Morning Star: Book III of the Red Rising Trilogy Read Free Page A

Started weeping about it. The irony is he could have killed himself whenever he chose. But he didn’t, because some part of him relished that hole. You see, Reds long agoadaptedtodarkness.Likeworms.Nopridetotheirrustyrace.Hewasathomedownthere.More thanheeverwaswithus.”
    NowIrememberhate.
    IopenmyeyestoletthemknowIseethem.Hearthem.Yetasmyeyesopen,theyaredrawnnotto
    my enemy, but to the winter vista that sprawls out the windows behind the Golds. There, six of the sevenmountainpeaksofAtticaglitterinthemorninglight.Metalandglassbuildingscreststoneand snow,andyawnupwardtowardthebluesky.Bridgessuturethepeakstogether.Alightsnowfalls.It’s ablurredmiragetomynearsightedcaveeyes.
    “Darrow?”Iknowthevoice.Iturnmyheadslightlytoseeoneofhiscallusedhandsontheedgeof the table. I flinch away, thinking it will strike me. It doesn’t. But the hand’s middle finger bears the goldeneagleofBellona.ThefamilyIdestroyed.TheotherhandbelongstothearmIcutoffonLuna whenwelastdueled,theonethatwasremadebyZanzibartheCarver.TwowolfsheadringsofHouse
    Marsencirclethosefingers.Oneismine.Onehis.EachworththepriceofayoungGold’slife.“Do yourecognizeme?”heasks.
    Icranemyheadtolookupathisface.BrokenImaybe,butCassiusauBellonaisundimmedby
    war or time. More beautiful by far than memory could ever allow, he pulses with life. Over two meterstall.CloakedinthewhiteandgoldoftheMorningKnight,hiscoiledhairlustrousasthetrail
    ofafallingstar.He’sclean-shaven,andhisnoseisslightlycrookedfromarecentbreak.WhenImeet his eyes, I do all I can to not fall into sobs. The way he looks at me is sad, nearly tender. What a shadowofmyselfImustbetoearnpityfromamanI’vehurtsodeeply.
    “Cassius,” I murmur with no agenda except to say the name. To speak to another human. To be heard.
    “And?” Aja au Grimmus asks from behind Cassius. The most violent of the Sovereign’s Furies wearsthesamearmorIsawherinwhenfirstwemetintheCitadelspireonLuna,thenightMustang rescued me and Aja beat Quinn to death. It’s scuffed. Battle-worn. Fear overwhelms my hate, and I lookawayfromthedark-skinnedwomanyetagain.
    “He’saliveafterall,”Cassiussaysquietly.HeturnsontheJackal.“Whatdidyoudotohim?The scars…”
    “Ishouldthinkitobvious,”theJackalsays.“IhaveunmadetheReaper.”
    Ifinallylookdownatmybodypastmyrattybeardtoseewhathemeans.Iamacorpse.Skeletal
    andpallid.Ribseruptfromskinthinnerthanthefilmatopheatedmilk.Kneesjutfromspindlylegs.
    Toenailshavegrownlongandgrasping.ScarsfromtheJackal’storturemottlemyflesh.Musclehas withered. And tubes that kept me alive in the darkness erupt from my belly, black and stringy umbilicalcordsstillanchoringmetothefloorofmycell.
    “Howlongwasheinthere?”Cassiusasks.
    “Threemonthsofinterrogation,thenninemonthsofsolitary.”
    “Nine…”
    “Asisfitting.Warshouldn’tmakeusabandonmetaphor.We’renotsavagesafterall,eh,Bellona?”
    “Cassius’ssensibilitiesareoffended,Adrius,”AntoniasaysfromherplaceneartheJackal.She’sa poisoned apple of a woman. Shiny and bright and promising, but rotten and cancerous to the core.
    ShekilledmyfriendLeaattheInstitute.Putabulletinherownmother ’shead,andthentwomoreinto her sister Victra’s spine. Now she’s allied with the Jackal, a man who crucified her at the Institute.
    What a world. Behind Antonia stands dark-faced Thistle, once a Howler, now a member of the Jackal’s Boneriders by the looks of the jackal skull pennant on her chest. She looks at the floor instead of at me. Her captain is bald-headed Lilath, who sits at the Jackal’s right hand. His favorite personalkillereversincetheInstitute.
    “PardonmeifIfailtoseethepurposeoftorturingafallenenemy,”Cassiusanswers.“Especiallyif he’sgivenalltheinformationhehastogive.”
    “Thepurpose?”TheJackalstaresathim,eyesquiet,asheexplains.“Thepurposeispunishment,
    my goodman. This… thing presumed he belonged among us. Like he was an equal, Cassius. A superior,even.Hemockedus.Beddedmy sister. Helaughedatusandplayedusforfoolsbeforewe found him out. He