“It’s your life,” said Scorio. “I’m just warning you about what I saw in mine.”
“Thank you.” Her tone was clipped, the words bitten off. “I do so love unsolicited advice.”
They stood thus, gazes locked, and Scorio felt as if a gulf had opened up between them. He wanted to bridge it but feared only driving her farther away. And what was worse, he knew himself to be right. That her anger, her unrelenting bitterness at everything except himself was going to poison her just as his own had ruined that ancient Scorio.
“We should see about these meetings,” he said at last.
“Sure. Why don’t you go. In my current mood, dripping with toxic rage as I am, I’d probably just ‘poison’ everything.”
“Naomi,” he began, but she narrowed her eyes.
“Save it. At least I know when to remove myself. Just don’t sign my name to any contracts without consulting with me first.”
“I wouldn’t,” he protested.
“Oh, that’s good. I was worried you’d be so interested in being agreeable that you just might. I’ll see you around.”
And she stalked from the room.
“Fuck,” hissed Scorio, and reined in the urge to chase after her.
Finally he sighed, gathered himself, and quit their chambers. He vaguely recalled the directions to Moira’s cluster, and after asking a few times for directions, he found himself outside the entrance.
So strange. With no doors anywhere, nothing felt truly private, but then again, you’d need Alain’s particular powerset before Scorio thought anybody would be comfortable lurking overtly in the hallway to overhear.
Voices came from within. Scorio stepped into sight and saw Moira sitting within her rotunda, dressed in a slate blue silk robe patterned in black, poised and smiling politely as she listened to a man whose back was to Scorio.
Ravenna saw him, raised her hand, bowed down to murmur something in Moira’s ear and then crossed the common room to step outside into the hallway, taking Scorio’s elbow and guiding him just out of sight.
“Good to see you,” she said, glancing down the tunnel. “No Naomi?”
“Not right now. What’s going on? She told me Moira wanted to talk.”
“You don’t know?” Ravenna crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall, eyes narrowed. “But hold up. Something’s changed about you. Get a good night’s sleep?”
“You could say that. Moira want to know who I’m throwing in with?”
“Do you know?”
“How in bed with her are you?”
Ravenna’s eyes slitted.
“As in,” said Scorio with pained exactitude, “should I assume everything I tell you will make it to her ears?”
“Are you asking if our past gives you some sort of immunity to my serving her?” Her smile was sardonic. “Would you trust me if I said yes?”
“I’m not sure.” He crossed his arms in turn and frowned at her. “You would have done practically anything when I knew you in Bastion to get out of House Kraken.”
“Practically,” she said. “And Moira isn’t Octavia.”
“So you’re all in?”
“For now. What of it? There’s nothing wrong with learning from an expert.”
“An expert at what?”
“Survival. Getting Great Souls to work together and do what’s best for us all.”
“So she’s an altruist?”
“Do you think she’s a villain?”
“Most Great Souls are out for themselves. Praximar. Bravurn. Practically everyone else I’ve ever met.”
“This is where I say Moira isn’t most Great Souls, but that would be trite.” She considered him, lips pursed. “We’re running out of time. All of us. We’ve a few years left, at best. Great Souls like you and me - if we’re lucky - might make it to Dread Blaze in a year or so, maybe break into - what?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re smirking.”
“Am I?”
Ravenna studied him intently. “Why was that funny?”
“It wasn’t. You’re right. We’re almost out of time, one way or another. So you’ve decided to hitch your wagon to Moira’s rising star?”
“She’s a Pyre Lord.” Ravenna still studied him suspiciously. “And I think she’s on the verge of making Blood Baroness. When she descends to the Emerald Reach, I’ll remain behind to take care of her interests.”
“Or focus on following her.”
“Right.” She raised her chin defiantly. “I’m working on it. Trust me. But even the most talented of our kind take at least three years to make Dread Blaze…” She trailed off again, quizzical.
A man emerged from Moira’s cluster. He was tall, square-shouldered, and clad in a somber gray robe with a splash of gold edging. Dark-skinned, solemn, dignified, he bowed his head politely to the pair of them and then strode away.
“Well.” Ravenna pushed off the wall. “Shall we?”
Scorio followed her inside. Moira smiled politely at the sight of Scorio, then froze.
“Moira?” Ravenna took a step to the side, alarmed at the Pyre Lady’s reaction. “What is it?”
“When!?” Moira rose to her feet, setting her cup aside so hastily that it spun over, spilling tea. “You’re supposed to be a Flame Vault.”
“Wait, what?” Ravenna glared at Scorio.
“Oh.” Scorio stepped down into the rotunda and sat back, affecting nonchalance. “You’re referring to my making Dread Blaze? That was yesterday. I think.”
“You think?” Moira glared at him, eyes wide. “Don’t play the fool. You reached Flame Vault only two months ago.”
“Hmm. That sounds about right.”
“What?” Ravenna gaped. “Moira, are you sure?”
“Of course I am,” snapped the Pyre Lady, and gathering her robe about herself, sat once more, but now she perched upon the edge of the seat. “What happened? How? Did somebody intervene?”
“I haven’t sworn my allegiance to anyone in exchange for power,” said Scorio. “I’m just that fucking talented.”
Moira stared fixedly at him for a moment longer, clearly incredulous, then threw her head back and laughed, clapping her hands together as she did so. “Are you now? I suppose you are. Dread Blaze. Does Bravurn know?”
“You have the dubious honor of being my first port of call.”
“I’m flattered. Ravenna, serve our esteemed guest something to drink. Water, Scorio? Wine?”
“Water is fine.”
“Well then.” Moira leaned back, draping an arm languorously across the curve of the rotunda back, and though her eyes grew heavy-lidded, she seemed to be eating him alive with her gaze. “What a fascinating change. Scorio is now a Dread Blaze. Naomi?”
“Working on it.”
“I’m sure she is. Care to share what new power you’ve manifested?”
“In time, maybe,” said Scorio, tone flinty.
“Of course.”
Scorio held her gaze.
“Well. Remarkable. From Tomb Spark to Dread Vault in under three months. When the rest of hell learns of your ascent their fascination will only double.”
Scorio stayed quiet, but he couldn’t deny some measure of satisfaction, even quiet pride over how Moira was just drinking him in.
“Regardless,” she continued, “thank you for coming. Aezryna is eager to meet you. Bravurn is growing indignant over your lack of response to his prior overture.”
“Bravurn is destined for disappointment,” said Scorio. “I can’t say I’m in favor of his methods.”
“He may have been stymied in his latest ambitions, but up until now it’s never paid to gamble against him. As he’ll tell you himself.” Moira smiled. “Still, I’m glad to hear it. He’s a dangerous man, and dangerous to our greater cause.”
“Which is?”
“The destruction of the Pit, of course.” Moira took up her tea as Ravenna handed Scorio his own cup. “Believe it or not, I take our charge seriously. A millennia of failures wind down to their final hours, and either we strive to make a difference or concede defeat and the destruction of Bastion. So. We must deal with the Blood Ox, and this afternoon’s meeting will prove pivotal in making that happen. Aezryna sets herself against Bravurn, who in turn is swaying Plassus away from working with the newly arrived Blood Barons.”