Leonis spluttered as he stood, beard and hair streaming water down his broad hirsute chest. He wiped his face with one large hand and all but gaped at the new arrival. “I, ah—was in jest. Light raillery amongst friends.”
The woman arched a fine brow. “The abuse of Pyre Lords is now suitable joking material?”
Was she amused? Scorio couldn’t tell. There was a glimmer that might indicate such, but Scorio couldn’t begin to read her enigmatic expression.
“Let me apologize for my friend,” he said. “Our conversation strayed into foolish and inappropriate areas.”
“Hmm.” She considered them both, eyes growing heavy-lidded. She was still, intent.
“I’m sorry, we haven’t been introduced,” said Leonis, moving to sit beside Scorio and face the new arrival across their pool. “I am Leonis, once known as The Grim, the Golden King, Favored of Eragoth, and Wielder of Nezzar. Currently only an Emberling, and member of the Class of 873.”
Something about the woman’s stillness and the piercing nature of her gaze made Scorio wary. “Scorio. Tomb Spark. Same class.”
“I’m aware of your identities.” The corner of her lips quirked up. “And that you have discomfited Chancellor Praximar to no end. I am Moira, Pyre Lady of House Hydra and House Liaison to the Fiery Shoals. Class of 866.”
“Pyre Lady?” croaked Leonis. “Of House Hydra?”
Scorio sat up, mouth going dry. “Oh hell.”
“Relax.” Moira seemed to, reaching up to stretch both pale arms out along the edge of the pool, her body visible as shimmers through the swells. “We’re all adults here.”
Scorio forced himself to lean back as well. “I’m guessing this isn’t a random encounter.”
“Hardly. I wanted to see you for myself. The Red Lister who survived being thrown through the Final Door. Who rose from the ruins to aid Sol the Just in defeating Imogen the Woe—or who at the very least managed to keep his wits about him throughout that encounter. Who parlayed that success into readmittance to the Academy, and then, despite many obstacles, ascended to the peak of his class’s performance by advancing deepest into the Gauntlet.”
“You’ve done your homework.”
“You’ve made it hard not to hear of your exploits. Especially seeing as you refused to remain at the Academy for your second year and turned down every Autocrator’s offer to recruit you to their House. Fascinating.” Her green eyes were bewitching, barely visible as hemispheres under her lowered lids. “May I ask why, Scorio? You disappeared before anyone of note could interrogate you on your motivations.”
“Why?” Scorio fought the urge to glance sidelong at Leonis. How much danger was he in? None, of course: they were all under the White Queen’s protection. But there were dangers other than the merely physical. Was this woman across from him a foe? She was a Pyre Lady of House Hydra, of course she was—or was she? “It’s a big Hell out there.” His words sounded stilted even in his own ears. “I’m eager to see it all. Guess I don’t have the patience to work my way through the House systems.”
Did she believe him? All he was getting from her was mild amusement.
“You certainly seem eager. Seeing how quickly you and your friends lit out from Bastion to speak with the White Queen.”
Leonis stirred uneasily.
“Can you blame me?” Scorio smiled with more confidence. “Look at these baths.”
“Hmm. You spent several months living in the ruins before you rejoined the Academy, did you not? You must have explored some of the wards during that time. Made friends amongst the people?”
Had Praximar shared his criminal activities with her? Was that what she alluding to? Was she seeking leverage?
“I’m sorry. I’ve already confessed everything to House Chimera. That’s not going to get you very far.”
Moira frowned, a flicker of momentary confusion. “I—ah. I’m afraid you mistake me. I was guessing at your investment in the well-being of the people of Bastion.”
“Oh.” Damn. For a moment he didn’t know what to say. “I’m not in favor of needless bloodshed if that’s what you mean.”
“Neither am I. But I am curious. And it’s rare that a Tomb Spark should attract my attention. The White Queen deliberates with Desiree. An ongoing conference instigated by your arrival. A Red Lister who spurned everything the Houses had to offer just as Bastion convulses with strife. It’s hard not to leap to conclusions.”
“The White Queen hadn’t heard that there was open rebellion,” countered Scorio. “Did you know? And if so, it’s curious as to why you didn’t tell her in turn.” Scorio smiled. “A lowly Tomb Spark might be tempted to leap to conclusions.”
Moira laughed, surprising him. “Oh, I see why Praximar has such strong feelings about you. But you mistake my role here. I am not part of the White Queen’s inner council, nor does she come to me for intelligence or advice. I am merely the Liaison for House Hydra. My ambitions and interests are known. Had she asked me, I would have shared gladly, but alas. Open communication is not the norm.”
Only then did it occur to Scorio to wonder. He sat before a Pyre Lady. What were her powers? Was she already using them? Was that why his heart was racing? Why she seemed more present, more real, than anything else about them?
“That’s a pity. It’s hard for the truth to win through if people don’t communicate openly.”
“The truth.” She said the words as if testing them. “I can imagine how you feel about ‘the truth’. You’ve been alive for less than a year. You know almost nothing about Hell, its powers, and how things work outside of Bastion’s walls. I doubt you even understand House politics and necessities back home.” This was said with something akin to fondness, utterly without rancor, which only made Scorio feel all the more uncomfortable. “The truth. You must think it an objective thing, existing outside of the whims of Imperators, the machinations of Crimson Earls, the ambitions of Charnel Dukes and Blood Barons. The truth. A scintillating and rare object that only the earnest and good dare pursue. Something that if apprehended would act as a searing light, dispelling all lies and darkness and showing you the reality of this world of ours.” Her smile grew tender, almost pitying. “How you must desire the comfort of certainty.”
Leonis leaned forward. “Are you saying there is no objective truth? That reality bends to the whim of power?”
Moira paused to consider. “Only that in my experience people tend to pick the truth that suits their nature. That conforms to their own unspoken ambitions and desires. You will choose the figures of authority that you decide to trust, whose outlook matches your own values, and enshrine their words as sacred. If you have authoritarian instincts you will be drawn to strong and merciless leaders. If you are compassionate and empathic you will sympathize with those who seek the greatest good for all. But will you have discovered ‘the truth’? How will you know it to be objective, clinical, absolute? Or will you wake up one day and realize that you have built a hall of mirrors, and that the truth you assert is merely that which you desired all along?”
Scorio opened his mouth to retort then considered. “Is that where you find yourself, my lady?”
Moira smiled darkly. “Some advice, my friends. If ever you awaken in a hall of mirrors, close your eyes. You find your answers within.” She considered them. “But I will take my leave.”
Scorio and Leonis both stood as the Pyre Lady rose from the pool.
“Already, my lady?” Leonis sounded equal parts gallant and unsure.
Moira stepped neatly onto the black stone and took up a towel from a bench. “I have accomplished what I set out to do.”
“And what was that?” asked Scorio.
She fixed him with her green eyes. “Take your measure. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around. Gentlemen.”
And she strode away through the steam.