“I can’t believe I’ve had to spend so many months alone with this buffoon,” said Lianshi, shaking her head in wonder. “Thank hell you’ve both come to my rescue.”
“Oh, don’t protest so loudly,” said Leonis, his smile not slipping from his face. “Have I not taught you boldness, to stand up for yourself? Have I not shown you how to assert your wishes, to push back against those who would run roughshod over you, and by sheer example how best to enjoy the pleasures in life?”
“Yes, fine,” allowed Lianshi reluctantly. “But shall I list the downsides? The snoring alone—”
“Scorio!” Leonis sat up abruptly. “Someone said something earlier about your saving the world. Care to tell us?”
Leaning back against the smooth, curved grotto wall, Scorio took a moment to just drink in the moment. To appreciate where he was, how far he’d come since Praximar had singled him out and cast him through the Final Door, and the warmth and joy he felt deep within his chest to be here with three friends he realized he was coming to love so dearly.
The steam rose from the pool’s radiant blue surface, the heat was truly sinking into his bones, causing kinks and aches to relax, and he had before him nothing but endless training with the very best of the Academy’s resources at his disposal. He’d earned respect and gratitude for his role in Imogen’s attack, and even the chancellor had seemed willing to let him begin with a fresh start, to let bygones and prejudices be put behind them so that Scorio could continue to excel.
Taking a deep breath, he fought down a tremulous smile. “Well,” he began, “do you recall my yelling for you all to enter the Gauntlet? I managed to activate the crystal in time, and leaped onto the bier just as the dark fog rolled over me…”
Chapter 44
The rest of that Eighthday cycle was chaotic and atypical; classes were suspended as students and instructors were directed to help establish order across Bastion. Scorio and his friends reported each First Clay to one of their instructors and were given their orders for the day; often this involved liaising with House operatives and guards to help clear away rubble, demolish intrusive new architecture, or project force and authority to help calm the populace.
Scorio loved it. Even when the work was drudgery, even when his shoulders ached from swinging a sledgehammer for hours or clearing collapsed buildings by hand, his sense of elation never quite left him. For at each moment, he felt a new sense of belonging.
Not having to hide. Not having to duck his head and turn away from officials. To be able to stand side by side with his friends and laugh and tease each other as they crossed the city, to be seen and acknowledged as a Great Soul—it remained novel and invigorating no matter how many days passed.
The best part was when they returned to their quarters each evening. When they’d bathe and change into fresh robes and then lounge about their common room, discussing the day, the strange and notable things they’d noticed, speculating about the high level and mostly invisible political jockeying that everyone knew was taking place among the major Houses.
More than once Scorio became painfully self-aware as he lounged on a spread of cushions, his robe new, clean, and of the softest weave, a cup of some honeyed tea in hand. He’d suddenly feel removed from the jesting and conversation, the light raillery and sober introspection. He’d grow almost melancholy, observe the scene as if from outside, and marvel he could lie there at all.
Could be so natural, ensconced in the very heart of the Academy, a part of its wondrous machinery, a favored Great Soul, a man with a future, filled to the brim with potential to change the very nature of hell.
Scorio would find himself watching Leonis telling a convoluted story that struggled toward some humorous reveal, Lianshi feigning ever-mounting impatience and disgust, while even Naomi would lower her guard and allow herself to smile. And in moments like that, when he should feel the most at home, he would find himself outside the situation, self-aware, and swept by a great and tender wave of what he could only call melancholy.
Only one event jarred him during that first week, a moment that threw him back into his old life and caused him to jerk aside into a hallway.
Heading toward his apartment suite, he’d stepped into a large hexagonal room that served as an intersection between three hallways. A dead fountain dominated the center, an idealized warrior raising an amphora to the sky from which no doubt water had once splashed down. Now the basin’s edge served as an informal meeting place for students and servants, who sat and luncheoned and relaxed as crowds of people moved through the chamber and down one of the six hallways.
He’d almost missed her. Almost walked straight through the crowd and down the hall that led to the student apartments. But out of the corner of his eye, he’d spotted a head of gray hair, a sturdy frame, and turned to see Kayla from The Double moving purposefully along the far side of the chamber.
Familiar mustard-colored robes revealed a hint of the intricate tattoo that covered her chest, and he’d known it was her, a chill washing over him as he’d hurried to place the fountain between them.
She’d not seen him and rapidly disappeared down a hallway, merging with the crowd. For a long moment, he’d just stood there, people jostling around him in annoyance, and then stepped to the basin’s edge to interrupt a couple of young men who were munching on sticky buns filled with some manner of meat.
“Excuse me. That hallway over there. Where does it lead?”
“Hmm?” The young man paused, mouth filled with food, then hastily swallowed. “That one leads to a bunch of places. Instructors’ quarters, executive suites, meeting rooms, council chambers, and in the basement levels you’ve got your more exclusive cellars, storage room, treasure vaults…”
Scorio had nodded slowly. What was Kayla doing here? On Dola’s business? Should he follow her?
He stood, irresolute, until he realized the opportunity had slipped him by. He’d missed his chance, and now she was gone.
Which, in a way, brought its own measure of relief. The sooner he left his past behind him, the better.
Their free Eighthday finally came and went. In celebration of how far they’d all come, they dined at the same restaurant in which Scorio had always met Leonis and Lianshi, and spent more octs than Scorio had thought possible. Leonis had been in his element, roaring with laughter, ordering more drinks, demanding more platters of food, calling for musicians to be brought in from the street, buying rounds for the other patrons, and in short becoming a master of the revel, so that when they finally left, long after Second Clay, the streets wet and gleaming under the copper manalights, a great cheer had followed them out into the street, and Leonis had led them home, head held high.
Only for the suite’s lights to glow to life of their own accord at far too early an hour—Scorio, who had indulged in only a few drinks, immediately awoke. Tossing off his covers, he’d hurriedly dressed in his new exercise robes and washed his face briskly in the bowl set on the narrow table against the wall.
He paused, water running in rivulets down his face, to stare at his reflection in the copper mirror.
This is it. Your first day, your first chance to show everyone that you belong here, that you have what it takes. Deep breaths. Keep it together. You’re going to do… well. Fine, I’m sure.
Emerging into the common room, he saw Naomi seated at the dining table, an empty mug before her, face haggard from lack of sleep.
“You been here all night?” Scorio asked, moving up to stand behind one of the chairs.
“Couldn’t sleep,” she said, staring down at the mug. “Gave up trying.”
Scorio considered her words, bit back the obvious questions, and then simply nodded. “Well, it’s a new chance for both of us. I’ve got your back if you’ve got mine.”