“So you can lure us into a trap?” Sevro asks. “Better idea. How ’bout you tell your bitch of a brother to honor his bloodydamn agreement before I take that rifle and shove it so far up your farthole you look like a skinny Pixie shish kebab?”
“Sevro, stop,” Mustang says. “Not here. Not these people.”
Vela watches Sefi circle. Taking note of the razor on the huge Obsidian’s hip.
“I could give a shit and piss who this is. She knows who we are. And she ain’t got a little trickle goin’ down her leg standing toe to toe with the bloodydamn Reaper of Mars, then she’s got less brains than a wad of ass lint.”
“He cannot come,” Vela says.
“Understandable,” I reply.
Sevro makes a grotesque motion.
“What is that?” Vela asks, nodding to Sefi.
“That is a queen,” I say. “Sister to Ragnar Volarus.”
Vela is wary of Sefi, as well she should be. Ragnar is a name known. “She cannot come either. But I was speaking in regards to that hunk of metal you flew here on. Is it meant to be a ship?” She snorts and turns up her nose. “Built on Venus, obviously.”
“It’s borrowed,” I say. “But if you care to make an exchange…”
Vela surprises me with a laugh before becoming serious once more. “If you wish to present yourself to Moon Lords as a diplomatic party, then you must show respect for my brother. And trust the honor of his hospitality.”
“I’ve seen enough men and women set aside honor when it’s inconvenient,” I say probingly.
“In the Core, perhaps. This is the Rim,” Vela replies. “We remember the ancestors. We remember how Iron Golds should be. We do not murder guests like that bitch on Luna. Or like that Jackal on Mars.”
“Yet,” I say.
Vela shrugs. “It is a choice you must make, Reaper. You have sixty seconds to decide.” Vela steps away as I confer with Mustang and Sevro. I motion Sefi over.
“Thoughts?”
“Romulus would rather die than kill a guest,” Mustang says. “I know you don’t have any reason to trust these people. But honor actually means something to them. It’s not like the Bellona who just toss the word a
round. Out here a Gold’s word means as much as his blood.”
“Do you know where the residence is?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “If I did I’d take you there myself. They’ve got equipment inside to check for radiation and electronic trackers. They’ve studied you. We’ll be on our own.”
“Lovely.” But this isn’t about tactics. No short-term game here. My big play was coming out to the Rim knowing I had leverage the Sovereign doesn’t. That leverage will keep my head on my shoulders better than anyone’s honor. Yet I’ve been wrong before, so I double-check and listen now.
“Do the rules governing treatment of guests extend to Reds?” Sevro asks. “Or just Golds? That’s what we need to know.”
I glance back at Vela. “It’s a fair point.”
“If he kills you, he kills me,” Mustang says. “I’m not leaving your side. And if he does that, my men turn against him. The Telemanuses turn against him. Even Lorn’s daughters-in-law will turn against him. That’s nearly a third of his navy. It’s a bloodfeud he can’t afford.”
“Sefi, what do you think?”
She closes her eyes so her blue tattoos can see the spirits of this waste. “Go.”
“Give us six hours, Sevro. If we’re not back by then…”
“Wank off in the bushes?”
“Lay waste.”