IGS #4, Chapter 65

Scorio

The Silverines chased them all the way back to the Cube, but peeled away at the last, repulsed by some oath or aura of the floating fortress that caused them to not even try to test its defenses.

Scorio didn’t care. He simply fought to keep up with Naomi, who’d tease him by pulling ahead, her tentative laughter carried by the wind, only to turn so that she flew facing him, then abruptly brake so that he’d surge past her, only to come back up and around from beneath, looping around and around him trailing fire.

“That’s not fair!” he called to her, feigning indignation, but all he could do was marvel. What had happened? Where was the Nightmare Lady? How had she become the King’s Scepter? Had she been her all along? But then why did she look different? If one squinted from a distance of some fifty yards she looked alike, but no—she was definitely not the same woman. Not in appearance. Then—?

Jova curved back into view, Xandera coiled on the back of her enlarged plinth, Leonis cradled in the queen’s arms, his head lolling.

Damn. That blast from Daemon’s ferula had taken him right in flank, just to side of his arm, punching through the golden armor and disappearing into his ribs. Scorio’s giddiness steadied out, and Naomi sensed his concern as she matched his speed, flying alongside him and staring at the wounded warrior.

“That looks serious,” she called. “What can we do?”

“Get him to Plassus.”

“Plassus?!” Naomi’s incredulity was near comical. “I thought—”

“I know!” He didn’t know whether to laugh despairingly or clutch his head. “Everything has happened so fast—I can’t keep up with it. And you…” Her smile, discernible even her fiery, golden visage, faded. Scorio could only stare at her as he flew on, trying to reconcile the woman before him with the hissing Nightmare Lady who’d descended into madness. “How?”

“I’ll—I’ll tell you everything,” she promised, but the Cube was looming massively.

So he just nodded and studied the complex surface that faced them. That’s when he recalled: Fionna. He glanced back reflexively, but there was no sign of her, just the desert that stretched out for miles toward the distant mountains, its silver sands refulgent with the Sun’s death throws.

She’d given them the slip.

Should he be surprised? He found that he was. But it was the smart move, from a Herdswoman. Ah well. She’d tried to repay him, had saved his life in their encounter with Anseline. Scorio felt a flare of disappointment, but what was done was done.

Turning, he saw a broad bay appear in the Cube’s side, and he steadied his wings to glide down toward the opening. Nyrix and Kuragin had already made there way there, somehow, and waved and grinned as they drew closer. At the last he righted himself, backbeat strongly, and touched down just within the Cube’s walls. Naomi alighted smoothly beside him, losing her flame form as she did so, while Jova touched her plinth down on the metal floor and turned immediately to Leonis, leaving part of the plinth to hover just outside with Xandera upon it.

“We have to get him to Plassus,” she snapped. Kuragin moved to lift him, but Scorio took over. He hefted his big friend, his scaled arms lifting him easily, and looked to Xandera. “I’ll tell Plassus to find a way to let you—”

“She can enter now,” came Plassus’s disembodied voice from everywhere all at once. “I’ve lowered the wards in the bay. Get her inside before the Silverines come swarming.”

Jova narrowed her eyes and the platform entered, from which Xandera slithered down. Her arm was still missing, but her other wounds had healed over already, the wounded areas glowing faintly with a deep burgundy hue.

“Xandera,” said Scorio, gladness in his heart and voice.

“Scorio.” Her smile was dignified, warm, and redolent with lazy authority. She seemed to be in no pain whatsoever. “Tend to Leonis.”

“Right.” Taking a breath, he hurried into the depths of the bay toward a broad archway and through into the hallway beyond. The others followed after, but they were met by Plassus midway, the Charnel Duke moving at a swift jog, slowing as Scorio entered one of the great halls.

“Set him down,” said Plassus calmly, striding over to stare pensively at Leonis. “Hmm. Nasty, that. Let’s see.” He cracked his knuckles inside his other palm. “I’ve not much facility with healing. Never came easy to me.” But he extended his palm, and Scorio felt the Duke’s Heart flare as power swirled and poured down into Leonis’ recumbent form.

The wound knit over swiftly, but still Plassus labored, lips pursed, eyes narrowed. “Ferula injuries can be more spiritual than physical. The weaker the target, the greater the damage. But… there. That should do it.” And Plassus shook out his hand. “Bah, I need to practice that more.”

Leonis’ hue had returned, and his breathing become deep and slow.

“How?” asked Scorio. “Your Heart. The Blood Ox ruptured it.”

Plassus raised a craggy brow. “Oh, you want to play the ‘how’ game, do you? How about yourself, Mister High and Mighty Blood Baron? The last I saw you, which I reckon was but a couple of months ago, you were naught but a mewling Flame Vault.”

Jova’s smile was merciless. “Please. I’d enjoy seeing him raked over the coals.”

“And you.” Plassus eyed Naomi who’d faded to the back. “You look familiar. Where’d you come from, then?”

“Naomi, sir.” She straightened. “I fought with you on the Bone Plains. And helped Scorio defeat the Blood Ox.”

“And?” prompted Plassus. “You were just lurking around this part of the Unfathom?”

“She’s with us,” said Scorio, trying to keep from sounding defensive.

“No, it’s fine,” said Naomi. “I—I was down in the Lustrous Maria. After—well.” She curled a dark strand of hair behind one ear. “After I healed—was healed—of my… affliction, I discovered a new suite of powers. And because Scorio’s my clutchmate, I could sense his location. So I… I came to reunite with him.”

“Clutchmate?” asked Jova, tone rich with skepticism. “You do know how weird that sounds, don’t you?”

“We both used an Imperial Ghost Toad’s gel bath to learn fiendish techniques,” said Scorio hastily. “A side effect of which was developing a sense for each other and the toad’s location.”

“Scorio.” Naomi turned to him, eyes wide, raw emotion in their depths. “It was Nox that saved me. He helped me… with everything. My life. He saved my life.”

“Nox?” Scorio grinned. “I thought he was headed to the Radiant Pools of Gold?”

Plassus scowled. “Who is this Nox? What are you both blabbering about?”

Jova looked about them. “As much as there is to discuss, should we be doing so out here in the open? And is the Cube secured? Where are we flying to?”

Plassus waved a hand dismissively. “I’m not an gibbering child, Jova, abandoning my post to get the latest gossip from my schoolmates. All is taken care of. But that being said. Let’s find a bottle of something strong and hash this out properly. Someone pick up Leonis. It’s unseemly to leave the man here by himself.”

Scorio shared a glance with Naomi, who smiled shyly in amusement, then seemed to catch herself and looked away.

In short order they found what passed for a lounge or tavern in the domed promenade, Plassus willing the gilded double doors to wing open for them and mana lights to blaze to life only to dim at a wave of his hands. Upholstered booths, free standing tables and chairs, and a sinuous bar of walnut wood edged in gold.

“I’m taking a liking to this Cube,” said the Charnel Duke, striding behind the bar. “Or, more accurately, my ownership of it. A poor man’s Sanctum.” He took up a beautifully crafted bottle of dark liquid and appraised it. “But a well-stocked one.” He twisted the crystal stopper free, and set forth a line of glasses. “Now. Sit, all of you. We’ve anywhere from no time at all to possibly a few days, but mark my words the powers that be will come sniffing around here soon.” He filled each glass to the midpoint, then stoppered the bottle and set it aside. “What’s transpiring outside is a signal fire to all the potentates in Hell. But, seeing as I’m your elder and the most important person here, I’ll begin.”

Scorio took a stool and glass, and raised it to his nose. A heady, peaty scent rich with sweetness rose from the drink, and when he sipped it the liquid ran smoothly down to light a small smolder in his gut.

“As a gesture of friendship,” said Xandera to the Charnel Duke, “I’ll not contest your claims.”

Plassus eyed her. “That’s… a statement you just made. Regardless. My last memory is being borne south by Imperator Sarana, who ignored my every insult and gloated that my end had come at last. But I’ve a talent with insults, and after one particularly choice phrase she cuffed me, and I passed out. My next memory is that of awakening in the dark with these two here looming over me. My Heart was healed. I don’t know how nor why. Such acts are beyond even Imperators, otherwise we’d not have the Fallen running around with their Lacunas giving everybody else heartburn.” Plassus eyed Scorio. “You know about the Tomb?”

“He doesn’t,” said Jova firmly, and recounted the details in her succinctly. Scorio pursed his lips and bowed his head when she reached the moment Druanna and Kelona were slain.

“Ah, don’t get too terribly upset just yet,” said Plassus, leaning back to cross one arm over his chest and hold his glass up by his face with the other. “If an Imperator comes to investigate, there’s a good chance they’ll be able to revive them both.”

“What are the odds of that happening?” asked Scorio, voice husky with emotion. Kelona. It was too easy to remember her bright smile, her endless energy, her hopes, her dreams. Not to mention Druanna, whom he’d convinced to join their expedition, who now was dead—

“Not high,” said Plassus, interrupting his thoughts. “All this is but a minor light show compared to what’s going on down at the Pit. Takes a real crisis to pry one of them away from their duties. Even the Blood Ox barely qualified.”

“I thought you said it was a big deal,” protested Nyrix.

“And it is. While it may not interest those in the Twilight Cradle, there’s plenty of Hell left over that may prove interested. The Scorched Swale, the Emerald Reach, hell, maybe even certain figures in the Azure Expanse.” Plasses shrugged. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

“Imogen came to investigate the Old Academy’s Archspire,” said Naomi. “If there’s one in the Tomb, do you think that could draw her?”

“We’d better bloody hope not,” said Plassus with a feral grin. “Talented as you all are, we’d none of us have a chance against her. But enough of that. Now, Naomi. It’s your turn.”

Naomi took a deep breath, glanced nervously at Scorio, and began. Her tone was low, hesitant, and she began with the Blood Ox’s death.

“But we were betrayed by Bravurn’s followers. Amity and Valdun. They… they were forced by their Heart Oaths to Bravurn to attack us, but I… I became so furious. So angry. It had been so predictable, so pathetic, so…”

Nobody spoke.

“But I wasn’t myself. I was… I’d grown lost. I’d been drowning in hatred for months.” Naomi had crossed her arms tightly, seemed almost to be hugging herself. Her head was bowed so that her dark hair could spill forward, and the sight of her like this was so familiar that it caused Scorio to feel a sharp pang of remorse and affection and pain.

“So.” Naomi took a sharp breath and raised her face. “After… after what happened, I ran. For a long time. Till Nox— the Imperial Ghost Toad, though he’s an Emperor Wraith now—found me. And he kept me alive.”

“A fiend did this?” asked Plassus.

Xandera said nothing, but heat washed out from her, dry and baking like that from a great furnace.

“Right, apologies,” said Plassus. “Question retracted.”

Naomi forced herself to continue. “His elders told us I was infected. A tenebrite was inside me. That the Nightmare Lady was a fiend.”

“What?” Scorio leaned forward. “An actual fiend?”

“Ah,” said Plassus, eyes gleaming. “Now that’s interesting. And, I had thought, impossible.”

“We traveled south and met other tenebrites. After… well. We confronted them, and forced them to extract the Nightmare Lady. I passed out, and Nox carried me away. I awoke… like this.” And she glanced down at herself, muted wonder rising to her face. “My old powers, the Nightmare Lady’s powers, were gone. And these new ones… I simply manifested them.”

“I recognize her powers,” said Scorio firmly. “From my Trials in Eterra. She looked different, but the powers are the same.”

“Huh,” said Plassus.

“I remember her, too,” said Kuragin softly. All eyes turned to him. “I shared a past with Scorio, though we were on different sides. The King’s Scepter. You led his personal host.” His voice was low, rough. “Were famous for being untouchable. No enemy could bear to strike you.”

Naomi stared at him quizzically. “I don’t…”

“Wait,” cut in Jova. “Dameon had Dominion out there. But you were able to keep fighting.”

Naomi shrugged one shoulder apologetically. “I don’t understand it either.”

“What now?” Plassus set his drink down firmly. “You contested his Primacy?”

“No?” Naomi looked bewildered. “I just… ignored it?”

“Ha!” Plassus grinned, his amusement feral. “Nonsense. But easily tested.” And his presence abruptly expanded around them, total and utter and without doubt. Scorio felt his own reservoir freeze over, and marveled at the difference between this and what Dameon had exhibited: there was no contesting Plassus. No hope at all.

Naomi stared at the Charnel Duke and slipped off her stool. In perfect silence she took three steps back, getting space, and then blazed into her flame figure.

“What in the ever living fuck?” snapped Plassus, leaning forward to glare at her. “I have Primacy.” And if anything, the Charnel Duke’s will redoubled, the air growing gelid and thick, the tension such that Scorio could barely breathe.

Naomi crossed her arms and burned on.

“Pah,” said Plassus, and relinquished his Dominion. The air cleared, and Scorio felt like he could breathe again. “Only fiends can operate under Primacy. You a fiend, girl?”

“She’s natural born,” said Scorio quietly. “The Herdsmen were waiting for someone like her, said there was a prophecy that she’d take over the Cube and bring about the final days.”

“Take over the Cube?” Plassus eyed Scorio. “My Cube?” Before Scorio could protest, Plassus grinned. “I jest, boy. Relax. But this is a poor prophecy. I’m not natural-born, and I’ve claimed the Cube. That, and the if the final days aren’t upon us, I’m a jumped up pompinjay.” He rubbed at this stubbled chin as he considered Naomi. “When you move up the ranks, do you experience Trials?”

“No Trials,” said Naomi softly, releasing her flame form and returning to her stool.

“But you have a Heart. I can see it now.” Plassus frowned. “But when you Ignited, it felt… strange. When I exerted Dominion, it had no effect on your burn.” He tapped his fingers on the bar. “That just doesn’t add up.”

“The tenebrites… their leader said we Great Souls are fools. That we split our powers into ranks in a way that just holds us back.” Naomi gazed around their group. “That with his help, I could break down the walls and seize all my power at once.”

Nyrix snorted. “How trustworthy was this fiend?”

“Not very,” said Naomi, looking down.

“Hmm.” Plassus gazed into his drink. “It’s known that we Great Souls made a bargain in our bid for immortality. In order to harness our souls to the Archspire, we accepted the creation of our Hearts and the process of rising through the ranks. None of us have memories of Hearts or reservoirs in our Trials. Not a one. Yet here in Hell we do. But.” He raised a finger. “Nor has a Great Soul ever seen or heard of a ferula within their Trial, or the heard tell of the concept of Dominion. None of our powers beyond the rank of Dread Blaze. It’s said we all agreed to this in order to achieve greater power. To be able to rise to the rank of Imperator, and thus defeat the Pit.” Plassus considered, then shrugged. “But who the fucks knows. You, Naomi. You weren’t part of the original invasion, were you? You were just born here, in Hell. So perhaps you are as we all once were. What rank are you?”

“I was a Dread Blaze,” said Naomi softly. “Am. I don’t really know, now.”

“Hmm. In Eterra, we matured into our powers, some rapidly, or others, like myself, over the course of our entire blasted lives. Perhaps…” Plassus studied her. “Perhaps with the removal of the Nightmare Lady you’ve simply become what you’d have been at this stage back home.”

Naomi nodded slowly, then frowned. “But one of the Sovereign Death Toads said Acherzua—Hell—won’t allow new Great Souls to manifest their powers.”

“Smart toads,” said Plassus. “They’re right. It’s something that’s always been technically possible, but hell if I can remember hearing of it ever happening. But they said Hell itself won’t allow it?”

Kuragin scoffed. “What, as in the mountains and dirt?”

“Acherzua is our greatest queen,” said Xandera, rising slowly to a greater height behind Kuragin, who wheeled about and drew back. “She is vast and beyond all comprehension. She breathes with the wind, bleeds fire deep within the earth, she crafts and nurtures, she raises up and brings down. Acherzua is the great mother, the endless giver, the kind destroyer.” Her voice had grown hollow and somehow more pervasive so that the entire lounge seemed to resonate with her intensity. “What she wills comes to pass. If she does not will for Great Souls to manifest in her lands, then they shall not.”

“Oh,” said Kuragin weakly. “All right. That’s… that’s good to know.”

Plassus sipped his drink, unfazed by Xandera’s display of displeasure. “I’ve heard of fiendish reverence for the land, but, eh.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I’ve clearly not spent enough time having drinks with fiends. Kuragin’s right. That’s good to know.”

Xandera subsided slowly, her heat abating.

“Speaking of,” said Jova. “The next Class is going to be extraordinary.”

“It’s been a source of quiet joy,” said Leonis from where they’d lain him down in a booth. “The knowledge that Praximar won’t be there to see it.”

“Leonis!” Scorio hopped off his stool and rushed to his side. “You’re… how are you feeling?”

“Great,” lied Leonis, but with a grunt he sat up. His face was lined, his smile rough and ready. “Well. Not bad.”

“Everyone’s a critic,” groused Plassus. “Just be glad you’re not dead.”

“How many Great Souls were just freed into the Archspire?” asked Nyrix. “It looked like hundreds to me.”

“Iulius the Golden, Moravius the Black…” Jova shook her head in wonder. “This explains where they’ve all been.”

“Poor Praximar,” said Naomi, quiet amusement returning to her face. “Isn’t there a chance he’ll be reborn into this next class as well?”

“Irony of ironies,” said Leonis. “Someone should make a point of telling him his inclusion is an accident.”

“Anseline—the Charnel Duchess who was running the Cube—said that I was to take over and deliver an incredible weapon to the war,” said Scorio. “Do you think she meant those Great Souls?”

Plassus considered. “I don’t think so. The biers on which they lay were keeping them out of the reincarnation cycle, but when I released them, old age caught up with them all at once. Unless she meant the next Class was to be the weapon. That being said, there are all manner of rooms in this place I’ve been wanting to explore. Places with strange mana signatures like nothing I’ve seen.”

“What about the prophecy?” asked Scorio. “The one that said the Cube was destined for a natural-born Great Soul?”

“She can resist Dominion, fine. But can she exert it?” asked Plassus skeptically.

Naomi looked down. “I—no. I can’t. Not that I know of.”

“There you have it,” said Plassus. “Looks like this floating palace is all mine till someone more powerful and less pleasant shows up.”

“What’s our plan?” asked Jova. “The Sun is still exploding, correct? Are we going to take the Cube to the Red Keep?”

“That’s the big question.” Plassus finished his glass and refilled it. “I’d wager we won’t get far before the Seamstress or Broic the Brawler or an Imperator or some horrible fiend—no offense there, Queen Xandera—shows up to claim it.”

“Still.” Scorio tapped his finger on the side of the glass. “Can you bring it into the same plane as the Red Keep?”

“Meh.” Plassus considered. “Tricky. Probably. It’s like trying to catch a glass eel in a giant pool of water. Doable, but the Cube’s slippery. That being said, there’s no hiding it now. What concerns me, though, is what the Silverines are doing.”

“What are they doing?” asked Kuragin.

“They’re clustering around the area where the detonating Sun was—is—sending mana to the Cube. Which, if my Unfathom lore is correct, is a bad thing.” Plassus shook his head. “Last I heard, the Silverines weren’t aware their Suns were being tapped.”

“Oh, damn,” said Nyrix. “And there are dozens of Suns, right? Tens or hundred of thousands of Silverines? If they find out the truth now…”

“Right.” Realization stole over Scorio. “They believed they were constantly on the verge of ascending. But if they figure out the Suns were nothing but a source of power for Great Souls all along…”

They all sat with that fact.

“Can they sever the siphons?” asked Naomi.

“How the hell should I know?” asked Plassus. “I look like a Silverine expert to you? I was just minding my business trying to push the Blood Ox’s face down his throat what felt like yesterday, far as my memory goes. But.” He raised his glass, forefinger extended. “Simple logic tells me this is going to get very ugly, very quickly. Matter of fact, we should send word to the Red Keep. Fast. If it’s not already too late.”

“I can go,” said Naomi, then repeated herself with greater assurance. “I can do it. I can fly very quickly now.”

“Hmm.” Plassus tapped his glass against his chin. “You, young lady, look exhausted. You just flew in from the Lustrous Maria, correct?”

“I—yes.”

“Actually, you all look beat.” Plassus shook his head. “Considering what you’ve been through, it’s a miracle you’re still standing. Hold on.” His gaze unfocused. “Well, well, well. Looks like we’ve got an Abstraction studying us.”

“Sturying?” asked Kuragin. “You can sense that?”

“Manner of speaking. It’s cast a mana net over the Cube. Not a net. A… blast it, I don’t know what it is. It’s not doing anything to us. But… we have its attention.”

“I thought they were stationary,” said Nyrix unhappily.

“And thus ends you happy childhood.” Plassus downed his drink and set the glass aside. “All right. We’ve not nearly as much time as I’d initially thought. Let’s assume some heavy hitters are on their way, but if they’re coming from the Scorched Swale or further south, it’ll take them a day or two. Unless of course they’ve got a teleporter on hand and deem this worth the usage. So. We need to get evacuation orders to the Keep, and… yes. Probably word to LastRock. I’m assuming we have LastRock?”

“Moira has it,” said Scorio.

“Moira. Well, she’s competent if nothing else. She’ll need to know. If the Silverine situation goes badly, it’ll go badly fast. I’m going to keep this Cube afloat for now. Someone’s going to come knocking. But before we send word out, you all need to rest.”

“We don’t have time to rest,” said Jova stubbornly.

“How far are we from the Red Keep?” asked Plassus.

“Three or four days of direct flight,” said Scorio. “If we don’t stop like we were doing on the way up.” And he couldn’t help but glance at Xandera.

“Get four hours of shut eye,” said Plassus. “Then go.”

Jova nodded grudgingly.

“What happened to the Herdsmen?” asked Scorio, suddenly realizing he’d seen no sign of Sal or Havert or the others.

“I asked them to confine themselves to their quarters. They’re there now.” Plassus smiled. “My treatment of Bravurn has apparently made my requests very convincing.”

“All right.” Scorio stood. “Then… we should get our rest.”

“Grab food and drink on the way to your rooms.” Plassus considered. “There are storage places with rations or something on the way to apartments just across the promenade. I’ll have them light up for you.”

“Where are Druanna and Kelona’s remains?” asked Scorio.

“I’ll fetch them,” said Jova, tone firm. “Kuragin? Nyrix?”

“We’re with you,” agreed Nyrix, and Kuragin nodded firmly.

Everybody rose from their stools. Plassus remained behind the bar, the half-emptied bottle at hand, and caught Scorio’s eye as he turned to go. “You. Wait.”

The others quit the lounge, most of them glancing back curiously as they left, and once they were gone Plassus crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. “How are you holding up?”

“Me?” Scorio ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

“I can tell. I see the way the others look to you. I may be the highest ranked here, but you’re their leader. You’ve earned it, and I can tell you’ve taken the responsibility for them.”

Scorio nodded uncertainly.

“You’ve done good, Scorio. What you all have uncovered out here, well.” Plassus sawed at his jaw with one hand. “I can’t begin to fathom how this will change political equations across Hell. From all the great names that will be reborn in the next class to the exposure of the Herdsmen to my outing an Imperator for her role in this to the existence of this bloody Cube.” Plassus grinned. “What a mess this is going to make. Kuragin and Nyrix filled me in on the details while we were waiting for you all to return. I don’t think it’s an exagerration to say you’re responsible for all this.”

“For better or worse.”

“For better,” said Plassus confidently. “Any damage brought about by exposing the truth was already hurting people without their knowing. You’ve done good, lad. At great expense, I know, but you’ve done good.”

Scorio wanted to protest, but it was all he could do to just put his hands on his hips and stare at the floor. “I can’t help but focus on the losses.”

“Aye. I’ve no wisdom there. Set yourself against the world and the world will make you pay. But I’ve lost my fair share of good people. And yes, you can tell yourself they’ll be reborn, but it’s never the same.” Plassus seemed to sink into a moment of dolorous reverie. They stood in silent for a spell, but then the Charnel Duke roused himself. “The losses added up until I couldn’t stand to lose anymore. And in my madness, I decided it was better to throw everything into the flames rather than to continue bleeding out slowly.” He grinned wryly at Scorio. “Until a young idiot barged into my chambers in the Fury Spires, called me a coward, and challenged me to a duel.”

Scorio snorted in rueful amusement.

“You shamed me into action, and I demanded you fight for me. Do you recall why?”

Scorio raised a brow.

“Because I knew you’d continue making life hell for our enemies. And that’s how you handle the pain of your losses. Turn it into action. Whatever you’re feeling now, make your foes feel ten times worse.” Plassus grinned. “And I know that’s a unique talent of yours.”

Scorio considered, then forced a smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good man. Now. Summon your ferula.”

Scorio hesitated, surprised, then did as he was told. Plassus didn’t reach for it, but simply examined it from where he stood. “Now that’s a pretty thing. But you feel off. Something about your Heart and mana usage is fucked. How many vortices can you send out?”

“None. All of them.”

Plassus raised a brow.

“Watch.” Scorio reached out with his Heart senses, and took in the Bronze that filled the room. Plassus had Dominion, yes, but hadn’t exerted Primacy, so he envisioned the chamber full of the Imperial Gel matrix and willed it to collapse into his Heart.

The Bronze began to slowly swirl about him, and then, as one, collectively, caught fire.

“What the—” Plassus snapped his fingers and the Bronze stilled, all control wrested from Scorio’s hand like a sweet taken from a child. “What was that?”

“Yeah, exactly.” Scorio tapped his ferula against his shoulder. “I can turn it all solid, too.”

Plassus was glaring at him as if he’d just sprouted a second head. “Do it again.”

Scorio repeated the process several times under Plassus’s watchful eye, until the older man gestured for him to stop. “Well I’ll be damned. That’s the most ass backwards way I’ve ever seen someone try to claim Dominion.”

“Feels like it.” Scorio sat on a stool, exhausted. “I can gum up the works, slow down other people’s attempt to claim Primacy, but not claim it myself.”

“I’d reckon not. Huh.” Plassus tapped his chin. “Fascinating. Ridiculous, mind you, but fascinating. I’ll think on it. I can hardly let you stumble out there like a drunk Charnel Duke who doesn’t know his ass from his face.”

“Thanks. Any guidance would be most…” Scorio swallowed a yawn. “Must appreciated.”

Plassus snorted in amusement. “You’re a hair shy of making Charnel Duke. If we can sort out this nonsense. But go sleep. I’ll have some advice when you awaken.”

Scorio rose, inclined his head, and quit the lounge. Exhaustion, grief, hope, fear, and wonder swirled through him. Too much had happened in too little time. Pain over Kelona’s death shifted into satisfaction over Dameon’s death, then became awe and horror at what was happening with the Suns, then nervousness and hope at the return of Naomi.

Too much. It was all just too much.

He followed a band of light that Plassus had no doubt lit for him across the echoing promenade, in through an archway that led to a flight of steps that climbed to a third floor hallway with a dozen doors off its length.

The strip of light led halfway down to one door, but when Scorio reached it, he heard another open behind him.

“Scorio?” He turned to see Naomi in her doorway. “Can we talk?”