“Centarch Tanax,” Prodominus interrupted, “confirmed that he fought to the best of his ability, as was his duty to the centarchate, in spite of your vulnerability. He asked that the result of the duel stand.”
The Dogmatic woman crossed her arms, disgruntled, and her companions looked equally unhappy. On the Pragmatic wing, there were quiet smiles.
Maya prickled uncomfortably, her triumph soured by the frustrating feeling of being in Tanax’s debt. No. I shouldn’t owe him for doing the right thing. The exhausting part, she reflected, was that he would probably agree.
“Therefore, as dictated in the founding rules of the Twilight Order and the Inheritance, the Council recognizes your skill and courage,” Prodominus went on. “You are hereby granted the rank of Centarch of the Order.”
I’m … Maya blinked. That’s it? Just like that?
Everyone was staring at her, and she realized she was supposed to speak. Maya coughed.
“Thank you, Kyriliarch. I am honored by the Order’s trust.”
Prodominus continued. “As you know, tradition dictates that new centarchs receive a cognomen from their masters. With Centarch Jaedia’s absence, that duty falls to us.”
Maya tensed again, waiting for the Council to stick in the knife. A highly respected agathios would receive a cognomen held by many centarchs before them, the more prestigious the better. One who was in disfavor might get a ‘virgin’ name, with no prior lineage. She could guess which of the two someone who had challenged the Council was more likely to receive, without a master to speak for her.
To her surprise, though, Prodominus fell silent, and Baselanthus spoke up.
“Jaedia was my own agathios. In spite of what she stands accused of, I have always believed in her. She told me what cognomen she intended to grant Maya, on the completion of her training, and I shall honor her wishes.” He cleared his throat. “The Council names you Centarch Maya Burningblade.”
Burningblade. At first Maya thought she’d misheard, especially since the murmur around the edges of the room swelled to a quiet roar as soon as Baselanthus fell silent. The name was on everyone’s lips. Burningblade.
It was not a virgin cognomen. Far from it. Gaesta Burningblade had been one of the twelve centarchs first given their haken by the Chosen themselves, the distant ancestors of the Kyriliarchs. It had been granted many times in the past four hundred years, always to centarchs whose power manifested as Maya’s did—in the pure fire of the sun. None of its bearers had failed to do the name honor.
Jaedia wanted that for me. For a moment, her throat was too thick to respond. Finally, she managed a small voice, which went mostly unheard among the rising tumult.
“I am … honored, Kyriliarch.”
*
After that, the Dogmatic members of the Council had left, stiff-necked, while everyone else seemed to want to congratulate Maya. She shook hands, numbly, with some of the most respected and powerful members of the Order, too shocked to note their colors or remember their names. Someone clapped her on the shoulder, which sent a jolt of pain through her arm, and she doubled over. Distantly, she heard someone saying that the new centarch was tired and needed rest. An arm slipped through hers—on her good side—and she found herself pulled toward the door.
Only when she was out in the corridor did she manage to straighten up. Baselanthus looked down at her, eyes twinkling.
“You seemed like you needed rescue, my dear,” he said.
“Chosen defend me,” Maya said. “Thank you. And … for what you said—”
“As to that,” the old man said firmly, “we should speak in private. Do you think you have the strength?”
Maya nodded. Basel let go of her arm and led the way down the hall to his office. He settled in behind his desk, among the collection of strange arcana, and Maya closed the heavy door behind her. With the sound of conversation from the hall cut off, she relaxed a fraction.
“You seem surprised at how things worked out,” Basel said.
“I … expected more …”
“Resistance?”
“Yes, Kyriliarch.”
“Oh, no need for that. Not in here, at least. I was always Basel to Jaedia.” He waved at the chairs opposite his desk. “Sit, if you like. I know your hip pains you.”
“Thank you, K—Basel.” Maya took the seat opposite him with relief.
“If Nicomidi had not decamped so suddenly, I daresay you would have had more of a fight on your hands. As it is, the Dogmatics found the wind quite taken out of their sails and declined to make an issue of it after we heard Tanax’s testimony.”
“It just feels very … sudden.”
“Under normal circumstances, there’s a bit more pomp. A ceremony and a reception. But things being as they are, we thought it best to move quickly.” He fixed her with a sharp gaze. “I imagine it is your intention to go after Jaedia as soon as possible.”
Maya nodded vigorously. “Whatever information the Council has must be wrong. Jaedia would never betray the Order; you know that. I suspect she has been deliberately set up.”
“I have never been one to construct conspiracies,” Basel said. “But with Nicomidi’s flight, it does look a bit more plausible. The Council is pursuing its own investigation, of course. I don’t suppose I can convince you to wait?”
“No. Jaedia may need my help.”
“I thought not. As you are a centarch now, and no one is pressing the accusations against you, I have no authority to stop you. And perhaps it is for the best. The Council is … divided.”
“Do we know where Nicomidi went?”
Basel shook his head. “Only that he was in a hurry. He left the arena as soon as your duel ended, visited his office, and then went straight to the Gate chamber before anyone could think to stop him. No one seems to have any idea why, not even his colleagues.”
“If he was the one framing Jaedia—”
“He might have been worried that would come out,” Basel said. “Though the odds of the Council finding evidence to punish a Kyriliarch seem small. But even then, it only pushes the question back a step. Why frame Jaedia at all? What does he have to gain? A minor injury to the Pragmatics and myself doesn’t seem worth the risk.”
“I don’t know,” Maya said. “But I plan to find out. If I see Nicomidi—”
“If you see him, I advise you to stay well away.” Baselanthus leaned forward. “Do not become overconfident, Maya. Nicomidi Thunderclap is most assuredly not Tanax. In due course, the Council will authorize a group of centarchs to hunt him down, if he has truly abandoned us.”
“I’m going to find Jaedia,” Maya said. “Well, and Marn, I suppose. That’s all.”
“I understand. And I wish you the best of luck.” He sighed. “As much as I am bound by the Council and its politics, please don’t think that I love Jaedia any less for it.”
“I don’t.” Maya swallowed. “What you said, about my cognomen …”
“Jaedia requested it for you,” Basel said. “She told me you were going to be the greatest centarch since our founding. Maybe the greatest ever. Bearing the name of our greatest fire-wielder seemed appropriate.” He chuckled. “You can thank Nicomidi, in a way. If not for the state of disarray he put the Dogmatics in, I have no doubt they would have fought to prevent us from giving you such an honor.”