“You don’t owe me anything. I know that. But how about a swap? You tell me something of value, and I’ll do the same for you.” She smirked. “It’s not as if I’ve… as if I’ve any true loyalty to my House.”
Scorio’s mind raced. A secret. Something of value. He wanted to laugh. How little he had to share. They must think him privy to all manner of dark dealings, but in truth…
“There’s one thing.”
She placed her hand on his chest. “Yes?”
“Praximar. He’s got a connection with House Basilisk. They steal high-quality mana for him from the sky yards. Use regular criminals from the poor wards to do this.”
Ravenna didn’t look as gratified as he’d hoped. “Interesting. How did you discover this?”
He smiled ruefully. “I was one of those criminals at first.”
“Oh…” Ravenna stepped back, considered. “Yes. Thank you. That’s… yes. Now, for something in turn…” She paused, biting her lower lip. “Octavia reports to Charnel Duke Plassus, who acts as the primary liaison between Broic the Brawler in Deep Hell and Bastion. Something’s wrong with Plassus. Octavia’s hard to read, but I’ve overheard enough and… I don’t know, gotten the impression that she’s growing increasingly frustrated with Plassus. He’s not reacting to events as he should. She thinks someone or something has him… trapped. Not physically. But like in a game of chess. He’s checked and isn’t doing what he should.”
“Huh,” said Scorio. He couldn’t see how that might be of use to him, but he filed it away regardless. “Interesting, thank you.”
Ravenna smiled bitterly. “Think nothing of it. Quid pro quo.”
The rain continued to fall, but Scorio knew it would peter out soon. And then the night city would emerge, lit by virulent, luminous mana-lights and home to all manner of illicit markets, taverns, music halls, and clandestine celebrations.
He pursed his lips. The golden elixir yet suffused him, made him feel expansive, carnal, loose, undirected. His gaze slipped up and down Ravenna’s shift-clad form without his meaning to, and she caught his glance.
Scorio placed the base of his palm against his brow and winced. “Damn it. I feel like a fool.”
“You have my sincere apologies. Though, for what it’s worth, it was… fun. At first. It was only once we got here that I realized I couldn’t… well.”
Scorio snorted. “You had me fooled. Not that it takes much, it seems.”
Ravenna smiled. “I almost fooled myself.”
They held each other’s gaze. She was standing close. The atmosphere between them changed. Grew tense all over again, but this time with a different, knowing tenor.
“It occurs to me…” murmured Ravenna. “That since I’ve placed all my cards on the table that there’s no longer any room for misunderstanding.”
“Misunderstanding?”
“Of why we’re both here.” Her gaze grew heavy-lidded once more. “But with politics out of the way, what’s left? Just the two of us and a long, long night.”
She took another swig from the bottle, then, eyes closed, pressed her lips against his own. He tasted the copper brandy as she passed it to him, followed by her tongue.
He swallowed, almost choked, and for a febrile second almost lost control of himself.
But he stepped back.
“Maybe that’s not a good idea.”
Ravenna blinked up at him then shrugged one shoulder. “Suit yourself.” She stepped past him, patting him on the shoulder as she went. “You’re welcome to stay.”
He watched her disappear into her bedroom.
Scorio grimaced. Again he saturated his Heart and then he lit it up, Copper and Coal burning fiercely over its obsidian planes, pouring forth from the cracks and crevices.
He hunched his shoulders and lowered his head. His head began to clear as the power coursed through him. Within a couple of minutes, he felt lucid and himself once more, the last of the intoxication burning away.
Scorio stared at Ravenna’s doorway. Thought of her long, pale legs, her angular, athletic body, her smoky blue eyes, her bitten lips.
Then he sighed, shifted up into his scaled form, and vaulted over the railing to drop to the street below.
Chapter 29
Scorio spent the night moving through the streets of Bastion. He gave an oct to a messenger to find Lianshi at the House Kraken party and notify her that the owner of Locker 37 in the Academy was well and taking some time to himself. That done he purchased a cloak with a copious hood which he donned and used to move through the city in anonymity.
The surly anger had given way to riotous celebration. People laughed, cheered, listened to street corner preachers, and broke out into dance. Scorio was taken aback; he’d understood that the people of Bastion were ready to die for their cause, but hadn’t expected them to turn and display such joy upon accomplishing it.
Bemused, he watched free drinks being handed out, walked around the perimeter of small squares where families danced, spoke in large groups, children ran with Coal sparklers or sat around tables brought outside to while the night away.
The mood infected every ward. It was muted in the wealthier ones, but the farther south Scorio went, the more overt and raucous the festivities. Mana-lights lit the streets in pools of lambent orange, silky crimson, and virulent blue; people daubed whorls of luminous paint on their faces and ran, chasing each other and laughing as they enacted a tradition that he didn’t understand.
It pleased him to see such happiness. But it wasn’t a sharp joy; his encounter with Ravenna had left him conflicted, especially with Naomi’s questions hovering in the back of his mind and his argument with Jova still rankling.
Was this enough?
Scorio watched a heavyset young man handing out spiral pastries painted to mimic the floating nautilus fiends found in the ruins to a small crowd of eager children. Their smiles were heartwarming, their glee contagious.
But was this what he’d been fighting for?
What did he hunger for now?
He thought of Ravenna’s long, athletic legs, the taste of her lips against his own, the angular press of her hip against his thigh.
No—what deeper cause drove him now?
With a start he found himself straying along a familiar path that led to the ruins. Glancing up he saw their dark band wrapping around the final quarter of the city, with glimmers of magma smoldering amongst the chasms and ravines.
But he no longer feared what lurked within the abandoned buildings and shattered streets. He strode in calmly. The flaky rock crackled underfoot. The buildings immediately took on a cadaverous aspect; all paint had peeled off, windows had lost their glass, roofs were caving in.
It felt like coming home.
Off to the left rose Naomi’s old tower. He passed the side street that led to Feiyan and Helena’s old hideout. Pushed deeper. If he turned right here he’d make his way to the bare room he’d claimed as his own. Where the Nightmare Lady’s lessons had set him on his path.
It felt like catching up with a ghost. A young Scorio who burned with determination. Almost he felt he could see that figure running along the ruins, working on his stamina, his ability to Ignite his Heart.
So little time had passed, but already he felt a stranger to that youth.
He could accept the Iron Tyrant’s offer. He could strive to join Manticore. Hell, he could dictate terms to Octavia.
But what did he want?
Scorio made his way deeper into the ruins. Through sheets shelved with great barnacles, their tendrils grasping at the Coal mana. Over cracks in whose depths burned eternal flames. Some instinct warned the predators away; he felt himself watched, but nothing drew close.
Finally, he came to a stop.
The great chasm that separated the far end of the city from the rest of the ruins yawned open before him, the great, railless bridge crossing it like a toppled monolith. Rising massively in the gloom was the old Academy, the ancient buildings of state long abandoned.