Scorio couldn’t talk. Instead, he clasped her hand, burning hot but deliciously so, squeezed, and sank into a world of deep and dreamless sleep.
Chapter 55
Scorio awoke in a comfortable bed in a suspiciously familiar cluster room. He wore clean robes and the sheets were freshly washed and a candle burned softly in a bronze sconce. He stared up at the smooth clay ceiling and couldn’t remember how he’d gotten there. The memory just wouldn’t return, and he feared he was back in that tomb of hammered Copper, the one in which he’d first awoken in this current life, and that memory triggered a cascade that brought him right back to being a dragon and tearing Bravurn’s legs off.
“Oh, damn,” he hissed, sitting up in sudden panic.
Naomi, who’d been seated by his bed, head resting on her folded arms, jerked up, eyes wide in panic, but then her shoulders slumped in relief. “Scorio. Scorio, it’s alright. You’re safe.”
Heart pounding, he pressed his hand to his brow. Sweat prickled his brow. “Wait. Bravurn? He’s really dead?”
“I mean, I’ve seen plenty of dead things, and I’d rank him pretty high in terms of being the most dead.” Naomi’s tone remained serious. “You… bit his legs off? And then Xandera melted his head. He’s dead.”
“Oh, thank hell.” Scorio sagged back. “I was afraid…”
“You’re alright. Now. It was pretty close there for a while. Xandera said you were dying from the inside…?”
“Yeah.” Scorio lay back, but turned so that he could face her. “Bravurn. He stuck his Ferula down my throat and loosed one of those death attacks.”
Naomi’s eyes widened. “That’s not the kind of thing living people say.”
Scorio smirked. “You saying I’m dead after all?”
“I’m saying you should be. He loosed a direct attack from his Ferula into your gut? You should be dead.”
“I know. Maybe.” Scorio considered. “He hit me once before, when we were all in his chambers. It really hurt, but it felt like I could fight it off, somehow. Wrestle with its power. And then, above, in the massive cavern? He hit me several times, but my scales, or perhaps… I don’t know. I was able to shrug those off.”
Naomi stared at him. “Bravurn was a Blood Baron, Scorio. You don’t shrug off hits from his Ferula.”
“I did.” He considered. “Maybe he was a weak Blood Baron?”
Her tone grew flat. “He was the Iron Tyrant. I don’t think that’s the explanation.”
“Maybe because I’m Gold-tempered?”
“Maybe,” allowed Naomi unwillingly. “Or… maybe you’re just a freak.”
“Thanks,” said Scorio.
“You know that coming from me that’s a compliment.”
“Even better.”
She made a face. “But wait. Wait, wait, wait. You… I mean, you actually turned into a dragon?”
“Yeah.” It felt like a fever dream. “I’m… I don’t know how to say it. I’m a Pyre Lord now.”
“Mother -” Naomi sat up and stepped away, putting her hands to her temples. “Already?” She whipped around. “You just made Dread Blaze! Like, weeks ago. After being a Flame Vault for two months. Scorio, what the hell? I had to kill myself just to catch up with you, and for - what - one day I got to feel good about being a Dread Blaze, too, and now…?”
Scorio sat up again. “Hey. It’s… I mean, I feel like I should apologize, but…”
Naomi’s eyes filled with tears and she sat abruptly on the edge of his bed, back to him, hunched over and face in her hands.
“Hey,” said Scorio, moving to sit alongside her. “I was drowning in Xandera’s lava, and I was burning up, but something felt right, and I held on… plus I already knew the Pyre Lord mana technique, right? It just came together for me.”
“I know.” Her voice was raw. “And I’m happy for you, I really am. This is amazing.” She sat up with a sniff and turned to him, expression bleak. “Really. You’re amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anything like this.”
“What is it?” He searched her face, which was rapidly becoming blotchy, red patches stark against the white. “What’s wrong?”
Her chin trembled as fresh tears brimmed in her eyes, but then she dashed them away and stood. “Nothing! Really, this is fantastic. And if we survive the Blood Ox, who’s - what- a day or so away? Then we should celebrate! Get drunk out of our minds and just… and just vomit everywhere.”
Scorio stood. He felt weak, but nothing could have kept him in that bed. “Naomi. What’s wrong?”
Her chin quivered again, then she lowered her face so that her hair slid forward, hiding her features. “Nothing. I’m just an idiot. It’s nothing.”
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in close. “You’re not an idiot.” Then like a much delayed thunderbolt, it hit him. “We’re not going to split up. You and me, we’re a team.”
She pushed free. “You say that now, but Scorio, you’re a Pyre Lord, and at the rate you’re growing, you’ll be an Imperator within a year, and I’ll just be a stupid natural-born Dread Blaze, or maybe I’ll even hit Pyre Lord within a year or two, and…” Her expression was defiant, helpless, terrified. “I’ll just hold you back.”
“No.” He stepped in again and pulled her into a hug. She remained tense, arms crossed over her chest. “You’re you. I’m me. We’re us. You’ll never be anything but my best friend.”
She drew back and now he saw a fresh glimmer in her eyes, uncertainty and new fear. “Just… just your best friend?”
Worlds revolved within his breast. He saw the King’s Scepter, her hair similar to Naomi’s, but her face that of a different woman. He saw Leonis and Lianshi walking away after their discussion post Praximar’s death. He saw Nox working his way deeper into hell. Kelona’s death. Naomi seated on her balcony in the depths of Bastion, waiting for her tower to fall.
His heart was pounding, pounding, like an all-hell consuming drum. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. The air around them was so thick and charged he felt as if he moved through honey. Her body was there, inches from his own, her upturned face, her eyes wide, her expression vulnerable.
Her lips parted.
In that moment Scorio knew that she was at once the most important person in his life, but that he wasn’t sure of what he wanted. But he knew what she needed.
What he could give her.
And since he couldn’t vocalize to himself yet why he hesitated, he leaned down and kissed her.
She kissed him back, gently, imperceptibly at first, then the tension melted out of her frame and she moaned, as if in pain. Gripped the lapels of his robe and pulled him against her, kissing him fiercely.
For a moment they remained thus, arms around each other, mouths parting, Scorio’s own hunger leaping up like a sudden flame, his own need as fierce as her own. He buried his fingers in her thick hair, pulled her closer, and then they half-tripped, half-tumbled back into the bed.
They lay all tangled up, him on his back, her leg over his thigh, and then her hand was at his belt, untying the knot, his own opening her robe, and for a few frenzied seconds they wrestled and fought their own clothing, constrained by the narrowness of the bed, the wall, their own limbs. Their breathing was stark, and broke into laughter as they tangled up again, Scorio lifting his hips so she could pull his pants down, then turning so she could lay down.
They slowed abruptly. He stared into her eyes. He’d never seen her so afraid, so raw, so open. Slowly, carefully, he leaned down and kissed her, gentle after their hunger. Pulled back.
“Are you sure?” he whispered.
She could only nod.
They pulled off the rest of their clothing, and then Naomi slipped out of the bed and puffed out the candle.
“I… do you mind?” she whispered as she got back in next to him.
His response was to find her face and kiss her again.
They moved together for what felt like a terribly short time. Scorio knew he’d no doubt done this many times before, but this was the first. He tried to be considerate, tried to move with her, but the sensations, the intensity was too much. Too soon he cried out and buried his face into her neck, her nails clawing into his back as she thrust up against him, and then they collapsed down together.