“You think I’ll teach you everything I know after this?”
“Just hear me out.” He took a deep breath, held it, then sat. He studied her for a spell until she seemed to have mastered herself, then continued. “I’ve dedicated every waking moment since we last spoke to figuring out how I could defeat you. This was literally the only way I could think of. Everything else resulted in my complete and utter defeat.”
“Base trickery.”
“Sure. But it worked. And the reason I was willing to go this far was that I can’t express how important it was for me to impress you. To show you that I could rise to this challenge, in one way or another. To demonstrate that I was willing to do anything to get your attention, and force you to see me as other than prey.”
Her tail lashed angrily, and he could almost feel the insults that she was biting back.
“I didn’t set this up to kill you. To ridicule you. To take advantage of you. I did this because I wanted your attention. I wanted you to stop and actually see me. The man who reached the Chamber of Balance. Who once rose to Blood Baron. Who escaped through the Brass Door. And who found it within himself a way to trap the Nightmare Lady against all odds.”
Her tail ceased its angry lashing, the movements becoming pensive.
“And why? Because I’m out here in the dark. I’ve no friends. No allies. No resources. No way of figuring out who I am, what I can do, or what I’m meant to do. And it’s killing me. I want power. I want to figure out who I was. What mattered to me. Why I was called The Abhorred. I don’t feel like a monster, but clearly, I did something—or a lot of somethings—that earned me those titles. Why?”
He definitely had her attention now.
“You’re the only one who can help me. But I know you never will while you see me as prey, as weak, as another moment’s entertainment. This was meant to show you otherwise. To stop you in your tracks and make you look at me. See me. Hear me.”
He paused, chest tight, the upswell of emotion making it hard to continue.
Her green eyes had narrowed once more. His words had hit home.
“So help me. It won’t cost you anything. You’ve already taken my vials, my bridge, my steel rod. So in that way you’ve profited. You’re out here in these ruins by yourself. What do you have if not time? Give me a week. Get me started. Then I’ll go. You need never see me again. But I need you. I can’t do this without you. So please. Help me.”
The silence between them stretched out, and in the dim light of the lamp, her stillness seemed to cause her to meld into the darkness.
With a crack, she smashed her tail blade against one of the beams, again to no effect.
“Fine.” She was still clearly angry but working to rein it in. “What else do you expect me to say?”
“I didn’t have much by ways of expectations,” he said. “Especially as I know you’re liable to cut me down the moment you’re freed. I can’t stop you once these walls are down. But I want to trust you.”
“You need to trust me,” she said.
“True. One week. That’s all. One week and I’ll walk.”
For a long, long time she said nothing. Didn’t struggle, didn’t lash her tail, didn’t glare at him. Simply watched him, pensive, still.
And then, at last, she began to change. Slowly at first, and then all at once, her tail retracted, her talons faded away, her emaciated and stretched-out body shrank and filled out, and her horns melded with her brow. Robes coalesced around her as if emerging from mist, and her eyes lost their green burn, and lips filled out to cover her teeth.
The only aspect of her that remained the same was her luxurious mane of black hair, which hung thick and heavy about her face as she stared at him from under lowered brows, her irises a rich hazel rimmed with dark borders.
“Fine,” she said, tone terse, words clipped with smoldering annoyance. “You’ve got one week, Scorio the Abhorred. You’d best make the most of it.”
Interlude - Lianshi
The light of Amber streamed in through the rose window and played over the ancient desk, upon the dozen journals scattered across its scuffed surface and the pearl inlaid tray of half-eaten lunch shoved off to one side. Lianshi sat back in the heavy leather chair, her legs stretched across what little table surface remained, her dove-gray calf-skin boots crossed at the ankles. Across her lap lay one of the purple-bound tomes she’d recovered from her private locker, one of over a hundred and fifty, the faded lettering across the pages already so painfully familiar.
One of her journals, chosen at random, written over the course of the ninety-seven lives she’d lived.
Eighthday of Third Month, 456 AE
What a wondrous sight. My soul still thrills at the memory of riding the Black Whale into the Fiery Shoals’ air dock, rounding its burning promontory as the city celebrated the Festival of Lanterns. It’s a sight I’ll never forget, at least, not till I am reborn once more. Countless white plumes of smoke arose from the sluggish lava that oozed in hundreds of rivulets to the cliff’s edge, and there fell like a cataract of roses to the sea miles below. The pink blossoms of the flame trees that grow so improbably upon the cliff’s edge were gentle beacons that guided us in, even as the thousands of lanterns arose like the ghosts of fireflies within the rising clouds of smoke.
Captain Marhab pretended to be indifferent to the view, but he didn’t fool me. He’s redeemed himself countless times now since our horrific first encounter, and I daresay I consider him a friend. At the very least, I now consider the Black Whale a worthy vessel; I’ve grown fond of its old, aerite bones, its vaunting skull and the eerie manner in which it swims through the air. The reservoir of Silver mana in the great bladder is nearly depleted and looks like a vestigial organ clutched within the vast ribcage, but the dozen black sails yet catch the breeze and propel us forward, diving through the currents—
Lianshi brushed a lock of hair across her nose, then sighed and raised her gaze. The silence and isolation of this studying nook, which had once been so alluring, now grated; her gaze roamed over the shelves within the arched stone alcove before her, across the myriad books, scrolls, boxes, and bottles, each just asking to be pulled down and examined. The wall opposite the rose window was hidden behind towers of tottering tomes, and from the ceiling hung lamps of spun lead, the glass panes tinted gold.
The perfect retreat. The perfect place to ponder and reflect on all her past lives.
So why couldn’t she concentrate?
Lunch hour was almost over. Soon she’d have to hurry to Mana Manipulation, to focus under Instructor Hera’s watchful gaze as she strove to saturate her Heart and begin the painful process of making Emberling. But for now. These idle, precious minutes. How they slipped away, drifting unchecked like grains of sand between her fingers.
Scorio.
She summoned his handsome face, that impossible smile, and saw him again in the Gauntlet, somehow forcing himself to stand tall when everything was pain and horror. She felt again that pang of guilt.
Had she truly explored every possible way to help him? Had she overlooked something? Petitioning the chancellor had availed her and Leonis nothing but admonitions. Surreptitious scouting trips at night had revealed a tight cordon of guards who never abandoned their posts. They’d both asked their instructors for more information, and been warned to silence.
A wild, restless fury surged within her. Three weeks had passed. Was he dead? What had awaited him beyond the door? She’d debated endlessly with Leonis as to what they could do, and both had agreed that if anyone could survive against impossible odds it was Scorio.
But three weeks?
She bit her lower lip and then sighed. Trying to learn about Red Listers had resulted in another dead-end; all books and materials relating to such were restricted to higher-level Great Souls.