The Dragons of Nova (Loom Saga Book 2)

by Elise Kova

  Florence bristled at the implication: the idea that she would do something to contribute to the fall of the resistance, rather than its success. She kept her face emotionless as Ari would have. Or tried to.

  “Why don’t you just focus on something that will actually help us? Like trying to pin down those friends of yours who can get guns and clockwork through Ter.4?” No matter how many times Florence reminded her, Nora never seemed to fully grasp that she wasn’t a Raven at heart despite what was on her cheek. And that getting in touch with Helen and Will was harder than turning steel into gold for someone who didn’t understand all the tunnels and transport systems.

  “I am trying to actually help you.” Florence’s plate was empty and she greatly missed the forced breaks in the conversation that came from eating. “But I need more gold and more explosives to do that.”

  “And I’m telling you that you’re not going to be getting any more.”

  “Have you tried speaking with the Vicar about these matters?” Derek stopped Florence mid-breath. Which was likely for the best, as her patience with Nora was running thin.

  “No… Do you think I should?” Florence hadn’t properly been in a guild for nearly three years. Additionally, she’d just been an initiate in the Ravens and it had been made clear to her then that appealing to the higher powers simply wasn’t done. The Vicar Raven always had the Dragon adviser at his side, and Florence had always heard he was strict about adhering to certain expectations about hierarchy.

  But Florence had never seen a Dragon in the Alchemists’ Guild, not counting Cvareh or corpses.

  “You could try pleading your case.” Derek shrugged.

  Florence regarded him skeptically, wondering if he was trying to get her into a worse spot by bringing up her losses with the Vicar.

  “Or don’t.” He stood. “It’s your choice. But your options seem to be growing thinner.”

  Derek held out a hand to Nora, which she took. He helped her to her feet, lacing his fingers against hers. The two left Florence alone to her thoughts.

  She knew better than to pick up any of her remaining chemicals or powders. When her mind was so wild, she’d only produce greater mistakes. That stress had certainly not been helpful over the past few weeks, when her failures were the only thing keeping her ledgers company.

  Florence flipped through her notes, wondering what the Revolver had seen in them. He was a journeyman of the Revos, his tattoo completely filled. He had years of practice ahead of her, and was willing to impart none of it.

  She snapped the book shut.

  Loom was like a mirror that had been cracked by the Dragons’ first descent. Spider-web fractures stretched across its surface, turning a single image into smaller pieces. They were all parts of one whole that fit together, but no longer joined cleanly at the seams. For one dark moment, she wondered if it was a wound that could ever be healed. By what magic could Loom be put back together into a single, flawless piece?

  And then Florence made her way to the Vicar Alchemist. She wasn’t one to sit in place contentedly. Ari had taught her better than that. Even now, from above the clouds, the woman known as the White Wraith challenged Florence to be better, do more.

  She received a few curious stares as she boarded the elevator that went directly to the Vicar’s laboratory, but no one stopped her. It seemed to be an accepted practice in the Alchemists that there were times when one needed to speak to the Vicar. At least, that was what Florence hoped. If not, everyone was about to have a good laugh at her expense.

  “Enter,” a voice called from behind a door emblazoned with the symbol of the Master Alchemist, following Florence’s knock.

  Florence entered, her heart in her throat. Sophie, the Vicar Alchemist, straightened away from her work table. She pulled the refined goggles off her eyes to get a better look at her visitor.

  “I wasn’t expecting a little crow.”

  “Little bullet would be more appropriate,” Florence corrected tiredly. Sophie arched her eyebrows in surprise and Florence added, carefully, “Just a suggestion…”

  “We’ll settle on Florence.” Sophie smiled thinly. “Why has Arianna’s student come to visit me this day?”

  Florence scraped together every rogue bit of boldness before speaking. “I need your backing on some experiments I’m running.”

  “My backing?”

  “Yes, as the Vicar. I’m working on some things to help the rebellion but I need more gold and more gunpowder, at the very least. I’ve been refused.”

  “I know.” Sophie continued to smile and, in that moment, reminded Florence of King Louie. There was nothing physically similar between the capable looking Vicar and the bony man of Mercury Town. But their eyes, their mannerisms, suddenly overlapped so strongly it set off warning bells between Florence’s ears.

  “Then you should know exactly why I’m here.” If Sophie was like Louie, then Florence would treat her as she would the little king of Mercury Town. The only difference was that she no longer had a White Wraith nearby to keep her safe.

  “We’re skipping the small talk then? Excellent.” Sophie’s mannerisms shifted and she returned to managing some bubbling beakers on her table. “Your answer is no.”

  “Vicar, I need—”

  “Whatever you need pales in comparison to the needs of my Guild and this rebellion I’m trying to build.”

  “I want to help the rebellion.”

  “Then actually help us.” Sophie gave her a challenging stare.

  Florence knew that look. It was so similar to the ones Arianna had given her, it was eerie. It reminded Florence, yet again, how little she knew of Arianna’s history.

  “Let’s cut a deal.” Part Ari, part Louie, Florence knew how to navigate this personality. “You know better than anyone the needs of guild and rebellion. You know what I need and what I can do. Tell me how I can help you.”

  “And in return you want access to your resources.”

  “Naturally.”

  “Very well.” The conversation picked up speed like a locomotive down the tracks. “You want more gold? Go and fetch it yourself.”

  “Where is the nearest refinery?” Florence didn’t know the first thing about stealing, but she’d figure it out if she had to. It’s what Arianna would’ve done.

  “Ter.1.”

  “Ter.5 has no refineries?” Florence balked.

  “The Dragon King didn’t want us to have such easy access to gold or reagents.” They both took a silent moment to curse the King’s pragmatism. “We have an allotment that comes along the main tracks through the Skeleton Forest. But it’s not enough.”

  “So you need another shipment.”

  “One outside of Dragon sanction,” Sophie affirmed. “There’s another route, but it’s never used. It was shut down for winding too deep into the forest and too close to endwig haunts.”

  “I’m not a Raven.” Florence was ready to tattoo the words on her opposite cheek.

  “I have secured a Raven to run the engine. I have Alchemists to speak on my behalf. I have a Rivet to ensure things run smoothly along the way.”

  Florence knew where she was headed before Sophie even finished.

  “I do not have a spare Revolver to fight off any who might seek to sabotage the mission. It is not called the Skeleton Forest for nothing. I would not like to see this costly excursion reduced to bones in the woods.”

  It was neat, tidy, and convenient. Sophie won either way. If Florence succeeded, the Vicar would have more resources and a goal accomplished. Giving Florence a little gold in return was nothing in the wake of that particular victory. If Florence failed, she would be one of those corpses, reduced to nothing more than bones licked clean by the Endwig.

  “Do you think I can do it?” Florence was compelled to ask.

  “Of course,” Sophie praised brightly. “Afte
r all, you’re the multi-talented Raven, not Raven but Revolver.”

  Florence took a deep breath and gave Sophie the benefit of the doubt. Florence’s failure would mean the death of her Alchemists. It made no sense for her to be hopeful for it or indifferent to it.

  “Then I’ll do it.”

  “Wonderful. Plan to leave within the fortnight. I’ll spread the word that you’re to have everything you need to prepare.”

  Finally, a gear turned smoothly for Florence. “Thank you.”

  “Oh, and Florence,” Sophie stopped her just as she was about to depart. “I think it goes without saying that this is quite a dangerous mission.”

  Florence knew that, but she nodded anyway.

  “Should you fail, it will mean your death.”

  There was the whisper of a threat ghosting around Sophie’s words, a certainty that couldn’t be known unless a promise was being given. Florence kept her suspicion to herself, not wanting to unreasonably accuse the Vicar Alchemist of telling her outright that her options were to die on the mission, or die upon her unsuccessful return. Florence searched Sophie’s eyes for something more, something else. But there was nothing beyond careful calculation glittering in their depths.

  9. Arianna

  Arianna wished she had Florence’s penchant for explosives. If she did, she would’ve long since slipped a small disk bomb into Cain’s pocket. For one, she liked the man about as much as she enjoyed chewing on rusty nails. But more than that, she couldn’t stand the monotony their days had fallen into. It was a very Revolver notion for her, but stripped screws, she’d blow it all halfway to Ter.5 just to see something happen.

  Breakfast came promptly with the dawn. Cain hand delivered it, seemingly the only one authorized to interact with her on a personal basis. The first few mornings he nearly scared her into a rage at the sound of someone entering her room. The next few mornings, she began to sleep through his arrival, offering no thank you nor note of his efforts on her behalf. The forced lack of appreciation became more normal with each passing day until sleeping through his coming and going became natural.

  Ari still stirred at the sound of someone entering her space. Her hand closed around the hilt of her dagger that she kept under her pillow on instinct. But ritual won out the second the familiar scent of wet earth filled her nose, and she relaxed. Cain never did anything that would warrant her drawing her weapon.

  Around lunch, he would come to her and weave a tight illusion over her that shifted her appearance into the colors and more extreme angles of Dragon skin and bone. Arianna would stare at her brightly colored form in the windows and mirrors of the Xin manor as she explored with Cain in tow. It was an unnatural shade layered atop her, a weightless shroud that was nearly suffocating to all that she was.

  But it was the only way she could escape her room. Cvareh had made Petra’s will clear the last time he’d delivered her back after her second escape; Arianna’s wandering would not be tolerated, given the secret nature of her presence. And, as much as she wanted to delight in putting the Dragons in their places, the truth was she had no ground to stand on for the matter. If Arianna fought, she would only make it so far before being violently subdued.

  The foolishness of her impulsive decision to come to Nova weighed on her more with every passing hour, crushing her with each day. She had no route back to Loom. She knew little of the Dragon’s society and couldn’t even navigate without causing a fuss for no other reason than the shade of her skin. Escape on her own wasn’t enough; she wouldn’t leave after spending this long on Nova without some kind of success, and if she was to accomplish anything she needed to regain some of her sovereignty.

  Arianna vowed to do just that nearly a month into her virtual imprisonment.

  “Take me to Cvareh,” she demanded of Cain, awake with the dawn to greet him.

  The man stared at her for a long moment, then continued his morning rituals as if she hadn’t woken at all. Arianna stood. She would not be ignored.

  “I wish to speak to Cvareh.”

  “And if the Ryu wished to speak to you, do you not think he would’ve come to do so himself?” Cain stared at her from the opposite side of the small table in the center of her room.

  Arianna laughed. That Dragon rank and file nonsense wasn’t about to work on her. She was born of Loom, and she didn’t kneel before any man or woman simply because they wished her to.

  “He doesn’t know I seek him.”

  “Then I shall deliver your message.”

  “I don’t trust you,” Arianna snapped back. For a retort that required such little thought, it stilled Cain by a satisfying margin.

  “I am a Xin’Da, I would never—”

  “That means nothing to me.” She rolled her eyes with a dramatic sigh, sitting heavily on the bed. “All that matters to me is action.”

  “Action?” Cain tapped his fingertips on the table, claws sheathed. “And what have my actions done to earn your mistrust? I have gone out of my way for you. I have attended to you daily. Were it not for my magic, you would be trapped within this room in perpetuity.”

  Arianna scowled viciously, as if to scare away the truth.

  “Do you think I do it because I enjoy being around you?” he scoffed. “Quite the opposite, I assure you.”

  She stared at his hands as they thrummed against the tabletop, her mind made up. “Very well, Cain. If you will not take me to him, bring Cvareh to me.”

  He snorted, crossing over to her. The Dragon stared down his nose at her with his molten gold eyes. Arianna met them fearlessly. Cain cocked his head to the side.

  “Why are you here, White Wraith?”

  She rose to her feet, drawing her full height, but the crown of her head only came up to his mouth. Nevertheless, Arianna stood as though she was eye to eye with the Dragon. She would not be made to feel small. She would not be relegated to the space he deemed her worthy of.

  “Does it bother you, not knowing why you’re ordered to attend to me day after day?” She could only assume he was under orders to oversee her. “The great Cain Xin’Da Bek, reduced to nannying a Chimera. To bringing her food and tending to her needs.”

  Arianna knew just what places to prod. She knew enough of Dragon society to be offensive when it suited her. Cain narrowed his eyes.

  “Now, bring me Cvareh.”

  Cain moved and Arianna fell backward. His hand grasped for the empty air where her face had just been. She collapsed onto the bed, one hand on the hilt of her dagger. The pillow burst in an explosion of feathers as her dagger tore through it; they floated through the air between them as he landed atop her. One hand supported him above her, the other reached for her face again.

  Her dagger rose against his palm, gold dripping onto her shoulder where it bit into his flesh. Arianna scowled. Cain snarled in reply.

  “You think you can order me, Fen?”

  “I do,” she sneered in kind at the slur for her people. “Because if you could kill me, you would’ve already.”

  He pressed his hand forward, the dagger meeting bone. Arianna’s muscles strained against the force, keeping it at bay. Blood fell atop her like raindrops, smelling sharply of the fresh scent of wet earth.

  “Why are you here?” he repeated. “Why have you ventured to my home? Why do you insult my Oji and still walk? How do you make demands of my Ryu as though he breathes for you alone?”

  There was the root of it.

  “Bring me Cvareh,” she demanded again, quietly. So quiet that his dripping blood against her shoulder was louder with each dull splat.

  Cain snarled once more, then pushed away. Arianna pushed back, giving him purchase against her dagger and digging it deeper into his flesh. She laced the slash with magic, stinting his healing and slowing the knitting of his skin. The Dragon looked at it curiously.

  “You act as though you are truly a
Wraith—mighty and untouchable.” He clenched his fingers into a fist, blood oozing between them. “But I have seen your flesh.” The words stung, reminding her of the impropriety she’d endured before him. “I know under the armor of words and talons of sharpened gold, you are no more immortal than I.”

  He left quickly, denying her the possibility of a retort. Arianna was set to pacing, her mind racing. It spun like clockwork assembled around every possibility, tooling for every outcome. At the core of the gearbox of her mind, Florence remained.

  Arianna crossed over to the window, staring at the clouds below her. Not for the first time, she wondered how her apprentice fared. She’d sought redemption in Florence’s eyes, but in doing so had left the girl alone with the one woman whom Arianna had nothing but bitter feelings toward.

  Lost in the labyrinth of her mind, Arianna was startled when she heard the door open once more. She half expected to be faced with Cain and some excuse of why she wasn’t good enough for his Ryu’s time. But the man she sought closed the stately portal behind him.

  Cvareh regarded her warily. As he should, Arianna seethed quietly. They had not spoken since he last condemned her to the proverbial prison she had been trapped within for the past few weeks. He hadn’t so much as sought after her once as far as she knew.

  But would she have wanted him to? She owed him nothing, and he owed her nothing but the yet unrequited boon. That was hardly anything significant to pull them together outside of a magical transaction. And yet, she couldn’t deny a hurt sort of yearning for it.

  “It’s good to see you.” He startled her by speaking first.

  “If that were truly the case, you would’ve looked in on me sooner.” Arianna rolled her eyes, dismissing the sentiment.

  “Well, you’re not exactly the most approachable woman in the manor.” He sat at one of the chairs by her table, glancing at the cooling food. “Is it not to your liking?”

  “Nothing is to my liking.” She narrowed the distance between them. But the advance felt nothing like it had with Cain. There was a different sort of tension between her and Cvareh, a sort of ebb and flow they both could acknowledge but had been strung along in the current despite. He made her quiver with tension. His presence elicited a physical response as her breath held and muscles tensed. But, unlike her body’s response to Cain, it was not her dagger that her hands wanted to reach for. She felt safe around this Dragon. It was a welcome sensation that seemed to be magnified by how long it had been since she had last seen him. “I am trapped within these walls, a prisoner of your sister’s. But she does not seek me out either. I will not hand the Philosopher’s Box to her in a fit of boredom.”