Elated, Scorio searched the crowds in the citadel’s great antechamber, trying to catch sight of a familiar face, but such was the press that he couldn’t find anyone. He was about to desist and leave in search of his friends when a familiar voice rung out.
“Scorio!” Jova strode through the milling crowd. “There you are. Are you done? I’ve been waiting for over an hour for you.”
“Jova. Guess what? We got the changes we wanted written into the Council’s charter!”
“That’s just great. Congratulations. I’m very pleased for you. Now, hurry up. Dameon’s waiting for us.”
“Dameon? He’s here?”
“Arrived this morning and asked to meet with us almost immediately. He’s been understanding of your awaiting word from the Council, but you’ve kept him waiting for hours.” She grabbed him by the arm and began pulling him away. “Not a good look for your first meeting with the nominal head of Manticore.”
“Jova.” Scorio stopped and pulled his arm free. “I’ve not been wasting my time.”
She stared flatly at him. “No, you’ve been indulging in your pet project that has no bearing on the reason we declined House sponsorship and made ourselves targets to half our class.”
“That’s no longer a problem, surely.”
“Have you heard of an official cancellation of Praximar’s offer? No? Neither have I. Which means at any moment we might have to fight off eager students again. But I’m not surprised. Scorio, not everyone likes you or your obsession with reforming Bastion’s laws.”
“Are you saying you don’t?”
She rolled her eyes. “What I’m saying is that it’s high time you shelved this obsession and started focusing on what truly matters: our advancement, learning the truth behind how everything works, and figuring out our next steps.” She caught herself, closed her eyes, then sighed. “Look. I’m not completely heartless. It’s great what you’ve done for the people of Bastion. I’m sure I’d be more empathic if I’d been forced to live as you did instead of being born directly into the Academy. But my thoughts are on all the foes that await us in Hell, both the obvious ones and the hidden. We can’t spend our time on causes immaterial to our progression.”
“The well-being of tens of thousands of innocents is not immaterial.”
Jova bit her lower lip as she reined in her temper. “Let me put it this way: I signed up to work alongside you because I thought we were kindred souls. I admired your obsessive need to train and gain power, to let nothing stop you from maximizing your potential and accomplishing the impossible. But ever since we left the Academy that drive seems to have… disappeared.” She shook her head in confusion and dismay. “Where is the Scorio who was willing to risk death to advance? Where is the Scorio who trained at all hours and sacrificed everything to prove everyone wrong?”
Scorio frowned at Jova. “He’s right here. And I still want all of that. But Jova…” He struggled for a moment to find the right words. “We won. I came first in the Gauntlet. I not only got to tell Praximar to go to hell, but did so before the entire gathered Great Soul community in Bastion. And now? I just got to do it again.”
“We won?” Her pity was scathing. “Won what? A brief moment of applause? Scorio, we’re still nothing. We can’t even get close to scratching a Dread Blaze. Didn’t our time on the Plains teach you that? We’re as helpless as Chars out there. And we’ll always be helpless till we reach Imperator, and even that is no guarantee. Won?” Her pity became open derision. “You sound like an idiot.”
“Hey, now.” Scorio stepped in closer, his good humor finally slipping away. “Just because you’ve been useless in our fights against Evelyn and Davelos doesn’t mean you get to take your ire out on me.”
Jova’s eyes narrowed. “Useless?”
“Your power was uniquely suited to make you a star in the Academy. But out there?” He pointed toward where he thought the Plains might be. “You’re just a punching bag that keeps getting up. Whereas the Nightmare Lady and I consistently bring the fight to whomever we’re up against. Does that mean I’m done training? Not by a long shot. But it does mean I’m not itching to prove myself like you are.”
Jova raised her chin, her nostrils flaring, her ire burning off her in palpable waves. “A punching bag that keeps getting up.”
“All right, that was harsh.” Scorio caught his temper and wrestled it down. “I’m sorry. That was out of line. But no, maybe I’m not that Scorio any longer because I don’t need to be. Victory does count for something, Jova. I defied the odds and I won. I came first in the Gauntlet. I’m a Tomb Spark, and soon enough I’ll be a Flame Vault. All in less than one year. And to cap it all off? I just brought about major social change in the cradle of our kind, improving the lives of literally tens of thousands of people. So yes, I think I’m doing all right. And it’s not my problem if you don’t.”
Jova sucked on her teeth for a moment, her eyes glittering, and then she nodded. “You’re right. It’s not your problem what I feel. Thank you for enlightening me. This has been very educational.”
“Oh, come on,” began Scorio.
“No.” She smiled. “This has been very eye-opening. But now that we’ve had our instructive little chat, are you ready to meet Dameon? Or do you think you’re such a blessing to all of Hell that it’s all right to keep him waiting a little bit more?”
Scorio went to protest but the flat look in her dark eyes dissuaded him. “That’s not what I meant. But fine. Let’s go meet with Dameon.”
“How gracious of you. If you’ll kindly follow me?”
And she strode off into the crowd.
Scorio gazed after her, his emotions roiling, and then scowled. “Damn it. Way to go, Scorio.”
Chapter 24
Dameon and the other three members of Manticore were awaiting them a few streets over in what proved to be an abandoned church. Scorio had seen their like scattered about Bastion but never paid them much mind; some yet attracted devotees, but most stood notably empty, a rarity in the poorer wards for the premium placed on space.
The building was large, square, with high walls of dressed sandstone that rose to a great dome riven by cracks. Numerous statues stood within niches recessed into the exterior walls, but these were eroded or defaced past any recognition.
Scorio followed Jova through the huge doors into a cavernous space within, the floor composed of great buckled flagstones, the walls covered in ancient mosaics depicting all manner of fascinating scenes from what could only be the depths of Helclass="underline" here a man radiating beams of gold defied a wall of crimson tentacles, his expression serene; there two children walked hand in hand through a forest of surreal blue polyps that seemed to curve about them, forming a tunnel; on the far wall a host of fiery creatures bent knee to the serene man who looked older, his face haggard and gray-bearded.
His friends and the members of Manticore stood in a loose circle about Juniper and the sole figure Scorio didn’t recognize: an athletic young man whose handsome features were accentuated by golden stubble and carefully coiffed blond hair that was shaved along the sides and rose in a wave on the top. Tall, broad-shouldered, and powerful in frame, he was laughing and had both hands raised in surrender as Juniper reeled back, her face bathed in sweat, her chest heaving with effort.
“Scorio!” Evelyn was lounging against Davelos, her elbow propped on the taller man’s shoulder. “There he is. Have you finished changing Bastion to your liking?”
Jova moved to stand with Zala who glanced questioningly at her irate expression.
Scorio rubbed the back of his head as he approached. “We all got lucky, I suppose. The White Queen was in the mood to make some changes, and swept the people’s requests into her own mandate. Can’t say the Autocrators were pleased, but they don’t have much choice.”