“You want something of me,” said Scorio. “What is it?”
Moira leaned back and considered him. “Haven’t you figured it out yet?”
“Declare for Aezryna and Charoth the Black,” said Ravenna. “Help sway Plassus to their cause.”
“Because Plassus gives a rat’s ass what I decide.”
“Plassus is on the verge of a public collapse,” said Moira calmly. “You’d be surprised at what might influence him.”
Scorio frowned and glanced at Naomi, who made no attempt to make her head shaking subtle. “When do the Blood Barons arrive?”
“Within a day or two. They’re using an Interstitial Rivening to come direct from the Emerald Reach, so nobody can say for sure. But from everything I’ve heard, they’re not the kind to waste time. When they arrive they’ll demand that the meeting be held, and will enact their strategies thereafter.”
“Then I’ll meet them and hear what they have to say,” said Scorio.
“Obviously.” Ravenna’s stare was intense. “But you’ll have to make a declaration. You don’t have the luxury of staying silent when the time comes.”
“Why?” demanded Naomi. “We don’t owe anybody anything.”
“Because,” said Ravenna with forced patience, “people like Plassus or the Iron Tyrant will assume that if you’re not for them, or loudly for someone they understand, you’re working against them, and they will take you off the board.”
“Will try to take us off the board,” said Naomi. “And yes, I can be contrary all day long.”
“You were Hydra,” said Scorio, gaze locked on Moira. “Now you’re independent?”
“Correct.”
“Independent,” said Naomi, “but working for the Seamstress.”
Moira sipped her tea. “Independent, and working for the best outcome to end this war so that I may proceed without regrets to the Emerald Reach.”
“Where the Seamstress resides,” said Naomi.
“The Emerald Reach is as far as a Pyre Lady can go before suffering from the Curse,” said Moira mildly. “Where else would you have me go?”
“The Emerald Reach,” Naomi shot back, “and swiftly.”
“Why, it’s almost as if you don’t enjoy my company, Naomi.” The corners of Moira’s eyes crinkled. “Have you suffered so much that you refuse to believe anyone’s interests other than Scorio’s can align with your own?”
“Oh, it’s not a question of abuse,” said Naomi, “though I’d say I’ve had my share. It’s merely experience. I’ve met three Great Souls thus far that I truly trust, and two of them are dead.”
“Leonis and Lianshi returned,” said Ravenna.
“Not the ones I knew.”
There was a moment of silence, and then Moira set her cup on the floor just beyond the rotunda’s lip. “Well. Thank you for coming, though I’d planned to feed you for your troubles. Do stay close. I know that Ravenna enjoys your company, and so do I, believe it or not. Even Pyre Ladies can’t play at politics for every minute of the day.”
“Thank you,” said Scorio, rising. “We’ll be around.”
Ravenna also stood. “Let’s talk. When you have a moment. Find me.”
Naomi rose with an arched brow, glanced dubiously from Scorio to the other Flame Vault, then inclined her head to Moira. “Pyre Lady.”
Ravenna escorted them to the main tunnel. “Watch your backs out there. Remember what I said about people trying to take you off the board if they think you won’t play for their team.”
“I’ll remember.” Scorio hesitated. “It’s good to see you again. I’m glad you’re doing well.”
“Thanks. My being out here is in large part due to you both, so. You have my gratitude.”
“See you around, Accardi,” said Naomi, and started off down the hall.
Scorio glanced back at Ravenna as he followed. The other Flame Vault watched them go, her expression grave, her gaze troubled.
Then the hallway curved, and she was lost from sight.
Chapter 14
They stalked back toward their cluster in pensive silence, shoulder to shoulder, and their expressions caused the few Great Souls they came across to shrink back in wariness.
“You,” said Naomi, reaching out to snag a young man’s sleeve as he tried to squeeze by.
“What? I - what?”
“We want to train. Where’s a good space?”
“Train? Right. Any caldera will do, except for the main spire, of course.” The young man’s eyes were painfully wide. “Do you - would you like me to show you how to get there?”
Naomi looked him up and down. “Sure.”
“It’d be an honor. I’m Collan, Emberling.” He looked like he wanted to say something more, then simply dry swallowed and all but jogged down the hall.
“We want to train?” asked Scorio, tone deceptively mild.
“We do.”
They followed Collan through the cluster, up into a curving corridor, then cut through to the spire over. Neither of them spoke, and while Collan kept glancing back at them as if about to ask a question, the sight of Naomi’s face as she braided her hair caused him to clam up and just keep going.
They reached the caldera. It was empty, dark, cavernous.
“Here,” said Collan. “I’ll, ah, light the globes.”
“No need,” said Naomi. “Thank you.”
“Sure.” Collan hesitated, executed a jerky bow, then fled.
“You have a way with people,” said Scorio, moving out wide as Naomi crossed the caldera. “Always impresses me.”
“Fuck people,” said Naomi, turning around to walk backward the last few paces. “And damn this place. Damn Moira, damn Ravenna, damn them all.”
“At least you’re inclusive.”
Naomi closed her eyes as she undid her belt, teasing apart the knot, then unwrapped its length from around her waist and tossed it aside. Doffed her upper robe and dropped that as well. Inhaled deeply, her shoulders rising, then exhaled and settled into a combat stance.
“No ignition?” asked Scorio.
“Let’s do this the old-fashioned way.” Naomi’s expression turned grave. “It’s stupidity to neglect the basics.”
“What’s this about?” Scorio walked slowly toward her. “Moira get under your skin?”
“All of them. Every last one of them.” Without warning Naomi darted forth, closing the last few yards, and snapped off a series of strikes. Scorio immediately rocked back, arms striking out into aggressive blocks, refusing to give ground. Jabs, cross strikes, tight hooks, all of them eschewing their practice routines.
For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of flesh striking flesh. Naomi didn’t hold back. In the darkness her blows seemed to blur, darkvision causing each to leave a smeared trail of gray behind. Her braid leaped and danced like an alarmed snake. Faster and harder she struck, until she abruptly spun into him, as if he had twirled her in a dance, and slammed her elbow straight into his sternum.
Scorio grunted as the force of the blow finally staggered him back.
Naomi’s smile was feral. “Wake up, Scorio.”
“I’m awake.”
“You’re not. You’re sleepwalking into the next disaster.”
Scorio rubbed his chest. The blow would have cracked his bones once, but now it barely registered. “I told you, I’m awake.”
Naomi lowered into her combat stance again, knees bent, arms raised, eyes wide in the pitch dark. “Sipping tea with Moira. Listening politely to the Iron Tyrant. Trusting what Alain told you.”
Scorio scowled. “What do you want me to do? Bite people the second they try to talk to me? Shift up and tear their faces off for saying hello?”
“I want you to wake the hell up.” And she came at him again, flowing forward to leap and snap out three alternating front kicks, flickerflash fast. Scorio blocked the first two then swayed aside to let her fly past him, and then it was his turn.