Scorio rose to his feet, and Alain shrank back.
“Listen closely, Alain.” Scorio stepped up out of the rotunda. “You want to be friends? Don’t spy on me. You want to be best friends? Don’t. Spy. On. Me.”
“Damn, sure, of course.” Alain pressed back against the wall. “Hey, I didn’t have to announce that I was here, did I? I could have slipped outside then come back in a couple of minutes later. It’s actually kind of magnificent of me to tip my hand like that.”
“No, Alain.” Scorio glared. “There’s nothing magnificent about any of this.”
“Yeah, you’re right, of course, obviously.” He hunched his shoulders, raked his hand through his wild black hair several times, then glanced guiltily at Scorio. “How about we just pretend this didn’t happen? Too impractical? Here, I’ll apologize again: I’m really, like, incredibly sorry. And, ah, I won’t do it again. Now that I know how you feel. I mean, I could have guessed, but now I have conclusive evidence. Which leaves no room for doubt, so -”
Scorio sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What is it you wanted, Alain?”
“Hmm?” Alain stared at him blankly for a second, and then his face lit up. “Oh! Right - everybody’s going crazy. You’ve derailed the proceedings. Everywhere I go I hear people talking about it. And what did you say to the Iron Tyrant? He’s fuming. Which for him means lightly grinding his teeth, but - wow.”
Scorio felt a cloak of weariness drape itself over him once more. “Glad I could provide gossip for everyone.”
“Moira wants to talk to you, but I don’t think it’d be worth your time. She’s going to offer to touch you so as to augment your power in the duel, but I don’t think even her boost will make much of a difference, right?”
Scorio considered. “No. I guess not.”
“Plassus’ quarters are in an uproar. He’s really fired up. I poked my nose in there, but not for long. He’s drinking and shouting. He sounded almost happy.”
“Happy?”
“I think you gave him something to look forward to. I don’t know. And oh, Queen Xandera wants to talk to you.”
“Wait, what?” Scorio roused himself. “How do you know?”
“Well, you’re interested in her, right? And I know she can sense things throughout the Fury Spires, so I’ve been popping my head in there whenever I’m on the Iron Tyrant’s level. Which has been often, the man is freaking out, he keeps coming up with things for me to do, as if -”
“Alain.”
“Oh.” He pressed his fingers to his temple, squeezed his eyes shut, then popped them open and grinned. “Queen Xandera. She said she’d like to talk to you.”
“She say why?”
“No. She clearly - and probably with good reason - doesn’t want me to play messenger boy. Which is a nice change of pace. I appreciate it.”
For a moment Scorio just stared off at nothing. “Could she have heard about my duel?”
“I don’t know. It’s conceivable Bravurn told her. He likes to tell her all kinds of things.”
“Well - let’s go.”
“Now? Sure, now. Not as if you have much time left to live, right? Haha. Wait. Sorry, inappropriate.”
“It’s fine. Can you get me in to see her?”
“Depends what’s going on upstairs.” Alain led the way out into the main tunnel. “But I can get a lay of the land, and if necessary I can scream something about a Gurlock attack, which might draw people away -”
“Hold that thought for now.” Scorio put on speed. “Let’s see what we find up there first.”
They ascended swiftly via side tunnels, and once again Alain bid Scorio wait while he scouted the uppermost level. A few moments later he returned, sour expression in place. “The floor’s crawling with folks. No easy way in. But if you’re willing to wait, I’ll watch and tell you when the coast’s clear.”
“Sure,” said Scorio. “Thanks, Alain.”
Alain perked up. “You’re welcome! I knew watching Xandera would be useful. See? Alright, wait here, I’ll be back.”
And he was gone.
Scorio closed his eyes and sank his head back against the wall. Had Lianshi and Leonis intercepted Naomi? He thought of Moira, of Ravenna, of Plassus and Bravurn, Aezryna, all of them swirling around him like leaves caught up by a dust devil.
And Jova Spike.
Why exactly had she come to see him?
Time passed. Scorio dozed. Eventually, Alain awoke him with a gentle shake of the shoulder.
“Hurry!”
Scorio rushed after the Flame Vault, out into the uppermost level of tunnels and through the well-lit junctures to stop before Queen Xandera’s archway.
A Great Soul sat against the wall, head lolling and listing over to one side.
“Had to brain Xinix, couldn’t think of any other way to get past him. The guy’s surprisingly moral. Go! I’ll watch.”
Scorio stared in alarm at the unconscious man, the back of whose head was glistening with blood, but what was done was done. He jogged into the queen’s quarters, slowed as he drew close to the lake of burning coals, and there called out for her.
“Queen Xandera?”
The coals stirred immediately and her imperial form arose from the bed of dormant fire. Up she rose, horned and armored, her metal face serene but for the two tear lines cut down her cheeks.
The temperature rose to baking levels, and Scorio was forced to blink to prevent his eyes from drying out.
“Scorio. I’m pleased that you’ve returned.”
“Alain told me that you wished to talk?”
“I do indeed.” Her manner was placid, her lack of urgency almost jarring after his rush to reach her quarters. “I’m aware that you reached your fiendish friend. Was your meeting to you satisfaction?”
“It was, thank you. Nox is dear to me. He is well, and we’ll be returning to the underground soon to see him again – along with two of his other friends, Leonis and Lianshi. If we have your permission?”
She gestured carelessly with one long-fingered hand, as if the matter didn’t deserve discussing. “Of course. But I must admit, I’m curious. Nobody has stormed into my chambers demanding an explanation, or, even, to lop off my head.”
Scorio screwed up his face in bafflement. “Why would they - oh.”
Her smile was gentle as she watched him, but the white heat blazing forth from behind her eye holes could have matched the sun itself in intensity.
“Your magma giants.” Scorio nodded grimly. “Nox told me what you’re doing. Feeding your servants into them so as to build up their power.”
“It’s an act of sublime insurrection,” murmured Xandera, swaying slowly from side to side, the coals whispering about the base of her serpentine body. “Yet here I am, unpunished.”
“It was a test. You knew I’d find out. You wagered I’d not tell on you.”
“Wagered wisely, it seems, which spikes my molten heart with an emotion so lost that I thought I’d not feel it again. Great Souls always place Great Soul interests first, no matter how pleasant they might otherwise be. Why, Scorio? Why have you not told Bravurn?”
“Because I can’t stand the man.” Scorio paused, considered elaborating, then moved on. “And what’s been done to the blazeborn isn’t right. What’s still being done to you. I understand the urge to rebel all too well.”
“But we were enemies. I hunted your kind when I was younger.”
“Why?”
Her mask flowed into an expression of surprise. “Few bother asking. Do you know how we were created?”
“I… didn’t know you were created. I thought all fiends had been around since forever.”
“Hardly.” She smiled and sank down into the coals, lazing over onto her side so that her chin rested on her palm, her huge coil curving around and sinking gradually into the embers. “Some three centuries ago there was a battle here in the Iron Weald between a Great Soul Imperator and a True Fiend. The battle was terrible and wounded Acherzua, who in her pain poured forth magma from her depths. In that confluence of fire and magic we blazeborn awoke, though at first we called ourselves Moravians. We gazed at the Iron Weald and judged the destruction to be foul, so we named ourselves Acherzua’s defenders, and vowed that no Great Soul would harm her in like manner again.”