Chapter 52

“You think the Golden King will wait another full day to celebrate the success of his greatest admirer?” bellowed Leonis, a bottle of flaywine in hand. He stood, imperious, one foot atop a chair, his hair unbound and falling riotously down his broad shoulders.

“We get our allowance tomorrow,” said Scorio. “Shouldn’t we save an expedition into the city for the day we have no classes—”

“What is this twittering?” Leonis pressed his fingers to his temples. “This mewling sound that thinks it speaks reason but only reveals a lack of joy in life? No! We celebrate tonight as is customary! By tomorrow evening this news will be stale, the freshness sucked out of it, poor Scorio focused on conquering new impossibilities. Tonight!”

Scorio grinned and pushed back on the rear legs of his chair. “I approve of the enthusiasm. But Praximar has Naomi and me on short leashes. Wouldn’t do to be caught sneaking out of the Academy after hours and expelled.”

“Agreed,” said Naomi dourly.

“Caught?” Leonis blinked as if offended. “You think I, Leonis the Grim, the Favored of Eragoth, can be stymied by a handful of self-important bureaucrats? Come, Scorio, your insults cut me to the bone. I know how to exit and return without difficulty. I vow this to you on my illustrious albeit currently forgotten past.”

Lianshi frowned and sank a little deeper into her morass of cushions. “I mean, it’s normal for tournament winners to head and celebrate tonight. The others will be doing the same.”

“I’ve no desire to break the rules for no good reason,” said Naomi, scooting her heels up onto the edge of her seat so that she could lower her chin to her knees.

“No good reason? My friends, my friends.” Leonis’s voice dropped to a hush. “You think me overwrought? You think my desire to celebrate our friend inappropriate? Let me remind you of who we are, what we are.”

“We know,” said Lianshi. “We’re Great Souls.”

“No!” Leonis’s cry reverberated off the rafters of their chamber like a crashing wave. “We’re orphans, immortal sparks cast adrift on the tides of chaos! We’ve no recollection of family, of our bosom friends, our deeds and failures. We’re blank slates who were once great, once legendary, worthy of having their souls tied to the Archspire itself, but now? We’re timorous students, cowering behind the robes of our instructors, content to study and ask for permission if we’ve the desire to enjoy ourselves!”

Lianshi pursed her lips. Scorio reluctantly nodded.

“What binds us together?” Leonis stared intently at each of them. “Of what are our bonds forged? Experience, trust, admiration. I may not know much, but I know this: our lives are liable to be brutish and short, and all we can truly trust in is each other. If we don’t seize moments like these when they present themselves, then what manner of people will we become? How strong our bonds? Scorio has achieved his dream, has rescued his Heart from destruction, and I for one won’t gamely wait till it’s appropriate to celebrate. I say, we celebrate him now! I say, we live for the moment lest it pass us by! For pass it shall, and then another, and our friendships will turn anemic, will be weakened by a lack of passion. If we don’t dare, if we don’t brave great dangers for each other, then what manner of friends are we? No! I’ll not just pat Scorio on the shoulder, mouth mild compliments, and get a good night’s sleep. To the streets! To the bars and places of ill repute! To drink, to dance, to reforge our bonds, to cast them stronger, truer, and of unbreakable mettle! Are you with me, or are you whining milquetoast creatures with spoiled milk in your veins instead of liquid fire?”

“If we go, will you stop orating?” asked Lianshi.

“Only until the time comes to give a toast! Up, on your feet! Scorio? Are you with us? Will you let the other victors celebrate while we mope about indoors?”

Scorio laughed and shook his head even as he arose. “With a speech like that? How could I say no?”

“And you, Naomi!” Leonis turned to stab a finger at her. “Don’t you dare say you care nothing for us, for Scorio. Tell me his friendship isn’t worth the celebration!”

Scorio looked to her, fully expecting Naomi to tell Leonis to get lost, but instead, she met his gaze then looked swiftly away. “Fine. I’ll come.”

“Ah-ha!” Leonis raised his flaywine high. “Now all my doubts are settled, and I know that I’ve fallen in with a righteous crew! Get dressed, you fools! The night is a-wasting!”

Scorio spread his arms. “This is my only clean set of robes.”

“Well,” said Leonis, a glint in his eye, “then I shall not have much competition with the ladies. Naomi? Lianshi?”

“Come on,” said Lianshi, laboriously climbing out of the pile of cushions and setting aside her tome. “Let’s see what we can do, Naomi.”

“I’m not doing anything.” Naomi blushed. “I agreed to go, not dress up like a courtesan.”

“I’ve a little more subtlety than that,” said Lianshi, looping her arm through Naomi’s and pulling her off her chair. “Come!”

“Here,” said Leonis, handing the bottle to Scorio. “Now that we’ve agreed to go, do you have any suggestions as to a destination?”

“What?” Scorio paused, bottle halfway to his lips. “You don’t have a plan?”

Leonis grinned. “My plan was to get us out onto the streets of this fair city. From there, I’m willing to let fate guide our footsteps.”

“A place to go.” Scorio took a sip and then winced. “Actually. Yes. Though it might be hard to get in the door.”

“Don’t fret,” said Leonis, taking the bottle back. “I’ve yet to meet a doorman who can stand in my way.” He took a drink, then considered. “Though to be accurate, I’ve yet to meet a doorman.”

Five minutes later, they slipped out of their suite. Lianshi had put on a robe of green silk chased with black and gold trim, with a broad sash of scarlet around her waist. Naomi had reluctantly agreed to wear another gorgeous set of robes, an elegant black outfit whose surface revealed intricate patterns when the light caught it just right. Leonis led them quickly through the students’ halls down into the servants’ quarters, and from there down to the cellars where they entered a familiar room.

“The map revealed a series of connecting passageways that open up in a dry cistern,” said Leonis, moving to the secret door. “Last time we simply climbed to the basilica, but why should we ignore the other options?”

“Didn’t we guess that these secret passageways aren’t that secret?” asked Scorio.

“Well, whomever we meet along the way will be as motivated as we are to not raise an alarm. Come!”

Leonis opened the secret portal, and led them off to the right, following a cramped tunnel that turned erratically, following an architectural logic that Scorio couldn’t divine. They all sharpened their darkvision and thus were able to make their way through the shadowed interstices of the Academy till at last Leonis paused by a circular stone.

“Here,” he said, taking hold of two handles that had been carved free of the mass. “It takes a Cinder at the very least to open this up. Give me some elbow space.”

They watched as Leonis twisted the stone plug, his whole frame shaking as he exerted terrible strength upon the door. Which turned with a deep grinding noise, and then pushed free into the gloom beyond.

“There we go. Follow me!” Leonis ducked through the portal, and one by one they followed. Scorio cast a glance back the way they’d come, but saw nothing and no one.

The room beyond was a colonnaded chamber, low ceilinged and ancient, the brickwork deformed by the weight pressing down upon the vaulted ceiling. Replacing the stone plug, Leonis wiped the dust off his palms and then turned around, getting his bearings. “This is the old cistern. We go this way, I think.”

For a while longer, they crept through the dusty vault, till at last they climbed up onto a platform that might once have been at water level, and from there ascended a cobwebbed staircase to emerge into a dark gallery that encircled an abandoned courtyard. Silently, little more than shadows themselves, they slipped out through an archway and found themselves in a street, the hulking mass of the Academy looming before them.

“Does the Golden King not deliver?” Leonis spread his arms wide. “I hereby pass the baton of leadership to our illustrious friend, Scorio the… well. Which of your nicknames do you prefer?”

“I’m working on new ones,” said Scorio, leading them down the street. “Come on, we’ve got to get to Ward 11.”

“What’s in Ward 11?” asked Lianshi, stepping up alongside him, arm in arm with Naomi.

“Some friends. Remember Feiyan and Helena? They opened a… concert hall of sorts with the sunphire I gave them.”

Naomi frowned. “I thought Feiyan told you to never return.”

To which Scorio could only grin. “She enjoys being disappointed. Plus, Helena will be glad to see me. Come on!”

Buoyed by sudden energy, feeling terribly alive, young and filled with promise, he led them into the nocturnal streets of Bastion, whose main thoroughfares were lit as before by the delirious lights emitted by copper and iron spheres. Overhead the sun-wire was a smoldering filament, giving forth no actual illumination, but everywhere else was slate blue shadow, deep ebon darkness, and cool, exhilarating realms of surreal color and activity.

His friends clustered in close beside him as he led the way, following the wet streets that gleamed under the impossible lights, through night markets, past places of questionable business that only opened at night, stalls giving off clouds of steam as their cooks served up bowls of freshly grilled street food. Here and there were signs of Imogen’s destruction, the architecture perverted or inverted, even, but despite those markets the crowd pressed by uncaring in gaudy robes, music swirling from open windows where beautiful men and women beckoned for the passerby to come closer.

“I feel like I’ve fallen into a dream,” said Lianshi, eyes wide as she tried to take it all in. “It’s like this every night?”

“See?” Leonis tried for his boisterous grin and nearly managed. “I told you it was worth the adventure.”

“Watch your purses,” said Naomi, eyes narrowed. “We stand out like children at a brothel.”

“Ew,” said Lianshi. “What an awful metaphor.”

“This way,” said Scorio, spotting a steep set of steps that led down to a glimmering canal. “The Flame should be close, unless I’m completely lost. We’ve gone radially west enough, at any rate.”

Down the steep steps they went, laughing and holding onto each other as they took turns nearly slipping on the treacherously wet rock, then out beside the broad canal. Its waters gleamed like black oil, and up ahead Scorio saw a large crowd gathered outside an open doorway from which loud, melodic music burst forth, the rhythm insistent, infectious.

“There!” Scorio grinned at his friends. “Come on!”

Together they approached where the crowd milled in the copper light, and Scorio felt drab and underdressed compared to their finery; his functional training robes were completely at odds with their silk and sheer fabrics, the patterns and metallic hues.

“Why are their robes all torn?” asked Naomi, pressing in close. And Scorio saw that they were; almost everybody’s robe was ripped, revealing flashes of shoulder and inner thigh or bare midriff. Nobody seemed hurt, however, or upset; if anything, those whose robes were the most ripped were the most effusive and confident.

Scorio slowed as they finally reached the crowd. Two men stood on guard, one of them clearly the bald man from the last time he’d visited. “All right. Now, about getting in. Last time I threw that man into the canal, but I don’t think we should take that approach.”

Lianshi turned to stare at him, hands above her head as she twisted her hair into a knot and slipped slender sticks through it. “You what?”

“I can take care of this,” said Leonis, puffing out his chest. “And if my charisma fails me, my octs should open the way. One moment.” And he strode forward, parting the crowd with the sheer force of his personality, the waiting throng actually moving aside so that he could step up to both men.

“I’ll be genuinely impressed if he pulls this off,” said Lianshi, crossing her arms. “Naomi, you want your hair up?”

“I—sure.” Naomi blushed again. “But keep it simple. Nothing… silly.”

“Nothing silly,” agreed Lianshi, gathering Naomi’s thick hair in her hands. “Your hair is gorgeous. How do you get it so smooth?”

Scorio watched as Leonis leaned in to talk to both men, then gestured back to where the three of them waited. For a moment, he thought things might go well, but then the bald guard saw Scorio, and his face closed like a trap.

Leonis insisted, drew forth his pouch, but the man only lowered his hand to the long knife at his hip.

“Rats,” whispered Scorio. Where else could they go? Any bar would do, any venue, but there was a symmetry to celebrating at the Flame that appealed to him, to seeing Helena and Feiyan again, showing them how far he’d come—

A group was approaching from the other side, carrying bottles and fiddles, playing raucous, atonal music as they laughed and pushed at each other, and in their center, tall and rangy, dusky skin adorned with swirls and spirals of crushed paste that glowed luminously in the copper light, a familiar face.

“Helena!” He raised his arm and waved to get her attention.

She paused, frowned at him, and a smile lit up her whole face like the sun-wire hitting Amber. “Scorio!”

She broke away from her friends and approached, arms out wide, eyes alive with delight and amusement. “You live! And have new robes! And are clean and well-fed!”

“Helena!” He beamed, a warm rush arising within his chest. “These are my friends, Lianshi and Naomi, and over there trying to get us into the Flame is Leonis. We came to see you. To celebrate!”

“Celebrate?” She placed a hand on an angular hip and considered him, expression momentarily crafty before she raised both eyebrows. “What are we celebrating?”

Lianshi smiled bashfully. “Scorio was offered patronage today by House Chimera.”

“He was?” Helena’s eyes widened and she clapped her hands together with effusive joy. “That’s great! Come on!”

She led their trio through the crowd which called out greetings to her, but she only waved and smiled at the different people till she reached the men at the door. Leonis turned, bemused, and bowed his head; Helena impulsively leaned in to plant a kiss on his cheek, leaving lip marks the color of the palest, glowing yellow on his skin.

Both guards parted immediately, and Helena reached back to snag Scorio’s hand, pulling him in after her, into the smoky darkness, into the rich and immersive music. The room beyond was as full of life and activity as before, the stage packed with musicians who were all accompanying and supporting a wild man who appeared lost in a trance, his mallets dancing across a great hollow drum from whose interior he summoned rippling, beautiful music that flowed out over the crowd like an endlessly crashing tidal wave.

Overhead burned lamps of Coal mana, casting forth a medley of different, virulent hues, but none so strong as to banish the shadows in which danced the crowd, many of them smoking pipes, lifting their hands to the sky, drinks in hand, laughing, pressing close.

“This way!” shouted Helena, not releasing Scorio’s hand, tugging him through the tight crowd. He reached back, clasped Lianshi’s hand, and saw that she was tugging Naomi along behind her. They wound their way through the crowd to the room’s far side, to a deep alcove in which a table was set, Feiyan laughing with friends, bottles before them, along with what looked like a pile of masks, her mallet, and other assorted weapons.

“Look who I found!” shouted Helena as she reached the table’s edge, raising Scorio’s arm as if he’d just won a race. “Remember Scorio?”

Feiyan’s brow immediately lowered, but before she could protest, Helena pointed out his friends, calling out their names. “Lianshi, Naomi, Leonis! They’re here to celebrate! Scorio’s got himself a House sponsorship!”

Feiyan’s heavy brows shot up in surprise, then immediately lowered in suspicion. The music was so loud that she didn’t bother to shout back but instead gave Scorio a grudging nod.

“Let’s get you some drinks!” Helena shouted into his ear, and they were off again, plunging through the crowd like seals diving into waves, Helena laughing and greeting everyone they came across as if she was best friends with the entire crowd. Which she very well might have been. Scorio pulled his friends behind him, and then bellied up to the bar, where he saw Old Memek, in a sophisticated suit of white, pouring wine into lined up cups, his hair pulled back into a tight bun, a line of glowing paste down the length of his nose.

“Memek!” Helena leaned in, waved at him. “Look who it is!”

Old Memek did a double-take at the sight of Scorio, then threw up his arms and shouted in joy. “My benefactor, my guardian in the night! Scorio!”

He could feel his friends studying him, seeing him a new light, rethinking the Great Soul they thought they knew in these iridescent blacklights.

“He’s celebrating!” shouted Helena, “pour him and his friends some drinks!”

Old Memek leaned over the bar to clasp Scorio’s shoulders, his wizened face beaming. “You! You!” He turned to Leonis. “This man! He came into my life like a thunderbolt! Dragged me here, and before I knew it, I was playing my oud, impressing Feiyan, and now? Now! Life is good! Drinks for my friends!” And he lined up four eggshell-thin cups and filled each to the brim with a luminous golden drink.

Helena laughed, grasped Scorio by both sides of his head, and pulled him into a kiss, planting a smack on his lips from sheer exuberance before letting him go. “Enjoy! Come find me later!”

And with that she was gone, her thick braid flashing behind her before she disappeared back into the crowd.

Scorio licked his lower lip and took up his cup, turning to his friends with a hesitant smile.

“Why did you ever join the Academy?” yelled Leonis, taking up his cup. “Why would you leave this?”

To which Scorio could only smile foolishly, overwhelmed by happiness and a sweet incredulity. His friends took up their drinks, raised them high.

“To Scorio!” shouted Leonis, clicking his cup against theirs. “A madman, a great heart, a good friend, and endless source of surprises!”

“To Scorio!” shouted Lianshi, then let out a whoop as they all raised their cups to their lips and drank.

The liquid was fiery, immediately intoxicating, rich with a redolent, smoky flavor that made Scorio feel as if he’d downed a cup of soft fire. He could sense the intense mana within it flooding into his system, and setting the cup down, he laughed and gazed out over the crowd, saw that most of those dancing were patterned with the crushed paste, so that they swirled in lavender and fuchsia and blue, losing their human forms and becoming animated patterns that beguiled the eye.

“Let’s dance!” shouted Lianshi, pulling everyone away from the bar, and when Naomi tried to resist Leonis got down on one knee, beseeching her to come with hands clasped before him, so that she acquiesced, mortified, as those around them laughed and cheered with approval.

Time ceased to have meaning. They danced, swayed to the tempestuous music, finding the rhythm, their little group endlessly breaking apart and then reforming. Occasionally they’d meet back at the bar for another round of drinks from Memek, who was delighted to pour them endless cups of burning gold, and sometimes they’d fade back to the walls and there catch their breath, watching the musicians as they plied their wild craft, their number fluid, some taking breaks while others taking their place, the music endless and driving the crowd to ever greater excesses.

The drink went to Scorio’s head, and he found his fears and concerns, the doubts and anger melting away. Dancing in the center of the crowd, he felt his sense of self melt into the music, into the sway of bodies around him, everyone united by the rhythm, the energy that filled the room.

The crowd parted and he saw Lianshi dancing with a young man, his robe barely hanging off his shoulders, chest bare, his face intent as he worked hard to impress her, and when she caught Scorio’s eyes she laughed, part-exhilarated, part-panicked.

Scorio laughed, the crowd closed, and he turned, eyes closed, allowing his thoughts to finally stop, to just be. He felt a hand trace a line across his back and turned, half-expecting to see Helena, but saw a different woman instead, tall and elegant, skin so black it hinted at blue in the magical light, hair assembled in an artful mess above her head, cheekbones glittering as if smeared with the very stuff of stars, her eyes glowing with interest. He bowed low, flattered, but fended her off.

This moment was his and his alone. He wanted to imprint it upon his memory, to crystallize this emotion, this feeling, so that no matter what happened next, he could return to it. This sensation of bliss, of rising euphoria, of success.

Because he’d done it. He’d done more than survived. More than just forced his way back into the Academy. Everything he’d done, every sacrifice, every death in the Gauntlet, every loss, all of it had culminated in House Chimera offering him their sponsorship. His future was bright with treasure, personalized training, endless resources, and the kind of guidance reserved for the most elite of the Academy.

Not that he didn’t still have his challenges before him—his impulsive bet with Jova, Praximar’s warnings. But he knew he could accomplish the impossible. He’d already done so once, hadn’t he?

He’d do it again.

Shouts arose from the side; he looked over and saw Leonis blinking in surprise as three young men stood defiantly before him.

One of them held a knife.

A woman screamed, and the spiraling, whirling music came to a dissonant end.

Scorio hurried over, wishing he’d not drunk so much, to reach Leonis’s side just as his friend raised his hands.

“I’m not sure what I did wrong,” rumbled the big man, “but I’m happy to apologize.”

The youth with the blade, his face encrusted with wild crimson swirls of paste, hocked and spat on the floor. “You’re not welcome here, Great Soul. Get back to your Academy and your luxuries. Is there nothing in this city we can have to ourselves?”

Leonis’s frown widened. “I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t!” The youth raised the blade. “You understand nothing! You take all, you tell us lies, then you go back to your fancy school and laugh at us! Enough! Your time is coming to an end—get out of here!”

Rumbles of assent came from the crowd that had gathered around them, though Scorio saw that the majority looked confused and frightened.

Feiyan shouldered her way to the fore, her mallet over her shoulder, to glare at the youth. “What’s your name?”

The young man straightened, taken aback by her fierce intensity and air of command. “I—my name’s Makiros.”

“Makiros. I don’t recall seeing that name on the list of The Flame’s owners. In fact, there are just two names there, and mine’s one of them.”

“But—these Great Souls, they don’t belong here, they should leave—”

“No, you should leave. You and your friends.” She lowered her mallet so that it fell into her open palm with a heavy smack. “Now.”

Makiros glanced around nervously, but something in Feiyan’s gaze did the deciding for him. He sneered. “Word’ll get out that this is a place for Great Soul lovers. Music won’t stop this place from burning when the time comes.” And then he turned and made his way toward the exit.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Feiyan, unimpressed. “Music! And everyone gets a free drink at the bar. Memek—line up the cups.”

Tentatively at first, and then with vigor, the music started back up, and slowly the crowd began to move, to stir, to dance once more. Many cheered as they crammed in for their free drink, and Feiyan crooked a finger to Scorio and Leonis, beckoning for them to move over to a wall.

“Did you provoke them?” she asked.

“No!” Leonis looked offended. “I mean, I was speaking with a lady, and then Makiros showed up and got upset. Perhaps he knew her? I don’t know.”

“Could be.” Feiyan rubbed at the side of her face. “You are welcome here. But be careful. The tension in the streets couldn’t be higher after the attack on the city. Your kind is being held responsible for the deaths. Given the failure of the Empyreal Prophecy, I would be surprised if there weren’t protests or an uprising soon.”

Scorio glanced at Leonis, who looked equally taken aback, then both nodded.

“Anyways. Enjoy yourselves.” Feiyan slipped her mallet into its loop at her hip. “And be smart.” And with that, she walked away.

“Uprising?” said Leonis. “We fought Imogen off. Why are they mad at us?”

“Don’t know,” said Scorio, and rubbed at his chin. “Just mind whom you talk to!”

Leonis laughed. “I can’t help myself! But fine! I’ll try to be discrete.” He clapped Scorio on the shoulder and strode back into the crowd.

Hours later, head spinning, body drenched in sweat, heart pounding with joy and exertion, he collapsed into an empty chair at a sparsely populated table, cup of water in hand. For a moment he sat alone, then Feiyan stepped out of the crowd, stocky frame clad in a beautiful black robe, her dark forelock curling across her forehead, and sat down next to him.

“Congratulations,” she said, voice raised so he could hear her over the music. “Helena told me what happened.”

“Thank you.” He smiled at her, feeling affectionate, deciding not to let even her curmudgeonly ways keep him from feeling blissed out. “Apologies for that earlier disturbance. And I wouldn’t have made it this far without your help.”

“I take it you’re not looking to get out to the Rascor Plains anymore?” Her expression was wry as she shook her head. “I worked hard at finding you passage.”

“No, thank you.” Scorio considered. “I’m happy to pay you for the time you spent.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she shouted, raising a callused palm. “Wasn’t the best choice. Tough outfit. Good people, but hard.”

“Yeah? Who?”

She leaned in so she didn’t have to shout so loudly. “Manticore. Decade ago looked like they were going to make their own house, then it all fell apart when their Crimson Earl got herself killed.”

“Understood,” said Scorio. “Thank you, anyway.”

“You’re welcome. And one more thing.” She crossed her arms, leaned in again. “Dola’s been asking after you.”

“Oh yeah?” He turned to stare at her. “Why?”

“Don’t know. I told her people we’d lost track of you. This was after the city got torn up. Everyone was talking about you. Word must have reached her.”

“Oh.” Scorio considered, but he was too elated to hold onto the thought. “That life’s behind me.”

“So it is.” She stood up, considered him, then shook her head with a rueful smile. “You surprised me, Scorio. You’ve come a long way. Respect.”

“Thank you,” he shouted. “Couldn’t have done it without you guys!”

“I know.” She grinned, then leaned in one more time. “And don’t you forget it.” At that, she smirked and strode off into the crowd.

Scorio sat back, feeling tired, feeling good, feeling at peace. Saw Naomi drifting by, looking lost and out of place, and raised his arm. “Naomi! Over here!”

For a second, he thought she’d not heard him, would be swallowed up the crowd again, but then she caught sight of his waving arm and came over. Taking Feiyan’s chair, she smoothed her robe over her knees.

“Having a good time?” he shouted.

“Fine!”

“Good! Want another drink?”

“No, thank you.” She seemed to resent having to shout but didn’t lean in much closer. “We should go. Leonis is getting drunk. We need him to get us home.”

“All right, sure.” Scorio considered her for a moment, then leaned in himself. “We’ve got to enjoy moments like these, you know?”

“Sure,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

“No, I’m serious! What’s the point of all the hard work if we don’t get to be happy?”

She said something, but he missed it.

“What?”

“I don’t trust happiness,” she shouted, then recoiled as if startled by her own volume.

“What do you mean? We’ve earned this!”

She leaned in at last, cupped her hand to her mouth to direct her voice into his ear. “I mean, don’t get complacent!”

“Come on!” Exasperation arose within him. “Life doesn’t always have to be terrible—good things can actually happen to us!”

“You trust too easily!” He could barely hear her. “They’re not your friends! They just want to use you. The moment you stop being useful, they’ll get rid of you!”

Scorio sat back, dismayed. He studied her and shook his head.

She met his gaze, looked away, looked back.

“Can’t you be happy for me? Even for just one night?”

“I don’t want to see you get hurt,” she shouted, leaning in again. “You still don’t understand. House Chimera—”

“No.” He stood. “You just can’t stand to see anyone do well.” He knew his words were getting away from him, but the alcohol, the way she was crushing his good mood, it was too much. “We don’t have to be miserable all the time. Just because you don’t trust anyone or anything and don’t want to take advantage of the Academy’s opportunities doesn’t mean I shouldn’t—by the ten hells, Naomi, sometimes we’re allowed to just enjoy life for a damn second!”

Her eyes went wide, and she stood up. “You’re being naive! I’m trying to warn you, the danger is real—”

“Damn it, Naomi!” He raked his hands wildly through his hair. His rage came rushing to the fore, and he glared at her, incensed. “Stop pretending you’re still in your tower! Or is that it? Can you not stop? Are you going to be stuck inside that room forever, waiting for it to fall?”

She stared at him, startled, face pale, then stepped into the crowd and was gone.

“Naomi!” He went after her, but the crowd had swallowed her whole. “Naomi! Damn it!”

He fell back, sat down hard. Glowered at the crowd, then took a deep breath. The room swayed, music played on, the people danced, but something had been stolen from the night. Naomi had been right about one thing, at least.

It was time to start heading back.