Scorio tongued his cheek, then nodded slowly. “Fine. Give me a few minutes.”
“Very well.”
Leonis accompanied Scorio back to his room. “Listen. Praximar won’t push you on last night. The Academy would be in an uproar if a tournament winner were punished for celebrating. Even the instructors would be offended! But if he gives you trouble, tell him I told you I had permission from Instructor Rex to leave the Academy on a special permit. Put the blame squarely on my shoulders. Understood?”
“Sure.” Scorio shucked his sleeping robes and pulled on some clean ones. “Though something like that would be the Hell Whip’s responsibility, right?”
“Unless Praximar really has it out for you,” said Leonis. “But like I said. Put it on me. I’ve a sterling record. I’ll take the punishment, just like I promised.”
Scorio’s Heart guttered out and a pall of exhaustion fell over him. “We’ll see. Wait for me here? I’ll come right back when he’s done with me.”
“Sure. We’ll be here.”
Scorio stepped out into the common room, where Lianshi was waiting for him. “Listen,” she said quietly. “It’s not uncommon for new House proteges to celebrate like we did. Unofficially it’s almost expected. If he comes down on you hard, appeal to House Chimera. They’ll support you on this.”
“All right.” His stomach felt sharp and bubbly, and he felt each beat of his heart with painful force. “I’ll be back.”
“Luck,” she said, squeezing his arm, then he stepped out into the hallway to follow the messenger.
The way to Praximar’s office was long, but eventually, they found themselves striding down the same hallway he’d walked with Naomi only a week or two ago and up to a set of grand double doors.
Scorio glowered at the messenger’s back as he knocked. If Praximar thought he could expel him for a minor infraction, he was wrong. House Chimera wouldn’t let him go without a fight. He had allies now, an entire House with which to oppose House Hydra and Praximar’s biases.
The messenger stuck his head into the office beyond, spoke quietly, then stepped back out and opened the door for Scorio.
Who entered the massive office, pulse racing, expression neutral, spine stiff, chin raised. The light of First Rust sluiced in through the huge skylight to pool around the massive desk, behind which Praximar lazed, reclining on his armchair with a quill held idly between his fingers. He looked at ease, comfortable in his own skin, iron-gray beard freshly washed and combed, and wearing his authority as comfortably as a man might a new cloak.
“Good morning, Cinder Scorio. Please, have a seat.”
Not the tones of a superior about to hand out a lashing. Scorio’s anger softened as he approached and cautiously took a seat. “You asked to see me, Chancellor?”
“Yes. Congratulations are in order. Chimera’s Principal Recruiter informed me yesterday that you were selected for sponsorship following your splendid showing at the tournament. She has high hopes for you, despite your Heart’s weaknesses, and asked that I sign off on the official papers.”
“Thank you, Chancellor. It’s a great honor.”
“I sent for you yesterday evening, but you weren’t in your chambers, nor could you be found,” said Praximar, tone mild.
Scorio sat up. “Chancellor, about that—”
“Oh, don’t be alarmed, Scorio. You’re hardly the first Cinder to wish to celebrate such a momentous event. I myself remember slipping out of the Academy when House Hydra sponsored me. What a night that was! I’d probably dislocate my hips if I attempted those same excesses today. No, no, don’t worry about that at all.”
Scorio sat back, relief flooding him. “Thank you, Chancellor.”
“I’ve signed the official papers, and you will be receiving a summons to finalize the sponsorship tomorrow, seeing as that’s Firstday. Treasures, private training, the chance to team up with other House Chimera proteges—you’ll be entering a whole new world, Scorio. A realm that most Great Souls in your cohort can only dream about. You’re on the verge of becoming one of your class’s elite. But.”
Scorio froze. “But sir?”
Praximar leaned forward, grimacing as if reluctant to impart bad news. “Yes, there is, unfortunately, a proverbial fly in this ointment. You see, certain facts about your past have been brought to my attention. Facts which paint you in a less than flattering light.”
Scorio stared at the man, mind blank.
“As you know, I have dedicated my life to this Academy. It is the cradle from which all Great Souls spring forth, the genesis of legends, the home of our collective hope. I am a Pyre Lord, but shall never be a Blood Baron, no matter how many vials of rarefied mana I have shipped here from the depths of hell. The ambient mana of Bastion is simply too poor for me to continue advancing, but I have made this sacrifice willingly for the good of our kind.”
Scorio’s heart was lurching about within his chest like a beast seeking to break free of chains. He clutched at the arms of his chair, a rushing wind in his ears.
“So you can imagine how seriously I take the character of the Academy’s elites. They must exemplify the very best of who we are, and allow no stain to be cast upon our reputation. Maintaining our natural superiority over the common people is struggle enough without giving them easy targets, you see. Especially considering our… recent troubles, these past few years. It is my sacred responsibility to safeguard the Academy in every way.”
Was this about his being a Red Lister? But Sol himself had vouchsafed him. What facts about his past—
“So you can imagine how crushed I was when I learned that our most recent House protege has a criminal background.” Praximar steepled his fingers before his lips, expression grave, nearly sorrowful. “That, while in the throes of despair, cast out amongst the ruins and dregs of Bastion’s society, he engaged in organized criminal activities and stole a valuable shipment of Sapphire mana from the Chimera skycrane yards.”
Scorio sat back, his body humming, unable to breathe. Dola. She must have told Praximar. But why? How could he have learned? She worked for House Basilisk; he had no connection to her—
Praximar’s eyes gleamed. “And how terribly ironic that this Cinder should be recruited by the very House he stole from? How utterly disgusted they would be to learn of his crimes. How revolted. What do you think they would do if they discovered this truth? How badly would they react?”
Wait. Praximar wasn’t summarily expelling him. Unless he was being toyed with? “What are you saying?” he managed, voice little more than a rasp.
“What I am saying, dear boy, is that you have placed me in a very, very difficult situation. If I allow bygones to be bygones, your sordid past could rear its head at an inopportune time and sully the entire Academy’s reputation, not to mention that of House Chimera. But if I just cast you out, I’d have to give a reason for your expulsion, and explain how a criminal was allowed to reach such heights and even receive an offer of sponsorship. I would have to apologize personally to House Chimera, for allowing a criminal to receive their consideration. No. A mess all around. Far better for us to take a third option.”
Scorio mastered his confoundment and sat forward. “And what option is that?”
“You agree to lose your next bout in the tournament,” said Praximar, his thin lips curving into a smile. “And you also agree to get no farther than the sixth room in the Gauntlet—if you can even get that far. You don’t push to reach Emberling until you are flushed out of the Academy along with the rest of your cohort’s lower half, and then—well. You can do as you wish as a member of House Chimera.”
Scorio stared at Praximar. He was a hollow vessel. He was a furnace in which burned a colorless flame. He couldn’t think, despite knowing that this was the very moment in which to deploy his keenest wit.