And somehow, despite being the most talented of their whole class, she also trained the hardest. Each night when Scorio and his friends would search for a sparring circle in which to train after hours, they’d often find Jova practicing her forms alone or sparring with her two friends. Once or twice, Scorio had been tempted to ask her if she wanted to train with them, but each time, she’d stared right through him, her gaze passing him by as if he weren’t even there, and each time he’d stepped back, the warmth of the impulse turning cold.
The Houses, it was said, continuously sought to recruit her. They’d locked up every other top contender, but she, the glittering apex to their cohort’s best accomplishments, remained disinterested. It was said, by those who claimed to be in the know, that every few weeks a different House would approach her, ask for a meeting which she politely acquiesced to, and put a new offer to her. Increased the treasures they could provide, the quality of the tutors at hand, the guidance, the knowledge as to what to expect.
And every time she declined, politely, firmly, absolutely.
“But why?” Scorio had asked one morning after their run. He’d jabbed his spoon at Leonis. “Why does she turn down such an obvious advantage?”
Leonis had blinked. “Funny you should ask. She and I were cuddling last night, and I asked her, just randomly you know, ‘Hey Jova, so what’s with this whole—’”
Scorio pretended to throw his spoon at the massive man, who laughed and ducked aside.
“But seriously,” Scorio had said. “If she’s gotten this far on basic Academy offerings—”
“And by basic,” Lianshi had interjected dryly, “you mean a daily allotment of Glittering Sage, Fat Cricket, Luminous Ghost—”
“But think of what Hydra could offer her,” Scorio had said. “How much more powerful she could be. A whole semester of ultimate grooming. It just doesn’t make sense.”
“She was unaffiliated back when I knew her,” said Lianshi casually, spooning up more soup. “Granted this was over eighty years ago, but she’d turned down every offer of sponsorship, affiliation, or group membership that had been sent her way. I made a special note of it, because apparently, I’d been mulling inviting her to join my own outfit and ultimately decided not to for that reason.”
“Huh,” said Scorio. “It’ll never get old, hearing about your past lives.”
“Try reading them,” said Lianshi. “It can be shockingly embarrassing. Apparently, I have a tendency to fall in love with emotionally unavailable older men, then create entire alternate realities about them that inevitably prove to be heartbreakingly wrong. And that’s with my having known about the trend ahead of time.”
Scorio and Leonis just stared at Lianshi.
“What?” she said in annoyance. “You think just because I was once the Nun of the Red, I don’t have feelings?”
“No comment,” said Leonis briskly, turning his attention to his plate.
Lianshi turned to Scorio, eyebrow raised, and he grinned. “I’ll keep an eye out for you this time. Don’t worry. You’ve got Scorio the Abhorred here now to wreck any emotionally unavailable idiot that tries to ruin your day.”
“Oh, joy,” deadpanned Lianshi. “I feel so much better.”
Walking alongside his friends now to the basilica, Scorio mulled over the invisible strands of fate and history that were attached to each of them. Was it possible someone had not only kept track of their exploits but created profiles of them, predictive texts that foresaw how they might react to any given situation? After hundreds of reincarnations, surely there was enough information on their personalities and natures to know them better than they knew themselves?
The ritual of entering the arena had grown commonplace. Scorio, Leonis, and Lianshi found their biers and chatted quietly until Praximar once more began the proceedings. His speeches were almost comically similar, but when Helminth bid them all activate their crystals, Scorio repressed a shudder of excitement.
Any chance to watch Jova in action was a moment to be savored.
Opening his eyes, he found himself once more upon the huge stands of the arena. Overhead clouds streamed by as if in torment, endlessly roiling and presaging a storm that never broke. Below, sixteen sparring circles filled the arena floor, the competitors facing off against each other on each edge.
Ignoring Helminth’s customary outline of the rules, Scorio scanned the rings for some sign of Jova. Whom was she up against? His gaze leaped from one pair to the next, bringing each up into magnified view for a moment before releasing them, and then he found her.
Jova stood, composed, chin lowered, hands by her sides, staring across the ring at Ravenna Accardi.
“You’re kidding me,” Leonis whispered by his side.
Lianshi had taken a moment longer to find them and now exhaled in shock. “Oh, wow. Accardi against Spike? That’s…”
“Number one against number two,” said Leonis. “What a fight! This might prove to be the best match-up of the whole tournament.”
Scorio had no words, no interest in chatting or speculating. He studied Accardi’s face. She had to know she was going to lose, or at best, fight the hardest fight of her life. Her expression under her jet-black bangs was stoic, though, revealing nothing of her emotions. Her piercing blue eyes were locked on her distant foe, her jaw set in determination. Scorio hadn’t watched her fight the last time but knew her powers, just like he knew those of every Emberling.
If anybody had a chance of defeating Jova, it was her.
The first chime sounded. Jova shifted into a runner’s stance, legs bent, torso inclined forward, poised to break into a sprint the second the fight began. Ravenna remained still, poised, alert, but clearly not interested in moving forward to engage her foe.
Second chime.
“I feel bad for all the other contestants,” said Leonis. “Not a soul’s going to watch them fight.”
Third chime.
Scorio’s breath caught as Jova hurled herself forward into an all-out sprint.
Ravenna stomped her foot on the stone ground, which shattered into a yard-wide crater as if made of thin glass. Ravenna gestured, turned her hand palm upwards, and beckoned with a curled finger, and a hunk of stone the size of a closed fist flew up to hover before her.
Time seemed to slow. Scorio leaned forward, studying her magnified face, and saw Ravenna’s intense blue eyes narrow a fraction just before she gestured once more.
The hunk of stone flew forward, lazily at first but rapidly gaining speed, so that just before it hit Jova it was flying so fast it blurred.
But Jova was ready, and threw herself into a dive, ducking under the projectile and coming up running, a seamless, perfect move that barely slowed her down.
Only for Ravenna to gesture and fling a second rock at her.
This one came right on the heels of the first, so that Jova was coming up when it hit. The impact was terrible, catching her right hip and spinning her around, lifting her right off her feet so that she rotated mid-air and crashed down onto her chest.
Ravenna didn’t hesitate. She summoned a third rock, smaller than the first two, and sent it zipping right at her fallen foe.
Jova grimaced, rolled aside, climbed awkwardly to her feet, and began to limp forward. Her hip had been pulverized, or should have been, but somehow, she continued advancing. But with her agility greatly diminished, more and more of the stones Ravenna sent her way connected.
Jova dropped to one knee, rose. She reeled back, a stone catching her in the brow, caught her balance, advanced. Six more rocks hit, each doing ever less damage, until the last. This one she simply leaned into, taking it full on the shoulder as if she were shoving her way through a heavy door. The rock spun off her, tearing a gash in her robe but otherwise leaving no mark.
“Accardi needs to do better,” said Leonis quietly.
As if she’d heard, Ravenna stepped back, shut her eyes, and raised both hands. Jova picked up her pace, managing a rough jog as she closed the distance. The ground beneath their feet seemed to shake, and Ravenna’s face went bone-white from the effort as she tore a chunk of rock four feet across right out of the sparring circle’s floor.