“She did?” Leonis spun around. “That true, Naomi? You joining us on the Gauntlet run?”
Naomi looked up and glowered at Scorio. “I cut your throat.”
“True.” Scorio smiled sweetly at her. “But I stole your heart.”
“Bastard,” hissed Naomi.
Lianshi raised both hands and stepped back. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”
“I’m joining you all on your Gauntlet run,” said Naomi, angrily sweeping her dark hair over one shoulder. “Made a foolish bet with Scorio, and technically, just technically, lost.”
“You should have learned by now not to bet against me,” said Scorio, getting off his bier.
“Truth,” said Leonis. “And this means we’ll all be entering the Gauntlet as Emberlings. At the very least that puts us in the top third of the contestants.”
“Better than that,” said Lianshi. “I doubt any of them have trained as hard or as extensively together as we have, remember?”
“We’ll destroy the opposition,” said Naomi in a surly voice. “I won’t have it any other way.”
“Agreed,” said Scorio. “Fortunately for us, the run is in two weeks’ time.”
“Why ‘fortunately’?” asked Lianshi.
“Because I need to work on igniting my Heart. It’s taking me forever right now.”
Naomi snorted. “Is that all? There’s a trick to it, you know?”
“Oh?”
“Condense it back to its original size. Or had you forgotten? That’s what’s required to make Tomb Spark.” Her smile was saccharine. “Might as well do that while you’re at it.”
“Jova Spike did,” said Scorio, and he was gratified to see Naomi’s shock.
“She did what?”
“Made Tomb Spark,” said Leonis, tone heavy. “Now she’s not only invulnerable to most damage, but can scare her opponents into losing their minds in some weird way we haven’t quite figured out.”
“And acquired her shroud,” said Lianshi. “On top of everything else.”
“Oh,” said Naomi, then gave a sharp shake of her head. “Never mind, then. Shall we just skip the whole thing?”
“No,” said Scorio. “We’re going to beat her. Somehow. I don’t know how, but we’re going to make it work.”
“In the next two weeks?” Naomi raised an eyebrow. “Good luck.”
“Two weeks in which to master our Emberling abilities,” said Lianshi. “If we all focus on them—if you’re willing to show us what you’ve mastered, Naomi—we’ll be able to enter the Gauntlet even stronger than we are right now.”
Naomi sighed. “Fine. If I haven’t been expelled for missing so many classes. I haven’t been back in… eight weeks?”
To which nobody had a ready answer.
“That’s Praximar’s decision,” said Lianshi at last. “And I can’t begin to guess whether he’d prefer to expel you or let you be part of a Gauntlet run that he hopes will be a source of humiliation and failure.”
“Such a great guy, Praximar,” said Leonis. “Just the best.”
“We’ll talk to him.” Scorio considered his own words, then nodded. “He hates me. Or, better yet, wants me under his heel. I’ve avoided him since our last meeting, but it’s time we spoke. And I think I have the angle that will compel him to be generous.”
“You do?” Naomi crossed her arms, skeptical. “Will wonders ever cease?”
Scorio could only grin. “Just come back with us, and join me when I go talk to him. And let me talk, and don’t try to rip his face off.”
“That’s asking for a lot.”
“Then you should have won our sparring match, hmm?” Scorio strode between the biers, past where she stood. As he drew level with her, he winked, causing her expression to turn thunderous.
“Best of three,” she called out after him.
Scorio laughed but kept on walking.
1
Nobody challenged them as they approached Chancellor Praximar’s office. The luxurious hallways were moderately busy, but other than a few subtle glances, Scorio and Naomi made their way without difficulty.
“This isn’t going to go well,” muttered Naomi by his side. “Nor do I want to be here.”
“Relax.” Scorio forced a polite smile to a clerk of some kind who was hurrying past with a stack of folders clutched to their chest. “Don’t remember this floor being this busy last time.”
“End of the semester,” said Naomi. “Half the class is being dismissed, remember? That means a feeding frenzy as every organization worth a damn tries to snap them up. That and all the ceremonies. Great Souls love nothing more than their ceremonies. Praximar lives for them, and the end-of-semester celebration takes an entire Eighthday. Important Great Souls come in from the depths of hell, the winners of the tournament and those who did best at the Gauntlet run are feted—it just goes on and on.”
Scorio looked sidelong at his friend and smirked. “You sound enthused.”
To which she only curled her lip at him in something very akin to a silent snarl.
The chancellor’s office, it turned out, was very busy. Upon approaching the double doors, Scorio saw a dozen people seated at the waiting chairs, many with thick folders or sheaves of papers on their laps, all of them looking impatient. A stand had been set beside the doors, behind which a familiar man stood, scribbling something in a massive ledger.
Scorio’s breath was suddenly loud in his own ears, and he came to an abrupt stop as he stared at the man, an animalistic growl almost starting up at the base of his throat.
“Scorio?” Naomi’s tone had turned tentative. “What’s wrong?”
“That man,” said Scorio in a shaking tone. “He was in the holding cell when Praximar… stole my power.”
It felt utterly insufficient to put it that way, but Scorio didn’t know how else to express it.
“He’s just Praximar’s head servant,” said Naomi, hand on his arm. “Breathe. Your best revenge against him is to destroy the Gauntlet.”
The clerk had sensed Scorio’s stare. He looked up, his face paled, and then he immediately looked back down at his scroll.
“You’re saying I shouldn’t tear his head off here and now?”
“Alas, that would be…” Naomi searched for the right word. “Impolitic. Breathe. Get it together.”
Scorio did just that. He inhaled shakily, forced his hands to relax out of the fists they’d clenched themselves into, and looked away from the man as Naomi stepped up to him instead.
“Excuse me,” she said. “We’re students in this year’s cohort. We’d like a word with the chancellor.”
“I can imagine,” said the clerk, his voice nasal, his disinterest a thin veneer over his own intense emotions. Was that fear? Anger? Distaste? “However, Chancellor Praximar is inundated with pressing affairs. If you’d care to make an appointment, I will see to it that you can have fifteen minutes of his time.”
Scorio repressed a grimace and fought back the urge to grab the man by the neck. Before he could bark out a response, Naomi spoke. “An appointment. All right. When is the next available time slot?”
“Let’s see.” The clerk flipped a few pages, traced his finger down the rows, and then finally glanced up with something akin to sadistic amusement. “Four weeks hence. Your name?”
“That won’t do,” said Scorio, his voice almost a snarl. Now he did step in and glared at the man, who shrank back behind the lectern. “This is urgent.”
“I—ah—then I suggest you take it up with one of your instructors,” said the clerk, his voice rising in volume and pitch. “If they wish to escalate the matter, they’ll have access to the appropriate channels!”
Those seated were openly staring now, but Scorio ignored them all. “How about this?” Scorio leaned forward, pinning the man with his stare. “Stick your head in the door and tell the chancellor that Scorio wishes a quick word. I guarantee he’ll want to see me.”
“And if I don’t?”
Scorio didn’t answer. He simply breathed deeply and began to draw mana into his Heart. He felt the air around him grow fever-warm, and stared at the man so fiercely that sweat appeared across the servant’s brow.