Golden Son by Pierce Brown Page A

him.Hewasagoodman.Butgoodmendie.Tofreethem,toprotectthem,wemustbesavages.So
    givemeevil.Givemedarkness.Makemethebloodydamndevilifwecanbringeventhefaintestray oflight.”
    I stand and wrap my arms around her as I’m reminded of the true horrors our kind face. Had I reallyforgotten?Iamachildofhell,andI’vespenttoolongintheirheaven.
    “WhateverAreswants,I’lldoit.”
    “Plinysentthebitch,”theJackalhissesastheYellowphysiciansslowlyremovetheburnedskinfrom his arm and reapply new growth cultures. “It wasn’t Sons of Ares. They wouldn’t kill that many lowColors.It’sagainstprofile.Plinyprobably.OrtheSovereign’sPraetoriansusingcover.”
    Thelightsofpassingshipsglowthroughtheglass.Hecursesandshoutsathisservantstoblackout thewindows.GraysbroughtmeheretohisprivateskyscraperinsteadoftheCitadel,asIrequested.
    Theplacecrawlswithmercenaries.HeprefersGraystoObsidians,exceptapparentlythatStained.I’m the only other Gold, which shows the extent of the Jackal’s trust. His name would certainly bring enoughhangers-ontofillacity,buthe’scomfortableinhisisolation.Likeme.
    “CouldithavebeenVictra?”Iask.“Shedidn’tstay.…”
    “She’salreadyprovenherloyalty.Shewouldn’tuseabomb.Andshe’sinlovewithyou.Itwasn’t her.”
    “Inlovewithme?”Iask,startled.
    “You’reblindasaBlue.”Hesnortsbutsaysnomoreaboutit.“Ouralliancemustremainasecret untilwe’reoffthisdamnmoon,whichmeansyouwerenotinthattavern.IfPlinyknewtheextentof ourplans,hewouldhavebeenmorethorough.Ibelievehewasonlytargetingme.Soyouwillreturn to the Citadel. Pretend as if nothing has happened. I will continue my plan with the syndicate lords, thenpurchaseyourcontractattheendoftheSummit.”
    Atwhichpoint,theirworldwillchange.
    Iturntoleavehim,buthisvoicearrestsmeatthedoor.“Yousavedmylife.Onlyoneotherperson haseverdonethat.Thankyou,Darrow.”
    “Tellyournewskintogrowfaster.Youwon’twanttomisstheclosinggala.”
    Thenextthreedayspassinahaze,mymindonEoandwhatwelost.Icannotfindescapefromthe grief. It plagues me even as I work myself to death in the estate’s gymnasium. I do not indulge in smalltalk.Ipullbackfrommyfriends.Noneofthismatters.Nottome.Lifefadesinthepresenceof pain.Theodoranotices,andtriesherbesttorelievemydourness,evensuggestingIdistractmyself withRosesfromtheCitadel’sGarden.
    “Betteryou, dominus ,thansomeroughmanfromtheGasGiants,”shesays.
    NewsofthebombingssweepsthroughtheCitadel,dominatingthenews.TheSocietyplaysitwell
    —broadcasting their aid relief. Sending out instructions on how to handle a potential crisis. Yellow psychologists analyze Ares on-screen, conclude that a latent sexual trauma in his youth makes him lash out to seize control of his world again. Violet actors and entertainers raise money for those families who have lost loved ones. Quicksilver himself volunteers three percent of his personal fortune to relief efforts. Obsidian and Gray commandos attack asteroid bases where Sons of Ares
    “train.” Gray antiterrorist agents hold press conferences saying they have apprehended those responsible,likelysomeRedstheypulledoutofamineorLuna’sslums.
    It’safarceandtheGoldsplayitsowell.Theyhidefromthecamerasandmakethisseemafightof alltheColorsagainstRedterrorists.ThisisnotGold’sfight.ItbelongstoallofSociety.Moreover, Societyiswinningbecauseoursacrificeandobedienceallowtherighteoustoprosper.Bloodydamn horseshit.
    Yetstill,blamemustbeplaced.SotheArchGovernorispulledawaytofaceinquiriesregardinghis handling of the situation. How have the Sons spread from Mars to Luna? they will ask. The Gold hornets’nesthasbeenstirred,asIsaiditwouldbe,butstillthegalacontinues.IwatchtheGoldsplay theirgamesofintrigue,diplomacy,spiritingofftogalasandconferencesandsummits,untouchedby thedirtygameswithterrorists.Theyareprotected,shieldedfromhorror.
    Itwouldbotherme,buttheyareshadowstomenow.Asthoughthey’vealreadyfallenintosome
    distantmemory.
    Itouchthebombonmychestinregret.ItisofMickey’smake.AcopyofthepegasusIworeatthe