“What a sick, sick man,” whispered Lianshi. “I was always disturbed by the way he smiled at us.”
“He’s out there yet.” Naomi looked to the windows. “Maybe you’ll have your chance at revenge.”
They sat in silence.
“So,” said Scorio with a broken smile. “What are your Tomb Spark powers?”
Leonis snorted. “How did I know you were going to ask? Perhaps you saw what I did against Praximar. Nezzar can separate into six copies and encompass a small area. I can choose whether to empower friends within its domain or weaken enemies. The longer the effect lasts, the more powerful it becomes.”
Lianshi curled a lock of black hair behind one ear. “Whereas I can fill the air with motes of light that are automatically drawn to my foes. They detonate upon touching and deal cumulative damage.” She grimaced. “Not the most impressive of powers, but from what I’ve gleaned from my journals these motes are the basis of future abilities that are much more worthwhile.”
Leonis bumped her shoulder with his own. “And you can now remain invulnerable for up to twenty seconds.”
“True. Still.” Lianshi sat up straighter. “It’s hard to be satisfied with slow moving dandelion seeds when others can do so much more.”
“You’ll see.” Leonis gave a firm nod. “Your Flame Vault and Dread Blaze powers will put everyone to shame.”
Scorio watched them both with something akin to nostalgia and pain. Their closeness was obvious, their intimacy and love for each other. It sounded like an old argument, well-worn and perhaps even comforting to them both.
These weren’t the Leonis and Lianshi he’d known. Not really.
“Everything’s changing,” said Lianshi softly, “but I have the impression that once the dust settles, everything will end up looking the same. The Queen’s Accords will be refined and renewed, I heard, with Hydra paying punitive damages to Kraken for its duplicity. It’s the strangest thing. Nobody’s upset about what Praximar did, just that he was caught.”
“Killed,” amended Leonis. “Can’t believe the man’s dead. How did you do it, Scorio? You’re a Flame Vault, right? How did you kill a Pyre Lord?”
“I don’t know.” Scorio sighed. “Sheer stubbornness, I guess. I’ve a pretty deep Heart. I just hung in there till his guttered.”
“A feat worthy for the ages,” said Leonis with a grin. “Then again, from what we’ve heard, it’s just another day for you. Where do you both think you’ll be headed next?”
“You think they’ll let us go?” asked Scorio.
“Oh, assuredly.” Leonis sat back. “You’re alive while Praximar and Manticore are destroyed. People seem to think that’s the best argument. In fact, I’d not be surprised if you start receiving all manner of recruitment offers.”
“The war in the Telurian Plain is going badly,” added Lianshi. “It’s costing our side greatly to pull these Charnel Dukes and Duchesses back, not to mention the Iron Tyrant. They’ll probably try to salvage something from this situation, and that probably means snapping you up.”
“Pah,” said Naomi. “We’re done with such offers.”
Leonis raised his brows and glanced to Scorio for affirmation.
“Yeah.” Scorio studied his hands. “I think we’re going to strike out on our own. We thought we could trust Manticore, and part of me wants to believe that they were a uniquely rotten outfit, but… something tells me that’s not the case. I’m done trusting what other people tell me just because they’re higher ranked. From now on, people are going to have to earn that respect.”
“It’s a big Hell out there,” said Lianshi softly. “With more wonders and perils than can be dreamed of. I admire your bravery in choosing to go it alone. Are you making for the Pit?”
Scorio shared a glance with Naomi. “We’re after the truth. Whatever that means. Everything we’ve seen and heard leads us to believe that our situation here in Hell isn’t as we’ve been taught.”
“How so?” Leonis frowned. “You saying the Pit’s a lie? Eterra doesn’t exist?”
“I don’t know. That’s what we want to learn. But I think at the heart of it all is this secretive group called the Herdsmen, or the Shepherds. If you ever hear of them, be wary, all right?”
Again Leonis and Lianshi shared a glance, and there was an intimacy there that made Scorio hurt.
“Sure thing.” Leonis gave a firm nod. “We’ve changed our minds on signing up with House Hydra. One of the Iron Tyrant’s lieutenants offered to take us on instead. We’ll be shipping out for the Iron Weald when this all wraps up.”
The pain in Scorio’s chest sharpened, and to his surprise, he realized he’d harbored the hope that the four of them would unite again. He forced a smile. “I wish you both well. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”
“It was good to meet you properly at last, Scorio.” Lianshi’s eyes gleamed with sympathy and pain. “I… I can’t imagine how hard this must be, to meet us with all your memories, but for us to see you as a stranger. But perhaps in time, we’ll forge new friendships.”
They all stood.
“I’m glad we had this talk.” Scorio focused on keeping his breath calm, his voice normal. “Thank you. For choosing to trust us instead of Praximar in the end. It made all the difference. Again.”
Leonis grinned. “Poor Praximar. He wasted a kingdom’s fortune on us only to be stabbed in the back. That had to sting.”
“It wasn’t a choice,” said Lianshi. “Everything felt wrong until you showed up and offered an alternative version of what had happened. Perhaps there’s some comfort to be taken there. No matter how many times we are reborn, or how many lies we’re told, our basic nature, our fundamental goodness and desire to be true to our highest instincts will win out.”
“That’s a good hope.” Scorio smiled brokenly. “I’ll hold onto it.”
They stood awkwardly by the door, then Leonis opened it briskly and stepped into the hallway. “Until next time, Scorio.”
Lianshi followed him out. “Until we meet again?”
“Until then,” Scorio agreed, moving into the doorway. “Take care of yourselves. And if you ever have the need, don’t hesitate to call me. You’re still… you’re still very important to me, and I’ll drop anything to come.”
Both looked abashed. For a moment Scorio thought Lianshi might step in for a hug, but instead, she linked her arm with Leonis and together they walked down the hall and then turned the corner and were gone.
Naomi put her hand on Scorio’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” said Scorio, hanging his head. “Me too.”
* * *
The next morning they were both summoned to the citadel.
The city seemed quiet, as if it were holding its breath. There was precious little foot traffic about as Scorio, Naomi, and their escort made their way down the avenues. No music came from hidden apartments, no costermongers called out the price of their wares. Those who were about moved hurriedly while casting nervous glances about, and even the House guard patrols appeared abashed.
The citadel, however, was a hive of activity. House representatives were everywhere, from Great Souls to high-ranked advisers and officers. Messengers raced to and fro as if their every missive was a matter of life and death, and half the gathered notables seemed more intent on tracking who was watching them than anything else.
Scorio and Naomi were led up the broad steps, past the columns and into the great airy hall. Their notoriety was clear: everyone studied them as they walked by, murmuring to each other or simply staring.
Scorio ignored them all.
They were led to the great council chamber where once Scorio had witnessed the White Queen laying down the groundwork for her accords. In her place, however, sat a triumvirate of powerful figures; each radiated a fell power that marked them as Great Souls of note.
The first was familiar, though seen now for the first time without a haze of pain clouding Scorio’s eyes: the Iron Tyrant was as dour and straight-backed as ever, his expression lugubrious, his cheeks hollowed out, his forehead high, his black hairline receding behind a vulpine peak. He wore the same expensive and richly decorated robes as before, a different set though much the same, all umbers and burgundy, blacks and gold. His hands glittered with heavy rings, and the weight of his stare was like a sack of bricks laid across Scorio’s shoulders.