“Not, well, like yourself. It was more of a - well. I’m not sure where she got the name from.”
“Ah.” Xandera subsided. “But yes. This was before the Iron Tyrant, back when the Fiery Shoals were fought over by your Houses.”
“I…” Scorio hesitated.
“Yes?” Her amusement was plain.
“How old are you, Queen Xandera?”
“By your reckoning? I have lived for over a century. Normally, I would have consigned myself to the living flames below to have made way for another, but these… these are not normal times.”
“But you seem…” Scorio shrugged, supremely aware of how out of his depth he was. “Strong? Lucid? Why would you step down?”
Again she smiled, and he felt a surge of relief at her renewed amusement. “Past a certain point, the quality of our eggs begins to degenerate. We remain strong, yes, but it is in the interest of our spire that we step down so that a new, younger queen may reinvigorate the ranks.”
“I see. But with things as they are…”
Her expression didn’t change, her slight smile didn’t fade, but something in her manner, her aura, suddenly took on a poignant air. “With things as they are, I am proud to be able to live on and serve the Iron Tyrant.”
Scorio felt as if he’d stepped right up to the edge of a cliff. “I see. Of course. I’m sorry for prying.”
“Curiosity is not prying. It’s… nice to have one such as yourself be curious about my kind. Too often we are simply relegated to the role of vanquished foe.”
There was suddenly so much he wanted to ask. About the patterns on the wall, the intricate spiral hallways beneath the hive, what she had lost, what she yet dreamed of, and so much more.
“How did it happen? You seem so… powerful. How did you fall to the Iron Tyrant?”
Xandera sank back into the coals, down till they buckled around her waist, so that she looked like little more than a black iron statue of remarkable artistry emerging from her fiery bed. “It was our fault. He merely exploited our weakness.”
As with Lianshi, Scorio knew when to remain silent.
Xandera considered him, as if gauging whether to talk, and to his relief, did. “Over the past century and a half a new religion arose amongst my kind. A worship of the Everqueen.”
“A… goddess?”
“No, there is only one goddess. The Everqueen was…” She paused, searching for the right word. “An ideal. Of all our progeny, only drudges, Titans, and new queens are created without mating with a member of the Ember Council. Each queen is an exact duplicate of its mother, in every way. There are, in effect, only six distinct queens in existence; every queen is a daughter-self of one of these six. The Everqueen ideal is to replace the other five lineages with one’s own; once all the spires in Acherzua are ruled by a single dynasty, then in effect that queen will have become and forever will be… the Everqueen.”
Scorio tried to wrap his mind around this concept. “So you had… sisters? In the other spires?”
“They were not sisters. They were exact reflections of myself, though different due to the lives and experiences they led.” Her tone became inexpressibly sad. “All gone now. Killed by Bravurn so that these spires could be more easily controlled.”
“But you said he used that ideal against you?”
“His diplomacy was effective at uniting the other dynasties against mine. He promised them much, but in the end, after their blazeborns finished slaughtering mine, he simply delivered in one pivotal way: the near destruction of my lineage, with my life under his heel. The other queens were furious; he had promised them much more. But their spires are far from here, and they had to declare themselves content.”
Scorio nodded slowly. “He turned the other queens against you.”
“Something that would not have happened if we had remained true to Acherzua. But no matter.” She rose abruptly from the coals to tower over him once more. “This is all history, and best forgotten. I now live at the Iron Tyrant’s pleasure, and will be forever grateful to his largesse. You came to me to ask for a favor. I shall grant it.”
“You will?” Scorio mastered his surprise, and found himself bowing. The gesture felt both instinctive and correct. “Thank you. I’m honored.”
“You cannot be.” Again she swayed back, undulating gently into the coals. “You are a Great Soul. I am but a fiend. Nothing I do can bring you honor.”
Scorio went to protest, but her smile cut him short.
“Still,” she said, “it is polite of you to say. My Titans shall let you pass, but know this, Scorio: if you delve too deep, I cannot be held responsible for your life.”
“The magma giant,” said Scorio softly.
Queen Xandera froze.
“We stumbled upon it in this alien labyrinth deep underground,” Scorio said hastily. “It killed the Ferric Drake that was hunting us.”
“I don’t know of what you speak,” she said, voice without emotion. “The Iron Weald is filled with more wonders than you and I can dream of. But heed my warning, regardless: do not stray too deep.”
“Understood.” Scorio felt shaken by her sudden coldness, the fixed way that she held herself immobile and stared at him. “Thank you. I will come back and let you know that all went well.”
“Do so.” Her manner softened, and she sank, deeper and deeper into the coals, clearly making her goodbye. “Another visit from a Great Soul such as you… would do me much honor.”
The coals swirled, stilled, and she was gone.
Chest tight, thoughts spinning, Scorio bowed again, retreated a half-dozen steps, then hurried out of her chambers.
Chapter 16
Alain awaited him outside the golden archway, thumbs hooked in his belt, tapping one foot. “There you are! All done? Get the permission you needed?”
Scorio nodded and gestured for the other Flame Vault to lead on. Alain shrugged, understanding, and soon they were off down the side tunnel that led to the neighboring spire. They left the golden illumination behind, and once they’d descended a couple of levels to an abandoned section of the hall, Scorio stopped.
“Alain. Thanks.”
“Of course, of course.” The kid studied him, shuffled to one side, and leaned against the wall, only to push off it and dig out one of his cheroots. “So you’re good? Want me to lead you down to the Titans?”
“Not without Naomi. Listen. You came through for me. I appreciate that.”
“Course I did! Didn’t Moira tell you I’m good people? I told her to tell you, but you know she’d only do so if it was true.”
“And if it served her purpose to know. She told me you let her touch you.”
“Yeah.” He looked nonplussed for a second. “I know. Weird choice, right? But she’s got this way about her. So confident. Like she’s got it all figured out. And I thought to myself, why not? It’s nice to hear from her. Again, remember the soul-crushing boredom? Sometimes she’d just drop into my mind out of nowhere to chat. It was the best. She’s got this…” Alain stared out at nothing. “Like, she’s only perhaps seven or eight years older, or maybe six? I don’t know. But she’s got this, like, really sultry, kind of sexy, motherly…” He frowned. “This is coming out all wrong.”
“It is,” agreed Scorio. “I heard that she can do more than just talk to you directly.”
“Right. She can boost me up if needed, make me smarter, or faster, all kinds of things, though she hasn’t. And can do the opposite, like make me dull, or forgetful, or I don’t even know. She hasn’t ever done that either.”
“And you’re not worried about her manipulating you?”
“You know, you have to be important to be manipulated.” He pulled out a small iron box, slid the lid back, and revealed a live coal. Blew on it till it flared, then pressed the tip of his cheroot to the crimson and inhaled till the tip caught fire. A couple of quick puffs and he exhaled a thick plume of oily smoke. “And me? I’m just a low-grade tool. Useful, but forgetful in more ways than one. I think it’s because I talk too much but never quite manage to say what I mean. People think I’m not all there, or just not that sharp.” He studied his cheroot, though Scorio couldn’t tell if he was using his darkvision or not. “I’m just this scrawny kid that everyone overlooks. Useful when you need someone spied on, or maybe something stolen, but otherwise?” He shrugged. “Moira’s never going to make me the centerpiece of her plans.”