Scorio snorted. “We’re in real trouble if I’m the example they’re to follow.”
“I’m not joking.” Taron’s ice-blue gaze bored into him. “You’re a notorious figure, and will be the subject of much curiosity. Possibly even resentment from the other Dread Blazes. Take the higher ground. Don’t rise to the taunts, and don’t corrupt the lower ranks with irresponsible behavior. You don’t know and can’t know what’s waiting for us in the Telurian Band. You don’t know how fragile our authority can become. How much the success of our mission may depend on Flame Vaults and Tomb Sparks’ faith in you as their commander.”
Taron’s tone was severe, his brow lowered, and his Pyre Lord authority resonated in the air around them.
Scorio nodded, sobered by the man’s tone. “Yes. I understand.”
“You don’t because you can’t, but you will. Until then, until it’s in your bones, just remember my advice. Project calm, project confidence, and show your superiors the respect and deference you want from those beneath you.”
“I -” Scorio bit down on his protest. I’m only doing this for a short while, I’m not cut out for leading others, I’ m just a Dread Blaze, he wanted to protest, and though he remained quiet Taron seemed to read his mind.
“The most talented Great Souls can face a unique challenge, and that’s accelerating too quickly through the ranks. You haven’t had enough time to acclimatize yourself to your change in station. You’re no longer a Tomb Spark, Scorio.” Taron bumped his fist lightly against Scorio’s chest. “You’re not even a Flame Vault. You’re a Dread Blaze. For most, this is as far as they’ll go, and so you represent the pinnacle of what they might achieve. They’ll look to you for inspiration. For authority. For a sense that we’re not all so out of our depth that if we but acknowledged it we’d drown. Think on how you looked up to your instructors at the Academy. They were Dread Blazes. That’s who you are now, and doubly so once we leave the Fury Spires. Am I quite clear?”
“Yes.” Scorio straightened up. “You are.”
“Good.” Taron patted Scorio’s shoulder and smiled. “We’re about to enter a period of extreme violence. Have you ever seen hundreds of Great Souls fight against thousands of fiends?”
Scorio shook his head.
“You will. And if you’re lucky, you’ll survive to see it again, and then again. And take my word on this: it never ceases to amaze and terrify. So breathe deep, do whatever you need to do, and when we depart tomorrow, act the part of a Dread Blaze even if you don’t feel it.”
“Thank you. I mean it. I’ll take your words to heart.”
“Good. Then be ready to leave early tomorrow. I couldn’t agree with the Charnel Duke more: the sooner we’re quit of this place the better.”
* * *
Naomi sat cross-legged in their common space, hands on her knees, chin sunken to her chest, a slight frown marring her brow.
She didn’t open her eyes when he entered, nor when he filled his cup from the iron tank. He sat on the rotunda’s edge and watched her, reaching out with his senses. They were becoming more acute. He could see how the Iron responded to her will, how it swirled powerfully around her, a rivulet stripping away to sink into her hidden Heart. Even as he watched, that rivulet bifurcated, then sealed and became whole once more.
“Progress.”
Naomi allowed her Heart to gutter and opened her eyes. She didn’t otherwise move. “I will make Dread Blaze.”
“I know you will. Want to hear about how the big meeting went?”
“Not really.”
“You’re serious?”
“What do the particulars matter? Someone agreed, someone disagreed. Someone will add their toys to another’s pile, someone else will hoard their toys and take them home. In the end, we’ll fight. Whether it’s for Aezryna or Plassus or Bravurn, the upshot will be you and me, out on the Bone Plains, facing hordes of fiends. Am I wrong?”
Scorio leaned back on one elbow. “You know, if I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were becoming pretty jaded about Great Soul politics.”
Naomi snorted. “Games. That’s all this is. Games of life and death orchestrated by invisible figures who think of us as little more than pieces on their board.”
“So you think we shouldn’t take part?”
“It’s too late for that.”
Scorio held her gaze. She raised a brow but otherwise didn’t flinch.
“Remind me again what our alternative is?”
“The pursuit of power. Soon we’ll both be Dread Blazes. With the mana technique we only need to integrate our powers with our sense of self and then we will ascend to Pyre Lord, and that’s when everything changes. We sidestep this battle, LastRock, all of it. Leave Plassus and the Blood Ox, Jova and Aezryna, all of them to spill the blood of thousands on the sands of the Telurian Band. You and me go straight into the Silver Unfathom, push through to the Lustrous Maria. We fight. We train. We…” She trailed off, and a slight flush rose to her cheeks. “We don’t need anybody else, Scorio. Don’t you see? If we have each other then we’re free. Nobody can betray us. Use us. Discard us. As Pyre Lords we can pierce straight to the Emerald Reach. And once down there, this war, these games, all of it will feel like a distant dream.”
“Free,” said Scorio.
“Free. Free to fight, to grow, to master our abilities, to control our destinies. Moira, Plassus, Bravurn, they all fancy themselves the spiders at the center of the web, but they’re tools just like the lowest Emberling. If we place ourselves in their hands we’ll be putting on the blindfold ourselves, binding our own hands behind our backs, and placing our heads on the chopping block. The only way to win at this game is to not play. We go amidst the fiends. We birth that blazeborn egg. We - we find Nox and travel with him. We see the wonders of hell, we challenge ourselves, we learn the truth of Acherzua. Free from other people. Free.”
Scorio considered, lips pursed. Naomi had leaned forward, one hand on the ground, her eyes blazing, her face flushed.
“Free.” He tested the word.
Naomi nodded intently.
“And what do we do in the Emerald Reach?”
She shrugged, confused. “We ascend to Blood Barons.”
“And the Emerald Host? The Viridian Heart? The war that the Seamstress is waging there against those millions? We avoid that as well?”
“I mean, I don’t know - probably? What quarrel do we have with the Viridian Heart?”
“So we sidestep the Blood Ox, we sidestep the Veridian Heart. We make our way through the Shadowed Valleys of the Black Sun, through the Forgotten Forest, and enter the Scorched Swale as Blood Barons. And then what? We ignore Cazador the All Burning, we evade Endergrast and his Golden Star, and focus on becoming Charnel Dukes?”
“Scorio.” She moved onto all fours and crawled nimbly to his side. “Yes. You’re asking me as if that’s a ridiculous notion, but yes.”
“Where does it end, Naomi?” He reached up and touched her cheek. “Us as solitary Imperators in the Twilight Cradle? Us seeking to quench the Pit by ourselves?”
Naomi placed her hand over his own. “If we live that long. I don’t think we will. You want the truth? It’s a miracle we’re still alive. But our luck will run out and one day we’ll lie there, broken and bloodied, the life pouring out of us into the sand. Probably killed by Great Souls. But we’ll die together. And perhaps be reborn together, if there’s any chance in hell of my being taken by the Archspire. But what am I saying? There’s probably not even enough time left for that.” She suddenly sat back on her heels, pushing his hand away. “Why must we figure out an ultimate destination? Isn’t it enough to focus on the Emerald Reach, on being together, on simply getting there?”
“Because there’s a fundamental difference between you and me.”