“Well, you can try.” She rubbed at her throat. “But I’ve grown even harder to kill.” She coughed. “Maybe we can have this conversation somewhere more private.”
Scorio glanced about and then up. Leaped lightly from where he’d been straddling her. “Up.”
She rose, wincing, and then followed as he pulled his hood low once more to one of the demolished buildings. Scaled the piled rubble and dropped into the back of an old room, partially open to the sky but hidden from the street. There were signs of habitation here: an old fire pit, discarded rags, some empty flasks.
Nobody at present.
Nissa slid down the slope of broken bricks and scree and glanced about before nodding. “This’ll suit. And yes, I knew. I wasn’t pleased, but damn it, Scorio, you aren’t and weren’t my future. Basilisk was.”
“You picked wisely.”
“Quite.” Nissa sighed and lowered into a crouch, arms wrapped around her shins. “What a mess that turned out to be. I thought of telling you, some misplaced solidarity about our both being Red Listers, but we both know that bond was paper-thin. Not like I didn’t abandon you that first time, either.”
Scorio crossed his arms and stared angrily at her.
“I didn’t know all the details. Back then I was just a fresh hire and still suspect. But I found out later. Praximar had a working relationship with Eira. She’d do his dirty work and be rewarded for it. Before the Queen’s Accords were set in place—some joke they turned out to be—Praximar activated a plan he’d discussed with her.”
“Moira,” said Scorio.
“Precisely. But this plan was long in the works. Eira wasn’t surprised when the White Queen signaled that she was ready to leave. I don’t think any of the Pyre Lords were. Some, like Octavia, saw it as an opportunity to advance, an opening they could exploit. But others, like Praximar, saw it for what it was: the chance to change the very nature of the game.”
“Get to the point, Nissa.”
“I’m trying.” She smiled, the expression complex and barely reaching her eyes. “I know you want to get to the point where you decide whether or not to kill me. Patience.”
Was this a setup? Scorio peered out the cracks in the ceiling. But he couldn’t drag her into the ruins. Could he? She was Basilisk, she couldn’t go to the guards, unless she thought turning him in would be to her advantage…
“Praximar had laid down vague plans for this eventuality. He’d tasked Eira with engineering the details. She also kept it vague by outsourcing the plan to Manticore. This allowed both Pyre Lords to swear the heart oaths without knowing exactly what was in the works; did you notice how the White Queen focused on future crimes? So naïve.” Nissa shook her head. “Regardless. Manticore’s secret weapon was Davelos. When hopped up on Gold mana or better he was a genius. I knew when I saw you last that Manticore was going to come up with a plan, but not what it was.”
“And that I was to be a casualty.”
“Yes.” Nissa pursed her lips. “Sorry. Praximar made that clear.”
“You could have warned me.”
“I could have. Almost did! But game it out with me. You’re not subtle, Scorio. You would have done something dramatic and gotten yourself killed, or worse, gotten Manticore caught in the act, which would have led to Eira, which would have ruined things for me. And at the time, Basilisk’s outlook was very exciting.”
“At least you’re being honest.”
“I’m nothing if not honest about my shortcomings. Still. It was hard. Watching everyone get excited. The people voting by ward, forming the first parliament, nominating candidates to the council. It was… hard.”
“Spare me.”
“Then word came that Pyre Lady Druanna had assaulted The Celestial Coffer with your aid. Everything went to hell incredibly quickly. House Kraken was assaulted, but Eira, in all her…” Nissa’s expression twisted in a flash of deep frustration. “…in all her wisdom, thought it best to betray Praximar and side with Kraken. Take out the biggest dog in the pack, cast Basilisk in a heroic role, and earn huge favor from Kraken. But she was defeated. Hydra took a mauling, Kraken was crushed, and Eira fled the city.”
“But the Queen’s Accord,” said Scorio. “They were designed to prevent exactly that.”
“It’s in the fine print.” Nissa sounded tired. “In the event of a problem, the Autocrators were meant to appeal to the Iron Tyrant. Except if the safety or survival of their House was at stake. In that case, they could defend themselves.”
“Defend themselves,” said Scorio bitterly.
“Kraken’s attack on The Coffer was foiled by a large number of Hydra Great Souls who just happened to be at dock. Several died in the altercation. Druanna killed most of them herself with her six-armed doll, apparently. Praximar took that as justification to assume his House was in danger here in Bastion, and acted to defend it. Or so he told the Tyrant when he showed up.”
“So the oath didn’t work.”
“It had a vague loophole.” Nissa shrugged. “The White Queen wouldn’t have gotten the Autocrators to sign on without it. Who’d agree to not defend themselves if attacked? Getting the Iron Tyrant out here could take weeks.” Nissa picked up a rock and tossed it. “The White Queen had to have known. I think the Accords were a symbolic gesture on her part. A way to salve her conscience over abandoning the Plains. Though I bet even she was surprised at how quickly everything fell apart.”
Scorio shook his head in disgust. “They could have worked. They could have benefitted everyone.”
Nissa’s look turned pitying. “Oh, Scorio. You really don’t understand human nature, do you? Nobody’s altruistic. Nobody’s good. Everyone pretends to be in private while stabbing each other in the dark. Praximar’s a fiend, Eira tried to be one, Octavia thought she’d win through with economic muscle, and Raugr? The only reason he and Chimera walked away looking good was because they just didn’t care. There are no high-minded leaders. Even the White Queen abandoned her responsibilities for her own advancement.”
“I’m not going to waste my breath arguing with you. What…” Scorio was unsure he wanted to know. “What happened to the rebellion?”
“Praximar was thorough.” Again she took up a rock and tossed it. “The six months it took for everyone to get organized was all he needed to identify every single leader of every faction. When Kraken fell he had them all rounded up and killed.”
“All of them?”
“All of them.” Nissa’s expression turned bleak. “Every gruel fountain south of the midline was turned into an execution space. Councilwoman Abentha herself was beheaded in Imperator Square. Everyone was compelled to turn out and watch. We all were read the same speech, how by forcing this issue the people of Bastion had weakened the war effort, how these leaders were traitors to the cause, and so forth. The bodies were strung up and left to rot, and that was it for the rebellion.”
Scorio felt a wave of weakness wash over him. “He had them all killed. The whole parliament?”
“He’s nothing if not thorough.” Nissa sighed. “It’s been quiet ever since. Kraken leadership was forced to swear heart oaths. Basilisk was crushed, its members either forcibly converted to House Hydra or expelled or killed. The Academy was cleansed of Kraken and Basilisk instructors, and the Iron Tyrant didn’t even make a peep because Praximar bribed him with more Gold mana.”
Nissa grinned crookedly at him. “And now here you are. Back from the dead. The man who gave the people of Bastion false hope before crushing them all with his foolish attempt to aid House Kraken. You’re hated now, you know that? People blame you for everything.”
“Everything? My supposed role was minor.”
“Safer to hate you than Praximar. Safer to hate you than the Houses or the consortium. You’re the one who tricked everyone into revealing themselves. You’re the one who nearly destroyed The Coffer. Scorio the Scourer, they call you. Scorio the Bringer of Ash and Darkness. Scorio the Red Lister.”