Deep below, almost half a mile underground, she could sense the ruptured font gouting its precious Gold.
“And it seems that others have become aware of your… new openness to alternatives.” More sheaves of paper were moved. “Crimson Earl Endergrast has renewed his invitation that you join the Golden Star. The Circle of Blades would appreciate your support in monitoring the Emerald Host’s advance… Maulven the Yellow has sent a marriage offer.”
Nova snorted in amusement and glanced back at Desiree.
The pale-haired lady shrugged helplessly and set that scroll aside. “We have numerous offers from every House but for Basilisk—they clearly know better—but you have your pick of any advance station under their control. Blood Baroness Shikibu insinuates that Imperator Enflorixio would welcome you into his host.” Desiree tossed the rest of the letters onto the mound before her. “The list of invitations goes on and on. What are you going to do?”
Nova turned back to the lava fields.
The silence drew out. Desiree knew better than to press again. Finally, Nova sighed. “It’s been but half a year since Imogen attacked. Had I not been here, the consequences would have been disastrous.”
“For whom, exactly?”
“Bastion, obviously. The Academy. The Archspire.”
“True. But we have less than a decade before they are destroyed regardless. And as Shikibu said, and Endergrast, and many more, there is no longer time for the next class of graduates to rise to sufficient power so as to be of noticeable benefit in the war. A handful more Blood Barons a decade from now won’t tip the balance in our favor.”
Nova stared down at the lava field. “And yet our mustered might failed to bring the Empyreal Prophecy to fruition. What has changed now other than having three fewer Imperators?”
Desiree rose and strode to stand beside her. “I can read between the lines. Hear that which is unspoken, a common thread that runs through all these missives. It is time we abandoned Bastion and focused all of our resources on conquering the Pit. That we should no longer funnel resources and treasures home to help raise up the next generation, but instead move everything to the front.”
“Including me.”
“You are a symbol, Nova.” Desiree’s certainty was, as always, absolute. “A symbol of how we as a society are willing to sacrifice ourselves for those who shall be reborn. If you were to move to the front and avail yourself of Ruby mana, you could immediately ascend to Crimson Earl. Everyone knows it.”
“A symbol.” Nova linked her hands behind her back. “Perhaps. There would be consequences to my leaving.”
“Of course,” Desiree spoke rapidly. “Pyre Lords and Dread Blazes would quit the Rascor Plains and their guard duty to follow you deeper into Hell, resulting in more attacks upon the Farmlands and consequent downturn in productivity. The Houses would vie with each other to gain control of the Font. Civil war is a distinct possibility, along with their inability to fend off any serious threats. We would deprive future classes of the resources they need to realize their fullest potential. But most importantly, we would signal to all of Hell that the time has come to utilize our full resources and every ability to win this war. We’re simply out of time. Every Great Soul must know that the White Queen has chosen to advance.”
Nova inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. Desiree’s Heart hung beside her, dense and brilliant, saturated with rare Gold mana. She expanded her awareness, sensed the Great Souls further within the complex, felt the Iron mana flowing through the lava, the Copper in the air, the roiling font far below. Felt her domain, her center of power these past five years, the echoing hallways and audience chambers, the bedrooms and mess halls, every corner and inch of it under her preeminence.
To withdraw her protection, to leave the Fiery Shoals… to allow everything to fall to chaos…
“If I am to delve deeper into Hell, I will not leave matters to the Houses. We shall summon the Autocrators and have them agree to a pact. To form a consortium that sends the Gold mana deeper into Hell as before. They shall divide a small amount equally amongst themselves, and organize the running of the Fiery Shoals and the defense of the Rascor Plains equitably. We shall have them make Heart Oaths to obey this accord, and to carry on as best they can in my absence.”
To many, Desiree’s features would have remained expressionless. But Nova knew the Pyre Lady too well. This was as close to pity as Desiree ever came. But the pallid woman bowed her head politely. “If you will it, Charnel Duchess, it shall be done. I shall endeavor to construct as tight an accord as I can.”
“Do so.” Nova turned back to the lava field, to the delicate, shifting canopies of the distant trees.
“Do you wish me to respond to any invitation in particular?”
“No. I have maintained my independence this long. I shall not throw in with another just yet.”
“Very well. I’ll draft an agreement and present it for your review within the week.”
Nova felt no need to answer. Desiree walked to the table, gathered her papers, then left the echoing chamber.
Sadness suffused the White Queen. Even Desiree couldn’t predict all the consequences of such a decision. To be quit of the Rascor Plains, to move deeper into Hell, amongst her peers, where she might be a Charnel Duchess amongst Crimson Earls and Imperators.
A sere wind blew in, reeking of sulfur and other noxious gases. Nova’s white hair stirred. She reached up and pulled a strand from where it had blown across her lips.
It was all coming to an end. She could intuit how it would proceed. Slowly at first. Changes like her own departure, notable for being isolated. And then the consequences would cascade, triggering ever more changes, until the last few years were upon them, and nothing would be as it was, a great roar of violence and death and one last assault on the Pit.
Nova raised her chin. She would play her part. She had bided her time long enough, banked her light, and reserved her strength.
No longer. For Desiree had made one grave miscalculation. If the White Queen was to advance, it would not be to become a mere Crimson Earl. No. She would move to the vanguard, and there unleash her full might and become an Imperator at last.
Nova ran a finger over the balcony. Smiled as she thought of all the long years she had stood here, and then turned from the lava and fumes and walked away.
Chapter 7
Nissa led them through the city, her crimson hair now shoulder-length, her manner wary but focused. She knew of The Flame. Seemed to know everything about Bastion, and had offered to lead them there through back roads that would avoid trouble.
The rest followed in a strung-out group. For the first time since emerging from the Gauntlet, they had a moment to collect themselves without the overwhelming need to rest.
Scorio moved up alongside Nissa. “You openly said you represent a group that’s in favor of all this. They the ones that trained you? I think it’s time you showed your cards.”
Nissa gave him a sidelong smile that did nothing to reassure him. “Now that the plan’s in motion, I’m happy to. It might even make your mission easier. I’m working with House Basilisk.”
Scorio nearly tripped on the cobblestones. “You’re what? Working with a House? But—?”
Nissa laughed. “Oh, Scorio. You’ve spent all your time either running around in the ruins or cooped up in the Academy listening to House Hydra propaganda. You don’t know nearly as much as you think you do about how Bastion works. The politics, its power players.”
“And you do?”
“Some. A little. Enough to know that Hydra and Kraken run the show while only Basilisk is intent on shaking things up.”
“And Chimera?”
“Chimera pretends they’re above it all and only interested in delving deeper into Hell. But that’s a front. They’d not remain a powerful House if they didn’t guard their interests. But they’re defensive and the least involved in what’s going on.”