by Elise Kova
She stared over the ominous edge, keenly aware of the thin pieces of steel that separated the train from the seemingly infinite oblivion stretched deep into the earth below. Men and women worked on spiraling walkways on the outer edges of the mine, so far below her that they looked like flicks of dust floating in the mine’s smoky haze rather than actual people. So, so far below that the explosions they set off were nothing more than flashes of light and dull reverberations.
It was as if the Harvesters had peeled back the surface of the earth to find its soul. And its soul was the very lifeblood of Loom: iron, minerals, oil, and coal.
Faroe was perched in the center of these seemingly endless mines, like an island among an empty sea. Its towering buildings and compact construction was unlike anything Florence had ever seen. Buildings made of concrete had spires of brick built atop them, foundations made from the carved stone left from long-ago mining. Like an impenetrable wall, it was all connected. One city, one guild, every peca of space used. She wondered if Arianna had ever been to Faroe, and if so, what the Rivet’s take on the architectural choices were.
The train ran into a station underneath the city. Powell, in his kindness, offered to escort them to the guild hall. Florence was thankful they accepted when he led them through a rat maze of tunnels and tiny elevators that served as the city’s only means of getting around.
“Faroe built up when it could no longer build out,” Powell explained. “The problem with situating itself at the world’s richest mineral deposits meant that most of the land needed to be committed to mining. The Rivets tried to make sense of it, but the Harvesters ended up doing what we do best.” He knocked on the rough, bare stone wall next to him. Pick marks still pocked its surface. “We tunneled our way through.”
Within the city proper, Florence felt an omnipresent weight. Rock and steel, brick and concrete hovered over her. It compressed Florence’s lungs, and she was suddenly reminded of the last time she’d felt such a sensation.
“The Underground,” Florence said boldly. It was a taboo subject in Ter.4, and, judging by the rise of Powell’s eyebrows, it was known as such in Ter.1 as well. “Did Harvesters help with that at all?”
Powell considered it a long moment, encouraging in that he didn’t immediately refuse the subject. “At the time the Underground was first being conceived, perhaps. We did grant them some of our explosives long ago, pre-Revolvers even, to help blast deeper after the ground was broken. But the limestone of Ter.4 is prone to pockets and holes, and the Ravens seemed impatient and determined to make the place their own. Moreso after the Dragons’ regulations on the guilds.”
The man’s tone differed from Ari’s at the mere mention of the Dragons. There was no bitter bite, no longing for the past. Instead she heard quiet acceptance. His eyes reflected... appreciation?
The weight was lifted as they ascended to the guild proper. A disk shape at the very top of Faroe, the hall’s outer walls were all windows, permitting the gray sunlight and a view of the barren earth beyond. Florence set her bag down slowly, her hand numb from carrying it. As if in a trance, she crossed to the nearest pane of glass. Five times her width, three times her height, it felt as if the view could swallow her whole.
With the flatness of the land she could see for veca upon veca. She saw the dusty clouds that plumed off the ground between the mines. She saw the far explosions that broke into the earth farther and deeper. The mines she’d seen from the train had only been a small part of a much, much larger system.
“What do you think?” Powell asked.
Florence jumped, startled. She hadn’t heard the man approach. Pulled from her trance, she immediately sought out Derek and Nora, but they were nowhere to be found.
“They had business on behalf of the Vicar Alchemist for the Vicar Harvester. I saw that they spoke with the right people to get them where they were going.”
“Thank you,” Florence said sincerely. “You’ve been quite kind to us.”
“You are guests in my home.” Powell smiled in reply. “Ter.1 may not be what it once was, but it is still home and I will still love it and see it is shown in the best light.”
“You said that before,” she noted. “That it’s not what it was.”
He nodded, but offered no more explanation this time than he had the last.
“Do you mean before the Dragons?” she pressed.
“I do.”
She followed Powell’s stare, looking out at the land. “What was better, then? How has it changed?”
Powell shook his head and chuckled. “The Dragons changed a lot, overseen directly by the King.” Again, unlike Ari, there was no bite at the mention of their oppressors. “Not much was better in my lifetime. We’ve been on this suicidal path for hundreds of years. If they hadn’t come when they did, Loom would be in a difficult spot now.”
“What do you mean?” Florence couldn’t comprehend what the man before her was saying. There was no path of logic that let her get to his point until he spelled it out.
“The Dragons, Florence. They saved Loom.”
27. Cvareh
The blood shone like liquid metal, caked upon her skin. It picked up the sunlight like some horrible truth that his mind, in all its efforts, could not fathom. Arianna had killed yet another of the Dono’s Master Riders. That should be the fact his mind circled around relentlessly.
But it wasn’t.
He stared at where her flesh had been punctured by Lossom’s claws. Gold streamed from the wound, mingled with the drippings of the heart she held up in victory. But it was clear enough with every pulse of her heart, clear as Lady Lei’s springs and rivers. For the first time, it was as if he was seeing the real woman behind the name.
“She actually did it,” Cain said in awe from Cvareh’s left.
“This court just got interesting.” Petra clapped her hands in appreciation from between them. His sister turned to him, summoning Cvareh from his thoughts. “You should go to the new Soh. She did stand for you, after all.”
Cvareh’s gaze swung to Arianna, but her back was to him. The woman had her eyes locked on Yveun Dono’s. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to challenge the King himself.
He moved, jumping down the short distance to the pit. Arianna tuned sharply, but relaxed visibly at the sight of him. Men and women shouted and cheered. Challenges flew above their heads, the Court whipping into a blood frenzy at the upset.
Cvareh’s eyes rose from her forearm to meet hers. “Come.” He held out a hand and she hesitated, the potent dissonance of the emotions in his magic giving her pause. But he had no hope of reining it in, not until he had explanations. “Come, Ari Xin’Anh Soh.”
She finally obliged, and took his hand.
Sweat glistened off her, even through the illusion. A perfect crafting, he realized, because she was already so close to a Dragon. She was stockier than most Dragon females, but she had the height and the speed of one of his kind. She had the eyes and the claws. The ears—if she ever removed the metal caps. She was more Dragon than he had ever given her credit for, than maybe she had ever realized.
And that fact was surprisingly disappointing. It was like everything that made her shine was losing its spark. The picture he had painted in his mind of her was losing all its complementary colors at the idea that there was something so important about her that she had knowingly kept from him. He hated his distance from her, and grew weary of the feeling of her keeping him at arm’s length.
They walked out of the light and into the dim of a hall, only to be greeted by other victors and the bold applause of servants. Arianna kept her eyes forward, oblivious to it all. The metal of the splint on her fingers pressed against his skin. Even with the surge of power from imbibing, holding the illusion must be tiresome…
“Where is an empty parlor?” he demanded.
“This way, Xin’Ryu.” A servant step
ped forward, eager to appease. The girl led them down a side hall and into a modest sitting area, a room of rest and recovery for the victors in the pit. It was perfumed with lavender, incense, and the ripe smell of fruit and cheese that had sat out for an hour too long.
Cvareh dismissed the girl with a curt nod, eager to close the door behind her. The world shut out, there were only the four walls that surrounded him and the woman who had become his enigma. There was no one to pass judgment and no one to bear witness beyond themselves. Ari had yet to face him, yet to confront the truth that she undoubtedly knew he’d seen.
He took a breath, readying himself to speak.
“You’re welcome,” she interrupted.
“Pardon?” he nearly stuttered in surprise.
“I assume you were about to say thank you.” Arianna pulled off the splint from her fingers with a glance at the bolt engaged in the door.
The illusion fell. Her color faded to gray and white. Her tattoos were visible, inked back into existence by an invisible hand. The woman who should have been familiar seemed as false as the Dragon who had been in her place moments before. Her forearm betrayed no marks from the wound, yet Cvareh’s eyes were still glued to the spot.
“What are you?” he whispered.
She couldn’t have hidden her reaction if she tried. All his senses were honed on her. Cvareh practically heard the spark of tension through her muscles at the question.
“You know what I am.” She squared against him as if the room had become a new pit, and they were about to do battle.
“Do I?” Cvareh curled his hands into fists so that he would not unsheathe his claws in frustration. If she wanted a sparring partner, he would rise to task. And this time, he would not stay his claws against her.
“Do you?”
“Don’t be circular,” he growled. “I saw it.”
“Saw what?” She drew her height, coming nearly to eye level with him. “Me stand for you? Me fell your enemy? Me further prove that—” Arianna faltered. “That despite all the reasons I have to hate you, I clearly cannot bring myself to do so?”
The confession was virtually lost on him in his pursuit of the truth. She was trying to shift his focus. He wasn’t going to let her, even if it teetered on the verge of words he so very dearly wanted to hear.
“I saw your arm. I saw the blood.”
“What of it?”
“It was gold.”
“Of course it would be, I had just killed a Dragon. Dragon blood is gold.” She took the tone of one speaking to a small child.
Cvareh didn’t even let the disrespect sway him from the truth he desired. “Dragon blood is gold. So why is yours?”
“You are confused.”
“I am not.” He didn’t remember crossing the room. He didn’t remember advancing on her. He didn’t remember her taking steps backward, allowing him to do so.
But there they were. There he was, holding her in place with a power he didn’t think he possessed. It filled the space behind his ribs, blowing out his chest. If he let it unfurl his sails large enough, it may just be enough to touch her.
“It was an illusion.” She stood straighter, trying to not to lose her ground. But she’d long lost the advantage in the encounter. Cvareh wasn’t going to give it back.
“That might work on others, Arianna—it likely has. But it will not work on me.” He grabbed for the arm in question, holding it up. “I know your blood. I know it like my own. I know it because its very scent torments my waking hours almost as much as your mere visage.”
“Then you should regain your head,” she snarled, baring her teeth. “For you may be drunk on magic if you think my blood was gold, if you cannot tell the difference between an illusion and—”
His claws jutted forward. They dug deep into her flesh for the first time. They tore through her gray skin to expose the meat beneath. Honeysuckle and cedar filled the room, more potent on his nose than the finest wine he’d ever drunk.
And, sure enough, gold flowed between his fingers.
“You bastard.” Arianna went to move but he was faster this time. He pushed her against the wall, grabbing for her other wrist.
“What are you?” he repeated, his voice deepening in resonance to an almost-growl. He had her pinned in place, but likely only due to shock. He’d healed too many bruises and seen her fight too many times to think she wasn’t about to throw him off and flay him like livestock. “Arianna, tell me: what are you?” Cvareh’s voice broke on the plea. He begged her. The scent of her blood was dizzying, and his entire body and mind desired her and her alone. “Close this gap between us. Let me help you as I want to.”
“And what do you want?” She curled her lips.
“I don’t know, not truly.” He used her breath as fuel for his words, tasting her. “All I know is that I want you.”
The snarl fell from her mouth and Arianna searched his face with her brilliantly lilac eyes. He had never held his breath with such anticipation of a woman’s judgment—of anyone’s judgment. But she held all he was in that moment. She formed his future with her tongue and lips and she was going to destroy him if what spilled from them wasn’t everything he needed—not wanted, needed—to be for her.
“How do you want me?” she raised her chin slightly, the woman was powerful even while prone.
“Ari…” He was losing momentum. He was losing his footing. The tides were shifting under him, pulling him deeper into her, and she had yet to show any inclination to save him from the swirling depths.
He would drown in her, if only she would let him.
“Tell me, Cvareh. Tell me and I will tell you.”
It was a deal too good to be true.
Cvareh leaned forward, slowly. Slow enough that she could fight back. That she could resist. That she had ample time to utter a word of protest. His hands didn’t restrain her; instead they caressed her ashen skin like he would the finest of silks in Napole. His fingertips sought out the calluses on the pads of her hands. All his lust, all the lust in the world, would be nothing if she didn’t burn for him in return.
His nose brushed along her jawline. Slowly. Tracing the strong curve to her ear. She smelled of dust, sweat, the remnants of Rok blood, sun, and his most favorite scent of all: the sultry notes of honeysuckle. It was a perfume sweeter than any he’d ever been exposed to. It was all he wanted to inhale.
“I want you for my lover, for my mate. I want to lay you down and take you to the pinnacles of delight. I want you… even while not knowing if you could ever grant me your favor.” Mentions of her former lover echoed in his mind. Cvareh didn’t actually know if Arianna even took a liking to men. He acted on hope, and her lack of refusal—physical or verbal.
“Will you want me still after I kill your King?”
He chuckled darkly. “I will want you all the more for it.”
“Will you want me if I refuse your sister?”
That demanded consideration. But desire and love and forever were all separate mistresses. And right now, all three were courting him as one combined. “I will want you even then.” His teeth graced the soft flesh of her neck as he spoke.
“Will you want me, even knowing I am a Perfect Chimera?”
The heat in his veins cooled by a small enough margin that he could straighten and look her in the eye, attempting to root out any forced boldness in the claim.
There was none.
The gold blood. Bones strong as steel, as strong as a Dragon’s. Her height. Her muscular structure. It made too much sense to be a lie. She had developed and grown with the strength of Dragon blood coursing through her veins.
“Nothing, Arianna. Nothing in your world or mine, or the next, would make me want you less.”
She grinned, the flat line of her Fenthri teeth showing. “You’re a fool, Cvareh.”
“I am,” he agreed
with a grin of his own.
Cvareh closed the gap at last, and found her lips with his. His chest was flush against hers and his thigh pressed between her legs. He held her fingers with white knuckles, as if to hold in place the tension he was struggling to let out only a moment at a time, savored like sips of the most perfect wine, held on the tongue to embolden the flavor.
Her tongue probed his mouth, pressing into his canine. Blood wet his palate. She smothered a groan.
The sound shot straight through him, forcing his hips further into hers. Her magic, her essence, flooded him. The dam holding the tension between them shattered, and Cvareh grasped her hips, pushing her up further against the wall. Claws shredded against the bindings across her thighs and up into the cloth that covered her groin.
Twenty Gods above, restraint be damned. Cvareh would know all there was to know of her before the day was done. And if he was lucky, he would do it again, and again, and again.
28. Petra
“What has you so pleased?” Cain asked from her left. He’d been silent for hours, clearly mulling over something. Petra wondered if the obvious small talk would be enough to bring it forward, because her patience only stretched so far and he was already beginning to pull at it.
“The sun is warm, more Rok blood has been spilled than Xin, Yveun has remained mostly tucked out of sight, and my brother seems to have escaped the Court.” She stretched her fingers, her claws digging into the chair. She’d only had to stand for two people so far, and while that would permit her to excuse herself from the remainder of the Court if she desired, Petra remained. After all the trouble it was to see the Court to daylight, she wasn’t about to step away.
“He seems to have escaped for quite a while,” Cain muttered.
Petra laughed. “Does his fondness for the woman bother you so?” Cvareh was certainly a gossip with all his visits to Napole’s tea parlors, but she’d never taken Cain for such habits.
“Why doesn’t it bother you, is the better question?” As if realizing his own boldness after the fact, Cain glanced around quickly, taking note of any who could’ve overheard. Lucky for him, the only other guests in the box were close Kin who Petra had no cause to worry over.