“He hit you point blank.”
“Yeah. It hurt. But I held onto him and used my command aura to keep him from getting more Emerald. With his Heart guttered he had trouble fighting me. Finally, I pulled him down and… well.”
“I can’t believe it. I mean, I do believe it, the body’s right there, but…”
“While I was in the Crucible.” Scorio stared at his hands. “I was forced to channel Gold mana non-stop for a long time. It had… consequences. My Heart’s grown pretty big, and I always had a deep mana reserve.”
“Your Heart was worthless. Cracked all to hell. Now you’re saying you can outlast Pyre Lords and withstand their attacks without dying?”
“Guess so.”
She just stared at him, shocked.
“I, ah, might also have tempered my body with Gold while I was down there.”
“Bloody hell,” she whispered. “Gold-tempered? And here I thought I was special for doing so with Bronze.”
“You’re still alive and talking, aren’t you?”
“That’s my power. I always get back up. You? You should be dead.”
“That’s what Praximar kept telling me.”
They sat in silence. Voices rang out in the hallway beyond.
“What happens now?” asked Jova.
“Praximar said the Iron Tyrant only cares about his Gold mana shipments. He’ll find someone to replace Praximar and ensure the Fiery Shoals continue to run smoothly. I’m guessing he’ll leave the Council politics to the Autocrators.”
“Octavia will gut Hydra for everything they’ve got.”
“Safe guess. But I’m thinking it’s Raugr who’ll get pushed into leading. Eira’s gone, Basilisk is crushed, Hydra is disorganized—”
He paused abruptly.
“What?”
“Moira.” Scorio nodded with growing certainty. “This is just what she’s been hoping for.”
Silence befell them again.
“What a mess,” said Jova softly. “What a waste of the past two years.”
“You shouldn’t have backstabbed me,” said Scorio, voice low.
“No.” She sighed. “Though I only found out what Dameon planned after he killed Leonis and Lianshi. He sent me down into the Chasm to help bring Simeon and Evelyn back. A fool’s errand. Evelyn explained everything to me while I was down there. How everything had been a plan worked out by Davelos back in Bastion after he and Dameon had met with Eira. She provided him with Emerald mana to help him think it through. By the time I got back up to camp it was too late. Leonis and Lianshi were dead, Naomi disappeared.”
She stared down at her hands.
“But you chose to stay with them,” prompted Scorio softly.
“But I chose to stay with them.” Her voice had grown soft. “I was… angry. But I pride myself on being… logical. Juniper was too upset. She left for the Iron Weald. Zala stayed with me, but our friendship changed. I told myself… you had been so weak, so distracted, so… foolish. All that strength you had shown in the Academy, that drive, it had all disappeared.”
“Harsh,” said Scorio.
“Mostly true.” She met his gaze at last. “Your pet project of saving Bastion had robbed you of your drive. When I confronted you over it you grew defensive and insulted me.”
“Your approach was a little heavy-handed.”
“I had thrown everything away to follow you only to discover you’d grown soft in a matter of weeks.” She bit off every word. “I threw everything away to work with a Coal-tempered fool who was content to break rocks with a hammer while the rest of us progressed. You weren’t the man I thought you were.”
“And Dameon was?”
She looked away. “For a while, I thought so. I was wrong. His true power lay in manipulating others. Even the other Dread Blazes. He made me feel…” She trailed off and scowled. “Moreover, he promised to share secrets from his past lives with me, about the Herdsmen, about the powers that really ruled Hell. He sketched out this network of hidden powers that only he knew about, but always there was a reason to delay, to not answer. When you returned, I awoke from the stupor in which I’d fallen and demanded he answer me once and for all.”
“He was lying to you,” said Scorio. “Just like he lied to me.”
“Yes.” She scowled down at her hands. “In the end, I was a hypocrite. I made the same mistake that I accused you of.”
Scorio climbed painfully to his feet and staggered over to one of Praximar’s bookcases.
“What are you looking for?” Jova asked.
“When I asked Praximar about the Herdsmen he glanced at this shelf. Let’s see.”
Scorio ran his bloody fingertip over the spines and scroll tubes. “Enrollment records… Excellence in Fine Bureaucracy… ah. The Empty Palm: Being a Historical Treatise on the Rise and Fall of Deep Hell Secret Societies.”
“Sounds right,” said Jova.
Scorio drew it out. The book was ancient, the parchment as thin as onion skin, the lettering neat and precise. However, it had been vandalized; gaps appeared where pages had been torn out, so that almost an entire third was missing.
Frowning, Scorio turned to the front and found a faded table of contents. Dozens of mysterious names were listed, but his eye was drawn to one in particular: The Shepherds of Goodwill.
He flicked to the right page, but wasn’t surprised when he found the section torn out. A note was inserted in the missing chapter, however, penned in Praximar’s hand:
A pristine copy is said to exist in the Lost Library of LastRock.
Jova Spike has denied my agents access, but when she dies I
shall press my case with her successor.
They contacted me once before, and I profited greatly by it.
Perhaps I can find the means to connect with them anew:
I have much to offer.
Scorio drew the note forth.
“What is it?”
“You’ve no memories of your last life, right?”
“Of course not. I’m no Imperator.”
“So the name ‘The Lost Library’ means nothing to you?”
Jova shook her head.
Scorio sighed, slid the book back on the shelf, and pocketed the note. “Ah well.”
Fatigue and pain washed over him. He sat and leaned back against the books. He could sense Jova’s curiosity, but felt no motivation to share.
“Scorio?” There was a note of vulnerability in her voice.
He didn’t open his eyes. “Hmm?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.” He thought of saying more, thought of all the diatribes he’d imagined delivering while trapped in the bowels of the Crucible. But now? Now he just felt too damn tired. “I’m sorry, too.”
“What will you do now?”
“If the Iron Tyrant doesn’t decide to string me up? I don’t know. My attempt to sign up with an independent outfit was a disaster. I guess I’ll find Naomi and Nox and see if they want to go deeper into Hell with me.”
“The Iron Weald?”
“Maybe the Telurian Band.”
“That means the Blood Ox.”
“The Blood Ox and LastRock, yeah.” Scorio felt his head dip from exhaustion. He knew that the second he released his Ignition, he’d collapse. “Maybe I’ll find answers there.”
“I was thinking of going to LastRock as well.”
Scorio opened his eyes and stared at her. She flinched, then forced herself to meet his gaze.
“Then I wish you safe travels,” he said at last.
She bit her lower lip and nodded. “Thanks.”
Chapter 68
The city of Bastion was roiled by uncertainty, rumor, and fear.
The Academy was thrown into chaos, with instructors ordering students to remain confined to their quarters, the tournament suspended, and the date of the final Gauntlet run left in question.