“Nissa.” Scorio spread his arms wide. “A sight for sore eyes. We did it. We succeeded.”
“Word’s going ’round that something big’s going on up north.” She drifted closer. “That your doing?”
“Mostly? Mostly. Combination of good luck and… more good luck. We got into a bad fight at the Golden Circuit. Attracted the White Queen’s attention. She portaled in, saved us, then took us back to the Fiery Shoals. We had a chance to bend her ear, and she proved sympathetic. She brought a whole bunch of us to the Citadel where she just laid down the law and asked to meet with the rebellion’s leaders tomorrow at a place of their own choosing. Can you get everyone together?”
Nissa’s eyes widened. “Wait. She actually listened to you?”
Scorio laughed. “Listened to me and then some. I’ve got all kinds of news to share. But I’d rather do it just once. You know how to get everyone together?”
“That I can do.” Nissa looked past him at his friends then nodded to one of the alleyways. “C’mon. I’ll take you to Dola. She’s not far from here.”
A short while later they descended the steps into the Double. Scorio shivered as he entered the establishment; he’d have bet his life not long ago that he’d never be allowed to enter this place again.
But now here he was, following Nissa into the candle-lit bar. It was a long, narrow room, rays of bloody bronze light filtering in through the shuttered slats that ran down the length of the wall high up by the ceiling. The heavily waxed bar gleamed. Candles sunken deep within thick glass holders caused pools of green light to shimmer across its top, and a line of upside down clay mugs was set along its length.
A familiar older woman with long, gray hair rose from behind the bar where she’d been working on something and stilled. She wore pale pink-colored robes that were sufficiently open at the front to reveal an intricate tattoo on her chest, and she had a powerful frame to go with her relaxed confidence.
Kayla.
The same woman Scorio had once glimpsed in the Academy heading toward Praximar’s office.
Who no doubt had ratted him out to the chancellor on Dola’s behalf.
Nissa nodded toward the back of the room. “Dola in?”
“That she is.” And while it was clear she remembered Scorio, her gaze flat and unwelcoming, she made no move to stop them as they strode down the length of the room.
They strode through a curtain of beads into a small, comfortable room, windowless and lit by three lanterns with their wicks trimmed short, each shedding a soft, warm glow. The three walls featured deeply recessed alcoves, and a low, circular table in the center boasted three ornate water pipes.
Most of this was new, Scorio knew, because he’d destroyed a good chunk of this room with his ladder the last time he came through here.
Dola sat alone in one of the alcoves, scrolls and tallies set beside her on the cushioned bench, rimless spectacles perched on her nose. These she took off as she rose to her feet, setting aside her stylus, and moved to the alcove entrance.
“Well, look who we have here. And early, too. You ever even leave the city, Scorio?”
“That I did.” Scorio had to fight hard not to grin. “Signed up with Manticore and made it all the way to the Fiery Shoals. Had a word with the White Queen, and now she’s in the Citadel setting up shop. All manner of changes are coming.”
Dola raised an eyebrow and glanced at Nissa, who shrugged.
“That so? Well, I’m all ears.”
Nissa pointed her thumb over one shoulder. “I’m going to fetch the others. Back in a few.”
Dola nodded slowly, never taking her eyes off Scorio, who held her glittering gaze with ease. When Nissa was gone Dola gestured that they should move into a second alcove and take their ease.
Dola leaned forward. “So you’re telling me that you presented our case to the White Queen and she actually gave a damn?”
“I’ll be honest: I got lucky in that she already had plans to shake things up. And I’m not completely certain how many of my suggestions she took to heart. But I’ll tell you this: she wants to meet with you and the other leaders tomorrow at First Rust at a place of your choosing to discuss the matter.”
Dola looked genuinely shocked. “She wants to meet? Us?”
Scorio failed to hide his grin.
“Well, now.” Dola rubbed her chin. “That does sound promising. Or a neat way for her to behead our movement.”
“She gave her personal assurances that everyone who shows up has blanket immunity for all past acts and will be safeguarded by her honor.”
“Will you look at that?” Dola’s grin matched his own and was twice as predatory. “The boy done delivered.”
“Oh, that’s nothing. Just wait till you hear the rest of it.”
Half an hour later the other leaders of the rebellion filtered in; Abentha, tall and sere and skeptical; Gethane, the balding man in crimson and black with a long face and melancholy eyes; Walsham, mustachioed and florid; Ferric, the saturnine youth with a caustic attitude and faded finery.
They stood in a loose collective, uncertain, glancing to Dola for reassurance, their doubt writ plain on their faces.
“Hello, everyone.” Success made him feel ebullient, irreverent. Scorio fought to maintain a professional tone. “You may have heard already that the White Queen is in residence at the Citadel. She’s currently cloistered with the Council and reviewing in detail her new plan for how to run the Rascor Plains and Bastion. Because she is, you see, leaving us for good. She’s departing for Deep Hell, and leaving in place a reformed Consortium that will oversee the distribution quotas from the Fiery Shoals and work in partnership with Bastion.”
Everyone’s eyes widened in alarm.
“She’s abandoning us?” spat Ferric, raking his hand nervously through his thick mop of dark hair. “What kind of help is that?”
The others went to protest but Scorio raised both palms. “Let me finish explaining.” So he told them. About the new Consortium, the way the Gold mana was to be distributed, and the five percent that would go to improving Bastion proper. The Heart Oaths and the general reception his own proposals had received back in Fiery Shoals.
“Which is why she wants to meet with you all tomorrow,” he finished. “She wants to hear directly from each of you what it is you want. And I think we couldn’t have been luckier. Any other time and we might have been met with shrugs of indifference, but now, with her reshaping society as she plans to depart? It’s a small matter for her to include our demands as footnotes in her greater plan. I don’t think she’d have earmarked that five percent for Bastion proper if we hadn’t raised our concerns in so timely a manner.”
Gethane exchanged a startled glance with Walsham, while Ferric opened and closed his mouth several times, speechless.
“This is excellent news.” Dola’s voice was heavy with certainty. “We’ll need to put together a coherent list of grievances and requests to present the White Queen.”
“You intend to meet with her, Dola?” Abentha sounded aghast. “How do we know this isn’t a trap?”
“If the White Queen wanted us dead she’d have no problem making it so.” Dola waved the other woman’s concerns away. “No need for this subtle strategy. The more concrete our requests and the more detail we can present her the better. And you.” Dola turned to Scorio and his companions. For a moment they simply stared at each other, and then Dola grinned. “Good work. Never thought I’d say this, but… damned good work, all of you. Damned good.”
Chapter 23
Several days passed as the Council met with the White Queen and hammered out the particulars. For the most part Scorio hung about the citadel, waiting for good news and reassuring Dola and Abentha that all was in hand. The Autocrators came and went with their entourages, their expressions stony, until at last the announcement was made: the Queen’s Accords had been ratified, the people of Bastion given almost all that they had requested, and a new age had begun in Bastion.