Chapter 47

“No,” said Naomi from the platform beside their pool.

“Why not?” Scorio folded his arms over the pool’s edge and rested his chin on his wrist. “You know you can defeat just about every other student here.”

“Because I don’t want to play their games,” said Naomi. “Because I don’t want to be sponsored by one of their loathsome Houses. Because I don’t want to perform like a trained animal for their amusement.”

“All valid points,” said Leonis from where he floated, arms outstretched. “But there are other reasons to fight.”

“I’m in no need of special elixirs or rare treasures if it means accepting ownership from a House. Aligning my future with their goals and needs. I would rather remain free and determine my own path.”

Scorio frowned. She sat cross-legged above him, still clad in her training robes, her expression fierce, defiant.

“Yeah, I understand,” he said at last. “I was just hoping for company when I went to knock on Helminth’s door.”

Her expression clouded and she opened her mouth before closing it again.

“But I really do understand,” said Scorio. “I’d not go that route if I had a choice.”

“I know,” she said. “I understand. But that’s not for me.”

“Too bad. Would have been fun to watch you tear everyone apart,” said Scorio. “Guess you’ll just have to settle for cheering me on, instead.”

Lianshi sat on the ledge at the rear of the pool, her form wreathed in mist, her head tilted back, a wet cloth draped over her eyes. “About time you gave us something to cheer for.”

“Hey,” protested Scorio, turning around. “What happened to that whole ‘saving Bastion by defeating an Imperator single-handedly’ thing?”

“That,” said Lianshi languidly, “was last week.”

“And sounds a little embellished, to be honest,” said Leonis, slowly bringing his arms to his side so that he slid across the pool’s surface. “Though I applaud the attempt.”

Scorio shook his head, his expression one of faux disgust, then sighed and pushed away from the platform’s edge to float back across the pool. “Anyway, there’s no guarantee the Hell Whip will let me in. Tournament’s on, what, its seventh round?”

“Seventh,” agreed Leonis placidly, sounding perfectly at peace with all of hell. “Should have been eighth, but no fights were held last Eighthday due to the, you know, Imperator attack.”

“The one I stopped,” said Scorio.

“Sure,” said Leonis with a smile. “Let’s think of it that way.”

Lianshi sighed and pulled the wet cloth from her face. “Even if you get in, you’ll have a hard time making the kind of impression you’re looking for. We’re down to sixty-four contestants in the winning bracket, and, what, a hundred and twenty-eight in the losers?”

“Nope.” Leonis reached the pool’s far edge and went vertical, gripping a ridge as he turned to regard them, long hair and beard plastered his head. “That was going into the sixth round. Losers’ bracket has been halved since then, down to sixty-four as well.”

“Top hundred and twenty-eight Great Souls in our class,” said Lianshi, “though half of them have lost a fight.”

“I came in the top—what was it? Our first Gauntlet run. Top twenty?” Scorio reached Lianshi’s ledge and sat beside her, swirling the water back and forth with absent-minded strokes of his arm.

“Eighteenth,” said Leonis, pushing back out into the pool to turn and float once more on his back. “Not that anyone’s keeping track.”

“Eighteenth,” said Scorio. “I should be able to compete in the top hundred and twenty-eight.”

“Thirty-one of which are already Emberlings,” said Lianshi, dipping her cloth in a bowl of cold water she’d brought. “Though a handful more should have progressed since the last count.”

“But they’re going to be in the winner’s bracket, right? In the top sixty-four? I’m planning to ask to enter the loser’s bracket.”

“Losers?” asked Leonis, turning his face sideways so one eye dipped under the luminous blue waters. “That the best way to make an impression?”

Naomi’s tone was wry. “It’s better than being cut in half three seconds into his first fight.”

“And helps me avoid Jova, Ravenna, Kuragin, and all the other top students,” said Scorio. “If I progress to the eighth round, I’ll be in the top thirty-two of the loser’s bracket. That might start attracting some attention, right?”

“I can see it now,” said Leonis, voice rich and reverberant with amusement. “Here lies Scorio. He was all right, I suppose, and made the top thirty-two of the loser’s bracket.”

Scorio splashed water over Leonis’s face, but the large man didn’t seem to mind.

“I think it’s the right move,” said Naomi seriously. “Whoever you’ll fight will have lost once, and that will make them wary. Desperate, even. You’ll be an unknown quantity except for the fact that you defeated an Imperator single-handedly. That will give you even more of an edge.”

“Really?” asked Lianshi, wringing the excess water out of her cloth and leaning back to drape it over her eyes. “That version is becoming canon now?”

“I just need to convince Helminth to let me in.” Scorio frowned at the swirls of vapor. “Just don’t see how she can slot me in if the bracket is already filled. Not like she can just ask someone to drop out.”

“Don’t worry about that,” said Leonis. “I think you’ll be fine. There wasn’t the right number of us to begin the tournament neatly, so she asked which of us wished more glory by fighting twice to even out the bracket, and just about everyone volunteered.”

“You think she’ll ask again?” asked Scorio.

“Don’t see why not.” Leonis turned over and swam slowly over to join him. “Can’t you envision it? Her challenging any of the remaining sixty-four losers if one of them wants to prove themselves by fighting the Savior of Bastion?”

Scorio heard Lianshi let out a moan of exasperation.

“That’s true,” said Scorio, feeling a little more animated. “And since the fights take place in the Gauntlet, it’s not like they’ll suffer any consequences of an extra fight.”

“Not in the Gauntlet,” said Leonis. “But yes, you’re right.”

“Right. When do you think I should approach her?”

“You should have already knocked on her door,” said Naomi from the far side of the pool. “The longer you take, the less interested she’ll think you are, and the less likely she’ll be to make last moment adjustments.”

Scorio sat forward in alarm. “You think I should go now? As in, now now? At this hour?”

“Helminth will probably tell you to go away,” said Lianshi lazily, “but she’ll register the effort.”

“Right.” Scorio blinked rapidly, then gave a sharp nod. “I’ll go now, then.”

Nobody said anything, so Scorio dove forward, pulled himself up onto the far platform in an eruption of water, and grabbing a towel from the copper hook, ran along the paving stones through the thick bank of ferns to his room.

Ten minutes later he took a deep breath as he stopped before Helminth’s suite. The instructors shared a broad hallway high above the student rooms.

Was it too late? Had his friends been setting him up? Scorio glanced up and down the hallway. Completely empty. The copper light spheres burned steadily, giving no indication as to the lateness of the hour. It was still Second Clay, however; outside the rains would just be beginning to fall, the sun-wire dimming toward final darkness.

Still technically daytime.

Scorio rapped firmly and stepped back.

A moment later the door was yanked open, and there stood Helminth. She was breathing heavily, square shoulders rising and falling, her hair hanging loose, long strands stuck in dark, curving lines across her brow which glistened in the soft light with sweat. Clad in a rough and patched training robe, she looked almost startled to see Scorio standing there, her eyes narrowing in confusion, broad lips pursing. Then she raised her forearm to lean against the doorframe. “Scorio? What are you doing here at this hour?”

“I—apologies, Instructor.” Scorio bowed quickly, straightened, and took a step back. “I have an urgent request to make. I didn’t want to wait till tomorrow.”

“Well, that’s interesting.” She looked him up and down again, then pushed off the doorframe. “Come on in, then. Close the door behind you.”

The front door opened to a large reception chamber. The left wall was a bank of deeply recessed windows that allowed Second Clay’s bloody light to illuminate the row of chairs set against the wall opposite, and which caused the colors of the stunningly rich rug that covered the floor to smolder. Banners and old weapons hung from the walls, and the far end of the chamber was dominated by a large alcove in which a small waterfall trickled down over artfully placed rocks topped by a large hunk of green crystal that radiated powerful mana.

“Through here,” said Helminth, passing through an archway into the room to the right. Scorio followed and entered a more intimate sitting room. A low, circular table surrounded by cushions was set in the center, with a stone tea set placed upon a tray complete with miniature cups. Massive wall scrolls depicting what were probably advanced variations on the Forms hung artfully upon the walls where they were illuminated by the soft radiance of glass spheres suspended by copper threads from the ceiling.

An open door revealed what had to be Helminth’s office to one side, a glimpse of a massive table to be seen beyond, while other doors led deeper into her suite.

“So, Cinder,” she said, gathering her mane of hair from her shoulders and the sweaty nape of her neck to pull it into a thick rope which she tied off at the scalp with a leather thong. “An emergency worth risking my wrath. Shall we cut to the chase?”

“Yes, Instructor. It’s about the tournament.”

“Of course it is.” She strode to one side of the sitting room where two iron rods extended from the wall upon which an iron bar as thick as Scorio’s arm lay. Helminth stepped under the bar and up, so that it lay athwart her shoulders. Grasping it with both hands, she then stepped back. Scorio studied her back as she took a deep breath. “Go ahead,” she said. “Make your case.”

“You see, I was obviously expelled from the Academy before I had a chance to enter and compete. My return last week was meant to give me full access to all the Academy’s resources and opportunities—”

The Hell Whip took a deep breath and suddenly the bar sagged heavily into the muscles of her shoulders, causing her knees to flex before she straightened out once more with great effort.

“Keep going,” grunted Helminth, and with a deep breath, she slowly lowered herself into a crouch and rose smoothly once more to standing.

It was only then that Scorio saw the cracks radiating out from where she stood, the stone floor looking like a pane of glass that was about to shatter.

“I—right. I wanted, I mean, I believe I should have fair access to all the opportunities the Academy offers, including the chance to, ah, earn the patronage of the main Houses.”

Helminth took another deep breath and sank once more into a deep squat. Scorio found himself staring and she powered back up, her muscles straining, and half-turned to stare at a scroll hanging beside her office door.

“That’s it?” she asked, voice tight with effort. She wriggled her feet from side to side, as if settling herself into a better pose, and then the ground crackled under her feet as the rod pressed even deeper into her bunched-up trapezius muscles.

“No, I mean, I’d like to enter the loser’s bracket.” Scorio resisted the urge to cough into his fist. “I understand that we’re in the seventh round, and it doesn’t feel fair to ask to enter the winner’s group. I was hoping you might ask the current sixty-four if any of them would be willing to fight an extra round against me before their own bout, as both a chance to earn glory as well as, ah, afford me a chance to enter the running.”

His words hung in the air, and for a moment all he could do was stand there, staring at the wall scroll, listening to Helminth’s stertorous breathing as she labored under her bar.

With a gasp, she straightened one last time, and when Scorio risked a glance her way, he saw that the bar rested lightly on her shoulders once more. She lowered the bar onto the iron rods, ducked back out from under it, and turned to consider him, chest rising and falling once more due to the powerful effort. “The loser’s bracket, you say?” Her eyes gleamed, her lips curving into an amused grin. “How noble of you. Very considerate. But yes. Hera already spoke to me about your condition. Without this chance, you’re out of luck, aren’t you?”

Scorio stood a little straighter. “Yes, Instructor Helminth.”

“Yes, well.” She stepped over to a shelf, upon which dozens of small towels were folded in neat squares. “Given the fact that an Imperator sponsored your readmittance to the Academy, I think it only fair to give you a chance.” She shook out the towel and wiped the sweat from her face. “That and how you played a part in saving Bastion. You’ve earned a little leeway, and I’d wager a number of the students are itching to try their luck against you. So, yes.” She wiped the sweat from her brow and then stood there, towel pressed to the nape of her neck, considering him, her gaze flicking up and down.

Scorio held her gaze for a moment, then began to feel mildly uncomfortable under her appraisal. It was very direct.

“Thank you, Instructor,” he said after a beat. Had she been waiting for him to speak? “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

“It’s only fair.” She dropped the towel on the circular table as she crossed the room to where a jug sat upon a sideboard. Poured herself a large cup of water, then turned back to him, leaning one hip against the sideboard, an arm crossed over her chest. “The fights are on Seventhday. That gives you five more days to prepare. I’d use them wisely if I were you, and not pass up any opportunities that present themselves.”

“Right, of course,” said Scorio, nodding sharply. “I’ll apply myself. Thank you again, Instructor.”

Helminth smiled against the lip of her cup. The silence drew out once more, and then her smile widened briefly in amusement, and she gestured with her other hand. “You’re welcome, Scorio. Dismissed.”

He bowed low, heart thumping, and hurried back through the reception chamber and out into the hallway. He closed the door and stood, frowning at nothing. After a moment, he took a deep, shuddering breath, then forced a smile. Success.

* * *

At breakfast the next morning, Scorio noticed the way the other Great Souls stared at him. He’d kept a low profile during the run, but even so, he kept catching subtle glances and even outright stares as he made his way to join his friends at the breakfast table, empty tray in hand.

“Don’t let it bother you,” Lianshi said, moving slowly down the steaming tables of delicacies and exquisitely cooked food. “You’ll quickly learn that even the sternest Great Soul is little more than an avid gossip at heart.”

“I say enjoy it,” said Leonis, dumping a fifth ladle of mashed root vegetables onto his plate. “Before you know it, Jova or Zala or Chen She will do something everyone’s thought impossible up till now, and you’ll be yesterday’s news.”

Scorio frowned down at his bowl of black honeyed beef soup, the nape of his neck prickling. “That sounds great to me. Can someone tell them to hurry up already?”

“Ignore them,” said Naomi brusquely, using a pair of silver tongs to help herself to a mountain of grilled meat in a gleaming orange sauce. “It’s the ones that ignore you that are worth paying attention to.”

“By that measurement, you’re the most important person here,” said Leonis, taking up a half-dozen breadsticks encrusted with glazed garlic and quickly stepping out of her reach. “Given that you refuse to even look at anyone else.”

Naomi scowled at him. “I’ll consider them when they prove worthy of the consideration.”

Taking their trays, they crossed the cavernous hall to their customary spot, a circular table set within a small alcove, the dusty skull of some ancient fiend presiding over their meal, its horned head jovially festooned with an equally ancient hat.

“So, Scorio, when will your entry to the tournament be announced?” asked Lianshi, scooting in beside him and filching a breadstick from Leonis’s tray.

“I don’t think it will be,” said Scorio. “At least, Helminth made it sound like it would just happen the day of, not before.”

Leonis reached out with a pair of slender eating sticks and snagged a grilled shrimp from Lianshi’s salad. “That’s better for you. More shock value. Helminth is proving surprisingly helpful in all this.”

“Nothing is freely given,” said Naomi, raising her bowl of noodle soup to her lips. “Look for the hidden dagger.”

“The hidden dagger? No offense, but someone spent too much time in the ruins,” said Leonis. “The real danger is Scorio’s disadvantages. He’s still just a Cinder, and with his Heart fractured, will have to go for a quick knockout. But it’ll be a short road, even if he wins his first bout. After all, Jova’s practically a Tomb Spark at this point and she’s not the only one eating treasures like grapes. Ah! Will you look at this feast? Carve the sight into your memories, my friends.” And he spread his arms to take in the whole of their table, which boasted almost a dozen bowls and platters of every kind of delicacy. “Are we not fortunate? Fed from the best that hell can offer, treated like royalty, and asked only that we work hard at that which we’re already passionate about?”

Naomi slurped her noodles noisily into her mouth, then wiped a napkin across her lips. “Didn’t you see the people we helped in Ward 3 last week?”

Leonis frowned. “Of course. And I lament their situation. But why should I suffer just because they’re going hungry? Should I starve and weaken myself because I’m fortunate?”

“No,” said Naomi. “Do what you please. But it feels wrong to be dining on…” And she reached over to his tray to lift a stick of candied rock crab as if it were an alien object. “… this kind of luxury when there are children out there begging for a crust of bread.”

“You’re right,” said Scorio, looking at his tray of food with a new eye. “I’ve been so happy to just be here that I forgot the endless lines outside the gruel fountains.”

“Gruel fountains?” asked Leonis, eyebrows rising. “You’re joking.”

Both Scorio and Naomi stared at him.

“You’re obviously not joking. That sounds hideous.” Leonis rubbed at his jaw. “Perhaps we can start an initiative of some sort? See if we can’t convince the administration to donate some of the Academy’s food to those in need?”

Scorio nodded soberly. “That’s an excellent idea. I’ll go with you. It’s not right that we dine like kings while others starve.”

“Well, I intend to continue dining like a king,” said Leonis, “but there’s no reason we can’t help others at the same time.”

Naomi sighed and shook her head.

A group of students who had been passing by their alcove came to a stop as one of their members turned suddenly to approach their table.

Scorio looked up, a noodle halfway slurped into his mouth, and saw a towering man staring down at him, expression as friendly as a knife tip aimed at your eye.

“Kuragin,” said Leonis, tone amicable, but Scorio knew him well enough to hear the tone of mild warning. “Can we help you?”

Kuragin was a massive youth. He looked like some wasteland refugee who’d grown strong on the flesh of his fallen companions. Features hard and flattened as if by cruel elements, eyes glittering, hair a dusty black that looked hacked at with a sharp knife. Skin dusky and bronzed as if tanned by a foreign sun, his whole body radiating menace and the potential for violence. His eyes were stormy with intensity, his manner unyielding, and he didn’t answer Leonis at once, instead choosing to just stand there and study Scorio.

The other students clustered behind him uneasily, and with a start, Scorio noticed Asha amongst them, her expression dour, closed.

“Word is you helped an Imperator defeat Imogen the Woe,” said Kuragin, his words a mocking drawl. “That without your help Sol the Just would have lost, and the city been destroyed.”

Scorio considered, then sat up and slurped the last of the noodle into his mouth. “Something like that, sure.”

“Something like that.” Kuragin smiled mercilessly. “But I’ve also heard that you sided with Imogen at first. That you only decided to help Sol when you realized you’d made the wrong bet.”

The silence spread out from where Kuragin stood like ripples extending out from a pond.

Scorio sensed his friends tense by his side, but before any of them could reply, he wiped at his lips once more with his cloth napkin and stood, edging out from around his table, forcing Kuragin back so that they stood inches apart.

The movement bought him time. A hot wave of alarm rushed through him, his appetite disappearing and his gut clenching. How could Kuragin know that? The only ones who’d have heard him speak to Imogen would have been those controlled by her fog, who, outside of his friends, would have been Pyre Lords or higher.

“Kuragin, right?” Scorio kept his words soft.

The other Great Soul narrowed his eyes, expression hard. “Simple question, Scorio. You going to answer it?”

“Interesting that you should ask it,” replied Scorio. “Seeing as it was Sol the Just who declared I’d helped him. Something the White Queen agreed with. Are you questioning their judgment, Kuragin?”

The mess hall had gone completely silent. Over a hundred students were staring at them, drinking in the moment. Scorio ignored the frozen tableaux, and instead focused on the huge man before him.

The youth’s lips quirked into the smallest of smirks. “I’m not arguing that you helped. Just asking if you had a change of heart at the last moment. If you said those words. If you’re a coward who regretted picking the wrong Imperator to suck up to when Sol the Just showed you the error of your ways.”

Something within Scorio stilled. His smile remained on his lips, but the rest of the world seemed to fade away. In a rush, he felt his past wash over him, his every sacrifice, his every loss, each moment of pain and privation. How could he ever hope to explain that to someone like Kuragin? In whose dark eyes gleamed a surety of the truth? Should he explain, plead his case, tell them he said those words, yes, but had been trying to trick the Imperator, not expressing cowardice or opportunism?

No.

His pulse began to pound in his ears like waves upon a distant shore. His hands tingled, and his muscles suddenly felt twitchy, restless. Fire flowed through his veins, and he forced his smile to widen just a fraction more.

Kuragin narrowed his eyes in suspicion, sensing a dangerous change, but it was too late.

“Well you see,” he began, and then he jerked his head forward with as much force as he could muster, a violent explosion that brought his brow crashing down upon the bridge of Kuragin’s nose.

He felt cartilage crunch as cries of horror and alarm broke out everywhere.

Kuragin’s head rocked back, but he didn’t lose his balance; his eyes narrowed in pain, momentary confusion, and then turned into something vicious, something Scorio recognized: anticipation.

“You see,” said Scorio again, raising his voice, stepping in after the other Great Soul. “I’m not used to having my decisions and actions questioned by a Cinder who wasn’t there and had no effect on the outcome of the battle.”

“Scorio,” hissed Lianshi, grabbing at his arm. “He isn’t—”

“A Cinder,” said Kuragin, dropping his hands and glaring at Scorio, blood running down his upper lip. “Bad move, Red Lister.”

Kuragin began to shift. His body grew, his shoulders broadening, his neck shortening, his face transforming into something monstrous. His mouth split open wide, becoming a fanged maw the width of his head, while his nose sank away and disappeared. His eyes became burning yellow pits, his skin rough, his musculature exaggerated to the point of deformity.

But those were the least of his changes. His hands morphed into huge digging claws, massive and serrated, his fingers growing inflexible, while a thick carapace covered his back, the shell a mottled crimson and black, sweeping over his head to form a horned helm, down his back, across the fronts of his thighs and shins and along his shoulders, the sides of his biceps, and forearms.

Finally, a huge tail dropped into view, thick as Scorio’s wrist and terminating in a ridged club.

Leonis emerged from behind the table, palms extended. “Come on now, this isn’t the time or place—”

“Apologize,” growled Kuragin, his voice changed into a rasp, his tail lashing behind him. “On your knees. Apologize or I’ll punch your nose down the back of your throat.”

Scorio slipped his hand into his robe, palming his nubbin of chalk. He kept his sneer on his lips, his anger still pounding in his ears, but even in his rage, he wasn’t immune to the danger before him. Kuragin had grown some four inches in height and width, his limbs and body become massive, and his claws looked like they could tear through living rock.

How did you hurt someone like that?

Leonis stepped between them, placing a palm on Kuragin’s chest. “Come on, both of you. Let’s talk this over—”

“Don’t touch me!” roared Kuragin, and swung his claws at Leonis’s jaw.

Or tried. His fist shuddered to a stop inches away from Leonis’s face, having impaled itself upon a foot-long blade that had slid between his knuckles and deep into his wrist.

“Oh no,” whispered Asha, stepping back.

The Nightmare Lady crawled onto the table, somehow moving with sufficient grace to avoid knocking over any of the cups or displacing the trays. Her tail arced over them all, segmented and glistening, and her sulfurous green eyes were locked on Kuragin, who was staring at his fist.

“If you’re going to throw your weight around,” she hissed, voice low and lethal, “then I’ll play, too.”

With a wrench Kuragin yanked his fist back and off her bladed tail, causing dollops of thick, burning blood to fall upon the floor where they sizzled and sent up slender streams of smoke.

“I don’t know who you are,” he said, expression strained. “But I’m going to put you through that wall.”

“Try it, ugly,” whispered the Nightmare Lady, lowering herself down like a cat about to spring, her tail undulating overhead.

Suddenly a great weight fell upon Scorio, driving him to his knees with punishing force, then down to all fours. He saw Kuragin struggle and sink as well, and heard the table shatter under the Nightmare Lady as it failed to bear her weight. The crowd around them all suffered equally, everyone wilting and collapsing under the impossible pressure.

“Now, I know that Emberlings aren’t starting a fight in the mess hall.” Helminth strode through the crowd toward them. Her tone was amused, genial almost. “That would be an absurd flouting of the rules, something unheard of so deep into the semester.”

Kuragin reverted to his human form, and Scorio saw that the wound in his hand had healed over, leaving only an angry thick scab in its place. “Apologies, Instructor. This is my fault. I lost my temper.”

Scorio clenched his jaw as he wrestled against the suffocating pressure and pushed himself upright so that he could sit upon his heels. The effort made motes of black dance in his vision, but it allowed him to stare in surprise at Kuragin.

“You instigated this?” Helminth frowned down at where the Emberling knelt. She turned slowly to take in the entirety of the scene, from the Nightmare Lady amidst the wreckage of the table and all its food to the watching crowd. “I’m disappointed. Losing your temper is the opposite of an excuse. Those involved in this matter, follow me.”

And just as quickly, the pressure evaporated. Several of the affected Great Souls sighed in relief, and everyone rose to their feet.

Scorio, Leonis, Naomi, and Kuragin followed the Hell Whip as she cleaved through the crowd of gawking Great Souls to one of the exits.

They were led through the hallways at a brisk pace, Scorio keeping his gaze straight ahead as others paused to stare at their group, until at last, they reached Helminth’s suite. They paused as the instructor unlocked the door. Had he only been here last night? That entire encounter now seemed surreal, dream-like.

They filed slowly into the large reception chamber. Helminth pointed at the rows of chairs against the wall. “Sit. Kuragin, you’ll give me your testimony first. Follow.”

And with that, she led the Emberling through a doorway deeper into her suite.

Leonis sat heavily, clapping his hands on his knees as he stared at the windows with a frown. “That went well.”

Scorio sat beside him. “Insofar as you still have your face? I’d agree.”

“Thank you, by the way.” Leonis leaned forward to look past Scorio at Naomi. “That intervention was much appreciated.”

“He should never have swung at you,” she said sullenly. “He’d have taken off your jaw.”

“Well, I’m pretty tough,” protested Leonis. “I might have been a little bruised—”

“He’d have taken off your jaw,” said Naomi firmly.

“Fair enough.” Leonis leaned back with another sigh. “But by the ten hells, what were you thinking, Scorio? Headbutting him like that?”

Scorio frowned, chewed his lower lip, and said nothing.

Naomi was called in shortly after. Kuragin sat a few chairs down from Scorio and Leonis, arms crossed, lips pursed, eyes closed. Silence radiated from his form like heat, and Scorio took the opportunity to study him covertly. The ridge of his nose had healed from Scorio’s blow, and the thick scab between his knuckles had peeled off to reveal tender, pink skin.

“You’re next,” said Naomi, emerging from the room beyond, her face rigid with self-control and anger.

Scorio stood, tugged his robes straight, and stepped through the door into the private sitting room. It was surreal to think he’d been here just the night before. Putting the memory aside, he crossed it to the office door and stepped inside.

It was as clean and sparse as the rest of her suite; a broad table of lustrous wood dominated the space, its surface bare but for a scroll on which freshly-inked characters were drying; Helminth reclined in a large chair, her gaze narrowed as she studied Scorio.

“Come in and close the door.”

Scorio did as he was bid, and sat in one of the plain chairs before her desk.

“This is not a good look, Scorio,” said Helminth, tapping her quill upon her lips. “Kuragin has taken full responsibility for the exchange, but that doesn’t change the fact that you struck the first blow.”

Scorio remained quiet.

She sat up, movements brisk, and dipped the tip of her quill in a stone inkpot. “But let us begin at the beginning. Please give me your version of the events.”

Scorio did so, his words terse, making no effort to paint his actions in a better light. Helminth wrote her notes in a quick, elegant hand, and when he was finished, she placed her quill into a small hole set into the side of the inkpot.

“At least we need not sort through contradictory accounts,” she said, interlacing her fingers behind her head as she leaned back once more. “Do you have anything further to say for yourself?”

Scorio studied the powerful woman. Even relaxed as she was, reclining in her chair, she evinced a potent sense of mastery, of being able to explode into violence at a moment’s notice.

There was no doubting that he sat across from a Dread Blaze, and that very sense of her power quelled any inclination he had for making excuses or asking for understanding.

“No,” he said.

“Very well. I’ll say this: if you want any chance to acquire a sponsor, this is exactly the kind of trouble you should be avoiding. Now, return to the waiting room and send in Leonis.”

He arose, bowed at the door, and did as he was bid. Sat down next to Naomi as Leonis left, and together they simply stared straight ahead. Despite her simmering anger, he took comfort in her presence, and he could only hope she took the same from him.

Leonis’s account was perhaps the longest of them all, and the Hell Whip returned with him to stand before them, arms crossed over her chest.

“This is a disappointing breach in discipline,” she said, tone flat. “Kuragin, the Academy expects far better from you. You are denied Eighthday privileges and will report to Master Pully each morning instead of attending class to assist him and his crew in groundskeeping duties until further notice. Dismissed.”

Kuragin gave a stiff nod, his expression inscrutable, and left the waiting room.

“Leonis, you acted to defuse the situation, and are accused by none of your peers. You are free to go.”

Leonis gave a sharp series of nods, his brow furrowed, but as he arose, he didn’t seem relieved. He moved slowly toward the door, clearly hoping to remain for the rest of the sentencing, but a stare from Helminth saw him on his way.

“Scorio and Naomi, you will follow me.”

And with her notes in hand, the instructor led them back out into the hallway. Naomi and Scorio rose slowly, confused, and after exchanging a suspicious glance followed Helminth down the hall, up a flight of stairs, then down an even broader corridor that terminated in a grand set of double doors. A lectern was placed to one side, but nobody was in attendance.

Helminth directed them to sit on chairs set against the hallway’s walls, and then knocked on the door before entering.

“What’s going on?” whispered Scorio, taking in the luxurious corridor. Alcoves along its length displayed wondrous works of art, while skylights allowed the ruddy light of First Rust to illuminate the rich red carpet that ran all the way down to the stairway.

“This is Praximar’s office,” said Naomi, her words clipped. “We’re done for.”

“Done for?” Scorio stared at the double doors in surprise. “But why just us? Kuragin took responsibility.”

“Oh, grow up, Scorio,” snapped Naomi. “You think we’d be treated the same?”

Scorio’s frown deepened. “We have to be.”

To which she only sighed, crossed her arms, and leaned her head back against the wall to stare straight ahead.

They sat there for a spell until the door opened and Helminth emerged without her notes. “The chancellor will see you now.”

Scorio arose slowly. He wanted to protest, but the Hell Whip’s expression was severe and distant; he’d find no ally there.

Instead, he led the way into the room beyond, which proved to be a massive office, the ceiling sloping down at a subtly oblique angle, the far back wall composed of massive panes of glass that showed the city beyond. Praximar sat at a desk whose massive size was dwarfed only by the scale of the office; it was a lone island in a pool of light in an otherwise stark and empty space. A few doors were set against the left wall, but otherwise, the office was bleak and imposing.

Chancellor Praximar remained seated as they approached; he was dressed in sober robes of charcoal gray, and he watched them with an expression of disappointment and weariness that only infuriated Scorio further.

“Instructor Helminth has told me the particulars of this infraction,” he began, not asking either of them to be seated. “And I am gravely disappointed. The Academy was glad to honor Imperator Sol’s request, but I must admit we did so with some measure of trepidation; you are both unknown elements, and we feared that you would prove unable to adapt to the Academy’s system and regulations. It would seem those fears were well-founded.”

Scorio went to speak, but Praximar raised a hand to forestall him. “Understand the following. This is your first and last warning. Imperator Sol asked that you be readmitted, but that was all. Your continued presence in these hallowed halls depends upon your ability to observe the rules and prove yourselves model students. If you are unable to restrain your tempers, if you strike or wound another Great Soul or otherwise break a single rule, then I will have no option but to have you cast out of the Academy once more, and depending on the nature of the infraction, perhaps be forced to do worse. Am I being clear?”

Scorio took a deep, shaky breath. The man’s tone was infuriating; grave and solemn, saddened and disappointed. “Excuse me, Chancellor, but why is Kuragin not receiving a similar warning?”

Praximar smiled as if glad of the question. “Because Kuragin is an exemplary student. It is no coincidence that his first infraction involved the two of you. He has been adequately punished, and I am confident he will return to his normal behavior. You both, however, are far from having an exemplary record. I need not get into details. You know very well how you have strayed in the past from the high standards the Academy upholds.”

The chancellor shook his head sadly. “Alas, there is no room at this Academy for students who are unable to follow the few regulations we impose. Which is why another infraction of any kind will be grounds for termination. All that I ask is that you obey the rules and regulations of the Academy. Surely that is not too much to expect of you?”

Naomi continued to stare blindly ahead, her jaw tightly clenched.

Scorio once again inhaled deeply, then bowed his head. “Of course, Chancellor. We understand.”

“You do not speak for your classmate,” said Praximar, tone chiding. “Naomi?”

Still staring straight ahead, she managed a jerky nod.

“Insufficient, Emberling.” Praximar’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll ask one more time. Do you understand?”

Naomi slowly tore her gaze down to stare at the chancellor, and for a long, aching moment said nothing. Then, her voice devoid of emotion, she said, “Yes, Chancellor. I understand what you are saying.”

“Very good. Now, let us put this unpleasant exchange behind us, and look forward to a brighter future, shall we?” He smiled and stood up. “Make us proud, students. Excel, work hard, and stay out of trouble. Dismissed.”

Scorio and Naomi bowed, turned, and marched out of the office. When the double doors closed behind them, Scorio went to speak but Naomi kept striding swiftly ahead. He jogged to catch up and studied her profile when he did.

“Hey. That wasn’t that bad.”

She made no response.

“I mean, it could have been far worse, right? He could have expelled us without giving us a second chance—”

“Stop talking,” she said, tone murderous, and began rapidly descending the stairs.

Scorio slowed, blinked, then hurried after her. They made their way back to their suite in silence, and when they returned, they saw that Leonis and Lianshi were absent.

“We should get to class,” said Naomi. “Or they’ll use our tardiness as an excuse to throw us out.”

“Look, I lost my temper back there.” Scorio stepped before her, blocking the way to the door. “Sure Kuragin was being an ass, but I shouldn’t have head-butted him.”

“You did the right thing,” said Naomi, eyes narrowed. “Because there was no arguing with him. And if you hadn’t hit him, someone else would have come at you next, and then again and again until you snapped.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You really don’t get it, do you?” Her eyes blazed. “They don’t want us here, Scorio. You’re a Red Lister. I’m common-born. We don’t fit their narrative. We’re outsiders. They want us gone, and they’ll find a way to pry us out no matter what Imperator Sol said. So you did the right thing. You showed them you’ll not let them push you around. But there’s just one little problem with that.”

“What?” asked Scorio again, fighting against the rising tide of bewilderment within him.

“Not letting them push you around will get you expelled.” Her voice quietened. “Either you swallow your pride and become their punching bag, or you stand up to them and get expelled. Those are your choices. You ask me? We’ve got maybe an Eighthday, maybe two, before we’re out. Enjoy it while you can.”

And with that, she brushed past him and strode out the door.

Scorio stared blankly at the far wall of ferns and the hints of the steamy pool beyond, feeling his expression harden, his jaw clench. Then, with a savage jerk, he pulled his satchel of scrolls from the wall peg and followed.