“Yes. Yes! Now, that is the Reaper I remember! Tharsus will not be able to resist. Avarice is his nature. He will have a broker beyond Venus, likely Bastion station. I suppose that destination may prove inconvenient.” I nod. “Then I will need a facial construct to alter my features and a com station with access to the main antenna array to contact the broker. But landing on Venus does not kill the Ash Lord. He lives in a fortress.”
I point at the dark spot on the map. “Republic Intelligence’s working theory is that he hangs his crown in the darkzone. Can you confirm?”
“There was talk of a cloaking device to absorb radio and lightwaves,” Apollonius says. “I see our engineers have made progress. That is the location of Gorgon Isle, his fortress. It is four hundred kilometers from my island. But you will need an army to breach his defenses.” He looks again at the narrow lines of the room. “And something tells me you have no army.”
“But you still do,” I say. “The Ash Lord couldn’t have taken all of your men. And I wonder. What do you think will happen when we land on your island and your legionnaires see that Apollonius au Valii-Rath, the Mad Minotaur himself, has come home? He does not return as a prisoner of the Rising, but with a platoon of loyal commandos.”
I take his Minotaur helm from a bag and slam it on a table.
“I am not mad,” he growls.
“The indomitable Minotaur,” Sevro tries.
“Better.” He strokes his helm. “You would put me at the head of a legion?”
“No,” Sevro says, dangling the bait Apollonius cannot resist. “Think bigger, Rath.”
“A coup…” Apollonius says suspiciously.
“Tharsus will give us the information we need, then your legion and my men will launch a joint attack on the Ash Lord’s fortress. When he dies, Carthii and the Saud will scramble to take his throne for themselves.” His lips curl at the mention of his Carthii enemies. “But to the Conqueror go the spoils. Your Praetors will return to fight for you. Your men will defect en masse when they hear you are alive. And in these cells beside you are ten blood family members of Houses Saud and Carthii, five from each. You will use them as bargaining chips in the ensuing struggle. We will leave Venus, but you will stay and once you have consolidated control and crowned yourself Tyrant in the Ash Lord’s stead, you will contact the Sovereign of the Republic and issue a conditional surrender.”
“And what do you believe the terms of this surrender would be?”
“You agree to end the war, to give us your rivals, including Atalantia au Grimmus, to be tried in Republic courts for war crimes. You give orders for the legions on Mercury to surrender. You rule Venus for the rest of your life—as you see fit.”
“And what would stop the Republic from killing me when it’s all over?”
“Me—and you can hold your own people hostage with the Saud atomic arsenal.”
“Well, this is magnificent for you. Isn’t it? A coup with minimal Republic loss. Enemy gutted from the inside, and the only cost is that I betray my species.”
“Species?” I ask. “You’re one of a kind, Apollonius,” I purr.
“The Gold betrayed you, Apollonius. The Carthii helped the Ash Lord put you to rot. And because of that, you’re a footnote. A man in another man’s army. I’m offering you a chance at revenge against those who sent you to your death. And a chance to dwarf the Ash Lord in the memory of humanity. We both know you don’t care about Gold. So let me help make you the last legend of a crumbling age. The Minotaur of Mars.”
“And Venus,” he says with a smile, picking up his war helm.
—
Sevro and I linger in the conference room after Apollonius is escorted back to his cell. “Do you think he knows that they’ll never unite behind him?” Sevro asks.
“No. He’s insane. The Golds all know it. Saud and Carthii might have bent a knee to the Ash Lord, but they’ll never surrender their homeland to a Martian brute. But if we set him loose, he’ll tear Venus apart from the inside. We will descend on a fractured Venus. The Ash Lord wanted to give us a civil war. Fine, I’ll give the bastard one right back.” I take a sip of the wine he left behind. “And if, somehow, Apollonius is able to unite them, we release the video of this little conference and his own men might just kill him for working with me.”
Sevro grimaces. “Pops would be proud of this one.”
At the mention of his father, I touch Pax’s key under my shirt.
“What’s that?” Sevro asks.
I take it out. “Pax gave it to me.”
“What’s it for?”
“A gravBike he made. When I said goodbye, he told me I wouldn’t be coming back.” I look over at him. I know I should have put words to my regrets sooner. “I’m sorry I made you leave your girls. About Wulfgar.”
“You didn’t make me do a damn thing.” He pats my leg. “Let’s just make sure all this is worth the price we’re paying.”
“It is,” I tell myself. “It has to be.”
“YE GODS, IT’S AMAZING. Better than a Rose spa,” Alban, the second valet to Kavax, says as a slender human-shaped robot massages his back with fifteen translucent fingers sprouting from four hands. The robot’s face and body are opaque white plastic. Beneath, a blue light pulses like it’s got a mechanical heart beating beneath its assembly-line shell. Is this what replaced my da in the mines?
The personal traveling staffs of Houses Telemanus and Augustus lounge in a sitting room in Regulus ag Sun’s tower. Electronics and consumer goods litter the room—basket gifts for all the staff, even me. He’s the only man I’ve ever heard of who gives gifts to everyone else on his birthday.
So what does Quicksilver want for this basket? I turn the attached card over in my hands. Lyria of Lagalos, it reads in flowery gold cursive, For your unsung service to the Republic. August wishes, Regulus ag Sun. Bribe or not, I cherish the card and rub my finger over the embossed winged heel.
“As if you’ve ever gotten a massage from a Rose,” one of Niobe’s valets says.
“I did one time, you know. Didn’t even have to pay.”
“Liar. You’ve silver dripping out of your ears.”
“Don’t I know. Oh gods, yes, robot, that is the spot.”
“Harder, sir?” the robot asks in a hollow human voice.
“Always! Ow! Ow! Not that hard, are you trying kill me?”
“Impossible, sir. The First Law of Robotics states—”
“I know what it states, you toaster.”
I sip my ginger tea, wishing Philippe were here to lend his wry opinion. My own is not needed among the servants. I’m still an outsider to this little club of valets. Most, except Alban, are in their forties or fifties and have served since they were younger than I am. Their parents served and their parents before them, just like Garla and the docker Reds.