Who finally rose to his feet and stood tall. “We would be honored, Charnel Duchess.”
In the near distance, their companions were rising to their feet, dazed and staring at Nova in wonder.
A golden line appeared in the air and then parted to form a burning oval. Nova inclined her head, a slight smile playing on her ruby lips. “Then follow me home. It is a far more… efficacious means of travel than traipsing through the Hinterlands.”
Both Dread Blazes bowed again, prompting Scorio and Jova to do the same. Without bothering to repeat his thanks Scorio squared his shoulders as the White Queen passed through the portal, then stepped forward to face the white fire and entered the oval.
Scorio emerged into an echoing obsidian hall of stark and imposing beauty. Its architecture was grandiose and the ceiling vaulted far above, while the jet flagstones reflected the leaping torchlight in liquid shimmers. The far end of the hall terminated in columns past which a balcony extended out into darkness. The air was thick with the odor of smoke, metal, and rotten eggs and Scorio had to resist the urge to bury his face in the crook of his elbow.
A dozen people focused on them—or rather, the White Queen—as they emerged from the Portal. Scorio recognized one: Desiree, a Pyre Lady. She was a bloodless young woman with lank white hair and a slight frame. Her gaze was unnervingly piercing, however, and she studied Scorio and his companions with avid interest before turning to attend the Charnel Duchess.
Who raised a hand to forestall questions and turned to await everyone’s arrival. Leonis was the last one to come through, and everyone stood in a tight crowd, trying not to gape.
“Be welcome to the Fiery Shoals,” said Nova, her voice ringing with authority. “You find yourselves at the very edge of the Rascor Plains and at my seat of authority. Your needs will be tended to, and then we shall converse. If you have any questions or concerns, do not hesitate to raise them with your attendants.”
“Thank you, White Queen,” said Davelos, voice low and grave as he bowed. “You are most generous.”
Nova smiled. “You are my guests, Davelos, nothing less, nothing more. Kyrie, escort them to guest chambers and ensure they are comfortable. I will send for you all when I am ready to talk.”
Everyone followed Davelos’s lead and bowed. Scorio watched Nova walk away with a growing sense of uncertainty; had he lost the initiative? Should he have impressed upon Nova how dire the situation was? Then again, they’d just shaved days off their journey. He could afford to be patient.
Kyrie approached. He was tall but stood with a stoop as if ashamed of the fact, his light brown hair pulled back into an artless knot, his cream and crimson robes finely cut but somehow appearing ill-fitting on his frame. He smiled tightly and gestured toward the back of the hall. “Your rooms are this way. I’m Kyrie, Tomb Spark and member of the Class of 872. Welcome to the Fiery Shoals. If you’ll come this way?”
Scorio fell in with the others as they left the hall. Class of 872… that meant Kyrie had reincarnated only three years ago. And he was already out here? A dozen questions burned the tip of his tongue, but he restrained the urge to begin interrogating him.
His friends crowded in beside him. They looked equal parts overwhelmed and confused. No wonder: one second they’d been succumbing to poisonous mana, the next they were following the White Queen through her portal. But the austerity and grandeur of the arcade they passed into stilled their questions. Open archways lined the right side of the hall, giving them all their first view of the world outside the castle.
Scorio couldn’t resist. He moved to the closest arch and gazed out over a sea of slowly roiling lava far below. Fumes rose from its unique surface where orange eddies tore apart endlessly forming skins of black rock in mesmerizing patterns. Black cliffs encircled this vast lake, their faces composed of dribbled stone as if the obsidian had run like wax before solidifying. The sky was a fulminous black, not a night sky but a perpetual storm, and everything was dimly lit by the sulfurous red glow of the lava.
“There!” Lianshi pointed at the cliff’s edge. “See the Lava Trees? I wrote about them in my journal.”
She was right. Countless wizened trees grew along the cliff’s edge and upon ridges and ledges. Their trunks were contorted, bending back and forth as if having been forced to grow against tremendous pressure, but their canopies were ethereal clouds of pink, the hue luminous and glowing softly like Zala’s butterflies.
Enough of their group had come to a stop that Kyrie and the Dread Blazes were forced to wait.
“They draw upon the Iron mana that suffuses the lake,” said Lianshi, “and condense it in their fruits which are called ‘moltens.’ They’re highly prized.” Lianshi sounded almost giddy. “The Lava Trees only grow here, around the Fiery Shoals, and their fruits are exported deeper into Hell by a consortium of—”
“Friends?” Davelos’s tone was just short of impatient. “Shall we?”
“Oh, right.” Lianshi drew back from the arch. “Sorry. I get carried away.”
Scorio couldn’t tear his gaze away from the world outside. This was what he’d expected all of Hell to look like outside of Bastion, grim and inimical to life. Yet there was a beauty to even this landscape that surprised him, a dark majesty that beguiled him and filled him with excitement.
He grinned at Lianshi as they resumed following Kyrie, and she brightened at his shared enthusiasm.
Davelos walked beside Kyrie, his hands linked behind his back. “You wouldn’t happen to know if any other members of Manticore are present? A party of ours led by Dread Blaze Simeon was supposed to have arrived here a week ago.”
Kyrie frowned. “Manticore—yes. I know of that party. They are still here, I believe. Simeon has been waiting for an opportunity to speak with the White Queen in private.”
“Ah, good,” smiled Evelyn. “Where are their quarters?”
“One floor below in the third Basalt suite. Do you want me to show you how to get there?”
“No need.” Davelos’s smile was perfunctory. “We know the way. If you’ll excuse us?”
Kyrie nodded uncertainly.
They reached the end of the arcade where Evelyn turned to the rest of them. “We’re going to go catch up with Simeon and the others.” She smiled. “We’ll introduce you later. But go ahead and get settled. Enjoy your first visit to the Shoals. It’s a hell of an experience.”
“Thanks,” said Scorio. “And thank you for everything you’ve done for us. Bringing us here.”
Evelyn canted her head to one side. “Things didn’t go as smoothly as I’d like. That encounter with the goldyolks was just shy of a disaster… but hey, all’s well that ends well, right? And now you get to have a good chat with the White Queen. Success.”
Scorio grinned. “Indeed. And we’re way ahead of schedule. I couldn’t ask for better.”
Davelos nodded curtly. “Let us know when the White Queen wants her audience. We’d like to be there. Perhaps we can help in some way.”
“Sure. Absolutely.”
Evelyn reached out and picked some crud off the lapel of Scorio’s robe. “And once this is all done we should talk about next steps. You all handled yourself really well out on the Plains. Let’s not lose sight of our long-term plans.”
Scorio felt the others stir behind him with excitement. “That would be most appreciated. Thank you again.”
Evelyn beamed, then linked her arm through Davelos’s and together they turned to stride deeper into the complex.
“Well,” said Kyrie. “Shall we continue?”
Leonis stepped in beside Scorio. “How did the White Queen find us? You do something?”
“I, ah…”
Kyrie led them into a second hallway that proved to be a series of broad steps leading down. It was as bleak and stark as the first, with the same torches burning in their iron sconces and the sound of their echoing feet.