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Apollonius is stunned. “How…”

“You know the answer. You’ve wondered if it was possible. Tharsus sold your life for your title of paterfamilias of House Valii-Rath. For your monies. Your men. Your ships.”

“I see.” The charm of the man vanishes. “If I agree to help you…what trust can there be between devils?”

“This isn’t about trust. It’s about leverage. That bandage on the back of your head is from a particular procedure involving a cranial drill. There’s a quarter ounce of high-grade explosive embedded in your gray matter as well as a neural chip to stimulate your ocular nerve.” I activate the detonation timer on my datapad. Numerals appear on my datapad, but also in Apollonius’s vision, via Winkle’s biomod. A ten, then a nine, then an eight…“You have seven seconds to give me an answer. Yes or no.”

Six. Sevro grins.

Four. Apollonius stares blankly.

Two. I back away from the glass.

“Very well.” Apollonius smiles, though his anger has not abated. “I accept your proposal. But I have demands.”

—

Thirty minutes later, we watch Apollonius devour a two-kilogram steak in the Nessus’s officers’ dining room with the patience and manners of a well-bred crocodile. Each bite-sized piece is dipped into the jus and chewed laboriously before being washed down with a thick Bordeaux from our stores. When he has finished, he leaves several ounces of the steak unattended, as well as a thumb of the red wine, and has only a spoonful of the iced lemon dessert that he requested made for him by Tongueless. He leans back in his chair and blesses my lieutenants with an expansive smile as Alexandar takes his plate away. Apollonius levels his gaze at Alexandar.

“You’re a pureblood-looking boy. What is your name?”

“Alexandar.”

Apollonius eyes him with interest and then gestures to Sevro and Colloway. “Does it not rankle you to serve such genetic inferiors, Alexandar?”

“I’ve now seen sharks fly and lions bark.” Alexandar laughs. “A lecture over genes from a Valii-Rath.” He leans forward, Apollonius’s plate still in his hands. “It would have been a severe pleasure to see my grandfather educate you on the merit of your genes.”

“And whom do you call kin, Alexandar?” Apollonius asks.

“Lorn au Arcos.”

“Well now! A griffin in the flesh.” Apollonius is impressed. “Blood of the Conquerors still in your veins makes you an endangered species. You must have been there when my baby brother was gutted by your grandfather on Europa. You would have been in the seed of youth. Eight, nine? Tell me, did the violence excite you?”

“It educated me on how to kill Valii-Rath. In that, it proved most satisfactory.”

“One could say we have a blood feud between us, young man.”

“Please,” Alexandar says with another laugh. “I wouldn’t give your lowly house the dignity of my attention.” The insult finds its mark. Sevro shoos him out of the room with a fraternal slap on the backside.

“Apollonius,” I say quietly. “If you insist on provoking my men, we will have a problem.”

“Provocation is the nature of predators like us, Darrow.” He looks around. “But of course, where are my manners? Apologies for offending you.” He waves his hand to the walls. “This is not your moonBreaker. Nor a dreadnought or a destroyer. The officers’ mess is much too small. A torchShip perhaps? Smaller?”

He’s a sharp one. “It’s a frigate. Xiphos-class.”

“So they’re finally deployed. What a curious ship for a warlord, and custom tables…What a curious exodus from Deepgrave. If one didn’t know better, a sagacious intellect might suspect that something is foul in the state of the Republic.”

“This is a black ops mission,” I say. The less he knows, the better. “The Morning Star is a little less than discreet.”

“Indeed,” he says. “Now, I think it is time you tell me about my brother and what has befallen my house in my absence.”

Sevro smiles. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

“Your house is a shadow,” I say. “Your brother may have bought his life. But it was at a steep price. He is a political puppet. Your destroyers and torchShips have been given to your enemies, the Carthii of Venus. Your coffers have been drained into the Ash Lord’s own pockets. Many of your legions have been disbanded, the men conscripted to serve the Ash Lord. Your house is small yet again. Everything you built on the profit of war is gone….”

“Except my name.” A great darkness has built in his eyes.

“Give it a year,” Sevro says. “Men forget.”