Free Morning Star: Book III of the Red Rising Trilogy by Pierce Brown Page B

stronger than he was, smelling of tobacco and engine fuel and sweat. He half laughs,halfcrieslikeanexciteddogintomychest.“Iknewyouwerealive.Ibloodydamnknewit.
    Pixie bitches can’t fool me.” Pulling back, he looks down at me with a rickshaw grin. “You bloodydamnbastard.”
    “Language!”mymothersnaps.
    Iwince.“Myribs.”
    “Oh,shit,sorrybrotherman.”Heletsmesinkbackintothechair,andkneelssowe’reeyetoeye.“I saiditonce.NowI’llsayittwice.Ifthere’stwothingsinthisworldthatcan’tbekilled,it’sthefungus
    undermysackandtheReaperofbloodydamnMars.Haha!”
    “Sevro!”
    “Sorry,Deanna.Sorry.”
    Ipullbackfromhim.“Sevro.Yousmell…terrible.”
    “Ihaven’tshoweredinfivedays,”hebrags,grabbinghisgroin.“It’saSevrosoupinhere,boyo.”
    Heputshishandsonhiships.“Youknow,youlook…erm…”Heglancesatmymotherandtameshis
    tongue.“Bloodyterrible.”
    A shadow falls over the room as a man enters and blocks the overhead light near the door. The childrenclusterjoyouslyaroundRagnarsohecanbarelywalk.
    “Hello,Reaper,” hesaysovertheirshouts.
    IgreetRagnarwithasmile.Hisfaceisasimpassiveasever.Tattooedandpale,callusedfromthe windofhisarctichome,likethehideofarhinoceros.Hiswhitebeardisbraidedintofourstrands, andthehaironhisheadshavedexceptforatailofwhitethatisbraidedwithredribbons.Thechildren areaskinghimifhe’sbroughtthempresents.
    “Sevro.”Ileanforward.“Youreyes…”
    Heleansinclose.“Doyoulike’em?”Buriedinthatsquinting,sharp-angledface,hiseyesareno longer that dirty shade of Gold, but are now as red as Martian soil. He pulls back his lids so I can bettersee.They’renotcontacts.Andtherightisnolongerbionic.
    “Bloodydamn.DidyougetCarved?”
    “Bythebestinthebusiness.Doyoulike’em?”
    “They’rebloodydamnmarvelous.Fityoulikeaglove.”
    Hepuncheshishandstogether.“Gladyousaidthat.Cuzthey’reyours.”
    Iblanch.“What?”
    “They’reyours.”
    “Mywhat?”
    “Youreyes!”
    “Myeyes…”
    “DidyonFriendlyGiantdropyouonyourheadintherescue?Mickeyhadyoureyesinacryobox
    at his joint in Yorkton—creepy place, by the by—when we raided it for supplies to bring back to TinostohelptheRising.Ifiguredyouweren’tusin’’em,so…”Heshrugsawkwardly.“SoIaskedif he’dput’emin.Youknow.Bringusclosertogether.Somethingtorememberyouby.That’snotso
    weird,right?”
    “Itoldhimitwasodd,” Ragnarsays.Oneofthegirlsisclimbinghisleg.
    “Doyouwanttheeyesback?”Sevroasks,suddenlyworried.“Icangivethemback.”
    “No!”Isay.“It’sjustIforgothowcrazyyouare.”
    “Oh.”Helaughsandslapsmyshoulder.“Good.Ithoughtitwassomethingserious.SoI’mprime
    keepingthem?”
    “Finderskeepers,”Isaywithashrug.
    “DeannaofLykos,mayweborrowyoursonformartialmatters?” Ragnarasksmymother. “He hasmuchtodo.Manythingstoknow.”
    “Onlyifyoureturnhiminonepiece.Andyoutakesomecoffeewithyou.Andbringthesesocksto
    thelaundry.”MymotherpushesabagoffreshlypatchedsocksintoRagnar ’sarms.
    “Asyouwish.”
    “Whataboutthepresents?”oneofmynephewsasks.“Didn’tyoubringany?”
    “I’vegotapresentforyou…”Sevrosays.
    “Sevro,no!”Dioandmymothershout.
    “What?”Hepullsoutabag.“It’sjustcandythistime.”
    —
    “…andthat’swhenRagnartrippedoverPebbleandfelloutthebackofthetransport,”Sevrocackles.
    “Like a dumbass.” He’s eating a candy bar over my head as he pushes my wheelchair recklessly throughthestonecorridor.Hesprintsfastagainandhopsonthebacktocoasttillweswerveintothe wall.Iwinceinpain.“SoRagnarfallsstraightintothesea.Thingwasatfullchop,man.Wavesthe size of torchships. So I dive in too, thinking he needs my help, just in time for this huge…I dunno whatthehellyou’dcallit.SomeCarvedbeasty…”
    “Demon,” Ragnar says from behind. I hadn’t noticed him following. “It was a sea demon from thethirdlevelofHel.”
    “Sure.” Sevro guides me around a corner, clipping the wall hard enough to make me bite my tongue, and sending a cluster of Sons pilots scattering. They stare after me as we