Impossible.
Slowly, ready to snatch his hand back at a moment’s notice, Scorio reached out, unbuckled the flap, and lifted it.
Within lay his jumbled spare robe, some of his rations, his waterskin. Not breathing, he drew out his robe and unraveled it to reveal what had lain hidden in its center all this time.
Xandera’s egg.
Where before it had been inert and dark, it now pulsed and rippled with power, as if a white star were being birthed within its shell. Just holding it felt like dipping his hands into scalding water, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go.
“By the gods…” he whispered. Queen Xandera had bid him infuse it with the highest quality mana he could find, but never in a million years would she have hoped for Noumenon.
And now the egg blazed with ungodly power. Like a sponge it had soaked the Blood Ox’s blast, drinking deep of that tiny mote of power, and… Scorio inhaled raggedly.
The egg had saved his life.
“What is that?” demanded Plassus testily, as if resentful of having his curiosity piqued. “What are you praying over?”
“I…” Scorio turned to the fallen Charnel Duke. He considered hiding the egg, but pity, compassion, and some measure of loyalty compelled him instead to share with the man. Wonder, too; he couldn’t keep this miracle to himself. “It’s a blazeborn queen’s egg. The Blood Ox infused it with Noumenon by accident.”
Plassus’ eyes widened in shock, and for a moment tendons stood out in his neck as he reflexively tried to sit up, only to hiss and fall back, his breathing suddenly ragged and pained. “Damn, damn that hurts.” He squeezed his eyes shut, mastered himself, then looked back, expression clear once more. “Say that again, lad, so I don’t think I dreamed it.”
“Queen Xandera had an egg delivered to me.” Scorio turned it over in his hand. It felt like holding an explosive capable of leveling the Fury Spires. “Blazeborn queens need mates for every kind of egg but drudges, Titans, and a queen’s. She produced one and entrusted it to me. Asked that I infuse it with the highest quality mana I could find before burning it and causing it to hatch.”
“A queen egg?” Plassus considered, then barked a harsh laugh. “Oh, Bravurn will soil himself in rage. That canny queen. But it’s infused with Noumenon? That’s not possible. Shouldn’t be possible. Blazeborns belong to the Iron Weald. They’re only Iron-ranked. Noumenon should have ashed the egg.”
“Guess you’re wrong,” whispered Scorio, marveling. “Because here it is.”
“Then you must destroy it.” Plassus’ tone was absolute. “Whatever is born from that egg will be a threat to… well, everything and everyone. A Noumenon-born queen?” Again Plassus laughed. “Or, don’t. Let it hatch. Let this queen wash all of hell into the void.”
“So I’m right? The egg saved me?”
“Hell if I know.” Plassus shook his head slightly. “I’m just an old, broken man. Once I thought I knew how this hell worked, but now? Now I realize I’m as blind and foolish as everyone else. Damn me. A Noumenon queen. That’ll be fun.”
“She trusted me,” Scorio said softly. “I’ll see her reborn.”
“If that’s the case, you’d best start running,” said Plassus. “Because those Imperators will be here soon. And they’ll sense that egg from a mile away, and take it from you.”
“What?” Scorio pressed the egg to his chest. “Why? I wouldn’t…”
“Let them?” Plassus’ grin was feral. “Ah, but your madness is a sight to behold. Why you ask? Because it’s Noumenon, and Imperators are testy about sharing that kind of power with anyone else, much less any fiend. You might be infatuated with the blazeborn queen, but they’ll see it as something far beyond your capacity to control.”
“They’ll destroy it?”
“Or take it with them. Raise her as a weapon, perhaps, deep in hell. You want to free her? You’d best run.”
But now Scorio did turn to regard Naomi’s corpse. “I can’t leave her.”
“She’s dead.”
“I know she’s dead, I mean -”
“I know what you mean, you idiot. But what I’m saying is, she’ll keep. Well, she’s probably already spoiling, but she’ll be fine till the Imperators arrive. And…” Plassus blew out his lips. “Fine. I’ll stave off my death till after she’s revived. I’ll tell her you took off for good reason, or whatever other message you want me to give her.”
Scorio stared at Naomi’s corpse. The idea of her coming back from the dead alone tore at him. But could he sacrifice Xandera to the Imperators to avoid that?
No.
Naomi would have to understand. No, she would understand. She’d call him an idiot for hanging around if it meant Xandera’s death.
He carefully wrapped the egg in his robe once more, placed it back in his pack, and rose to his feet.
A wave of woozy sickness flooded him, and his knees buckled.
“Ha!” Plassus grinned again. “You pissant. One little blast of Noumenon and you’re ready to run home to your mother.”
“Screw you, Plassus.” Mastering himself, breathing as shallowly as he could to not trigger his gag reflex, Scorio hefted the pack and slid it over his shoulder.
“My sincere apologies, Boy. The Blood Ox has already beaten you to that punch.” Plassus watched him. “Still. It has to be said. You really are favored by Fate’s Whisper. To have a royal egg on you? You’re a lucky bastard.”
Scorio felt lava course up his throat and sear the back of his mouth. He hunched his shoulders, struggled, and finally straightened again. “Sure doesn’t feel that way.”
“We won’t be seeing each other again.” Plassus’ tone lost its jocular savagery, growing calm, almost solemn. “I was serious about ending my life. So let me give you some advice: if Endergrast invites you to join his Golden Star, refuse. Ask nothing of the Cerulean Oracle, no matter how important you think the answer. Imperator Sarana is a monster worse than The Fallen, and she will lift you up only so she can bring you down.” Plassus hesitated, the tip of his tongue, dry like a lizard’s, darting across his lower lip. “And why not? I’ll not need it. There’s a portal at the end of the Titan’s Causeway. Step through it with my belt buckle in hand, and it will take you to a grotto where I’ve stashed some treasures that might be of use to you.”
Plassus grimaced. “Ah, forget it. I could talk your ear off for years and do you no favors. If my Heart weren’t shattered I’d empty my Sanctum into your palms, but that’s just how it goes. You’d best be gone. The Imperators will be on us soon.”
Scorio stared down at the broken man. “Thank you. One last question: have you ever heard of the Herdsmen? Or the Lost Cube?”
“The Herdsmen?” Plassus frowned. “Aye, they were a band of meddlesome idiots that were around a few centuries back. What was his name? Jaraer the Corrupt, he was one of them. They were caught trying to poison the Academy, or do something to the Archspire. I forget what. But they were caught, tried, and executed. All evidence of their activities were wiped from the records so that nobody would seek to walk in their footsteps. How’d you hear the name?” But then Plassus winced. “Ah, that hurts. Damn this old body. Never mind. The Lost Cube?” He blinked, gaze unfocusing. “Where was that? Never been, but I’ve heard it shifts around in… the Silver Unfathom? Some nonsense about appearing to those who run from it, or… I can’t remember.”
Plassus blinked and focused on Scorio. “My mind’s not what it was.”
Scorio kneeled by his side, and saw that the Charnel Duke’s belt was tipped with a strangely tooled buckle of pale stone. He unclipped it from the belt, and placed it inside his robe. “Thank you. Please. Tell Naomi I will look for her at LastRock.”
Plassus nodded and closed his eyes with a sigh. “Aye. I’ll tell her you wept and gnashed your teeth when I commanded you to leave. But get you gone, or I’ll fuse my spine back together and kick your arse myself.”