Scorio simply stared at Thorne, then ran his hand shakily through his hair and shot a glance back at his friends. “Just me? Or my friends as well?”
Thorne grimaced apologetically. “Just you, I’m afraid. Fine as your friends may be, none of them figured in the defeating of Imogen, nor stood before the Council to give testimony which the White Queen chose to approve. You’d start with a yearlong stint on The Celestial Coffer, and when you make Flame Vault, which under my guidance you’ll surely do, you’ll be transferred to the Fury Spires for the Iron Tyrant to evaluate your merits and consider you for inclusion in the Iron Vanguard. I tell you true when I say that’s an incredible honor. It’s almost exclusively composed of Dread Blazes like myself.”
“I’m sorry. It’s a real honor. I’m painfully aware of it. But I can’t leave my friends behind. We’re on this journey together. Please tell the Iron Tyrant I humbly wish it were otherwise, but I hope he can respect and understand my loyalty to my companions.”
“Ah, I figured as much.” Thorne doffed his hat and shook his head ruefully. “But that only makes you all the more admirable. There are precious few in this Hell of ours that won’t sell loyalty in exchange for a chance at power. Hold tight to your principles, lad. They’ll get you farther than any elixir.”
“Thank you, Captain Thorne. Truly.”
“And if you’re ever back at the Fiery Shoals and The Coffer’s at port, don’t hesitate to come say hello and tell me how you’ve fared. You never know—the Tyrant doesn’t take denials lightly, but I reckon the door won’t slam on this offer for some time yet.”
“Absolutely. Thank you. The Coffer’s a magnificent ship. I’d love to come aboard someday.”
“I look forward to it. Well.” Thorne gazed past him at Manticore and his friends. “Be well, Scorio.” His expression tightened. “And be sure to pick your future friends wisely.”
Scorio watched him march off with his guards. Did Thorne not approve of Manticore? If not, he’d been discreet. Perhaps Manticore and the Iron Tyrant had bad blood between them?
Dameon was already gone when he returned to his friends.
“What did old Thorne want with you?” asked Evelyn with a grin. “To snatch you away with sweet promises from the Iron Tyrant?”
“Something like that,” mumbled Scorio, flushing. “But I told him if my friends aren’t invited, it’s not even an option.”
“Ha!” Leonis clapped Scorio heavily on the shoulder. “Good man.”
“You’re not missing out on much,” said Simeon softly. “The Iron Tyrant earned his moniker for a reason. You’d be entering a life of strict rules and impossible expectations. From what I’ve learned of you, that’s not quite your style.”
“No,” smiled Scorio. “I guess you’re right on that front.”
“Then let’s get moving,” smiled Evelyn. “It’s rare that we get to celebrate with old friends, and even rarer that it takes place here in Bastion where everything is so nostalgic and civilized. Oh, don’t scowl, Naomi. I promise you, one day you’ll be hip deep in acidic slime with a hundred miles of fiends in every direction, and you’ll remember this night with painful fondness. Let’s go.”
They quit the Citadel and crossed to Ward 6. House Kraken guards were everywhere in evidence, their uniforms spotless, their halberds gleaming as if never used for anything but ceremonial displays. The streets were alive with activity, and a festive air hung over every gathering. Laughter and shouts of happiness trickled through the night, and musicians stood in the center of every square playing rambunctious tunes that got the locals dancing.
The sun-wire was dimming to Second Clay, and great spirals of mist were rotating around it in distinct arms. The air felt humid and heavy, and soon the first night showers would break, washing the grit and dust from the cobbled streets and swelling the canals.
Scorio inhaled deeply. He felt conflicted, alive, at once celebratory and pensive. Thorne’s praise stood in stark contrast to Dameon’s warning. Jova was a distant figure who never once looked his way, flanked on either side by Zala and Juniper. Leonis was holding forth, causing Lianshi to groan in despair even as Evelyn egged him on, while Davelos and Simeon brought up the rear, conferring quietly with each other.
Naomi dropped back to walk by his side, her thick curtain of black hair nearly hiding her features as always. She glanced speculatively up at him but remained silent.
Scorio took reassurance from her presence.
Whatever came, whatever he had to face, he’d not face it alone.
The Kraken palace proved to be a sprawling complex of interconnected buildings, a concatenation of golden domes and pillars, narrow windows and pocket courtyards filled with decorative fountains and luxurious greenery. Music filled the air and the main entrance was busy with people coming and going.
Evelyn led them with sublime authority past the guards, flashing her Dread Blaze chit with a sly smile, and then through a series of great chambers and reception rooms where House Kraken’s wealth was in full display. Everywhere Scorio looked he saw treasures, artistry, sophistication, and beauty.
Evelyn didn’t pause to admire the mosaics or tapestries, however, and skirted the small knots of animated people who called to her and sought to draw them into their celebrations. Instead, she glided up a broad staircase to the second floor, past a series of offices and the entrance to a labyrinthine library, and up a third, smaller staircase to a suite that ran the length of the main building’s side. An arcade of pillars ran down one length, opening to a balcony choked with potted ferns and lounge chairs, and the music was drowned out by the swell of eager voices.
Evelyn dove into the crowd with an exclamation of joy. Simeon tapped Leonis on the shoulder and pointed at an expansive counter where crystal decanters and racks of test tubes were set up, fresh-faced and eager servers fulfilling orders behind it.
“Nobody serves up finer vintages and treasures than House Kraken. Shall we?”
“We shall,” boomed Leonis, all but rubbing his hands together. Jova, Juniper, and Zala followed uncertainly behind.
Lianshi glanced at Naomi and Scorio. “You guys going to get a drink?”
“Soon,” said Scorio. “Go on ahead. I’ll be right there.”
Scorio gazed out over the fabulously dressed crowd and saw the carnivorous way many of the gathered Great Souls studied him in return. Perhaps he’d get some fresh air.
He picked his way through the maze of potted plants, fire pits, and lounge chairs to the balcony’s stone railing, and there leaned out on both elbows to gaze over Bastion’s urban curvature. After a few moments he turned to study those gathered out on the broad balcony with him, and to his surprise, he saw Instructor Feng standing in sober robes of white and gray, his sharp, handsome features composed into an expression of polite interest as he listened to an older lady hold forth on some subject. And by his side stood Ravenna Acardi.
She’d come in second for their class’s original Gauntlet run, and for a while been Jova’s main competitor and training partner. Right up until Jova defeated her so ignominiously with her fear aura during the tournament.
Scorio studied Ravenna from across the party. She looked just the same as always, hair jet black and cut in rough bangs across her brow, short at the back and lengthening to follow the line of her chin. Pale-skinned, her blue eyes piercing, her manner intent as she listened politely to the older woman’s diatribe.
But now she wore House Kraken robes.
He looked away.
Mused over the recent events. His argument with Jova. Was she right? Was he no longer as hungry as he’d once been for advancement and power? Or had she just decided that his desire to join Manticore so as to strive for treasures and to heal his Heart no longer counted? He yearned to learn the truth, but was he as driven as when he’d first met Naomi out in the ruins? Was he still the same man who’d risk everything to cultivate a Black Star garden, who’d train to the point of collapse?