“You’ve no proof,” he managed to croak.
“No proof?” Praximar looked genuinely taken aback. “My boy, do you think I would level such base accusations without evidence? I can summon witnesses, if need be. Guards who were on duty the day of the heist. Kin of the guards who were killed. Even your accomplices, no doubt, could be unearthed and convinced to speak. Oh, don’t you worry about that, my boy. Evidence I have in plenty.”
Memories flickered through Scorio’s mind. The attack on the skycrane yard, his reckless escape, his accomplices fighting off guards—had they killed some? He couldn’t remember.
And then another memory surfaced.
A gray-haired woman, passing through the hexagonal fountain chamber, taking the hallway that led to the instructor’s suites, the meeting rooms—and the executive offices.
Kayla.
“You knew,” he whispered. “You’ve known for weeks. Why now? Why wait?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Praximar with evident satisfaction. “But those are the terms I’m offering you. Lose in the tournament, do not pass the sixth chamber of the Gauntlet, and leave the Academy at the semester’s end. You’ll benefit from the continuous sponsorship of House Chimera, which will no doubt help heal your Heart and prepare you for a good career serving their goals. Or… Defy me, and I tell House Chimera. They’ll retract their offer, and you’ll be left with no hope of progressing, regardless.”
“You’ll not expel me if I refuse?”
“Why bother?” He seemed genuinely amused. “I’ve heard from Hera and can sense myself how weak your Heart has become. Like all hotheaded youths, you mortgaged your future for brief successes today. Without expensive help, you’ll only degenerate further. Your reputation will be ruined by my revelation, and you’ll never receive sponsorship again. You’ll not make Emberling with such a fractured Heart, you’ll crash and burn in the Gauntlet, then be kicked out of the Academy with no future whatsoever. That’s far worse than anything I could do to you, and what’s more, you’d serve as a salutary lesson to your classmates.” Praximar’s eyes glittered. “Who would get to watch you fail and fail again, and witness firsthand the cost of being a bastard of a Red Lister who thought he could play the Academy as he saw fit.”
Scorio clenched the wooden arms of his chair so tightly that the wood creaked. His vision reduced to a narrow tunnel, and all he could see was Praximar’s smug smirk.
“If I don’t receive your oath before the next tournament round, I’ll be forced to inform House Chimera,” said Praximar, sitting upright briskly and taking up his quill again. “Thus you have some time to deliberate if you wish, but we both know what the wise course of action is. I applaud your boldness, Scorio, but unfortunately, you never had a chance.” Praximar fixed him with a bloodless smile. “Nobody threatens the sanctity of my Academy and gets away with it. Nobody. Now go. You’re dismissed.”
And he pulled a blank sheet of parchment before him on which he began to write a letter, his calligraphy elegant and smooth, his expression serene.
Scorio stood very carefully. His breath was coming in shallow pants, and his body felt engorged, filled with a terrible desire to wreak ruin upon Praximar, upon his office. He wanted to scream at the older man, to take up his chair and dash it against Praximar’s brow. For a moment he just stood there, lips pulled back from his teeth, feeling flushed and on the very edge of self-control.
But Praximar was a Pyre Lord. To attack him would be to give the other man all the justification he needed to break every bone in Scorio’s body.
With great control and rigid dignity, Scorio turned away from Praximar. He wanted to leave with some final, biting comment, words that would sear their way into the chancellor’s pitiful conscience and leave the man gasping and wounded, but nothing came to mind.
The truth, Scorio realized as he allowed the double doors to close behind him, was that Praximar had him dead to rights.
He walked back to his suite in a daze. The few people that recognized him en route drew back, brows furrowing, something about his expression warning them off. It seemed to take forever to reach his hallway, to reach his door, an extended trial in not screaming and burying his fist into the closest object.
But he finally got back and stepped inside.
Leonis and Lianshi immediately stood up from where they’d been reading together at the dining table.
“Oh no,” said Lianshi immediately.
“You told him, right?” began Leonis. “You told him it was my idea, my lie, you told him—”
“No,” said Scorio, a shudder passing through him, his whole body trembling like a leaf in a wind of pure rage. “It wasn’t about last night.”
“Then?” Lianshi stepped away from the table, eyes wide. “Scorio? What happened?”
He closed his eyes, lowered his chin to his chest. His whole world reduced to a small, finite space, a quivering mass of white-hot misery and anger.
“Scorio?”
“He blackmailed me,” he heard himself say, voice eerily calm. “Used a crime I committed while out in the ruins. Either I throw my next tournament match and agree to not pass the Gauntlet’s sixth room, or he tells House Chimera.”
The room was still, and when he finally opened his eyes again, he saw both of his friends staring at him in shock.
“But…” Leonis gathered himself, tried again. “You did commit this crime?”
“Yeah,” said Scorio, and with that admission, the strength went out of him. His knees buckled and he lurched to the closest chair. “I did. Remember? What I told you about Dola? I was desperate. It was before I met Naomi. I had no money. No future. No way to support myself. Couldn’t let people know I was a Red Lister, a runaway Great Soul. I did one job. Decided I couldn’t do more, and returned to the ruins.”
“By the ten hells,” said Leonis, sitting across from him. “How did Praximar find out?”
“I don’t know.” Scorio’s anger had turned to ashes, bleak and cold. “I saw an associate of Dola’s here in the Academy in the days after Imogen’s attack. And… last night, Feiyan told me that Dola had been asking around for me after Imogen struck. Guess… guess I became pretty high profile there for a bit, and she went looking for me.”
“And told Praximar?” Lianshi sat lightly on the edge of her seat, brow furrowed. “What connection could she have with the Chancellor of the Academy and Autocrat of House Hydra?”
“He said intra-house criminal network,” said Leonis. “Maybe they’ve worked together in the past.”
Scorio stared blindly at the wall, then blinked. “Actually. Praximar said something that I missed, but which now…”
“What?” prompted Lianshi.
“That he sacrificed his future as a Great Soul for the good of the Academy. That even shipments of high-quality mana aren’t enough to help him advance.”
“And?”
“What I stole was a shipment of high-quality mana.”
The other two exchanged a glance.
“Wait.” Leonis frowned at him. “You think Dola was stealing that shipment for Praximar?”
“I don’t know. It was House Chimera goods, and I thought we were working for House Basilisk. Maybe Basilisk was going to sell it to Praximar, or… who knows? Not that it matters. He says he has evidence. Can prove it.”
“It might matter,” said Lianshi, growing animated. “If we can prove Praximar was involved, then we could get him removed from his post.”
“Prove it?” Scorio turned to stare at her. “How?”
“You said Dola ran the operation, right? We find Dola, force her to confess.”
Scorio blinked. “You think that would work?”
For a moment they sat in silence, then Leonis slowly shook his head. “No. I don’t think it would.”
Lianshi whirled on him. “Why not?”
“Because think of what you’re saying. If this really is an unofficial criminal network that the Houses use, you’re talking about forcing a key player to testify against the Autocrat of House Hydra.”