Bronze Burning

THE GAZE OF TIRESIAS

3

|||||||||||||||||||||||||

THE GAZE OF TIRESIAS

Barrels of a dozen scorchers greet me at the door.

The mob is a brutal collection of low and midColors, all of them waiting for an excuse to end me. Two carved Obsidians with curling ram horns grab me, dragging me between them. We pass hundreds of faces on the shadowy flights of stairs, thugs one and all, their necks wreathed in hued shells, long hair in untidy braids. They are a violent tide that would sweep me away, were I to fight it. Instead, I treat them like a Triumph, acknowledging murderous stares with a satisfied smile.

I acquired a multitude of skillsets after the Reaper's bloody overspill orphaned me. Negotiation. Manipulation. Bribery. Wheedling, my father would have said, was not becoming of Golden stock. But this is a performance I must sell. Strength and courage, I remind myself, will do that.

The Obsidians manhandle me onto the dais and dump me into a chair. It crunches under my weight, covered in cracked concrete. Gone are the music and the dancing girls. Emergency flood lights cast eerie pools across the gloomy interior. The velvet of Jiminy's suit is powdered with plaster dust. His twelve spindly fingers drum in annoyance. "Was I unclear in my direction?" he asks, and I can see the end of my life writ large in his eyes.

I do not apologize to the midColor crime lord, lounging in the chair as if I own the place.

"I was betrayed," I declare, casually studying the Tiresias. Deep fissures divide the ceiling. The north wall leans precariously. "The damages will be paid for."

Angry whispers rise from the onlookers, tittering, howling for blood, but they all fall silent with a raised Violet hand.

"Sweetling," Jiminy coos mockingly, knowing I have no money. "I do adore having a Gold lion on a chain, but I'm afraid you've become too expensive. When you declared your bloodfeud, I anticipated less . . . ruckus. There's only one of you, after all."

He thought that when the time came, I'd die quickly and quietly. My spine stiffens, my chin tilting upward. "I was born of the gens Caecilli. My ancestor plucked the eyes from EuroCommandant Oberacker."

"Yes, yes." Jiminy gestures to the broken hotel. "And will your grand lineage be replacing my distribution hub? With half of my building on fire and the impending need to evacuate operations, I'm inclined to end our arrangement."

"You've said I'm quite an asset," I counter, "and there is my debt to consider. It would be an unnecessary loss."

"Yes, little girl. A big one. But I have suspicions you won't be alive long enough to repay me." Jiminy brushes his chair off before sitting. "Luckily there's a market for your head." He leans over too-thin arms, his empty gaze clinging to the skin of my throat. "I believe it's time to recoup my investment." Hands tighten on scorchers. The buzz of an ionBlade hums from behind me.

I hold Jiminy's gaze. Whatever jumped-up titles the Syndicate has for itself, in the end they're common criminals. I see the craving for legitimacy in him like a black smudge on his soul. He wants an empire to rule. I need only remind him I am his key, and so I unveil my plan.

"Datapad," I announce. Still, thumpers prime as I reach into my tattered scarabSkin.

A tactical display flickers into existence, a globular holo floating above our heads. It shows an innocuous chain of islets off the Summer Coast. "This is the Virius military cache," I tell the Violet. "A private stockpile for his House army. Hovercraft. Assault shuttles. Enough materiel to outfit five thousand men. The depot is often guarded by dragoons, but a diversion I created has shifted most away." I tap the datapad and the holo zooms out, showing a small fleet in nearby orbit. "I've brokered a deal with the Saud. They're willing to sponsor a strike alongside any force I lead."

Though a hundred mouths breath in the room, the air is still as the grave. I let the moment grow long, watching dreams of military tech form crooked smiles on lowColor faces.

"I understand my bloodfeud with the Virius has become inconvenient, but the Saud only want half. The rest will be yours. Lend me a proper strike force, and I can repay you a hundredfold."

Thoughts flit over Jiminy's face, a twitch of his fine-lined eyebrows, a blink of his dead eyes. And when his smile mirrors those of his men, I believe that I have him.

A slender forefinger rises in query. "Why?" he asks.

"The sharks are circling," I say. "The Ash Lord has been too silent for too long and the Saud want their planet returned. Virius's fall is just the beginning." Jiminy stares at me for so long that I doubt I've answered the right question. "I will take everything that Otho au Virius treasures," I continue. "His sons. His business. His property. All of it."

Still, he stares. The dark grin on his face grows.

"Why would you ever repay me?" The pit of my stomach falls out. "With powerful friends, a new vaunted position, an alliance struck and sealed in blood? What would happen to poor Jiminy, I wonder? Reported to the Society? Tortured for Syndicate secrets? Hung and drawn and quartered?" His eyes roll in dramatic mockery, tongue lolling out of his mouth like a hanged man. "I won't be a springboard for the greatness of Gold."

The repose breaks. His men rustle, their leader's verdict passed down. Obsidian hands grip my shoulders, pinning me to the chair. "Anything more to say, or was that the last gasp of your great and glorious House?" Jiminy asks.

I understand him in that moment, know what moves his slithering, reptilian soul. I see his need to dominate Gold as he was once dominated, and what it means to him that I, a Gold, am his debtor. What I have asked him for would put me beyond reach. He will have me, or no one will. Only in death will I find freedom.

But I am not ready to die. Low hanging fruit will be my salvation.

"How would you like a villa instead?" I ask.

He laughs a high and delighted cackle, framed by purple, digital eyes. "Would that you had one."

"But I do." Betrayal has opened an unexpected contingency. And as my father said, an exercised opportunity is never wasted. "Several, in fact, with other valuable assets. I would only need a team of commandos to take them for you."

It buys me scant minutes to speak. And when I have told him all the details, and he has agreed to the operation, he stands over me, a Violet who would believe himself king. "Now go and fetch me my new property," he commands.

My smile is a wretched, wooden thing. "Do you have a railRifle?"