by Elise Kova
The explosion was small by Florence’s standards. Enough to stun, but not enough to hinder. Its real purpose was obvious as the reaction of the chemicals plumed thick purple smoke into the room. Remaining Fenthri coughed, trying to blink through the smog. Florence pulled up the goggles that sat around her neck and settled a mask around her nose and mouth.
Arianna gave her an appreciative once-over as they sprinted out into the sun. Florence panted softly, but returned the gesture in kind. The girl was brilliant for thinking of practical, multi-functional disguises. Flor’s planning and foresight had bought the three a few precious seconds. Now, it was up to Arianna to figure out how not to waste them.
11. FLORENCE
It felt like the side of her face had been pistol-whipped. Florence’s cheek had swollen to twice its size, pressing her eye half-shut uncomfortably. It was true what they said about Dragons, that their bones were twice as dense as the average Fenthri’s. No wonder the lone resistance on Loom had been squelched effectively the moment it had sprung up. The Dragons were superior in nearly every way.
Her eyes drifted over to Cvareh. The Dragon stumbled along with Arianna’s help. If the Rider had messed him up that badly, Florence couldn’t even fathom how strong she’d really been. The Dragon hadn’t even fallen after being shot through with a magic canister.
“Where are we headed?” Florence dared ask the question. Arianna had that faraway look that always overcame her when she was thinking.
Arianna snapped back to reality. “The port.”
“There’s no way we can board an airship now. If they had a customs line in the train terminal, they’ll certainly have one on any airships—especially those headed for Keel.”
“We’ll see when we get there. I’m just hoping to use all the people to mask our trail.” Arianna glanced at Cvareh. His wounds had nearly healed, but it was taking a magical toll on him and he bumbled along, exhausted. He looked like Ari did after a particularly rough mission. Healing might be in Dragon blood, but it certainly wasn’t without cost. “Flor, you did well.”
The statement came like a rogue beam of sunlight breaking through the clouds. Florence had never seen such a thing happen, of course, but she’d heard it was possible and if it did happen, she imagined the encouraging smile Arianna was giving her would feel the same. She’d been terrified. Rushing in headfirst with reckless abandon was more Arianna’s mode of operation. But she’d take the praise in duplicates if Arianna was the one giving it.
Arianna stopped suddenly, pulling into a sidewall. Florence didn’t question and followed suit. They crouched next to a rubbish bin that reeked of spoiled fish and sour milk. Florence was grateful that Dragons didn’t seek out blood trails entirely with their noses; otherwise they might have had to bathe in such a foul concoction.
The cause for Arianna’s wariness became clear as the unique cry of a Dragon’s glider echoed across the clouds. Both women turned their eyes skyward, seeking out the ominous rainbow trail—but neither saw it. With a dull thud, like a metal spoon hitting the bottom of a pot filled with water, the Dragon crossed through the clouds that separated Nova from Loom.
“I’ve never seen a Rider retreat before.” Cvareh frowned, massaging his shoulder. It had hung at an odd angle previously, but was now almost right again.
“Maybe it’s a good sign?” Florence was hopeful.
“Never.” The Dragon squelched her optimism on the spot. “She’s going back for reinforcements. She has our scent now.”
“Dragon—” Arianna started tensely.
“Am I back to Dragon now? I thought I had been upgraded to ‘Cvareh’ on the train.”
If Florence had been in his odd, supposedly fashionable shoes, she wouldn’t have been trying Arianna’s patience at that exact moment.
“If I call you mongrel you’ll answer, after that stunt you pulled,” Arianna snarled.
Florence expected Cvareh to rise in kind, as he usually did. But the man tilted his head back, exposing his neck and chest. Florence was oddly reminded of a dog exposing its stomach to the leader of the pack.
“You’re right. It was stupid of me.”
Arianna clearly didn’t know how to handle this sudden subservience, and Cvareh’s out-of-character actions seemed to annoy her all the more. Florence leaned against the rubbish bin, too tired to care about the smell and already getting used to it. Ari grabbed the Dragon’s face, pulling it toward hers.
“Can Dragons track blood or magic across water? How well?”
Cvareh considered this for a long moment. “We don’t have large bodies of water on Nova like on Loom—and nothing salty. If we could scrub the trail of our scent before getting on the water and kept the magic to a minimum, it could cover the smell enough—better than the open air would.”
“Do you think you can keep the magic ‘to a minimum’?”
“Yes.” Annoyance at Arianna’s tone and manhandling was beginning to creep into Cvareh’s words. Florence shifted, preparing to put herself between them like she had back in the bunker.
“You’re sure? No more running off and attacking Riders for no good reason?”
Cvareh finally jerked his head from her grasp. He swatted her hand away with a glare and the two locked eyes. They were like counter-weights on either side of the scale. Different, but painfully similar—more so than they wanted to admit.
Florence could see them from a step away, and that step was a half a world of perspective. He was the sugared art on a cake and Ari was the plate and utensils. They saw an enemy in each other, mortal opposites, form versus function. Florence saw two things that were undeniably different, but surprisingly complementary.
“If you knew what they’d said you wouldn’t—”
Ari rattled off a string of guttural sounds that echoed up from the back of her throat. Florence knew that Ari could understand Royuk, but she’d never actually heard her teacher speak it. The sounds were perfect, nearly identical to the accents the Riders used.
It was perhaps too similar; Cvareh’s talons were unsheathed in a second. He lunged for her and Ari released him to grasp for her dagger. The sharp points of each of their weapons pressed into the other’s throat, their noses almost touching.
“I don’t give a damn about your House,” Arianna growled. “When you are traveling with me you put it aside, and you do as I command.”
“You ground-born, soot colored Fen,” Cvareh snarled in kind, his lips curling back to expose his elongated canines.
Florence placed a hand on both their shoulders, trying to ease tensions. She had worked so hard to make her hands conjure explosions that it was odd to use them to diffuse. “Both of you, stop. What’s done is done. This isn’t helping.” Eventually, Florence had no doubt that appealing to their mutual sense of reason would fail. But for now it seemed she had yet to reach that point. “Ari, you are clearly working on a new plan.”
“I am.” The taller woman stood. Florence noticed a small slash in her coat, but miraculously, no black blood stained the white. Now that Florence thought about it, she’d never seen Arianna bleeding at all… But perhaps that was a given since the woman healed as fast as a Dragon. Arianna distracted Florence from her thoughts as she continued, “But you’re not going to like it.”
“Why?” Creeping dread crawled up Florence’s spine at Arianna’s tone. If the woman said Florence wouldn’t like it then Florence had no doubt whatever it was, she’d absolutely hate it.
“I’ll tell you when I decide it must be done.” Arianna glared back at Cvareh, still heaping mountains of blame on his shoulders for what had happened with just her eyes.
Florence looked hopelessly at the Dragon and stood as well. He was clearly no more pleased with himself than Ari was. Dragon or Fenthri, the look of guilt seemed to be the same. Still, he pulled himself to his feet with them and stood on his own. He didn’t do the one thing Arianna would find even more intolerable: give up.
Ter.5.2 was the primary port for the Revolvers’ territ
ory. It served both air and sea, a relatively short distance from the land terminal the three of them had entered in on. High above, at the tops of skeleton frameworks and spiraling iron staircases, were the airship platforms.
Large cruising vessels boasted over-sized balloons strapped atop tiny but luxurious passenger cars. Men and women dressed in bright jewel tones that matched the few Dragons they walked alongside. There were smaller, more practical airships parked alongside the opulent dirigibles. They had wings shaped like fish, finned rudders and arcing bodies. Gold glinted on them, magic enabling journeys by air.
The Dragons had brought the sky to Loom.
Below were seafaring vessels. Giant freight cruisers stacked with crates fought against their roped tethers. Ore overflowed from cartons as men and women bearing Rivet tattoos argued with those bearing symbols of the Revolvers. Once in a while, Florence caught sight of a circled master, but the majority were journeymen with filled marks.
But the most common mark was what set Florence’s blood to churning beneath her granite colored skin. Ravens. For every one Dragon there were three Fenthri in the port, and for every one Fenthri with any other mark there were three Ravens. Florence blended in perfectly; no one looked at her mark twice, and no one questioned the trio. She looked like she belonged. And that was the worst part of it all.
“Flor,” Arianna spoke gently but Florence still spooked, pulled from her thoughts. “In here.”
Arianna had quite the taste in lodging. The bar stunk of stale vomit and sea scum. There wasn’t a single patron and Florence had no doubt it had as much to do with the overall atmosphere as it did the fact that they had just opened.
“You have rooms?” Arianna asked the barman.
“For a price.” The man targeted his eyes right on Florence’s mark. “Traveling?”
“I’m their escort.” She felt as awkward as she sounded trying to play the part.
“Right.” The man believed her as much as if she had said she was a Dragon. “Forty dunca, one room, eight hours starting now?”
“Why eight?” Florence couldn’t help herself.
“I’m not used to people wanting to stay around for all that long.” The man grinned. Half his teeth had rotted out.
“Eight will be plenty.” Arianna fished trough her bag. Thankfully, the satchel was designed for being turned up-side-down in all of Arianna’s various scuffles and the dunca hadn’t been lost in the station. “Eighty dunca.”
“Two rooms, or sixteen hours?” the man asked, running the bills through his fingers.
“One room, eight hours, and forty dunca for you to forget we were ever here,” Arianna clarified.
“Mum’s the word.” The man snickered and waved them toward a back hall.
Arianna picked a room, seemingly at random from the doors that were slightly ajar. She locked it behind them with a begrudging pause. Florence knew her teacher was mentally taking apart the lock several times over, scowling at its simplicity.
“You know he’ll sell us out to the highest bidder.” Cvareh pulled off his goggles as if he needed unhindered sight to stare disapprovingly at the room.
“I know.” Arianna leaned against the door like a guard, leaving Florence to take the small stool. None of them was brave enough to try the palette intended to be a bed. The floor was likely cleaner. “But it’ll spare him from running his mouth at the very first opportunity that there was a Dragon traveling with two Fenthri staying in his back room.”
“How would he know I was—”
Arianna stopped Cvareh by pointing to his hands. The bandages had ripped off when he’d used his talons in the fight. At best he could pass for gray, but there was no denying the shape of his nails, even retracted.
The Dragon spat a word in the heavy tones of Royuk. “So what do we do now?” He sighed heavily and slid along the wall to the floor.
“We wait for nightfall and stow away in one of the cargo ships.”
“Cargo ship for where?” Florence still remembered Arianna’s promise that she wouldn’t like her plan. For emphasis, the woman’s stare was openly apologetic. It only made Florence more worried.
“Why a ship? Wouldn’t an airship be faster?” Cvareh asked.
“It would.” Arianna ignored Florence’s question completely. “But that’s also what they expect—us to take the most direct route.”
“They’re going to be canvassing everywhere we go, every major city, every major transportation line,” Cvareh said. “Even if they weren’t, there’s the matter of their ability to track my magic.”
“And I’m still very curious as to the exact why surrounding their motives in tracking you down.” Arianna gave Cvareh a penetrating stare. The Dragon set his chin and met it. He was the only person Florence had ever seen challenge Arianna. Then again, Florence didn’t exactly see Arianna with very many people.
“I’ve told you all you need to know.”
“Yes, yes, that you’re working to overthrow the Dragon King.” Arianna snorted, showing how much she believed that particular bit of information.
Florence wasn’t as convinced of Cvareh’s lie. The Dragon was certainly going to great risk to get to the Alchemists. It was the guild that stood the furthest from being under Dragon control, hiding behind their insistence on secrecy for their experiments. It had been the home of Loom’s original resistance.
But even the Council of Five—those foolish few who had attempted to fan spark to flame and free Loom from under the Dragon King in those early days—had perished to the might of the Dragons. The Fenthri stood no chance, outclassed as they were in strength and magic. Florence had grown up hearing the tales of the Council of Five, but as a child’s cautionary tale against being too bold. The Council was not spoken of lightly, and never with praise.
“But I don’t disagree with you, Dragon.” Arianna sighed, continuing, “The Riders will be canvassing every major hub, and an airship is very noticeable if it is not traveling between those hubs. Not to mention your scent is notable.”
“So then how will we move?”
“We’ll take the Underground.” Arianna turned to Florence, and it was suddenly clear.
“No,” Florence breathed. “I won’t go back there again.”
“Flor—”
“You promised me!”
“Then stay here.” The words were said gently, but they hurt more than Arianna intended.
Florence fidgeted on the stool, shifting her feet, trying to catch her breath and her balance at the same time. Tunnels, endless tunnels that turned the underbelly of Ter.4 into a rat maze. It was known as “the Ravens’ playground” by bold new initiates, and “the Ravens’ folly” by the far more sensible masters.
When she had escaped those tunnels, she vowed to never enter them again. She had gone in one of ten and come out one of three. The unending blackness had taken its toll on them. They had paid their dues for her freedom many times over.
“I can’t lead you through them.” Florence shook her head violently. “I wasn’t leading last time and I don’t remember.”
“I know, Flor, I know.” Arianna’s hands smoothed over Florence’s shoulders. The motion did little to soothe her racing heart or calm her nerves. “But we must use them. They’re the only straight shot from Ter.4.2 to Ter.4.3 that assures no chance of anyone sensing Cvareh’s magic or picking up his scent. From there we can cross to Ter.0.”
She wants to cross the wasteland. Florence shook her head. It was clear this was a Rivet making a traveling plan, because no Raven in their right mind would suggest such a dangerous and backwards journey to Keel.
“That still doesn’t solve your problem of navigation.” Florence was grasping at straws, anything to make Ari reconsider.
“I’ll have help.” Arianna’s eyes told Florence she had yet to reach the worst of it. Those wretched, expressive Dragon’s eyes suddenly looked so foreign. This woman, this woman who had pulled Florence from the shadow of death, would now plunge them willingly back und
er that shade.
“Who?” Florence asked, though she already knew the answer.
“Your friends.”
Florence’s mouth dropped open. Arianna was reckless—that much Florence had always known. But never once had she thought the woman was stupid enough to break out two inmates from the floating prison of Ter.4.2.
12. LEONA
Sunset was Leona’s favorite time of day. The blinding light began to diminish, turning the sky the color of summer cherries. The world was awash in a pale red haze, sparking the accents on the Rok estate as though everything was graced by tendrils of flame.
Leona basked in the warm glow, the last fading heat before the chill of night tainted the world. Too fitting that House Xin would be done in blues that mirrored her least favorite hours. She opened her eyes, staring at the archways curving over the balcony’s entrance.
House Xin. The name alone put a foul taste in her mouth. There had not been a whisper from Sybil in four days since she descended to Loom. What was taking her so long to find the boy?
Yveun Dono grew more impatient by the hour, and Leona couldn’t really blame him. She turned her head and looked into the room beyond—his drawing room. The King sat atop a raised dais. Behind him was an identical circle embellished with a gold band and even more circles ringed in gold. He looked as though he sat atop the earth, and the moons and suns rose at his back. Her King could pass for part divine.
“You seem cheerful,” his voice rumbled from across the room out to the wide railing Leona had made her perch.
“Dono?” She sat straighter, draping her legs on the inside of the balcony.
“You’re not one often caught smiling to herself.”
Leona pressed her fingertips into her cheeks, catching the offending emotion spread across her lips. Thankfully, it was just the two of them present, and she had no secrets from her sovereign. “I was thinking that it is a lovely evening.”