They all shook their heads, though Scorio appreciated how Simeon didn’t simply assume they hadn’t.
“It’s from the Vale of Regrets. A rare wind that singles out a Great Soul and gusts about them. When it does so that person then enjoys a streak of good luck that defies all the odds. People say that ‘you’ve been Whispered’ when someone’s on a hot streak of improbable fortune.” Simeon grinned. “And you all have definitely been Whispered.”
Evelyn and Davelos began moving to the door.
“Wait,” said Leonis, tone amused. “You’re not going to take our measure? I thought it was obligatory that we fight before you declared yourself content.”
Simeon smiled apologetically. “Not my style. Plus I’ve already seen and heard enough to be impressed. Moreover, mine’s not a flashy combat power set like those two’s.”
Lianshi stepped forward. “Is it rude to ask you what you can do?”
“Not at all.” Simeon smoothed down his black robes. “But like Moira, my power often makes people nervous. Not that I blame them.”
“He can take control of people,” said Davelos dourly.
Simeon stared at the other Dread Blaze in annoyance. “You know it’s not that simple.”
“Am I wrong? Once you assume their appearance and step inside them?”
Simeon sighed. “Well, yes. But there are nuances.” He grimaced apologetically and tugged on his earlobe. “Don’t worry. It’s a defensive power. I use it primarily to neutralize powerful foes peacefully. Added bonus if I can then get everyone else to stand down and cease fighting by issuing commands.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I think it’s a throwback power to the times when we Great Souls fought more often against each other. These days? Not much occasion for it.”
“Oh,” said Lianshi. “I see.”
“Thanks, Davelos,” said Simeon, moving toward the door.
Davelos grinned. “Any time, buddy.”
“What happens now?” asked Scorio.
“Now?” Simeon pulled open the door and looked back over his shoulder. “We wait. The White Queen should be back soon. And then we return to Bastion.”
Chapter 21
The White Queen was gone from the Fiery Shoals for two hours. Her return was akin to the breaking of a storm; all people of import were summoned peremptorily to a grand hall a floor above any which Scorio and his friends had been granted access to before.
The air was charged with excitement, fear, and tension. Fifty Great Souls gathered in the impressive hall that was open on both sides to vistas of the lava fields below and the rearing cliffs that enclosed them; pale pink Lava Trees grew from massive bronze pots just outside the flanking arcades, their trunks tended, their branches pruned so that they grew in miniature, each a perfect reflection of their wild cousins in stilted perfection.
Scorio and his friends moved forward slowly, caught up in the tidal drift of bodies that milled and sought to reach the front. He caught a glimpse of Moira in a practical set of black travel robes edged in gold; there was Captain Thorne with a handful of his lieutenants; Manticore stood to one side, expressions neutral. But everywhere else were Great Souls of import to whom he couldn’t place names. The crucial members of Fiery Shoals, most of them identifying with one of the Four Houses.
A white portal appeared on the stage at the hall’s end which disgorged the White Queen and Desiree.
The portal disappeared. Nova moved forward to the edge of the stage. She had no need to call for quiet. The whole hall fell into a deep silence. For a moment the Charnel Duchess gazed out over their upturned faces as if taking account of those present, and then she smiled.
“All proceeds as planned. The Iron Tyrant and I have had a fruitful discussion. I have allayed his concerns and he will support us in this transition, appearing in person at the ceremony where I pass authority to the newly empowered Celestial Consortium. But now we proceed to Bastion. I shall transport us to the Council Citadel and from there direct the meetings and changes that are to take place. Everyone present here now is welcome to pass through with me now; your advice, presence, and witness are welcome in what’s to come.”
Murmurs filled the hall but nobody seemed surprised.
“Last chance for us to escape,” muttered Naomi by his side. “Though I know you’ll not take it.”
“Cheer up,” said Scorio, bumping her with his shoulder. “We’re going to argue in favor of the people. Bring about some positive change. You can’t resent that?”
To which Naomi could only shake her head.
The White Queen opened her portal once more and stepped through, followed by Desiree. In short order, everyone filed up onto the stage and stepped into the ring of white fire. Scorio and his friends were toward the back of the line, and when his turn came he couldn’t help but marvel all over again at the power the White Queen possessed to not only open but then maintain this portal across the vast distance his friends had traveled over the past eight days.
He emerged into an even larger hall, but one whose musty gloom and faded finery made it seem lesser to that of the Fiery Shoals. Huge blocks of stone raised the raftered ceiling some twenty yards above the mosaic-covered floor, and its cavernous fastness cast back echoes that muddied the air and made all conversation sound indistinct.
A semi-circle of high-backed chairs was set upon a dais at the end of the hall beneath stained glass windows depicting the House totem animals. They were all painted black but for the central chair, which gleamed as if made of polished ivory. It was before this chair that the White Queen now stood, hands linked behind her back, chin lowered as she waited.
Desiree indicated with subtle nods and gestures for her attendant crowd to part and move to the wings of the hall; Scorio and everyone else pressed back to leave the center of the hall empty, and for a few minutes they remained thus in silence.
“Guess she didn’t send word ahead,” whispered Leonis. “Wanted to catch everyone with their pants around their ankles.”
Juniper chuckled and quickly raised a hand to cover her mouth as a Great Soul to their left—an iron-faced lady in severe gray robes—cast them a stern look.
To Scorio’s surprise, Praximar was the first to arrive. He must have been visiting the Council building on business. He swept into the hall with his personal assistant trailing behind, clad in the formal robes of House Hydra, his expression smooth, serene, his brows raised as if in mild surprise.
“Charnel Duchess. What an unexpected honor. I am pleased to be the first to welcome you to Bastion.” He stopped before the dais and inclined his head low. “How may I be of service?”
Nova’s smile was cold. She was no doubt familiar with Moira’s powers. “Thank you for the reception, old friend. I will wait till the Council is gathered before making my announcement.”
“But of course, of course.” Praximar smiled benignly and moved aside to face the double doors at the hall’s far end, the picture of patience.
“Old Praximar doesn’t seem fussed,” whispered Leonis. “That’s…odd.”
“He must see some chance for advantage,” Scorio whispered back. “Given how grasping he is he’ll find a way to twist this to Hydra’s favor. Thank the ten hells Nova’s got Desiree with her.”
Autocrator Octavia appeared five minutes later with six attendants; she was dressed in resplendent cloth of gold ceremonial robes whose shimmering, luxurious fabric was embroidered with intricate designs and embellished with gold thread and precious stones. The robes complemented her rich, tawny skin and made her blonde hair appear almost metallic in turn, which fell in glorious waves past her shoulders. She strode forward with panther-like grace and self-possession, and though Scorio studied her face for any signs of surprise he saw none.
“Charnel Duchess,” said Octavia as she came to a stop before the dais. “What a rare and unexpected delight. Had I known you were planning to grace us with your presence I would have prepared a proper reception. I pray all is well?”