Sevro Quotes

'I killed their pack leader,' Sevro says when I ask why the wolves follow him. He looks me up and down and flashes me an impish grin from beneath the wolf pelt. 'Don't worry, I wouldn't fit in your skin.'

You! Troll!" Sevro shouts. "I'm a terrorist warlord! Stop throwing me. You made me drop by candy!

Tidings! It’s Uncle Sevro and the Moderately Friendly Giant.

Sevro snorts. “What do you think I’ve been doing this whole time, you silky turd? Wanking off in the bushes?” Cassius and I look at each other. “Kind of,” I say. “Yeah, actually,” Cassius agrees.

Sevro." I lean forward. "Your eyes..." He leans in close. "Do you like 'em?" "Bloodydamn. Did you get Carved?" "By the best in the business. Do you like 'em?" "They're bloodydamn marvelous. Fit you like a glove." He punches his hands together. "Glad you said that. Cuz they're yours." I blanch. "What?" "They're yours." "My what?" "Your eyes!" "My eyes..." "Do you want the eyes back?" Sevro asks, suddenly worried. "I can give them back." "No!" I say. "It's just I forgot how crazy you are." "Oh." He laughs and slaps my shoulder. "Good. I thought it might be something serious. So I'm prime keeping them?" "Finders keepers," I say with a shrug.

I’ll never get used to seeing the fear Sevro wakes in people. Deep down they know Darrow is operating on a framework of logic. No one, not even me, believes that Sevro is completely sane.

Shit escalates

I didn't mind that it was always about you, Darrow. That was what burned Tactus, but not me. I'm not in love with you like Mustang. I don't worship you like Sevro or the Howlers. I was a true friend. I was someone who saw your light and your dark and accepted both without judgement, without agenda...

Omnis vir lupus.

He has to play my game!” Sevro says. “Shithead isn’t getting out till he plays nice. I’ll give him a riddle instead. What do I have in my pocket?

Sevro sniffs my neck and makes a noise of distaste. “By Jove. You wretch. Did you dip yourself in piss before the occasion?” “It’s cologne,” I say. “Mustang bought it for me last Solstice.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Is it made out of piss?

Sevro grins. “Listen, Thraxa, kids are like dogs. Some whimper, some bark, some growl. You just gotta find the right language and then speak it back at them.” Alexandar smirks. “You can speak to dogs?” “I talk to you, don’t I?

My chair rolls to a stop. his voice cut short, followed by a thump and sliding sound. My wheelchair rolls forward again. I look back and see Ragnar pushing it innocently along. Sevro isn't in the hallway behind us. I frown, wondering where he went, till he bursts out of a side passage. "You! Troll!" Sevro shouts. "I'm a terrorist warlord! Stop throwing me. You made me drop my candy!" Sevro looks at the floor of the hallway. "Wait. Where is it? Dammit, Ragnar. Where is my peanut bar? You know how many people I had to kill to get that? Six! Six!" Ragnar chews quietly above me, and though I'm probably mistaken, I think I see him smile.

Always so dramatic,” Sevro says. “What are your demands, Princess?

I can be a builder, not just a destroyer. Eo and Fitchner saw that when I could not. They believed in me. So whether they wait for me in the Vale or not, I feel them in my heart, I hear their echo beating across the worlds. I see them in my son, and, when he is old enough, I will take him on my knee and his mother and I will tell him of the rage of Ares, the strength of Ragnar, the honor of Cassius, the love of Sevro, the loyalty of Victra, and the dream of Eo, the girl who inspired me to live for more.

You tell anyone I cried, I'll find a dead fish, put it in a sock, hide it in your room, and let it putrefy." "Fair enough.

Marked by justice,” I say. Sevro rolls his eyes. “What? I can be funny.” “Keep practicing.

That’s how Sevro is. Betray him and you’re purged from existence.

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

In the cold prison of our minds, we are alone with our self-hatred, our doubts, and guilt. No one more than Sevro. A friend may reach through the bars and hold our hand, but they cannot open the door for us. Only the prisoner has the key. All I can do is remind him we’re waiting for him when he gets out.

'Found the sheep too easy to kill?' I ask. 'Where'd you get the weapon?' 'Born with them.' His fingernails are bloody.

Tactus claps his hands together in laughter and draws Sevro in for an obnoxious hug. They are two very peculiar people. But I suppose snuggling in horse corpses gives a bond—makes twins of a morbid sort.

I one time tripped on that shit with Cassius for a week on the Thermic.” She catches my look. “Well, it was before I met you. And have you ever seen him with his shirt off? Don’t tell Sevro, by the way.

War is our time. Sevro thought he could escape it. I thought I could end it. But our enemy is like the Hydra. Cut off one head, two more sprout. They will not sue for peace. They will not surrender. Their heart must be excised, their will to fight ground to the finest dust.

Well, she pissed on Sevro and lived,” Cassius manages between fits of laughter. “Name one other person who’s done that.

We are the new age. The new world. And if we’re to show the way, then we better damn well make it a better one. I am Sevro au Barca. And I am no longer afraid.

Do you ever feel lost?” The question hangs between us, intimate, awkward only on my end. He doesn’t scoff as Tactus and Fitchner would, or scratch his balls like Sevro, or chuckle like Cassius might have, or purr as Victra would. I’m not sure what Mustang might have done. But Roque, despite his Color and all the things that make him different, slowly slides a marker into the book and sets it on the nightstand beside the four-poster, taking his time and allowing an answer to evolve between us. Movements thoughtful and organic, like Dancer’s were before he died. There’s a stillness in him, vast and majestic, the same stillness I remember in my father. “Quinn once told me a story.” He waits for me to moan a grievance at the mention of a story, and when I don’t, his tone sinks into deeper gravity. “Once, in the days of Old Earth, there were two pigeons who were greatly in love. In those days, they raised such animals to carry messages across great distances. These two were born in the same cage, raised by the same man, and sold on the same day to different men on the eve of a great war. “The pigeons suffered apart from each other, each incomplete without their lover. Far and wide their masters took them, and the pigeons feared they would never again find each other, for they began to see how vast the world was, and how terrible the things in it. For months and months, they carried messages for their masters, flying over battle lines, through the air over men who killed one another for land. When the war ended, the pigeons were set free by their masters. But neither knew where to go, neither knew what to do, so each flew home. And there they found each other again, as they were always destined to return home and find, instead of the past, their future.

Dear Pliny,” Sevro sings over the com. If your heart beats like a drum, and your leg’s a little wet, it’s ’cause the Reaper’s come to collect a little debt. He sings this three times until Ragnar throws a table into the console. Sparks shower out. Sevro looks up slowly at the table hanging over his head. It missed by inches. He wheels around. “What the gorypissandshit is your damage, you overreacting mountain troll!” “Rhyming … nnnngh.” Ragnar makes an uncomfortable groaning sound. “You found him,” Mustang mutters as we share a look. “Which one?” I ask as Sevro curses the Stained out in every compound manner he knows. Adding the crux for good measure. “You squawk like a … like a chicken,” Ragnar says

Whose are these?” Sevro asks me. “Daddy’s,” I tell him. “So you guessed.” Sevro laughs. “He’s locked in Apollo’s dungeons.” “The stupid Pixie!” He laughs again.

Per aspera ad astra.” “Through the thorns to the stars.” Sevro snickers. “You fancy little fart. Omnis vir lupus.” Everyone a wolf.

Get some man-killing meat on your bones. No more of this anorexic scarecrow shit.

Of course I don’t understand. You never let anyone in. Not me. Not Sevro. Look how you treated Mustang. You drive friends away as though they were enemies.

Sevro looks at the ground. I have the sudden urge to put a hand on his shoulder.

Give us six hours, Sevro. If we’re not back by then…” “Wank off in the bushes?

She’s an engineer of oppression, and one of the best minds of Gold. And she tried to kill Sevro. Bad play.

Battered and bloody, we join Cassius, Lysander, and Sevro before the door leading out of the Sovereign's inner sanctum as Cassius types in the Olympic code to open the doors. He pauses to sniff the air. 'What's that smell?' 'Smells like a sewer,' I say. Sevro stares intensely at the razors he's taken from Aja, including the one belonging to Lorn. 'I think it smells like victory.' 'Did you shit your pants?' Cassius squints at him. 'You did.' 'Sevro...' Mustang says. 'It's an involuntary muscle reaction when you're fake executed and swallow massive amounts ofhaemanthus oil,' Sevro snaps. 'You think I would do that on purpose?' Cassius and I look at each other. I shrug. 'Well, maybe.' 'Yeah, actually.' He flips us the crux and makes a face, twisting his lips till it looks like he's going to explode. 'What's happening?' I ask. 'Are you... still...' 'No!

I killed their pack leader,” Sevro says when I ask why the wolves follow him. He looks me up and down and flashes me an impish grin from beneath the wolf pelt. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t fit in your skin.

Highest on the wall, in a place of honor, is the slingBlade I used at the Institute. I look at it for a long time before I take it down. It is far heavier than my razor and far smaller than I remember. I swing it till it makes a swish swish. I laughed at him when I saw it there the first time, laughed even harder when I found out how much trouble he went through to track it down. But I think I skipped past the part that mattered—how much the blade meant to him. With his father always away, always secretive and frightened to show his love, that blade gave Sevro something to follow. Something to dedicate his life to. Until he found something else.

Behind them, knives dripping, Sevro howls like a maniac.

What did he want?” Sevro asks. “What do all politicians want?” “Prostitutes.

Inside track,” the kid says. “And I don’t know about it. I know of it, you giant pisshead.” His name is Sevro, and I like his angle.

Silly Poet. Haven't you wondered where Sevro is?

They took Mustang,” I tell my pack. They look on silently. The Jackal no longer matters. “So now we take Olympus.” The smiles they give one another are as chilling as the snow. Sevro cackles.

Once, the worlds called Cassius the Morning Knight, protector of the Society, slayer of Ares. Then he murdered his Sovereign, my grandmother, and let the Rising tear down the very Society he swore to protect. He let Darrow destroy my world and bring chaos to the Society. I can never forgive him for that, but neither can I repay the debt I owe him. He kept Sevro au Barca from killing me.

You might not believe in our rebellion. But I saw Tactus change before his future was robbed from him. I’ve seen Ragnar forget his bonds and reach for what he wants in this world. I’ve seen Sevro become a man. I’ve seen myself change. I truly do believe we choose who we want to be in this life. It isn’t preordained. You taught me loyalty, more than Mustang, more than Roque. And because of that, I believe in you, Victra. As much as I’ve ever believed in anyone.” I hold out my hand. “Be my family and I will never forsake you. I will never lie to you. I will be your brother as long as you live.” Startled by the emotion in my voice, the cold woman stares up at me. Those defenses she erected forgotten now. In another life we might have been a pair. Might have had that fire I feel for Mustang, for Eo. But not in this life. Victra does not soften. Does not crumble to tears. There’s still rage inside her. Still raw hate and so much betrayal and frustration and loss coiled around her icy heart. But in this moment, she is free of it all. In this moment, she reaches solemnly up to grasp my hand. And I feel the hope flicker in me. “Welcome to the Sons of Ares.

Shit escalates!

Another flash of lightning and he appears, floating in the bitter storm like the ugliest angel ever shit out of heaven. A wolfpelt hangs from his shoulders, whips in the wind. His black metal helmet is that of a wolfshead, and he’s armed to the bloody teeth. Sevro has come, and he’s brought friends. Lightning

Ready over there, Goblin?” I ask Sevro over the com. “Cacatne ursus in silvis?” Does a bear shit in the woods? The ship spins and shudders. More sirens howl. “Latin, now?” “Audentes fortuna juvat,” Sevro chuckles. “Fortune favors the bold? You deserve to die if that’s really going to be the last thing you say in this life.” “Yes? Well, you may suck my—” My

Oh shit. Sorry brother man.

You’re the same,” I say. “Lonely. You’re all japes and snide comments, just like Sevro, but it’s just a mask.

We are the new age. The new world. And if we're to show the way, then we better damn well make it a better one. I am Sevro au Barca. And I am no longer afraid.

Ares said you lot got important business….” “Ares is wise,” Sevro says dismissively. “And a drama queen,” Victra adds.

I wouldn’t want Antonia to lead. She’s a bitch,” Sevro says.

Sevro snorts. “What do you think I’ve been doing this whole time, you silky turd? Wanking off in the bushes?” Cassius and I look at each other. “Kind of,” I say. “Yeah, actually,” Cassius agrees.

Sevro does not want to go without me. He does not understand why Cassius needs his help to mop up the remainders of Diana. I tell him the truth. “Cassius has a pouch in his boot, the one Lilath gave him. I need you to steal it.” His eyes do not judge. Not even now. There are times when I wonder what I did to earn such loyalty, then others when I try not to press my luck by looking the gift horse in the mouth. That

I’ve given Sevro the dregs to command because I know they might be the only people he’ll ever like. At first he ignores them. Then slowly, I begin noticing that more unearthly howls fill the night than before.

I’ve given Sevro the dregs to command because I know they might be the only people he’ll ever like. At first he ignores them. Then slowly, I begin noticing that more unearthly howls fill the night than before. The others call them the Howlers,

Snorting, Sevro drops back to where the legendary Obsidian, Sefi Volarus, stands in her customary silence. He feigns an air of domesticity, but next to the giant woman, he looks a little like some sort of gutter dog an alcoholic father might ill-advisedly bring home to play with the children—washed and rid of fleas, but still possessing that weird mania behind the eyes. Pinched, thin lipped, with a nose crooked as an old knifefighter’s fingers. He eyes the crowd with resigned distaste.

Sevro knew what I did not. What it is like to be raised by a warlord, by a distracted man. And he knew that our world is one where everything collides. He didn’t close his mind to his family before battle, because he knew they did not make him weaker,

I knew it was my duty to my own legend to survive this trial. But I was still crippled by my own devices. Imagine me as a great fully-rigged man-of-war. Four masts, great bulwarks of oak and five score cannon. All my life I have sailed smooth seas and waters that parted for me by virtue of my own splendor. Never tested. Never riled. A tragic existence, if ever there was one. “But at long last: a storm! And when I met it I found my hull . . . rotten. My planks leaking brine, my cannon brittle, powder wet. I foundered upon the storm. Upon you, Darrow of Lykos.” He sighs. “And it was my own fault.” I war between wanting to punch him in the mouth and surrendering into my curiosity by letting him continue. He’s a strange man with a seductive presence. Even as an enemy, his flamboyance fascinated me. Purple capes in battle. A horned Minotaur helmet. Trumpets blaring to signal his advance, as if welcoming all challengers. He even broadcast opera as his men bombarded cities. After so much isolation, he’s delighting in imposing his narrative upon us. “My peril is thus: I am, and always have been, a man of great tastes. In a world replete with temptation, I found my spirit wayward and easy to distract. The idea of prison, that naked, metal world, crushed me. The first year, I was tormented. But then I remembered the voice of a fallen angel. ‘The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, or a hell of heaven.’ I sought to make the deep not just my heaven, but my womb of rebirth. “I dissected the underlying mistakes which led to my incarceration and set upon an internal odyssey to remake myself. But—and you would know this, Reaper—long is the road up out of hell! I made arrangements for supplies. I toiled twenty hours a day. I reread the books of youth with the gravity of age. I perfected my body. My mind. Planks were replaced; new banks of cannon wrought in the fires of solitude. All for the next storm. “Now I see it is upon me and I sail before you the paragon of Apollonius au Valii-Rath. And I ask one question: for what purpose have you pulled me from the deep?” “Bloodyhell, did you memorize that?” Sevro mutters.

So whatever strategy we have is based in acquiring information. Funny thing is, only one tribe has a silvershit’s idea what is going on. And it’s not ours. It’s not Antonia’s. And it sure as hell isn’t Titus’s. It’s Sevro’s, and I’m nearly certain he’s the only member in that tribe, unless he’s adopted wolves by now.

Darrow's wife and my father never met. But they shared a dream. One of a free world. Not built on corpses, but on hope. On the love that binds us, not the hate that divides. We are the new age. The new world. And if we're to show the way, then we better damn well make it a better one. I am Sevro au Barca. And I am no longer afraid.

You were picked because you were the smallest boy. The weakest-looking. Terrible scores and so small. They drafted you like they drafted all the other lowDrafts, because you’d be easy to kill in the Passage. A sacrificial lamb for someone they had plans for, big plans. You killed Priam, Sevro. That’s why they won’t let you be Primus. Am I on target?

My name is Sevro au Barca,” my friend cries out. “I am Ares!” He thumps his chest. “I have killed forty-four Golds. Fifteen Obsidian. One hundred and thirteen Grays with my razor.” The crowd roars in approval, even the Obsidians. “Jove knows who else with ships, railguns, and pulseFists. With nukes, knives, sharp sticks . . .” He trails off dramatically. They slam their feet. He beats his chest again. “I am Ares! I am a murderer too!” He puts his hands on his hips. “And what do we do to murderers?” This time no one answers. He never expected them to. He grabs the cable from the neck of one of the kneeling Golds, wraps it around his own neck, and looking to Sefi with a demented little smile, winks and backflips off the railing.

I want them in the … Sevro?” I look around for him. He’s loitering around Pliny’s eyeball some twenty meters back. We turn to look at him and he shuffles his feet awkwardly. “Can I …” He gestures to it. “What?” Mustang asks. “Can I have it?” Mustang squints at him. “All yours.” He scoops up the eyeball and jams it into his pocket, grinning merrily. He runs to catch up. “Collecting the set, hopefully.

Fear no more the heat o’ the sun Nor the furious winter’s rages, Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages; Golden lads and girls all must As chimney sweepers come to dust “Per aspera, ad astra,” my Golden friends whisper, even Sevro. And with a press of a button, Roque disappears from our lives to begin his last journey to join Ragnar and generations of fallen warriors in the sun.

Sevro, swarmed by his daughters, makes faces at them as they eat. But when the air cracks with a sonic boom, he bolts upright, looks at the sky, and runs off into the house, urging his children to stay put. He returns a whole half an hour later arm in arm with his wife, hair a mess, two jacket buttons missing, touching a white napkin to a bloodied, split lip. My old friend Victra, immaculate in a high-collared green jacket threaded with gemstones, beams devilishly across the patio at me. She’s seven months pregnant with their fourth daughter. “Well, if it isn’t the Reaper in the leathery flesh. Apologies, my goodman. I’m dreadfully late.” Her long legs cover the distance in three strides. I greet her with a hug. She squeezes my butt hard enough to make me jump. She kisses Mustang on the head and slides into a chair, dominating the table. “Hello, gloomy one,” she says to Electra.

Get leverage to get them out after they do their job of taking Titus down, obviously.” “Yes. Y-yes. I get it.” I shake off the last of my shivers. “But how?” Sevro shrugs. “We’ll take Minerva’s standard.” “W-wait,” Cassius says. “You know how to do that?” Sevro snorts. “What do you think I’ve been doing this whole time, you silky turd? Wanking off in the bushes?” Cassius and I look at each other. “Kind of,” I say. “Yeah, actually,” Cassius agrees. We

Darrow’s wife…” Sevro croaks, larynx damaged. “His wife,” he says more deeply. “And my father never met. But they shared a dream. One of a free world. Not built on corpses, but on hope. On the love that binds us, not the hate that divides. We have lost many. But we are not broken. We are not defeated. We fight on. But we do not fight for revenge for those who have died. We fight for each other. We fight for those who live. We fight for those who don’t yet live. “Cassius au Bellona killed my father….” He stands over the man, swallowing before looking back up. “But I forgive him. Why? Because he was protecting the world he knew, because he was afraid.” Victra pushes her way to the front of the circle, watching Sevro who speaks now as if it was meant for her and her alone. “We are the new age. The new world. And if we’re to show the way, then we better damn well make it a better one. I am Sevro au Barca. And I am no longer afraid.

No, I want you to stay,” I say. “I’ve too many secrets from too many people. I won’t have any more between the three of us.” “Learn to count, shithead,” Sevro says, coming around a rusted engine block. The cheap metal door to the outside slams behind him. Smells like autumn even in Agea’s oil-stained manufacturing district. He hops onto the rusted chassis of an old fighter and sits with his legs dangling. “Hey, look, it’s all pricks for once. Let’s tell sexist jokes.” Chuckling,

They are all slaves now. Mustang is making them as we speak. But ohhh, she’s in an odd mood.” He spits out a bone. “Ha! This him then? The Jackal? He looks pale as a Red’s ass.” He peers closer. “Shit. You nailed him down!” “I think you’ve taken bigger shits than him, Pax,” Sevro adds. “Prime have. More colorful ones too. He’s drab as a Brown.” “Guard your tongue, fool,” the Jackal tells Pax. “It may not always be there.” “Neither will your prick if you keep sassin’! Ha! Is it as small as you?” Pax booms. The

I’m drunk,” she mutters. “I can already feel the hangover.” “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.” She laughs. “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. I swear, at the pace they’re going they’ll be able to single-handedly populate Pluto in a few years.

Funny thing is, only one tribe has a silvershit’s idea what is going on. And it’s not ours. It’s not Antonia’s. And it sure as hell isn’t Titus’s. It’s Sevro’s, and I’m nearly certain he’s the only member in that tribe, unless he’s adopted wolves by now. It is hard to say if he has or hasn’t. Our House does not have family dinners. Though occasionally we’ll see him running along the hillsides at night in his wolfskin, looking, as Cassius put it best, “like some sort of hairy demonchild on hallucinogens.” And once Roque even heard something, not a wolf, howling in the shrouded highlands. Some days Sevro walks around all normalish—insulting everything that moves, except for Quinn. He makes an exception for her, delivering meats and edible mushrooms instead of insults. I think he’s sweet on her even though she’s sweet on Cassius. We

Ten minutes later I’m shrieking like a goat on the floor just inside Sevro’s room as a medicus pulls needles from my face, chest, and ass.

We loved you, Sevro. With your first breath. With our last. We will always love you and we will see you again at the end of your path.

You make it sound so easy,” she says. “He always does,” Sevro says. “It’s part of his charm.” “It won’t be easy,” I say.

I run toward him and he stops, takes off his helmet, and opens his arms for a hug. I slam into him and cling to him and Sevro hugs me back. “Cassius…” I say. “I know.” I break down and Sevro holds me, hard, not humoring me, but clinging to me too. I know Cassius always rubbed him the wrong way, but when I pull back I see tears in his eyes. “I’ll miss the prick,” he admits. “I’ll miss him a lot.” Sevro smells terrible, and like home. He presses his forehead to mine.

Oh, don’t get emotional,” Victra says. “You’re the Sovereign. We have to do as you say.” “I’m glad to hear you say that, because I’ve agreed to not scuttle the dockyards as we depart.” No one speaks, but I sense their unease. “And you will have to give Ajax’s head back, Victra.” Victra grimaces. “But I was crafting a chalice for Sevro.

Shouldn’t you be home?” “I wasn’t there.” Sevro stares off, vacant. “How can I go home? How can I face her? Victra. What she went through, on her own? She was probably there. With Virginia. Didn’t want to talk to me. I tried to be a da. But it ain’t what Barcas do. We can be nightmares. That’s what we can do. Make the enemy scared. Goblin’s what they need. Out here. Goblin gets shit done.

I beat his brother to death with my bare hands. Cassius’s twin. I cut his older brother in half. Our friends killed his da. And on and on and on!” I’m shouting now, but dammit, he needs perspective. “And despite all of that fucking murder, Sevro, all that murder — Cassius is here, with us, right now, fighting for our future. Fighting for you, and for your family back on Mars. Despite the horrors of the camps, where that little Red in the medBay saw her entire family butchered, Lyria is here, with us, right now. And despite my betrayal of the Sons on the Rim all those years ago, where thousands were executed because I turned my back on them, Aurae is here now. They are all fighting for your kids, for mine.

But Sevro Barca?” I ask. “Hades. He’s the stage on which the Goblin sometimes comes out for a guest appearance. He’s the man who made the Howlers. He’s the one who keeps the Reaper in check. Keeps everyone in check. He was Ragnar’s brother. Sevro’s a leader, a father, a friend. He’s the one Athena sent this message to. Not the Goblin. Not me. We need Sevro to realize how tall he stands. Because if the Golds can beat him into believing he is small, wretched, what hope do the rest of us have?

I didn’t help Cassius to save them. I helped Cassius because I didn’t want him to die. And he would have died, for strangers. A font of respect and love for the man grows in me. Sevro called him shallow. He is not. Not by a longshot.

I’m not leaving so let’s not bicker at the last. You can escape into the volcanoes, lose them in the spews.” “Oh, shut up.” “Mars needs you. Your boy—” “If Pax grows up to be as stupid as you, I’ll be a proud father. I’m not leaving you.” “Really?” He sounds incredibly touched. “You’d really die here with me? I just…well…I thought that was your and Sevro’s thing. Thank you, Darrow.

Sevro lets me enter alone. I wander. I see Cassius everywhere I go—hunched over its controls in the cockpit pretending not to be nervous, navigating its halls with his too-wide shoulders, giving his toast in the commissary, grinning down at me from the training room as he puts me on the floor again. But when I stand before the door to his room, the only room in the ship I’ve never been inside, I feel his absence. The cold of the ship. And I know I have to face him.

I follow Sevro to Cassius’s room. The door is open. I feel anger toward Sevro for violating Cassius’s sanctum, but then I see the cramped room into which Cassius fit his huge life. On one wall his childhood, filled with moving pictures of Eagle Rest, Julian, his father, his brothers, his sisters, even his mother—all curly-haired and smiling. There are a few swordsmanship badges and mementos whose meaning will never now be known. A purple stone with flecks of gold. A chunk of metal the size of an apple. A carved length of wood. A large knife with an eagle-shaped pommel. On another wall hangs a House Mars pendant, surrounded by printed news clippings of my pack. Not just me, but Sevro, Screwface, Clown, Pebble, Virginia, even Pax. They are all happy moments, and it makes me sad that he couldn’t be there to share them with us. On the third wall are images of Lysander, Pytha, and Cassius through the years. But it’s the holoprojector that makes me stare. A loch floats in the air filled with two shivering boys while a wolflike creature slinks around its edges.

I almost broke my neck,” Sevro complains. “Been there, done that. At least you didn’t have to get whipped.” “I’d rather have been whipped,” he mutters. “Not whipped by Pax,” I reply. “I saw the video, he wasn’t swinging that hard.” “Have you been whipped? Did you see my back?” “You see my bloodydamn eye at the Institute? Jackal had it plucked out with a knife, didn’t see me whining”. “I had my whole bloodydamn body carved open, “ I say as the doors hiss open and Mustang enters. “Twice” “Oh, it always comes back to the slagging Carving,” Sevro mutters, wiggling his fingers in the air. “I’m so bloodydamn special, I had my bones peeled. My DNA spliced.” “Do they always do this?” Virany asks Mustang. “Seems like.

I came into this world screaming and covered in someone else's blood, and let me tell you, I'm not afraid to leave it the same way. - Sevro au Barca

I am here for Sevro," she says. "That is the truth. Not the whole truth, but it is all the truth that matters, because it is all the truth that is useful.

We found Mars,” I call up. “Oy! Open the damn gate.” “Password,” the sentry demands lazily from the battlements. “Bosombutthead!” I shout up. Sevro heard it last time he was here.

Four days out from the dockyards, and Sevro and I have apparently forgotten how to talk to each other. At the same time, we can’t seem to ever be more than one room away from each other or avoid touching each other when we are in the same room. It’s weird like that. The push and pull of a war bond that goes as deep as ours. So much guilt, but at the same time he’s my security and refuge, and I am his.

I turn on her. “He’s with Bellona and Sevro. Put them together and the stupidity tends to be exponential.

I bet he’s as horrified as I am about the state of the hull. My poor ship is falling to ruins. Honestly, between you and Sevro it’s a wonder there’s not literal shit in the halls.” “Sorry. We usually have janitors,” I say. “Really? He doesn’t even flush. A life of privilege is no excuse for slovenliness.

Did you shit your pants?" Cassius squints at him. "You did." "Sevro..." Mustang says. "Its an involuntary muscle reaction when you're fake executed and swallow massive amounts of haemanthus oil." Sevro snaps. "You think I would do that on purpose?" Cassius and I look at each other. I shrug. "Well, maybe." "Yeah, actually.

Did you shit your pants?" Cassius squints at him. "You did." "Sevro..." Mustang says. "Its an involuntary muscle reaction when you're fake executed and swallow massive amounts of haemanthus oil." Sevro snaps. "You think I would do that on purpose?" Cassius and I look at each other. I shrug. "Well, maybe." "Yeah, actually.

si en este mundo hay dos cosas que no puedan ser aniquiladas, son los hongos que tengo bajo las pelotas y el Segador del maldito Marte. ¡Ja, ja! —¡Sevro!

Mustang ignores her. “He said he always had his eye on me.” She reaches into her pocket, pulls something out, and drops it onto the floor. “So I took one of his.” Sevro

Dear Pliny,” Sevro sings over the com. If your heart beats like a drum, and your leg’s a little wet, it’s ’cause the Reaper’s come to collect a little debt. He sings this three times until Ragnar throws a table into the console. Sparks shower out. Sevro looks up slowly at the table hanging over his head. It missed by inches. He wheels around. “What the gorypissandshit is your damage, you overreacting mountain troll!” “Rhyming … nnnngh.” Ragnar makes an uncomfortable groaning sound.

Oy, shitheads”—Sevro squawks over the com unit in my ear—“if you’re done sightseeing or humping or whatever the hell you’re doin’, it’s time to tuck in.” —

The two Reds crewing the old trash collector are giving us a countdown. When it reaches one, Sevro says, “Tuck your sacks and pop your cloaks.” I

The direct holoLink goes through and the face of a wan young Copper administrator looks sleepily back at us. “Citadel General Com,” she drones, “how may I direct your…” She blinks suddenly at our images on the display. Wipes sleep from her eyes. And loses all faculty of speech. “I would like to speak with the ArchGovernor,” I say. “And…may I say who is…calling?” “It’s the bloodydamn Reaper of Mars,” Sevro barks. “One moment, please.” The