A single, standalone book is a fling. A series such as this is a relationship between author and reader. You trusted me to give me your time, your imagination through the initial trilogy. And, by buying this book, you trusted me yet again.
So my greatest thanks is to you, the reader, for that trust. Know that I do not take it lightly, and will not abuse it as we spin further down the rabbit hole.
Thank you for your time, your emails, letters, and thoughts, all of which breathe new life into the veins of Darrow’s world and made me ache to return to the windswept tunnels of Mars, and the freezing sulfur flats of Io, and the manic boulevards of Luna.
Without you lot, this world would be the pale imaginings of a disconsolate wage-man.
Now, for more aimed acknowledgments. Cue the war drums. Cue the trumpets.
A hearty, backslapping, most-prime thanks goes out to the team at Del Rey. Charging once more into the Red Rising breech was a daring affair, but you lot made it as easy as walking in the front door.
Thank you to Hannah Bowman for the brainstorm lunches and for believing in me from the first haemanthus blossom. And to Mike Braff for his editorial wizardry and for cackling every time I say “Space Vikings!” A better friend and collaborator, there is none.
Thank you to Tricia Narwani for the Herculean labor of making me stay on pace and deciphering my convoluted family trees. David Moench, Emily Isayeff, Julie Leung—I could type away all I like, but without you three no one would ever find my words. Thank you for your tireless efforts promoting the book and helping Red Rising find a place in the hearts of readers. Thank you to Scott Shannon, Keith Clayton, and Gina Centrello for once again having faith in the series. Keith, I fully expect more breakdowns of the thematic nuances within the Fast and Furious franchise over eccentric IPAs.
Though I was a bit more secretive with the text this round through, the book would never have been composed were it not for the legion of friends at my back.
Josh Crook, thank you for the constant inspiration, stalwart friendship, and collaboration even when I’m pacing a hole in the carpet and fraying your nerve endings. Eric Olsen, for your contagious, ebullient spirit, boundless dreams, and for introducing me to the peerless Olsen Clan. Babar Peerzada, for torturing the stress out of me through burpees and deadlifts and breaking stories on rooftops. Tamara Price, for your love, empathy, and for trusting me enough to say the words to bind you and Jarrett together forever. Jarrett for the constant generosity and introducing me as “New York Times bestselling author Pierce Brown…” every damn time I meet a new person. The Phillips clan for tending my sanity on the phone. Max Carver for giving me company in my insanity. Madison Ainley for WWW forevermore. Jake and Ruth Bloom for their humble wisdom, inside scoop, and our unending gastronomic tour of LA.
And thank you Lily Robinson, who, more than any other, was with me for every page of this new journey—from the glens of Wales to the coast of South Pacific Islands. You abide my madness, nurture my heart, and fill my dreams.
Thank you as well to the authors who have helped me tackle the multiple-narrator beast—Scott Sigler, Justin Cronin, and Terry Brooks. And the authors whose colossal shoulders we all stand upon—Robert Heinlein, Frank Herbert, Dan Simmons, George R. R. Martin, Bernard Cornwell, J. K. Rowling.
And last, but certainly not least, thank you to my family. My sister, Blair, for her efforts on behalf of the Sons of Ares and her enduring loyalty. There will be more cons to come, my dear! And to my parents—who have always given me the loving bedrock upon which to write and dream and live my life. You are a constant source of inspiration, love, joy, and faith, and continue to teach me how to live my life. Congratulations on thirty-seven years of a love and marriage under the stars, and here’s to thirty-seven more.
Farewell for now, dear reader. Jove willing, we will meet again soon.