Morning Star: Book III of the Red Rising Trilogy (24 page)

“What if we shut off theirs?” Rollo asks.

I frown. “Can you do that?”

“Give me a reason to.” He looks at Victra, and by the bite in his voice, I know he knows exactly what her last name is. “They might be soldiers,
domina.
Might be able to put enough metal in my body that I bleed out. But before I was nine, I could strip down a gravBoot and piece it together in under four minutes. Now I’m thirty-eight and I can murder the lot of ’em ten ways till Sunday with a screwdriver and an electrical kit. And I’m sick and tired of not seeing my family. Of being stepped on and charged for oxygen, for water, for living.” He leans forward, eyes glassy. “And there’s twenty-five million of me on the other side of that door.”

Victra rolls her eyes at the bravado. “You’re a welder with delusions of grandeur.”

Rollo steps forward and knocks a set of wrenches off a table. They clatter on the ground, startling Clown and Holiday, who look up from the datapad. Rollo stares up indignantly at Victra. She’s easily a foot taller than him, but he doesn’t break his gaze. “I’m an engineer. Not a welder.”

“Enough!” Sevro snarls. “This isn’t a bloodydamn debate. Quicksilver will get us off this rock. Or I’ll start taking off his fingers. Then blow the bombs….”

“Sevro…”
Ragnar says.

“I am Ares!” Sevro snarls. “Not you.” He shoves a finger up into Ragnar ’s chest and then points at

me. “And not you. Finish packing the bloodydamn gear. Now.”

He storms from the room, leaving us in awkward silence.

“I will not abandon these men,”
Ragnar says.
“They have helped us. They are our people.”

“Ares is cracked,” Rollo says to the room. “Off his mind. You need—”

I wheel on the small man, picking him up with one hand and pinning him against the ceiling. “Don’t you say a damn thing about him.” Rollo apologizes, and I set him back on the ground. I make sure all the Howlers are listening. “Everyone stay put. I’ll be right back.”

—

I catch Sevro before he enters Quicksilver ’s cell in a gutted old garage that the Sons use to house generators now. Sevro and the guards turn when they hear me coming. “Don’t trust me alone with him?” he sneers. “Nice.”

“We need to talk.”

“Sure. After he does.” Sevro pushes open the door. Cursing, I follow. The room’s a forlorn shade

of rust. Machines older than some of the gear in Lykos. One rattles behind the thick Silver, coughing out the electricity that powers the lights bathing the man in a circle of light, and blinding him to anything beyond it. Quicksilver sits with his shoulders back in the metal chair in the center of the room. Arms bound behind his back. His turquoise robe is bloody and rumpled. Bulldog eyes patient

and measuring. Wide forehead’s covered in a thick sheen of sweat and grease.

“Who are you?” he hisses in irritation instead of fear. The door slams shut behind us. The man seems rather irritated with his predicament. Not disrespectful or angry, but professionally peeved at the meek measure of our hospitality and the inconvenience we’ve thrust upon him. He’s not able to distinguish our faces due to the light blaring into his eyes. “Syndicate teethmen? Moon Lord dustmakers?” When we say nothing, he swallows. “Adrius, is that you?”

Chills creep down my spine. We say nothing. Only now, as he begins to suspect that we’re the Jackal’s men does Quicksilver seem truly afraid. If we had time, we could use that fear, but we need information fast.

“We need off this rock,” Sevro says gruffly. “You’re gonna make that happen, boyo. Or I pull off

your fingers one by one.”

“Boyo?” Quicksilver murmurs.

“I know you have an escape vessel, contingency—”

“Barca, is that you?” Sevro’s caught off guard “It is you. Damn the stars, boy. You scared the shit out of me. I thought you were the gorydamn Jackal.”

“You have ten seconds to give me something I can use, or I wear your rib cage as a corset,” Sevro

says, thrown by Quicksilver ’s familiarity. It’s not his best threat.

Quicksilver shakes his head. “You need to listen to me, Mr. Barca, and listen well. This is all a misunderstanding. A vast misunderstanding. I know you may not believe it. I know you may think me

mad. But you must hear me. I am on your side. I am one of you, Mr. Barca.”

Sevro frowns. “One of us? What do you mean?”

“What do I mean?” Quicksilver laughs gruffly. “I mean exactly as I say, young man. I, Regulus ag

Sun, chevalier of the Order of Coin, chief executive officer of Sun Industries, am also a founding member of the Sons of Ares.”

“A Son of Ares?” Sevro repeats, stepping into the light so Quicksilver can see his face. I stay back. It’s a ludicrous claim.

“That’s better. I thought I recognized your voice. More like your father ’s than you probably like.

But yes, I’m a Son. The first Son, actually.”

“Well, then slag me blind as a Pinkwhore,” Sevro cries. “This
is
all just a misunderstanding!” He jumps forward and crouches beside Quicksilver to straighten the man’s robe. “We’ll get you cleaned up. Let you call your men. Sound good?”

“Yes, good, because you’ve managed to muck up something rather…”

Sevro hits the Silver right in his fleshly lips with a jab of his fist. It’s an intimate, familiar bit of violence that makes me flinch. Quicksilver ’s head slams back against the chair. The man tries to move away, but Sevro pins him down easily. “Your tricks won’t work here, fat little toad man.”

“It’s not a trick—”

Sevro hits him again. Quicksilver sputters, blood dribbling down his cracked lip. Tries to blink the pain away. Probably seeing spots. Sevro hits him a third time, casually, and I think it was for me, not the tycoon, because Sevro looks back into the darkness where I stand with impudent eyes. As if dangling moral bait in front of me so we can explode into conflict again. His moral creed has always been simple: protect your friends, to hell with everyone else.

Sevro pushes a knife into Quicksilver ’s mouth. “I know you think you’re being clever, boyo,”

Sevro growls. “Saying you’re a Son. Thinkin’ you’re so smooth. Thinkin’ you can talk your way clear of us dumb brutes. But I’ve played this game with smarter kinds than you. And I’ve learned hard.

Keen?” He pulls the knife sideways against Quicksilver ’s cheek, causing the man to move his head with the blade. Still, it splits the corner of his mouth just slightly.

“So whatever your garble, you ain’t coming out on top of this, shitbrain. You’re a rat. A collaborator. And it’s time to reap what you’ve sown. So you’re going to tell us how to get out of here. If you’ve got a ship hidden. If you can get us past the navy. Then you’re going to tell us about the Jackal’s plans, his equipment, his infrastructure; then you’re going to give us the gear to equip our army.” Quicksilver ’s eyes dart from the knife to Sevro’s face.

“Use your brains, you little savage,” Quicksilver snarls when Sevro takes the knife from his mouth.

“Where do you think Fitchner got the money—”

“Don’t say his name.” Sevro points a finger to the man’s face. “Don’t you dare say his name.”

“I knew your father….”

“Then why’d he never mention you? Why does Dancer not know you? Because you’re lying.”

“Why
would
they know about me?” Quicksilver asks. “You never tie two boats together in a storm.”

The words are a punch to the gut. Fitchner said the exact phrase when explaining why he didn’t tell me about Titus. The Sons lost much of their technical ability when he died. What if there were two bodies to the Sons of Ares body? The lowColors, and the high? Kept apart in case one was compromised? It’s what I would do. He promised me better allies if I went to Luna. Allies that would help make me Sovereign. This could be one of them. One who fled when Fitchner died. Who cut himself off from the contaminated body of the Sons.

“Why was Matteo in your bedroom?” I ask carefully.

Quicksilver stares into the darkness, wondering whose voice addresses him, yet now there’s fear in his eyes, not just anger. “How…how did you know he was in my bedroom?”

“Answer the question,” Sevro says, kicking him.

“Did you hurt him?” Quicksilver asks, enraged.
“Did you hurt him?”

“Answer the question,” Sevro repeats, slapping him.

Quicksilver trembles with anger. “He was in my room because he’s my husband. You son of a bitch.

He’s one of us! If you hurt him…”

“How long has he been your husband?” I ask.

“Ten years.”

“Where was he six years ago? When he worked with Dancer?”

“He was in Yorkton. He was the man who trained your friend, Sevro. He trained Darrow. The Carver made the body. Matteo sculpted the man.”

“He’s telling the truth.” I step into the light so Quicksilver can see my face. He stares at me in shock.

“Darrow. You’re alive. I…thought…it can’t be.”

I turn to Sevro. “He’s a Son of Ares.”

“Because he got a few facts right?” Sevro snarls. “You’re actually serious.”

“You’re alive,”
Quicksilver murmurs to himself, trying to wrap his head around what is happening.

“How? He killed you.”

“He’s telling the truth,” I repeat.

“Truth?” Sevro moves his mouth like he’s got a cockroach in it. “What does that even bloody mean? How could you possibly know that? You think you can get the truth outta some backroom-dealing shark like this. He’s in bed with half the Peerless Scarred in the Society. He ain’t just their tool. He’s their friend. And he’s playing you like the Jackal did. If he’s a Son, why’d he abandon us?

Why’d he not contact us when Pops died?”

“Because your ship was sinking,” Quicksilver says, still staring at me in confusion. “Your cells were compromised. I had no way of knowing how deep the contamination went. I still don’t know how the Jackal discovered you, Darrow. My only contact to the lowColor cells was Fitchner. Just like I was his contact for highColor cells. How could I reach out when I didn’t know if it was Dancer himself who informed on you and made a power play to get rid of Fitchner?”

“Dancer would never do that,” Sevro says with a sneer.

“How would I know that?” Quicksilver says in frustration. “I don’t know the man.” Sevro’s shaking

his head, overwhelmed by the absurdity. “I have videos. Conversations between myself and your father.”

“I’m not letting you near a datapad,” Sevro says.

“Test him,” I say. “Make him prove it.”

“I met your mother once, Sevro,” Quicksilver offers quickly. “Her name was Bryn. She was a Red.

If I wasn’t a Son, how would I know that?”

“You could know that a dozen ways. Proves piss ’n shit,” Sevro says.

“I have a test,” I say. “If you are a Son, you’ll know it. If you belong to the Jackal, you would have used it. Where is Tinos?”

Quicksilver smiles broadly. “Five hundred kilometers south of the Thermic Sea. Three kilometers

beneath the old mining nexus Vengo Station. In an abandoned mining colony, the records of which were wiped from the internal servers of the Society by
my
hackers. The stalactites were carved hollow using Acharon-19 laser drills from my factories in spiral halls to maintain structural integrity. The Atalian hydrogenerator was built with plans designed by my engineers. Tinos might be the City of Ares, but I designed it. I paid for it. I built it.”

Sevro sways there in stunned silence.

“Your father worked for me, Sevro,” Quicksilver says. “First for the terraforming consortium on

Triton, where he met your mother. Then in…less legitimate ways. Back then I was not what I am today. I needed a Gold. A hard-nosed Peerless Scarred, and all the legal protection that gives. One who owed me and was willing to play rough with my competitors. Off the books, you know.”

“You’re saying my father played mercenary. For you?”

“I’m saying he played assassin. I was growing. There was resistance in the marketplace to that growth. So the marketplace had to make room. You think all Silvers play it safe and legal?” He chuckles. “Some, maybe. But business in a crony-capitalist society is the craft of sharks. Stop swimming, the others will take your food and feed on your body. I gave your father money. He hired a team. Worked off-site. Did what I needed him to do. Until I discovered he was using my resources for a side project.
The Sons of Ares.
”

He makes a mockery of the words.

“But you didn’t report him?” I ask skeptically.

“Golds treat sedition like cancer. I’d have been cut out too. So I was trapped. But he didn’t want me trapped. He wanted a co-conspirator. Gradually he made his case. And here we are.”