He turned to gaze out over the students, his expression grave. “Indeed. You brave warriors may not know this, focused as you’ve been on the challenge before you, but even as I speak violence grips our fair city. Ungrateful churls revolt against our authority, convinced—for reasons that only prove their foolishness—that we orchestrated Imogen the Woe’s attack.”
Mutters and murmurs swept across the cohort, but Praximar raised his hands. “Know that the matter is in hand. Each House has sent forth soldiers to deal with the rioters, to clear the streets of blockades, and to bring the rebellion’s leaders together so that they may be peacefully reasoned with. Why do I tell you this now? Because this moment is made all the more important for the events that convulse our city. That Great Soul who won furthest into the Gauntlet will have an unparalleled opportunity to make of herself an emblem, a figure, of our Academy’s good work and success. To go forth and represent the reason we strive as we do, to help quell the madness, and bring peace to our people.”
Everyone had swiveled to stare at Jova, who ignored their looks and glared stonily at where Praximar stood.
“Thus, whoever has won this ordeal, I merely ask that they consider the chaos outside, and finally choose a House so that they can best effect change. Let us crown today’s proceedings with even greater cause for celebration, shall we?”
He smiled brightly in Jova’s direction but was clearly making an effort to not literally stare at her.
More mutters sounded from the balconies, and the sense of unease within the basilica only grew.
“Now,” continued Praximar, turning to the Archspire at last, “please, step aside!”
His voice was jolly, his raillery obvious. Enjoying himself immensely, he stepped up to the Archspire, and placed his hand against it.
The silence that befell the basilica was that of a tomb.
Praximar stood at ease, a light smile playing on his face, one eyebrow raised. And then, violently, he jerked his hand back, his expression one of confusion and alarm.
“Instructor Feng,” he said, voice barely audible. “There has been a mistake. Check the Archspire for me.”
Feng frowned, hesitated, then did as he was bid.
Immediately whispers started up amongst the cohort, along the balconies.
Lianshi turned back to Scorio, eyes widening, eyebrows rising higher and higher.
Feng frowned, withdrew his hand. “The result is clear.”
“It cannot be.” Praximar pushed Feng aside roughly and stepped in once more. “Someone must have tampered with the results.”
“That’s… that’s not possible,” said Feng.
Other officials stepped in close, asking pointed questions. Praximar ignored them all, stared into the Archspire, his brows lowered, his jaw clenched, hand pressed against its side.
“No,” he said, drawing his hand back. “Impossible.”
Voices rose from murmurs to shouts. More than a few of the honored guests called out from the balconies, demanding to know what was going on.
Praximar smiled widely and turned back to the basilica. “Friends! A moment’s patience. There is a little confusion with the results, but nothing to be worried about. We’ll have this clarified in a moment.”
“Scorio!” hissed Lianshi. “You didn’t.”
Leonis blinked, stared at Lianshi, then Scorio, then back to Lianshi. “He… wait. What?”
Light was starting to burn in the depths of Naomi’s eyes. A gleam of pride and a joy so fierce that the sight of it caused Scorio’s skin to prickle, a flush to rise to his face, a smile to curve his lips of its own accord.
Never had he seen such intense happiness on her face.
The group on the stage gathered into a tight knot, and for a couple of minutes conferred furiously with each other. More than one dignitary pressed their hand to the Archspire, and all the while the volume of conversation rose ever louder amongst the students, along with the balconies.
Scorio watched Praximar. Watched him as a hawk might a mouse struggling in the weeds. First, he argued in furious whispers, disagreeing with what was said to him, and then he entered apoplexy, his face turning crimson, his whole body vibrating. But Helminth spoke with him, another two House heads reasoned with him, until the blood drained from the chancellor’s face, and he entreated with those before him, making his case urgently. The others listened but slowly began to shake their heads. Praximar paused, bit his lower lip, then cast his eyes downward, clearly at a loss, searching for something else to say.
Leonis slipped off his bier and padded over to Scorio’s side. “How far did you get, you mad bastard? What did you do?”
“Not what,” said Lianshi, unable to restrain her grin, knees bouncing as she sat cross-legged, clapping her hands rapidly, lightly, “but how?”
Finally, Praximar’s shoulders slumped, and his head dropped. Others continued to speak to him till he raised his hand, cutting them off. Scorio watched. Waited.
Praximar turned back to the front of the stage and dragged his smile back onto his face.
“Friends! My sincere apologies for the delay. You know that I am an inveterate showman—I’ll stoop to the basest tricks to raise the tension.” His eyes flashed with humor, and had Scorio not known better he’d have thought the chancellor in fine spirits once more. “What a contest! Incredible. We shall begin with the student who did the third best. An incredible performance, and a testimony to House Kraken, who had the wisdom to sponsor them. Will Chen She approach the stage?”
The applause was thunderous, and Chen She slipped off his bier with a victorious smile. His grin became especially pointed when he passed Kuragin’s bier, who stared at him with stony indifference.
“Chen She achieved the stunning accomplishment of reaching the thirteenth chamber and earning sixty points. Recall that on his first attempt he only reached the third; what an incredible improvement. House Kraken, you are fortunate to have such a worthy Great Soul under your wing—or should I say tentacle? The Academy is pleased to offer Chen She all the gifts and treasures that third place merits, along with the chance to train here another year. What say you, Chen She?”
The youthful man bowed low to Praximar, his agreement and pleasure obvious. Again the crowd burst out into applause, and after shaking hands with numerous people on the stage, Chen She moved to stand to one side where the head of House Kraken engaged him in quiet conversation.
“In second place! A legend in the making.” Praximar paused to smile, but then his silence drew out, becoming strained, awkward. The seconds rolled by, and still, the chancellor just stood there, beaming fatuously out at nothing. People began to whisper once more until Praximar jolted back to life. “You all know her, the Great Soul who has awed us through every step of her career here at the Academy. The winner of the tournament—”
At this, the crowd erupted into an excited clamor. Scorio could hear snippets of the storm all around him, the shock, the delight, the amazement. Again he turned to stare at Jova, and this time she was already staring right at him.
Her face was ashen, her lips pressed into a line, and then understanding entered her face and she sagged where she sat.
“—promises a great future! Few are the Tomb Sparks that reach the eighteenth chamber and seize the remarkable sum of a hundred and twenty-five points, and though she did not go the farthest, her accomplishment is literally stunning in and of itself.” Praximar’s last words were a shout as he strove to drown out the noise. “Will Jova Spike please come to the stage?”
She unfolded herself from her bier and stalked forward, looking neither left nor right. As much as everyone watched her, however, they were all examining each other, clearly wondering: who had beaten the unbeatable?