The Rebels of Gold

  They emerged from the doors of the five-towered hall and into the rubble and chaos of the ground below. Men and women scampered to find places to hide. Revolvers held their backs against stones and beams of steel, loaded guns in hand. Florence looked up behind her at the tower, seeing the glint of gun barrels sticking from windows.

  The Vicar Revolver stood atop the sloping road that led into the Hall of Ter.0. His arms folded across his chest and his eyes squinted at the sky. He was not the same man who had occupied the tribunal. Gregory was gone, and only the vicar remained in his place.

  “You don’t listen, do you?” The man glanced over his shoulder at her.

  “I think my petulance is endearing.” Florence grinned, selecting a few canisters she had made that morning.

  “At least someone does.” Gregory frowned disapprovingly. “Get back inside. I can’t have you being a liability.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m only here to help.” Florence drew her gun. She knew she was pushing the limits. But she wasn’t about to be ordered away and pushed around. She squinted up at the whitewashed sky, speaking before the vicar could. “What’re they doing?”

  “Flying out of range,” Arianna responded, sparing Florence from having to endure another response from Gregory.

  One glider broke away from the other two, veering down and away from the wide loop it had been making. The vicar rose a hand as it descended about halfway, just within range. The world was suddenly so heavy with silence that she could hear the collective chorus of guns cocking.

  “Listen to me, girl,” the vicar muttered. “Don’t get us all killed now.”

  Florence barely refrained from pointing out that she may have been the one who saved Loom by uniting them all. It was a hard line to walk, being a nobody but aspiring to be a someone.

  The Rider looped around a few times, looking down at the terrain, each time a little lower. It started its final descent on a trajectory that had them landing with an explosion of color on the dusty ground as the glider touched down lightly. The Dragon didn’t move. She stayed exactly where she was, hands on the golden handles of the glider.

  It was those handles that funneled magic strategically through and around the Dragon’s body, into her feet, and the gold platform on which she stood. A shimmer of gold, like the scales of one of the great southeastern sea snakes, lit up across the Rider’s body, forming a corona. It was only the second time Florence had ever seen one, the first being the last time Riders had descended on Mercury Town and brought chaos with them.

  It was a field metal and bullets could not penetrate—a field only broken by the strongest of magic, more than any Fenthri had ever mustered. And just like that, it made them all helpless before the Rider.

  Arianna took a half-step closer in her direction. Florence watched with equal parts fascination and discomfort as claws grew from her fingertips. The skin of the Dragon hands she had acquired on Nova was so pale that it could almost be mistaken for gray, and there was a sort of willing blindness Florence had mustered toward them.

  She couldn’t determine if the blue was identical to Cvareh’s color or not.

  “Arianna,” the Rider finally said. The Dragon did not call for a vicar or the leader. She called for Arianna. “Our king wishes to speak with you.”

  “Yveun is here?” Arianna’s voice was nothing more than a whisper. A whisper that could well be the voice of death.

  “Yveun’Dono, knave.”

  “He is not our king.” Florence raised her gun. She didn’t care if her shot would be pointless. She would distract the woman while Arianna attacked. She would catch the corona the second it exhausted. She would have the satisfaction of finally pulling the trigger on a Dragon, if nothing else. “He is yours. And he is not welcome on Loom.”

  “Florence,” the vicar hissed. “Do not act out of turn.”

  Florence didn’t move, keeping her stance. Someone had to threaten the Dragons, had to show Loom’s claws.

  The woman tilted her head with an unnerving jilt to sweep her eyes from Arianna to Florence. Her mouth spread wide, like a crescent moon, and gleamed with razor-sharp teeth. “What a bold child.”

  “I am not a child,” Florence insisted.

  “Spoken like a child.” The Rider scoffed and looked back to Arianna. “Tell your warriors to put down their weapons.”

  “Not my call.” Arianna still held up her hand, claws out.

  “Interesting . . .” The Rider’s attention turned back to Florence, rather than the vicar at her side. “Is it yours?”

  “It’s mine.” Vicar Gregory took a step. Sure, now he wanted to be threatening.

  The Rider tilted their head in the other direction and made a noise that could be interpreted as a snort at the vicar. “What is your name, girl?”

  “Florence.” She hated answering to “girl” but the sooner she gave the Rider a name, the sooner she could hope for her to use it.

  Without warning, the glider sparked back to life, magic flashing through the air with an array of colors. The Rider took to the sky once more, quickly ascending to where the other two gliders continued their wide, slow loops overtop the guild hall. Florence looked back at the men and women stuck on the ground.

  A Dragon could fight against three, four Fenthri without the help of anything. Enabled by a glider, protected by corona, and bolstered by any weaponry pilfered or given from the Revolvers, and Florence suddenly knew why Loom had fallen so quickly—why it took so little for the Dragons to keep them under their thumb.

  “Coming back . . .” Gregory muttered.

  Sure enough, all three gliders were descending now. The main road was only wide enough for two to land side by side, so the third touched down just behind.

  To the right of the Dragon Florence had just been speaking to was possibly the largest Dragon she’d ever seen. Easily twice her height, he was made of pure muscle—if muscle was sculpted from rocks. The Dragon King—or so she assumed—wore next to nothing, so Florence and every other Fenthri could see every stretch of skin across the bulging curves of his arms and legs. His flesh was the color of fire, his eyes molten steel, and his shoulder-length hair as red as Fenthri blood. She hadn’t been a Chimera for very long, but he radiated ten times the power she had ever felt, easily double the most powerful person she’d ever known—Arianna.

  “Yveun . . .” Arianna whispered.

  “Good to see you again, Arianna.” The Dragon King pulled his lips back into a smile that was half-snarl. “I have come to offer peace to Loom.”

  “Peace?” Florence repeated. “You?” She’d never known an anger so vicious. “You who destroyed our world is offering peace?”

  His head shifted to look at her. A piercing pang shot right between Florence’s eyes the second his met hers. It was a dull ache in the back of her mind that spread like venom. Her whole body felt stiff, succumbing to the pressure. Her jaw locked.

  “You are Florence, yes or no?”

  “Yes.”

  “You lead this rebellion, yes or no?”

  “Yes,” she spoke on command like a trained animal, the word drawn out by force from the well of truth deep within her.

  “What?” She barely heard Gregory whisper at her audacity, even though he stood right beside her.

  Florence tried to peel her eyes away from the Dragon King, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t do anything unless he told her to first. Even breathing without his blessing was currently laborious.

  “Of course,” the king chuckled, sending sparks of magic off his corona like raindrops that dissipated before they hit the ground. “It would be a child who would have no memory of the last time Loom fell.” Yveun shifted his attention to Gregory. “But you, you’re old enough to remember.”

  The vicar was afflicted with the same sort of rigor mortis that had overcome Florence. She saw the panicked look in his eyes, the stiffness in his limbs. Florence knew the sensation was like taking a visit into a nightmare, but she made no motion to release him
from it. Her relief at the Dragon King’s attention being off her was too great.

  “Tell me true: as Loom is now, can you stand against us in another war?” the king continued.

  “As we are now?” The words were forced between tight lips. “No.”

  The whispering she heard on the wind was the sound of Loom’s resolve wavering. She saw Fenthri look to each other in confusion.

  “What happened the last time a resistance stood against me, Arianna?” The king turned his attention off Gregory.

  Arianna looked off to the horizon. She remained still and easy, her breathing even. Eyes, Florence realized. Yveun had magic in his eyes—mind control as long as eye contact was maintained. She put it together faster than Gregory, who was once more under the king’s thrall.

  “You tell us, then. What happened the last time a resistance stood against me?”

  “They were destroyed completely,” the vicar responded automatically.

  Gun barrels began to waver. A man stood to get a better view, giving up his vantage and his fighting position. Florence looked over the field of lost Fenthri, desperate for a home, longing for the logical order they all craved. They had been broken by the man before them, and, for some reason, they looked to that same hand now to fix their world.

  “How many perished?” the king pressed.

  “Countless. Loom was never the same,” Gregory responded.

  Eye contact—she had to break the eye contact or the vicar would undo the threads of Loom’s resolve himself. Without warning, she gave the vicar a strong shove. The man was much larger than her in all directions, but he was unbraced and stumbled before falling.

  “Don’t look him in the eye,” she offered by way of explanation at the vicar’s scowl.

  “Foolish girl, the truth should be heard.” The king drew her attention again, but Florence made it a point to look just above his head. His magic kept out of her mind and off her skin as a result. “Every man and woman standing here, brandishing their pathetic weapons at my greatness, should know only death awaits.”

  “It does not!” Florence took a bold step forward. “Arianna is proof of that.”

  “Florence, I am not the example to use,” Arianna hissed.

  She knew Arianna hated having the attention on her. But that was what Loom needed right now. And for all Florence loved Arianna, she loved Loom even more.

  “You are right. We cannot stand against your Dragons as we are now. But as Perfect Chimera we are even stronger than your Riders. We can be more complete than even you. We can have all magics, fly gliders, and use corona.” Florence took another step forward, raising her gun once more at the giant of a man. She could see in her periphery his muscles twitch with rage. Was it too much to hope she could goad him enough? To cause him to release the glider, relinquish his corona, and lunge for her? Even if she died the most horrible death, someone would get the shot on his head.

  “And there are a lot more of us, than there are of you,” she continued. “We outnumber you. It’s why you regulated our breeding, killed us off.”

  “Foolish Fenthri. You regulated your own breeding long before I did,” he snarled. “I was saving you by regulating your ridiculous expenditure of resources.”

  “The Harvesters would have seen that soon enough.” Florence had every faith as long as men like Powell were in the guild. Plus, it wasn’t as if she could be proven wrong. No one could ever know what would have happened to Loom had the Dragons not intervened. “And then, when you caught wind of a Perfect Chimera, of the Philosopher’s Box being made, you tried to steal her work and kill them all.

  “But she survived.” Florence pulled back the hammer of her gun. “And no matter how many times you try to kill her, you just can’t seem to land the final blow.” She spoke as loud as she could. She hoped everyone would hear her words. Because it was well possible that she was about to die. “That is the power of one Perfect Chimera. Now, what do you think will happen if you face an entire world of them? Perhaps you’re right in wanting to talk peace, but you shouldn’t be offering it—you should be asking us for it.”

  His mouth twitched, his snarl widened, and for one brief second Florence thought she had him.

  But the Dragon King hadn’t lorded over them for so long by being clumsy. He eased back on his glider, hands still firmly on the handles. “Shoot me, child. Let it be known to the world that it was your gun that heralded Loom’s ultimate demise.”

  He was bluffing. He had to be. Florence locked her elbow to make sure her hand didn’t shake. The revolver felt heavier than it ever had. All I have to do is squeeze the trigger, repeated over and over in her head like a mantra. It wound up strength that flowed into her forearm, then her hand, then her fingers.

  She didn’t know what she thought she would really accomplish. At the very least, she’d show everyone that she did not back down. That Fenthri no longer cowered before Dragons.

  “Don’t shoot, Florence.”

  All her focus was broken, and Florence whipped her head around to stare down Arianna.

  “You offered us peace?” Arianna addressed the Dragon King.

  “No . . .” Florence breathed. What was Arianna doing? Would she even think of handing over Loom to the Dragons?

  “Take heed, Fen. Even the woman you deem ‘perfect’ wishes to talk before war.” Florence felt the weight of Yveun’s stare as he spoke. But her eyes were on Arianna. She didn’t look anywhere else. “Yes, I offer you peace as long as you subject utterly to me.”

  “Give us three days to destroy our weapons and return to our respective guilds. When you return, you will see us ready to serve you.”

  This was not the Arianna Florence knew. Rage shot through her mind like a cannon ball.

  “Very well. Let it be known that I am a most merciful god! You have three days. And should I not find all of you back where you belong, ready to serve, I will burn your world to the ground. I will give no quarter. You will all perish.”

  From behind, she heard the glider take to the sky again. Florence was aware the Dragon King had left as keenly as she was aware that she would forever regret not taking the shot, not trying everything possible to kill him at the one opportunity she may ever have.

  Florence stared at the woman who had been her mentor, her role model, her friend . . . and saw someone she no longer recognized.

  ARIANNA

  Her whole body felt heavy. Phantom pains ached in her joints at the mere sight of Yveun. Her mind echoed with the sounds of her flesh tearing under his claws, and howls of rage at the man she wanted dead more than she wanted to draw breath, more than she wanted to tinker and invent.

  Arianna was too eager to turn away from the space the Dragon King had just occupied.

  No one impeded her short progress back to the guild hall. Part of her wanted to collapse under the weight of all her memories, every misfortune in her life that the Dragon King had orchestrated. Part of her wanted to personally wait where she had just stood for three days until she could tear apart the Dragon King limb by limb.

  If she even could . . .

  Doubt tightened around her throat in the shape of Yveun’s claws and Arianna didn’t know how to dislodge it from her neck, where it was slowly suffocating her.

  “Arianna!” Florence’s voice was the only thing sharp enough to pierce the shell that encased the vortex of her thoughts.

  She turned to see the girl sprinting toward her. Florence skidded and half-skipped to a stop. Her fist shot out, grabbing Arianna’s coat, jerking her away from the staircase she’d been about to use for escape. It felt like being thrown back on a stage she had been trying to avoid for days.

  “What in the five guilds was that?” Florence panted.

  “Let me go, Flor.” The machine of her mind was clanking loudly; too many wrenches had been thrown in it from different directions. Arianna couldn’t be sure what the output would be if she continued to be pushed.

  “No, not until you give me some explanation.�
�

  Arianna stared down at the girl who was holding her in place. In half a second, she could wrest herself free by breaking or severing Florence’s arm in the process. But Arianna would never intentionally hurt Florence.

  “Explanation of what?”

  “Why did you tell me not to shoot? Why did you offer peace?” Florence shook her head. Arianna knew she wouldn’t like the next words out of Florence’s mouth by the look the girl gave her. “Whose side are you on?”

  “I’d like to hear this answer as well.” Gregory and two other vicars stood with a small but growing group who had made it in from the outside.

  “I owe none of you an explanation.” They were putting her under a dangerous amount of tension with their demands and their idiocy. “If you can’t see the logic behind my actions, then none of you are fit to lead Loom.”

  When he spoke again, Gregory’s voice was loud enough for all those assembled to hear. “How dare you. You’ve been nothing but unhelpful this entire time. If you’re on our side, help us.”

  Arianna stared stubbornly back at him, her mouth pressed shut.

  “As the Vicar Revolver, I want to know why you told a Revo not to take her mark.”

  Florence’s eyes were torn away from Arianna at being called a Revolver by the vicar himself.

  “Don’t call her a Revolver when it suits you to do so,” Arianna sneered. Her rage compounded. “That’s low, even for you, Gregory.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Do you really want to have this conversation? I know the rumors about the shots you take in practice. The faulty canisters you’d claim were made by your colleagues.” Arianna had carefully vetted Revolvers from the moment she knew Florence would need a teacher, and Gregory’s name had come up as a master with some flexible perceptions of morality—especially when it came to Dragons. He’d been a little too flexible for Arianna’s comfort then, and now.