Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga, #4)

by Pierce Brown

The water heaves in. Out. The heartbeat of her silence.

In her pocket the girl carries a folded piece of paper that she found in the gutter. On it is a little curved sword. She’s seen it before on the cube. Her teachers at the government school say it brings chaos. War. It has set the spheres on fire. But now she secretly draws the blade in the fog her breath has made on the window, and she feels brave. Then the bombs begin to fall.

Through war and space and this damnable parade, I have traveled to find her again, my life, my love, my home.

“’Lo, wife,” I say with a smile. “’Lo, husband. Welcome home.”

He’s larger than I remember, older, and it feels so impossible that he could have come from me. That he could have thoughts of his own. That he’ll love, smile, die like the rest of us.

“You will always be my friend. I won’t put a dagger in your back. But I will stand up to you. I will do what is right.”

Victra goes to sip her juice and jumps in surprise. Baldur still stands at her side, smiling a bit too earnestly. “Oh, you’re still here. Begone, creature.” She kisses her fingers and then presses them to Baldur’s cheek, pushing him away. He goes, drifting on air back to my envious son.

Kieran and his wife, Dio, hold hands on a bench by the fire. When I was younger, I remember thinking how much she looked like Eo. But now, as time passes, the shadow of my wife’s face fades and I see only the woman who is the center of my brother’s being.

Sharing a life threads more than flesh and blood together. It weaves her memories in and around and through mine.

My wife is not as fickle as a flame. She is an ocean. I knew from the first that I cannot own her, cannot tame her, but I am the only storm that moves her depths and stirs her tides. And that is more than enough.

Impossible, it seems, that we were ever so distant. That there was ever a time where she existed and I was not with her. Everything that she is, every scent, taste, touch, makes me know I am home.

“Thraxa’s good at making it feel like a moral obligation to keep pace.” “Ten credits says we have to scrape Sevro off the patio tomorrow.” “Poor Goblin. All spirit, no body mass.”

“I put him and Victra in the west wing so we can actually get some sleep. Last time, I woke up in the middle of the night thinking a coyote was caught in the air recycler.

And as my wife is quiet and the fantasy drifts away, our familiar friend, dread, creeps onto the balcony with us, because deep inside, in the shadowy chasms of ourselves, we know Lorn was right. For those who dine with war and empire, the bill always comes at the end.

No child dreams of being a Helldiver anymore, because in this new world there are no Helldivers left.

My brother is amongst them, loitering in the back self-consciously. I suddenly feel guilt for snorting when he said “man of the house.” He’s just a boy. My boy, my little brother trying to be big.

Cassius brought us here in search of redemption, but no matter how many traders we save from pirates, or foundered ships we rescue, his eyes remain dark, and I still dream of the demons from my past.

Forgive me, but I find books a passion more illuminating than carnivals of flesh.” He looks at me in amusement. “One day a woman is going to make a pretty meal of you.” “Spoken like a man who barely escaped the lion’s jaws,” I reply.

“Do not let fear touch you. Fear is the torrent. The raging river. To fight it is to break and drown. But to stand astride it is to see it, feel it, and use its course for your own whims.”

The Obsidian death warble echoes down the hall. Fear has come.

“You look like a bloody saint plowed an angel and out you popped. I look like a deranged fucking mutant that eats babies.”

Even here, amidst the thunderous applause of the right, I hear Lorn’s words echo in the dark place of my mind. Death begets death begets death.

The man says all I know is war. And he is right. In my heart, I know my enemy. I know his mettle. I know his cruelty. And I know this war will not end with politicians smiling at each other from across a table. It will only end as it began: with blood. “No, Sevro. Summon the Howlers.”

“Change isn’t made by mobs that envy, but by men who dare.

And soon the room wails with the cacophony of two dozen maniacs pretending we do not feel the hollowness of the howl absent so many of our friends. As Sevro rages atop the table, I watch Victra motionless in her seat, her hand on her newest child, watching in horror as her husband pretends he’s young again. The doubt creeps in, and I feel so very old.

Pain is a memory. You will live and you will struggle and you will find joy. And you will remember your family from this breath to your dying days, because love does not fade. Love is the stars, and its light carries on long after death.”

“Child, we’re not staying on Mars. We’re bound for Luna.” “Lovely. Then you can get me off this rock.” “But…this is your home.” “Home? It’s a grave.”

The game is afoot. And finally, I begin to smile.

“He’ll want them interrogated. They could be spies.” “What a gift you have, to know my father’s mind so many leagues away.”

“I need to see my girls before we go.” I feel a pang of sympathy. “That’s not a good idea.” “Neither is yours. They cancel each other out.”

“I can’t manipulate him,” I say. “I won’t. Even if I do, we both know he’ll be right behind me in another, slower ship.” “Then I’ll put his leg in a bear trap.” “He’ll just chew it off.”

“She says you built it yourself.” He nods. “That’s incredible. Will you tell me how?” “Why?” “I want to know. It’s not something I can do.” He grins suddenly and bursts to life with explanations of RPMs and thrust and stabilizers and adapting mismatched components. I sit back on my heels watching him, falling in love with my son all over again.

This war isn’t your burden to bear alone. It is shared by all of us.” She looks over at me. “But maybe you think you’re meant to die. Maybe you think you’re supposed to follow her.” I feel sudden pain for my wife. “This isn’t about Eo.” “No, it’s about you praying for storms, believing that when they come they’ll bring you peace.”

“You’re going to have to move, Wulfgar.” “I will not.” “You don’t want me to move you.” I take a step forward. The knights ripple back. Their cloaks roll up into compartments in the back of their armor. “Darrow, stop,” Wulfgar says with a laugh. “We’re in SI-7 pulseArmor. You’ve got a leather jacket.” “So?”

“A new wound can take a body. Opening an old one can claim a soul.”

It looks like a storybook painting of the Vale. But this garden has some deep shadows and the men and women who walk here are empire breakers.

I had to confess that I could not read more than half the words. He stared at me as if I had thirteen heads. “That will not do,” he roared. “Not at all! Stories are the wealth of humanity! My wife would not forgive me if I denied you the key to that wealth.”

In the mines, you wear your age proudly. You got white hair? Bloodydamn fine for you. Must be quick on your feet. Proud thing, that.

“The valets say you’re mad as a sack of cats,” I say very quietly. “And your head is jealous of your ears because they stole all its hair.” “What what?” “I asked if you want me to pour your tea?” I ask sweetly.

I’d ask him who the woman was if I didn’t recognize the pain on his face. Maybe that’s why I’m so fond of the old bat. He’s the only one in the Telemanus estate who wears his pain in his eyes. Rest are all playing games.

Guess dancing with the devil means you get hell’s resources.

“Now come on.” “It will be trouble.” In response, I flash the black rose in my interior coat pocket and grin. “Pale lady, today we’re the trouble.”

Seraphina does not look like the girl I rescued. The grime and blood are gone, the girl replaced by a woman who walks with a storm in her veins.

She is not beautiful by the standards of Luna’s courts. There’s something too feral about her.

Diomedes lifts his rigid razor to his lips. He closes his eyes and kisses the metal. Then his eyes open, and the spirit behind them bears no kindness. When Diomedes moves, they begin to die.

But at night, when the winds sweep in off the sea to howl against the concrete bunker, I’m plagued by the demons the world has given me. Even more so by those I’ve made for myself. I can only fall asleep to the sound of her voice.

We may not ever be welcomed back. There’s nothing worse for a soldier to imagine—that there will be no home to return to once the violence is over, no way to become the men we want to be.

The man in the black sniffs the air again. “It’s definitely dog.” “Sorry. That’s just me,” Sevro says.

Most of my enemies lie in the ground. The rest I put here.

“Sevro…are you going to be civil?” He shrugs. “Good enough.”