Chapter 61

The library was a hoary maze of winding passages that occasionally expanded into large, hexagonal chambers dominated by clustered desks. Dust seemed to hang heavily in the air, and the only source of light was the intermittent lantern whose Iron-mana light bathed everything in an ethereal glow.

“This makes practically no sense,” said Scorio, frowning at a faded map framed up on the wall. “How does parafiendology flow into ontological uncertainties? What do either of those even mean?”

Lianshi sighed and stepped up next to him, placing her finger on the map, where Parafiendology was written in ornate script on a curving tunnel. “The associations are fluid and have grown naturally over time. Each chamber represents a confluence of the six differing branches, see? So, for example, the chamber we’re in”—she moved her finger to the hexagon in question—“is Cell of Sublime Dangers. The offshoots are Parafiendology, Inimical Botany, Regressive Psychology, Cacogenous Topology, Virulent Contagions, and the restricted corridor of Banned Histories. See? Whereas on, say, the other end of regressive psychology you have the Cell of Inner Reflection, with its six corridors, like Inestimable Virtues and so on. They flow into each other, allowing you to pursue topics of research based on inspiration and correlations.”

Scorio’s frown only deepened. “If you say so. So what we want would be off… the Cell of Fiends.” He leaned in. “Parafiendology, Collected Taxonomies, a restricted hall on True Fiends…” He turned to Lianshi. “True fiends? What are those?”

“Apparently what the Imperators fight around the Pit.” She shrugged. “Nothing we have to worry about for a long, long time. We should make our way to this one here: Observed Properties and Powers.”

“Not far away,” said Leonis, leaning down over both of them to scrutinize the map. “Shall we?”

Lianshi led them out of their current cell and into the long and meandering tunnel of Parafiendology. The walls were covered in ancient shelving, some of it listing under the weight of heavily bound books, most of the tomes opaque under their layers of dust. Many of the shelves were sparsely populated as if they’d been looted long ago. The ceiling was low, and the tunnel dipped and curved as if carved by an ancient worm, not hewed out by the hands of men.

“That’s strange,” said Lianshi, slowing as something caught her eye. “Does this book look strange to you?”

Scorio and Leonis both stared at where she was indicating. They saw a collection of folios, a couple of battered tomes, and a wooden box with a heavily rusted lock.

“Which book?” asked Scorio.

“The crimson one,” she said, reaching out to a shadowy space then drawing her hand back. “It looks… something about it drew my eye.”

“There’s no crimson book there,” said Leonis, tone flat. “You’re drunk, Lianshi.”

“No, see?” And she reached into the shadows to pull a book out. It was indeed a faded red, its corners chased in gold, and a latch with a simple lock was wrapped around its pages.

But Scorio found it hard to focus on; his gaze kept wanting to slide away like water off an oiled surface. Staring too hard caused pressure to build up behind his eyes.

“Oh,” said Lianshi. “Oh! It’s got some manner of warding on it. That’s what caught my attention. It’s hidden from Cinders and Chars. See? I mean, I’m sorry, of course you can’t, but there’s a subtle field around it, as if it were immersed in a sphere of water? Light refracts around it. Huh.”

She turned it over in her hands, then read the spine. “The Provenance of the Winged Plinth,” she read, tone soft. “Can’t open it, though.”

“Can you put it back, then?” Leonis was grimacing. “It’s making my head ache.”

“Sure, of course.” She did so, then turned slowly. “There’s another. And there. Actually, there’s a lot of them.”

“Ah,” said Scorio. “I thought the shelves looked strangely sparse. You’re saying there are warded books all over them?”

“Quite a few, yes.” Lianshi nodded pensively, stepping over to a nearly empty segment of shelving. “I can see them if I focus, like how you can activate your darkvision?”

“Emberlings,” said Leonis in mock disgust. “Inveterate show-offs.”

Lianshi turned and gave him a shove, but then Scorio slipped past them both and continued.

They entered the Cell of Fiends and found a handful of strangers gathered there, each to his or her own desk, reading all manner of literary materials under the lights of the high lanterns. A couple of them raised their gazes to take in the new arrivals, and a quick assessment told Scorio that none of them were students. They had the look of travelers, most of them in their early to mid-twenties, though one hoary old lady in the corner swaddled in a thick green robe was the oldest living Great Soul he’d seen yet.

“Excuse us,” said Lianshi quietly, and the readers went back to their tomes. She paused, scanning the golden plaques above each of the hexagon’s six tunnels, then led them into the one marked Observed Properties and Powers.

“This might take a while,” she said, running her finger along the spines, leaving a horizontal band in the dust. “Imperial Ghost Toads. That would be classified under… under what?”

Scorio was reading the titles as they went, but half the books were unmarked, and again there were numerous empty spots and even entire shelves that looked bare. When he stretched forth his hand, however, he felt a strange resistance, a bubble of pressure into which he couldn’t pierce.

“Is there a protective force around them?” he asked, drawing his hand back.

“No. You were just touching the books right then,” said Lianshi, glancing over to him.

“Didn’t feel like it.”

“Maybe…” She trailed of pensively. “Maybe the ward prevents you from even telling you’re touching the books? I don’t know.”

“Frustrating,” said Scorio, staring at the empty expanse.

“I think this means we Cinders can’t be of much help,” said Leonis with heavy regret. “Come on, Scorio. Let’s return to our rooms and take a dip. Lianshi our esteemed Emberling will report back with good news soon.”

“Very funny,” she said, pulling out a slender brown book and opening it to the title page. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask for help.”

“Help?” asked Scorio. “From whom?”

She gave him a deadpan stare. “You have done no studying for your academic classes at all, have you?”

“I have,” chimed in Leonis. “Once or twice, I think.” He pulled down a huge book and blew dust from its covers. “The Proclivities and Morbid Tendencies of Low Nothings.” He opened it, eyebrows raised, and then turned excitedly to them both. “Look, this one has pictures.”

Lianshi rolled her eyes. “I’m going to find a librarian. It might take a while. Keep looking while I’m gone, will you?”

And with that, she returned the brown tome and strode off.

“Maybe there’s a… what would it be called?” asked Scorio.

Leonis turned to him with a blank expression. “Hmm?”

“A guide? A list of all the books? A catalog? In the main cell? To help people search for books? There has to be some order to all this.”

“A worthy idea,” said Leonis, putting the huge book back carefully. “Oh, hold on. What’s this?” He pulled down another tome, tall and slender, its cover bound in gray felt and pink silk. “The Wicked Enchantresses of Lost Moor, Being an Illustrated Treatise on Their Divers Powers, Physical Charms, and Fiendish Beguilements, as Prepared for the Five Hundredth and Twelfth Concolation of Red Keep. Huh.” He cracked the book open and raised both eyebrows. “You go on ahead, Scorio. I’ll be right there.”

Scorio sighed deeply, edged past the large man, and returned to the Cell of Fiends. This time the other researchers didn’t even glance up. Scorio pursed his lips, feeling completely out of place, and scanned the chamber. Desks, more desks, lamps burning gently above, another map, six arches taking up most of the walls…

Cheerful whistling came from a side tunnel, drawing irritated stares from the other researchers, and a moment later, a languid and leonine man entered the cell, one hand thumbed into his belt, the other holding a cloak tossed rakishly over one shoulder, his mane of golden hair freshly washed and combed back.

“Will you cease making that terrible sound?” snapped the old woman, glaring at Gelegos furiously, finger pressed to her passage on the page.

“For you, dear Dame Musko? It would be an honor.” Utterly unabashed, Gelegos began making his way between the tables, intent on passing through, and then saw Scorio and stopped. “Scorio! Early afternoon bout of studying?”

“I—yes.” Scorio was supremely aware of the glowers coming from the other readers. “Or attempting one. It’s my first time in the library.”

Gelegos chuckled as he drew closer then sat upon the corner of a desk. “You didn’t strike me as the academic type. But I’m glad you’re finally awakening to the wonders of the written word. More power is hidden away between the covers of the books here than can be found in the treasury of House Hydra.”

That gave Scorio pause. “You’re serious?”

“But of course! Alas, it is a source of power that requires work. Any fool can pop a pill, but it takes a dedicated scholar to unearth the nuggets of gold hidden amidst these countless books—”

“Gelegos!” Dame Musko was practically shivering with anger. “This is not the antechamber to some pisshole bar! Be silent, or begone.”

“Of course, Dame Musko, your slightest wish is like a geas upon my soul.” And Gelegos hopped up off the desk, bowed low, then crooked a finger to Scorio and led him down a tunnel.

Bemused, Scorio followed.

“How’ve you been?” asked Gelegos when they were a safe distance away. He crossed his arms and leaned against a shelf. “I heard you lost in your last fight.”

“I did, yes.” Scorio scratched at the back of his head. “Went up against an Emberling. I thought I had a slim chance, but was quickly, ah, disabused of that notion.”

“Tough, tough,” said Gelegos, nodding sympathetically. “And your morale? Spirits? Are you keeping it together?”

“I am,” said Scorio, meeting the recruiter’s gaze squarely. “It’s why I’m here, actually. Had an idea. Probably not a good one, but decided to research it. Just having trouble finding the right book.”

“Oh? How intriguing?” Gelegos glanced down the tunnel then back at Scorio. “Well, I suppose Millandria has waited seventeen years, another few minutes won’t go awry. What’s this idea?”

“I…” Scorio hesitated, looked down the tunnel, then back at Gelegos. “Someone’s been waiting for you for seventeen years?”

Gelegos waved his hand. “In a manner of speaking. She’s dead, alas. Which makes sense, seeing as we’re fated to never reincarnate at the same time. When I pass away, she will be reborn, and our correspondence will continue.” He paused, blinked, then smiled. “We’re pen pals, you could say, though our chosen method of communication is painfully obtuse poetry that we store here in the library. We do it to spite each other. I do think it’s the highest form of love.” He smiled fondly. “But enough of that. Your idea, my friend? Tell me it’s suitably cunning and unprecedented.”

“Right, ah, yes.” Scorio blinked, stood up a little straighter, then hesitated. Could he trust Gelegos with his plan? Would the man report him? Tell, if not Praximar, then his head recruiter?

“Oh come,” said Gelegos, smiling in dark amusement. “While I’m happy to help, I trust there is nothing truly new under the suns of hell. Whatever your brainchild, I’m sure it’s been done many times before. Don’t worry overmuch about its secrecy.”

“Oh. Right.” Scorio nodded, more to himself, and then shrugged. “I want to learn more about Imperial Ghost Toads.”

“Imperial Ghost Toads,” said Gelegos slowly, as if tasting the words. “My, that’s an awfully specific request. You must have encountered one during your time in the ruins?”

“Precisely so.”

“Imperial Ghost Toads. Of what use could they be to you? I don’t know much about that class of fiends. They’re cognizant, are they not? Capable of some manner of speech? Did you befriend one?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Intriguing. How do you think one such will help you in your situation?”

“I don’t know if they can. I’m grasping at straws at this point. Do you know how to locate books on them?”

A cunning gleam entered Gelegos’s eyes, and Scorio became sure the recruiter was aware that there was more than was being revealed. But after a moment, he shrugged and pushed off the shelf. “Fair enough, my friend! I respect your privacy and am happy to be a humble assistant in this quest of yours. Come.”

He led Scorio back into the Cell of Fiends and into the tunnel of Collected Taxonomies. Moved past the shelves, frowning and muttering to himself as he went. Reached at last a set of shelves and there stopped.

“Here we go. Class Dire Amphibia, Order Anura, meaning without tail… hmm.” He tapped at different spines, passed over empty spaces, then paused. “A general overview of the Class? No. Let us sharpen our line of inquiry. Ah—Being a Biological Examination of Imperial, Magisterial, Administrative, and Minor Bureaucratic Toads.” He drew forth the small, chunky book, which Scorio was glad to see wasn’t warded. “This should help. Now. Is there an index? There is an index, praise be. Imperial Ghost… Imperial Ghost… here you are.”

He flicked to the right page, then turned the book about and placed it in Scorio’s hands.

There were three pages, Scorio saw, dealing specifically with the Imperial Ghost Toad. The writing was crabbed, practically illegible, but there was a crude ink drawing that unmistakably portrayed a toad with the same eyeless, horned head.

“Excellent, thank you,” said Scorio.

“You’re most welcome. I look forward to your shocking successes! Now, if you’ll excuse me, Millandria awaits.”

“I hope the poetry is appropriately infuriating.”

“Oh, it is. She’s adopted a particularly grating meter that she knows drives me mad. Delightful.” And with that, Gelegos turned and strode away, whistling once more.

Scorio dropped into a crouch and set to work reading the three pages. A couple of paragraphs described the toad’s appearance, another couple on its usual habitat—which seemed to be anywhere rich in its kind of mana—then a page on their social organization.

Scorio stopped skimming and took his time deciphering the ancient writing. Apparently, they were solitary creatures that gathered in great assemblies known as “parliaments” every decade or so. There they would extrude all their gathered mana, forming deep reservoirs in which they would swim, challenge each other to a game known as “quantics,” and then mate, with partners determined by who won the most games.

“Huh,” said Scorio, flipping to the next page. There was no explanation of how quantics was played, nor what its rules were, but a footnote listed a treatise penned by the same author entitled A Review of Quantics, Its Rules, Permutations, and Winning Techniques as Observed by the Author at a Parliament in the Year 634. Frowning, he continued reading. Imperial Ghost toads spent their lives preparing for these parliaments, focusing on consuming ever denser forms of mana through a technique known as “engorgement.”

“You mean ‘Delightful Secret Marinating technique,’ idiot,” muttered Scorio.

Engorgement, the author wrote, was a means by which the toads could continuously extract mana from the environment, a passive process that allowed them to condense it into liquid form that permeated their bodies, the excess of which was secreted and left behind. This worked best when the engorger located a deep concentration of their chosen mana, and could there saturate their being to the utmost.

That gave Scorio pause. He sat back and stared at the books across from him. Saturated with liquid mana. He pondered, then resumed reading. There wasn’t much more on the technique, however; the author only connected its utility for the toads to their parliamentary activities, and never seemed to consider any other application for it.

Frowning, Scorio turned to the last page, which outlined the toad’s natural predators. These proved to be a long list of fearsome sounding names that meant little to Scorio. The last section was on their lifecycle. They could theoretically live forever if they were able to find ever richer sources of mana; after each parliament, their requirements increased, till at last, they starved, unable to find dense enough mana to sustain their aging bodies.

And that was it.

Scorio frowned and tapped the book against his chin. Delightful Secret Marinating technique. He had to learn more about it.

But what could induce Nox to talk about something so private?

He opened the book once more, and ran his finger over the lines, till he settled on the footnote.

A Review of Quantics.

“Scorio?” Lianshi’s voice, a hushed but urgent whisper. “Where are you?”

He rose, and with book in hand returned to the Cell of Fiends, where Dame Musko was glowering at them all. However, the presence of a dour, dark-skinned man clothed in gray woolen robes seemed to keep her in check; he stood beside Lianshi, expression severe, and at the sight of Scorio relaxed a fraction, as if he’d been about to excuse himself and leave.

“There you are,” she said, hurrying to his side and turning to face the man. “This is Librarian Oronto. He’ll help us find what we need.”

“Do you know the title, perchance, or the name of the author?” asked the librarian, the skepticism in his voice so rich that Scorio felt like a child being asked to list his favorite mathematical formulae.

“Actually, I do.” He smiled blithely at the surprised man. “A Review of Quantics, by Sebastian Bufo.”

“Hmm.” The librarian blinked, then tapped his chin. “Very well, then. Let us take a look.”

Lianshi stared at Scorio in confusion and mouthed something that might have been “What are you doing?” as the librarian stalked off into one of the tunnels.

Scorio just grinned at her, tapped the side of his nose, and followed after Oronto.

* * *

“Run this past me again,” huffed Leonis as he raced alongside Scorio.

“Left,” called out Scorio, almost tripping over as he veered out of the main street down which they ran, the sight of huge tentacles clumsily feeling their way around the distant corner ahead of them suddenly changing his planned approach. They scrambled, bolted down the side street, and for the length of the first ruined block kept glancing behind them to see if they were being pursued.

“This way.” Scorio raced over to a collapsed wall, ran fleet-footed up the mountain of rubble, then leaped off the top to the closest roof. Landing in a crouch, he took off at a jog, angling out wide to avoid whatever had been coming around the corner to course correct and resume their route to the Old Academy.

“Gah!” Leonis crashed onto the rooftop and then rushed to catch up. He looked heavy and clumsy compared to Lianshi, who, ever since making Emberling, had gained a preternatural form of grace.

“All right,” said Scorio, jumping over a retaining wall and down to a lower rooftop. Paused for the others to land next to him, then continued running. “So we found a book.”

“A Review of Quantics,” said Lianshi, not even winded.

“A review of what?”

“Quantics. It’s a game Imperial Ghost Toads play at their parliaments. It’s how they determine who gets the best mates.”

“A mating game?”

“Exactly. Far as I can tell, there’s a good amount of strategy involved. This author, Sebastian Bufo, actually entered one of the parliaments and recorded the rules and strategies the reigning Toad champions used to get the best mates.”

“Wait,” said Leonis, lengthening his stride as they rushed to the end of the roof and out over a perilously narrow archway that spanned the street below to the building across the street. “We’re going to give Nox dating advice?”

“It’s a fascinating game,” said Lianshi.

“You read it?” asked Leonis, incredulous.

“Of course I read it!” She glared at him, then flipped her hair behind her shoulder dismissively. “It’s tonal. Two rounds. The first consists of three quick challenges executed in a row. Low basso rumble beats high pitched squawk, which beats what Bufo called the brazen croak, which in turn beats the basso rumble.”

“So a game of chance?”

“Not quite.” She paused to vault lightly over the peak of the roof then slide down the other side, catch her foot in the broken gutter, and then leap lightly down to the street below. When Leonis and Scorio dropped next to her, she continued as they picked up their run.

“Who wins each of the first three challenges, and with what sound, determines the context of the second round, forming the environment that the true battle takes place in. There are over a hundred possible variations on the first round, and the contestants then issue forth songs that weave those results into a combative epic. Whoever unites the first round’s variables best and most insultingly wins the quantic.”

“A song battle,” said Leonis.

“But it’s so much more. The toads evoke their history, the odors of their desired mates and hated enemies, and play tonal tricks with the landscape established by the first round, each of which correlates to different story elements for them to work with. It’s incredibly complex.”

“Fine,” said Leonis, raising both hands. “I’m suitably impressed and also very sorry for these amorous toads. Sounds like a headache. But what’s that got to do with us.”

“A Review of Quantics lists the elements of over a dozen winning songs from a massive parliament held centuries ago,” said Scorio. “We’re going to entice Nox to help us by offering it to him as a bribe.”

“So he can cheat at his next parliament?” Leonis grinned. “I like it. What’s he going to do for us?”

“That Scorio won’t share,” said Lianshi, shooting an angry glare at him. “But I can guess. It has to do with their engorging technique.”

“Delightful Secret Marinating technique,” corrected Scorio.

“But Scorio’s not an Imperial Ghost Toad,” protested Leonis, taking a deep breath as they rounded a corner and entered a broad avenue that speared across the last third of the ruins. “Unless he’s planning to compete in the parliament now that he’s out of the tournament?”

“Ha,” said Scorio. “Ha, ha, ha. Watch it.”

“Engorgement causes the fiend to continuously and passively absorb mana from the environment,” said Lianshi, still staring hard at Scorio. “But the mana appears in the fiend’s body as a physical substance, filling their bodies like water does a sponge. It would kill a Great Soul, and is why the Academy hasn’t pursued it as a viable means of advancement.”

“True,” said Scorio.

“That’s all he’ll say. Which is why we’re coming. To prevent him from doing something irreparably stupid.”

“We’d have to sit on him to do that,” said Leonis.

“Just wait,” called Scorio, and as they ran into a rich seam of dense Coal mana, he inhaled some deeply into his Heart, ignited it, and put on greater speed. “You’ll see!”

Ten minutes later, they jogged out onto the monolithic bridge, across the great chasm and toward Nox’s ruined shell of a home.

“Nox?” Scorio slowed, stopped. “Nox, you around?”

His voice echoed off the stark walls, the bleak streets, and Leonis and Lianshi both turned in a slow, wary circle, examining the city about them.

Movement within the rubble, then the great toad leaped into view to land atop his customary perch.

“Favorite friends Scorio, Leonis, Lianshi.”

“Great,” muttered Leonis. “He knows our names.”

“We’ve a gift for you,” said Scorio, moving forward with his hands held out wide. “Something we think you’ll really love.”

Nox quirked his head to one side, his broad throat working, his sticky feet adjusting their grip on the rock. Thick dollops of Coal mana oozed down his forearms to spill out between the digits and smear across the rock. “Gift?”

“You’re a handsome Imperial Ghost Toad,” said Scorio, drawing closer, grinning widely. “Adept at the hunt, charismatic, good at making friends. It would be a shame if you didn’t take advantage of every angle at the next parliament to mate with the most beautiful lady toads around.”

Nox quirked his eyeless head in the other direction, his body otherwise going still. He said nothing but entered that state of aggressive attention that made the air around him quiver.

“So what have your favorite friends done?” Scorio reached into his robe and drew out the slender book. “We’ve unearthed a human account of a parliament from centuries ago. Sebastian Bufo attended as a guest and wrote down the songs and strategies of the great winners. He marked down their first-round ploys, and how they then used the results in startlingly unique ways to befuddle and confuse their foes.” Scorio tapped the book. “All in here. The best strategies he could find.”

“Quantic? You have quantic strategies?”

“Over a dozen complete ones, with the rest of the book accounting for all the variables and approaches Sebastian witnessed.” Scorio’s grin widened. “All yours if you but do me a favor.”

Nox adjusted his position on his perch nervously, his throat swelling out then sinking back in. “Favor?”

“Teach me your Delightful Secret Marinating technique,” said Scorio, voice turning serious. “Teach me the technique, and I’ll personally read you every page of this book.”

It was next to impossible to read the toad’s expression, to divine his thoughts from his broad and inscrutable visage, but the toad went very still.

Scorio held the book aloft, and for a second thought Nox would steal it away, capture it with his tongue, and retreat into the tunnels.

But no. After a moment’s consideration, the toad raised its head a fraction. “Why Scorio wish to learn Delightful Secret Marinating technique? Is secret.”

“As are the contents of this book. Do Imperial Ghost toads write down the most successful stratagems of each parliament to consult and learn from?”

“No,” said Nox with obvious reluctance.

“Then you have here a secret depository of the best Quantic techniques. One secret for another.”

“Why Scorio wish to learn?”

“Yes,” said Lianshi, turning on him. “What are you thinking? You’ll die of mana poisoning.”

Scorio didn’t look at her. “Because my Heart is fractured, Nox. I lose most of the mana I draw upon. I want to use your technique to compensate for that loss.”

“That doesn’t make sense!” Lianshi almost stamped her foot. “Your body is filled with blood! If you perform his technique, you’ll replace it with Coal mana, and die, Scorio.”

“Favorite friend Lianshi speaks true.” Nox adjusted his digits upon the rock. “This not a good idea.”

“I understand, and I don’t mean to execute your technique as you do,” said Scorio, speaking carefully, cautiously, patiently. “Just learn the outlines of your approach, and then implement a key adjustment. That’s all.”

“A key adjustment?” Lianshi’s frustration was reaching a fever pitch. “You can’t adjust your basic biology, Scorio. If this is your plan, then I regret helping you! Nox, ignore him, please!”

The toad’s throat swelled out, returned, swelled out, returned. “Won’t work. Imperial Ghost Toads enter ghost state to absorb dense mana. Humans cannot.”

“Right,” said Scorio. “I won’t have to, though. I’ve an alternative in mind.”

“What alternative, Scorio?” Lianshi sounded half despairing, half like she wanted to punch him.

“Easy,” said Leonis, pulling her back a step. “Give the man a chance to talk.”

“I’ve eight weeks or so to cultivate Black Star plants. I mean to plant hundreds of them, as many as I can, and harvest them three times before the Gauntlet run. With that many seeds, I’ll make enough diluted tincture to submerge myself in. Then I’ll perform the Secret Marinating Technique and absorb enough mana all in one go to break through to Emberling.”

His words hung in the air, his crazed idea, and even as he said it, Scorio fought off despair. It sounded like rank madness, so wild a hypothesis that he’d not have dared voice it if he had any other chance.

“Scorio,” said Lianshi, tone pitying. “There’s got to be a better way.”

“Like what, Lianshi?” He rounded on her, his anger suddenly burning bright. “Ask Dola to take me back so I can commit more crimes, steal more treasures from the Houses? Smuggle myself out into the Rascor Plains so I can hunt down fiends I can harvest for treasure? Abase myself to Praximar and beg for a second chance? Steal from our cohort?”

“No,” said Lianshi softly, and the sorrow in her face was almost more than he could bear. “Maybe you have to admit that you can’t win through on this one. Maybe you need to accept defeat, and find a way to start over again, from outside the Academy.”

Her words were like daggers punching into his body, and Scorio stiffened, his jaw clenching.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “But nothing is worth your dying over.”

Scorio looked to Leonis, whose jocular face was now cast in a solemn expression. “I’m sorry Scorio,” he said at last, tone grave. “I’m all for wild and improbable strategies, but asking an Imperial Ghost Toad to teach you his Delightful Secret Marinating technique so that you can drown yourself in a bath filled with toxic Black Star tincture doesn’t sound…” He trailed off then shrugged his shoulders apologetically. “Maybe Lianshi’s right on this one.”

Scorio felt his breath coming rapidly in shallow pants. The worst of it was that he’d wrestled with these very doubts himself. But the alternative, the path of defeat, just wasn’t an option. The thought of leaving the Academy, shoulders slumped, to—what—find some low-tier job at House Chimera under Gelegos’s blessings?—drove him half-wild with madness.

“No,” he hissed, and curled both hands into tightly knotted fists. “I’m Scorio the Scourer, Lord of Nagaran, Master of the Black Tower, The Bringer of Ash and Darkness, the Shadow of Spurn Harbor, the Abhorred, Quencher of Hope and Unmaker of Joy. I will not admit defeat. I will not bend the knee to Praximar, to anyone. I will find a way to victory, or die trying.” His stare was such that the air before him seemed to quiver with heat. “Do not try to stop me.”

His friends stared at him, their faces pale, and then Lianshi looked away. “Fine. But I won’t witness your self-destruction either. I care too much for you to stand by and watch you commit suicide. I’ll pray for your success, Scorio, but I won’t enable you further. I… I just can’t watch you do this to yourself. I’m sorry.”

And with that, she turned away and began crossing the bridge back to the Academy.

Leonis stood there, shoulders squared, lips pursed, his gaze steadfast. Then, with a sigh, he walked over to where Scorio stood and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m with you, my friend. I don’t agree with you. But I won’t leave you, either. If you mean to kill yourself, then at least I can make sure you don’t die alone.”

Scorio’s eyes prickled with tears, and he placed his hand over Leonis’s own, then turned to stare at Lianshi’s departing back.

“Give her time,” said Leonis quietly. “She feels more deeply than either of us. She’s with you still. She just needs time.”

“Fair enough,” said Scorio, his voice thickened and rough. “Thank you.”

Leonis gave his shoulder a squeeze and stepped back, turning to Nox. “So, favorite friend Nox. What do you say? A treatise on Quantics in exchange for a small favor for your favorite friends?”

Nox’s impossibly already wide mouth widened further into a disturbing smile. “For my favorite friends? Absolutely.”