That hits me hard. I knew Pliny was dangerous. Perhaps I never really knew just how dangerous.

“So what’s your plan?” I glance around the room. “Going to take back your father’s favor with plebeians and pitchforks?”

“As any Gold with a decent education would know, there’s a certain crime syndicate that runs things in Lost City. A vast criminal enterprise that, if you trace it all the to the tip-top, is under the influence of the office of the Sovereign of our little Society. Octavia au Lune may seem the paragon of Gold virtue. But she’s got a fetish for the dirty stuff—assassinations, organizing workers’ strikes in her own ArchGovernors’ domains, rigging appointments. Her handling of Lost City is no different.

“She and her Furies handpicked the crime family leadership; these three individuals are her creatures. But here’s the juicy kink. I’ve found certain members of that same organization who are … restless.”

I frown. “They don’t like Lune?”

“She’s an onerous bitch. One who has spat in my father’s eye and cozied up to the Bellona. But no. My champions don’t think on that plane. They are lowColors, Darrow. They’re restless to be atop the shitpile.”

“Why Lost City?” I ask. “What does it matter?”

“It is merely a piece of the puzzle. I’m going to help these ambitious lowColors move up, for a price. When they are in power, they are going to kill off a menace that plagues the Society: Ares and his Sons.”

8

SCEPTER & SWORD

I go cold inside. “The Sons of Ares? I wasn’t aware they were so dire a threat.”

“They’re not yet, but they will be,” he says. “The Sovereign knows it. So does my father, even if it is not in vogue to say it aloud. The Society has faced terrorist cells before. Throw enough lurcher teams at them and they are dispatched easily enough. But the Sons are different.

“They are not a rat biting our heels, but a termite colony slowly gnawing our foundation as quietly as possible till they’ve done such work that our house crumbles around us. My father has given Pliny the task of eliminating the Sons. But Pliny has been failing. He will continue to fail because the Sons of Ares are clever, and because my media adores giving them attention. But when they become a thing so dreadful to the Society, to the Sovereign, to my father, that the very machine of governance grinds to a halt, I will step forward and say, ‘I will cure this disease in three weeks.’ And then I will, with my media, with the syndicates systematically killing all the Sons, and with you gloriously beheading Ares himself.”

“You want a figurehead.”

“I am not glamorous. I do not inspire. You are like one of the Old Conquerors. Charismatic and virtuous. When they look at you, they see none of the soft decadence of our meager time, none of the political poison that has saturated Luna since Lune’s family rose to power. They will look at you and see a cleansing knife, a new dawn for a Second Golden Age.”

Like father, like son. Both targeting the Sons of Ares in similar ways. It’s chilling thinking of the war that will rage between crime syndicate throat-cutters and Ares’s agents. It will destroy the Sons.

“The Sons of Ares are only the beginning. A leverage point. You want to rule.”

“What other ambition is there?”

“But not just Mars …”

“Just because I’m small doesn’t mean my dreams have to be. I want it all. And to get it, I’m willing to do anything. Even share.”

“Perhaps you are not aware of what happened two months ago,” I say. “Stop a Gold anywhere and ask. They’ll tell you what the Bellona family did to the Reaper of Mars. I have no reputation. The only thing I inspire is laughter.”

“Cassius was shamed,” the Jackal says in irritation. “He was pissed on. Beaten at the Institute. Embarrassed. Now he’s the deadliest dueler on Luna. He fought any that would contest his worth. And now he’s the Sovereign’s favorite new pet. Did you know the old crow is making him an Olympic Knight? Lorn au Arcos and Venetia au Rein both retired this year. That means the posts of Rage Knight and Morning Knight are open.”

“She’d make him one of the twelve?”

“He is a piece on her board.” The Jackal leans forward. “But I tire of playing pawn to my elders.”

“As do I. Makes me feel like a Pink,” I say.

“Then let us rise together. I the scepter, you the sword.”

“You won’t share. It’s not in your nature.”

“I do what I need to do. No more. No less. And I need a warlord. I’ll be Odysseus. You be Achilles.”

“Achilles dies in the end.”

“Then learn from his mistakes.”

“It’s a good idea.” I pause at his spreading smile. “With one problem. You are a sociopath, Adrius. You don’t only do what you need to do. You wear whatever face you need, whatever emotion you desire like a glove. How could I ever trust you? You killed Pax.” I let the words hang in the air. “You killed my friend, your sister’s protector.”

“Pax and I had never met before. All I saw was an obstacle in my path. Of course I knew of the Telemanuses, but after Claudius got his brains splattered everywhere, Father split Mustang and me up to protect us. Put me in even greater isolation than her. I was his heir. I had no friends, only tutors. He ruined my youth. And then he discarded me as he discarded you, because we lost. You and I mirror each other.”

A fight breaks out in the level above us. A scorcher cracks. Bouncers rush upward, cradling their own weapons. Most of the patrons sit undisturbed.

“What of your sister?” I ask hesitantly, knowing deep down that I have no other options left but this one.

“Do you want to know how she fares?” he asks plainly. “Who shares her bed? I can give you whatever answers you want. My eyes are everywhere.”

“I don’t want that.” I shake my head, trying to banish the dark idea of someone sharing her bed. Of her finding joy in someone else, even if she deserves to. Even stranger is thinking the Jackal knows these things. “Is she involved in this?”

“No,” the Jackal says with a heavy laugh. “You know she’s with Lune now. It’s hilarious, really. Who would have thought that of the two of us, she’d be the prodigal twin? Well, more prodigal.”

“She cannot be hurt,” I say. “If she is, I will cut off your head.”

“That’s aggressive. But you have a deal. So you are with me.”

“I’ve been with you since I got into the shuttle. You know I have no other options. And I know no other person would ever summon me here. The variables could only lead to this end.” And why should they not?

I took his hand, he took a friend. All he has done is bite and claw for his own survival. Watching him now, so small and plain in a world of gods, it’s almost as if he’s the hero nobly struggling against a father who rejected him, against a Society that laughs at his size, his weakness, and scorns him as a cannibal even though it was they who told him to do whatever he had to do to win. In an odd way he is like me. He could have had his hand repaired, but he chose not to, wearing it as a badge of honor instead of shame.

So I’ll go along with this. Then, in the end, maybe I’ll kill him. For Pax.

His face splits into a grand smile. “I’m so pleased, Darrow. So pleased. And, to be honest, a bit relieved.”

“But what is next?” I ask. “You must need something from me now.”

“A Gold by the name of Fencor au Drusilla has learned of my … dealings with the syndicates. He is trying to blackmail me. I need you to kill him.”

Of course. “When?”

“Not for a week or so. The real purpose of killing him will be to gain favor with one of the Sovereign’s cousins who was slighted by Fencor. With Fencor’s death, you’ll fall into the cousin’s … favor.”