The Dragons of Nova (Loom Saga Book 2)

by Elise Kova

  “So you are new to the upper side of the isle.” The woman smiled, flashing her teeth.

  Arianna was new to Nova. She was still attaching textbook learning to practical meaning. But she knew when someone was trying to intimidate her. She smiled wide in return and wondered if she’d made her canines long enough in the illusion she’d crafted.

  Apparently she had, as the woman broke eye contact first and turned back to Cvareh. “A personal Anh, I take it?”

  “Indeed.” Cvareh had yet to remove his hand from her person and Arianna was ready to remove it herself. The only thing that prevented her from doing so was the determined grip he had, the swell of his magic at her side that felt as if it were trying to engulf her.

  “You are so lucky, Ari’Anh.” Arianna instantly didn’t like the way her name sounded in the woman’s mouth. “To have been noticed by the Xin’Ryu.”

  Arianna said nothing. She just kept smiling. And drinking her wine.

  “How long will you be in Napole?” the woman asked.

  “The night.” Cvareh guided Arianna inside, earning himself a questioning glare. He didn’t change his demeanor. “I trust you have lodging?”

  “For you? Always.” The woman smiled, thinner, subservient to Cvareh.

  They were led down a long hall. A swirling ribbon carved into the wood on either side of them created a dizzying pattern from one end to the next, breaking away from the wall to become the banister for a wide stairway. Arianna stretched her fingers against their binding. Her fifth finger had gone completely unresponsive, the bone likely shattered to dust from magical exhaustion.

  “Will this be suitable?” The innkeeper opened a wide door that had the motif of a bird painted across its surface.

  The room itself shone like freshly oiled clockwork. Wooden floors were polished to a mirror shine, reflecting light off the many portals that had been bored into the far wall. Silver lined them, curling like tiny serpents that seemed to wriggle in the sunlight, connecting every window to a grand mirror on the ceiling—of all places. A perfectly square bed jutted against the unnecessary curves of the room, its linens softening the hard lines of its wooden base. Arianna narrowed her eyes at the furniture.

  “It will do.” Cvareh hardly seemed impressed.

  “Do let me know if you need anything.” The woman bowed, her breasts hanging erotically.

  Arianna kept her eyes anywhere else. The woman had a nice figure, certainly. But such a sight should be earned. If given to everyone, it held no excitement and therefore lacked interest.

  “I will, Xillia.” Cvareh dismissed the woman, shutting the door in haste. He turned to Arianna, and they shared a long look. “I thought you might need to relax your illusion and rest a moment.”

  Her whole body tensed instantly at the notion. He had preempted her status. Arianna placed her wine down on a nearby table, grabbed for the splint, pulled it off, and let the illusion fall away with the same gritty feeling as a rain of sand. “Could you smell it in my magic?”

  “Smell what?” He seemed confused.

  “The illusion beginning to turn.” Arianna held up her hand. Her fifth finger was completely limp, almost like gelatin encased in flesh; bruising turned the blue of the hand dark. Her fourth finger hung at a painful angle. She snapped it back into place with a small grimace.

  “No, your magic didn’t smell any different than it normally does.”

  “Then how did you know?” Arianna needed to dissect the weaknesses in her illusion. While she was confident in her ability to take on most Dragons, especially now with claws at her disposal, she didn’t want to be put in a position where she had to.

  “Call it intuition.” He shrugged.

  Arianna scowled at him.

  “And what have I done to offend you now?” Cvareh chuckled lightly.

  That only served to sour her mood more. “‘Intuition’ makes no sense. Intuition is merely a collection of past evidence compiled in your subconscious. There’s a reason you thought that. Just like there’s a reason for, for this.” She motioned to the windows.

  “For what?”

  “For why they’re spaced oddly, and circular—do you have any idea how much effort it is to make a circle that perfect architecturally?”

  He appeared to be really considering it, as if for the first time. “They’re prettier that way.”

  She was going to literally tear out her hair. Arianna spun on her heel and stalked toward the bed. Her magic was exhausted and recovering slowly while her fingers finished knitting. She grabbed a fist full of pillow and threw it over her shoulder.

  “Now what?” Cvareh leaned against the door, an amused pull at the corner of his lips. She was going to carve that look off his face if he kept it up.

  “I’m told there’s a bed under here.” She continued to cast aside the offending cushions. “I intend to make use of it so my magic recovers faster.”

  “It’s more comfortable if you actually sleep on the pillows, you know.”

  Arianna paused with a dramatic sigh. “Cvareh, no Dragon, Fenthri, Chimera, or creature on Loom or Nova or anywhere else needs this many plush objects to sleep upon. A glass doll would call it excessive.”

  “However you like it.” He held his hands out in a motion of forfeit, but his magic still sparked with amusement.

  She turned her eyes away from him, not wanting to see the shine that seemed to almost visibly spark around him. Magic held no light, unless channeled through gold. She really was losing her mind in this backwards land if she began to believe otherwise.

  “Yes, remember that.” She fell on the bed with purpose. “For I am going to sleep just long enough to recover my magic, and then you shall show me this Napole in earnest.”

  “If it pleases you, Ari.” His voice was nearer. The mattress, in all its softness, betrayed his weight as he sat on the edge of the bed.

  Arianna wanted to tell the Dragon that his encroaching presence was unwelcome. That despite whatever kindness he showed her, whatever familiarity his magic held, whatever warmth she could find in the tones of his voice, she simply did not want him there. She had not given him express permission to share her bed. But she couldn’t see to bring herself to deny him either.

  She wanted to lash out at him ferociously. But her magic was more exhausted than she gave it credit for. Her eyelids felt heavy and the bed—even the remaining pillows—were more comfortable than she’d anticipated. She heard Cvareh settle among his cloud of cushions, the plush articles creating a barrier between their bodies. Arianna closed her eyes and did nothing to remove his familiar presence from her side.

  19. Cvareh

  His enigma slept.

  Nova was different when Arianna was upon it. Familiar societal norms were suddenly cause for concern as potential interactions that could expose her for what she was. For what she was.

  The thought turned over in his head again and again as he remained poised in such a way that he could watch her sleep. He didn’t move out of fear of disturbing her, his arm prickling and then going numb from the strange position. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her sleep, but something felt different without Florence snuggled against the woman’s chest.

  She was still dressed in Dragon clothing, and her body was on display to him for the first time. The Arianna on Loom had always been buttoned up tightly, reserved and withdrawn. Here his eyes could draw lines up her thighs, trace the hard muscles that cut across her abdomen, the swell of her biceps draped across her covered breasts. They rested on dark marks etched into her skin. Tattoos, but not like the one that should be emblazoned on her cheek. Script-like numbers scrolled across her right wrist, just off to the side of her modest cleavage, upon her left shoulder.

  He wanted nothing more than to delicately trace his claw over them. To learn their locations with his eyes, his hand, his mouth…

  This w
oman should be his mortal enemy, and here he was admiring her. Cvareh finally eased onto his back, staring at his reflection in the ceiling. He certainly looked the same, but something had changed on Loom.

  The reflection blurred a moment, clouded by the memory of Finnyr’s face when Cvareh had told him he needed to remove his hands. He had harvested his brother. Conflict clouded his chest. Sure, Petra had blessed it, even ordered it expressly as the Oji—and there was no questioning nor going back when such an outright decree had been made. Furthermore, him and Finnyr had never been particularly close. After Finnyr had lost to Petra for the Ryu position and was shipped off to Lysip, it was hard to foster a particularly deep bond with his brother. Cvareh had tried, but when Petra had chosen him as her Ryu, rather than Finnyr, it had only exacerbated the problem.

  Still, Finnyr was his brother. He was the direct blood of House Xin. And Cvareh felt more conflict over his lack of feeling conflict than he did actual turmoil over harvesting him.

  Cvareh smiled to himself. Petra would be proud.

  The moment Arianna stirred, she donned the contraption she’d designed for her fingers. It was brilliant, really. And with that alone her illusion settled atop her, weaving like a thousand strands of light to form a perfect facade. It was all a testament to her ingenuity and strength, and Cvareh discredited her with his internal disappointment at seeing her as a Dragon rather than in her natural state.

  When they left, he made it a point to put his hand on her hip once more. The proximity marked her as his. It affirmed to all Dragons that she was claimed by the Xin’Ryu himself. However small the measure of protection was, he would give it to her gladly.

  “How long do you intend to touch me?” she muttered, clearly not sharing his sentiments about the contact.

  “Would you trust me if I say it’s for your best interest?”

  “Hardly.” Her head turned as her eyes remained glued on a stall selling wind chimes. Cvareh briefly debated if the word meant she thought he was doing so because it delighted him. “What are those?”

  “They make sound as the wind blows.”

  “I can see that.” She peeled her attention away long enough to roll her eyes at him. “Is it for wind storms of some variety? A warning?”

  “No, just because they sound nice.”

  All her questions were in the same vein. Arianna asked why some walkways were suspended and why some were on the ground. He remembered the Raven city, and how each level served a separate purpose. But there were no such motives on Nova. Things were as they were because someone was compelled to make them that way.

  Her displeasure mounted throughout the day. Cvareh tried to take her everywhere that made him happy. He took her to his favorite sundries shop, his tailor, to see the best performers in all of Ruana. But Arianna merely continued to withdraw.

  He was exhausted, and he wasn’t even cultivating an illusion.

  They ducked into one of his favorite tea parlors in a quieter area of town. Usually he haunted more fashionable places to see and be seen. But Cvareh avoided them today. He didn’t think he or Arianna could handle the expectations of a highly public appearance. And besides, his tailor had yet to cut him anything befitting of the current season. He would certainly not be seen wearing clothes from a year ago—though the fact had likely already reached the ears of the gossips.

  The parlor’s patrons bowed their heads as he entered. Herbs hung from thick beams that drew lines across a plaster ceiling. They perfumed the air and clouded the nose with promises of brews that would be even more delightful than their aromas. The tea master from behind the bar gave a nod of recognition as Cvareh led Arianna back to an iron gate that served as the parlor’s back door.

  It opened into the shop’s private garden. A delightful nook of Napole with wafting lavender, sunny chamomile, leafy tea plants, and—Cvareh stilled. His favorite scent hovered above them all in a carved arbor that framed the lone table nestled among the greenery. Vining honeysuckle was heavy in the air, the sweet floral notes at once an invitation and a comfort.

  He looked suddenly at the woman next to him.

  “What?” Arianna was expectedly oblivious.

  “Nothing…” The taste of her blood was across his tongue at the mere thought. Had he known all along? Had he sensed it from the first moment he’d met her, the faint aromas that always lingered upon the woman by the very essence of her magic? The smell he so loved was within her veins.

  It didn’t matter what he knew before. He needed her now, more than ever. He wanted to sink his canines into her flesh. He wanted to smear her blood across their flesh, mingling with his. He wanted to drown in her magic. He wanted—

  “What may I get started for you?” The tea master was a welcome interruption.

  “Whatever is in season,” Cvareh mumbled by means of reply. His eyes were on the woman who was easing herself into one of the three seats around the table. Cvareh closed the distance between them once more, pulling his chair slightly closer in the process of sitting. “Do you understand tea?”

  “Brewed herbal remedies for colds and other such things are found on Loom.”

  He couldn’t help his laughter, even though he knew it was going to draw out her ire. “This is purely for pleasure, not for medicinal purposes.”

  “Everything the Dragons do seems to be for pleasure.” She stared at the garden and while he would’ve hoped for a spark of interest or inspiration, the mounting confusion that’d been lining her brow remained. “You build for beauty before function. You spend countless hours on adornments. You make noises with your mouth and tools, calling it song, moving to it and calling it dance, but it serves no greater design.” She shook her head in frustration. “You don’t even know where your water comes from.”

  He’d nearly forgotten about that anecdote from the morning. “You’re not wrong about those things.”

  “But what do you do?” she pressed. “Loom has given the Dragons Gold, gliders, science, mathematics, a true way of understanding the world. We—”

  “That is untrue,” he interrupted. “Nova understands the world in a way Loom does not. We understand it through the Twenty Gods above. We understand it through magic.” She pursed her lips together as he continued. “You’re right, we do not craft engines of steam or write arithmetic that can lift people to the skies. But we understand life, a richer meaning for it than on Loom, and we create joy.”

  “Xin’Ryu.” A young girl with Tam skin delivered steaming mugs of amber colored liquid. Arianna stared so intensely at her that the child was nearly startled.

  “Thank you.” Cvareh dismissed her, sparing her from whatever had Arianna’s vicious interest.

  The girl bowed and turned, happy to flee.

  “I see where the notion came from,” Arianna whispered.

  He couldn’t fathom what she was on about until the woman raised a hand to her cheek. Cvareh hadn’t even noticed the mark. He’d not paid it any credit as he hadn’t his whole life. It was a part of his world, as inconsequential as the icy peaks of the mountains or the never-ending waterfalls. He hadn’t had cause to look at it differently until a Chimera forced him to see it through her eyes. “The tattoos are how we know when someone has left their native House,” he explained.

  “Tattoos should be choices, not brands.” She tried to pin him down with a deathly glare.

  “These are choices. They choose to leave their house and join a new one. It’s how I and everyone else here knows they are friendly, that they are kin. It is their decision.” He reached out and grabbed her wrist, speaking before she could pull away, “Just as these are.”

  Arianna stared at his hand a long moment where it fell over her own tattoos. If her eyes were actual daggers he’d be cut from thumb to cheek. “Unhand me.”

  “Explain them.”

  “Unhand me,” she repeated, a little louder.

 
He acquiesced, but only because he did not want to make a scene. His hand was cold in the wake of her warmth. “I had never seen them before. I want to understand.”

  She looked away sharply, as if he would vanish because her eyes were no longer on him. He didn’t. And so she was left to gather herself to speak. “We call them link marks. They signify a date of importance regarding... a person.”

  And she had three. For whom? He could guess Florence would be one. Her lost lover another… Was another lover the third, perhaps? Even with a short life span and no notion of family, how a Fenthri could forge such a deeply amorous connection with so many people was lost on him.

  “You saw when I dropped my illusion.” She massaged her wrist lightly where he had touched it.

  “I did. I think they’re beautiful.” He operated on instinct, offering encouragement when in doubt.

  She found amusement in that decision. “They are, because they are significant.” Arianna’s purple eyes met his and Cvareh felt helpless in their gaze. “They were choices. For nothing touches my body that isn’t my choice.”

  What did that make him?

  Cvareh opened his mouth to speak and was interrupted by a velvet-clad man. “Cvareh! I did not expect to find you in the city, my friend.”

  “Zurut.” Cvareh stood, embracing the man in greeting. “It was an impromptu trip.”

  “Seeing the tailor, no doubt.” The man picked a ribbon on Cvareh’s shoulder with two fingers as though the color that had gone out of vogue could somehow stain his quite lavish and luxe design. “Are you trying to make a new statement?”

  “Hardly. You couldn’t be more correct, it was time to visit the seam masters.” Cvareh mentally cursed Petra, again, for not ordering clothes to greet him upon his return.

  “And what a time it is! I was just there myself ordering a new jerkin to wear to the Court.”