The Dragons of Nova (Loom Saga Book 2)

by Elise Kova

  “Look here again.” He tapped the papers he’d carefully spread out on the table. “This is one mine and this column is the overall output for all minerals over time.”

  Her eyes skimmed the years and the numbers. It went back over six decades, a virtual eternity. The figures became more reliable with time, but it wasn’t until the year the Dragon King became Loom’s sovereign that all the rows were consistently filled in. Despite this, Florence could see the trend clearly.

  “It was a lot more before the Dragons.”

  “It was,” Powell agreed, as if she’d suddenly understood. Florence gave him a look that said she didn’t. “For generations, the mines sprawled as if the earth went on forever and the minerals we found would never run out of resources. When we found new pockets, we’d pursue. When we ran out, we dug deeper, and deeper, and deeper.”

  Florence was reminded of the cavernous chasms they’d crossed to reach Faroe.

  “The Harvesters had produced the most addicting drug Loom had ever known: progress. We never questioned if we should, only if we could, and the idea spawned the rest of the guilds. We asked and asked, what would we find if we pushed just one peca further into the earth?”

  “But because Loom had those resources, the Alchemists made medicine, the Rivets created engines, the Ravens laid track, the Revolvers built guns.” She had yet to see the flaw in it.

  “And all of these things enabled us to dig further and further. It was a self-feeding system, a chain linked by the need to produce.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “What happens when it runs out?”

  Florence looked back to the window, to the endless sprawl of mines. She tried to imagine what the land might have looked like before the Harvesters carved into it. “Can it run out?”

  “Some mines have already been abandoned as barren.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then we blast and dig until we find a new place to blast and dig farther.”

  “So the problem is solved.”

  Powell chuckled. “What happens when there are no more places to blast and dig?”

  “There will always be…”

  “This world is finite, Florence.” He motioned to the records and tables. “What you see before you is all we have. The Dragons saved us from ourselves. Magic vastly reduced the consumption of resources. The Ravens now make trains that run purely on it.”

  “Magic travel, magic moving anything, still requires gold,” she pointed out.

  “Yes, but the steel only needs to be tempered into gold once. Then it can be used for an eternity,” he countered. “The Dragons’ existence helped, but the King’s oversight of our resources was what pushed the Harvesters’ Guild to not just take from the world, but truly try to understand it. We began to pay attention to mines drying up. How fast we’d run out of this or that and how much deeper or farther we’d have to dig to find more. How these scars we’ve made upon our earth will never heal.”

  “The Dragon King made new scars.” Florence scowled.

  “You’re bitter about the tests.”

  “Are you sure you’re not a Master?” She checked his cheek for a circle. His mannerisms reminded her far too much of a certain Rivet Master she knew.

  “Not yet. My name sits with the Vicar Harvester right now on recommendation, however. It’s why I returned to the guild from Ter.4.5.”

  “Oh…” Florence was immediately humbled. That was one thing the Dragon King had not changed. Mastership could not be tested; it was earned in the eyes of peers. Only a Master could award another Master’s circle, and the approval to do so came directly from the Vicar.

  “In any event,” he said, “when the Dragons introduced the idea of families...” The concept made Powell as uncomfortable as every other Fenthri she’d ever met. “Which, I grant you, is an odd one. Free and unlimited access to reproduction and fertility chemicals widened our talent pools. But we could not sustain that demand on our resources.”

  “So the pools needed to be culled.” She was one such person who was not talented enough to earn her life.

  “They do.” There was an appropriately sympathetic note to his tone. “The first culling happens before the children grow enough to be any real drain. The second ensures a known population. We know exactly how many people we need to supply at all the guilds. Exactly how much food to produce, how many resources to dig up.”

  Florence was silent. She was trying to see if she could reconcile herself to a system that would have her killed for not being a good enough Raven—despite being a damn good Revolver. But under the same logic, the Revolvers had their own quota. She didn’t have a place there either.

  It made her want to scream.

  She settled on a scowl instead.

  “I understand, I believe, your turmoil on the matter.” Powell motioned to the windows and room. “But I want you to comprehend the logic woven behind the madness.”

  “People should still be able to choose their guild. A finite pool, perhaps, but… The Ter.0 system of learning was better. Divide the finite pools from there. Let all test for all and then separate. It should—”

  He rested his palm on her shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “I don’t disagree with you.” The words were a balm to the fervor that had been brewing in her gut. “There are better ways to execute this system. There are alternatives that would have been more in line with our culture, our way of life. Something the Dragons have yet to fully understand.”

  At least he admitted that much.

  “But we were a runaway train, headed for a half-finished bridge. In such a situation, you do not worry foremost about what wrong turn you took to get there. You reach for the brake and pull with all your might. Then you find the right way. But if we didn’t reach for that brake, Florence, and make the sacrifices we made, we would have run ourselves off that proverbial ledge and into extinction.”

  She wanted to point out that she didn’t appreciate a very Raven analogy, because he was no doubt assuming it would resonate with her for the mark on her cheek. But Florence held her tongue. She felt bitter and suddenly very, deeply tired.

  “This is a lot,” she confessed with a mumble.

  “We may talk on it more, if you’re interested in learning.”

  Florence considered it for a long moment. She’d learned from the Ravens, the Revolvers, and a Rivet. She’d always been so focused on completely transforming herself from one thing into another, it wasn’t until the endwig attack and the weeks that followed on the train that she’d discovered the true strength of combining all parts. Why not see what a Harvester could teach her? Who knew when it would come in handy?

  “I am.”

  “Very well.” Powell motioned for the stairs where they’d entered. “Let me show you to a guest room, for now. I am tired from the train and ready to wash and rest.”

  “Thank you.” She hoped he interpreted her gratitude on the multiple levels it was intended.

  “You are quite welcome.” He seemed to. “Rest up. Tomorrow, I will take you to the organ harvesting rooms.”

  30. Arianna

  The smell of woodsmoke was etched upon her skin with his tongue and teeth. He drew long, delightfully painful lines with his canines. He followed with his mouth, his tongue, his tender kisses and delicate ministrations upon them while they healed.

  Again and again, he repeated. They were a room on fire, cedar on smoke. Pain and pleasure made comfortable bedmates, etching his caress upon the steel of her memory with an endless amount of determination.

  She wanted him. They had crossed every line and traversed every seemingly impenetrable barrier to arrive with him between her legs. But she yearned for every moment. She yearned for his firm grip on her hipbone, his mouth on her shoulder, his attentions bordering on the meticulous.

  There was a broken-ness to their pass
ion, a ritual sacrifice of everything they were for something they could be. Let them dive into the acidic fatalism that would forever be splashed upon their memories. They were going to dissolve into each other until there was nothing left.

  She arched off the bed, his hand smoothing across her ribs and onto her back, holding her in place, his mouth upon her breast. She had forgotten the feeling of being vulnerable. Control had fought against its tether, cutting into her palms, and now she let the beast go free.

  Arianna’s claws trailed up his arms and shoulders, into his blood-orange hair. She watched how it splayed across her chest when she held him upon her.

  “You have magic here,” he mumbled into her bare stomach. His breaths ran ragged laps around her navel.

  “I do.” She was already stripped bare before him. There was little else to hide now.

  “Where else?” He propped himself over her.

  Arianna had seen his bare chest dozens of times; the Dragons weren’t exactly fond of clothing. But it looked different now. Hovering just far enough for her nipples to brush his skin, it seemed to take on a different shade, a more appealing curve.

  “You know the other places.” Arianna slid her palms to the chest she had just been admiring. “Though, I wouldn’t mind lungs…”

  “You wouldn’t.” He pressed his mouth upon her.

  Arianna sucked his tongue between her teeth, biting hard. Blood poured into her throat and she sucked hungrily, magic exploding once more. She was well and truly drunk off the man—the taste, the feeling. It was better every time and worse each passing second after it faded. She wondered what it would be like to give into every desire and lie here with him until the end of days.

  Arianna smiled faintly into his mouth. What an idealistic notion. The things the man had done to her…

  A growl rose from the back of his throat, which she also eagerly consumed. Arianna flipped them on the small cot, mounting him like one of their flying birds. His erection pressed against her and she, shamelessly, ground herself upon it.

  “You witch,” he groaned when she finally returned his lips to him.

  “Wraith, actually.” Arianna pressed forward, kissing up along his ear to the point. “And don’t doubt me. There is very little I wouldn’t do—especially to you.”

  He pressed his thumbs into her thighs, holding her in place, pushing her down. Arianna met his demands willingly. It was a war for dominance that was punctuated by winning and losing battles of submission. They took turns allowing the other to be the victor and alternated the joys and struggles of relinquishing control.

  She felt the waver in his magic, the fear taking over again. He was thinking too much. The man who seemed to care for nothing but beauty and ease was giving in to the dangers of contemplating all they were and what they were doing. She appreciated the irony of wanting to tell him to let go, to let them have the moment they’d encased themselves in.

  Arianna kissed him lightly, absorbing the emotion. She forfeited words for action. She slid onto him and felt that stretching, pressing, pushing, filling sensation once more.

  It was for the best. He should be afraid of her—of them. The idea of him and her becoming a “they” would be the worst thing that could happen to either of them. She would consume him. She would use him for her own delight. But if it ever suited her, she would break him. She would cast him from the pinnacles of pleasure upon the cold and lonely world below.

  It made her afraid of herself.

  Arianna had never let herself go so far. Even with Eva, an understanding and logic had pulsed between them. They had begun as partners, scientific equals, and evolved into something more. Arianna had yearned for the woman. She had embraced the throes of passion with her now-dead love.

  She had admired the woman’s tenacity and determination. Similar things attracted her to Cvareh, but they stemmed from different sources. There was no logic to Cvareh. Man, woman—Dragon or Fenthri—he was not someone she should find herself with. Arianna snarled, driving her hips harder, faster, as if she could force out the conflict. She hated him. She wanted him. Shades of gray, rainbows of color—they blurred and smeared into gold.

  Cvareh pulled her down and she acquiesced. She let him have her mouth, her tit, her shoulder. She heaved her moans into the pillows like curses, or prayers.

  Nothing made sense, and she would have him until it did.

  They peeled apart an hour, or a minute, later. Time no longer mattered. She would burn it on the passion pyre they’d been immolated upon all afternoon. With it burned her principles and her self-respect. She had coupled with a Dragon as if her life depended on it. But luckily, she had exhausted her ability to care alongside every other muscle in her body.

  The ceiling came into focus; it had never been more fascinating. It was the only thing safe to look at. The room was a mess from their tumbling. Things had been broken, furniture had been moved and scratched. Blankets made mountains on the floor, the warmth of their body heat more than enough.

  Cvareh didn’t move either. Arianna closed her eyes. Already the feeling was returning, the want to place her mouth on his again. It had been so long since she had last touched and been touched—since she had even wanted to be touched by anyone. She had clearly yet to find satiation.

  “Why?” Cvareh’s voice was still deep and thick. It had a purr to it like a well-oiled engine that set her hand to moving, her knuckles brushing against where they’d fallen on his thigh.

  “Why what?”

  “Why me?”

  Arianna laughed. Her voice was hoarse and raspy. “Really? That’s your question?”

  “I have more.”

  “As do I.”

  The pillow shifted next to her and Arianna turned toward the sound, meeting his eyes. The understanding that had always been there had deepened. It shone brighter, as if she could see his very magic in the air around him.

  “So, why?”

  “I don’t know,” she confessed to both of them.

  “You don’t know? Something the infallible Arianna doesn’t know?”

  “I will bite off your tongue. Don’t think this changes anything.”

  “This changes everything.” Cvareh sat. “What we are was not what we were.”

  She watched the muscles in his back stretch. His skin had a certain pallor in the dim candlelight. Flickering shadows danced in lines and muscular curves. Lean and strong. Strong enough to hold her up. Strong enough to support her if she chose to let him shoulder some of her burdens.

  “Nothing has changed,” her mouth insisted. She spoke lies, to herself, to him, to everything they were. Her body may have been ready, long overdue even, for a lover… but her heart. Her heart was another matter entirely. “We are two people merely filling needs.”

  He placed a hand between her arm and side, leaning toward her. His fingers brushed the line of her jaw but the touch was different than before, without haste. And yet it still possessed fire. They had not been a flash in the pan. Something burned deeper, more determined. A small flame, but a white hot and relentless one.

  “You don’t believe that.”

  “I do.”

  Cvareh smiled knowingly. She rose upward and kissed the expression. He’d given her no choice. There was only one way to expunge that look from between his cheeks. Still, it persisted when she pulled away.

  She kissed him again. She kissed him harder. He tasted suddenly of longing and salt tears her eyes had stopped spilling years ago.

  “I know you, now,” he muttered upon her. “I know you, Arianna.”

  Resistance was futile. The man could think what he would; the more she objected, the more he persisted, the more she slid down into him like quicksand. She could hardly breathe if the air wasn’t sweetened with the tang of his scent.

  “I want to show you something.”

  “What?” She let
his hands tangle in her hair, a mess from the fight and their sex.

  “It’s not on Ruana, so we’ll have to travel.”

  “Where?” The idea of venturing into the unknown with him was not as frightening as it should’ve been.

  His fingers coaxed out the knots he’d made. “Do you trust me enough to let me not tell you?”

  She hated him for the question. She hated him more for the answer that already leaped from her tongue. “Yes.” Arianna pressed her eyes closed. How had she arrived at that answer? It was like adding two and two together and getting yellow. “And I will kill you for it.”

  “I will not give you a reason to.” Cvareh stepped away, hunting for his clothes. He made no effort to smooth them, only enough to patch them back together from where she’d torn at them. His shoulder pieces were hopelessly lost. Fortunately, Dragons wouldn’t think twice about him walking around in next to nothing.

  Arianna followed without instruction, picking through what was salvageable. She was still too Fenthri to stomach the notion of walking in nothing, even with her illusion. Still, the most important piece was the splint that helped her hold her illusion in place.

  “Head upward, and tell me if you have trouble finding the departure platform. I’ll saddle the boco.” His palm fell on her hip, and his magic surged at the touch. It wrapped her up in a familiar embrace, already intertwined before his lips fell on her ear.

  “Arhoncedov,” he breathed.

  It was a sound just for her and it sparked off his tongue with sheer power. He’d cast forth a tether, and now it fell on her to take it.

  Arianna took a half step closer, her own arm wrapping around him. Cheek to cheek, she leaned for his ear. It had been a long time since she’d last established a whisper link. The silence that had filled her mind upon Eva’s death should have been enough discouragement to ever do it again. She’d vowed not to.

  “Ranhoftantu,” she replied.