The Alben Worm jerked back in surprise, then snapped back its tongue and closed its mouth, the lower jaw rolling up to seal Lianshi inside.
“No!” screamed the Nightmare Lady, rushing back into the fight.
The worm froze, the soft flesh of its head and neck working, undulating as if a thousand rollers were trying to compress Lianshi.
Trying to and failing.
And in that moment of surprise, of confusion, Leonis darted around the shield, leaped up, and brought Nezzar down upon the Alben Worm’s head with all his strength.
The club blazed to life a moment before it collapsed the human visage and clove through the rest of the upper torso like a booted foot kicking a huge mushroom apart. Nezzar tore right through with such force that it smashed into the stone ground below, shattering and embedding itself inches into the rock.
Massively deformed, the Alben Worm recoiled, its body shaking and twisting, and with a convulsive spasm, it spat Lianshi forth, so that she fell to the ground, drenched in spit but unharmed.
Scorio rushed to her side, helped her up, and felt the mana storm collapse. With a burbling gargle, the Alben Worm fled across the square, weaving drunkenly, and then dove back into its tunnel. A flash of its tail, and it was gone.
Scorio stood swaying, then dropped down next to Lianshi. He studied his hands—they were crimson from thousands of beads of blood. His robes clung to him, soaked by the blood sweat brought about by the mana storm, and his heart beat powerfully, erratically, lurching in his chest.
Leonis planted Nezzar’s head between his feet and bowed over its pommel, his skin damp and crimson. Lianshi was breathing in rapid gasps, her hair slicked into a chaotic affair by the slime, her eyes wide, the blood sweat mixing with the pearlescent goo.
“You all right?” asked Scorio.
Lianshi raised her hands, stared at the strings of slime that fell from them, then up at him as if unable to comprehend his words.
“Your Black Star plants!” said the Nightmare Lady, and raced toward the collapsed burrow. Leaped at the last moment so that she could drop neatly between the fallen pillars and knife into the tunnel below.
Scorio watched her go. He should follow, he knew. But his legs felt jellied, his whole body, no, his entire spirit ached from the mana storm. Each passing second had felt worse—what would have happened to them if Leonis hadn’t collapsed its head?
None of them spoke. Lianshi suddenly scrabbled at her water flask and poured it over her face, then her hands, then with a cry of disgust tore off her upper robe, revealing the wrap she wore around her chest, her bare, muscled midriff, and hurled the sodden robe away.
“Here,” said Scorio, pulling his own upper robe off.
“Thank you,” said Lianshi mechanically, but instead of putting it on, she used it to wipe slime from her arms and hands, used it to squeeze goo from her long, sopping hair.
Movement. The Nightmare Lady emerged from the burrow, moving slowly, reluctantly.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her sulfurous green eyes burning at a low ebb. “I was too late. The Black Star plants. They’re… they’re gone.”
Chapter 65
Scorio sank down into a crouch and placed his face in his hands.
He heard the others speaking, cautious words, half-hearted queries as they drew close to him, but he couldn’t parse the meaning of the sounds.
He’d known. Known the second he’d turned away from the tunnel below to fight the Alben Worm what he was sacrificing. And in the moment, there had been no question. Friends over power, every time. But now the full import of his loss sank in. His chin was trembling, and he lost his balance, stumbled over to his side to sit.
His friends stood about him, clearly not knowing what to say. Some part of him wanted to make a quip, to tell them it was all right, to not let them feel pity for him.
But that was a quiet voice drowned out in a great wave of numbness. Even the pain from the mana storm was a background sensation, a distant burning that meant nothing. He was out of time. Two weeks till the Gauntlet run. Two weeks till he had to go against Jova, who was now a Tomb Spark, while he was still locked and lost in what felt like the eternal state of being a Cinder.
Which meant he not only had no chance to defeat her, but he wouldn’t even come close. All his bravado. All his defiance. He’d only make himself look ridiculous. How Praximar would love it. Would Jova even notice?
“Scorio,” Naomi said, crouching down before him.
He’d wash out. No House would offer him a position of any kind with his background. No Great Soul organization would be interested in recruiting him with his Red Lister flag. He’d not even be able to enter the underworld, for surely Dola would extract her pound of flesh if he tried.
“Scorio,” said Naomi again, and he saw tears brimming in her eyes. That snapped him out of his fugue, and he blinked, sat up a little straighter.
“Why did you do it?” she asked, voice a husky whisper.
“Do what?” In comparison, his voice was a croak.
“Why didn’t you go fight for your damned plants?” Anger stole into her voice now, and fire flashed in her eyes. “I told you to go. I could have handled the Alben Worm. You could have—”
Lianshi’s voice was cold with absolute authority. “You couldn’t have handled the Worm alone. You’d have died for sure.”
“You don’t know that,” snapped Naomi, looking over to where Lianshi sat.
“Yes, we do.” Leonis straightened painfully and raised Nezzar to prop it over one shoulder. “It took the four of us to drive it away. What could you have done alone?”
Naomi bit her lower lip, face flushing, and then she gave a sharp shake of her head. “Doesn’t matter. You should have done what I said.”
“Why are you here?” Scorio’s voice seemed to float out of some deep void within him.
Naomi frowned. “Why am I here?”
He didn’t repeat himself.
She flushed deeper, looked away. “You’re just a stupid Cinder. You think I’d let you wander around the ruins forever without watching out for you?”
“You said you only joined the Academy to gain power.” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded weirdly calm. “That you didn’t care for our friendship.”
Lianshi’s protest was soft. “Scorio.”
“I…” Even the tips of Naomi’s ears had turned red. “Look. You’re an idiot.” She stood up abruptly and turned away. “You all are. And since when did you two make Emberling?”
“Recently,” said Leonis, voice casual.
“Oh. I didn’t know.” She fiddled with the sleeves of her ragged robe and then dropped her hands to her side again, still looking away. “No matter. I’d have… watched over you three… regardless.”
“Thank you,” said Lianshi. She also rose, tossed aside Scorio’s now slimy robe, and moved close to Naomi. “Without your warning, your help…”
Naomi ducked her head, allowing her hair to fall forward and hide her face. “Stupid. This is all stupid. This plan. This hope. You coming out here, again and again, as if the ruins aren’t incredibly dangerous. How many times did I warn you? But you wouldn’t listen. And now? Now… now your plants are mostly gone. And what were you thinking, anyway? Negotiating with an Imperial Ghost Toad?”
“Didn’t have any choice,” said Scorio numbly. Her intensity, her searing words, failed to pierce his numbness. “It was my last hope.”
“I told you to go protect them,” she said, rounding on him suddenly, hands balling into fists. “You should have listened to me!”
“No,” he said, raising his chin and meeting her gaze squarely. “There was never any contest. Not in my mind. I’d lose those plants a thousand times over before I left you alone in a fight like that.”
Naomi’s eyes widened, and she took a step back.
“Same,” said Leonis. “Though technically they weren’t my flowers, and I’m not really all that into flowers in the first place outside of table decorations.”