The Pyre Lady was listening to something, head cocked. “I’m waiting on you.”
Scorio followed her back down to the small chamber. Stepped over Simeon’s corpse, rose past Ydrielle’s, and led the way to the floor above.
Nox followed along behind, occasionally hopping up an entire flight of stairs, but mostly content to waddle.
Two guards descended into view, their chatter cutting off at the sight of Scorio and Druanna. They turned wordlessly and fled.
The stairs let out into a broad hallway through a heavy door. Scorio felt fell and dangerous, slow and lethargic, as if the closer he came to violence the more indolent he became. His Heart raged with Coal and Naomi’s form was light and insubstantial in his arms.
The hallway was busy, servants and other Hydra officials turning to stare after the twin guards who’d just pounded by. They looked back to Scorio and Druanna, at Nox who emerged from the doorway, and panicked.
Scorio ignored their screams. Ignored the cries of alarm, the shouts, the hoarse yells for help.
They were on the ground floor. Deep enough inside the palace that no windows admitted the sun-wire’s light. Gilt lanterns shone brightly. Treasures gleamed on shelves, portraits in heavy frames hung on the walls, and the marble floor was covered in rich carpeting.
Down the hall he trod, a rushing roar in his ears, his senses drinking everything in even as he remained focused on the din coming from a distant room.
Druanna was by his side, her emaciated frame given a burning vitality by her power and will.
A servant opened a door just as Scorio passed. He reached out and snagged the older man by the throat. “Where is Jova’s room?”
“I—what?” The man became almost instantly hysterical. “What?!”
“Jova Spike’s room. Where is it?”
“Spark? The Flame Vault? There, down that hall, second on the left, into the guest suites. Third door on the left!”
Scorio released the man, who stepped back and slammed the door.
“You can go ahead if you want. But I think this is worth the detour.”
Druanna glanced to where the corridor let out to a great hall. Her impatience was tangible. “I’d not be here without your aid. If you truly think it worth it.”
Scorio took off at a run, Naomi clutched to his chest. Down the hall, second on the left, into an area with cream walls and red-trimmed doors.
Third on the left.
Scorio smashed his boot into the door beside the handle. It shattered inward. It was a small but well-appointed room, the furnishings old but elegant, and in its center stood Jova, one hand on her hip, the other raised to point angrily at nobody, her face frozen in a familiar scowl.
“Nox? Could you help us here?”
Nox squirmed his way in through the narrow door, his pillowy body squeezing through with some effort. He eyed the prism, then hit it with his tongue and yanked the glowing coffin into his mouth.
For a moment he simply worked it around, his cheeks bulging, and then Scorio felt the hissing release of mana dissipating and the toad spat Jova out onto the floor.
Who promptly leaped to her feet, eyes wide as she glared at Nox, then Scorio, then finally at Druanna.
“You live?”
“You weren’t aware? Oh good. You’ll live a little longer, then.”
“Praximar’s had her in the dungeon all this time.” Scorio set Naomi down in an upholstered chair. “We’re about to go talk to him about that.”
“Talk?” Jova let out a bark of laughter. “He’s in the feasting hall. Almost a hundred Great Souls have gathered to bid Manticore goodbye. You’ll be massacred.”
“I think not,” said Druanna idly.
“What were you arguing about?” asked Scorio. “I lost my temper and killed Simeon before he could fill me in.”
Jova’s eyes widened. “Simeon’s dead?”
Naomi’s satisfaction was immense. “And Ydrielle.”
Jova passed her hand over her sticky black hair. “First Davelos and Evelyn, now Simeon and Ydrielle?” Her face flushed. “Where was this drive, this rage, before you were betrayed?”
“I made the mistake of being content with my victories.” Scorio’s expression hardened. “I thought I could trust my friends.”
Jova looked sharply down and away. “I wanted to demand Dameon answer my questions. He’d led me on skillfully for years now. I told Simeon I was going to stand up during the feast and confront him.”
“This is sweet,” said Druanna. “But we need to get to the killing.”
“If we survive, we can talk,” said Scorio. “But right now I just need to know: you with us? You going to help kill Praximar and Dameon?”
“What?” Jova sounded helpless, overwhelmed, half-panicked. “Kill…? I’ve been working for them since… but if they’ve… and you?” She glared at Druanna. “All this time?”
“All this time,” said the Pyre Lady darkly.
Jova dropped into a crouch and shoved her knuckles into her eyes. For a long moment, she remained thus, utterly still, and then she gasped and rose. “I feel mad. I feel… it doesn’t matter. Yes. I’m with you.”
“Good. Thank you, Jova.”
“Wait,” said Druanna. “Jova? As in Jova Spike?” Jova just stared at her. “Now I understand the detour. Very well. Let’s go.”
“Nox, can you carry Naomi? I’m going to need my arms.”
Nox swallowed visibly and half turned around.
“I’ll hold on,” said Naomi. “You’ll not even notice me.”
“Friend Naomi can hold on,” allowed Nox uncertainly.
“Thank you.” Naomi raised her arms to Scorio, who lifted her easily and turned her about so that she fell atop the toad. She then shifted into the Nightmare Lady form, her legs and tail hanging limply but her skeletal arms reaching out wide to grasp the toad’s thick, Coal-plated hide.
“Time to go.” Druanna strode back down the hallway, and the others followed.
It felt strange to walk beside Jova once more. The air between them crackled with tension, and she stared ahead with fixed determination, her jaw clenched.
They emerged into the huge entrance hall. Great vases and potted plants, a magisterial staircase sweeping up to the second floor, a chandelier of cut crystal reflecting a hundred burning mana-lights that cast flickering flecks of coppery light dancing across the walls.
Double doors stood open at the hall’s end. Servants were gathered there, mingled with House Guards, some calling out warnings to those within, others facing out to where Scorio, Jova, and Druanna strode toward them.
“Stop!” called a guard, moving to interpose himself, halberd aimed at them. Others took heart and moved to stand with him, six in all quickly forming a line.
He moved to stand beside Druanna just as Nox made a coughing sound and sent his tongue hurtling forth. It slipped past the halberds and splodged into the central guard’s chest. The man had a moment in which to gaze down in absolute horror before Nox whipped his head to the side and sent the man flying into his companions.
Nox jerked his head back, his tongue undulated laterally, and the guard hammered into those on the other side.
A final flick and the man was slammed against the floor with bone-crushing force and then flung cartwheeling through the air to land high up on the sweeping staircase.
“Thanks,” said Scorio, resuming his forward march.
Nox croaked in pleasure and hopped after, the Nightmare Lady holding on grimly.
They reached the double doors.
Within was a feasting hall, two massive tables stretching along its length, musicians hidden high above in a shadowed gallery, chandeliers hanging from the rafters, a raised table at the far end where Praximar and other dignitaries had risen to their feet.
Everything burned bright, lit by candles and lanterns, every light reflected in countless mirrors set along the walls or the polished steel serving dishes or goblets. The tables were covered in the half-eaten feast, while servants had pressed back against the walls, eyes wide, pitchers and platters in their hands.