Still, these very questions lit a new fire in his heart. He thought of the vast expanse of the Rascor Plains and all its mysteries, the endless fiends, the lost history, the great geographical markers like the Chasm to which they were headed.
The truth was out there, lost between ancient traditions, outright lies, and casual obfuscations.
Scorio stood. “Thank you, Nox. I appreciate your sharing your wisdom with me.”
Nox bobbed his head. “Always, friend Scorio. You go?”
“I’m leaving Bastion tomorrow. I need to get a little rest before we set out. A couple of hours at least. I hope we see each other soon.”
“It is possible. Travel safely, friend Scorio.”
“And you too, my friend. Good luck with the spawning pools.”
“Luck not needed when technique is dominant.” His tongue shlurped out and across his lips. “Still. The blessing is appreciated.”
Scorio grinned, raised his hand in parting, then set off down the steps. He felt lightened. Buoyed by his renewed curiosity and a new acceptance of himself. Just because he’d felt a moment’s respite didn’t mean he couldn’t get back on track, rediscover his hunger, and continue growing as before.
Smiling, the last of his doubts fading away behind him, Scorio set out at a run, crossing the familiar and ruined territory for what he was sure would be the last time for the foreseeable future.
Chapter 30
At First Bronze, Scorio found himself packed into Imperator Square alongside his friends, the Manticore members, and about two thousand other people of note. The air was electric and the murmur of voices formed a shapeless murmuration that rose and swelled like distant thunder.
A stage had been erected before the large statue of the First Imperator, and upon this wooden expanse, important officials milled and shook hands, smiling widely for the crowd’s benefit and pretending they were completely at ease.
Vendors struggled through the crowd, selling everything from low-grade elixirs to hastily crafted mementos to mark the day. Lianshi grinned and bought everyone gilded brooches with the White Queen’s ferula crossed with the commonplace sight of a gruel fountain’s font.
Scorio pinned it to his robe’s lapel and grinned.
He’d slept in till the last possible moment, resisting all efforts to rouse him, and finally awoken with a dull, pounding headache he attributed to the Gold mana from the night before. Igniting his Heart only made him feel worse, perversely, so he tagged along, wincing at the bright morning light, fending off his friends’ jibes and queries till Leonis put an arm around Scorio’s shoulders and turned raising a protective palm.
“Bother not our dear friend with these fruitless inquiries. Do you not realize how crude and crass you are being? Last night Scorio emerged from his swaddling clothes to climb the buxom slopes of that steep and sacred mountain—”
“Leonis.”
“—whose olive groves shelter secrets only grown men can guess at, and where he quenched his thirst from that sweet wellspring that burbles up from the hidden grotto—”
“Leonis!”
“—to emerge, steely-eyed and square jawed, a man, by the gods, a man at last, no longer a mewling babe—”
Lianshi was helpless as she giggled, and Naomi couldn’t seem to decide whether to be mortified or amused. Juniper glanced over, clearly wishing she’d heard the beginning of the joke, and the only mercy was that Manticore and Jova were too far away to have heard.
“Leonis!” Scorio shrugged off his friend’s arm. “Nothing happened.”
Leonis blinked at him. “Nothing?”
“Nothing. I had some drinks. We went back to her place—”
“Whose?” demanded Lianshi. “Do we know her?”
“You do. Doesn’t matter. We went back and—”
“Oh, my friend, my condolences.” Leonis pressed his hand to his chest. “While I have never suffered this misfortune, being constitutionally virile to the point of endangering—”
“No!” Scorio caught himself and lowered his voice. Zala and Juniper were pressing in closer now, with even Jova glancing their way. “We never even got that far. We quickly realized there was a—a serious misunderstanding, and parted amicably. I ended up going to the Old Academy where I met up with Nox.”
“Nox?” Lianshi clasped her hands together. “He’s still alive? That’s wonderful.”
“That old toad?” Naomi sounded less than pleased. “The one who ran when the Alben Worm showed up?”
“He’s about to head out to find a spawning pool.” Scorio tried not to show his relief over shifting the conversation. “Apparently there are tunnels leading out of Bastion that only the fiends know about—”
Someone tapped his shoulder. Nissa. She smiled, though the expression didn’t reach her eyes. “Scorio!” She had to pitch her voice to be heard over the crowd. “Can we talk for a second!”
Scorio raised a finger to his friends, asking for a pause, and stepped back to join her. “Nissa. Everything all right?”
“More than all right.” She frowned at him. “Everything is going according to plan. Abentha wants to know by which street or avenue your group is planning to leave Bastion.”
“Oh.” An ambush? Should he—no. He was being paranoid. “We’re leaving directly after this ceremony. We’ll return to the Manticore churchhouse and then probably take the main avenue through Ward 11. Why?”
“A couple of people want to make sure they get to thank you before they leave.”
“Oh.” For a moment they simply stared at each other. “Nissa? What’s wrong?”
Nissa’s lips thinned into a grimace and for a moment it seemed as if she might blurt something out, but then she glanced at his friends and forced a smile. “Nothing. I guess I’m having trouble accepting that everything’s working out for the best.”
Scorio quirked his brows. “You sure? Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
“I’m sure. I probably won’t see you before you leave, so—goodbye.” And she jerked forward to hug him tightly, her chin digging into his shoulder, her clasp crushing.
Scorio rocked backward, surprised, then returned the embrace. For a moment they remained thus, then she pulled away, smiled, and disappeared into the crowd.
“Was it Nissa?” asked Leonis when he stepped back.
Scorio glanced at his friend in confusion. “Yes? That was Nissa?”
“No, he means last night,” drawled Naomi.
“Oh—no!” Scorio gave a shaky laugh. His head was pounding and his throat was parched. “She was just saying goodbye.”
“Uh huh.” Leonis gave him the side-eye and turned back to the stage.
The Autocrators were mounting the side steps, clad in their grandest of robes, glittering with jewels and holding objects of office. The officials closed around them, and again there was a round of shaking hands, people bowing, others laughing with feigned and careless ease as if they were all in a private library. Soon enough the Autocrators pulled free and the officials moved to form a wall at the back of the stage.
Scorio stared at Octavia. She looked resplendent, beautiful, strong. Her expression was clear, her smile subtle but never fading, and she stood straight-backed and square-shouldered as if she had not a regret in the world.
Scorio’s mouth thinned.
Finally, the White Queen mounted the stage. Scorio had wondered if she’d teleport in or fly down from the sun-wire, but no. She was dressed in her customary white gown, and for all the simplicity of her clothing, she put the splendid vestments of the Autocrators to shame.
Desiree was there, Captain Thorne, Moira. Scorio recognized Amity’s craggy features, other members of Nova’s court.
Everybody moved into place, and finally, the White Queen raised her hands. Even from where they stood Scorio could make out her smile, and it looked warm and sincere.