“Most importantly, the House Autocrators will also swear to avoid armed conflicts between the Houses. They will swear to not engage in any form of armed conflict over the Gold mana or the rulership of Bastion, which will include not only direct conflict but also proxies or allies. Instead, they will focus their energies on maintaining the peace over the Farmlands and the Rascor Plains in general, as well as contributing a quarter of the security team needed to cleanse the upper reaches of the Crucible and ensure the Siphon remains fully operational.
“Finally, the Iron Tyrant has agreed to act as a neutral third party and adjudicate any conflicts that arise from the implementation of these new policies. In case of an emergency, any one House can formally request an audit or investigation by the Iron Tyrant into matters of concern, though this must only be done as a last resort. You all know that the Tyrant does not suffer fools gladly, but it is better to bring concerns to him than risk breaching your oaths and imperiling the Consortium.”
The White Queen took a deep breath and smiled. “I am confident that this system will result in the continued prosperity of the Plains and Bastion itself. I shall be exploring the matters of civil unrest in the days to come, and folding new resolutions into the final code of conduct to ensure the best possible outcome. My goal is to harness our very best instincts and weld them into a plan that shall guarantee our growth, prosperity, peace, and opportunities. With the help of the Houses and the Iron Tyrant, I fully believe that Bastion and the Rascor Plains will not only survive my departure but grow all the stronger for it.”
Chapter 22
The White Queen didn’t lie: things moved quickly from that point on.
Moments before stepping into a closed session with the Council, Desiree approached him. The crowd was milling, people embroiled in feverish discussions of everything Nova had just revealed when Desiree hopped off the stage and approached their little group.
The crowd parted before her as if she were lethal to the touch.
“Scorio.” Desiree’s smile was utterly impersonal. “The White Queen wished me to convey a request.”
Scorio fought the urge to stand to attention. “I’m hers to command.”
Desiree curled a strand of pale blonde hair behind her ear as she canted her head to one side. Her irises were so pale that her eyes seemed all pupils. “That’s nice. You’re to reach out to the leaders of the rebellion and ask them to select a meeting place of their choosing. The White Queen will travel to said location tomorrow at First Rust. Please tell them not to worry. They are under full immunity for all past actions and nothing discussed during tomorrow’s meeting will endanger them. They have the White Queen’s personal assurances.”
“I—yes. Sure. I’ll find them today.”
“Great.” For a moment Desiree’s smile widened, but still her gaze pierced him through and through as if he were a bug being pinned to a display board. “I’m sure the White Queen will be most grateful.”
And with that, she returned to the dais.
Zala moved in conspiratorially close. “Oh, man. What’s her deal? Anybody else find her incredibly unnerving?”
“She’s got a rare power,” said Naomi. “Manifested it back when she hit Dread Blaze. She can extrapolate the most optimum plan for any problem with very little information.”
Leonis raked his hand through his hair. “No wonder Nova—I mean, the White Queen—is moving so fast. Then again, the more time she gives the Pyre Lords to react, the more trouble they’ll make.”
Scorio watched the Autocrators and their attendants follow Nova through a side door. “She’s definitely not giving them much time at all. But did you guys notice? Praximar was the only one who looked at ease.”
“Must have been Moira,” said Jova, voice low. “But even so, she could only have given him an afternoon’s advance notice.”
“Right.” Lianshi brushed the tip of her own nose with a tuft of hair. “And that plan she proposed sounded pretty comprehensive, right? Especially if backed by Heart Oaths?”
Everybody considered.
“Well, I’d better head out.” Scorio inhaled sharply and grinned at the others. “I’ve got to rustle up some rebellion leaders. What do you think are the odds they’ll actually believe me?”
“I’ll come with,” said Naomi. “You know. To make sure you don’t get yourself strung up by the neck.”
“Nice,” said Scorio.
“I’ve got no plans.” Leonis clapped Scorio on the shoulder. “Where we headed?”
“Same,” said Lianshi. “You three going to come?”
“I think you’ve got this covered,” said Jova. “I’ve not trained in far too long. We’ll spend the rest of the evening working up a sweat. Right?”
“Sure,” said Juniper, though she didn’t sound enthused.
“Yes.” Zala nodded sharply. “I need to make Tomb Spark. My butterflies are great and all, but they’re still too slow. I need my next power to really rank up my utility in a fight.”
“Have fun.” Scorio took a step back. “Don’t hit Flame Vault without me.”
Jova smirked. “No promises.”
Scorio led his friends out of the Council hall. The place was alive with earnest conversations, most hushed and held to the side, but he couldn’t help but overhear snippets as they threaded their way through the crowd.
“… impossible to believe that the Iron Tyrant would countenance such…”
“…rotating leadership means massive inefficiencies, even at ninety…”
“…going to translate five percent of the monthly gold shipment into civic improvements?”
Then they were out and rushing down the massive staircase to the broad entrance hall whose vaulted ceiling echoed with more conversation. Past huge portraits of Autocrators from bygone centuries, and finally out the huge double doors to the citadel’s portico.
Bastion spread out before and around them. Scorio paused to simply take it all back in: the ruddy glow of Second—or was it First?—Rust. The sun-wire streamed past overhead, lambent and fiery, while the wards of the city wrapped up and around the city’s great cylinder.
After their lengthy journey through the Rascor Plains, the sight of the all-encompassing city was disorienting; Scorio had quickly come to regard blue skies as right, and to now only see rooftops and smoke, courtyards and streets felt ineffably surreal.
They quickly left the luxury wards as they spiraled up and around the interior of Bastion’s curvature to Ward 4. The crowds became surlier, their mood clearly uglier, and more and more it seemed like people were standing around just waiting for a signal that they should pick up weapons again and start marching north.
Scorio slowed down as he tried to orient himself. Their best bet was to find Dola, and that meant going to the Narrows to find her bar and base of operations, The Double.
“You know where you’re going?” huffed Leonis.
“I think so. Mostly. Probably.”
They took a few wrong turns before entering a street that had more in common with an alleyway than any normal thoroughfare. The second and third stories on both sides beetled out till they almost touched, and what little sky remained was crisscrossed by clothing lines. The bloody light of Second Rust dimmed almost to darkness, with only the occasional lantern affixed outside a public house or on a central standing pole casting pools of amber light within the gloom.
“Somewhere here,” muttered Scorio.
They’d come to a stop in a tiny diamond-shaped square, a shattered gruel fountain in its center. Scorio turned in a slow circle, examining the entrance to the half dozen alleyways. Only for a rakish, bony-shouldered Nissa to emerge from the darkness, her robes a mustard yellow that enhanced the luster of her crimson hair.
“Well, look who it is,” she drawled, thumbs stuck in her belt sash. “Running around like a bull in a lantern shop.”