“Then it’s a deal.”
The next few hours were spent watching the lower-ranked Great Souls spar and experiment with their powers, but eventually the Dread Blazes wandered away, having seen all they needed. A constant stream of contestants kept the Temporal Obelisks busy, and each time they activated and caught the strands of time Scorio couldn’t help but feel a profound shiver, as if something far larger in scope were taking place than he could understand.
Finally the groups were dismissed and headed toward the camps. Alone on the first dune that bordered the training area, Scorio watched as Naomi strode toward him, her braid whipping about, her face a closed fist.
“What luck,” he called down as she climbed up to join him. “To spend all day in such valuable training. You must be beside yourself.”
Naomi plopped down beside him, crossed her legs, and closed her eyes.
Scorio regarded her in amusement, but when she didn’t talk he finally reached out and prodded her shoulder. “Hello?”
“Leave me alone. I’m training.”
“I’m guessing you want out of the Flame Vault group?”
“Their fawning over Taron disgusts me.” She rounded on Scorio. “So eager to please, so studious, so serious, as if every word the Pyre Lord speaks is a pearl of wisdom. If he asked them to lick his boots they’d foul their pants from sheer delight.”
“Evocative imagery,” allowed Scorio. “So what are you saying? You don’t adore Taron?”
“Bah. He’s… fine. It’s all of this that disgusts me.” She waved a hand at the camp. “It’s the Academy writ large. Everyone’s maneuvering for advantage, smiling false smiles, watching for a moment to stab you in the back. Great Souls are and always will be solitary predators. To band them together like this is madness.”
“We seem to get along well enough.”
“We’re different.” She sniffed and then glanced at him. “How did it go with you?”
“I think half the Dread Blazes hate me, the other half want to drag me into their tents.” Scorio grinned ruefully. “I guess I did better than they expected.”
Naomi’s gaze became neutral. “Don’t make yourself a target.”
“We’re all on the same side. For another week, at least. I don’t think the Shadow Petal’s about to cut my throat out of jealousy.” Scorio considered. “At least, I don’t think she will. But she’s something else, Naomi. She joined up with Nyrix, who transported her around the arena with his portals. She decapitated Galvon, stabbed Rharvyn and Merideva through the Heart, and cut Wesanin apart from inside his vortex.” Scorio shook his head in wonder. “What an incredible assortment of powers.”
“Is she now?”
Something about Naomi’s tone caused him to glance at her. “What?”
“Nothing.” Naomi stood and dusted off her hands. “I need to go meditate.”
Scorio stood and hefted his pack. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m impressed by her powers. But these days, that doesn’t mean as much as it once did. There’s something about her that I don’t trust.”
Naomi snorted. “Maybe it’s her reputation as a brutal assassin?”
“No, that’s fine. More… I don’t know. Just, it’s interesting to be able to say that I admire her powers, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I admire her.”
“Look who’s all grown up,” said Naomi, and then ruffled his hair.
“Hey!” Scorio grinned ruefully. “Shall we head back?”
“Fine.”
They descended the dune and set to crossing the training floor. The Telurian sun was descending behind its eternal cloud cover to burn above the horizon. Bronze mana streamed past them in endless curlicues. After weeks spent within the confines of the Iron Weald’s canyons, the expansiveness of the Bone Plains felt liberating, exhilarating.
“They’re going to assign the lower ranks to Dread Blazes,” said Naomi quietly as they drew closer to the massive war camp.
“Right,” said Scorio. “Want me to talk to Taron about having you be part of my team?”
Naomi’s glare was scornful. “What do you think?”
“Right. Of course.” Scorio smiled abashedly. “Sorry. Just a lot happening all at once.”
“I’ll try not to take up too much of your attention.”
“Oh, come on.” Scorio tried to sling his arm around her shoulders but she shrugged him off. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
Naomi stopped and pressed her fingers to her temples, then turned to look away. “Nothing. I’m being foolish.”
“No, seriously.” He stepped in close. “What is it?”
“Just…” She sighed. “I can sense currents. More and more I feel like a piece of flotsam being carried away by tides beyond my control.”
“You need to make Dread Blaze,” said Scorio firmly. “Then you’ll be more in control of your fate.”
Naomi snorted. “I’m trying.”
“Then let’s train together. I’ll watch your streams and try to help keep you on track.”
She eyed him. “You sure?”
“Of course.” This time she let him wrap his arm around her shoulders. “Nothing I’d rather do.”
She dipped her chin. “Well, good.”
They returned to their tent and there claimed the back to sit facing each other. Naomi composed herself, ran through a handful of meditation exercises, and then with Scorio’s assistance set to duplicating the Delightful Secret Marinating technique, splitting Bronze over and over again. Scorio observed, commented, and even tried to manipulate the mana itself as it flowed toward her, reinforcing her technique.
Ursan and Galvon entered the tent, set about preparing to sleep in silence, then turned in. Scorio and Naomi practiced for hours more, the moments stretching out so that time seemed to lose meaning. All became Naomi’s ignited Heart, her strained breathing, her muttered curses, the faint scent of her sweat as she labored to the limit of her body’s endurance.
“You’re doing well,” said Scorio at last when she finally gave up. “You’re splitting the streams with far greater control. You just need to release your reliance on feeding your reservoir. I know it’s a strong instinct, but it’s only when you move past that need that you’ll be able to direct the whole stream into your Heart alone.”
“I know.” Naomi’s tone was leaden. “It’s right there. I can see it, sense it, almost feel it. It’s just…” She shook her head in exasperation. “Like you said. Instinct.”
Scorio leaned forward to squeeze her shoulder. “You’ll get there. I know you will.”
She placed her hand over his own and smiled brokenly at him.
For a moment they remained thus, then Scorio twisted around to lie on his bedroll, and somehow Naomi curled down to lie beside him, her head on his shoulder.
The smell of her hair was intimate, close, intoxicating. She placed her hand flat on his chest, and he felt the warmth of her palm through his robe.
They lay still, and Scorio realized that the pattern of their breathing had synchronized without his realizing.
Cautious, he brought his arm up around her, and she wriggled a fraction of an inch closer.
Instead of relaxing and drifting off to sleep, Scorio found himself wildly, painfully awake. If Galvon and Ursan hadn’t been a yard or two away, he didn’t know what might have happened.
But instead, after Scorio didn’t know how long, Naomi raised her head and turned to him.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
His voice was little more than a croak. Her face was so close. “Of course.”
“No. I mean, for…” She hesitated, then looked down. “For putting up with me. I know I can be a lot.”
“Hey,” he whispered. “Don’t say that. It’s you and me against all of hell.”
“No. I mean, yes, obviously, but…” Again she hesitated. “I… I’m so afraid. Of being used. Of being betrayed. Of losing you again. Of being…” She dry swallowed, darted a glance up at him, looked down again. “Those two years in the Chasm by myself… they were worse than my time alone in Bastion. Before I met you I was… reconciled, I guess, to being a monster. Hated and ignored. After… being alone after being friends with you and Leonis and Lianshi… it made it far, far worse.” She bit her lower lip and slowly shook her head, as if studying that period of time. “I became… there were moments when I felt myself becoming a fiend. I spent all my time as the Nightmare Lady. The only time I felt at peace was when I was… killing.”