“Yes, which is why I hesitate. You’re a Red Lister, which means amoral desperation, true, but not necessarily rank idiocy.”
Scorio spread his hands wide in mock innocence. “Don’t underestimate the power of human stupidity.”
“Oh, I try very, very hard not to, my boy. But I am always surprised, nonetheless. Very well. I simply cannot fathom how you will best Jova Spike in this competition, Cinder that you are. I’ll have an oath drafted and sent to your quarters for your signature. Naomi may return to the Academy for the duration of the term, with the understanding that the failure of your team to win the entirety of the Gauntlet challenge will place the terms of your discharge completely at my discretion.”
Scorio bowed his head. “I wish you much fun in crafting something suitably depraved. If you’ll excuse us?”
Praximar’s expression hardened. “You are dismissed. Enjoy your last two weeks at the Academy, children. As much as you despise it now, you’ll spend the rest of your miserable lives looking back at these days as an all too short golden age.”
To which Naomi just snorted.
Praximar’s frown deepened, but before he could speak further, Scorio grabbed Naomi’s hand and dragged her out of the chamber.
Out through the double doors, past the seated petitioners, and to the hallway’s end. Only once they turned the corner and entered the stairwell did he let go.
“I need a shower,” said Naomi with a shudder. “Or perhaps a purgative with which to scrub clean my insides. I feel soiled for just having spoken with that man.”
“Good thing you spoke so little,” said Scorio. “One more sentence—or noise, even—and we’d have been out of luck.”
“Pah. He’d have stomached any number of insults if it meant having complete control over our fates. He’s going to spend the next two weeks fantasizing about the lies with which he’ll ruin our futures forever.”
“Hope he enjoys it. Our victory will be all the sweeter for it.”
Naomi stopped descending the steps to stare at him. “I’m all for determination, Scorio, but you’re verging on delusion. We’ll make a good accounting of ourselves. Four Emberlings. I wager we’ll place in the top twenty-five percent of our cohort. But win the entire Gauntlet? You’re mad.”
Scorio stopped and looked back up at her. “I’ve made it this far.”
“Against all odds, yes, and at terrible expense to your Heart. You’re venting easily more than half of everything you draw on now. How long will you last in the Gauntlet? And we’re still just Emberlings. Jova Spike is a Tomb Spark. That means she’s not only stronger and faster than ever before, but she has a damned shroud at her disposal.”
“I know,” said Scorio, face beginning to flush. “These are all facts that I’m well aware of.”
“You know, but you don’t understand.” Naomi sighed, shoulders slumping. “Look. I… I admire you, all right, for having made it this far. You’re like a force of nature. You just don’t know when you’re beat. And yes, I know it’s gotten you to Emberling and all that. But each sacrifice costs you more. And you’ve nothing left to sacrifice now. Nothing left to exchange for more power. All that’s left is the crucible that is the Gauntlet, where you’ll be going up against a Great Soul who has made none of the sacrifices and instead simply accrued ever more power. She’s a Tomb Spark with a whole Heart, while you’re an Emberling with a broken one.”
Scorio tongued his cheek angrily and stared down at the stone steps. “If I’d listened to you, I’d never have made it this far.”
Naomi winced. “All right, true. But you’d not be in so much trouble, either. Praximar is going to destroy us. Your Heart is closer to shattered than whole. This life of ours is a marathon, Scorio, not a sprint. And the Gauntlet will be your reckoning.”
“So you say.” Scorio fought to keep the anger from his voice and failed. “And when it’s all over, if you’re proved right, I’ll let you lash me along with everyone else. Until then, I don’t want to hear it. I just want you to give it your all. Can you do that?”
Naomi sighed. “Fine, Scorio. Yes. I promise. I will.”
“Good. Because we’re wasting time. We could be training.”
And with that, he turned to continue descending the steps. But his Heart felt like ashes, and his mind was a desolate wasteland, bereft of all hope. What chance did he have?
Practically none.
But he had no alternative now, either.
If I fail, he thought, it won’t be for lack of trying. I’ve two weeks left to achieve the impossible. Let’s see if I can pull off one last miracle.
Interlude - Leonis
The Academy was a vertiginous maze of hallways, galleries, balconies, and stairways. There were entire sections that saw little foot traffic, wings whose rooms stood empty and abandoned by the centuries. Leonis had found himself drawn to these disparate floors, these forgotten corners, and had made it a habit to walk them during the long evenings before Scorio’s return, when Lianshi would lose herself in her journals or disappear into the library, and he found himself alone.
Now, overwhelmed by the rush of events, needing some time alone, he returned to his favorite haunt. A small storage chamber high on the fourth floor, long abandoned and ignored. Slipping inside, he smiled ruefully at his own faded footsteps in the dust, and followed them to the sole window which let in the light of Second Bronze.
Errant exploration brings its own rewards. One was discovering that this window could be removed entirely from its ancient casement, and that with the aid of a chair, he could climb out onto a ledge that ran the breadth of the western dome’s base.
It took some effort to squeeze his frame through the window, but then he was out, on the broad stone ledge, all of Bastion laid out before him, the sun-wire so close he felt he could reach up and twang it like the string of an oud. Crimson salamanders startled and scattered, and he chuckled apologetically.
They’d never grown used to his interloping on their domain.
Arms outstretched, he walked the length of the ledge to the far corner, and there sat at last, one leg dangling on either side, to lean back against one of the stubby buttresses and gaze out over the city.
Only here did he feel truly alone, and in that solitude capable of drawing forth his problems and examining them with his full consideration.
A flock of birds flew below him, their forms reduced to crimson flecks by the brassy light. The air was still, heavy, humid; the ragged walls of steam had yet to truly coalesce and burn off beneath the sun-wire, but without a breeze to stir the muggy air, Leonis felt his robes already beginning to stick to his skin.
Interlacing his fingers behind his head, he stared out at nothing, allowing Bastion to blur into a jumble of curving geometric shapes, and drew forth a memory to study.
One that never failed to make his heart pound, his breath to catch.
His mother.
She’d taken up only a few minutes of his Emberling trial. Tall, elegant, stoic, she’d stared down at the sands of the arena with cold calculation.
And he up at her, taking solace in her strength, waiting for some indication as to what he should do.
Her gaze had slid down to consider him, her bearing, her regal posture never changing. “Uphold our family’s honor,” she’d said at last, when his uncle’s challenge was made clear. “You are young, but your father led his first army when he was only two years older than you. Do what must be done, Leonis. You are the Golden King now. Never forget it.”
How the words had thrilled him, terrified him, overwhelmed him all at once.
And then his mother had gazed back down at the spectacle taking place on the sands below, utterly confident in his response.