"Good. That means I'm doing it properly. I've acquired more than twenty percent. With my silent partner, I own nearly thirty. You're wondering why? Certainly families like Victra's do not consider themselves dirtied by business. After all, the Julii have partaken in trade for centuries. But media is different for us. Slimy. Leave that to Quicksilver and his ilk. So why would someone with my lineage dirty his hands with it? Well, I want you to imagine media as a pipeline to a city in the desert." He waves around. "Our metaphorical desert. I can provide only thirty percent of the content of what comes through that pipeline, but I can affect one hundred percent of it. My water contaminates the rest. That is the nature of media. Do I want this city in the desert to hallucinate? Do I want its inhabitants to writhe in pain? Do I want them to rise up?" He sets his chopsticks down. "It all starts with what I want."

"And what do you want?" I ask.

"Your head," he says.

Our eyes meet like two iron rods colliding, sending stinging reverberations through the body. A palpable discomfort even being near him, much less meeting those dead gold orbs. He's so young. My age, but there's a childishness to him, a curiosity despite the ancient cast of his eyes, that makes him feel like a perversity. It's not that I feel cruelty and evil radiating from him. It's the feeling that crept over me when Mustang told me how, as a boy, he killed a baby lion because he wanted to see its insides to understand how it worked.

"You have a weird sense of humor."

"I know. But I'm so glad you get my jokes. So many p.r.i.c.kly Peerless these days. Duels! Honor! Blood! All because they're bored. There's no one left to fight. So goryd.a.m.n tedious."

"I believe you were making a point."

"Ah, yes." The Jackal runs his hand through his slicked-back hair, like I've seen his father do. "I brought you here because Pliny is an enemy of mine. He's made my life very difficult. Even penetrated my harem. Do you know how many spies of his I've had to kill? I went through so many servants. I'm not trying to make you feel sorry for me," he says quickly.

"I was on the verge of it."

"Understanding my plight, however, is how you will help me best. As of now, Pliny controls my father's favor. Like a snake hissing in his ear. Leto is his design, did you know that?" I didn't. "He found the darling boy, knew he would win my father's cold heart because he would remind Father of my dead brother, Claudius. So Pliny cultivated him, trained him, and convinced my father to adopt him as a ward with aims of making him the heir. Then you come waltzing into our lives and disrupt Pliny's plan. It took two years to dispatch you, but patiently, he did. Just as he did me. Now Leto will be my father's heir, and Pliny will be Leto's master."

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-a.s.sa.s.sinations, 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 b.i.t.c.h. 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 s.h.i.tpile."

"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."

"Ca.s.sius was shamed," the Jackal says in irritation. "He was p.i.s.sed on. Beaten at the Inst.i.tute. Embarra.s.sed. 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 p.a.w.n 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 Telema.n.u.ses, 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 G.o.ds, it's almost as if he's the hero n.o.bly 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."

I choke down a laugh. "You'll have me play the role of a Pixie gallant, flitting about court, bedding ladies?" Mustang will think I'm doing it to spite her.

The Jackal's eyes sparkle with mischief. "Who said anything about ladies?"

"Oh," I say, realizing what he means. "Oh, that's ... complicated. Tactus might be better for this...."

The Jackal chuckles at my surprise. "Oh, you'll do just fine. But all this is worry for another day. For now, relax. I'll purchase your contract through a second party as soon as it goes up for auction."

"The Bellona will try to buy it."

"I have a backer. We'll outspend them."

"Victra?"

"No. She's more of a broker in this. What you have to understand about Victra is she's not ... how do you say ... partisan. She just loves stirring the pot. The backer you'll meet soon enough."

"That won't work," I say. "I want to meet him now. I'm not your puppet. I share everything I know, you share everything you know."

"But I know so much more. Fine." He leans forward. "You'll meet him tonight. It's not that I don't trust you. I just think it appropriate that he introduces himself."

"Fine enough. I want to bring the Howlers back. And Sevro."

"Done. You'll also need to select a blademaster, someone to tutor you with the razor. We'll need you to kill a few people publicly in the future."

"I know how to use a razor," I say.

"Not what I've heard. Come now, there's no shame in it. I have a few names. It's a pity Arcos isn't tutoring. These days I might actually have the funds to afford Stoneside and his Willow Way...."

His words trail off and his eyes drift from me, pulled to the slinking form of a woman who cuts through the smoke and drab of the tavern like an ember falling through fog. I can smell the almond on her skin, the citrus of her lips as she nears our table, graceful and stirring as the air of Venus's Summer Coast. Bones fragile, avian. She wears a black shift that covers her skin except her bare shoulders.

Then I catch her eyes and I almost fall out of my chair. It's a shot to the heart. My pulse patters. It's her. The girl with wings who could never fly. But now ... she's fled from Mickey, it seems. Wings gone, ripened into womanhood. But why is Evey here? Did the Sons send her? I can barely keep my composure. She hasn't recognized me.

"I didn't know Roses to grow so deep among the weeds," the Jackal says to her.

Her laughter drifts like the beating of a b.u.t.terfly's wings. She traces the bottom edge of the worn table and shrugs minutely.

"Common men can't afford uncommon things. But my mistress heard uncommon men were in Lost City and sent me as an ... amba.s.sador."

"Ah ..." The Jackal leans back, appraising her. "You're a syndicate girl. One of Vebonna's?" Off her nod, the Jackal looks at me and mistakes my expression of surprise for one of desire. "Take her upstairs, Darrow. On me. A welcoming gift. Let me know if you want to buy her. We can discuss business tomorrow."

At the word "Darrow," Evey's composure buckles for a blink. She steps back and I hear her breath pattern change. And when her eyes meet mine, I know she sees through the Obsidian disguise and glimpses the Red underneath all these lies. However, the surprise there means she's not here for me. She's here for the Jackal, but why? Is she with the Sons? Or did Mickey finally sell his prize to this Vebonna gangster?

"I don't do slaves," Evey says to the Jackal, pointing to my Obsidian sigils.

"You'll find there's more to this one than meets the eye."

"Dominus, I-"

He grabs her hand, twisting her pinky horribly. "Shut up and do as you're told, girl. Or we'll take what you won't give." He flashes a great smile and releases her. She holds her hand, trembling. It doesn't take much to wound a Pink.

I stand. "I believe I'll take it from here, my friend."

"I'm sure you will!"

I wave the bodyguards away who try to accompany me.

I follow Evey up the handrungs leading to the fourth floor, earning hoots from some of the patrons. My eyes catch one of the holoCans above the bar. Images of a bombing ripple in three dimensions. It looks to be at a cafe. A Gold cafe. My eyes widen as the extent of the devastation is shown. Was it the Sons?

Another bombing flashes across a different screen. And another. And another till dozens of bombings flood the screens throughout the tavern. All heads turn to watch, silence yawning through the vast tavern. Evey's hand tightens around mine, and I know it was the Sons who committed the bombings. They sent her. But why Luna? Why the Jackal? Why haven't they contacted me?

"Hurry," she says as we reach the fifteenth floor, pulling me through the pink lights, past the dancers and hungry patrons to the last door at the end of a narrow corridor. I follow her inside the dark room and immediately smell the acrid tang of scorcher oil. Air shifts behind me as a man in a ghostCloak creeps forward. It takes considerable effort to resist the impulse to kill him.

"He's one of ours," Evey snaps. She turns on the light. Six Reds in heavy military tech decloak. They wear demonHelms with high-grade optics. "Call in the skimmer."

"He's not Adrius au Augustus," one of them growls.

"He's a b.l.o.o.d.y Obsidian."

"Strange-looking one." One of the Reds with the optics jumps back, scorcher priming. "Bone density is Gold!"

"Stop!" Evey shouts. "He's a friend. Harmony has been looking for him."

Not Ares or Dancer?