“Wait,” he called out, and ran after her, down the hall to where she strode away. She didn’t turn back, so he ran up beside her. “So what if I was a Red Lister? I’m legitimate now, I’m part of all of this, I’ve proven myself—”
“No,” said Jova, turning on him so suddenly that he tripped to avoid crashing into her, fell back against the wall. She stepped in right after him, eyes narrowed. “You haven’t proven yourself because you can’t. No good deed will erase the fact that you’re a danger to Bastion and our kind.” She spoke rapidly, furiously, and jabbed a finger into his chest. “You’re a Red Lister, Scorio, which means you have proven in every reincarnation that you imperil those around you, bring danger to our most sacred institutions, and care nothing but for your own goals. Maybe the others don’t care about that, but I do.” She held his gaze, pinned him against the wall with it. “So no. And don’t ask me again. I won’t be this patient if you do.”
She stepped back, looked him up and down once, then turned on her heel to resume marching down the hallway.
It was mercifully almost empty; everyone else had already hurried to sparring class. But the few students who were hurrying along stared at him with wide-eyed wonder.
Scorio’s face burned, his pulse raced, and a deep and terrible anger awoke within him. His chest rose and fell with burning breaths as if his lungs had become a furnace, and he wanted nothing so much as to leap after Jova and—what? Prove her right by attacking her?
“You’re scared,” he growled, voice pitched low but still carrying down the length of the hall.
Jova drew up short, head slowly rising, shoulders stiff, and then, without looking back, asked, tone incredulous, “What did you say?”
He pushed off the wall, voice a low snarl. “You’re scared. Of my successes. That I’m going to take your first spot. That I’ll dethrone you.”
He half-expected her to laugh, but instead, she turned slowly, oh so slowly, to glare at him. “Scared? Of you?”
The incredulity on her words stung, but he grinned at her, the expression all teeth. “That’s right. And you’re right to be. I’m going to crush you. I’m going to make Emberling, I’m going to keep getting stronger, and then I’m going to make the deepest into the Gauntlet at the semester’s end. And you know it.”
This time she did laugh, a snort of disbelief, and her lip curled into a sneer. “Good luck with that.”
He took a rapid step forward. “Then let’s make a bet. If I beat you at the Gauntlet run, you’ll help me as best you can by looking in your journals.”
“And when you lose?”
He shrugged, still smiling. “What do you want?”
“From you? Nothing.” She turned now to face him full on, and he felt the air between them tremble. She was drawing in mana, and even with his Heart unsummoned he could feel it, the rush of power flooding into her, the quantity such that it felt like standing in a gale-force wind.
By all the hells, he thought. Just how strong is she?
“Actually, more than nothing,” she said, voice ice cold and imperious. “If you fail to beat me at the Gauntlet, I want your word as a Great Soul that you’ll withdraw from the Academy, even if you’re offered a place in the second-semester cohort.”
Her words hit him in the gut. Reject a chance to continue learning from the best, from availing himself of the Academy’s resources?
But why was he afraid? He was a member of House Chimera now. If he was forced to leave the Academy, he’d just begin his training directly with them.
“Deal,” he said.
Jova’s dark-rimmed eyes were as flat and cold as those of a shark. “I’m going to hold you to this oath, Red Lister. The consequences of your changing your mind will be lethal. Now. Do not talk to me again, or I really will lose my patience.”
And once more she strode away; she turned the corner, and was gone. The few remaining students who’d overheard the exchange quickly disappeared too, and Scorio sank back against the wall again, mind reeling.
What had just happened? What had he just sworn? Could he beat the infamous Jova Spike at the final Gauntlet run? When she’d won the first, and had only excelled in every way since?
For a long, aching moment, he just stared into the middle distance, half-panicked, but then he summoned his will and inhaled deeply. He could do it. She was an Emberling, sure, but with House Chimera’s guidance and his own natural talents, he’d make Emberling, too. He’d train harder than anyone had ever trained. He’d do the impossible if it meant learning about his past. Understanding the mysteries that had resulted in his being labeled a Red Lister, a monster worthy of the Final Door.
Jova didn’t know it yet, but she’d given him the last piece of incentive he’d needed to dominate their Academy and their cohort.
Scorio took a deep, shuddering breath, and smiled.
They weren’t going to know what had hit them.
Chapter 52
“You think the Golden King will wait another full day to celebrate the success of his greatest admirer?” bellowed Leonis, a bottle of flaywine in hand. He stood, imperious, one foot atop a chair, his hair unbound and falling riotously down his broad shoulders.
“We get our allowance tomorrow,” said Scorio. “Shouldn’t we save an expedition into the city for the day we have no classes—”
“What is this twittering?” Leonis pressed his fingers to his temples. “This mewling sound that thinks it speaks reason but only reveals a lack of joy in life? No! We celebrate tonight as is customary! By tomorrow evening this news will be stale, the freshness sucked out of it, poor Scorio focused on conquering new impossibilities. Tonight!”
Scorio grinned and pushed back on the rear legs of his chair. “I approve of the enthusiasm. But Praximar has Naomi and me on short leashes. Wouldn’t do to be caught sneaking out of the Academy after hours and expelled.”
“Agreed,” said Naomi dourly.
“Caught?” Leonis blinked as if offended. “You think I, Leonis the Grim, the Favored of Eragoth, can be stymied by a handful of self-important bureaucrats? Come, Scorio, your insults cut me to the bone. I know how to exit and return without difficulty. I vow this to you on my illustrious albeit currently forgotten past.”
Lianshi frowned and sank a little deeper into her morass of cushions. “I mean, it’s normal for tournament winners to head and celebrate tonight. The others will be doing the same.”
“I’ve no desire to break the rules for no good reason,” said Naomi, scooting her heels up onto the edge of her seat so that she could lower her chin to her knees.
“No good reason? My friends, my friends.” Leonis’s voice dropped to a hush. “You think me overwrought? You think my desire to celebrate our friend inappropriate? Let me remind you of who we are, what we are.”
“We know,” said Lianshi. “We’re Great Souls.”
“No!” Leonis’s cry reverberated off the rafters of their chamber like a crashing wave. “We’re orphans, immortal sparks cast adrift on the tides of chaos! We’ve no recollection of family, of our bosom friends, our deeds and failures. We’re blank slates who were once great, once legendary, worthy of having their souls tied to the Archspire itself, but now? We’re timorous students, cowering behind the robes of our instructors, content to study and ask for permission if we’ve the desire to enjoy ourselves!”
Lianshi pursed her lips. Scorio reluctantly nodded.
“What binds us together?” Leonis stared intently at each of them. “Of what are our bonds forged? Experience, trust, admiration. I may not know much, but I know this: our lives are liable to be brutish and short, and all we can truly trust in is each other. If we don’t seize moments like these when they present themselves, then what manner of people will we become? How strong our bonds? Scorio has achieved his dream, has rescued his Heart from destruction, and I for one won’t gamely wait till it’s appropriate to celebrate. I say, we celebrate him now! I say, we live for the moment lest it pass us by! For pass it shall, and then another, and our friendships will turn anemic, will be weakened by a lack of passion. If we don’t dare, if we don’t brave great dangers for each other, then what manner of friends are we? No! I’ll not just pat Scorio on the shoulder, mouth mild compliments, and get a good night’s sleep. To the streets! To the bars and places of ill repute! To drink, to dance, to reforge our bonds, to cast them stronger, truer, and of unbreakable mettle! Are you with me, or are you whining milquetoast creatures with spoiled milk in your veins instead of liquid fire?”