darrow,Darrow,Darrow,”heclucksoveratmeinMustang’svoice.

“Youwereafavoritepuppet,butyou’renotdancingasyouought.Willyoureformandgonorth?”“I—”“Refuse?Nomatter.”Heshovesmeoffthebranch,hard.Ihitanother

onthewaydown.Fallintothesnow.Ismelldander.Fur.Andthenthebeastroars.

38

THEFALLOFAPOLLO

The bear is huge—bigger than a horse, big as a wagon. White as abloodless corpse. Eyes red and yellow. Razor black teeth long as myforearm.NothinglikethebearsI’veseenontheHC.Astripofredrunsalongitsspine.Itspawsarelikefingers,eightonahand.It’sunnatural.MadebytheCarversforsport.It’sbeenbroughttothesewoodstokill,tokillmeinparticular.SevroandIhearditroaringmonthsbackaswewenttomakepeacewithDiana.NowIfeelitsspittle.I stand there stupid for a second. Then the bear roars again and

lunges.Iroll,run.IsprintfasterthanIeverhaveinmylife.Ifly.Butthebear

isfaster,iflessagile;thewoodsshudderasitcrashesthroughbrushandtrees.IrunbesideamassivegodTreeanddivethroughbramble.Therethe

groundcreaksbeneathmyfeetandIrealize,asleavesandsnowcrumbleundermy feet,where I stand. I put the place betweenmyself and thebearandwaitforthebeartotearthroughtheunderbrush.Itburstsclearandlungesforme.Ijumpback.Thenitisgone,shriekingasitplummetsthroughthetrapfloorontoabedofwoodenspikes.MyjoywouldhavebeenlongerlivedifIdidn’tdancebackandstepintoasecondtrap.Theearthflips.Well,Ido.MylegsnapsupwardandIflyintotheair

on the end of a rope. I dangle for hours, too frightened to call tomyarmy for fear of Proctor Apollo. My face tingles and itches from thebloodrushingtomyhead.Thenafamiliarvoicecutsthenight.

“Well,well,well,”itsneersfrombelow.“Lookslikewe’vetwopeltstoskin.”

SevrosmirkswhenItellhimI’vealliedwithMustang.Atcamp,whereMustangwaspreparingsearchpartiestosendoutforme,hisreputationprecedeshimamongstthenortherners.TheMinervansfearhim.TactusandtheotherDeadHorses,ontheotherhand,aredelighted.“Why, if it isn’tmybellybuddy!”Tactusdrawls.“Whythe limp,myfriend?”“Yourmotherrodemeragged,”Sevrogrunts.“Bah,you’dhavetostandonyourtiptoestoevenkissherchin.”“Wasn’therchinIwastryingtokiss.”TactusclapshishandstogetherinlaughteranddrawsSevroinforanobnoxious hug. They are two very peculiar people. But I supposesnugglinginhorsecorpsesgivesabond—makestwinsofamorbidsort.“Wherewereyou?”Mustangasksmequietlytotheside.“Inasecond,”Isay.Sevro has only one eye now. So he is the one-eyed demon theApollonianemissarywarnedmeabout.“IalwayswonderedwhatsortofmadlittlefellowsyouHowlerswere,”Mustangsays.“Little?”Sevroasks.“I—didn’tmeantooffend.”Hegrins.“Iamlittle.”“Well,weofMinervathoughtyouwereghosts.”Shepatshisshoulder.“You’renot.AndI’mnotarealmustang,ifyouwerewondering.Notail,yousee?Andno,”sheinterruptsTactus.“I’veneverwornasaddle,sinceyouweregoingtoask.”Hewas.“She’lldo,”Sevromutterssidewaystome.“I like them,” Mustang says of the Howlers a few moments later.“Makemefeeltall.”“Perrrfect!”Tactuspicksup thebloodbackpeltwithagrunt. “Lookylook.TheyfoundsomethinginPax’ssize.”BeforewejointhegroupatthelargefirethatPaxstokes,Sevropullsmeasideandproducesablanket.InsideismyslingBlade.

“Keptitsafeforyouafterfindingitinthemud,”hesays.“AndImadeitsharper;timeforusingadullbladeisover.”“You’rea friend. Ihopeyouknowthat.” Iclaphimontheshoulder.“Not a game friend. A real friend now, when we’re out of here. Youknowthat,yes?”“I’mnotanidiot.”Heblushesallthesame.IlearnfromhimaroundthecampfirethatheandtheHowlers,Thistle,Screwface, Clown, Weed, and Pebble—the dregs of my old House—stayednolongerthanadayafterIdisappeared.“CassiussaidtheJackaltookyou,”Sevrosaysthroughamouthfulofweevily bread. “Delicious nuts.” He eats like he hasn’t seen food inweeks.WesitfiresideintheGreatwoods,bathedinthelightofcracklinglogs.Mustang,Milia,Tactus,andPaxjoinusinleaningonafallentreeinthesnow.We’reallbundledlikeanimals.IsitclosewithMustang.Herlegisentwined with mine beneath the furs. The bloodback fur stinks andcracklesoverthefire.Fatdripsintotheflames.Paxwillwearitwhenitdries.SevrosoughttheJackalafterCassiusfedhimthelie.Mysmallfrienddoesn’t get into details. He hates details. He just taps his empty eyesocketandsays,“TheJackalowesme.”“Yousawhimthen?”Iask.“Itwasdark.Isawhisknife.Didn’tevenhearhisvoice.Ihadtojumpoffthemountain.Itwasalongfallbacktotherestofthepack.”Hesaysit so plainly. Yet I did notice his limp. “We couldn’t stay in themountains.Hismen…everywhere.”“Butwetooksomeof themountainswithus,”Thistlesays.Shepatsthescalpsonherwaistwithamotherlysmile.Mustangshudders.It’sbeenchaosintheSouth.Apollo,Venus,Mercury,andPlutoareallthat’s left, but I hear Mercury has been reduced to a force of rovingvagabonds.Apity. Iwas fondof theirProctor.Healmost choseme intheDraft,wouldhaveifhecouldhave.Wonderhowthingswouldhavegonethen.“Sevro,with that leg, how fast canyou run, say, twokilometers?” Iask.Theothersarepuzzledbythequestion,butSevrojustshrugs.“Doesn’tslowme.MinuteandahalfinthislowGrav.”

Imakeanotetotellhimmyidealater.“We havemore important things to discuss, Reaper.” Tactus smiles.

“Now, Iheardyouweredanglingupsidedown in thewoods from thisonehere’strap.”HepatslittleThistleonherthigh;shesmilesasheletshis hand linger. It’s the scalp collection that draws his affection. “Youdidn’tthinkyou’dsneakoutoftellingthetale,didyou?”It’snotsofunnyathingashemightsuspect.Ifingermyring.Tellingthemwouldbesigningtheirdeathwarrants.

ApolloandJupiterlistentomenow.IlookatMustangandfeelhollow.I’llrisklosingherjusttowintheirriggedgame.IfIwereagoodperson,Iwouldkeeptheringon.Iwouldholdmytongue.Butthereareplanstomake,godstoundo.Itakemyringoffandsetitonthesnow.“LetusforonemomentpretendwearenotfromdifferentHouses,”Isay.“Let’sallofustalkasfriends,ringless.”

Withouthorses,withoutmobility, Ihavenoadvantageovermyenemyin the surrounding lands. Another lesson to be learned. I make anadvantageformyself,anewstrategy.Imakethemfearme.Mytacticsareonesoffragmentation.Isplitmyarmyintosixpiecesof

tenundermyself,Pax,Mustang,Tactus,Milia,and,duetoasurprisingrecommendation fromMilia, Nyla. I would have given Sevro his ownunit,butheandhisHowlerswillnot leavemysideagain.Theyblamethemselvesforthescaronmybelly.Myarmy sets intoApollo’sholdings like starvingwolves.Wedonot

assail theircastle,butweraidtheir forts.Webringfiretotheirsupplystores.Weshootarrowsat their legs.We foul theirwater suppliesandtellprisonersfalsenewsandletthemescape.Wemurdertheirgoatsandpigs.We hack their riverboats with axes.We steal weapons. I do notallowprisonerstobetakenexceptiftheyarestudentsfromVenus,Juno,orBacchus enslavedbyApollo.All otherswe let escape. The fear andlegend must spread. This my army understands better than anythingelse. They are dogmatic. They tell each other tales of me around thecampfires.Paxistheirringleader;hethinksIammythmademan.ManyofmysoldiersbegincarvingmyslingBladeintotreesandwalls.Tactusand Thistle carve sling-Blades into flesh. And the more industriousmembersofmyarmymakestandardsofstainedwolfpeltsthatwetake

intobattleontheendofspears.I split the slaves ofHouseCeres and the other captured slaves fromone another to integrate them into the various units. I know theirallegiancesareshifting.Bitbybit.TheybegintorefertothemselvesnotasCeresorMinervaorDiana,butbytheirunitname.IplacefourCeressoldiers, the smallest,withSevro in theHowlers. I donot know if thebakerswillmakeforelitewarriorsasMars’sdregsdid,butifanyonecancarveofftheirbabyfat,it’sSevro.Fear gnaws at Apollo for a week. Our ranks swell. Theirs diminish.Freed slaves tell us of the terror in the castle, the worry that I willappearfromtheshadowswithmybloodywolfcloakstoburnandmaim.I do not fear House Apollo; they are lumbering fools who cannotadjusttomytactics.WhatIfearistheProctors,andtheJackal.Tome,they are one and the same.AfterApollo’s failed attempt onmy life, Ifear they will be more direct. When will I wake with a razor in myspine?Thisistheirgame.Atanytime,Icoulddie.ImustdestroyHouseApollonow,getProctorApollooutofthegamebeforeitistoolate.My lieutenants and I sit aroundour fire in thewoods todiscuss thetacticsofthenextday.WearelessthantwomilesfromHouseApollo’scastle, but they dare not attack us. We are in the deep woods. Theyhuddle infearofus.Wealsodon’tattackthem.IknowProctorApollowouldruineventhecleverestofnightassaults.Beforewecanbegin,NylaasksabouttheJackal.Sevro’svoiceisquietas he tells what he learned in the mountains. It grows louder as herealizeswearealllistening.“Hiscastle is somewhere in the lowmountains.Subterranean,not inthe high peaks. Just near Vulcan. Vulcan got off to a prime start.Fastlike.TheyblitzedPlutoonthethirdday.Efficientturds.Plutowasn’tready. So the Jackal took control, had them retreat into their deeptunnels. Vulcan came howling in with advanced weapons from theirforges.Itwasallgoingtobeover.TheJackalwouldhavebeenaslavefromthefirstweekon.Sohecollapsedthetunnel—noplan,nowayout—inordertopreservehischancetowinthegame.KilledtenofhisownHouse,tonsofhighDrafts.MedBotscouldn’tsaveanyone.Strandedfortyoftherestinthedarkcaves.Plentyofwater,nofood.Theyweretherefor nearly a month before they dug their way out.” He smiles and IrememberwhyFitchnercalledhimGoblin.“Guesswhattheyate?”

IfaJackaliscaughtinatrap, itwillchewoff itsownleg.Whotoldmethat?Thefirecracklesbetweenus.IwouldhaveexpectedMustangtoshift

uncomfortably,butinsteadwhatIseefromherisangerasthedetailsarerelayed.Pureanger.Herjawflexesandherfacelosesashade.Igripherhandbeneaththeblanket,butitdoesnotgripback.“Howdidyoufindallthatout?”Paxrumbles.Sevrotapsoneofhiscurvedkniveswithafingernail,allowingasoft

dingintothenightair.Itechoesintothewoods,bouncingofftreesandreturningtoourearslikealostphrase.ThenIcanhearnothingfromthewoods, nothing beyond the fire. My heart leaps into my throat and IcatchSevro’seye.He’llhavetofindTactus.AjamFieldenvelopesus.“Hello,children,”avoicesaysfromthedarkness.“Suchabrightfireis

dangerousatnight.Andyou’relikelittlepuppies,allsnuggledtogether;no,don’tgetup.”Thisvoiceismelodious.Frivolous.Eerietohearaftersomanymonthsofhardship.Noone’svoicesoundslikethat.Hestrollsin lightlyandplopsdownbesidePax.Apollo.This timehebroughtnobear,onlyagrandspearthatdripspurplesparksalongitsbusinessend.“Proctor Apollo, welcome,” I say. Sentinels perch above us in the

trees,theirarrowspointedattheProctor.IwavethetrapawayandasktheProctorwhyheishere,asifwe’venevermet.Hispresencesendsaverysimplemessage:myfriendsareindanger.“Totellyoutoreturnhome,mydearnomads.”Heopensupaflagon

ofwineandpassesitaround.Noonedrinks,exceptSevro.Heholdsontotheflagon.“Proctorsaren’t supposed to interferewith things. It is in the rules,”

Pax says in confusion. “Bywhat rightdoyoucomehere?This isdirtyplay.”Mustangsecondshisquestion.TheAureate sighs,butbeforehecansayanything,Sevrostandsand

belches.Hebeginswalkingoff.“Whereareyougoing?”Apollosnaps.“Don’twalkawayfromme.”“Goingtopiss.Drankallyourwine.RatherIpisshere?”Hecockshis

headandtoucheshissmallstomach.“Maybeshit,too.”Apollowrinkleshisnoseandlooksbacktous,dismissingSevro.“Influencing is hardly dirty play, my giant friend,” he explains. “I

merelycareforyourwell-being.Iamhere,afterall,toguideyouinyourstudies. Itwouldbebest foryouall to return to theNorth, that isall.Better strategy, let’s say. Finish your battle there, consolidate yourpower, thenexpandout. It is the rulesofwar:Donot exposeyourselfwhenweak.Donotpushyourenemytofightwhenyouareinferior.Youhaveno cavalry.No shelter.Meagerweapons.Youarenot learningasyouought.”His grin is welcoming. It slashes through his beautiful face like a

crescent moon as he twirls the rings on his finger, waiting for ourresponse.“It is kind of you to consider our well-being,” Mustang replies in

mocking highLingo. “I do say, very kind! Warms my bones. Payingspecialattention,noless,tothefactthatyou’refromanotherHouse.Buttellme, doesmy Proctor know you are here?DoesMars’s?” She nodsover to silent Milia. “Does Juno’s? Are you doing a naughtynaughty,goodsir?Ifyou’renot,thenwhythejamField?Ordootherswatch?”Apollo’seyesharden,thoughhissmileremains.“Tobequite frank, yourProctorsdon’t knowwhat you childrenare

playingat.Youhadyourchance,Virginia.Youlost.Don’tallowyourselftobebitter.Darrowherebeatyou fair and sound.OrdidyourwintertogetherblindyoutothefactthattherecanonlybeonewinningHouse,only one victorious Primus? Were all of you truly so blinded?This…boycangiveyounothing.”Helooksaroundateachofthem.“Ishallrepeat,sinceyouarearustylot:Darrow’swinwillnotmean

youwin.Noonewillofferyouanapprenticeship,becausetheyseehimbeingthekeytoyoursuccess.Youmerelyfollow—likeGeneralNeyorAjaxMinor,andwhoremembersthem?ThisReaperdoesnotevenhavehisownstandard.He isusingyou.That isall.He isembarrassingyouandruiningyourchancesforcareersbeyondthisFirstYear.”“You’re quite annoying, all due respect, Proctor,”Nyla sayswithout

herusualkindness.“Andyou’restillaslave.”Apollopointstohermark.“Fitforallsorts

ofabuse.”“Only till I earn the right to wear one of those.” Nyla gestures to

Mustang’swolfcloak.“Yourloyaltyistouching,but—”

Paxinterrupts.“Wouldyouletmewhipyoubloody,Apollo?Darrowdid.Letmewhipyou,andI’llobeylikeaPink.Promiseonthegravesofmyancestors,thoseofTelemanusandthe—”“You’renothingmorethanabureaucraticPixie,”Miliahisses.“Dousafavorandpissoff.”My lieutenants are loyal, though I shudder to thinkwhat Tactus orSevro would have said had they been around the fire with us. I leanforwardtostaredownApollo.Still,Imustprovokehim.“Doussolid,eh?Takeyouradvice,shoveitupyourass,andpissoff.”Someonelaughsintheairaboveus,awoman’slaugh.OtherProctorswatch from inside the jamField. I see silhouettes in the smoke. Howmany watch? Jupiter? Venus, maybe, by the laugh? That would beperfect.ThefireflickersoverApollo’sface.Heisangry.“HereisthelogicIknow.Thewintercouldgetcolder,children.Whenitgetscoldoutside,thingsdie.Likewolves.Likebears.Likemustangs.”Ihaveareplyanditisperfectlylongwinded.“Iwonder,Apollo,whathappensiftheDraftersfindoutthatyouarearrangingtohavetheArchGovernor’ssonwin?Ifyouwere,say,riggingthegamelikeabazaarcrimelord.”Apollofreezes.Icontinue.“Whenyou triedkillingme in thewoodswith that stupidbear, youfailed.Nowyou comehere like thedesperate fool youare to threatenmyfriendswhentheydonotslaverattheideaofbetrayingme.Willyoureallykillusall?IknowyoucaneditwhatyoulikefromthefootagetheDrafterssee.ButhoweverwillyouexplaintoallourDraftershowwealldied?”Mylieutenantsfeigntheirshock.Igoon.“SayanImperatorofa fleet,sayaLegate,sayanyof theDraftersofanyof theotherHouses, foundout that theArchGovernorwaspayingtheProctorstocheat,toeliminatethecompetitionsothathissonwouldwin and their children would lose. Do you think there would beconsequencesfortheProctorsbeingbribed?FortheArchGovernor?Doyou think they might care that their children are dying in a riggedgame?Orthatyou’regettingpaidtoruinthemeritocraticsystem?Thebestshallrise.Orisitthebestconnected?”

Apollo’sjawtightens.HelooksuptotheotherProctors.Theywiselystayinvisible.Hemusthavedrawntheshortstrawtocomedownhereandbethefaceoftheircheating.Mylieutenantsstaysilentashespeaks.“Iftheydidfindout,children,thentherewouldbeconsequencesforeveryone,”Apollo threatens. “So feel free to guardyour tongueswhileyouhavethem.”“Orwhat?”Mustangasksviolently.“Whatdoyouthinkyou’regoingtodo?”“Youofallpeopleshouldknow,”hesays.Idon’tunderstandhispoint,butthischaradehasrunitscourse.I’vecountedthesecondssinceSevroleft.TheProctorshavenot.IturntoMustang.“HowfastcanSevroruntwokilometers?”“Aminuteandahalf,inthisgravity,Idobelieve.Thoughhe’salittleliar,solikelyfaster.”“AndhowfarisApollo’scastle?”“Oh,I’dsaythreekilometers,maybealittlemore.”Apollojumpstohisfeet,lookingaroundforSevro.“Splendid,”Isay.“Say,Mustang,doyouknowwhatIlikemostaboutjamFields?”“Thatnosoundcangetout?”“No.Thatnosoundcangetin.”Apollo disengages the jamField and we hear the howls. They comefromthedistance,twomilesaway.Fromramparts.FromApollo’scastle.MedBotswailtowardthecries,streakingacrossthedistantsky.“Venus!Wereyounotwatchingthem?Youstupid…”Apollosnarlsattheemptyair.“Thelittleonetookoffhisring,”aninvisiblewomancries.“Theyalltookofftheirrings!Ican’tseeanythingwithouttheirringson,andnotinajamField!”“Butthey’reallbackonbynow,”Isay.“Sopullupyourdatapadandtellmewhatyousee.”“You little …” Apollo’s hands clench. I flinch back. Mustang stepsbetweenus,asdoesPax.“Uh-oh,” Pax booms, thumping his huge axe against his chest. Thearmorbeneathhiswolfcloakthumpsrhythmically.“Uh-oh!”SnowfliesasApollosoarsoutofthewoods,theotherProctorsonhis

heels.Theywillbetoolate.Editalltheylike,interferealltheylike,thebattle forHouseApollohasbegun,andSevroandTactushaveclaimedtheramparts.MylieutenantsandIarriveatthebattleintimetoseeTactusclimbing

thehighesttower,aknifeinhisteeth.There,standingontheedgeofthehundred-meter parapet like some careless Greek champion, he pullsdownhispantsandpissesonthebannerofHouseApollo.He’scrawledthroughshittoearnthatbanner.Theslaveswecapturedthroughouttheweek told us of the castle’s weaknesses—large latrine holes—and soTactus, Sevro, and the Howlers exploited them in dreadfully efficienttime.HouseApollo’ssoldierswoketodemonscoveredindung.Oh,howterribly my conquering soldiers smell as they open the gates for me.Inside,it’samassofchaos.The castle is tall, white, ornate. Its plaza stands round and has six

granddoorwaysthatleadtosixgrand,spiralingtowers.Sheepandcowscrowdmakeshiftpenson the far sideof theplaza.Apolloguardshaveretreated there. More of their allies stream from the tower doorwaysbehind them. My men are outnumbered three to one. But mine arefreemen, not slaves. Theywill fight better. Yet it is not numbers thatthreatens to turn the tide against my invading army. It’s the ApolloPrimus,Novas.TheProctorgavehimhisownpulseWeapon.Aspearthatglimmerswithpurplesparks.ItstiptouchesoneoftheDeadHorsesfromDiana,andthegirlflipstenfeetbackward,likeabrokentoyconvulsingonthegroundasitsgearsfallofftheirtracks.Igathermyforcesnearthegatehouse,justinsidetheplaza.Manyare

still in the towers like Tactus. I’ve got Pax,Milia,Nyla,Mustang, andthirtyothersatmyback.TheenemyPrimusmarshalshisownforces.Hisweaponalonecouldruinus.“Mustang, ready with that standard?” I ask. I feel her hand on the

smallofmyback,justbeneathmybreastplate.Iwearnohelm.Myhairisboundbyleather.Myfaceisdarkwithsoot.MyrighthandcarriesmyslingBlade.The left, a shortened stunpike.Nyla carries the standardofCeres.“Pax,we’rethescythe.Girls,you’rethepickers.”Mymeninthetowershowlastheysprintandjumpdownfromtheir

perchestojointhebattle,streamingintotheplazafromallangles.Theirstainedwolfcloaksreek.ThecobblestonesbetweenmybandandApollo’s

liethickwithankle-highdriftsofsnow.Proctorsglint intheairabove,waitingforthepulseSpeartomakeshortworkofmyarmy.“Take their Primus,”Mustangwhispers inmy ear. Shepoints to the

tall,hardboyandsmacksmybutt.“Claimhim.”“Twentymetersandstop,Pax.”Henodsatmycommand.“The Primus is mine!” I roar tomy army and to theirs. “Novas, you

gorywhore.Youaremine.Youpiss-eatingsnail.Youfoulpieceofshit.”As the tall, mad invader with the slingBlade screams at their Primus,Apollo’sforcesshirkinstinctivelyaway.“Enslavetherest!”Ihowl.ThenPaxandIcharge.Thereststreamafter,tryingtocatchmyheels.IletPaxovertakeme.

He’sscreamingwithhiswaraxeandchargingatNovasandhisbandofbodyguards—heavilyarmoredboysandgirlswithcrimsonhandprintsontheirhelmets.Theyleadthechargeoftheenemyhost,goingstraightatPax,loweringtheirspearstostophismadcharge.Thesearethetallsort,the dashing killers who have long since grown too arrogant tounderstandtheyareindangerortofeelfearastheymakeplanstomeetPaxinarms.ThenPaxstops.Andwithout breaking stride, I jump so his hand catchesmy foot; I

push off and he launches me ten meters forward into the air. I’mhowlingtheentireway,likeathingtornfrombloodydamnnightmares,until I smash into the bodyguards. Three go down. A random spearcatchesmy stomach and scrapes alongmy ribs, spinningme just as atridentpierces theairwheremyheadhadbeen. Igainmy feet, swinghorizontally, sweeping legs. I spin away from a thrust and hack downdiagonally as I come from my spin, shattering someone tall at thecollarbone. Another spear comes at me; I slap it to the side and runalong its length, jumping to burymy knee into the face of an ApollohighDraft. He falls back, taking me with him, my knee stuck in hishelmet’s visor. I slashmadly as I go from the high vantage, stunningthree other highDrafts with looping blows till I teeter down to theground.Wehitthesnow.ThehighDraft’snoseisbrokenandhe’sunconscious,

butmykneeisnumbandbloodyfromtheimpactasIjerkitoutofhishelmet.Irollaway,expectingspearstofilletme.Theydon’t.IshatteredtheheadoftheApolloarmyinonemadcharge;Paxandmyarmysweep

inlikeanironcurtaintillI’mleftwithNovasinthecenterofthechaos.He’s tallandstrong.AsweepingarcfromhisspearshattersaHowler’sshield.HeblastsMiliabackwardsandcatchesPax in thearmwith thespear,knockinghimtothegroundlikeatoy.I’mtallerandstronger.“Novas,youlittlegirl!”Ishout.“YousnivelingPink.”Hiseyesflashwhenheseesmecoming.Thebattletakesacollectivebreathashewheelstowardmelikeanelk

turningon the leaderof awolfpack.We stalk towardoneanother.Helungesfirst.IdodgeandspinalongthelengthofthespeartillI’mbehindhim.Thenwithonemassive swing, like I’mhackingdowna treewithmyslingBlade,Ibreakhislegandtakehisspear.Hemoans like a child. I sit on his chest, smugwith the satisfaction

thatIdidnotmoanlikethiswhenmylegswerebrokenandrewoveninMickey’s carveshop. I make a show of yawning despite the chaosswirlingaroundme.Mustangtakesthereinsofbattle.OnlyonememberofHouseApolloescapes.Agirl.Afastgirl,butan

unimportant member of their House. Somehow, she jumps from thehighest tower and simply floats down to the groundwith herHouse’sstandard.Almostlikemagic.ButIseethedistortionaroundher.ProctorApollo preserves his position in the game. The girl finds a horse andrides away frommy horseless army. Pax hurls a spear at her from adistance.His aim is true andwould have pinned the horse to the turfthrough the neck, but a freakish wind miraculously knocks the spearwide.Intheend,it’sMustangwhotakesahorsefromtheApollostablesand chases the girl down with the Howlers Thistle and Pebble. Shebringsherbackbentoverherownhorse’sneck,spankingherbuttwiththestandardastheygallopback.My army roars as Mustang trots into the conquered castle square.

We’vealreadyfreedtheHouseCeresslaves;they’veearnedtheirplaceinmy army. I wave down at Mustang from my perch beside Sevro andTactus on the high ramparts; our feet dangle carelessly over the edge.House Apollo has fallen in less than thirty minutes despite Apollo’sinterferencewiththepulseSpear.ProctorApolloconferswithJupiterandVenusinthesky.Theyglitter

inthedawnlightas thoughnothinghashappened.But Iknowhewillhave to leave the game; the standard and castle are taken.He cannot

hurtmeanylonger.“You’re through!” I tauntApollo. “YourHousehas fallen!”Myarmy

roarsoncemore.IbaskinthesoundandthewinterairasthesunpeeksoverthewesternlipoftheVallesMarinerise.Mostofthosevoiceswouldbe slaves. Instead, they follow willingly. Soon even those of HouseApollowillfollowme.Ilaughwildly;thefireofvictoryishotinmyveins.Wehavebeaten

oneProctor.ButJupitercanstillhurtus.HisHouseisunbent,unbrokenfartothenorth.Aquickrageovertakesmealongwithanother,darkerpassion—one of arrogance, furious, mad arrogance. I grab thepulseSpear,cockmyarm,andhurl theweaponashardas Icanat thegathered Proctors.My armywatches this act of impudence. The threeProctorsscatterafter thepulseSpeargoesthroughtheirshielding.Theyturntolookatme.Fireglittersintheireyes.Butthepassioninmewasnotquenchedbyamerespearthrow.Ihatetheseschemingfools.Iwillruinthem.“Jupiter!Youarenext.Youarenext,youpieceofdogshit!”ThenPaxbellowsmyname.And thenTactus’s voice echoes it, then

Nyla froma far tower.Andsoonahundredvoiceschant it throughoutthe conquered castle—from the courtyard to the high parapets andtowers. They beat their swords and spears and shields, and then theythrow themat theProctors.Ahundredmissiles thumpharmlessly intopulseShields and many of my armymust scatter so that they are notimpaledbythefallingweapons,butitisasweetsight,asweetsoundofmetal rain on cobbled stone. And again they take upmy name. Theychant and chant thenameof theReaper at theProctors, because theyknowwhomwenowfight.

39

THEPROCTOR’SBOUNTY

Myarmysleepswellintothemorning.Ihavenoneedofrest,thoughIkeepcompanywithSevroandhalfadozenothersontheramparts.Theystand close, as though any space might present the Proctors anopportunitytokillme.Sevrohas freed fiveMercury students from theApollo slave groups.

They cluster around him on the ramparts playing games of speed,slappingeachother’sknucklestoseewhocanmovethefastest. Idon’tplay, because Iwin too easily; best to let the children have their fun.After the taking of the castle, even though Sevro and Tactus did theheavy lifting, my boys and girls think that makes me some sort ofmarvel.Mustangtoldmeitisararething.“It’sasiftheythinkyou’resomethingoutoftime.”“Idon’tunderstand.”“Like you’re one of the old conquerors. The ancient Golds who

usurpedEarth,destroyedherfleets,andallthat.Theyuseitasanexcusenottocompetewithyou,becausehowcouldHephaestuscompetewithAlexander,orAntoniuswithCaesar?”My insides knot. This is but a game, and they love me this much.

Whentherebellioncomes,theseboysandgirlswillbemyenemies,andIwill replace themwithReds.How fanatical thenwill thoseRedsbe?And will that fanaticism matter a lick if they have to stand againstcreatureslikeSevro,likeTactus,likePaxandMustang?IwatchMustangslinktowardmealongtherampart.Shelimpseverso

slightly fromasprainedankle,yetshe’sallgrace.Herhair isanestoftwigs;circlesringhereyes.Shesmilesatme.Sheisbeautiful.LikeEo.Fromtheramparts,wecanseeovertheGreatwoodsandglimpsethebeginningsofMars’shighlandstothenorth.Themountainsgloweratusfromthewest,toourleft.Mustangpointstothesky.“Proctorincoming.”Mybodyguardstightenaroundme,but it’sonlyFitchner.Sevrospitsovertheramparts.“Ourprodigalparentreturneth.”Fitchnerdescendswithasmilethattellsataleofexhaustion,fear,andalittlebitofpride.“Maywetalk?”heasksme,lookingaboutatmyscowlingfriends.FitchnerandIsittogetherintheApollowarroom.Mustangstokesthefire. Fitchner eyes her skeptically, disliking her presence. He has anopiniononmostthings,likesomeoneelseIknow.“You’vemadesuchamessofthings,lad.”“Let’sagreethatyouwon’tcallmelad,”Isay.Henods.There’snoguminhismouth.Hedoesn’tknowhowtosaywhathewantstotellme.It’stheworryinhiseyesthatcuesmein.“ApollohasnotleftOlympus,”Isay.Hestiffens,surprisedatmyguess.“Correct.Heisstillthere.”“Andwhat does thatmean, Fitchner?”Mustang comes to sit besideme.“Justthat,”Fitchneranswers,lookingatme.“HehasnotleftOlympuslikeheought.It’sallamess.Apollowasgettingajuicyappointmentifthe Jackalwon. Samewith Jupiter and someof theothers.TherewastalkofoneofthePraetorKnightpositionsopeninguponLuna.”“And now that choice is slipping away,”Mustang says. She glancesoveratmewithasmirk.“Becauseofaboy.”“Yes.”Ilaugh.ThejamFieldmakesthesoundecho.“Sowhatistobedone?”“Youstillwanttowin,yes?”Fitchnerasks.“Yes.”“Andthatisthepointofallthis?”heasksme,thoughit’sclearthere’ssomethingelseinhishead.“You’llgetanapprenticeshipnomatter.”I leanforwardandtapmyfingeronthetable.“Thepointistoshowthem that they can’t gorywell cheat in their own game. That theArchGovernor can’t just say his son is best and should beat me just

becausehewasbornlucky.Thisisaboutmerit.”“No,”Fitchnersays, leaningforward.“It’saboutpolitics.”HeglancesatMustang.“Willyousendherawayalready?”“Mustangstays.”“Mustang,” he mocks. “So, Mustang, what do you think about theArchGovernorcheatingforhisson?”Mustangshrugs.“Killorbekilled,cheatorbecheated?ThosearetherulesI’veseenAureatesfollow,especiallyPeerlessScarred.”“Cheatorbecheated.”Fitchnertapshisupperlip.“Interesting.”“Youshouldknowaboutthecheatingpart,”shesays.“YouneedtoletDarrowandmehaveaword,Mustang.”“Shestays.”“It’sokay,” shemutterscryptically.Shesqueezesmyshoulderas sheleaves.“I’mboredofyourProctoranyway.”When Mustang is gone, Fitchner stares at me. He reaches to hispocket,hesitates,thenpullssomethingout.Asmallbox.Hetossesitonthetableandgesturesformetoopenit.SomehowIknowwhatisinside.“Well,youbastardsdoowemea fewbounties,” I laughbitterlyas IslipDancer’sknifeRingontomyfinger.Iflexthejointandabladepopsout, extendingalong the topof the finger eight inches. I flex the jointagainanditslithershome.“TheObsidianstookitfromyoubeforeyouwentthroughthePassage,yes?Iwastolditwasyourfather’s.”“Someonetoldyouthat?”Ipickatthewarroomtablewiththeblade.“Howveryinnaccurateofthem.”“You don’t need to be snide, lad.” My eyes flick up to look intoFitchner’s.“Youcameheretowinanapprenticeship.You’vedonethat.IfyoukeeppushingtheProctors,theywillkillyou.”“Iseemtoremememberusalreadyhavingthisconversation.”“Darrow, there is no slagging point to what you are doing! It isreckless!”“Nopoint?”Iecho.“If you beat the ArchGovernor’s boy, then what? What does thatachieve?”“Everything!”Isnap.Ishudderwithangerandstareatthefiretillmyvoicefindscontrolagain.“ItprovesIamthebestGoldinthisschool.ItshowsthatIcandowhatevertheycan.WhyshouldIevenspeaktoyou,

Fitchner?I’vedoneallthiswithoutyourhelp.Idon’tneedyou.Apollotriedtokillmeandyoudidnothing!Nothing!SowhatexactlydoIoweyou?Maybethis?”Iletthebladeslitherout.“Darrow.”“Fitchner.”Irollmyeyes.Heslapsthetable.“Don’ttalktomelikeI’mafool.Lookatme.Look

atme,youcondescendinglittletwit.”Ilookathim.Hisstomachpaunchhasgrown.Hisfaceishaggardfora

Gold.Hishairyellowandslickedback.He’sneverbeenhandsome—lessnowthanever.“Lookatme,Darrow.Everything Ihave, I’vehad to fight for. Iwas

notborntoanArchGovernor’shousehold.ThisisasfarasIcouldevergo,yet I shouldgo somuch further.My son shouldgo further,buthecan’tandhewon’t.He’lldieifhetries.Everyonehasalimit,Darrow.Alimittheycan’tskippast.Yoursishigherthanmine,butit’snotashighasyou’dgorywelllike.Ifyougopastit,they’llknockyoudown.”He stares away as if ashamed, glowering at the fire.His son. It’s in

theircoloring,intheface,inthedispositionandthewaytheyspeaktooneanother.I’mafoolfornotsayingitoutloudsooner.“You’reSevro’sfather,”Isay.He does not respond for some time. When he does, his voice is

pleading.“Youmakehimthinkhecanclimbhigherthanhecan.You’llkillhim,boyo.Andyou’llkillyourself.”“Then help us!” I urge him. “Give me something I can use against

Apollo.Orbetter,fightthemwithme.GathertheotherProctorsandwewilltakethebattletothem.”“Ican’t,boyo.Ican’t.”Isigh.“No,Ithoughtyouwouldn’t.”“Mycareerwouldbeover inapinch if Ihelpedyou.All I’ve slaved

for, all the many things, would be risked. For what? Just to prove apointtotheArchGovernor.”“Everyoneissofrightenedofchange,”Isaybeforesmilingsincerelyat

thebrokenman.“Youremindmeofmyuncle.”“Therewillbenochange,”Fitchnergrumblesashestands.“Neveris.

Knowyourdamnplaceoryouwon’tmakeitoutofthis,boyo.”Helookslike he wants to reach and touchmy shoulder. He doesn’t. “Hell, thetrap’salreadysetforyou.You’rewalkingrightintoit.”

“I’m ready for the Jackal’s traps, Fitchner. Or Apollo’s. Itmakes nodifference.Theywon’tbeabletostopwhat’scomingforthem.”“No,” Fitchner says, hesitating for a moment. “Not their traps. Thegirl’s.”Ianswerhiminawayhewillunderstand.“Fitchner.Donotplaymeforafoolwithvague,annoyingreferencestoduplicity.Myarmyismine,won inheart andbody and soul. They cannomore betrayme at thispoint than I can betray them. We are something you have not seenbefore.Sostop.”Heshakeshishead.“Thisisyourfight,boyo.”“Yes. It ismy fight.” I smile.Now is the time I’vebeenwaiting for.“Fitchner,holdup,”Isaybeforehereachesthedoor.Hestopsandlooksback.Ikickbackmychairandstrideovertohim.Heeyesmecuriously.ThenIstickoutmyhand.“Despiteeverything,thankyou.”He clasps it. “Good luck,Darrow,”he says. “But take care of Sevro.Thelittleshitwillfollowyouanywhere,nomatterwhatIsay.”“I’ll take care of him. I promise.”MyHelldiver grip tightens on hishand.Foramoment, ifonlyamoment,weare friends.Thenhewincesatthe pressure my hand is putting on his. He laughs at first, then heunderstandsandhiseyeswiden.“Sorry,”Isay.That’swhenIbreakhisnoseandslammyelbowintohistempletillhenolongermoves.

40

PARADIGM

“Fitchnerleft?”sheasksme.“Throughthewindow,”Isay.IwatchMustangacrossApollo’swhitewarroomtable.Ablizzardhas

risenoutside,nodoubtmeanttokeepmyarmyinsidethecastlearoundtheirwarmfiresandhotpotsofsoup.Herhaircoilsabouthershoulders,heldby leatherbands.Shewears thewolfcloak like theothers, thoughhersisstreakedwithcrimson.Muddybootswithspursarekickeduponthe table.Her standard, the onlyweapon she really favors, leans on achairbesideher.Mustang’sfaceisaquickone.Quicktomockingsmiles.Quicktopleasantfrowns.Shegivesmethesmileandaskswhatisonmymind.“Iamwonderingwhenyouwillbetrayme,”Isay.Hereyebrowsknittogether.“You’reexpectingthat?”“Cheatorbecheated,”Isay.“Echoedbyyourownlips.”“Areyougoingtocheatme?”shesaid.“No.Becausewhatadvantage

wouldyougain?YouandIhavebeatenthisgame.Theywouldhaveusbelieveonemustwinatthecosttoalltherest.Thatisn’ttrue,andwe’reprovingit.”Isaynothing.“You have my trust, because when you sawme hiding in the mud

after taking my castle, you let me escape,” she explains thoughtfully.“AndIhaveyourtrust,becauseIpulledyoufromthemudwhenCassiusleftyoufordead.”

Idonotrespond.“So there is the answer. You are going to do great things,Darrow.”ShenevercallsmeDarrow.“Maybeyoudon’thavetodothemalone?”Herwordsmakemesmile.ThenIboltupright,startlingher.“Getourmen,”Iorder.Iknowshewaslookingforwardtorestinghere.Iwastoo.Thesmellofsouptemptsme.Sodoesthewarmthandthebedandthethoughtofspendingaquietmomentwithher.Butthatisnothowmenconquer.“We’regoingtosurprisetheProctors.We’regoingtotakeJupiter.”“Wecan’tsurprisethem.”Shetapsherring.ThejamFieldFitchnerhadisgone.We’dditchtheringscompletely,buttheyareourinsurance.TheProctors may be able to edit out a few things here and there, butcommonsensedictatesthattheycan’ttamperwiththefootagetoomuchortheDrafterswillgetsuspicious.“Andevenifwemakeitthroughthisstorm,whatwilltakingJupiteraccomplish?” she asks. “If Apollo didn’t leave when his House lost,Jupiterwon’teither.You’rejustgoingtoprovokethemintointerfering.WeshouldgoaftertheJackalnow!”IknowtheProctorsarewatchingmeplanthis.IwantthemtoknowwhereI’mgoing.“I’mnotreadyfortheJackal,”Itellher.“Ineedmoreallies.”Shelooksatme,eyebrowspinchedtogether.Shedoesn’tunderstand,butitdoesn’tmatter.Shewillsoonenough.

Despite the blizzard, my armymoves swiftly. We bundle ourselves incloaksand furs so thickly thatwe look likeanimals stumbling throughthe snow. At night,we follow the stars,moving despite themountingwindsandthepilingsnow.Myarmydoesnotgrumble.TheyknowIwillnot lead them purposelessly.My new soldiers press themselves harderthanIwouldhavethoughtpossible.Theyhaveheardofme.Paxmakessure of that. And they are desperate to impress me. It becomesproblematic. Wherever I walk, the procession around me suddenlydoublestheireffortssothattheyovertakethoseinfrontoroutpacethosebehind.Theblizzardisvicious.PaxalwaysstandsclosetomeandMustang,asthoughhemeans toblockus from thewind.HeandSevroarealways

steppingoneachother’stoestobenearestme,thoughPaxwouldlikelywant to lightmy fires and tuckme in bed at night if I let him,whileSevrowould tellme topickmyownass. I seehis father inhimeverytimeI lookathimnow.Heseemsweakernowthat Iknowhis family.There’s no reason that should be the case; I guess I just supposed hereallydidspringfromtheloinsofashe-wolf.Eventually, the snows cease and spring comes fast and hard, whichconfirmsmy suspicions. The Proctors are playing games. TheHowlersmakesurealleyesaretotheskyincaseProctorsdecidetoharassusaswemakeourway.Nonedo.Tactuskeepsaneyeoutfortheirtracks.Butit is quiet. We see no enemy scouts, hear no war trumpets in thedistance,seenosmokerisingexcepttothenorthinMars’shighlands.We raid provision stores in burnt and broken castles as we pushtoward Jupiter. There are jugs from Bacchus’s castle that Sevro wasdisappointedtodiscover fullofgrape juice insteadofwine,saltedbeeffromJuno’sdeepcellars,moldingcheeses, fishwrapped in leaves,andbags of the ever-present smoked horsemeat. They keep us full as wemarch.In four rugged days, I have reached and besieged Jupiter’s triple-walledcastleinthelowmountainpasses.Snowmeltsswiftlyenoughtomakethegroundsoggyforourhorses.Streamsflowthroughourcamp.Idonotbotherdevisingaplanofaction.IsimplytellPax’s,Milia’s,andNyla’sdivisionsthatwhoevergivesmethefortresswillwinaprize.Thedefendersarevery fewandmyarmytakes theouter fortifications inaday by making a series of wooden ramps under intermittent arrowbarrages.My other three divisions scout the surrounding territory en force incasetheJackaldecidestostickhisnoseintothis.Jupiter’smainarmy,itseems, is stranded across thenow-thawedArgos laying siege toMars’scastle.Theydidnotexpecttherivertothawsoquickly.StillthereisnosignoftheJackal’smenoroftheProctors.IwonderiftheyhavefoundFitchnerlockedinoneoftheApolloCastlecellsyet.Ilefthimfoodandwaterandafacefullofbruises.On the third day of the siege, a white flag is flown from Jupiter’sramparts. A thin boy of middling height and timid smiles slips outJupiterCastle’sposterngate.Thecastleliesonhigh,rockyground.Itissandwichedbetweentwohugerockfaces,so its three-tieredwallsbow

outward.SoonIwouldhavetriedsendingmendowntherock faces. ItwouldhavebeenajobfortheHowlers—butthey’vehadenoughglory.ThissiegebelongstothesoldierscapturedwhenwefoughtApollo.Theboywalkstentativelyinfrontofthemaingate.Imeethimthere

with Sevro,Milia,Nyla, andPax.We are a fearsome lot evenwithoutTactus and Mustang, though Mustang could never really be calledfearsome in appearance—maybe spirited, at best. Milia looks likesomething out of a nightmare—she’s taken to wearing trophies likeTactusandThistle.AndPaxhascutnotchesalonghishugeaxeforeachslavehehastaken.Infrontofmylieutenants,theboyshowshisnervousness.Hissmiles

arequick,almostas ifhe’sworriedwemightdisapproveof them.TheringonhisfingeristhatofJupiter.Helookshungry,becauseitbarelyfitsonhimanylonger.“Name isLucian,” theboy says, trying to soundmanly.He seems to

think Pax is in charge. Pax booms a laugh and points to me andmyslingBlade.Lucianflincheswhenhelooksatme.IthinkhewellknewIwastheleader.“Soweheretoswapsmiles?”Iask.“What’syourword?”“Thewordishunger,”helaughspiteously.“We’venoteatenanything

butratsandrawgraininwaterforthreeweeks.”I almost pity the boy. His hair is dirty, eyes teary. He knows he’s

giving up a chance at an apprenticeship. They’ll shame him forsurrenderingfor therestofhis life.Buthe ishungry.Soare thesevenotherdefenders.Oddly,allareofJupiter,not slaves.TheirPrimus lefttheirweakinsteadoftheslavesbehind.The only condition theyhave in surrendering the castle is that they

must not be enslaved. Only Pax grumbles something honorable aboutthemneedingtoearntheirfreedomlikealltherestofus,butIagreetotheboy’srequest.ItellMiliatowatchthem.Iftheyactseditious,she’llmaketrophiesoftheirscalps.Wetetherourhorsesinthecourtyard.Thestoneiscobbledanddirty.Atall,angularkeepstretchesupandintothecliff’swall.Darknessseepsthroughtheclouds.Astormiscomingtothemountain

pass,soIbringmyforceintothecastleandbarthegates.MustangandhertroopstaybeyondthewallsandwillreturnlaterintheeveningfromscoutingwithTactus.Wespeakover thecommUnitsandTactuscurses

usforhavingadryroofoverourheads.Thenight’srainisheavy.I make sure our veterans get the first beds in Jupiter’s dormitoriesbeforeweeat.Myarmymaybedisciplined,but they’ll shiv theirownmothersforawarmbed.It’stheonethingmostofthemnevergotusedto—sleepingontheground.Theymisstheirmattressesandsilksheets.ImissthesmallcotIusedtosharewithEo.She’sbeendeadnowlongerthanweweremarried.I’msurprisedhowmuchithurtstorealizethat.IthinkI’meighteennow,Earthmetric.Notrightlysure.Our bread and meats are like heaven to the starved defenders ofJupiter.Lucianandhislot,allskinny,tired-lookingsouls,eatsofastthatNyla is fussing about them ripping their guts. She runs around tellingthemeachthatthesmokedhorsemeatisn’tgallopingoffanywhere.Paxand his BloodBacks occasionally throw bones at the meek lot. Pax’slaugh is infectious. Itboomsoutofhimand then turns into somethingfeminine as it continues past two seconds.No one can keep a straightface when he gets rolling. He’s talking about Helga again. I look forMustangsowecanlaughaboutit,butshe’llbeawayforhoursmore.Imisshereventhen,andIswellalittleinsidemychestbecauseIknowshewillcurlintomybedthisnightandtogetherwe’llsnorelikeUncleNarolafterYuletide.IcallMiliatotheheadofthetable.MyarmyloungesaroundJupiter’swarroom;theyareeasyinconquest.Jupiter’smapisdestroyed.Icannotmakeoutwhattheyknow.“Whatdoyouthinkofourhosts?”IaskMilia.“Isayputthemunderthesigil.”Icluckmytongue.“Youreallydon’tliketokeeppromises,doyou?”She looks very much like a hawk, face all angles and cruelty. Hervoice isofasimilarbreed.“Promisesare justchains,”sherasps.“Bothmeantforbreaking.”ItellhertoleavetheJupitareansalone,butthenloudlycommandherto fetch thewinewescavengedonour trek toJupiter.She takessomeboysandbringsupthebarrelsfromBacchus’sstore.Istandfoolishlyonthetable.“AndIorderyoutogetdrunk!”Iroartomyarmy.TheylookatmelikeIammad.“Getdrunk?”onesays.“Yes!” Icuthimoffbeforehecansaymore.“Canyoumanagethat?Actlikefools,foronce?”

“We’ll try,”Miliacries.“Won’twe?”She’sanswered incheers.Sometime later, as we drink Bacchus’s stores, I loudly offer some to theJupitareans.Paxstumblesupinprotestattheideaofsharinggoodwine.He’sagoodactor.“Areyoucontradictingme?”Idemand.Paxhesitatesbutmanagestonodhisgianthead.I drawmy slingBlade from its back scabbard. It rasps in the humid

warroom air. A hundred eyes go to us. Thunder rolls outside. Paxwobbles forwardwith a giant inebriated step.His own hand is on hisaxe’shilt,buthedoesnotdrawit.Afteramoment,heshakeshisheadandgoestoaknee—he’sstillalmostmyownheight.Isheathemyswordandpullhimup.Itellhimhe’storunpatrols.“Patrols?But…inthestormandrain?”“Youheardme,Pax.”With a grumble, theBloodBackswobble after him to go about their

punishment. They’re all smart enough to have figured out their partseven if they don’t know the play. “Discipline!” I brag to Lucian.“Discipline is thebestofmankind’s traits.Even inbigbrutes likethat.Butheisright.Nowineforyoutonight.That,youmustearn.”InPax’sabsence,Imakeashowofgivingceremonialwolfcloakstothe

slaves of Venus and Bacchus who earned their freedom in taking thisfortress—ceremonial because we don’t have any time to find wolves.There is laughter and lightness. Merriment for once, though no onediscardstheirweapons.Nylaiscoaxedintosingingasong.Hervoiceislikeanangel’s.ShesingsattheMarsOperaHouseandwasscheduledtoperforminViennauntilabetteropportunitycamealongintheformoftheInstitute.Theopportunityofalifetime.Whatalark.Lucian sits in the corner of the warroom with the other seven

defenders watching our soldiers make a show of falling asleep atoptables, in front of the fire, along the walls. Some slink away to stealbeds.Thesoundofsnoresticklesmyears.Sevrostaysclosetome,asthoughtheProctorscouldrushinandkill

meatanymoment.ItellSevrotogetdrunkandleavemebe.Heobeysand is soon laughing, then snoring atop the long table. I stumbleovermy sleeping army to Lucian, a smile acrossmy face. I have not beendrunksincebeforemywifedied.Despite Lucian’smeekness, I find him curious. His eyes rarelymeet

mine and his shoulders slump. But his hands never go to his trouserpockets,neverfoldtoguardhimself.IaskhimaboutthewarwithMars.AsIthought,it’salmostwon.HesayssomethingaboutagirlbetrayingMars.SoundslikeAntoniatome.Imustmove quickly. I don’t knowwhatwill happen ifmyHouse’s

standardandcastlearetakeneventhoughIhavemyindependentarmy.Icouldtechnicallylose.Lucian’sfriendsaretired,soIgivethemleavetogotrytofindbeds.

Theywon’tbeaproblem.Lucianstaystotalk. I invitehimovertothewarroomtable.AsLucian’s friends fileout, IhearMustang in thehall.Shewaltzesintotheroom.Thunderrollsoutside.Herhairisdampandmatted,wolfcloaksoaked,bootstrackingmud.HerfaceisamodelofconfusionwhensheseesmewithLucian.“Mustang, darling!” I cry. “I fear you’re too late. Went straight

through Bacchus’s stores already!” I gesture to my snoring army andwink.Maybe fifty remain, sprawled out and in various states of sleepacrossthelargewarroom.AlldrunkasNarolonYuletide.“Getting shitfaced seems a prime idea at a time like this,” she says

strangely. She looks back to Lucian, then to me. She doesn’t likesomething.IintroducehertoLucian.Hemumbleshowniceitistomeether.Shesnortsalaugh.“Howdidheconvinceyounottomakehimaslave,Darrow?”Idon’tknowifsheunderstandswhatgameI’mplaying.“He gave me his fortress!” I wave my clumsy hand to the half-

destroyedstonemaponthewall.Mustangsaysthatshewilljoinus.Shebeginstocallsomeofhermeninfromthehall,butIcutheroff.“No,no.Me and Lucian here were becoming prime friends. No girls. TakeyourmenandgofindPax.”“But…”“GofindPax,”Icommand.Iknowshe’sconfused,butshetrustsme.Shemurmursgoodbyetome

andLucianandclosesthedoor.Thesoundofherbootheelsslowlyfades.“Thoughtshe’dnever leave!” I laughtoLucian.He leansback inhis

chair.Hereallyisveryslim,nothingexcesstohimatall.Hisblondhairisclippedplainly.Hishandsthinanduseful.Heremindsmeofsomeone.“Most people don’t want pretty girls to leave,” Lucian says, smiling

sincerely.HeevenblushesalittlewhenIaskifhereallythinksMustang

ispretty.Wetalkfornearlyanhour.Gradually,heletshimselfrelax.Heletshisconfidence grow and soon he is telling me of his childhood, of ademanding father, of family expectations. Buthe’s not pitifulwhenhedoesthis.Heisrealistic,atraitIadmire.It’snolongernecessaryforhimto avoid my eyes when we talk. His shoulders don’t hunch quite somuch,andhebecomespleasant,evenfunny.Ilaughloudlyhalfadozentimes.Thenightgrowslate,butstillwetalkandjoke.Helaughsattheboots Iwear,whichare swaddled inanimal furs forwarmth.Theyarehotnowthatthesnowsmelt,butIneedtowearthepelts.“Butwhatofyou,Darrow?Wegabandgaboverme.Ithinkit’syourturn. So tellme,what is it that’s takenyouhere?Whatpushesyou? Idon’tthinkI’veheardofyourfamily…”“Notpeopleyouwouldcaretohearabout,totellittrue.ButIthinkitcomesdowntoagirl,that’sall.Iamsimple.Soaremyreasons.”“The pretty one?” Lucian blushes. “Mustang? She hardly seemssimple.”Ishrug.“Itoldyoueverything!”Lucianprotests.“Don’tbeavaguePurpleonme.Cuttoit,man!”Herapsthetableimpatiently.“Fine. Fine. The whole story.” I sigh. “See that pack beside you?There’sabaginsideit.Reachandgrabitforme,willyou?”Lucianpullsthebagoutandtossesittome.Itclinksonthetable.“Letmeseeyourhand.”“Myhand?”heaskswithalaugh.“Right,justputitout,please.”Ipatthetable.Hedoesn’treact.“Comeon, man. There’s this theory I’ve been working on.” I pat the tableimpatiently.Heputshishandout.“Howdoesthistellyourstoryortheory?”Hissmileisstillon.“It’sacomplicatedone.Bettertoshowyou.”“Fairenough.”Iopenthebaganddumpoutitscontents.Ascoreofgoldensigilringsrollacrossthetable.Lucianwatchesthemroll.“These all come from the dead kids. The kids themedBots couldn’tsave. Let’s see.” I shuffle through the pile of rings. “We have Jupiter,Venus,Neptune,Bacchus,Juno,Mercury,Diana,Ceres…andwehaveaMinervarighthere.”Ifrownandrummagearound.“Hmm.Odd.Ican’t

findaPluto.”Ilookupathim.Hiseyesaredifferent.Dead.Quiet.“Oh,there’sone.”

41

THEJACKAL

Hejerksbackhishand.Heisfast.Iamfaster.Iburymydaggerthroughhishand,pinningittothetable.Hismouthgaspsopenatthepain.Someweirdsortofferalexhalation

hisses fromhismouth ashe jerks at thedagger.But I ambigger thanhimandIdrovethedaggerfourinchesintothetable.Ihammeritdownwithaflagon.Hecan’tpullitout.Ileanbackandwatchhimtry.There’ssomethingprimaltohisinitialfrenziedpanic.Thensomethingdecidedlyhumaninhisrecovery,whichseemsmorebrutallycoldthanmyactofviolence.Hecalmshimself fasterthananyoneI’veeverseen.It takesabreath,maybethree,andheleansbackinhischairasthoughwewereatdrinks.“Well,shit,”hesaystightly.“I thought we should become better acquainted,” I say. I point to

myself.“Jackal,IamReaper.”“You’ve the better name,” he replies. He takes a breath. Another.

“Howlonghaveyouknown?”“ThatyouweretheJackal?Ahopefulguess.Thatyouwereuptono

good?BeforeIenteredthecastle.Noonesurrenderswithoutafight.Oneof your rings didn’t fit. And hide your hands next time. Insecure sobsalways hide or fiddlewith their hands. But really youhadno chance.TheProctorsknewIwascominghere.TheythoughttomakeitatraptoruinmebytellingyouIwascoming.Soyouwouldsneakinhere,tryto

catchmewithmypantsdown.Theirmistake.Yourmistake.”He watches me, wincing as he turns to look at my sober-as-daysoldiersrisingfromtheground.Nearlyfiftyof them.Iwantedthemtoseetheruse.“Ah.”TheJackalsighsasherealizeshowfutilehistraphasbecome.“Mysoldiers?”“Whichones?Theonesthatwerewithyouortheonesyouhidinthecastle? Maybe in the cellars? Maybe beneath the floor in a tunnel? Idon’twager they’re smiles and giggles right now,man. Pax is a beastandMustangwillbehelpinghimjustincase.”“Sothat’swhyyousentheraway.”Andso shewouldn’taccidentallyaskwhywewerepretending tobedrunkongrapejuice.Paxwillhavefoundtheirhidingplace.Thunderstillrolls.IhopetheJackalsankalargesizeofhisforceintothisambush.Ifhedidn’t,it’llbea hassle, because if he has Jupiter’s castle, he probably has Jupiter’sarmy,whichhasJunoandmuchofVulcan,andsoonMars’s.ButIhavehimhere.The Jackal is pinned, bleeding, and surrounded by my army. Hisambush undone. He has lost, but he is not helpless. He is no longerLucian.It’salmostlikehishandisn’t impaled.Hisvoicedoesn’twaver.Heisnotangry,justpissinyourbootsscary.HeremindsmeofmebeforeI go into a rage. Quiet. Unhurried. I wanted my soldiers to see himsquirm.Hedoesn’t,soItellthemtoleave.OnlythetenHowlers,oldandnew,stay.“If we’re to have a conversation, please take this dagger out ofmyhand,” theJackal says tome.“Believe itornot, ithurts.”He isnotasplayfulashiswordssuggest.Despitehisresolve,hisfaceispaleandhisbodyhasbeguntotremblefromshock.I smile. “Where is the rest of your army?Where is that girl, Lilath?Sheowesmyfriendaneye.”“LetmegoandIwillgiveyouherheadonaplatter, ifyouwant. Ifyoulendmeanapple,I’llevenputthatinhermouthsoshelookslikeapigatfeast.Yourchoice.”“There! Now, that’s how you got your name, isn’t it?” I say withmockingapplause.TheJackalclickshistongueregrettably.“Lilathlikedthesoundofit.

It stuck.That’swhyI’llput theapple inhermouth.Wish Icouldhavebeensomethingmore…regalthanJackal,butreputationstendtomakethemselves.” He nods to Sevro. “Like the Little Goblin there and hisToadstools.”“Whatdoyoumean,‘Toadstools’?”Thistleasks.“That’swhatwecallyou.Toadstools forReaperandGoblin tosquaton. But if you would like a better name beyond this little game, youneedsimplykillbignastyReaperhere.Don’tstunhim.Killhim.Driveasword into his spine, and you can become Imperators, Governors,whatever. Father will be happy to oblige. Very simple stuff.Quid proquo.”SevropullsouthisknivesandglaresathisHowlers.“Notsosimple.”Thistledoesn’tmove.“Worth a try,” the Jackal sighs. “I confess, I am a Politico, not afighter. So ifwe’re to converse, youmust say something, Reaper. Youlook like a statue. I don’t speak statue.” His charisma is cold.Calculating.“DidyoureallyeatyourownHousemembers?”“Aftermonthsindarkness,youeatwhateveryourmouthfinds.Evenifit’sstillmoving.Itisn’tveryimpressive,really.LesshumanthanIwouldhaveliked,verymuchlikeanimals.Andanyonewouldhavedoneit.Butdredgingupmyfoulmemoriesisnowaytonegotiate.”“Wearen’tnegotiating.”“Humans are always negotiating. That’s what conversation is.Someonehassomething,knowssomething.Someonewantssomething.”His smile is pleasant, but his eyes… There is something wrong withhim.AdifferentsoulseemstohavefilledhisbodysincethetimehewasLucian. Ihave seenactors…but this isdifferent. It isas thoughhe isreasonabletothepointofbeinginhuman.“Reaper,Iwillhavemyfathergiveyouwhateveryoulike.Afleet.AnarmyofPinks to screw,Crows to conquerwith,whatever.You’ll haveprimeplacementifIwinthislittleyearofschooling.Ifyouwin,there’sstillmoreschooling.Stillmoretests.Morehardship.Ihearyourfamilyisdeadandpoor—itwillbedifficultforyoutoriseonyourown.”AlmostforgotIhadafakefamily.“Iwillmakemyownlaurels.”“Reaper. Reaper. Reaper. You think this is the end of the line?” He

makesaclickingsoundofdisgustwithhistongue.“Negative.Negative,goodman.But ifyouletmego,thenhardship…”Hemakesabrushingmotionwithhis freehand.“Gone.My fatherwillbecomeyourpatron.Hello,command.Hello,fame.Hello,power.Justsaygoodbyetothis”—hegesturestotheknife—“andletyourfuturebegin.Wewereenemiesaschildren.Nowletusbealliesasmen.You’rethesword,I’mthepen.”Dancer would want me to accept the offer. It would guarantee my

survival.Guaranteemymeteoricrise.IwouldbeinsidethehallsoftheArchGovernor’smansion.IwouldbenearthemanwhokilledEo.Oh,Iwant toaccept.But then Iwouldhave to let theProctorsbeatme. I’dhave to let this little whorefart win and let his father smile and feelpride.I’dhavetowatchthatsmugsmilespreadacrosshisbloodydamnface.Slagthat.They’llfeelpain.ThedooropensandPaxducksintotheroom.Asmilesplitshisface.“Goryfine night, Reaper!” he laughs. “Caught the little turds in the

well.Fifty.Seems theyhad long tunnelsdown there like rats.Mustbehowtheytookthecastle.”Heslamsthedoorandsitsontheedgeofthetabletognawonapieceofleftovermeat.“Itwaswetwork!Ha!Ha!Weletthemcomeupanditwasdandyfinecarnage,Itellyou.Dandyfine.Helgawouldhavelovedit.Theyareallslavesnow.Mustangismakingthemaswespeak.Butohhh,she’sinanoddmood.”Hespitsoutabone.“Ha!Thishimthen?TheJackal?HelookspaleasaRed’sass.”Hepeerscloser.“Shit.Younailedhimdown!”“Ithinkyou’vetakenbiggershitsthanhim,Pax,”Sevroadds.“Primehave.Morecolorfulonestoo.He’sdrabasaBrown.”“Guardyourtongue,fool,”theJackaltellsPax.“Itmaynotalwaysbe

there.”“Neitherwillyourprickifyoukeepsassin’!Ha!Isitassmallasyou?”

Paxbooms.TheJackaldoesnotlikebeingmocked.HestaressilentlyatPaxbefore

flickinghiseyesbacktomeasaserpentmightflickitstongue.“Did you know the Proctors are helping you?” I ask. “That they’ve

triedtokillme?”“Of course,” he says with a shrug. “My bounties are … above

average.”“Andyoudon’tmindcheating?”Iask.“Cheatorbecheated,no?”

Familiar.“Well,they’renothelpingyouanymore.It’stoolateforthat.Nowit’stime you help yourself.” I stab another knife down into the table. Heknowswhatit’sfor.“IonceheardthatifaJackalbecomestrapped,itwillchewoffitsownlegtofreeitself.Thatknifemightbeeasierthanusingteeth.”Hislaughisquickandshort,likeabark.“SoifIcutmyhandoff,Icanleave?Isthatreallyit?”“There’sthedoor.Pax,holdtheknifedownsothathedoesn’tcheat.”Even if he ate others, he won’t do it. He can sacrifice friends andallies,butnothimself.Hewill fail thistest.HeisanAureate.Heisnoonetofear.Heissmall.Heisweak.Heisjustlikehisfather.IfindhisPluto ring in his boot andput it aroundhis finger so hisDrafters andfathercanwatchtheirprideandjoygiveup.TheywillknowIambetter.“TheProctorsmaybenudgingme,butIstillhavetoearnit,Darrow.”“We’rewaiting.”Hesighs.“Itoldyou.Iamsomethingdifferentthanyou.Ahandisapeasant’s tool.AGold’s tool is hismind.Were youof better breeding,youmayhaverealizedthissacrificemeanssoverylittletome.”Then he starts to cut. Tears streamdownhis face as the blood firstwells.He’ssawingandPaxcan’tevenwatch.TheJackalishalfwaydonewhen he looks up at me with a sane smile that convinces me of hiscompleteinsanity.Histeethchatter.Heislaughing,atme,atthis,atthepain.I’venotmetanyonelikehim.NowIknowhowMickeyfeltwhenhemetme.Thisisamonsterinthefleshofaman.The Jackal is about to break his own wrist to make the job easierwhen Pax curses and gives him an ionBlade. It will go through in asinglestroke.“Thankyou,Pax,”theJackalsays.Idon’tknowwhat todo.Everything insideme is screaming sense. Ishouldkillhimnow.Putabladethroughhisthroat.Thisissomeoneyoudonot let go.This is someoneyoudonotpissonand then sendbackintothewild.HeissofarbeyondCassiusitmakesmewanttolaugh.YetItoldhimhecouldleaveifhecut,andhe’scutting.DearGod.“You’regorymad,”Paxbreathes.TheJackalmutterssomethingaboutfools.It’sjustahand,hesays.Myhandsaremyeverything.Tohim,theyarenothing.

Whenhehas finished,he sits therewith amostly cauterized stump.Hisfaceislikesnow,buthisbeltisfastenedintoatourniquet.There’sasharedmomentbetweenuswhereheknows Iamnotgoing to lethimleave.ThenIseeadistortionmovethroughanopenwindow.TheProctors

came as I hoped, but I am distracted, unprepared. And when I see asmallsonicdetonatorclatterontothetableandtheJackalgrabitwithhisonehand,IknowI’vemadesuchamistake.IgavetheProctorstimetohelphim.Everythingslows,yetIcanonlywatch.With the samehand that holds the tinydetonator, the Jackal lashes

upward with Pax’s ionBlade. He sticks the blade into my big friend’sthroat. I shout and lunge forward just as the Jackal presses thedetonator’sbutton.Asonicblastripsoutfromthedevice,throwingmeacrosstheroom.

The Howlers slam into the walls. Pax flips into the door. Cups, food,chairs, scatter likerice in thewind. I’monthe floor. I shakemyhead,tryingtogainmybearingsastheJackalcomestowardme.Paxstaggerstohisfeet,blooddrippingfromhisears,fromhisthroat.TheJackalsayssomething to me, holds up the blade. Then Pax launches himselfforward,notontotheJackal,butontome.Hisweightcrushesme,andhisbodycoversmine.Icanbarelybreathe.Idonotseewhathappens,butIfeelitthroughPax’sbody.Ashudder.Aspasm.TenimpactsastheJackalstabsatPaxtryingfuriouslytogetatmelikesomerabidanimaldigginginthedirt,diggingthroughPaxtokillmewhileI’mdown.Thenthereisnothing.Blooddripsontomyface,warmsmybody.Itismyfriend’s.I try to move Pax. I manage to squeeze out from under him. The

JackalhasfledandPaxisbleedingtodeath.Abansheewailsinmyears.TheProctorsaregoneaswell.TheHowlersstumbletotheirfeet.WhenIlookbacktoPax,heisdead,hismouthpulledintoaquietsmile.Bloodslithers along the stone. My own chest tightens and I fall to a kneesobbing.Hehadnolastwords.Hehadnogoodbye.Hethrewhimselfuponme.Andwassavaged.Dead.LoyalPax. Iclutchhishugehead. Ithurts toseemytitan fallen.He

wasmeantformore.Suchasoftheartinsuchahardform.Hewillnever

laughagain.Never standon thebridgeofadestroyer.Neverwear thecapeofaknightorcarrythescepterofanImperator.Dead.Itshouldn’thave been this way. It is my fault. I should have just ended thingsquickly.Whatafuturehecouldhavehad.Sevrostandsbehindme,facepale.TheHowlersareupandseething.

Four weep silent tears. Blood trickles from their ears. The world issoundless.Wecannothear,butapackofwolvesdoesnotneedwordstoknowthatitistimetohunt.HekilledPax.Nowwekillhim.TheJackal’strailofbloodleadstooneofthekeep’sshortspires.From

there, it disappears into the courtyard. Rain has washed it away. Wejumpinapackofelevenfromthespiretoalowerwall,rollingaswehit.Thenwe’redowninthecourtyardandSevro,ourtracker,leadsthewaythroughaposterngateintotheruggedlowmountains.The night is hard. Rain and snow sweep sideways. Lighting flashes.

Thunder rumbles, but I hear it as though in a dream. I run with theHowlers inastaggered line.Werolloverdarkcrags,alongprecipitousdrops in search of our quarry. My swaddled boots slowme, but theymustbecovered.Myplancanstillwork,evenafterallthis.IdonotknowhowSevroguidesus.I’mlostinthechaos.Mymindis

onPax.Heshouldn’thavedied.IcorneredaJackalandlethimchewhisway out. I remember howMustang looked at him. She knewwho hewas.Sheknewandshewantedtotalktomeinprivate.Whatevertheirconnection,herloyaltywasmine.Buthowdoessheknowhim?Sevrotakesus intothehighmountainpasseswheresnowstillstacks

kneehigh.Trackshere.Snowflurriesaroundus.I’mchilled.Mycloakissoaked.TheslingBladebouncesonmyback.Myshoessquish.Andblooddots the snow. We sprint uphill through a snowy pass between tworugged peaks. I see the Jackal. He’s stumbling one hundred metersdistant.Hegoesdowninthesnow,thenhe’supagain.He’sirontohavemadeitthisfar.Wewillcatchhimandwewillkillhimforwhathedidto Pax. He didn’t have to stab my titan. My pack begins to howlsorrowfully.TheJackallooksbackandstumbleson.Hewillnotescape.We sprint up the snowy incline. Night and darkness. Wind sweeps

sideways. Ihowl,but it ismuffledafter the sonicblast, like the soundhas been swaddled in cotton. Then something strange distorts the

flurriesinfrontofus.Ashape.Aninvisible,intangibleshapeoutlinedbythefallingsnow.AProctor.Astonesinksdownintomystomach.Thisiswheretheykillme.ThisiswhatFitchnerwarnedmeabout.Apollodeactivateshiscloak.Hesmilesatmethroughhishelmetandcallssomething.Icannothearwhathesays.ThenhewavesapulseFistandSevroandtheHowlersscatterasatinysonicboomblowsfiveofourpack back down the hill. My eardrums wail. They may never be thesame.PulseFistagain.Idiveaway.Painlancesmyfoot.Spinsme.Thenthe pain is gone. I’m up and sprinting at Apollo. His fist flickers adistortionof forceatme. Idodge threeblasts.Spinning, turning likeatop. I jump. My sword comes down on his head and stops cold.PulseShield, when activated, cannot be penetrated by anything but arazor.Iknewthis.Buttherehastobesomeshowmanship.Apollo watches me, impervious in his armor. My pack has beenblasted back down the hill. I see the Jackal struggling on themountainside.He seems stronger now.Adistortion followshim. SomeotherProctorgivinghimstrength.Venus,Ithink.I screamout the rage that’s beenbuilding inme since IwentunderMickey’sknife.Apollo says something I can’thear. I cursehimand swingmybladeagain.He catches it and tosses it into the snow.The invisible layer ofpulseShieldaroundhisfiststrikesmyface—nevertouching,yetsendingagonyintothenerves.Iscreamandfall.Thenhepicksmeupbymyhairand we rise into the storm. He soars on gravBoots till we’re threehundredmetersup;Idanglefromhishand.Thesnowswirlsaroundus.He speaks again, adjusting some frequency so my damaged ears canhear.“Iwillusesmallwordsso thatyouaresure tounderstand.WehaveyourlittleMustang.Ifyoudonot loseinyournextencounterwiththeArchGovernor’ssonsoalltheDrafterscanbearwitness,thenIwillruinher.”Mustang.FirstPax.NowthegirlwhosangEo’ssongbythe fire.Thegirlwhopulledme from themud.Thegirlwhocurledbesidemeas the smokeswirledinourlittlecave.BrilliantMustang,whowouldfollowmeoutofchoice.AndthisiswhereIledher.Ididnotexpectthis.Ididnotplanforthis.Theyhaveher.

My stomach sinks. Not again.Not like Father. Not like Eo.Not likeLea.NotlikeRoque.NotlikePax.Theywillnotkillhertoo.Thissonofabitchwillnotkillanyone.“I’mgoingtoripoutyourbloodydamnheart!”Hepunchesme in thebelly, stillholdingmebymyhair.His face isstrangeashetriestoplacetheword.Bloodydamn.We’refloatingintheair now, high. Very high. I dangle like a hangingman as he hits meagain.Imoan.ButasIdo,IrememberonethingIlearnedfromFitchnerasIclappedhisshoulderinthewoods.IfApolloisholdingmyhairandIdonotfeelhispulseShield,thenitisturnedoff.Anditisturnedoffoverhis entire body. He has physical recoilArmor everywhere else, exceptoneplace.“Youareastupid littlepuppet, Irealizenow,”hesays idly.“Amad,angrylittlepuppet.Youwon’tdoasIsay,willyou?”Hesighs.“I’llfindanotherway.Timetocutyourstrings.”Hedropsme.AndIfloatthere,inchesfromhisoutstretchedhand.I go nowhere, because beneath fur and cloth, I’m wearing thegravBoots I stole from Fitchner when I assaulted him in Apollo’swarroom.AndApollo’sshieldisdown.Andhe’spissedmeoff.Hegawksatme,confused. I flex theknifeRing’sbladeoutandpunchhim in theface,jammingthebladethroughhisvisorintohiseyesocketfourtimes,jerkingupwardsothathedies.“You reapwhatyou sow!” I screamathimashe fades.All the rageI’vefeltswellsinme,blindingme,andfillsmewithapulsing,tangiblehatredthatseepsawayonlyasApollo’sbootsdeactivateandhetumblesdownthroughtheswirlingstorm.IfindmyHowlersaroundhisbody.Thesnowisred.Theystareatmeas Idescend,myknifeRingwetwith thebloodofaPeerlessScarred. Ihadnotintendedtokillhim.Butheshouldnothavetakenher.Andheshouldnothavecalledmeapuppet.“TheytookMustang,”Itellmypack.Theylookonsilently.TheJackalnolongermatters.“SonowwetakeOlympus.”Thesmilestheygiveoneanotherareaschillingasthesnow.Sevrocackles.

42

WARONHEAVEN

Thereisnotimetowasteingoingbacktothefortress.Ihavetheboysand girls I need. I have the hardest of all the armies. The small, thewicked, the loyal and quick. I steal Apollo’s recoilArmor. The goldenplatecoilsaroundmylimbslikeliquid.IgivehisgravBootstoSevro,buttheyareludicrouslylargeonhim.Istripoffmyownboots,hisfather’s,sohecanwear them; they jammedmytoes somethingawful. IputonApollo’sbootsinstead.“Whosearethese?”Sevroasksme.“Daddy’s,”Itellhim.“Soyouguessed.”Sevrolaughs.“He’slockedinApollo’sdungeons.”“ThestupidPixie!”Helaughsagain.Theyhaveanoddrelationship.I keep Apollo’s razor, his helmet, his pulseFist, and his pulseShield

alongwithhis recoilArmor.Sevrogets theghostCloak. I tellhimtobemyshadow.AndthenItellmyHowlerstotietheirbeltstogether.GravBootscanliftamaninstarShellashecarriesanelephantineach

arm.TheyareeasilystrongenoughtoliftmeandmyHowlers,whohangfrom my arms and legs on belt harnesses as I carry us through theswirlingsnowstormupanduptoOlympus.Sevrocarriestheothers.TheProctorshaveplayedtheirgames.Theypushedandpushedforso

long. They knew I was something dangerous, something different.Sooneror later, theyhadtoknowIwouldsnapandcometocut themdown.OrperhapstheythinkI’mstillachild.Thefools.Alexanderwasa

childwhenheruinedhisfirstnation.WerisethroughthestormandflyovertheslopesofOlympus.Itfloatsnearly a mile above the Argos. There are no doors. No dock. Snowcoverstheslopes.Cloudsmaskitsglitteringpeak.IleadtheHowlerstothatbone-palecitadelatthetopofthesteepincline.Itstrikesupoutofthemountainlikeamarblesword.Howlersunfastentheirbeltsinpairs,droppingdownonthehighestbalcony.Wecrouchonthestoneterrace.FromherewecanseethemistylandsofMars,therockyhillsandfieldsofMinerva,theGreatwoodsofDiana,themountainswheremyarmygarrisonsJupiter.Iwouldbedownthere.Thefoolsshouldhaveleftwellenoughalone.Theyshouldn’thavetakenMustang.I wear recoilArmor of gold. It is a second skin. My face alone isexposed. I take ash from one of the Howlers and streak it across mycheeksandmouth.Myeyesburnwithanger.Blondhair iswild to theshoulders, unbound. I pull my slingBlade and clench the shortwavepulseFistinmyleft.Arazorhangsfrommywaist;Idon’tknowhowtouseit.Dirtundermynails.Frostbiteonmypinkieandmiddlefingerofthelefthand.Istink.Mycloakstinkslikethedeadthingitis.Ithangslimp behind me. White stained with a Proctor’s blood. I pull up thehood.Wealldo.Welooklikewolves.Andwesmellblood.TheDraftersbetterenjoythisorI’madeadman.“Wewant Jupiter,” I tellmyHowlers. “Findmehim.Neutralize theothersifwecomeacrossany.Thistle,youtakemygravBootsandfetchreinforcements.Go.”Barefoot, I blow open the doors with my pulseFist. We find Venuslyinginbedinasilkshift,herarmordrippingsnowfromitsstandbythefire; she’s only just returned from helping the Jackal. Grapes,cheesecake,andwineareonanightstand.TheHowlerspinherdown.Four,justforeffect.WetieVenustothebedposts.Hergoldeneyesarewidewithshock.Shecanhardlyspeak.“Youcannot!IamScarred!IamScarred!”isallshecanmanage.Shesaysthisisillegal,sayssheisaProctor,sayswe’renotallowedtoassaultthem.Howdidwegethere?How?Whohelpedus?WhosearmoramIwearing?Oh,it’sApollo’s.It’sApollo’s.WhereisApollo?Aman’sgentleclothingisinthecorner.Theyarelovers.“Whohelpedyou?”“Ihelpedmyself,”Itellher,andpathershininghandwithadagger.

“How many other Proctors are left?” She has no words. This is notsupposed to happen. It has never happened. Children do not takeOlympus,notinhistoryonalltheplanetswasthiseventhoughtof.Wegagheranywayandleavehertied,halfnaked,windowopensoshegetsatasteofthechill.The Howlers and I slink through the spire. I hear Thistle bringingreinforcements.Tactuswillbeheretobringhisownbreedofwrath.AndMiliawillcome.Nylasoon.MyarmyrisesforMustang.Forme.FortheProctorswhocheatedusandpoisonedourfoodandwaterandcutfreeour horses. We go room to room. Searching frigidariums, calderiums,steam rooms, ice rooms, baths, pleasure chambers filled with Pinks,holoImmersiontanks,fortheProctors.WetakedownJunointhebaths.Howlerssplash in towrestleherout.Shehasnoweapons,butcloakedSevrohastostunherwithastolenscorcheraftershebreaksClown’sarmandstartsdrowninghimwithherlegs.Apparentlyshedidnotleavelikesheoughttohaveeither.Alltheserulebreakers.Vulcan we find in a holoImmersion room, a fire crackling in thecorner. He doesn’t even see us come in tillwe turn off themachines.Vulcan was watching Cassius stand at the edge of a battlement asflamingmissiles etcha smoky sky.Theygave them fragging catapults.TherewasanotherscreenshowingtheJackalstumblethroughthesnowintoamountaincavern’smouth.LilathgreetshimtherewithathermalcloakandamedBot.I ask the Proctors where Mustang has been taken. They say to askApollo or Jupiter. It isn’t their concern. And it shouldn’t be mine.Apparentlymyheadisgoingtoroll.Iaskthemwhattheywillswing.“Ihavealltheaxes.”MyarmybindstheProctorsandwetakethemwithusaswedescend,flowing down to the next level and the level after that like a flood ofmad half-wolves. We run across highReds and Brown servants andhousePinks.Ipaythemnomind,butmyarmyintheirrabidexcitementsetsuponanytheysee.TheyknockdownRedsandabsolutelyobliterateanyGraysthatmakethemistakeoftryingtofightus.SevrohastochokeoutaCeresboywhositsonaRed’schest,bludgeoninginhisfacewithscarred fists. TwoGrays are killed by Tactuswhen they try to fire onhim.Hedodgestheirscorchersandbreakstheirnecks.AsquadofsevenGrays try to takemedown.ButmypulseShieldprotectsmefromtheir

scorchers.Only if they concentrate fire and the shield overheatswill Isuffer.IdodgetheirfireandbringthemdownwithmySlingBlade.Myarmy trickles in, slowlyat first.Butmorearecomingevery four

minutes. I’m nervous. It isn’t fast enough. Jupiter could destroy us, ascouldPlutoandwhoeverelse is left.Myarmyisexultantbecausetheyhaveme; they thinkme immortal, unstoppable.Already they’ve heardthatIkilledApollo.Ihearnicknamesripplinglikecurrentsthroughthearmy aswe swarm through the gilded, vast halls.Godslayer. Sunkiller,they fancyme.But theProctorshear these things too.Theoneswe’vecaptured,eventheonesalittlebemusedbytheideaofstudentsinvadingOlympus,nowstareatmewithpale faces.Theyrealize they’repartofthegametheythoughttheyescapedmanyyearsago,andthatthereareno medBots directed toward Olympus. Funny thing, watching godsrealizethey’vebeenmortalallalong.I send out dozens of scouts through the palace, telling themwhat I

need.Already I canhearmyplanbeingunwound in thehallsbeneathme.Jupiter,Pluto,Mercury,andMinervaremain.Theyarecoming forme. Or am I coming for them? I do not know. I try to feel like thepredator,butIcannot.Myrageiscalming.Itisslowingandgivingwaytofearasthehallsstretchon.TheyhaveMustang;Iremindmyselfofthesmellofherhair.ThesearetheScarredwhotakebribes fromthemanwhokilledmywife.Thebloodpumpsfaster.Myragereturns.ImeetMercury inahall.He is laughinghystericallyandcallingout

bawdydrinkingsongsfromtheHCashefacesdownahalfdozenofmysoldiers.Hewearsabathrobebut isdancing likeamaniacaround theswordthrustsof threeDeadHorses. I’venot seen suchgracebeyond themines. He moves as I mined. Fury balanced with physics. A kick, acrushingelbow,anapplicationofforcetodislocatekneecaps.Heslapsoneofmysoldiersinthefacewithhishand.Kicksanotherin

the groin.Anddoes a flip over one, grabs her hairwhenhe is upsidedown,landsandslamsherintothewalllikearagdoll.Thenhekneesaboyintheface,cutsoffagirl’sthumbsoshecan’tholdhersword,andtries backhanding me before dancing away. I’m faster than him, andstronger,despitehisincrediblegiftwiththerazor;soashishandgoesatmy face, I punch his forearm as hard as I can, cracking the bone.Heyelpsandtriestodanceback,butIholdontohishandandbeathisarmwithmyfisttillitbreaks.

ThenIlethimspinaway,wounded.We’reinahall,mysoldierssprawledaroundhim.IshouttherestbackandheftmyslingBlade.Mercuryisacherubofaman.Small,squat,withafacelikeababy.Hischeeksflushrosy.He’sbeendrinking.Hiscoiledgoldenhairdroopsoverhiseyes.He flips itback. I rememberhowhehadwantedtopickmeforhisHousebuthisDraftershadobjected.Nowheflourisheshisrazorlikeapoetwithaquill,buthisoffhandisuselessafterIpunchedit.“You’reawildone,”hesaysthroughthepain.“YoushouldhavepickedmeforyourHouse.”“I told themnot to push you. But did they listen?Nono no no no.SillyApollo.Pridecanblind.”“Socanswords.”“Through the eye?” Mercury looks at my armor. “Dead, then?”Someoneshoutsformetokillhim.“My,my.Theyarehungry.Thisduelmaybefun.”Ibow.Mercurycurtsies.IlikethisProctor.ButIalsodon’twanthimtokillmewiththatrazor.SoIsheathemyswordandshoothiminthechestwithmypulseFistsettostun.Thenwetiehimup.He’sstilllaughing.Butfartherdownthehallbehindhim,IseeJupiter—agodofamaninfullarmor—stormingforthwithacrookedpulseShaftandarazor.AnotherarmoredProctoriswith him,Minerva, I think.We retreat. Still, they decimatemy force.They come at us straight on in the long hall, knocking boys and girlsdown like boulders rolling through grain. We can’t hurt them. Mysoldiersscamperbackthewaywecame,backupthestairways,backtothehigher levels,wherewerunovernewpacksof reinforcements.Wescrambleovereachother, fallingon themarble floor, running throughgolden suites to flee Jupiter andMinerva as they come up the stairs.Jupiter bellows laughter as our simple swords and spears ping off hisarmor.Onlymyweapons canhurt him.They aren’t enough. Jupiter’s razorgoes throughmypulseShield and slipsmy recoilArmor on the thigh. IhisswithpainandshootthepulseFistathim.Hisshieldtakesthepulseandholds,butbarely.Heflicksarazoratmelikeawhip.Itgrazesmyeyelid,nearlytakingmyeye.Bloodsheetsfromthesmallwound,andI

roarinanger.Iflyathim,pastMinerva,breakingmypulseFistagainsthisjaw.Itruinsmyweaponandmyfist,butitdentshisgoldenhelmetand sendshim reeling. I don’t givehim time to recover. I screamandhackinswirlingarcswithmyslingBladeevenasIstabclumsilywithmyrazor.It’samaddance.Itakehimthroughthekneewiththeunfamiliarrazor.Hecutsopenmythighwithhisown.Thearmorclosesaroundthewound,compressingitandadministeringpainkillers.We’reat theendofacircular stairwellas Ipushhimback.His long

blade goes limp, then slithers around my leg like a lasso, about toconstrictandslicemylegoffatthehip.IpushfastasIcanintohim.Wegodownthestairs.Thenherollsupandstands.Itacklehimbackward.Armoronarmor.We smash into a holoImmersion room. Sparks fly. I keep screaming

andpushing sohe cannot ripoffmy legwith the razor, still limpandlooped around flesh and bone.He’s backpedaling, off balance,when Itakehimthroughawindowandwespilloutintotheopenair.NeitherofushavegravBoots, soweplummetahundred feet intoasnowbankonthemountain’sside.Werolldownthesteepslopetowardtheone-miledrop,towardtheflowingArgos.Icatchmyselfinthesnow.Imanagetostand.Ican’tseehim.IthinkI

hear his grunt in the distance. We’re both muddled in the clouds. Icrouchandlisten,butmyhearingstillhasn’trecoveredfromApollo.“You’ll die for this, little boy,” Jupiter says. It comes as if from

underwater.Where ishe?“Shouldhave learnedyourplace.Everythinghasanorder.You’renearthetop.Butyouarenotthetop,littleboy.”Isaysomethingpithyaboutmeritnotmeaningmuch.“Youcan’tspendmerit.”“SotheGovernorispayingyoutodothis?”Ihearahowlinthedistance.Myshadow.“Whatdoyouthinkyou’regoingtodo,littleboy?Goingtokillallus

Proctors?Going tomakeus letyouwin? It’snot theway thingswork,littleboy.”Jupiterlooksforme.“SoontheGovernor’sCrowswillcomein their ships,with their swordsandguns.Thereal soldiers, littleboy.The ones who have scars you can’t dream of. The Obsidians led byGoldenLegatesandknights.You’rejustplaying.Butthey’llthinkyou’vegonemad.Andtheywilltakeyouandhurtyouandkillyou.”“Not if I win before they get here.” That is the key to everything.

“Theremaybe a delay on theholos before theDrafters see them, buthowlongadelay?Whoiseditingthegorydamnholoswhileyoufight?We’llmakesuretherightmessagegetsout.”I takemyredsweatbandoffofmyheadanddabawaythesweaton

myface,thenwrapitaroundmyheadoncemore.Jupiterissilent.“So the Drafters will see this conversation. They will see that the

Governorispayingyoutocheat.TheywillseethatIamthefirststudentto invadeOlympus inhistory.Andtheywill seemecutyoudownandtake your armor and parade you naked through the snow, if yousurrender.Ifnot,IwillthrowyourcorpsefromOlympusandpissgoldenshowersdownafteryou.”ThecloudsclearandJupiterstandsbeforemeinthewhite.Reddrips

fromhisgoldenarmor.Heistall,lean,violent.Thisplaceishishome.Itishisplayground.Thechildrenhisplaythingstilltheygettheirscars.Heis like any other petty tyrant of history. A slave to his ownwhims. Amasterofnothingbutselfishness.HeistheSociety—amonsterdrippingin decadence, yet seeing none of his own hypocrisy.He views all thiswealth, all this power, as his right.He is deluded. They all are. But Icannotcuthimdownfromthefront.No,nomatterhowwellIfight.Heistoostrong.Hisrazorhangsfromhishandlikeasnake.Withthepressofabutton

itwillgorigid,ameterinlength.Hisarmorshines.Morningbreaksaswefaceoneanother.Asmilesplitshislips.“Youwould have been something inmyHouse. But you are a little

stupidboy,angryandofHouseMars.YoucannotyetkilllikeIcan,yetyouchallengeme.Purerage.Purestupidity.”“No.Ican’tchallengeyou.”ItossmyslingBladedownathisfeetand

throw my razor with it. I can barely use the razor anyway. “So I’llcheat.”Inod.“Goahead,Sevro.”The razor slithers up from the ground, stiffens, and goes through

Jupiter’s hamstrings as he wheels about. His slash goes two feet toohigh.He’susedtofightingmen.Invisible,SevrowoundsJupiter’sarmsandtakestheman’sweapons.TherecoilArmorflowsintothewoundstostoptheirbleeding,butthetendonswillneedrealwork.WhenJupiter is silent,SevrowinksoffApollo’sghostCloak.We take

Jupiter’sweapons.Hisarmorwouldn’thavefitanyoneexceptPax.Poor

Pax.Hewouldhave lookeddashing inall this finery.WedragJupiterbackuptheslope.Inside, the tide of the battle has shifted. My scouts, it seems, havefoundwhatItoldthemtoseek.Miliarunsuptome,acontentgrinonherlongface.Hervoice,asever, isa lowdrawlwhenshetellsmethegoodnews.“Wefoundtheirarmory.”AhostofVenusHousemembers,onlyjustfreedfromslavery,thunderspast. Their pulseFists and recoilArmor shimmer. Olympus is ours andMustanghasbeenfound.Nowwehavealltheaxes.

43

THELASTTEST

IfindherasleepinasuitebesideJupiter’sown.Hergoldenhairiswild.Hercloakdirtierthanmyown.Ithangsbrownandgray,notwhite.Shesmellslikesmokeandhunger.She’sdestroyedtheroom,upturnedadishof food,buriedherdagger intothedoor.TheBrownandPinkservantsarescaredofher,andme.Iwatchthemskitteraway.Mydistantcousins.I see themmove, alien things. Like ants. So void of emotion. I feel apang.Perspectiveisawickedcreature.ThisishowAugustussawEoashekilledher.Anant.No.Hecalledhera“Redbitch.”Shewaslikeadoginhiseyes.“Thefoodwaslacedwithsomething?”IaskoneofthePinks.Thebeautifulboymurmurssomething,lookingattheground.“Speaklikeaman,”Ibark.“Sedatives, lord.” He does not look at me. I don’t blame him. I’m a

Gold.A foot taller.Worlds stronger.And I lookpositively insane.Howwickedhemust thinkme. I tellhimtogoaway.“Hide.MyarmydoesnotalwayslistenwhenItellthemnottotoywithlowColors.”Thebed is grand.Sheetsof silk.Mattressof feathers.Postsof ivory,

ebony,andgold.Mustangsleepsonthefloorinthecorner.Forsolongwehavehadtohidewherewesleep.Itmusthavefeltsowronglyinginperfect comfort, even with sedatives in her. She tried breaking thewindowstoo.I’mgladshedidn’t.It’safardrop.I sit besideher. Thebreath fromhernose stirs a single coil of hair.

HowmanytimesI’vewatchedhersleepwithafever.Howmanytimes

she’sdonethesame.Butthere’snofevernow.Nocold.Nopaininmystomach. Cassius’swound has healed.Winter is ended. Outside, I sawthefirstoftheflowersblossoming.Ipickedoneonthemountainside.It’sin thehiddencompartmentofmycloak. Iwant togive it toMustang.Wanthertowakewiththehaemanthusbyher lips.ButwhenI take itout,adaggerslipsintomyheart.Worsethananymetalblade.Eo.Thepainwillnevergoaway. Idon’tknowif it is supposed to.And Idon’tknowifthisguiltIfeelisowed.Ikissthehaemanthusandtuckitaway.Notyet.Notyet.IwakeMustanggently.Her smile spreads before she even opens her eyes, as though sheknowsIambesideher.Isayhernameandbrushthehairfromherface.Hereyesflutteropen.Goldenflakesspiralthereintheirises.Sostrangenext tomycallused,dirty fingerswith their crackednails. Shenuzzlesmy hand andmanages to sit up. A yawn. She looks around. I almostlaughasIseeherdigestwhathashappened.“Well, I was going to tell you about a dream I had about dragons.They were purple and pretty and liked to sing songs.” She flicks myarmor with a finger. It rings. “Way to upstage me. Jerk. Whathappened?”“Igotmad.”Shegroans.“I’vebecomethemaidenindistress,haven’tI?Slag!Ihatethosegirls.”I tellherthenews.TheJackal issplit.His forcesbesiegeMarsasheandLilathhideinthedeepmountains.We’llbeabletofindhimeasily.“Ifyouwant,youcantakeourarmyandrootthebastardout.”“Done,” she smirks, and raises an eyebrow. “But can you trustme?MaybeI’llwanttobebigPrimusofthisweirdarmy.”“Icantrustyou.”“Howdoyouknow?”shesaysagain.ThisiswhenIkissher.Icannotgiveherthehaemanthus.Thatismyheart,andit isofMars—oneoftheonlythingsbornfromtheredsoil.And it is still Eo’s. But this girl,when they took her… Iwould havedoneanythingtoseehersmirkingagain.PerhapsonedayI’llhavetwoheartstogive.Shetasteshowshesmells.Smokeandhunger.Wedonotpullapart.My fingerswend throughherhair.Hers tracealongmy jaw,myneck,

andscrapealongthebackofmyscalp.Thereisabed.Thereistime.Andthere’s ahungerdifferent fromwhen I firstkissedEo.But I rememberwhen the Gamma Helldiver, Dago, took a deep pull from his burner,turningitbrightbutdeadinafewquickmoments.Hesaid,Thisisyou.Iknow Iam impetuous.Rash. Iprocess that.And Iam fullofmanythings—passion, regret, guilt, sorrow, longing, rage.At times they ruleme,butnotnow.Nothere.Iwounduphangingonascaffoldbecauseofmypassion and sorrow. I endedup in themudbecause ofmyguilt. IwouldhavekilledAugustusatfirstsightbecauseofmyrage.ButnowIam here. I know nothing of the Institute’s history. But I know I havetakenwhatnooneelsehastaken.Itookitwithangerandcunning,withpassionandrage.Iwon’ttakeMustangthesameway.Loveandwararetwodifferentbattlefields.Sodespitethehunger,IpullawayfromMustang.Withoutaword,sheknowsmymind,andthat’showIknowit’s in theright.Shedartsonemorekiss intome. It lingers longer than it should, and thenwe standtogetherandleave.Weholdhandstillthedoor,thenIturntoher.“FetchmetheJackal’sstandard,Mustang.”“Yes,LordReaper.”Shegivesamockbowandalittlewink.Thensheisgone.Theplaceisamadhouseoflooting.Inallthechaos,SevrohasfoundtheholoTransmitter. It hasour sensorial experiences stored in itsharddrives and is queued to send themback to theDrafterswherever theymaybe.Itisnotastreamingfeed,sotheDraftersdonotyethavetoday’sevents. There is a half-day delay. That is all it will take. I give SevroinstructionsandhavehimgettoworksplicingoutthestoryIwanttold.Iwouldtrustnooneelse.

IhaveFitchnerbroughtupfromCastleApollo’sdungeons.HereclinesinachairinOlympus’sdininghall.HisfaceispurplefromwhenIhithim.The floor ismadeofcondensedair, sowearesuspendedaboveamileverticaldrop.Hisfeetareonthetableandhismouthtwistsintoasmile.“There’s themanicboy,”hecalls, fingeringhischin.“IknewI likedyourodds.”Igivehimagreetingwithmymiddlefinger.“Liar.”Hereturnsthefinger.“Turd.”Hereachesformyhand.“Don’ttellme

you’re still bitter about the poisoning, the sicknesses, the setup withCassius,thebearsinthewoods,theshittytech,theterribleweather,theassassinationattempts,thespy.”“Thespy?”“Messing with you. Ha! Still a child. Speaking of which, where are

your soldiers? Running around, eating themselves stupid, showering,sleeping, screwing,playingwith thePinks?Thisplace is ahoney trap,myboy.Ahoneytrapthatwillmakeyourarmyworthless.”“You’reinabettermood.”“Mysonissafe,”hesayswithawink.“Nowwhatareyouupto?”“IalreadysentMustangtodealwiththeJackal.Andafterthis,Igoto

HouseMars.Thenitwillallbeover.”“Ooo. Except it won’t be.” Fitchner pops a familiar gumbubble and

winces. I did a number on his jaw. It makes me laugh. I’ve felt likelaughingsinceSevro tookdownJupiter.My leg throbswithpain fromthatblastedman.Evenwiththepainkillers,Icanhardlywalk.“Noriddles.Whyisn’titover?”“Three things,” Fitchner says. His hatchet face examines me for a

moment.“You’reapeculiarcreature.YouandtheJackalboth.Everyonealwayswantstowin.Butyoutwostandapart,freaks.Goldswon’tdietowin.We value our lives toomuch. You two don’t.Where did it comefrom?”Iremindhimhe’smyprisonerandheshouldanswermyquestions.“Three thingsarenot finished.Here’swhat’swhat. I’ll tellyouwhat

they are if you answermyquestion:what drives you.”He sighs. “Thefirst thing,goodman, isCassius.Hewill simplyhave toduelyouuntiloneofyoulittlesodskeelsoveranddies.”Iwasafraidofthat.IanswerFitchner’squestion.ItellhimtheJackalwantedtoknowthesamething.Whatdrivesme.

Theright-offanswerisrage.Frompointtopoint,itisrage.Ifsomethinghappens, and if Iwas not anticipating it, I react like an animal—withviolence.Butthedeepspineanswerislove.Lovedrivesme.SoImustlieabittohim.“Mymotherhadadreamthat Icouldbegreater thananyone inmy

family. Greater than the name Andromedus. The name ofmy father.”Fakefather.Fakefamily.Pointstill thesame.“IamnotaBellona.NotanAugustus.NotanOctaviaauLune.” I smilewickedly, somethinghe

canappreciate.“ButIwanttobeabletostandabovethemandpissonalltheirgorydamnheads.”Fitchnerlikesthat.He’salwayswantedthesame,buthe’sfoundthatwithoutthepedigree,merittakesyouonlysofar.Thatfrustrationishiscondition.“The second thing that is not finished is this.” Fitchner waves hishandsabout. Igot thecrustof thisdeal—he’smakingnorevelations. Ikilled a Proctor. I have evidence that the ArchGovernor bribed othersand threatened more so that his child could win. Nepotism.Manipulationof thesacredschool.This isnot idlenews. Itwillshattersomething.PerhapsevenremovetheArchGovernorfromoffice.Charges.Punishment?TheDrafterswillwantblood.“AndtheArchGovernorwillwantyours.Thiswill embarrasshim,andpotentiallymake room foraBellonaArchGovernor.MaybeCassius’sfather.”FitchnerasksmewhyItrustthesoldiersinmyarmywhowereslaves.“Theytrustmebecausethey’veseenhowtheywouldhavedoneinallthis had I not come along. You think they want the Jackal as theirmaster?”“Good,”Fitchnersays.“Youtrustthemall.Splendid,thenthereisnothirdcomplication.Mymistake.” Ipresshimforwhathemeans,sohesighsandrelents.“Oh,onlythatyousentMustangandhalfthearmytodealwiththeJackal.”“And?”“It’sreallynothing.Youtrusther.”“No.Tellme.Whatdoyoumean?”“Well,fine.Ifyoumustknow,ifthere’ssimplynootherwayofgoingaboutit:sheistheJackal’stwinsister.”

Virginia au Augustus. Sister to the Jackal. Twin. An heir of the greatfamily, the gensAugusta. The only daughter of ArchGovernor Nero auAugustus.Themanwhomadeallthishappen.Keptcloisteredandoutofthepubliceyetowardoffassassinationattempts, just likeherbrother.That’swhyCassius didn’t know the daughter of his family’s archrival.ButwhenIsatwiththeJackal,Mustangknewwhohewas.Herbrother.HadsheknownbeforeoftheJackal’sidentity?Nothingcanexplainhersilence if she knewwho hewas and said nothing. Nothing except for

family—whichisaloyaltyabovefriendship,abovelove,aboveakissinthe corner of a room. I have sent halfmy army to the Jackal. I havegiven him recoilArmor, gravBoots, ghostCloaks, razors, pulseWeapons,enoughtechforhimtotakeOlympus.Dammit.The Proctors all know. And when I pass them at a run, they are

laughing. They laugh atmy stupidity. The rage grows inside ofme. Iwanttokillsomething.Imarshalmyforces.Theyarespreadthroughoutthecastle,eatingitsfood,takingitspleasures.Fools.Fools.MybestarewhereIneedthem.Sevro, left tohiswork.That is themost importantthing.IorderTactustohuntdowntheremnantsofVenusandMercuryin the southern lowlands and enslave them, and I set Milia out tomarshaltherestofmyarmywithNyla.IneedtogotoHouseMarsnow.Icannotwait formysoldiers toassemble. Ineedfreshbodies,becausewhentheAugustustwinscome,theywillhaveweaponsandtechnologyto match mine, and they may have more soldiers. The game haschanged.Ididnotprepareforthis.Ifeelafool.HowcouldIhavekissedher?My heart is swallowed by darkness.What if I had given her thehaemanthus? I tear it to ribbons as I jump from the edge of MountOlympusinmygravBootsandletthepetalsfall.ItakeonlytheHowlerswithme,passingthepetalsaswesoardown.Wewear gravBoots and armor and carrypulseFists andpulseBlades.

ThesnowinthelandofHouseMarsisgone.Muddysoilchurnedbythefeet of invaders replaces it. The highlands are swaddled in mist. Thesmellisofearthandsiege.Ourtowers,PhobosandDeimos,arerubble.Thecatapultsgiftedtothebesiegershavedonetheirworkthere.Sotoohavetheymadeprogressonthewallsofmyoldcastle.Thefrontfaçadeis in ruin and strewn with arrows, broken pottery from pitch jars,swords,armor,andsomestudents.Nearly a hundred strong besiege Mars. Their camp is near the tree

line,butanenclosingfencehasbeenbuiltaroundMarsCastletopreventany sallies from the fortress. It has been a longwinter for both sides,thoughInotethesolarcookingpots,theportableheaters,thenutritionpackets of the Jackal’s besieging force—comprised of Jupiter, Apollo,andaquarterofHousePluto.Severalcrossesstandhighatthebottomofthe slope.They face thecastle.On thecrossesare threebodies.Crowstellmetheirstate.TheonlysignofresistanceIseefromHouseMarsisourflag—thewolfofMars,tatteredandscorched.Ithangsslackinthe

poorwind.TheHowlers and I come from the sky like golden gods.Our ragged

cloaks flap behind us. But if the besiegers expected us to be Proctorsbringingmoregifts, theycouldnothavebeenmoremistaken.Welandhardontheearth.TheHowlersfirst,andI landattheirhead,andasIhit,theenemyscatterbeforemeinutterterror.Reaperhascomehome.IlettheHowlersmakeruinoftheenemiesonoursoil.Thisisasclose

as I’ve been to home, to Lykos, in months. I bend down and take ahandful ofHouseMars soil asmymendomywork aroundme.Mars.Home. I have flown a different banner, but I havemissedmyHouse.Enemies run toattackme.Theyseemyblade,knowwho Iam. Iwalkimpervious.MypulseArmorismyshield.SevroandtheHowlersactasmysword.IwalktothethreecrossesandpeeruptoseeAntonia,Cassandra,and

Vixus.Thebetrayers.Whatdidtheydonow?Antoniaisstillalive,asisVixus,barely.IhaveThistlecutthemdown

andtakethembacktoOlympusforthemedBots.Theywillhavetolivewith the knowledge that they slit Lea’s throat. I hope it hurts them. Istandforamomentatthebottomofthehill.IcalluptotellthemwhoIam.Buttheyalreadyknow,becausetheflagofMarscomesdownandinits place is raised a soiled bedsheet with a hastily drawn slingBladearchingacross.“TheReaper!”theycry,asIamtheirsalvation.“Primus!”Thedefendersareragged,dirty,andthin.Somearesoweakwehave

to carry them from the rubble of the castle. Thosewho can, come tosalutemeortiptheirheadsorkissmycheeks.Thosewhocannot,touchmyhandasIpass.Therearebrokenlegsandcrushedarms.Theywillbemended.WeferrythembacktoOlympus.HouseMarswillnotbeusefulin the coming battle, so I will use besiegers from Pluto, Jupiter, andApollo.IhaveClownandPebbleenslavethemallwiththestandardofMars.AthinboyIhardlyrecognizedeliversittome.Butwhenhegrabsmeinaskeletalembrace,ahugsohardithurts,Iknowwhoheis.Asilentsobechoesinmychest.Heisquietashehugsme.ThenhisbodyshudderslikePax’sdidashe

metdeath.Excepttheseshudderscomefromjoy,notpain.

Roquelives.“Mybrother,”hesobs.“Mybrother.”“I thoughtyouweredead,” I tell himas I clutchhisdelicate frame.“Roque,Ithoughtyouweredead.”Iclasphimtome.Hishairissothin.I feel his bones through his clothing. He’s like a wet rag around myarmor.“Brother,” he says. “I knew you would come back. I knew it inmyheart. This placewas hollowwithout you.” He grins atmewith suchpride.“Howyounowfillit.”ThePrimusofHouseDianawasright.HouseMarsisawildfire.Anditdoesstarve.Roquehasscarsonhisface.Heshakeshishead,andIknowhehas stories to tell—wherehewas,howhecameback.But later.Helimps away.Quinn, one-earedand tired, goeswithhim. Shemouths athank-youandputsherhandalongthesmallofthethinpoet’sbackinamannerthatletsmeknowshe’sleftCassius.“Hetoldusyouwouldreturn,”shesays.“Roqueneverlies.”Pollux is still humorouswhen I see him.His voice is gravel and heclasps my arm. Quinn and Roque kept the House together, he says.Cassiusgaveupalongwhileago.Hewaitsformeinthewarroom.“Don’tkillhim…please.Itatehismindup,man.Ateitallupwhathedidtoyou;weallfoundout.Sojustlethimgetsometimeawayfromthisplace,man.Itdoesthingstoyourhead.Makesyouforgetwedon’thave a choice.” Pollux kicks a piece ofmud. “The bastards putme inwithalittlegirl,youknow.”“InthePassage?”“Matched me with a little girl. I tried to kill her softly… but shewouldn’tdie.”Polluxgruntssomethingandclapsmeontheshoulder.Hetriesasourchuckle.“We’vegotitraw,butatleastwe’renotReds,youregister?”Righto.HeleavesandI’maloneinmyoldcastle.TitusdiedonthespotwhereI stand. I look at the keep. It’s worse now than it was in his time.Everythingisworsenow,somehow.Bloodyslag.WhydidMustanghave tobetrayme?Everything is darknow that I know.A shadow cast over life. She could have toldme somany times. But she never did. I know shewanted to speakwithmewhen Iwaswith the Jackal, but likely just to tellme something idle.

Some tidbit.Orwould she betray her blood forme?No. If shewouldhavedonethat,thenshewouldhavetoldmebeforeIgaveherhalfmyarmy.Shetookherstandardtoo,andCeres’s.Whydidsheneedsomanyexcepttomakewarwithme?ItfeelslikeshekilledEo.ItfeelslikesheputthenoosethereandIjerkedthefeet.Sheisherfather’sdaughter.Ifeelthatlittlesnapgothroughmyhands.I’vebetrayedEo.Ispitonthestones.Mymouthisdry.Haven’thadanythingtodrinkallmorning.Myheadaches.Timetodropmyballs,asUncleNarolusedtosay.TimetoseeCassius.HesitswithhisionBladeoutonHouseMars’stable.He’sintheseatIcarvedwithmysigil.TheoldHouseflagliesacrosshisknee.ThePrimushand dangles around his neck. Somuch time has passed since he putthatswordinmybelly.Theweaponlookssillynow.Atoy,arelic.Iamsofarpastthisroom,pasthisblade,pasthisreach,yethiseyesstopmyheart.Theguiltislikeblackbileinmythroat.Fillsmychestanddrainsme.“I’msorryforJulian,”Itellhim.Hishair isgoldencurlsbutmattedwithgrit andgrease.Fleasmaketheirhomethere.He is stillbeautiful, stillmorehandsomethan Ieverwillbe.ButIamthegreaterman.Thesparkinhiseyehascooled.Timeandspaceawayfromthisplacearewhathissoulneeds.Monthsofsiege.Monthsofangeranddefeat.Monthsoflossandguilthavedrainedhimofall thatmakeshimCassius.Whatapoorsoul. I feelsorry forhim. Ialmostlaugh.Afterheputaswordinmybelly,Ipityhim.Hehasneverlostabattle.HealoneofallthePrimusescansaythat.Yethetakesthebadgeandflipsittome.“You’vewon.Butwasitworthit?”Cassiusasks.“Yes.”“No hesitation.…”He nods. “That’s the difference between you andme.”He sets the standardandhis sworddownandwalks close tome, socloseIcansmellthestinkofhisbreath.Ithinkhe’sgoingtohugme.Iwanttohughim,toapologizeandbegforhisforgiveness.Thenhepullsopenascabonhisknuckles,sucksthebloodfromitandspitsinmyface,startlingme.“Thisisabloodfeud,”hehissesinhighLingo.“Ifeveragainwemeet,youaremineor Iamyours. Ifeveragainwedrawbreath in thesame

room,onebreathshallcease.Hearmenow,youwretchedworm.Wearedevilstooneanothertillonerotsinhell.”It is a formal, colddeclaration that requiresone thingofme. I nod.

Andheleaves.Istandtremblingforamomentafterhe’sgone.Myheartthudsinmychest.Somuchpain.Ihadthoughtitwouldbeover,butnotallscarsheal.Notallsinsareforgiven.ItaketheMarsflagandpinthePrimusbadgetomyself.Iwatchthe

maponthewall.MyslingBladebannerfluttersovereverycastlethere;my men secured the rest even as Tactus makes ready Olympus forMustang’s assault. Now those castles belong tome, not to thewolf ofHouseMars.My slingBlade looks like the L of Lambda.My clan. Theplacewheremy brother,my sister,my uncle,mymother,my friends,still toil. They feel a world apart, yet their symbol, a symbol of ourrebellion—aworkingtoolmadeintoaweaponforwar—fliesoveralltheHousesoftheAureateexceptone.Pluto.I leavethecastle throughthespire. IamaRedHelldiverofLykos. I

amGoldPrimusofHouseMars.AndIamgoingtomylastbattleinthisbloodydamnvalley.Afterthattherealwarbegins.

44

RISE

Tactushasassumedcommandinmyabsence.Themanisacruelbeast,buthe’smycruelbeast.Andwithhimatmyside,myforcesarefitforbloodshed.Ourarmorglistens.Threehundredstrong.Ninetynewslaves.They will not have a chance to earn their freedom. There were notenoughgravBootsforall.Orenougharmor.Buteveryonehassomething.TheDeadHorsesandtheHowlersgrouptogetherneartheedgeofMountOlympus. They stare down, a thin arc of gold, at the ground a milebelow. Our adversaries are in the mountains. WhenMustang and theJackal come from the snowpeaks, theywill be at a disadvantage.Wehavethehighestground.Therestofmyforce—Pax’sformersquadandNyla’s—guardthegoldenfortressandtheProctors.Theslavesarethereaswell.IwishPaxwereatmyside.Ialwaysfeltsaferinhisshadow.I’vesentNylaandMiliaandadozenothersinghostCloakstoscoutthe

mountainsfortheJackal’smovements.WhoknowswhatintelMustanghasgivenherbrother?Hewillknowourweaknesses,ourdisposition,soI shift everything as much as possible. Whatever she knows will beuseless.Altertheparadigm.IwonderifIcouldbeatherasmercilesslyasIbeatFitchner.ThegirlwhohummedEo’ssong?Never.I’mstillRedatheart.“Hatethisgorypart,”Tactussighs.Heleanshiswirybodypastmeto

peer out over the edge of the floating mountain. “Waiting. Pfah. Weneedsomeoptics.”“What?”

“Optics!”hesaysloudly.Myhearinggoesinandout.Poppedeardrumsarenastythings.He says something about Mustang and cutting her thumbs off forstarters.Idon’tcatchmostofit.Probablydon’twantto;he’sthesorttomakebraidsofsomeone’sentrails.“There!”Thenweseeagoldenflierpierce a cloud. Three more follow. Nyla … Milia. Mustang … andsomethingelse.“Hold!” I call toSevroandhisHowlers.Theyecho the commandasMustangapproachescarryingsomethingodd.“Lo,Reaper,”Mustang calls tome. Iwait forher to land.Herbootsbringherquicklytotheground.“Lo,Mustang.”“SoMilia says you figured it out.” She looks aroundwith a curioussmile.“Thismustallbeformethen?”“Ofcourse.”I’mconfused.“ThoughttheremightbeascufflebetweenAugustusandAndromedus.”“Noscufflethistime.Ibroughtyouagift.MayIpresentmybrother,AdriusauAugustus,theJackaloftheMountains,andhisstandard.Andhe’s”—she looksatmewithahard smile as she realizes I thought shebetrayedme—“disarmed.”ShedropstheJackal,bound,gagged,andnaked.“Buggermygoryballs,”Tactushisses.Ihavewon.

MustangstandsbesidemeasthedropshipscometoOlympus.She’stoldmenot to feelguiltyaboutdoubtingher loyalty.She shouldhave toldme her family ties even though she doesn’t claim the Jackal as herbrother.Notinspirit.Hertruebrother,herolderbrother,waskilledbyoneofCassius’s,abrutebythenameofKarnus.AugustusandBellona.The blood feud between the families runs deep, and I feel its riptidepullingatmylegs.Yetthequestionremains,isMustangherfather’sdaughter?Orisshethe girlwho hums Eo’s song? I think I know the answer. She iswhatGoldscanbe,shouldbe.YetherfatherandbrotherarewhatGoldsare.Eo never would have guessed it could be this complicated. There isgoodness inGolds, because inmanyways, they are thebest humanity

canoffer.But they’realso theworst.Whatdoes thatdo toherdream?Onlytimewilltell.My lieutenants flankme—Mustang, Nyla,Milia, Tactus, Sevro, evenRoque andQuinn.We leave a space for Pax and Lea.My army flanksthem.ThereisnoneedtoembarrassthePlutostudents.Iwantto.ButIdon’t.Theystanddispersedthroughoutmysixunits.Wewaitinabroadcourtyard across from the landing pads. It is a spring day and so thesnowmeltsfast.Sevroisnearme.Inhiseye,Iseeasubtledifferencewhenhelooksatme. The conversationwe hadwhen he finished editing the tapes wasshortandfrightening.Itechoesinmyears.“Theaudiointhestormwasscrambled,”hesaid.“Couldn’tmakeoutthelastwordsyousaidtoApollo.SoIdeletedthem.”Oneofmylastwordswasbloodydamn.WhatdoesSevroknow?Whatdoeshethinkheknows?Thefactthathedeleteditmeanshethinksitisimportantenoughtocoverup.ArchGovernor Augustus and Imperators Bellona and Adriatus and ahost of other dignitaries to the sum of two hundred come from theshuttles, eachwith a cadre of attendants. TheDirector surveys us andlaughs at the Proctors’ condition. I have left them bound and gagged.There is no pity here. Anyworry I had at punishment is swept away.Only Fitchner stands unbound. If there are any rewards given to theProctors,he should reap them.Theyhave seen theholoexperiencesbynow.Sevromadesuretheyweregood.HeknewwellthestoryIwantedtold.Imadeonlyafewadjustments.DirectorClintus isa smallwomanwitha severemountainpeakofaface. Shemanages to crack a joke about this being the first time theyhavehadtheceremonyatsoloftyalocation.Butshedoesthinkitwillbe the last. It isnot thewaythegameissupposedtobeplayed,yet itdoes speak to my creativity and cunning. She seems to like me verymuch and affectionately refers tome as “theReaper.” In fact, they allseem to likemeverymuch.Though some, I can tell, arewary.Rulerstendtodislikethosewhobreakrules.“TheDraftersofalltheHousesareclamoringtorecruityou,myboy.You’llhaveachoice,thoughMarshasfirstoffer.Itwillbeuptoyou.SomanychoicesfortheReaper!”Clintustitters.BellonaandAugustus,bloodenemies,bothwatchmeasyouwoulda

snake.Ikilledoneoftheirsonsandembarrassedtheother’s.Idobelievethismaybecomeawkward.There is little ceremony. The attendants bustle about. This is but

formality.Thetrueceremonywill takeplace inAgea,where therewillbe a grand festival, a party to set fire to the heavens, and theholopresence of the Sovereign herself. Libations, dancers, racers, firebreathers, pleasure slaves, enhancers, spikedust, politicians, or soMustang tells me. It seems strange to think others care about whathappened to us here, strange to think that so many of the Golds arevapidcreatures.TheyknownothingofwhatitistoearnthemarkofaPeerless Scarred. To beat a boy to death in a cold roomof stone. Buttheywill celebrateus.Foramoment, I forgotwhomwewere fightingfor.Iforgotthisisaracethatfightslikehelltoearnitsfrivolousthingsbecause it loves those things somuch. I don’t understand thatdrive. IunderstandtheInstitute.Iunderstandwar.ButIdon’tunderstandwhatiscominginAgea,orwhatwillcomeafterthat.Perhapsthat’sbecauseI’mmore like the Iron Golds. The best of the Peerless. Those like theAncestors.Thosewhonukedaplanetthatroseagainsttheirrule.WhatacreatureI’vebecome.Whenall is saidanddone,DirectorClintuspins somebadgeonme.

Shewinks and touchesmy shoulder. Thenwe disperse. Just like that.The game is through and we are told dropships are inbound for ourdeparturetoourownhomes,whereparentswaittogivetheirapprovalordisowndisappointing sonsanddaughters. Just like that.Until then,we mill about, feeling foolish in all our accumulated armor, all ourweaponrythatnowmeanssolittle.IlookatmyslingBladeandwonderhow useless it has just become. It’s as though we’re supposed tocongratulateoneanother,cheerorsomething.Butthereisonlysilence.Ahollowsilenceforvictorsandlosersall.Iamempty.WhatdoIdonow?Therewasalwaysafear,alwaysaconcern,always

a reason to hoard weapons and food, always a quest or trial. Now,nothing. Just the wind sweeping in over our battlefield. An emptybattlefield filled only with echoes of things lost and learned. Friends.Lessons.Soonitwillbeamemory.Ifeellikealoverhasdied.Iyearntocry.Feelhollow.Adrift. I look forMustang.Will she still care forme?AndthenArchGovernorAugustussuddenly takesmebytheelbowand

leadsmeawayfromtheotherstunnedyouth.“Iamabusyman,Reaper,”hesays,mockingtheword.“SoIwillbedirect.Youhavecreatedcomplicationsinmylife.”Histouchmakesmewanttoscream.Histhinmouthemotesnothing.Hisnose isstraight.Hiseyescontemptuousandmadefromtheembersofadyingsun.Sopeerless.Yetheisnotbeautiful.Hisisafacecarvedfromgranite.Deepcheeks.Manly,toughskin,notburnishedlikethatofthe foolson theHCor thePixieswhogallivantaround thenightclubs.Hereeksofpower likePinksreekofperfume. Iwant tomakehis facelooklikeabrokenpuzzle.“Yes,”isallIsay.Hedoesnotsmirkorsmile.“Mywifeisabeggar.Shepleadedwithmetohelphersonwin.”“Wait.Hehadhelp?”Iask.His mouth slides into a soft smile. The sort reserved for simpleamusements. “I’m assuming you are not sharingmy involvementwithothers.”I want to break him. After all that has happened, he expects mycooperation, as though it is somethingdue tohim.As though it is hisrightthatIhelphim.Iunclenchmyfists.WhatwouldDancerhavemesay?“You’refine,”Imanage.“Ican’thelpyouonthedomesticfront,butIwon’ttellasoulthattheJackalhadhelpfromDaddy.”His chin rises. “Do not call him that name. The men of HouseAugustusarelions,notfleabittencarrioneaters.”“All the same,youshouldhaveputyourmoneyonMustang,” I say,intentionallynotusinghername.“Don’ttellmeaboutmyfamily,Darrow.”Hepeersdownhisnoseatme.“Now,thequestionishowmuchyouwantforyoursilence.Iacceptnogifts.Owenoman.Soyouwillbetakencareofononecondition.”“Istayawayfromyourdaughter?”“No.” He laughs sharply, surprisingme. “The foolish familiesworryoverblood.Icarenothingforpurityoffamilyorancestry.Thatisavainthing.Icareonlyforstrength.Whatamancandotoothermen,women.Andthatissomethingyouhave.Power.Strength.”Heleanscloser,andinhispupilsIseeEodying.“Ihaveenemies.Theyarestrong.Theyaremany.”

“TheyareBellona.”“And others. But yes, Imperator Tiberius au Bellona has more than

fiftyniecesandnephews.Hehasninechildren.ThatGoliath,Karnus,theeldest.Cassiushisfavorite.Hisseedisstrong.Mineis…lessso.Ihadason worth all of Tiberius’s put together. But Karnus killed him,” He’ssilent for a moment. “Now I have two nieces. A nephew. A son. Adaughter.Andthatisit.SoIcollectapprentices.“Myconditionisthis.Iwillgiveyouwhatyouwantforyoursilence.I

will buy you Pinks, Obsidians, Grays, Greens. I will sponsor yourapplicationtotheAcademy,whereyouwill learntosail theshipsthatconquered the planets. I will provide you with funds and patronagerequirements. Iwill introduceyou to theSovereign. Iwilldoall thesethingsforyoursilenceifyoubecomeoneofmylancers,anaide-de-camp,amemberofmyhousehold.”Heasksmetobetraymyname.Tosetasidemyfamilyforhis.Mineis

afalsefamily,Andromedus,afamilymadefordeception,yetsomepartofmeaches.I saw it coming. But I don’t knowwhat to say. “One of your son’s

soldiersmightsaysomethingaboutyourinvolvement,mylord.”Hesnorts.“I’mmoreconcernedaboutyourlieutenants.”Ilaugh.“Fewofmyarmyknowthetruth.Andthosethatdowillnot

sayaword.”“Somuchtrust.”“IamtheirArchPrimus.”Isayitsimply.“Are you serious?” he asks in confusion as though I misunderstand

somethingasbasicasgravity.“Boy,allegiancescrumbleassoonasweboard that shuttle. Some of your friends will be spirited away to theMoonLords.OtherswillgototheGovernorsoftheGasGiants.EvenafewtoLuna.Theywillrememberyouasalegendoftheiryouth,butthatisit.Andthatlegendwillbrooknoloyalty.I’vestoodwhereyoustand.Iwonmyyear,butloyaltyisn’tfoundinthesehalls.Itisthewaythingsare.”“Itisthewaythingswere,”Isayharshly,suprisinghim.ButIbelieve

what I say. “Iamsomethingdifferent. I freed theenslavedand let thebrokenmendthemselves. Igavethemsomethingyouoldergenerationscan’tunderstand.”Hechuckles, irritatingme.“Thatistheproblemwithyouth,Darrow.

Youforgetthateverygenerationhasthoughtthesame.”“But for my generation it is true.” No matter his confidence, I am

right.Heiswrong.Iamthesparkthatwillsettheworldsafire.Iamthehammerthatcracksthechains.“Thisschoolisnotlife,”herecitestome.“Itisnotlife.Hereyouare

king.Inlife,therearenokings.Therearemanywould-be-kings.ButwePeerlesslaythemlow.Manybeforeyouhavewonthisgame.Andthosemanynowexcelbeyondthisschool.Sodonotactasthoughwhenyougraduate,youwillbeking,youwillhave loyal subjects—youwillnot.Youwillneedme.Youwillneedafoundation,asupportertohelpyourise.TherecanbenonebetterforyouthanI.”It’snotmyfamilyIwouldbetray,itismypeople.Theschoolwasone

thing,buttogobeneaththedragon’swing…tolethimhugmeclose,tosit in luxurywhilemy own sweat anddie and starve and burn… it’senoughtoripmyheartout.Bothhisgoldenchildrenwatchus.SodoCassiusandhisfatherafter

theyembraceoneanother.TherearetearsforJulian.IwishIwerewithmy family instead of here. I wish I could feel Kieran’s hand on myshoulder, feel Leanna’s hand in mine as we watch Mother set dinnerbefore us. That is a family. Love. These people are all about glory,victory, and family pride, yet they know nothing of love. Nothing offamily. These are false families. They are just teams. Teams that playtheir gamesofpride.TheArchGovernorhasnot even saidhello tohischildren.Thisvilemancaresmoretospeakwithme.“Funny,”Isay.“Funny?”heasksdarkly.I make something up. “Funny how a single word can change

everythinginyourlife.”“It isnotfunnyatall.Steel ispower.Moneyispower.Butofall the

thingsinalltheworlds,wordsarepower.”I look at him for amoment.Words are a weapon stronger than he

knows. And songs are even greater. The words wake the mind. Themelodywakestheheart.Icomefromapeopleofsonganddance.Idon’tneedhimtotellmethepowerofwords.ButIsmilenonetheless.“Whatisyouranswer?Yesorno?Iwillnotaskagain.”I glance over at the dozens of Peerless Scarredwhowait to have a

wordwithme,nodoubttoofferpatronageorapprenticeships.OldLorn

auArcosisthere.IrecognizehimevenwithouthisDrafter’smask.TheRage Knight. Themanwho sentmemy Pegasus andDancer’s ring. Aman of perfect honor and leader of the thirdmost powerful house onMars.AmanIcouldlearnfrom.“Willyourisewithme?”IlookattheArchGovernor’sjugular.Hisheartbeatisstrong.IimaginetheFadingDirgewhenEodied.ButwhenIhanghim,hewillnotreceiveoursong.Hislifewillnotecho.Itwillsimplystop.“I think, my lord, that it would present some interestingopportunities.”Ilookupintohiseyes,hopinghemistakesthefurythereforexcitement.“Youknowthewords?”heasksme.Inod.“Thenyoumustsaythem.Here.Now.SoallmaywitnessthatIhaveclaimedthebestoftheschool.”Hispride reeks. Igritmy teethandconvincemyself this is the rightpath.Withhim,Iwillrise.IwillattendtheAcademy.Iwilllearntoleadfleets.Iwillwin.Iwillsharpenmyselfintoasword.Iwillgivemysoul.Iwilldivetohellinhopesofonedayrisingtofreedom.Iwillsacrifice.AndIwillgrowmylegendandspreaditamongstthepeoplesofalltheworlds until I am fit to lead the armies that will break the chains ofbondage,becauseIamnotsimplyanagentoftheSonsofAres.Iamnotsimply a tactic or a device in Ares’s schemes. I am the hope of mypeople.Ofallpeopleinbondage.SoIkneelbeforehim,asistheirway.Andasistheirway,hesetshishandsuponmyhead.Thewordscreepfrommymouthandtheirechoislikebrokenglassintomyears.“I will forsake my father. I will abandon my name. I will be yoursword.NeroauAugustus,Iwillmakemypurposeyourglory.”Thosewatchinggaspatthesuddenproclamation.Otherscurseattheimpropriety,atthegallofAugustus.Doeshehavenosenseofdecency?MymasterkissesthetopofmyheadandwhisperstheirwordsandIdomybest to cage the fury that hasmademe a thing sharper thanRed.HarderthanGold.“Darrow,LancerofHouseAugustus.Rise,therearedutiesforyoutofill.Rise,therearehonorsforyoutotake.Riseforglory,forpower,forconquestanddominionoverlessermen.Rise,myson.Rise.”

ToFather,whotaughtmetowalk

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

If writing is a work of the head and heart, then thank you to AaronPhillips,HannahBowman,andMikeBraff,whoburnishmyheadwiththeirwisdomandadvice.Thankyoutomyparents,mysister,friends,andthePhillipsClanwho

guardmyheartwiththeirloveandloyalty.And to the reader, thank you. I hope you bloodydamn love these

books.

PIERCE BROWN spent his childhood building forts and setting traps forcousins in the woods of six states and the deserts of two. Graduatingcollege in 2010, he fancied the idea of continuing his studies atHogwarts.Unfortunately,hedoesn’thaveamagicalboneinhisbody.Sowhile trying tomake it as awriter, heworked as amanager of socialmediaatastartuptechcompany,toiledasapeonontheDisneylotatABCStudios,didhistimeasanNBCpage,andgavesleepdeprivationanewmeaningduringhisstintasanaideonaU.S.Senatecampaign.NowhelivesinLosAngeles,wherehescribblestalesofspaceships,wizards,ghouls,andmostthingsoldorbizarre.

www.pierce-brown.com@pierce_brown

PierceBrownisavailableforselectreadingsandlectures.Toinquireaboutapossibleappearance,pleasecontacttheRandomHouseSpeakers

Bureauat212-572-2013orrhspeakers@randomhouse.com.

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T

RED

onight, I kill two thousand of humanity’s great. Yet I walk withthemnow,untouchedbytheirdecadenceandcondescension.Pliny’s

arrogance raises none of my blood. Victra’s immodest dress does notdisconcert me, not even when she slips her arm in mine after Tactusoffersherhis.Shewhispersinmyearhowsillysheisforforgettingherundergarments.Ilaughlikeit’samerryjoke,tryingtomaskthecoldnessthat’stakenoverme.Thisisstatic.Imindmyselfandsay littleas I followwithVictraat theendof the

long procession that snakes its way through labyrinthinemarble hallsfromourvilla totheCitadelGardenssomefivekilometersdistant.TheSovereign’stowerjutsfromthefloorofthegardenthere,agrand,two-kilometer high swordpiercing a groomed garden thickwith rose treesandstreams.Thetoweryawnsaboveus.Purple,red,andgreenmossclimbthebase

ofthegreatstructurewithvinesofathousandhues,wrappingtheglassandstonelikethefingersofgreedysocialitesaroundthewristofarichbaron.Sixgreatliftsbearfamiliesskywardtothetop.Beautiful Pink servants and Brown footmen service the lift. Gold

trianglesoftheSocietydecoratetheirwhitelivery.The lift is flat,marblewith gravthrusters. It sits in themiddle of a

clearing where green grass flutters in the wind. Several Coppers rushforward to talk with Pliny, who, as Politico, speaks on behalf of theArchGovernor.Augustus’ssharpfacesurveyshisaides,asifmakinganaccountingof

therazorswecarry.Somewearthemcoiledattheirsides.OtherswearthemaroundtheirforearmslikeIdo.TactusandVictraeachusethemas

sashes.Hiseyessettleonmine,theonlywhiteone.“Iwant three lancers attending theArchGovernor at all times,” Letosays,hisvoicealmostagrowl.Wenodsilently,thepacktightening.“Nodrinking.”ThegalaupontheroofoftheSovereign’stowerismodeledasawinterfairyland.Snowfallsfrominvisibleclouds.Itduststhespearlikepinesofmanmadeforestsandfrostsmyshorthairwithsnowflakesthattastelikecinnamonandorange.Breathbillowsinfrontofme.Beneaththespire,thecitadelsprawls,andbeyondthosegroundsthecitiesglistenwithamillionlights.Youwouldneverguessthatbeneaththatseaoftwinklingjewelsliesasecondcityoffilthandpoverty.Youwould never guess the terrorists hidden there could reach this height.Thereareworldsbetween.“Trynot to loseyourhead,”Victrawhispers tome, rakingaclawedhand throughmyhairbeforegoing to speakwith friendsofhers fromEarth.Iwalk toward our table.Great chandeliers hover overhead on smallgravthrusters. Light sparkles. Dresses move like liquid around perfecthuman forms. The Pinks serve delicacies and spirits on plates and ingobletsoficeandglass.Hundredsoflongtablesspreadconcentricallyaroundafrozenlakeatthe center of the winter land. The Pinks wear skates to serve here.Beneaththeice,shapesmove.NotsexualizedperversitiesasonewouldfindentertainingPixiesandlowColors.Butmysticalcreatureswithlongtailsandscales thatglitter like thestars.The tablesareneithernamednornumbered.Instead,wefindourplaceasweseeagreatlionseateduponthecenterofourtable,nearlymotionless.Eachfamily’stableissoclaimedby their sigil. There are griffins and eagles, ice fists andhugeironswords.ThelionpurrscontentedlyasTactusprancesuptostrokeitsmane.I gaze around the gala. Hundreds mill about already. Those fromVenus will be late, as is their way. We of Mars pride punctuality.Luneborns are enigmatic socially, and somaybe first or last.And thefamiliesoftheGasGiantswillcomewhenevertheydamnwelllike.Howlong should Iwait? It isdifficult toholdon to the rage thatmademeembracethisdecision.Theykilledmywife,Itellmyself.ButnomattertheangerIsummonbyremembering,IcannotburnawaythefearthatI

steertherebelliontowardacliff.ThiswillnotbeforEo’sdream.Itwillbeforthesatisfactionofthoseliving.Tosatetheirlustforvengeanceratherthanhonoringthosewhohavealreadysacrificedeverything.Anditwillbeirreversible.Butsoisthe course thathasbeen set. ThousandsofRedswait formy signal tobegintheuprising.Icannotabandonthemnow.Somanydoubts.AmIbeingacoward?Doesmymindplaytrickstosalvagemypride,usinglogictopullmeawayfromrisk?Ichasemyselfincircles.I’mthinkingtoomuch.Thatmakesabadsoldier.Andthat iswhatIam.AsoldierforAres.Hegavemethisbody.Ishouldtrusthimnow.SoI take the bomb shaped like my Pegasus pendant and slap it on theundersideofAugustus’stable,justnearthetable’send.Iwanderaway,willingmorehousestofillthegalasothatImayendthis soon. A host of praetors, quaestors, judiciars, governors, senators,family heads, house leaders, traders, two Olympian Knights, and athousandotherscometobidmymasteragoodevening.TheseoldermenandwomentalkofOutriderattacksonUranusandAriel,rumoredSonsofAres bases on Triton, and a new strain of plague on one of Earth’sdarkcontinents.Lightfare.Manyotherstakemymasteraside,asthoughahundredeyesdidnotwatchtheireverymove,andwithvoiceslikesyrup,tellhimofwhispersinthenight,ofshiftingwindsanddangeroustides.Themetaphorsmix.The point is the same. Augustus has fallen out of favor with theSovereignthesamewayIhavefallenoutoffavorwithhim.The ships flitting above in the night sky are as distant from theconversationasI.MyeyesfallupontheSovereignherself.Howstrangeathing,toseethewomanjusttherebeyondthedancefloor,attheraisedpodiumspeakingwithotherhouselordsandmenwhorulethelivesofbillions.Soclose,sohumanandfrail.Forherpart,OctaviaauLuneismorehandsomethanbeautiful, faceimpassive as a mountain’s. Her silence is her power. I see her speaklittle,butshelistens;always,shelistenstowordsasthemountainlistenstothewhisperingandscreamingofwindthroughitsgulches,arounditspeaks.Iseeamanstandingalonenearatree.He’snearasthickaroundasitstrunk.Ahanddwarfshissmallgoblet,andhewearsthemarkofasword

withwings,aPraetorwithafleet. Iapproachhim.Heseesmecomingandsmiles.“DarrowauAndromedus,”Karnusgrowls.I snapmy fingers at a passingPink.Taking twoof thewine goblets

fromhisicetray,IpassonetoKarnus.“Ithoughtthatbeforeyoucometokillme,wemightaswellshareadrink.”“There’sa sport.”Hedownshisowndrinkand takes theone Ioffer

him.Heeyesmeovertheglass.“You’renotapoisoner,areyou?”“I’mnotsosubtle.”“Equal company then. All these snakes about…,” he says, sly as a

crocodile. His dark Gold eyes trace themen andwomen. Thewine isgoneinamoment.“Ihatethismoon.”Hetakesadelicacyoffapassingtray.“Food’sgot

toomuchbutter.Notenoughsalt.ThoughIhearthesixthcoursewillbesomethingtodiefor.”Notinghis strange tone, I crossmyarmsandwatch theparty. It’s a

strangecomfortbeingaroundthishatefulman.Neitheroneofushastopretendtoliketheother.Nomaskshere,atleastnotasmuchasusual.“Ihatebutter,”Isay.“Makesmefeellikeapig.”Hechucklesdeeply.“Julianlikedbutter.Ateitbythestickasaboy.

Hewasavilechild,allwhimperingandsimpering.”I turn to examine the killer. “Cassius only said pretty things about

him.”“Cassius.” He snorts out something like a laugh. “Cassius once

woundedabirdwithaslingshot.Cametomecrying,becauseheknewhehadtokillittoputitoutofitsmisery,buthecouldn’t.Idroppedarockonitforhim.Justlikeyoudid.”Hesmirks.“Ishouldthankyouforsweepingawaythegeneticchaff.”“Julianwasyourbrother,man.”“Hepissedthebedasaboy.Pissedthebed.Hewasaboywhodidnot

deservehismother’sfavororhisfather’sname.”Hegrabsanotherglassofwine fromapassingPink.“Theytry tomake it tragedy,but it isn’t.It’snaturallaw.”“Julianwasmoreamanthanyouare,Karnus.”Karnuslaughsindelight.“Oh,doexplainthatone.”“Inaworldofkillers,ittakesmoretobekindthantobewicked.But

menlikeyouandI,we’re justpassingtimebeforedeathreachesdown

forus.”“Whichwillbesoonforyou.”Henodstomyrazor.“Pityyouweren’traised in our house.We learn the blade before we learn to read. Myfather had us make our blades, had us name them and sleep besidethem.Youmighthavestoodachancethen.”“Wonderwhatyouwouldhavebeenifhehadtaughtyousomethingelse.”“IamwhatIam,”Karnussays,takinganotherdrink.“Andtheysentmeafteryou,meofallthesonsanddaughters,becauseIamthebestatwhatIam.”Iwatchhimforamoment.“Why?”“Whywhat?”“You have everything, Karnus. Wealth. Power. Seven brothers andsisters.Howmanycousins?Nieces?Nephews?Afatherandmotherwholoveyou,yet…hereyouare,killingmyfriends.Settingthepurposeofyourlifetokillingme.Why?”“Because you wronged my family. No one wrongs the Bellona andlives.”“Soit’spride.”“It’salwayspride.”“Prideisahollowthing.”Heshrugs,voicedeepening.“Iwilldie.Youwilldie.Wewillalldie.Andtheuniversewillcarryonwithoutcare.Allthatmattersishowwelive.Howwego.Andhowwestandbeforewefall.”Heleansforward.“Soyousee,prideistheonlything.”Hiseyesleavemineandlookacrosstheroom.“Pride,andwomen.”IfollowhiseyesandIseeherthen.She wears black amid a sea of gold, white, and red. Like a darkspecter,sheglidesinoutoftheliftneartheedgeofthefakeforest.Sherollsherflashingeyes,twistshersmirkingmouthattheheadsthatturnherdirectiontostareatherfuneralgown.Black.Acolortoshowdisdainfor all the merry Golds about. Black like the color of the militaryuniform I now wear. I’m reminded of the warmth of her flesh, themischiefinhervoice,thesmellatthenapeofherneck,thekindnessofherheart.IstaresohardIalmostmissherescort.IwishIhadmissedhim.ItisCassius.

Heofthebloodydamngoldencurlsiswiththegirlwhonursedmetohealthinthewinter,whohelpedmerememberEo’sdream.Hishandonherwaist.Hislipswhisperingintoherear.AssurelyCassiusauBellonaputaswordinmystomach,henowsticksadaggerinmyheart.His hair thick and lustrous. His chin cleft. His hands steady. Form

powerful.Shouldersmade forwar.Facemade for thewomenofcourt.Andhewearsacrownbadge.TheSovereignhasappointedhimasoneoftheOlympic Knights. Despite the fact that I won at the Institute, he’srisen higher, tearing through the Dueling Circuit on Luna like anancestor possessed. I’ve watched him on the HC, watched him stalkaroundtheBleedingPlaceasanotherGoldliesneardeath.Hestalkslikea famishedbeast as if one life cannot sate thehunger that roils insidehim.Here,now,hedazzles,charms.Facesplitwithawhitesmile,heisthe

manfitforstoriesofromance,aLancelotgallopingfrommythtostealawomanwho could have been, but never was, my Guinevere. His is acharmed birth.He has all I have in his Golden body andmore.He isfaster on his feet than I. As tall. He is more handsome. Wealthier. Agoldenknight.Hehas abetter laughandpeople thinkhimkinder.Hedoesnothavemyburdens.Whydoeshedeservethisgirl,whomakesallbutEopaleincomparison?Doesshenotknowhowpettyheis?Issheblindtohishypocrisy?Tohowhecaresonlyforfameandprideandalltheirstupidvanities?Icannotgotoher,notevenwhenshedrawscloseenoughtohearher

laugh.Ifshesawme,IthinkIwouldshatter.Wouldtherebeguiltinhereyes?Awkwardness?AmIashadowoverherhappiness?Willsheevencare that I see her with him? Or will she think me pathetic forapproachingher?It aches, not that I suspect Mustang is being petty in seeking my

enemy,butbecauseIknowsheisnotpetty.IfsheiswithCassius,it isbecause she cares for him. It aches deeper than I thought it would. Iworkonbreathing.“Andsoyousee…”Karnus’shandfallsheavilyonmyshoulder,“…

youarenotwantedhere.”Tightnessspreadsthroughmychestasmyshoulderscarveapathout

ofthegala.Itakeasmallerliftdown,awayfromthesepeoplewhoknowonlyhowtohurt.Awayintothewoodswheretheviolinistsplaytoone

anothertillIfindabridgethatspansafastflowingstream.Ileanoverthepolishedrailing,gaspingforair,eachbreathastatement.IdonotneedMustang.Idonotneedanyofthesegreedycreatures.I’mdonewiththeirgamesofpower.Donewithtryingtogoitonmyown.Iwasnotgoodenoughtobeahusband.NotgoodenoughtobeaGold.NowI’mnotgoodenoughforMustang.I’vefailedtodowhatIsetouttodo.Failedtorise.ButIwon’tfailnow.Notnow.Itakethering.Handtrembling.Nervesstampedinginsideme.Iwant

toretch,there’ssomuchwronginsideofme.Itakethecoldringtomylips.Say thewordsand thecorruptperish.Say“break thechains”andVictra vanishes. Cassius evaporates. Augustus melts. Karnus dissolves.Mustangdies.AcrosstheSolarSystem,bombsrippleandRedrisestoanuncertainfuture.TrustinAres.Justtrustheknowswhatheisdoing.Breakthechains.Breakthechains.I try to say thewords, Eo’s last before shehanged.But theydonot

come.Forceitout.Dammit.Makemymouthwork.Butitwon’t.Itcan’t,because inside I know that this is wrong. It isn’t the violence. It isn’tcompassionforthepeopleIwouldkill.It’sanger.Theyrejectmeateveryturn.Iknowitwasnevermeanttobefair.It

is a corrupt Society and that iswhy itmust be destroyed. But I am ahuman.Istillwantthemtorespectme.Buttheydon’t.AndnothingIdowill make a damn bit of difference about it. I will always be a Red.Always be less than them in their eyes, even after I destroy them. It’sonlynow,onlyinthismomentthatIrealizehowdesperatelyIwantedtobelieveIcouldbeatthemattheirowngames.Iwantedtoprovethat Iwasasgoodasanyofthem.ThataRedcouldriseabovethesebastards.Killingthemprovesnothing.Itsolvesnothing.HowcouldthisbeAres’splan?Eosaid if Irose,otherswouldfollow.ButI’venotyetrisen. I’venot

yetdoneassheaskedofme.Idonothaveanexcusetogiveup.Tohandoverherdreamtoothers.AresneverknewEo.Heneversawthesparkin

her. Idid.Andmycharge is to spreadher love.Before Idrawmy lastbreath,Imustbuildtheworldshewantedtoraiseachildin.Thatwasher dream.Thatwaswhy she sacrificed everything.And Iwill not letothersdecidemy fate.Notnow.Not if itmakesmerejectEo,not if itmakemesacrificemytrustinmyself.Iwipethetearsfrommyface,angerreplacedbypurpose.There is anotherway. A betterway. I have seen the cracks in theirSociety,andIknowwhatImustdo. IknowwhattheGoldsmost fear.And it has nothing to do with Reds rising. It has nothing to do withbombsorplotsor revolution.What terrifies theGolds is simple, cruel,andasoldasmankinditself.Civilwar.

I

THEWILLOW

stalkbackintothegala.The Golds have taken their seats and formalities have begun in

earnest.IamnotsubtleasIduckbeneaththetableandscroungearoundon the ground to find the Pegasus pendant. I put it in my pocket.Straightenmy jacket. Ignore the questioning glances andmove boldlyawayfromAugustus’stabletowardtheobjectofmyinterest.Plinyhissesmyname.Ipasshimby.Iblowhimakiss.HeknowsnothingofwhatIhaveinstore.Plinyisamantomakerules.I’mmorethebreakingtype.Iweavethroughthetablesthatseatthenoblefamilies,gatheringeyes

asastonerollingdownthemountaingatherssnow.Ifeelthemaddingtomyvelocity.Mygait iscareless,myhandscoiledwithdanger, like themuscles of a pitviper. Thousands watch me. Whispers form a cloakbehindmeastheyrealizemytarget;hesitsathislongtablesurroundedbyhisfamilymembers—aperfectGoldenmanattentivelylisteningtohisSovereign speak. She preaches of unity. Order and tradition are ofparamount importance.Noonerisesyet tochallengeme.Perhapstheydon’tunderstand.Orperhapstheyfeeltheforceofmenowanddarenotrise.TheBellonasnoticethewhispersnow,andtheyturn,almostasone,a

familyoffiftyandmore,toseeme—amartialman.Allinblack.Young,untested in war. Unblooded beyond the halls of the Institute and theasteroids of the Academy. Some have reasoned me mad. Some havecalledmebrave.Tonight,I’mboth.Theweightisgone.AllthepressureIlet crushmeas Iworried about expectations, as I gentlefooted aroundmakingadecision.Keepmoving,Itellmyself.Don’tfreeze.Don’tstop.Neverstop.TheSovereign’svoicefaltersnow.

Toolatetogoback.Idivein.Smile.AndthegalagoesdeadsilentasIspringthirtyfeetinthelowgravityand land hard on the Bellona table. Dishes crack. Servers scatter.Bellonas fallback.Someshoutatme.Somedonotmoveevenas theirwinespills.TheSovereignwatches,struckbycuriosity.Plinylooksaboutto die. He’s gripping his knees in panic. Beside him, the Jackal is asstrangeandunreadableasalonelydesertcreature.Ididnotweardressshoestonight.Ineverdo.Mybootsarethickandheavy. They crack the porcelain as I trod along the Bellona table,shatteringdishesofpuddingandsquishingtendersteaksdespitethelowgravity.Mybloodpumpsthroughme.Intoxicating.Iliftmyvoice.“I’llhaveyourattention.”Icrushaplateofpeasunderfoot.”Youmayknowme,”Icalltothethousandsinassembly.There’snervouslaughter.Ofcoursetheyknowme.Theyknoweveryoneofworth,thoughmineismore of rumor than substance. I see the Ash Lord whispering to theSovereign. See Tactus laughing his ass off, choking for breath. Karnusleans forward with a cruel smile. Victra’s in heat. Even see Antonianudgingatall,sereneGold.IavoidlookingatMustang.PlinygibbersinAugustus’sear.Augustusraisesahandtoshuthimup.“DoIhaveyourattention?”Iask.Yes.Ido.“Boy,sitdown!”someoneshouts.“Makehim,”Tactusrepliesdrunkenly.“No?That’swhatIsurmised!”“For those of youwho do not know, I am a lancer of theHouse ofAugustus, foranotherhourorso.”They laugh.“IamtheonetheycalltheReaperofMars,whostruckdownaProctor,whostormedOlympus.MynameisDarrowauAndromedus,andIhavebeenwronged.“We Peerless come from Golden ancestors. From conquerors withspinesofiron.Honorablemen,honorablewomen.Butbeforeyoutoday,Iseeafamilythatisdishonorable.Afamilywithspinesmadeofchalk.Acorruptandfraudulentfamilyofliarsandcowardsthatconspirestostealmymaster’sGovernorship,illegally.”Icrushaservingplatewithmyboots.Whoknowsiftheyconspiretodo it or not? It sounds good. It seems like they conspire. And it’s themask Ineed them towear.Karnus repliesbeautifullybywhippingouthisrazorandsurgingtowardme.His father, theImperator,waveshim

back. Praetor Kellan looks about to grab my feet and jerk me downwhereCagneywouldnodoubtcutmythroat.Theyoungergirlsoftheirfamily think me a demon. A demon that killed their cousin, brother.They have no idea what I really am. But perhaps Lady Bellona does.Cadaverousinhergrief,shesitssurroundedbyherbroodlikeawitheredlioness. They look to her asmuch as to her husband. The last thing Inoteofheristhetremblingofherlongrighthand,asthoughitachesforaknifewithwhichtocutme.“Twice Ihavebeenwrongedby this family.Once in themudof theInstitute.AgainattheAcademybythatone…andthisone…andthatone.”Ipointoutallthosewhobeatmeinthegardens.IseeCassiusnownear theheadof the table, justbyhis fatherandmother.Mustangsitsbeside him.Her face, amask.Disappointed?Upset? Bored?When shequirksaneyebrowatme,Imeethereyes,walktowardherandsetmyfoot on the edgeof thewinedecanter that sits in front ofCassius.Alleyesfocusthere,likelightfallingintoablackhole.Pausingtime,space.Bendingall forward.Breathscatch. “All courtsofGolden lawpermitaman to defend his honor against any force that would desecrate itunjustly. From the old lands of Earth, to the icy bowels of Pluto, therightofchallengeexistsforanymanandanywoman.Myname,gentlelordsand ladies, isDarrowauAndromedus.Myhonorhasbeenpissedupon.AndIdemandsatisfaction.”ItipthewineoverontoCassius’slap.Heexplodesupatme.Goldsallover thegrandpartyburstup fromtheir seats in a great roar. Tactus rushes from our table, joined withLeto, Victra, all of the aides and bannermen of the vassals to myArchGovernor—the Corvos, the Julii, the Voloxes, the hugeTelemanuses, Pax’s family. Razors snap into hands. Curses splinter thewinter air. And the Ash Lord, bent and gnarled as a lightning-blastedtree, leans down from the Sovereign’s table and screams, “Stop thismadness!”It’sonlybegun.

Myhandsshakeliketheyusedtointhemine.Serpentssurroundme.Youcouldneverhearthem,thepitvipers.Couldrarelyseethem.Black

aspupils, theyslither in theshadowstill theystrike.But there’sa fearthat comeswhen they near. A fear separate from the rumbling of thedrill.Separate fromthethrobbingheat thatbuilds inyourballsasyoucarve through a million tons of rock and all the friction radiates up,makingabogofpissandsweatinsideyoursuit.It’sfearingthecomingofdeath.Likeshadowhaspassedacrossyoursoul.That fear fillsmenowas thesePeerless standaroundme, amassof

serpentinegold.Whispering.Hissing.Deadlyassin.Snowonthegroundcrunchesundermyheavyboots.Ibenddownas

theSovereignspeaks.Shetellsofhonorandtradition,howmartialduelsmarkthegreatnessofourrace.Soshemakesanexceptionfortheday.Wemayduelbeyondthegaminggrounds.Thisblood-feudmustbeputtoresthere,now,infrontoftheaugustofourrace.SoconfidentissheinhernewestOlympicKnight.Butwhywouldn’tshebe?He’skilledmebefore.“Unlike the cowards of Old, we settle flesh to flesh. Bone to bone.

Blood to blood.Nopolitico throwsmillions to slaughter for vendettas.Vendettas die in the Bleeding Place. Virtute et armis,“ the Sovereignrecites.Byvalorandarms.Nodoubt,shehasalreadyspokentoheradvisors.

TheywillsayIamoutmatched.ThatCassiusisthebetterswordsman.Itnever would have gone this far if she wasn’t assured a beneficialoutcome.“As itwaswithourancestors, it isnow, to thedeath,” shedeclares.

“Arethereanycontentions?”Ihopedforthis.NeitherCassiusnorIsayathing.“Thentoday,res,nonverba.“Actions,notwords.I speakwithmymaster before stepping into the center of the circle

that now forms as Browns cart away the tables from the snowyplain.PlinyhoversbesideAugustus.AsdoLeto,Tactus,Victra,andthegreatPraetors of Mars. So many famous faces, so many warriors andpoliticians. The Jackal stands farther away, shorter than the rest,impassive,speakingtonoone.“Is this spectacle forme? For vanity? For love?” Augustus asks as I

standbeforehim.Hiseyesdig intome, trying to findmeaning. I can’thelpbutglanceoveratMustang.Evennow,shedrawsmefrommytask.

“You’re so young,” he nearly whispers. “What they tell you in thestorybooksiswrong;lovedoesnotsurvivethingslikethis.Nottheloveof my daughter, at least.” He pauses, reflecting. “Her soul is like hermother’s.”“Idon’tdoitforlove,mylord.”“No?”“No.”IbowmyheadtohimandrememberMatteo’shighLingo.“Thedutyofthesonistothefather’sglory.Isitnot?”Ifalltoaknee.“Youarenotmyson.”“No. TheBellona killed him. Your firstborn son, Claudius,was all amancouldhope for—asonbetterandwiser thanhis father.So letmemake you a present of their favorite son’s head. Enough quibbling.Enoughoftheirpolitics.Bloodforblood.”“Mylord,Julianwasonething.ButCassius…”Plinytries.Augustusignoreshim.“Iweepforyourblessing,”Isay,pressingmymaster.“HowlongwillyoukeeptheSovereign’sfavor?Amonth?Ayear?Two?Soonshewillreplace youwith the Bellona. Look how she favors Cassius. Look howshestealsyourchild.LookhowtheothergoesthewayofaSilver.Yourheirsaredepleted.YourtimeasArchGovernorwillend.Anditshould.ForyouarenotamanfittobeArchGovernorofMars.Youareamanfittobekingofit.”Hiseyesflash.“Wehavenokings.”“Becausenonehavedaredcraft themselvesacrown,”Isay.“Let thisbethefirststep.SpitintheSovereign’seye.Makemetheswordofyourfamily.”Ipullaknifefrommybootandmakeaquickcutbeneathmyeye.Thebloodfallsliketeardrops.Thisisanoldblessing,fromtheironancestors,theConquerors.Anditwillchillthosewhoseeit—arelicofabygone,harderage. It isaMarsblessing.Oneof ironandblood.Of the ragingships thatburnedthe famedRoyalBritishArmadaaboveEarth’sNorthPole,anddashedthefastkillersfromthelandoftheRisingSunamidtheasteroidbelt.Mymaster’seyesignitelikedormantcoals,slowly,thenallatonce.Ihavehim.“I givemyblessing freely.Whatyoudo,do inmyhonor.”He leanstoward me. “Rise, goldenborn. Rise, ironmade.” Augustus touches his

finger to the blood and then presses the mark beneath his own eye.“Rise,ManofMars,andtakewithyoumywrath.”Irisetowhispers.Thisisnosimplesquabblenowbetweenboys.Itis

thebattleofhouses.Championagainstchampion.“Hic sunt leones,” he says, tilting his head—part challenge, part

benediction.Here be lions. His house’s motto.What a vain swine of aman.Heknowsmydesperationtostayinhisgoodgraces.Heknowshestands playing with matches on a powder keg. Yet his eyes glitterlustfully,hungeringforbloodandthepromiseofpowerasIhungerforair.“Hicsuntleones,”Iecho.