“Not for sale,” Cassius replies.
The man flashes an arrogant smile. “Everything’s for sale, my goodman. Ten million credits for a
rib.”
“No.”
“One hundred million. Come now, Bellona…”
“My title, Legate Valii-Rath, is Morning Knight. You may address me as sir or not at all. Ares’s body is property of the state. It’s not mine to sell. But if you ask me about it again, I will have more than words with you, sir.”
“Will you have a rut?” Tactus’s elder brother asks. “Is that what you mean?” I’ve never met the
annoyingly aristocratic creature before, and I’m glad for it. Tactus seems the better of the bunch.
“You gorydamn savage,” Mustang says through bloody teeth.
“Savage?” Tactus’s brother asks. “Such a pretty mouth. That’s not how you should use it.” Cassius
takes a step toward the man. The other Boneriders reach for their blades.
“Tharsus. Shut up.” Lilath tilts her head, listening to a com in her ear as he returns to her side, lifting his nose. “Yes, my liege,” she says into her com. “Barca is dead. I checked.”
Antonia steps forward. “Is that Adrius? Let me speak with him.”
She holds up a hand to the taller woman. “Antonia wants to speak with you.” She pauses. “He says it can wait. Tharsus, Novas, uncuff the Reaper and spread his arms.”
“What about Virginia?” Tharsus asks.
“Touch her, you die,” Cassius says. “That’s all you need to know.” There’s fear behind Cassius’s eyes, even if he doesn’t show it. He never would have brought her here if he could have helped it.
Unlike the Sovereign’s men, the Jackal is liable to do anything at anytime. Aja’s guarantee of safety suddenly feels very frail. Why would the Sovereign send us here?
“No one will touch your prizes,” Lilath says, voice that eerie one note. “Except the Reaper.”
“I’m to deliver him…”
“We know. But my master requires compensation for past grievances. The Sovereign granted him
permission while you were landing. Precautionary measures.” She flashes her datapad. Cassius reads the order and goes a little pale, looking back at me. “Now may we proceed, or do you do care to fuss further?”
Cassius has no choice. He depresses the remote. The metal cuffs locking my hands to my chest open. Tharsus and Novas are there to grab my arms and haul them to the sides, wrapping their whip
form razors around each wrist, pulling taut till my shoulders grind in their sockets.
“You’re going to let them do this?” Mustang snarls at Cassius. “What happened to your honor? It is as false as the rest of you?” He’s about to say something, but she spits at his feet.
Antonia smiles repugnantly, captivated by the sight of me in pain. Lilath takes my razor from Cassius and walks away toward the ripWings that escorted us into the hangar. There, she holds my slingBlade up into one of the smoldering engines.
“Tell me, Reaper, did you piddle my baby brother. Is that why he was so besotted?” Tharsus asks as we wait. His perfumed locks fall over his eyes. He alone has not shaved his head. “Well, you’re not the first to plow that field, if you catch my flow.”
I stare straight ahead.
“Is he right or left handed?” Lilath calls over.
“Right,” Cassius replies.
“Pollox, tourniquet,” Lilath instructs.
I realize what they intend and my blood runs cold. It feels like it’s happening to someone else. Even when the rubber tightens around my right forearm and the needle-pricks of sensation tingle through the tips of my fingers.
Then I hear my enemy.
The clicking of his black boots.
The delicate shift in everyone’s mannerisms.
The fear.
The Boneriders part to watch their master enter out of the mouth of the main hall to the hangar bay, flanked by a dozen more towering Gold bodyguards with shaved heads. Each tall as Victra. Gold
skulls laugh on their collars, on the handles of their razors. Bones rattle on their shoulders, finger joints taken from their enemies. Taken from Lorn, from Fitchner, from my Howlers. These are the killers of my time. Their arrogance drips from them. As they look at me, it isn’t hate I see in their violent eyes, but a fundamental absence of empathy.
I told the Jackal I didn’t hate him. That was a lie. It’s all I feel watching him walk across the deck, the pistol he killed my uncle with hanging on a magnetic strip holster on his thigh. His armor gold.
Roaring with Gold lions. Human ribs implanted along the sides of the torso, each carved with details I cannot make out. Hair combed and parted on the side. His silver stylus in his hand, twirling, twirling.
Antonia takes a step toward him, but stops herself when she sees he’s walking to Sevro and not to her.
“Good. The bones are intact.” After he’s examined Sevro’s bloody body, he stands over his sister.
“Hello, Virginia. Nothing to say?”