“Is it a secret?”
“Might be. Let’s say it all depends on how this plays out. If you play your cards right, I might not just tell you, but make you an offer.”
“An offer?” Scorio leaned forward. “You’ve joined a group of some kind. Manticore?”
Nissa laughed huskily. “Not Manticore. But rest, Scorio. You’re swaying. I’d feel terrible if you fumbled what’s to come because I didn’t let you catch your beauty sleep.”
Scorio hid his frustration behind a smile. “You’re too kind.”
Nissa rose smoothly to her feet. “Am I? I guess we’ll find out. Rest. I’ll let you all know when Abentha returns.”
Scorio watched her depart; the twin guards at the door nodded respectfully at her as she let herself out.
“She’s hiding almost as much as I was when I met you,” said Naomi quietly, her eyes remaining shut.
“No kidding. I can’t figure her out. She’s vouching for us and yet…” Scorio trailed off, frowning. “I get the feeling she’s genuinely happy to see me, but I still don’t trust her.”
Naomi opened one eye. “Oh, good. You’re not a complete fool, then.”
To which Scorio could only grin. “What can I say? You’ve been a wholesome influence on me.”
Naomi closed her eye and smirked. “You were a painfully slow student, Scorio, but I knew that with enough encouragement you’d get there eventually.”
“Encouragement? That what we’re calling those beatings you gave me?”
“Look at you now. Tell me they weren’t effective.”
Scorio sighed and closed his eyes. “No, I guess they worked.”
“Exactly.”
They sat in silence. Eventually, Scorio cracked open an eye and studied Naomi. She appeared to be asleep. He watched her for a bit, then sighed and tried to get more comfortable.
Despite his aches, despite how raw and abused his Heart felt, he soon sank into darkness, and slept.
Chapter 6
“Scorio, it’s time.”
He’d been dreaming. Head lowered between his knees, back against the wall, he’d been lost in a miasma of distorted memories and half-remembered past lives. With a blink he sat up, clearing away the phantasms, and looked up at Nissa.
She crouched before him, hand on his knee, an enigmatic half-smile on her lips. Which had healed. Her whole body was rejuvenated, the skin glowing with health, her hair a crimson fuzz over the sharp angles of her skull. Freckles dusted the bridge of her nose, and in her watery blue eyes, he saw an inexplicable fondness, a warmth that he couldn’t place.
“Time?”
“Abentha’s sent word. You’re to talk to a gathering of important people. They’re willing to hear you out.”
Scorio rubbed briskly at his face. “More than I already said?”
“They want to hear it from you.” Nissa sat back on her heels. “These people are ready to march against the Great Souls. You think they’d back off this rebellion because an unseen youth told them to?”
“Fine, yeah.” Scorio climbed to his feet. He felt groggy, worn out. Too much had happened too quickly. The Gauntlet run, the fights with the other students on the streets, the killing of the Enforcer. His Heart felt ragged and worn, his spirit depleted.
But it was what it was. He inhaled deeply and looked to where the others were rousing themselves. Lianshi lay with her head on Juniper’s lap. Leonis was yawning mightily. Naomi was up, listening intently.
“This way. We’ll need to take to the streets. It’ll be dangerous, but we’ll move fast.”
“How bad are things?”
Nissa moved to the door. The guards were gone. “We’re on the brink. A fever is sweeping Bastion. People are taking heart from those who have already taken to the streets. Soon we’ll reach a point of no return. We have to hurry.”
The others rose, and together they followed Nissa up into a basement, then into a nondescript home, and out onto the streets of Ward 4.
The sun-wire bathed everything in a virulent crimson glow. Second Bronze. Across the street, a home had vomited its rooms and staircases onto the sidewalk, like a thumbed-open orange, a victim of Imogen’s malefic manipulations.
“Smoke,” said Leonis, sniffing audibly. “Thick, too.”
“It’s the easiest way to protest,” said Nissa. “Set your own homes on fire and the Great Souls can’t help but take you seriously. Now, we run.”
And they did. Fast and lithe, a tightly bunched group whose robes drew eyes and shouts. But nobody moved to stop them. They passed barricades whose very size made Scorio feel pangs over their futility. Groups on street corners, young men with fire in their eyes and cleavers in their hands. Street preachers yelling about injustice and oppression to clamoring crowds.
The sky was choked with plumes of black smoke. The atmosphere was fraught. Columns marched toward the wealthier Wards, people pumping their fists into the air as they sang a chant of whose lyrics Scorio only caught a snatch:
“…set us free
Of tyranny!
Set us free
Of immortality!”
Scorio gazed in wonder at the faces of the men and women who marched by. Fervent desire and wild determination. The faces of men and women with nothing to lose.
They ran toward the ruins, and soon entered a warren of tangled alleys and dirty little courtyards. The Narrows, Scorio realized, and then they emerged into a larger square, its center dominated by a broken gruel fountain, a hundred people with burning brands standing in rough groups, arguing, shouting with each other, clearly not of one mind.
Nissa’s arrival was noted and the arguments broke off. Folks turned to glare, to study those who followed her. Anger soured the air. Scorio followed after, staring straight ahead, till Nissa came to a stop before a knot of men and women before the fountain proper.
They were clearly the leaders, each a solid and dominating presence, their brows furrowed, their lips pursed. Abentha was there, tall and prim, but Scorio ignored her.
He knew one of the women present. Older, powerfully built with sloping shoulders and a trim waist, she was as soft as an anvil and as gentle as a battle-ax. Her skin was near-black, her ivory hair shorn all the way around except the very top, from which slender braids flowed back and down about her shoulders, nearly to her waist. Painted lips, slender, arching brows, and strong, striking features all made her appear to have twice the personality of anyone else present, four times the presence, and infinitely more command.
Dola.
“Well, well, well.” Her words were rich with contempt and amusement. “If it isn’t Scorio. Abentha tells us you’ve come with fine words and even sweeter promises. Just like the first time you darkened my door and then betrayed me.”
Damn.
“Dola.” Scorio made a point of nodding to the other men and women present, but it was clear who the biggest challenge was. “Don’t tell me you’re still sore about my showing a little initiative.”
“Initiative?” Her eyes widened and then she gave a bark of laughter. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“Yes. But that’s behind us. What matters now is the next few hours.” Scorio raised his voice to carry. “The reason I’m here is because I know better than anyone what the Great Souls can do. And not just because I’ve studied the thousand years of our city’s past. The many, many failed rebellions. But because I went up against Imogen the Woe. Saw what Charnel Dukes and Pyre Lords can do when they put their mind to a task. And I tell you now: you will be massacred if you press this issue.”
“Boy, your contempt is thicker than blood.” Dola’s voice carried as easily as his. “You think we don’t know this? We, who were born on these streets and have had to bow our heads to the Great Souls our whole lives? Tell us something we don’t know.”
“Then know this: I’ll go to the White Queen. She knows my face, my name, and that I’m favored by Sol the Just. I’ll go to her myself and tell her what’s happening here. I’ll make a case. I’ll get her involved. She’s not like Praximar or the others. My hope is she’ll listen and return here to bring justice.”