by Elise Kova
“You don’t honestly expect me to wear this, do you?” He poked at the fabric with his toe as though the offending plain trousers were likely to attack him.
“We can’t have you strolling around like a giant blueberry,” Arianna drawled.
“My clothes are quite fashionable,” he defended before he could stop himself. No doubt he’d just given her extra ammunition to attack him with later.
“I fail to see how that—” Ari stole his inflection on the word as she raked him up and down with her eyes, “could be construed as fashionable by anyone in their right mind.”
The desire to rip out her throat was certainly more natural than whatever had been happening earlier.
“Come now, we don’t have all day.” She waved him on as though he were a lowly unranked. “We have a train to catch.”
Cvareh scooped up the clothes along with the remnants of his pride. He waited for them to avert their eyes. “Are you going to turn around?”
“Oh he’s modest,” Arianna quipped to Florence. “Who knew? I didn’t think anyone who could wear something so gaudy and revealing could have real modesty.”
He was right. She had used the knowledge of his love of fashion against him at the first opportunity. But the two women finally obliged.
“If you think you can attack me while my back is turned, I’ll—”
“I know, you’ll cut me,” he finished dryly.
Cvareh begrudgingly pulled the clothes from his frame, dressing instead in the dull rags that had been forced upon him. This was going to be a long trip to the Alchemists’ Guild hall. A very, very long trip.
7. LEONA
Incense hung heavy in the air. Perfumed tendrils of smoke curled through beams of light like the tentacles of a hungry octopus. The windows were shades of blue, folded against splashes of gold and curves of iron. No two were alike. The stone arched over them like waves against a boat and cut each into a slightly different shape. Between them, mosaic was laid in abstract patches of color that had always reminded Leona of fish scales.
“Petra Xin’Oji To will arrive within the hour, Yveun Dono,” a little man reported from her side of a large, circular screen. Wood the same shade as the floor outlined it, a base mirrored at the top and bottom creating the imagery of a sun rising through the clouds.
“See her to the red room,” the Dragon King answered from the other side.
“Understood.” The man gave a low bow before walking briskly from the room.
Leona narrowed her eyes to slits at the man’s back, cautiously regarding him as he left. His skin was the standard jade of House Tam. They were loyal to the King—and generally smart enough not to challenge the fact. But she was always on alert when anyone was around her sovereign. It had been two decades since the last duel against the Yveun Dono, and she would see it to a third.
“Leona.” The King’s strong voice echoed across the space to her. Every time it formed her name, the muscles around Leona’s pointed ears tensed, ever so slightly.
“Yveun Dono?” She bowed at the waist, holding the low pose of respect as he rounded the screen.
“Ease, Leona.”
She stood straight at his command, retracting the claws that had been out on alert the entire time the man had been in her King’s presence.
“Have you any word from your sister?”
She shook her head, a long strand of hair that extended past her bound breast clinking softly as the beads shifted.
“How many hours has it been?” The King walked over to the windows, near where she stood. Near enough that she could smell his skin as much as his magic. Near enough that he could strike her if he so chose.
“Since the theft it has been six, Dono.” Leona stripped all emotion from her voice. She would betray no favoritism, no concern. She had been trained better. She had fought and killed and clawed her way up for twenty of her forty-six years to be the King’s personal guard, and she would not let anything separate her from her lord for the remaining eighty her life should hold.
“Six hours, and three Riders.” The sun lit fire in the King’s red eyes as he studied its progression through the sky.
The Dono was a handsome man. His wine-colored skin brought out the purple tones of his hair that, in turn, contrasted with the brilliant fury of his eyes. He was over sixty-five, Leona knew that much. She suspected he could even be pushing eighty. But he looked not a day past fifty, a man still well in his prime.
“It seems too much to track down one lowly Xin Soh.” He looked over to her, his stare ablaze with the same sort of quiet danger as lightning. Beautiful, enchanting even, from a distance. But it would strike and kill without warning.
“It does, Dono,” Leona had to agree. Her sister or no, the fact was a fact.
“Your sister, Sybil, isn’t it?”
She hated the way her sister’s name rumbled the back of his throat. “Sybil Rok’Anh Soh,” Leona specified for him.
They were both of house Rok, but Leona had the luck to be born of a Soh and a To, an upper common woman and a high noble. Her half-sister had not been so lucky. Their mother had chosen a life-mate who was also a Soh. Acceptable for their stature, but not so much in the way of getting Sybil ahead.
Leona didn’t know who her father was. Her and her sister had both inherited their mother’s crimson tinted skin, as the woman had been the alpha in both relationships. But, whoever he was, Leona thanked her sire silently most mornings as she stood next to the King.
“She seeks to be Sybil Rok’Anh Veh.”
“She does.” Leona couldn’t deny it. Having a sister who was two ranks higher in society had been a strain on Sybil for many years. Leona didn’t bother hiding her shadow; she cast it long and proud. Sybil would rise up and find her own light, or she would wither like a flower under the shade of a stronger tree.
“I gave her this as an opportunity to show me why she should be of my chosen nobility, to earn her rank.” Yveun started for the door and Leona followed.
“That is most generous of you, Yveun Dono.” It was generous. Sybil had no doubt been given the chance because of Leona’s track record. If she squandered it, that was entirely on her, and she’d find no sympathy from Leona on the matter.
“I am quite generous, aren’t I?” He was amused.
“Without a doubt. It is why we are so joyful to bend completely before you.” They walked through a long hall. Glass arched over top like sailcloth ballooned with wind. Wood and metal made a ribcage at irregular intervals to support it. The Rok estate in Lysip spared no expense in its crafting. The unnatural borrowed from the natural world as stones morphed from uncut to elegant sculptures supporting metalwork that could only be completed by a master craftsman. There were many who fought to rise high enough in society to spend a night on the magnificent grounds. And this was the place Leona called home.
“No half measures.” The King recited the motto of House Rok. He paused, making a show of inspecting a carving he had seen hundreds of times.
“Something House Xin would be best to learn,” Leona muttered.
“The Xin’Oji is our guest today,” the King cautioned against her transparent insult.
“Of course, Dono.” Leona bowed and held the position.
A hand floated under her chin. Leona lifted her face at the unspoken command, his fingertips hovering just over her skin—never touching. She should be thankful he avoided making contact. His hallowed flesh was above hers.
And yet, by every God in the pantheon, she yearned for it. He owned her mind with his decree. He owned her soul with his very presence. She had nothing more to give him if he gave her his touch as well.
He looked down at her, and she up at him. Leona reveled in the silence, in the feeling of his attention on her. It was that feeling that pushed her to victory in every duel she’d ever fought as the King watched on. She lived for him and silently affirmed it every time she thought he might be asking without words.
The King dropped his hand and dep
arted. She waited a few steps before following behind. They were never seen walking side by side before anyone of importance. That spot was reserved for his life-mate, the Rok’Ryu. But Coletta’Ryu was rarely seen outside of her quarters.
The red room was aptly named. Wood stained in various shades of the color alternated in a pattern on the floor and up the walls, even on the ceiling. It was sparse compared to the other adornments in the Rok manner, and made the single, golden chair look all the more important.
A child turned away from inspecting the Dono’s throne a little too closely. Petra Xin’Oji To was younger than fifty, and already the Oji of a Dragon house. No, Leona knew better than to underestimate the woman before them. She had challenged her eldest brother to a duel at twenty and won. Her mother fell before her when Petra turned twenty-three. The woman had challenged her own father at thirty and consumed his heart in its entirety to gain his rank and title. They said she didn’t even flinch as she imbibed her sire’s still-beating strength.
Petra may look a child. But her gold eyes shared the same qualities as the Yveun Dono’s. This was a woman on a mission. And those eyes looked right through their King to the chair upon which he sat. Everyone knew Petra’s lust for the throne, and it was that desire that had turned House Xin from the annoyance it had been under Petra’s father, to a threat.
“Petra’Oji,” the King said after he had settled in his throne.
The woman with midnight blue skin crossed over and knelt before her King. “Yveun Dono, you honor me by this invitation.”
“Do I?” The King rested his chin on the back of his hand. Leona remained poised at his side.
“I suppose only you can confirm that.” Petra stood before she was given leave to do so. It made the muscles around Leona’s claws strain against the skin, pushing out the razor sharp talons as far as they would go. “It isn’t every day I am summoned to House Rok’s most noble of estates.”
“Indeed it is not.” The King wasn’t handing Petra anything.
“Stunning, really. I can’t imagine how long its construction took.” Petra folded her hands before her. The woman clearly had no interest in the construction of the estate and its trimmings. The two House leaders were digging in their claws and waiting for someone to push hard enough to tear flesh.
“With a House as noble and established as House Rok, we can afford to take our time on things.” Yveun Dono’s lips curled into a snarling smile. “And how is your estate faring, Petra’Oji?”
“The latest revisions are coming along nicely, thank you.” She smiled widely, showing her teeth.
The edges of Leona’s lips parted, just enough to flash her elongated canines. She did not want to tolerate this eager upstart’s encroachment on her King’s honor. But she did tolerate it, only as long as Yveun Dono did.
“That is most excellent to hear.” Silence filled the room following the King’s statement. Leona watched it settle over Petra. It crept under the other woman’s skin, multiplying and manifesting until she had to speak.
“But that is not why you invited me here today.”
“It isn’t?” Yveun Dono rested his elbow on the armrest of the throne, looking bored.
“A letter, or a whisper, would have sufficed if you wanted to talk about remodeling.” Petra squinted her eyes, barely.
“Speaking of whispers, have you heard from your brother?” The King finally began to circle around his point like a carrion bird.
“You likely have more recently than I. Is he not your counsel on matters of treasury?”
Petulant child. Leona kept the thought to herself, barely.
“That is not the brother I am asking for.” The King sat straighter in his chair. It was a fraction of movement, but it betrayed his increasing impatience with Petra’s obstinacy.
“I didn’t even realize you knew I had a younger brother, Dono. You honor House Xin with this interest you have taken in us.” Petra lied through her teeth—teeth Leona fantasized about smashing with a variety of instruments.
“Where is Cvareh?”
“I believe he is still at the Temple of Lord Xin, praying to the Death-giver for wisdom of the ends.”
Yveun Dono was no more convinced by Petra’s lie than Leona was. “Does he pray often?”
“Only when he thinks he needs our House Patron’s wisdoms.”
“And how often does Cvareh need the guidance of the Death-giver?” Yveun Dono tilted his head to the side, just barely. “He isn’t renowned as being particularly ambitious.”
“Yveun Dono, do take care; that is my brother of whom you speak.”
“‘Take care’, Petra?” The King dropped all formality from her title. It was a pointed and successful jab on the King’s part, judging from the expression on the Oji’s face. “What exactly must I ‘take care’ of? I already care for our people, for Nova, for the misplaced masses in the land below the clouds. I take care of an astronomically large yet finite amount of resources to ensure there is more than enough to go around for both us and the Fen. I am mindful of the tax their irresponsibility has put on a world we now know we share. I oversee their guilds to ensure proper teachings. Am I not taking care of enough?”
Petra was silent, the most sense the girl had shown since the encounter began.
“Or must I also take care of your family’s fragile sensibilities as well?”
“I will look after House Xin.” There was almost a growl to Petra’s words.
“Will you, Petra? Or will your willing lack of ideals lead them to ruin?” The woman’s lesser experience compared to Yveun Dono’s was telling. A few words twisted around her House’s motto—ends before ideals—and she wound up so tightly that Leona could almost smell the quiver in her muscles. House Xin was too proud, too bold. “This is not about House Xin, Petra. This is about the good of our people, the longevity of our traditions, the eternity of our ways, the future of our world. A future we must pursue with no half measures.”
“No half measures,” Petra repeated the motto of House Rok. “It must be easy to say from where you sit when any half measure does not come off Rok’s measuring stick.”
The fruity taste of blood laced Leona’s mouth as she bit her tongue to keep from speaking. The King could defend himself; he didn’t need her to step forward and give Petra a verbal or physical lashing. But she still hoped he would ask.
“Careful, Petra.” The King would give no more caution than that. No matter how badly Leona suspected he wanted to be off with Petra as well, they couldn’t just kill another House’s Oji. There were rules to be followed when it came to duels. If they cast aside the foundation of their society’s hierarchy, they’d be left with the anarchy Loom experienced before Yveun Dono had begun to restructure it. “Now, I will ask you again. Where is Cvareh?”
“Then I will tell you again, he is high in the mountains at the Temple of Lord Xin.”
The problem was, even though they all knew it to be a lie, there was no proof. So Petra and the whole underbelly of Dragon society called House Xin would continue to unfurl whatever plot they were playing at. At least until Yveun Dono had enough evidence of treason to bring down even an Oji.
“Then it should be no problem for him to attend my summons.”
“Actually, it is.” Petra’s triumphant smile returned. She knew she had the upper hand. If they’d had anything they would’ve been out with it, and she was going to stick to her idiotic story until they did, it seemed. “He is in solitary meditation, and will not leave until he has heard the guiding words of our Lord. I’m sure you understand the importance of seeking the will of our House patron, Dono.”
“Quite.”
“Why the sudden interest in Cvareh? Would you like to employ him as well?” Petra asked.
“I believe him to be involved in a crime.” One would expect such a claim from their supreme leader to silence Petra and wipe the smug grin off her face, but she just kept smiling.
“How ghastly. But I’m sure my dearest Cvareh has not h
ad any part in it.”
The King leaned back in his throne. “We will see, won’t we? If you are lying, there will be grave consequences on your whole House.”
“Your glory is all ends House Xin seeks.” Petra’s words were poetic, pretty, and utterly insincere.
“I’m sure.” The King waved a long-fingered hand.
Petra bowed, heeding the dismissal with grace. She spun like a dancer and strode out the room with long, measured steps. Leona watched the young Oji go, boring holes in the door with her eyes long after she left.
“Ease, Leona,” the King reminded her again as he stood.
“She’s lying to you, Dono.”
“I am aware.” He started for the door himself, trusting Leona to fall into step.
“Cvareh stayed with his brother here. He could’ve easily uncovered what we had. It had to have been him; only a Xin would take the schematics,” Leona insisted, trying to persuade someone who was already of her mind.
“And he is no doubt carrying them to Loom to find someone who can finish the engineering of the Philosopher’s Box.”
“Should we increase our efforts in watching the Rivet’s Guild? Even the best watchmen close their eyes to sleep.” It would make sense for Cvareh to head there. The engineers of Loom would be the ones to finish what the last resistance had started.
“I trust you to it,” the King agreed, starting for a different set of council rooms.
“I bend to your will.” Leona bowed.
“However, even more so, I want your sister to bring me back what is rightfully mine.” The King paused, giving Leona a long stare.
“I will see that she does,” Leona vowed. “Personally, if I must.”
“Very good.” He nodded and continued on his way.
Leona didn’t know what was holding up Sybil beneath the clouds. But frankly, she didn’t care. In Leona’s world, there was only success or failure. There was no ‘almost’, or ‘close enough’. Leona had given Yveun Dono her word now. If she had to, she would raze Loom to the ground to avoid failing him.