Golden Son

Sevro spits in my face, right under the eye. “Guess wrong again and I leave you like this.” He snaps his fingers. “I will not come back. I will not help you. I will not bleed for you. I will not sacrifice my friends for a man who doesn’t give enough of a shit about me to put his neck out just once. Trust goes both ways, Darrow. This time you have to take a leap.”

He’s not bluffing. And I know what I want to say. But how can it be? Sevro is a Gold. A bloodydamn Gold. He heard me say “bloodydamn” to Apollo. He covered it up. Didn’t he? Or was that a mistake? Is he trapping me? No. No, if that’s true, then the game is already over. Eo’s dream has failed. Who is closer to me than he? Who loves me more than this strange, nasty outcast? No one.

So I look him in his dull gold eyes. “Ares sent you.”

Silence between us.

A terrible five seconds. Six. Seven. He stands and locks the door before pulling a small black crystal from the pocket of his crumpled pants. “For your breath only.”

“A whisperGem …”

I take it tenderly, knowing how much it costs, and blow against its surface. My breath makes it wobble, then shatter. Small motes of black rise, drifting up like fireflies out of the grass as dusk settles in deep summer. They coalesce. Floating and forming a rough holo that hovers between Sevro and me. The spiked helmet of Ares.

“My son,” he warbles. “I am sorry. Harmony has betrayed me and initiated a campaign against our principles. I discovered her intended use of you too late. But you were wise. This is why I chose you. Steps are being taken to curb her efforts. Continue with your own. Set Augustus against Bellona and fracture the Pax Solaris.”

I try to ask it a question, but it is a recording. Made sometime after the gala.

“I realize this must be difficult. I have asked too much of you already. But you must carry on. Sow chaos. Weaken them. You have much reason to doubt me. We have not contacted you until now, because you were watched by Pliny, by the Jackal, and by the Sovereign’s spies. Troublemakers breed interest. But I have watched you too, andI am proud. I know Eo would be as well. In case you doubt the veracity of this message, a friend would like to say hello.”

Ares’s helmet fades and Dancer smiles at me. “Darrow, I want you to know, we’re with you. Your family is alive and well. The end is coming, my friend. Soon you’ll be with us. Till then, trust the man Ares sent; I recruited him myself. Break the chains.”

The image erodes, blackish light decaying into the air. And I’m left staring at the shower floor.

“You look good for all that surgery,” Sevro says. His smile is no less nasty than usual. “Ares sent that cripple to me. The one who sent you to the Institute. Dancer.”

He can’t say any more because I’m hugging him and crying. I sob and hold on to him, shaking, scaring him. He doesn’t move except to pat me on the head. All the weight falls from my shoulders. Someone knows. He knows and he’s here. He knows and he came to help me. To help me. I can’t stop shaking and saying thank you. Eo was right. I was right. “You are my friend,” I tremble out like a child. It almost makes him cry seeing me this way.

A true friend.

“Of course,” he says haltingly. “But only if you stop blubbering, man. We’re still Golds.”

I pull back from him, embarrassed, wiping my face on my sleeve. I think I mumble an apology. My vision’s bleary. I sniff. He hands me a towel, which I blow my running nose into. He makes a face.

“What?”

“That was for your eyes.”

We laugh together and then sit in an awkward silence. In time, I ask him how long he’s known. He suspected something since the Institute, he says, where he heard me say “bloodydamn” to Apollo. My voice went all thick, all rusty. Then Dancer showed him the video of my carving.

“Somehow they knew you could trust me, even if you didn’t, shithead. Always been that way. Always will be that way.”

“It doesn’t … bother you?” I ask him. “What I am?”