“Imperator Fabii,” I reply evenly. But behind my distant welcome is an aching heart. There’s not a hint of sorrow on his face, however. I want there to be. And knowing that, I know I still feel for the man. He is a soldier of his people. I’m a soldier of mine. He is not the evil of his story. He’s the hero who unmasked the Reaper. Who smashed the Augustus-Telemanus fleet at the Battle of Deimos the night after my capture. He does not do these things for himself. He lives for something as noble as I. His people. His only sin is in loving them too much, as is his way.
Mustang watches me worriedly, knowing all I must feel. She asked me about him on the journey from Mars. I told her that he was nothing to me, but we both know that isn’t true. She’s with me now. Anchoring me among these predators. Without her I could face my enemies, but I would not hold on to so much of my self. I would be darker. More wrathful. I count my blessings that I have people like her to which I can tether my spirit. Otherwise I fear it would run away from me.
“I can’t say it’s a pleasure to see you again, Roque,” she says, taking the attention away from me. “Though I am surprised the Sovereign didn’t send a politico to treat with us.”
“She did,” Roque says. “And you returned Moira as a corpse. The Sovereign was deeply wounded by that. But she has faith in my arms and judgment. Just as I have faith in the hospitality of Romulus. Thank you for the meal, by the bye,” he says to our host. “Our commissary is woefully militaristic, as you can imagine.”
“The benefit of owning a breadbasket,” Romulus says. “Siege is never a hungry affair.” He gestures for us to take our seats. Mustang and I take the two facing Roque as Romulus sits at the head of the table. Two other chairs to the right and left of him are filled with the ArchGovernor of Titan and an old, crooked woman I don’t know. She wears the wings of Imperator.
Roque watches me. “It does please me, Darrow, knowing you’re finally participating in the war you began.”
“Darrow isn’t responsible for this war,” Mustang says. “Your Sovereign is.”
“For instilling order?” Roque asks. “For obeying the Compact?”
“Oh, that’s fresh. I know her a bit better than you, poet. The crone is a nasty, covetous creature. Do you think it was Aja’s idea to kill Quinn?” She waits for an answer. None comes. “It was Octavia’s. She told her to do it through the com in her ear.”
“Quinn died because of Darrow,” Roque says. “No one else.”
“The Jackal bragged to me that he killed Quinn,” I say. “Did you know that?” Roque is unimpressed with my claim. “If he’d let her be, she would have lived. He killed her in the back of the ship while the rest of us fought for our lives.”
“Liar.”
I shake my head. “Sorry. But that guilt you feel in your skinny little gut. That’s gonna stick around. Because it’s the truth.”
“You made me a mass murderer against my own people,” Roque says. “My debt to my Sovereign and the Society for my part in the Bellona-Augustus War is not yet paid. Millions lost their lives in the Siege of Mars. Millions who need not have died if I had seen through the ruse and done my duty to my people.” His voice quavers. I know the lost look in his eyes. I’ve seen it in my own in the mirror as I wake from a nightmare and stare at myself in the pale bathroom light of that same stateroom on Luna. All those millions cry to him in the darkness, asking him why?
He continues. “What I cannot understand, Virginia, is why you abandoned the talks on Phobos. Talks which would have healed the wounds that divide Gold and permit us to focus on our true enemy.” He looks at me heavily. “This man wanted your father to die. He desires nothing but the destruction of our people. Pax died for his lie. Your father died because of his schemes. He’s using your heart against you.”
“Spare me.” Mustang snorts contemptuously.
“I’m trying to…”
“Don’t talk down to me, poet. You’re the weeping sort here. Not me. This isn’t about love. This is about what is right. That has nothing to do with emotion. It has to do with justice, which rests upon facts.” The Moon Lords shift uncomfortably at the notion of justice. She jerks her head in their direction. “They know I believe in Rim independence. And they know I’m a Reformer. And they know I’m intelligent enough not to conflate the two or to confuse my emotions with my beliefs. Unlike you. So since your rhetorical plays here are going to fall on deaf ears, shall we spare ourselves the indignity of verbal jousting and make our propositions so we can end this war one way or another?”
Roque glowers at her.
Romulus smiles slightly. “Do you have anything to add, Darrow?”
“I believe Mustang covered it quite thoroughly.”
“Very well,” Romulus replies. “Then I shall say my peace and let you say yours. You are both my enemies. One has plagued me with worker’s strikes. Anti-government propaganda. Insurrection. The other with war and siege. Yet here on the fringe of the darkness away from both your sources of power, you need me, and my ships, and my legions. You see the irony. My lone question is this. Who can give me more in return?” He looks first to Roque. “Imperator, please begin.”
“Honorable lords, my Sovereign mourns this conflict between our people, as do I. It spawned from the seeds sown in previous disputes, but it can end now as Rim and Core remember that there is a greater, more pernicious evil than political squabbling and debate over taxes and representation. And that is the evil of demokracy. That noble lie that all men are created equal. You’ve seen it tear Mars apart. Adrius au Augustus has nobly fought the battle there on behalf of the Society.”
“Nobly?” Romulus asks.
“Effectively. But still the contagion has spread. Now is our best chance to destroy it before it can claim a victory from which we may never be able to recover. Despite our differences, our ancestors all fell upon Earth in the Conquering. In remembrance of that, the Sovereign is willing to cease all hostilities. She requests the aid of your legions and armada in destroying the Red menace that seeks to destroy both Rim and Core.
“In return, after the war she will remove the Societal garrison from Jupiter, but not Saturn or Uranus.” The ArchGovernor of Titan snorts contemptuously. “She will enter into talks in good faith regarding the reduction of taxes and Rim export tariffs. She will grant you the same licenses for Belt mining which Core companies currently hold. And she will accept your proposal for equal representation in the Senate.”
“And the reformation of the Sovereign election process?” Romulus asks. “She was never meant to be an empress. She’s an elected official.”
“She will revise the election process after the new Senators have been appointed. Additionally, the Olympic Knights will be appointed by the vote of the ArchGovernors, not by order of the Sovereign, as you requested.”
Mustang tilts her head back and laughs one hard note. “I’m sorry. Call me skeptical. But what you’re saying, Roque, is that the Sovereign will say yes to everything Romulus might want until she’s back in a position to say no.” She blows air out of her nose comically. “Trust me, my friends, my family well knows the sting of the Sovereign’s promises.”
“And what of Antonia au Julii?” Romulus asks, noting Mustang’s skepticism. “Will you deliver her to our justice for the murder of my daughter and father?”
“I will.”
Romulus is pleased by the terms, and moved by Roque’s comments about the Red menace. It doesn’t help that his promises seem very plausible. Practical. Not promising too much or too little. All I can do to combat them is to embrace the fact that I offer them a fantasy, and a dangerous one at that. Romulus looks to me, waiting.
“Color notwithstanding, you and I have a common bond. The Sovereign is a politician, I am a man of the sword. I deal in angles and metal. Like you. That is my life blood. My entire purpose for being. Look how I rose in your ranks without being one of you. Look how I took Mars. The most successful Iron Rain in centuries.” I lean forward. “Lords, I will give you the independence you deserve. Not half measured. Not transient. Permanent independence from Luna. No taxes. No twenty years of service to the Core for your Grays and Obsidians. No orders from the Babylon that the Core has become.”