“Those are the facts,” said Lianshi, her tone quiet but firm. “But it doesn’t mean you don’t have a chance tomorrow. As long as you’re paired up against another Cinder, you’ll be fine.”
“Sixty-three other contestants tomorrow,” said Scorio softly. “Of which one third are Emberlings. Odds are decent.”
“Not bad,” said Lianshi with a gentle smile. “But that’s not stopped you before. Now come on. Drink some water, go swim and wash off, then bed.”
“Yeah,” said Scorio, rising wearily to his feet. “All right.”
He felt Leonis and Lianshi’s concerned stares as he padded down the path through the ferns to the radiant blue pool. Shucking his robes, he slipped slowly into the water with a sigh. Ducked his head and swam underwater to the far side, using the motions to limber up his body, release the tension that had coiled within him. His head breached the water’s surface at the pool’s far side, and he sat upon the ledge, lips pursed, staring out at nothing.
He didn’t think about much. Instead, he just felt, his emotions passing through him in a continuous wave. A longing for Naomi, a fear of tomorrow’s match-up, the old anger at Praximar and the whole system, the frustration at himself. Finally, his mind settled on Jova Spike’s face. Her kohl-rimmed eyes, her full lips painted black, her dark skin, her raven hair. Why had she accepted his challenge? If he was so beneath her, she should have disdained the opportunity.
Because he was a Red Lister? An opportunity to humiliate him? To prove to herself that he was exactly what she thought, a worthless, conniving foe?
Or had there been something else? Her anger at the end, her furious outburst—wounded pride? Or…?
The puzzle was beyond him. His body ached, and he felt a hollowness within his chest that somehow felt heavy. With a sigh, he pushed forward, back into the pool, and slowly swam back. Back, to sleep, to rest, and then tomorrow, to fight.
1
The roar of the arena’s crowd crashed around him like waves in a storm. Thirty-two sparring circles were gathered close, and the scope and scale of the environment were as overwhelming and awesome as ever.
But Scorio ignored it all. Ignored the huge crowd, Helminth’s voice as she called out the rules, the roiling dark sky overhead, everything.
He had eyes only for his opponent. The sight of her caused his hopes to sink, filled his body with a sudden numbness that contrasted with the dizzying sensation in his mind. He tried to swallow and couldn’t; he felt his throat thicken as if his heart was beating right below it, causing it to close.
His opponent, on the other hand, appeared entirely unaffected by his appearance. She gazed at him with emotionless eyes, her expression lifeless, her eyes half-lidded, appearing somewhere between utterly disinterested and absolutely unimpressed.
Chloe.
He’d no classes with her, only glimpsed her occasionally during the morning runs or at mealtimes. Pale-skinned, with her tousled, curly red hair shorn short at the back and lengthening down the line of her jaw. She had a single, prominent beauty mark to the side of her upper lip and a watery, deathless stare that made her look like the veteran of a thousand brutal fights.
And she was an Emberling.
Scorio had studied every single one of his potential sixty-three opponents, with a focus on those who’d graduated to the next power level. He’d compiled three categories for them: absolutely no chance, extremely difficult, and brutal. There’d been only three Emberlings in the brutal category, five in the extremely difficult, with the rest all being absolutely no chance.
Which was where he’d placed Chloe.
Scorio blinked as the chimes sounded. Was that the second or third? Heart thudding, he raised his fists and fell into his customary combat crouch and swept Coal mana into his Heart. The cracks had receded overnight, with some sealing over altogether. Scorio at once felt euphoric over the effect of the first Sublime Purification pill, and mortified: at this rate, it would take dozens, if not scores of pills to heal his Heart back.
How by the ten hells was he supposed to hunt that many fiends in time?
The chime sounded again, and Chloe began walking toward him, unhurried, expressionless, with all the inevitability of sure death.
Scorio forced his breathing to slow, willed his thoughts to calm. There was a chance. Technically. As long as he didn’t let her touch him and trigger her power, he could feasibly defeat her.
Feasibly.
Warily he advanced, focusing on his breath, watching her carefully as they drew close. Her features were striking, almost boyish, and her confidence appeared total. She slowed, finally raised her fists, her watery, hazel eyes narrowing a fraction as she studied him.
Instead of closing in directly, Scorio immediately began to circle. He couldn’t let her land a blow. Which meant… drawing her out and riposting.
Chloe wasn’t interested in wasting time. She came right at him, her path curving to match his own, and then she darted forward, kicking out at his knee.
A light blow that would have resulted in but a tap, but Scorio immediately willed his Heart to ignite as he jerked back hurriedly. Her kick swished, and she came in again, throwing out a couple of quick jabs.
Suffused with power, Scorio dodged, his nerves making him exaggerate the movement. Skipped aside to gain a couple of yards again, and hunched his shoulders, fists coming up before his face.
He felt light on his feet, his stomach fluttering painfully, his skin prickling. His mouth was parched, but still, he tried to lick his lips as he circled again.
Chloe frowned, impatient, and closed once more, coming right at him. She could afford to take a couple of punches if it meant landing just one of her own.
Scorio darted in and risked a punch at her face, extending himself to his full reach, and cracked a blow into her cheek. Her head snapped back, but before she could react, he kicked at her leg, hammering his shin against her thigh.
Chloe hissed in pain, but Scorio danced back and away.
“You can’t run forever,” she said, tone venomous, and again came right at him.
And she was right. But, heart pounding, Scorio kept moving, light on his feet, backing away as she came at him with bullish intensity. He threw a couple more jabs and she didn’t even flinch.
No feinting, then.
With a snarl she leaped at him, unleashing a flurry of punches, and Scorio leaped back, nearly tripped, then retreated as quickly as he could. She came right after, throwing punch after punch, her expression darkening with growing anger. Desperate, Scorio timed it just right; caught his weight on his back foot, then surged forward and under her punch, to slam a tight uppercut into her sternum.
He heard the air whoosh out of her, and in a frenzy of fear threw himself aside before she could land an elbow. He danced back then checked his instincts—he had to make the most of this single moment. She was hunched over, eyes wide, turning to face him. He lunged forward, cracked a punch across her jaw, hit her with a cross. She reeled, staggered back onto her heels.
A decisive blow. He needed to end this now as his Heart guttered. With a cry, he threw a powerful cross, the kind that could pulverize a brick—and she ducked and swayed under it, suddenly in control of herself once more.
She’d lured him in, he realized, pretended to be weaker than she was—
Her punch slammed into his ribs, tearing a grunt from him.
But then she was gone, flickering away from view, and Scorio twisted about, trying desperately to locate her—
She was behind him, and punched him right in the kidneys. Then disappeared again.
Appeared by his side to smash her fist across his jaw, and disappeared once more.
Scorio roared in pain and frustration, swung his arm out wide, a blind backhand that swept through the space in which he hoped she’d appear.
No luck. She was behind him again, and the blow to the back of his head was like being brained by a club. He staggered forward, his vision filling with radiant light. Each time she hit him she instantly repositioned herself to the most optimum location, was able to hit him harder, faster than before.