Chapter 23

Five days later Scorio found himself wandering through the Graveyard. The sun-wire blazed in First Rust, casting Bastion in bronzed light, erasing all evidence of the delirious blacklight and hints of the city’s nocturnal alter-ego.

The Graveyard was a large expanse of mausoleums packed closely together and hemmed in on all sides by towering buildings; many of the tombs were in advanced states of decay, their ornamentation eroded past recognition, but those clustered at the northern edge were newer, their edges sharply delineated, their walls and ceilings made of a gleaming white marble that Scorio had seen nowhere else in Bastion.

The broad expanse of tombs and graves was filled with people; if they felt any reverence for the dead, they didn’t show it; rather, the large, open space seemed opportunistically seized as the perfect site in which to hold a market. A festive air hung over the sprawling gathering, one that was enhanced by numerous musicians and buskers who strove to attract the crowd’s mercurial attention. Here a troupe of acrobats formed a wobbling pyramid, there a dour young boy cast a dozen spinning pins into the air, catching them with an air of doleful resignation as an older man with a striking, familiar resemblance looked on from the shadows.

Everything was for sale. Scorio moved slowly, taking it all in, amazed at the sheer variety of wares. One large booth was filled to bursting with caged animals, which ranged from the crimson, arm-long creatures from the ruins to squat, toad-like animals encrusted with amber gems to a flying snake that endlessly spiraled about within the confines of its elongated cage.

Another stall was so heavily guarded that there was barely room for customers to approach the golden cloth that was spread across the table; Scorio caught glimpses of fluted bottles, miniature displays holding a variety of colored pills, sheaves of dried herbs, metal cubes wrapped in copper wire, and more—when he summoned his Igneous Heart and tried to sense the booth with his mind’s eye, he was nearly overwhelmed by the pulsing nature of the mana that the treasures on the table exuded.

Food stalls and ambulatory vendors, racks of delicate robes and endless jeweled belts, silversmiths and copper workers, jewelers and spice merchants, carpets hung out for display besides fabulously painted urns, pots, amphoras, and bowls. Everywhere Scorio looked he saw the finest of wares, with nearly as many guards standing by, faces set in permanent scowls, hands resting lightly on the hilts of their clubs.

The Graveyard was surrounded by a high, black-iron fence whose tips were formed into spear points; entry to the great market was afforded by means of four huge gates that were placed at each cardinal side, with the largest facing the hulking complex of the Academy itself.

Scorio made his way toward this gate, broad enough for two carriages to drive through with ease, and there found an out-of-the-way spot in the shadow of a stall selling scarves from which he could view the comings and goings.

His gaze, however, was drawn to the Academy. It was a series of great domes clustered together, held in place by huge flying buttresses, and with many extensions and halls built about its body so that it was difficult to tell where the Academy ended, and the rest of the city began. The domes gleamed in the sun-wire’s early rubicund light, though closer examination revealed that much of the golden paint was flaking off. The walls of the Academy proper were either painted in dull, reddish ocher or graying white accents.

But it was an impressive edifice regardless of its dilapidation or the scaffolding that engulfed several corners and even one of the domes.

Scorio pursed his lips as he studied it, allowing his mind to wander, to dream about the powers contained within, the opportunities that he had been denied.

This lasted till the first of the students began to enter the Graveyards, most of them clustered in small groups, some walking arm in arm, all of them fresh-faced and confident. Scorio drew back into the shadows. It was easy to make them out; they wore uniform robes of white belted with ropes of gold, and had an air to them that Scorio couldn’t quite pin down at first.

Only after observing some fifty or so of them pass by did he figure it out. They moved with a relaxed confidence that made them seem masters of wherever they went; they laughed freely, loudly, and chattered with exuberance. They weren’t aware of themselves, of their place in the city. They walked as if they didn’t belong to the market, weren’t part of Bastion. As if they were simultaneously removed and above the fervor and frantic attempts to garner their attention.

Exalted, rarefied, and privileged.

And to think. But for a quirk of fate, and he might have walked out amongst their number, as oblivious to the cruel vicissitudes of life in the city as they were.

Scorio watched with avid curiosity, seeking faces he might recognize. Not everyone had a holiday air; here and there a Great Soul strode with intense purpose or withdrawn mien. But none were familiar.

Uncertainty began to gnaw at his hope. What if Leonis and Lianshi opted to remain within the Academy? Were they the kind to indulge in an Eighthday market visit? If not, what hope had he of contacting them?

He was starting to despair when he saw them.

Leonis, his long hair gathered into a bun, his beard trimmed, his face pulled into a laugh Scorio couldn’t hear, eyes nearly closed with mirth. He wore a dozen necklaces of polished wooden beads and silver thread around his neck, his robes hanging open in what could have been a purposefully slapdash manner. He looked relaxed, healthy, strong. At ease, comfortable in his own skin, at peace with the world and his own place in it.

By his side, Lianshi was an elusive shadow, her frame angular and slender, her pitch-black hair gleaming as if freshly washed, one section pleated into a braid, the rest hanging loose. Her expression betrayed amusement and something akin to resignation, as if Leonis’s joke were partially at her expense, and Scorio felt a pang, a tight twist in his chest, and wished fervently that he were in on the jest, that he was part of their crew, had been there for whatever had caused this bout of merriment.

They sauntered past, not seeing where he stood in the shadows to one side, their voices lost in the crowd’s hubbub.

Scorio wanted to step forward, to raise a hand and call out their names, but something arrested him. Perhaps it was their humor, their ease; he felt dirty, outside of their world, his hopes of their still retaining some fondness for him dying in his breast.

Instead, he let them pass, then slipped into the crowd behind them, following at a distance, tailing them as they walked idly past the stalls. They were clearly in no hurry, pausing here to purchase skewers of meat drenched in a thick, brown sauce, pausing there for Lianshi to consider a series of gauzy scarves.

Other students greeted them as they walked by, but they were ignored by just as many; Scorio frowned, leaning against a cool column holding up a mausoleum’s portico. Was that some measure of tension he was picking up? Leonis didn’t seem to care, but occasionally he caught Lianshi frowning after one group or another as they brushed briskly by.

It was a pleasure just to watch them. Scorio found himself smiling reflexively when they laughed, straining to hear their quiet conversation as they ambled on. Perhaps this was enough? Perhaps he could simply come out here every Eighthday and follow along behind them, gathering some measure of comfort from their presence as a starving man might watch the wealthy dine at tables he could never dream of sitting at himself?

But then Lianshi glanced back, an idle scan of the crowd, and their eyes met.

Scorio felt a spasm of shock, saw her feel the same, her dark eyes widening, and he neatly sidestepped out of view behind a booth selling endless trays piled up with candied nuts and other colorful treats.

He stood there, breathing hard, not even understanding why he’d stepped away, mind racing. He should leave, he should dart deeper into the crowd, if he stood there a moment longer—

“Scorio?”

Lianshi’s head dipped around the corner of the stall, her fresh braid sliding off her shoulder.

Scorio stared at her, mute, stricken.

She stepped fully into view, and then Leonis was there, his good humor gone, his eyes wide.

The three of them stared at each other, the Graveyard and the sound of the crowd seeming to disappear, fading away so that only they existed, the five yards between them at once no distance at all and yet somehow a million miles.

“Scorio?” This time it was Leonis who asked, his voice a disbelieving rumble, and then he glanced up and down the street and ushered Lianshi forward, out of the crowd’s flow, his expression turning serious. “Is that—but how?”

Scorio felt his eyes prickle. He felt a flush run across his face, felt mortified. They weren’t glad to see him, they were ashamed—of course they were, he looked filthy, dressed in these rags, a specter from their past, he should never have come—

“You’re alive!” And then Lianshi threw herself at him and wrapped him tightly in a hug, squeezing him close.

Leonis gaped a moment longer, and then he, too, stepped in to wrap them both in a massive bear hug.

Scorio couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t process what was happening. His arms hung by his side, he stared out blankly at the distant crowd, and only when Leonis let out a joyous laugh and pulled back to clap him on both shoulders did he come back to himself.

“You—you guys don’t—I mean, I wasn’t sure if I should come—”

“Shouldn’t come?” Lianshi seemed unable to decide whether to grin or scowl. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she wiped them away with the heel of her palm, laughing breathlessly, and then, abandoning any attempt at self-control, hugged him tightly again. “What took you so long?”

“You’re alive.” Leonis shook his head in wonder. “But how? We’ve been grieving your loss since they marched you away. Everyone said there was no hope—but… but how?”

“It’s a long story.” Scorio’s entire body was prickling now, his head swimming with emotion, but over everything else, washing away every other feeling, was a delirious joy. A sense that some fundamental part of his being, his world, had just slid back into alignment. “But you both—you look great!”

Lianshi frowned down at her white robes, then considered Leonis. “I mean, they feed us well.”

“That they do.” Leonis pressed his hand to his stomach. “But you—you look like you’re not quite done returning from the dead. You need money?”

“Leonis!” chided Lianshi.

“What? The man looks half-starved. Let’s buy him a pork bun. Or ten.”

Scorio raised his hands, laughing weakly and shaking his head. “No, no I’m all right, thank you. But…” He trailed off as emotion shook him again, and only then, weak with happiness and relief, did he realize just how lonely he had been. “It’s really good to see you.”

“We need to talk,” said Lianshi authoritatively, linking her arm with his and forcing him deeper into the cluster of stalls. “Let’s find some place private.”

“Hold on,” said Leonis, placing a hand on her shoulder and stopping her in her tracks. “We walk out arm in arm, and everyone will notice. Scorio, why don’t you lead the way? We’ll follow at a discrete distance.”

Despite himself, Scorio felt a stab of uncertainty—they didn’t want to be seen with him? But he immediately crushed that foolish insecurity and nodded. “Smart. I’ll take us somewhere close. You sure you can leave the market?”

Leonis’s smile became grim. “We’re Great Souls, my friend. The city is our playground.”

“For better or worse,” muttered Lianshi.

“Then follow me.” Scorio unlinked his arm and took a few steps before looking back at them, drinking in the sight of their standing there, the reality of them, the fact that they wished to follow, to learn what had happened to him.

“Less gaping, more walking,” said Leonis with a wolfish grin.

Scorio laughed and led the way out of the Graveyard. Out the southern gate, into the avenue, then down a street, through an alleyway, across a busier street, and finally found a blind courtyard in which little tables were scattered under an awning, an acacia tree providing shade from the sun-wire.

A man stepped out from the shadowed doorway to frown at Scorio, gaze flicking up and down his ragged clothing. “Can I help you, sir?”

It was as transparent a get lost as Scorio had ever heard.

“Yes,” said Leonis, walking up behind him. “A table, please. Inside.”

The man’s entire demeanor changed as he took in the Great Soul’s white robes and gold sash. He bowed so low he nearly overbalanced, then hurried backward, almost dancing, pointing at the door as if it might escape Leonis’s attention. “Of course, of course, what an honor! Please, enter, you can use my most august private chamber, a thousand blessings upon you and yours!”

The three of them followed the proprietor inside, which proved to be a cool, spacious restaurant, circular tables clustered before the two front windows, with a doorway at the back opening to a small room with a low table, the surface gleaming waxily under the lamplight.

The three friends removed their sandals and sat cross-legged on the thin cushions. Beautifully painted scrolls hung upon the walls, the art stylized and depicting scenes from nowhere in Bastion: cities atop cliffs, vast emerald forests filled with bizarre-looking fiends, a chasm from which a dozen beautiful women arose dancing, a cloud-swept plain dominated by a huge, cerulean crystal. Leonis placed an order with confidence, not bothering with the menu, and then the proprietor bowed low and left the room, closing the door behind him.

“Now,” said Leonis, leaning forward on both elbows, chin propped on his thumbs. “Explain the nature of this miracle. It’s been months, man, since they threw you through the Final Door.”

“We’ve missed you,” said Lianshi, reaching out to touch his arm. “Grieved for you. But I didn’t believe you were dead.”

“Obstinate, she is,” said Leonis reluctantly. “Kept trying to find ways to launch a rescue mission. Bothered everyone she could find with her questions, even led me on reconnaissance missions to find a way past the guards.”

Scorio looked from one to the other, then laughed. “I can’t believe we’re here. Sitting like this.”

“Nor can I,” said Leonis. “So you’d better start talking before I wake up.”

“Right.” Scorio tried to gather his thoughts. “The Final Door. They threw me through it, right enough. On the other side was a dark warren of tunnels. A closed system, to which fiends were drawn by some lure. Someone set it up ages ago as a trap, a way to clear the underground of the monsters that infest the tunnels…”

He told them everything. Meeting Hestia and Havert, Sal’s hidden base, Nissa and the Bronze Door. Their escape, his wanderings through the dark, how he’d fallen into the same trap that had claimed Radert, and how the Great Soul’s treasures had enabled his own eventual escape.

At that point the proprietor and three other servers began bringing in the food, so Scorio stopped talking, sipped from his cup of water, and watched as platter after platter was placed on the table.

The food didn’t stop coming. Plates of steaming rice, bowls of vegetables, noodles with slivers of meat, deep-fried pastries, pink mollusks swimming in a clear red broth, hearty bowls of soup, pungent nuggets of meat on beds of more vegetables—by the time they were done, Scorio couldn’t see the table’s surface anywhere.

“Will that be all, masters?” asked the proprietor, brow gleaming, smile nearly splitting his face in half.

“Yes, thank you,” said Lianshi, smiling politely.

To which the man bowed, then ushered his servers out frantically and closed the door again.

“Who’s joining us?” asked Scorio, taking in the heaping quantities of food.

“Me, myself, and I,” said Leonis, taking up his plate and beginning to shovel food onto it. “Training has me perpetually starving.”

“Good thing he trains,” said Lianshi, “or he’d be twice as wide as he is tall by now.”

“Eat, eat,” said Leonis. “Don’t let the food get cold.”

Scorio hesitated, then gingerly started filling his plate. The smell was intoxicating, rich and savory, sweet and spicy. His mouth flooded with spit, and then despite his intentions, he set to devouring everything as quickly as possible.

“Not fair,” said Leonis around a mouthful of pickled tubers. “You can’t leave us hanging. So you used these three treasures to reach the surface?”

“Yes,” said Scorio, swallowing a mouthful of sticky rice and washing it down with a cup of water. “I wouldn’t have made it without them. At the Academy, I mean, do you get access to things like them?”

“To minor artifacts?” Leonis grimaced. “No. We’ve no need of them, to be honest. But they’re not common.”

“They were, once,” said Lianshi. “I read about it in my journal. But over the centuries they’ve grown less so as they’re broken and used up.”

Scorio stared at her. “Nobody knows how to replace them?”

“Doesn’t seem like it,” said Lianshi, shrugging one shoulder. “Or at least, not minor artifacts like the ones you found. They’d be really valuable if they didn’t become unnecessary past a certain power point. Dread Vaults and above don’t really need things like that anymore. This Radert must have been a Flame Vault, or perhaps even lower-ranked.”

Scorio nodded slowly. For some reason, the thought of his stick of chalk never being replaced, of being a unique item that would disappear forever once he finished it, filled him with a pang of sorrow.

Leonis pointed a serving spoon at him. “So. You reached the surface. Then what?”

“Let him eat,” said Lianshi, slurping noodles into her mouth. “You said yourself he looks half-starved.”

Scorio set to serving himself again, having cleaned his plate even quicker than Leonis. “No, I can eat and talk. I’m surprisingly talented, I’ll have you know.”

“More impressive than him, then,” said Lianshi, nodding toward Leonis, who was pouring a mass of noodles onto his plate, not bothering with the serving utensils.

“No argument there,” said the massive man.

So Scorio picked up his tale. The ruins, Helena and Feiyan. Dola, his strike on the skycrane yard, his retreat, and eventual run-in with Naomi.

The other two ate slower and slower and eventually stopped eating altogether, expressions avid, halfway between disbelief and amazement.

“So I trapped her in the hallway with the chalk. She tried to get at me, but I threatened to cut her in half if she didn’t concede defeat. Which she eventually did, and the next day she started teaching me what she knew.” Scorio paused. “What?”

Leonis exchanged a glance with Lianshi and set his fork down. “You did all this… in the past couple of months?”

“I’ve been busy,” said Scorio, sitting back with a smile. “I can only imagine how fast you guys have been progressing. I’ve had to work hard to keep up.”

“She teach you how to ignite your Heart?” asked Lianshi.

Scorio nodded. “Yes. Mostly. With a lot of caveats. Only having Coal mana around made it a hard proposition. I had to take some extreme measures to do it in a manner that satisfied me. You two?”

“Sure,” said Leonis. “Almost everyone ignited within days of awakening.”

Within days. Scorio tried not to let his smile slip. That meant that while he was fleeing through the Bronze Door, his friends had already taken that momentous step.

“Have you guys passed your first trial yet?”

“No,” said Lianshi, sitting back and crossing her arms. “That’s a lot more challenging.”

“Even with all the high-quality treasures they’re feeding us each morning,” said Leonis, picking at his food. “How much training have you received? You learned yet about the role motivation plays in all this?”

“Ambition, Naomi called it. Hunger, yes.”

“It’s a base quality,” continued Leonis. “How much you have determines everything. It’s like the true enemy of a Great Soul is happiness.”

“Not so,” sighed Lianshi, and Scorio guessed that this was an old argument. “There has to be a way to accommodate your motivations while still living a rewarding life. We can’t all be Jova Spike.”

“Jova Spike,” murmured Scorio. “She still at the head of the pack?”

Leonis snorted and finally set his fork down. “Miles ahead. Was the first to pass her trial and make Emberling. Developed this crackling black aura that only grows as she’s wounded, imparting an ever stronger resistance to being hurt.”

Scorio tried to imagine it. “That’s… completely unlike Naomi’s nightmare form.”

“Not really,” said Lianshi, tone growing clinical. “Your first trial determines whether you develop long-range combat abilities or personal, hand-to-hand abilities. Both Naomi and Jova developed powers that augment their ability to fight in close.”

Leonis sighed, raised his cup. “One of our instructors manifests a whip that’s completely under her control and can cut through rock. A second has spikes that erupt from his joints, like his knees and elbows, and he grows taller and leaner and becomes nearly impossible to hurt. All, apparently, the same.”

“Whereas Hera—another instructor of ours—collects light and focuses it into a beam with which she can hit people at a distance. Creates this weird side effect where everything goes dark around her, too, until she unleashes the attack.”

“This first trial,” said Scorio. “They tell you anything about it?”

Leonis scowled. “That information’s offered up, sure. But only to the Great Souls who’ve accepted House sponsorship.”

“House sponsorship?” Scorio glanced from one of them to the next. “Like House Hydra, or whatever?”

“Yep.” Leonis settled himself more comfortably on his cushion. “The eighty or so who did the best at the Gauntlet were offered House sponsorship by one of the four Houses. Almost everyone accepted. Comes with access to specialty trainers, more potent pills and elixirs, inside knowledge on what to expect…”

“Remember how those elders spoke with each Great Soul when they went up on stage?” asked Lianshi. “After they touched the Archspire? They were telling them the basics about House sponsorship, making quick pitches which they followed up on later.”

“Huh,” said Scorio. “Lianshi, you did pretty great. Did they offer you anything?”

“House Kraken made me an offer,” she said, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “I turned them down.”

Leonis grinned wolfishly at her. “You make the way you declined sound positively polite.”

“Why?” Scorio frowned at her. “Why say no to their help?”

“I was upset,” she said, still looking off to the side. “They’d just thrown you to your death, and then came in with their offers. Full patronage would depend on my making the top eighty on the final Gauntlet run at the end of the year, but the way they spoke to me, the way they… it all just rubbed me the wrong way. I said no.”

“Along with a few other things,” said Leonis, his grin eased away, and he stared at Scorio gravely. “We were both really upset when they hauled you away. I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you alive and kicking.”

“Agreed,” said Lianshi with a smile. “I wonder if anyone has ever survived the Final Door before.”

“I’d imagine so. That one Great Soul, Radert, he at least had come and gone a few times.”

“If there was,” said Leonis, “you can be sure the Academy’s hushed it up. They take their image very seriously.”

Almost Scorio went to tell his friends about Naomi, how she’d not been reborn like them, how her success defied the Academy’s narrative. But that wasn’t his tale to tell, so he remained quiet.

“So what’s your plan?” asked Leonis at last, leaning forward to snag a bread roll out of a basket. “You can’t come back to the Academy. Are you going to keep training with this Nightmare Lady?”

“That won’t last forever,” said Scorio softly. “I’m exploring options. Perhaps getting out of Bastion, out onto the Rascor Plains where the mana is richer.”

Leonis let out a low whistle. “You sure that’s a good idea? The people that farm the land out there are protected by low-ranking Great Souls for a reason.”

“The ruins aren’t that much safer,” said Scorio with a shrug. “And I don’t want to subsist off Coal mana forever.”

“It’s impressive that you ignited your Heart out there,” said Lianshi quietly. “With only Coal to work with?”

Scorio could hear the unspoken assumption. That his Heart was weak, barely ignited off the weakest mana around.

“Like I said, I took some extreme measures to make sure I wasn’t left too far behind. But one thing I really want to do is get access to my personal locker in the Academy. Didn’t Praximar say that our kind tends to keep journals or records over the centuries and that they’re stored in lockers?”

“Sure,” said Leonis, tearing the bread roll in half slowly. “I’ve already looked in mine. Lianshi has too.”

“Turns out I’ve been a meticulous keeper of journals,” said Lianshi with a self-conscious smile. “It would take a lifetime to just read everything I’ve written. Which apparently occurred to me during my last few reincarnations; I began a project to index my own journals, but died before I could get more than a quarter of the way through.”

“Well there you go,” said Scorio excitedly. “If I could get access to my locker, I might be able to learn about myself. Maybe why I’ve been put on this Red List, and perhaps unlock my deeper motivation to keep growing. Because Naomi really has been emphatic about my needing to develop long-term goals. Just acquiring power for its own sake won’t get me far. I thought reading my own journals might help me figure things out.”

Leonis swirled a stub of bread around the sauce on his plate, not meeting Scorio’s eyes. “The lockers are attuned to your spirit. Nobody else, supposedly, can open them.”

“Though there are obviously ways to get around that,” said Lianshi. “We’ve several friends who opened their lockers only to find them ransacked.”

“I know,” said Scorio. “Naomi told me as much. I was just hoping there might be a way you guys could help sneak me to my locker.”

Again the pair exchanged a glance.

“What?” asked Scorio. “Not feasible? I of course understand if not—”

“It’s possible,” said Lianshi haltingly. “But it would be quite dangerous. The lockers are in the same basilica we awoke in. They’re embedded in the walls and accessed by the balconies.”

“But that room’s heavily guarded,” said Leonis. “You need permission to visit your own locker, and are escorted in and out. Remember those shattered crystals we saw at the foot of the biers we woke up on?”

Scorio nodded.

“Doing that permanently destroys that bier. Nobody alive today remembers how to forge those crystals. Which is why nobody’s allowed in there without permission.”

“Wait, people have permanently destroyed the biers? Why?”

Lianshi shuddered. “Different reasons over the years. A desire to stop our rebirth, obviously.”

Scorio sat back, shaking his head. “That’s…”

“We Great Souls haven’t always been appreciated,” said Leonis, tone heavy. “The penalty for being caught shattering a crystal is to be placed on the Red List if you’re a Great Soul, or execution if not. Like I said: they take it very seriously.”

They sat in silence for a spell, and then Scorio shrugged off his growing resignation. “Can you look into it, at any rate? Just see if something occurs to you? I’d appreciate it.”

“Of course,” said Lianshi, smiling and reaching out to touch his hand. “If there’s a way, we’ll find it.”

Scorio returned her smile. “Thank you. But what of you guys? How has life at the Academy been since I was summarily banished to my death?”

Over the next hour, Lianshi and Leonis took turns regaling him with what it was like to live at the Academy. The luxurious rooms they were given with their own pool inside a picturesque grotto; the four different instructors that they worked with, the larger personalities amongst their peers; the training, the meditation, the grueling workouts, the double knock-out tournament that was about to start up soon, and the overwhelming pressure to form a team with which they could dominate the final Gauntlet run.

“Everything is focused on that last run,” said Lianshi, leaning on one forearm, idly spinning a knife by its point over her wooden plate. “Our first was merely a gauge of our potential, but we’ve been told repeatedly that many that did the worst the first time round used that as motivation to excel, while the best often grew complacent and slipped down the rankings thereafter. Only those who place in the upper half of the cohort will be invited back to do a second year at the Academy, which is motivation enough. You get matched with elite Great Souls, and train one on one as well as go on expeditions into Hell itself.”

“And they won’t stop droning on and on about the Houses,” said Leonis, arms crossed over his chest. “Everybody’s going to get inducted into a House by the end of our training, but those who do best will be promoted to exalted levels, given the greatest opportunities, continue with elite trainers, and so forth. We’re watched at every step by House representatives, and I swear they keep track of how many hours we train, how deep we’re making our Hearts, whether we snore in our sleep—”

“You definitely snore in your sleep,” said Lianshi.

“And there’s no way you could know that from the far side of the suite,” said Leonis smugly. “That’s just a cheap attempt to ruin my good name.”

“The walls shake.”

“The walls are made of solid rock.”

“Just goes to show how powerful your snores are.”

“If they were that powerful, I’d find a way to weaponize them and hurl Jova across the arena floor.”

Lianshi propped her cheek on one palm and grinned at him. “Maybe you should start looking into that. Might be your only chance of winning a fight against her.”

Leonis looked despairingly at Scorio. “Can you please come back? Please? Do you see what I have to live with?”

Scorio tried to keep the bitterness out of his chuckle. His friends dwelt in another world. Staring at them, he marveled as to how different their lives were: they didn’t have to refill their pails from the ever-replenishing fountains of gruel; didn’t have to watch their backs every second they were in the city; didn’t have to sleep on a threadbare sheet in a ruined room with horrors passing outside their windows.

But then a warm glow filled his chest, taking him by surprise, erasing the bitterness as he suddenly saw it from another side: good. He was glad they didn’t. Glad they didn’t have to worry about their lives, and could instead focus on their advancement and Jova Spike’s impossible advantages.

“Have a word with Praximar for me,” he said, giving them a lopsided smile. “Get him to let bygones be bygones, and I’ll be swimming in that private pool with you guys in a heartbeat.”

Which only led him to think of Naomi—would he leave her alone in the ruins? Could he abandon her, no matter how gruff and distanced she tried to be?

“I’ll see what I can do,” said Leonis, pulling at his face with both hands and then sitting up. “Maybe we if get a really exalted patron. But speaking of which, we should be heading back.”

“Already?” Lianshi’s shoulders slumped dramatically as she pouted. “I hate meditation practice after I’ve stuffed myself. I always fall asleep.”

Leonis sighed dramatically. “All the more reason to get back to it.”

They stood, and for a moment Scorio panicked, wondering how he would cover his part of the bill, but Leonis simply tossed down a dozen octs upon the table, their faces gleaming with copper, and ushered him out of the room back into the main restaurant.

They stepped out into the blind courtyard, and Scorio was surprised to see that it was already Second Bronze—had they been in there that long? Wisps of cloud were rising from the canals to burn off some fifty yards above them, and the air was already hot and muggy.

“So when can we see you again?” asked Lianshi, hugging herself as she walked backward, eyeing him carefully. “This wasn’t a one-time deal, was it?”

“We can get out here every Eighthday,” said Leonis. “Want to make this meal a habit?”

Scorio smiled, feeling at once happy and melancholic. “I’d love to. Same place, even? See you guys back here next time you come to the Graveyard?”

Leonis draped a massive arm over his shoulders. “Sounds like a plan. And I promise to do my best to figure out how to get you to your locker, all right? Just don’t get your hopes up.”

“Agreed,” said Lianshi. “We’re on it.”

They walked in companionable silence to the end of the alleyway, where Scorio stopped, letting the others take a couple of steps before turning back to him.

“Probably best if we said our goodbyes here.”

“Scorio.” Lianshi reached out and took his hand. “It was really, really good to see you again. When you were taken from us, it… it hurt.” And she pressed her other hand over her heart, her expression sincere, open. “What we went through in the Gauntlet. It forged a bond between us three. I can’t tell you how happy I am to see that bond’s not broken.”

Leonis grunted in affirmation. “I won’t get all weepy about it, but I agree. It’s damned good to see you again.”

Scorio was trying to think of something wry to say when Leonis stepped in and wrapped them both again in a bear hug.

They smelled clean, their robes freshly laundered, and Scorio winced inwardly, wondering at how badly he must compare.

But when they stepped back, they were both smiling.

“Here,” said Leonis, taking his money pouch out of his robes and pressing it into Scorio’s palm. “Buy yourself some meat, for hell’s sake. Some new robes. Visit a barber.”

“Leonis,” hissed Lianshi, blushing.

“What?” Leonis stared at her frankly. “If I were in his broken sandals, I’d want a bath and a good meal, too. Friends don’t stand on pride.” He looked to Scorio. “It’s not a gift, it’s a loan. One day I know you’ll repay me a hundred times over.”

Scorio bounced the pouch in his palm then slipped it into his robe, his emotions roiling, his pride pricked, but Leonis’s open gaze defied any objections.

And truth be told, with that money he could get Naomi better alchemical equipment, treat her to a hot meal as well, get them both new sets of robes…

“Thank you. I wasn’t sure how you two would feel when you saw me again. I’m… I’m glad this went as well as I hoped.”

“Never doubt your friends,” said Lianshi. “One thing I’ve read repeatedly in my journals is that we’re born into this hell without family, without a past, without anything but our names. I’ve told myself a hundred times over to never give up on good people without a fight.”

“She’s not joking,” said Leonis gravely. “She was planning ways to get through the Final Door for two weeks after they took you. Only gave up when Helminth took her aside and warned her she’d be cast through herself if she didn’t straighten up. And even then, she tried to think of how we could use that as part of a strategy to get you out.”

“I couldn’t come up with anything,” said Lianshi apologetically. “Not as a Cinder.”

Scorio could sense more to the guilt in her words—perhaps there had been a terrible urgency at first, but it had been a couple of months since they’d last seen him. How easy it must have been to be seduced by the good life, the constant elixirs and training, the massages and fine quarters.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “What matters is that we’re reunited again. See you guys in eight days’ time?”

“Next Eighthday,” said Leonis. “Lianshi?”

She darted in one last time for a final hug, and then the two of them strode off, turning once as they entered the main avenue to look back and wave.

Scorio raised his hand, waved back with a smile, but both his hand and his smile fell away when they left his line of sight.

With a heavy heart, torn between bitterness and sweet joy, he began walking back toward the ruins and his fugitive life.