by Elise Kova
The arena had fallen silent. Every ear hung on Cvareh’s response. Yveun waited with a smirk. Cvareh could not back down. If he questioned the legitimacy he’d look like a coward, for they all knew Yveun was going to allow the duel. It was time for the Xin’Ryu to finally enter the ring and be put to rest, out of Yveun’s concerns once and for all.
“I stand for Cvareh’Ryu.” An unfamiliar woman’s voice rang out loud and clear.
Yveun stood slowly, walking to the edge. He had not expected anyone to stand for Cvareh against his Master Rider. To do so was the most foolish display of suicidal loyalty the Court had ever seen. Because if the one who stood for the accused fell, the accused was also put to death.
Far below, a pale blue woman stood with eyes like late sunset and hair the color of morning’s first light. She cut her place in the world with foolhardy arrogance, standing as though she were the personified herald of the Death Lord himself.
25. Arianna
“I, Lossom Rok’Anh To, Master Rider to Yveun Dono, challenge Cvareh Xin’Ryu Soh as a liar, and for disgraces against the Dono’s name in the presence of a Rok.”
Cvareh tensed next to her. His eyes were locked in a grim sort of determination against the crimson man who stood at the edge of the King’s box. Arianna could practically hear the echo of the words repeating themselves in his head as the challenger still spoke them.
“Let he whose merit runs deepest through his veins live for the night’s revelries. Let he whose merit is a facade be reduced to blood upon the ground and shame upon his House.”
Cvareh didn’t move. It was as if the man who called himself Lossom had woven a netted spell that trapped him to the spot. Arianna made quick work of sizing up Lossom. Judging from her angle, the height of the amphitheater, and his perspective size, she knew he was larger than Cvareh both in muscle and height.
Her eyes fell on the beads that dangled by his ear. He had called himself the Master Rider. It seemed Yveun had been forced to go with a less experienced combatant after his other Riders had never returned from Loom.
She knew what was about to happen; she’d seen it enough throughout the day. Cvareh would stand, accept the challenge, and they would descend into the ring. No others of House Xin stood. It was a matter for the Ryu to defend his title, and judging from their practice sessions leading up to the Court, Ari had minimal confidence in his ability to do so.
“I stand for Cvareh’Ryu.” Arianna jumped to her feet.
“What are you doing?” Cvareh hissed.
“Saving your life.”
“This isn’t done.” He grabbed her arm, trying to pull her back down. “Dragons don’t stand for their Ryu or Oji.”
Arianna leaned forward, meeting him halfway. Her mouth found his ear as she spoke “Good thing I’m not a Dragon, then.”
“Who are you?” The King’s voice echoed across the silence.
She turned to address the man who gave face to all her nightmares, the formless evil who stood atop Loom like it was a tailless scorpion beneath his boot. She had watched him all day, studied him in every way she knew how. All evidence pointed to a singular truth: The Dragon King was nothing more than a man.
And men could be killed.
Men could be pinned down and ripped apart and tortured until they begged for release—release that would never be given to them.
“Ari Xin’Anh Bek,” she recited.
His head turned, looking to Petra. Arianna followed his stare as well, catching Cain’s eyes. They were as round as saucers and sparking with anger. She gave him a toothy grin. The man still thought she couldn’t speak Royuk. Well, now he knew.
Petra glanced at her from the corners of her eyes but said nothing. Ari’s play had worked. Petra couldn’t speak against her without calling their whole facade into question. She couldn’t give Ari any more care than she would any other Dragon. She had to ignore the fact that Arianna was the Fenthri who held the design of the Philosopher’s Box in her mind. Cvareh could not stand when someone had stood for him. And that meant she was about to head into the pit.
“Very well, Ari Xin’Anh Bek. You fight with both your life and title as well as that of Cvareh Xin’Ryu.” The Dono gave his blessing with amusement, already writing off the duel, and the Rider launched himself onto the stands nearby.
When Lossom was halfway down, Arianna set herself into motion as well. She’d seen enough of his mannerisms to gain an overall understanding of how fast he could move. She’d meet him in the pit.
The scent of blood and magic assaulted her the second her feet touched the packed ground. With no air or wind, it sat trapped on the surface, smothering her senses with the remnants of gore.
Arianna tightened the splint on her fingers one clip. They would be cut off before her illusion would fall.
She sprinted forward, determined to pounce on the Rider the moment he landed. But he sprung off the wall, spinning through the air and landing nimbly behind her. With the advantage she’d sought lost, Arianna was instantly on defensive.
He swung wide and she ducked, jabbing for his side. The edge of her claw caught against his lined and dotted skin, spilling first blood.
Lossom snarled, reaching for her with a clawed hand. Arianna fell backward, rolling away. He squinted in confusion.
Dragons were strong creatures, that much Arianna could not—and never had—denied. Their magic made them formidable. But it also made them predictable. When nearly any wound could be healed in moments, making very few cuts lethal, it meant their fighting styles favored close range and tight jabs. They shouldered wounds gladly that Arianna avoided desperately, and that made her erratic dodges unpredictable to them. It made her method of fighting as sensible to them as their fashion was to her.
She would win this fight without him drawing blood.
She had to.
Arianna lunged forward again. She leaned and spun, his claws whizzing over her back in a near miss. She would give nearly anything for her lines and daggers, but all that was permitted in the pit were claws and prowess. Weapons, coronas, gold, and magic—beyond healing—were all against the rules. Cvareh had taught her that much, to Arianna’s dismay.
She sidestepped in and brought her hand up to the man’s chin. Startled, it caught, stabbing right through to his tongue. Blood ran down her forearm and cheers erupted from above.
Arianna had never fought with an audience before. All her work had been done at night and in the shadows with the least number of eyes possible on her. She had never felt the thrill of screams and cries of encouragement. She had never fought for sport.
There was something about it, something...thrilling. Her heart raced faster and her feet moved with more confidence. She wanted to give the people a show. It was illogical, utterly illogical. Everything lacked meaning, and in that, there was joy. Joy in death, in life, in doing just to do.
Lossom’s claws swung closer and closer. Every near miss pushed her forward. Blood still evaporated off his chest from where she had wounded him, from the new cuts she gave him.
She was faster, stronger, more skilled, and far more fearless than this Dragon would ever be. He could not kill those he loved for the sake of the survival of an ideal. He could not cut open his own chest and turn himself into a living machine for the sake of science.
But she could. She could because she was not Fenthri, or Dragon, or Chimera. She could because she had, and would again if fate re-dealt her a cruel hand.
Arianna kicked the Rider squarely in the chest. He stumbled, and she caught his ankle with the top of her foot, pulling it right out from under him. Off-balance, his attacks were thrown wildly. Arianna lunged into them. She pushed him downward and buried her hand in his chest. He struggled against her, his claws digging into her wrist viciously. Her blood mingled with his as it bubbled from the wound she was inflicting.
His heart beat frantically
against her palm. For a brief second, she held his life and future in her hand. And then she ripped it from him.
Arianna stood with the man’s heart. The arena’s momentary shock was only half as deafening as the cheers that followed it in a rush. Her eyes found the Dragon King’s high above, but not so far that he was untouchable. Not as far as he should want to be from her.
She stared at him as she buried her teeth into the Rider’s heart, and envisioned it was his.
26. Florence
The land had changed.
The Skeleton Forest had thinned and the dominant pines that oppressed their senses at every waking hour of the day had become scrawnier. As the train barreled down the winding pathway, they swerved out to the coast, giving Florence her first glimpse of the tall, rocky bluffs that made the Western side of Ter.2 impenetrable by boat.
The majority of Ter.2 was an imposing place—tall and shadowed, full of harsh rocky outcrops and the forest that boasted some of the most dangerous monsters in the world. But they had eluded the endwig, and lived to see the land change from the cold north to the more temperate, flatter south.
Tall grasses grew like in Ter.4, but the terrain was mostly flat, not hilly. It lacked significant features to the point that Florence wondered how the oceans had not just swallowed it whole. She watched it blur by as they continued on their tiny, overgrown track.
Nora and Derek alternated helping her. She had forced them to learn. She would shoulder as much of the burden as she had to, as they needed, but she could not do it alone. Will only went so far; skill was always required to make up the remainder.
They were begrudging at first, but not as much as Florence expected. She was too tired to question why, and thankfully the reason became apparent soon enough. She had earned an unexpected amount of respect from her companions after the night of the endwig. Her unconventional upbringing had served a purpose.
“How do you know how much coal to add, again?” Nora asked from where she was manning the grate and shovel.
Florence tapped the gauge next to her. “This meter. You want this to stay out of the high and low levels here and here. Ideally, it should sit around fifteen.”
“Why?”
“For an engine this size, that amount of power seems to clip us along without wasting power. There’s only so fast we can push her, or should…” Florence thought back to the sloppy repairs she’d made across the train following their frantic flight, and especially those she had less faith in holding. At least she’d had some training in the Ravens, but all her knowledge as a Rivet came from watching and helping Arianna.
Arianna. The name sat within Florence’s heart, still encased in love. The months apart had shown Florence that much. She loved Arianna as the teacher and guardian she had been. The recognition of the fact made the distance, surprisingly, more bearable. It dulled the harsh words they’d spoken to one another and quietly assured Florence of Arianna’s intentions. She knew the woman, and she knew that her venture to Nova was for the right reasons. And she knew that when Arianna returned, they would embrace once more and Florence would again be crafting canisters to help both the revolution and the White Wraith.
“What is most important to a Raven?”
Florence used the rattling of the train to mask a heavy sigh. She was always going to be seen as a Raven before anything else. She’d delighted in it when it had served her, when it had made people unassuming of her canisters in Mercury Town or her skill with the revolver. Or when it had helped her blend in at the port of Ter.5.2. But she was quickly learning she would give such things up for the sake of choice.
“Speed, mostly.” The echoes of trikes whizzing through the streets of Holx echoed in Florence’s ears. “Suicidal speed.”
“And for a Revolver?”
Florence paused in surprise. She glanced over at Nora, who stopped her inspection of the gages long enough to search Florence’s face.
“You’d know that too, right?”
“Explosions.” Florence gave the woman a small smile.
“And Rivets?”
Florence had to think about that for a moment. While Ari was a Master Rivet, she was also not the most conventional of her guild. “Mathematics, perhaps?”
“That sounds terribly dull.” Nora scrunched her coal dust-coated nose.
Florence grinned. “I think so too.”
They slept together, all three of them, in the back car during the day while they were in the Skeleton Forest, and transitioned to sleeping at night in Ter.1. The air itself in the southern territory was thick; it made the hair on her neck stick without any effort. Florence much preferred working through the day when she would be uncomfortable in the engine anyway, than struggling to sleep in the moist daylight hours.
The nights were cooler, and it made huddling together all the more pleasant. There was a different sort of comfort among them than she’d found with Arianna. When Florence had lain in bed with Arianna, even snuggled together, there was a relaxed ease about it. But with Derek and Nora the pressure sat in her stomach, closer to her abdomen. It was the first time she’d felt such tension. She was smart enough to understand lust, but she wasn’t fully aware for whom it stirred.
In all, the trip was mostly peaceful. There was still the stress of maintaining the train and managing the coal, but the old track they rode on was in good enough condition that Florence was confident it’d been used to smuggle things more recently than anyone let on. It was an overall straight shot with only two dead-end switch-offs until they reached Ter.1.2.
The train’s terminal was an abandoned yard and they subsequently left it behind. Florence, Nora, and Derek continued on foot. Despite their brands, they were far enough from the Alchemists’ Guild hall and past the territory border that they could move without any major concern. Derek carried two large trunks, Nora one, and Florence managed hers and a small case of their remaining powders onto the final train that would take them the rest of the way to Faroe.
They paid into a simple car, huddled with other patrons in bench seats. It was quite unlike her last train ride with Arianna when they had their own cabin; this trip lacked all sort of privacy or grace. Harvesters and others piled into the car, taking all available space, and they found themselves sharing their benches with three others.
Florence was pressed against the window for the two-day ride, and she watched as the land continued to change. The fertile middle ground between the end of the Skeleton Forest and the far end of Ter.1 became rocky and barren, void of life.
“What’s that?” Florence squinted at a hole in the earth far in the distance. It looked as if someone had taken a spoon and carved out the land, removing it for some unknown reason.
“A strip mine,” one of the Harvesters—Powell—replied.
“That’s a mine?” Florence tried to reconcile what was before her. “Aren’t mines in mountains? Tunnels?”
“They can be,” Powell whispered, trying hard not to wake their sleeping companions squashed into the bench together. “It depends on the mineral we’re mining for. If it occurs naturally in large pockets, we strip mine it. If it’s in veins, tunnels may be more effective. Some can only be found in mountains.”
The Harvester was quiet for a long moment.
“You lived far from home.”
“What?” Florence asked, startled. They’d barely spoken more than courtesies, yet he had somehow known that about her.
“There are no mountains in Ter.4, little crow.” The man gave a knowing smile. “Which leads me to believe you’ve spent some time in Ter.5.”
Florence pursed her lips.
“Well, wherever you come from, you’re far from home.” He looked out the window.
“I don’t know where home is.” She didn’t, not anymore. Florence longed for the flat she’d shared with Ari in Old Dortam. But it no longer fit them. Too much had changed. And,
if the smaller flat in Ter.4.2 was any indication, Ari had no problem abandoning homes to move on when life demanded it.
“You’re young enough that home should be Holx.”
“It should be.”
“But people are rarely what they should be.” The man was older than her, perhaps nearing twenty-five. Older than Arianna, at least, and that meant old enough to know of the time before the Dragons. “Why do you head to Faroe?”
“I’m taking my friends.” Florence nodded at Nora and Derek, slumbering the hours away across from her.
“It’s your first time in Ter.1?”
Florence nodded. The man leaned back in his chair, his gaze still focused on the mine in the distance as they slowly plodded along past it. Even packed in close as they were, they swayed slightly, shoulders brushing and sides flush.
“The land has changed much, in my years.” Florence tried to decipher the somewhat somber note in the man’s voice. “The Guild Initiates and Journeymen your age know it only as it is…”
“What’s wrong with it?” Florence asked, still hearing the haze of regret that floated through the man’s words.
“How long will you be in Faroe?”
If Florence wasn’t so accustomed to Arianna, the questions answered with questions might have been grating. But there was a tranquil similarity in the obscured truths and hidden meanings. “I’m not sure.”
“Then it will be long enough for you to arrive at your own opinions on these matters.”
Florence heard the finality in the statement and rested her head on the glass of the window. The strip mine was now out of view, but she kept her eyes forward as the train swayed in determined progression to the home of the Harvesters. More and more mines dotted the surface of the land as they neared Faroe. Deeper and wider they ran, until the train traversed suspended bridge-ways that spanned a mine directly below them.