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She blushes. “I am not.”

“LYING,” the machine bleats from the corner.

Darrow smirks. “Get.”

The Red child scampers to the door, turns in a very military-like fashion and salutes, not Darrow but me. “Alexandar sends his gratitude. Be nice to him, Uncle. He looks about to piss himself.” She shuts the door and the killer of Octavia, Aja, and my godfather turns his eyes on me. He wields them like sledgehammers. Yet there is some relatable quality there in those carved organics. Some weariness that lacks pretension and would make you think he’s an everyman instead of a warlord who has started a crusade that has claimed two hundred fifty million lives and counting.

“Long day,” he says.

“It would seem.”

I look down to signify submission. Then up to signal bravery. Then down, as Cato realizes he can’t match a legend’s gaze. Darrow is used to this, and I make sure my hands play their proper role, knowing very well how the Jackal lost his hand. That was always my favorite scene from the recordings. But unlike the Jackal, I won’t taunt him or try to appear anything other than what he wants me to be, and I dare not risk sticking my head in a meatgrinder by attempting to extract information from Darrow.

“May I just say it is an honor to meet you,” I say.

“Is it?”

“I’ve watched all your holos. My favorite is still when you took the Vanguard.”

“The Pax,” he corrects.

“Of course. Not necessarily a fan of all your work, but you have style.”

He grimaces. “Those holos are illegal on Mercury.”

“So are Storm Gods, my goodman! Sorry. Too soon?”

“Millions died in that hypercane, and you jest.”

“To be fair, you did it. But what is the north coast to me? Tyche, the Children, it’s all for new-money arrogants.”

He looks about to say something, but bites it back. “You don’t strike me as our usual recruit.”

“Recruit? No. Gods, me, a soldier? Don’t be ridiculous, my goodman. I’m not nearly Martian enough for all that terror.”

“No?” He already wants to be rid of me, a thousand things on his mind. Good. I’ll fit into his gestalt. “You brought something dear back to me, Cato. In a way…you gave my army hope again. Alexandar saved eighty-three thousand four hundred and twenty-six souls in Tyche.”

“Did he? He never mentioned it.”

“No?” Darrow smiles at that, almost as a father would. “Throw in the sadist knight and it’s the best bloodydamn present I’ve been given since my wife gave me this beauty.” He sets his hand on the famous white blade. It is inert and coiled around his arm like a snake. “So you can understand if I’m a little suspicious how a self-confessed libertine from…was it Erebos, brought me all these presents when ten million professional soldiers and my Howlers could not.”

“Maybe you should ask them that question,” I say.

He laughs. “You’re funny, but not very likable, are you? I can see why you’re Glirastes’s type.”

“May I ask what you plan to do for me?”

“For you?”

“Yes, I a

ssume I’m entitled to some sort of reward. I mean, you did say I did what ten million men could not.” I give my most self-satisfied smile.

“You want a reward? Have you looked outside, man?”

“No. I don’t have windows in my cell.”

I think he wants to punch my head off my neck. “Gods, I hate you people,” he says. His patience is thinner than usual. “If it were up to me, I would lock you away, humanely, until this is all over. I am short on time and the last thing I need is another spice in the pot. But as it is, you happen to be friends with a very…temperamental Master Maker whose services I require. And he has argued for your release due to your actions. Let’s set that straight. I have no intention of releasing you. The streets of Heliopolis are no place for…”