The Rebels of Gold, Page 28

  “Rebellion is good for no one,” Doriv agreed. “All one needs to do to see it is look at the Fen in the world below.”

  “Something that should be alleviated soon.” It was the only topic Coletta wasn’t utterly sure of. The Fen were agents of chaos; no matter how carefully she planned and plotted, the wretched little creatures were determined to prove their insolence. Yveun did the situation no favors, either.

  “Let us hope. It’s such a nuisance.”

  “Yes, well, we can only hope the nuisances of the world are put to rest sooner over later.”

  “I make every effort.” Even if half of Coletta’s efforts were thwarted by idiocy or incompetence or the foolishness of the system she was forced to navigate.

  “Speaking of efforts . . . I hear there is a disgraced Tam babysitting House Xin?”

  “There was. Fae Rok,” Coletta affirmed.

  “How fitting that Rok requires a wayward Tam to keep the balance with House Xin. It is in our blood, after all.”

  “Rok name, Tam blood—together it’s a powerful combination,” Coletta answered carefully. She wanted to drive her point with the Tam’Ryu deep. “Our families making a stable balance, equal force . . . We both have much to gain, and much to lose if that balance is disrupted.”

  “Tam will continue to defend the balance so long as House Rok continues to abide by Dragon law.” Tam and their bloody obsession with the law, Coletta thought as Doriv spoke. “And so long as we continue to be appropriately compensated for the assistance we give.”

  They stopped again, now at the apex of the large loop that swept around the outer fields. A pathway split away through the hills, still paved but no longer covered. Usually, their conversation would shift back to veiled threats and jabs as they rounded the curve back to the estate proper.

  “How lovely it would be to have some precious gold to adorn Tam’s castle.” The Tam Ryu turned in a different direction than normal, headed away from the estate.

  “Perhaps some could be spared, as a gift between our families—a gesture of thanks.” Coletta heard the request clearly. It was a request that all prior conversations with the Ryu had prepared her to hear.

  “I said it before, Coletta’Ryu—you are much too generous.” Doriv smiled, showing her razor-sharp teeth.

  Coletta did the same.

  Doriv folded her hands before her. “I hear rumors too that Yveun’s refineries are taking shape.”

  That was the greatest lie of them all. The refineries were a failure. Difficult to maintain, difficult to feed with resources. They were glorified houses for the gold she had stolen from Loom, a façade and nothing more.

  “Would you like to see one?” Coletta knew better than to deny the woman, which would only raise suspicion. She knew the request was inevitable, but trusted that her carefully crafted plans would yield the expected result.

  Coletta knew something was wrong the moment the wind shifted around them. The air smelled sweet, rather than sharp with the metallic tang of the refinery. She couldn’t demand they turn around; to do so would be admitting something had gone awry. But as the refineries nestled in the hills beyond the Rok Estate came into view, Coletta wasn’t prepared for what she found.

  “It’s quiet.”

  Damn Doriv and her observations. “We run it on alternate days, so as not to draw too much attention to it.”

  The Tam Ryu gave a small hum of amusement.

  “I can see the gold transported to you from here,” Coletta offered, trying to arrest their progress.

  “I’d like to see these operations—temples of industry from the world below.”

  Coletta had no grounds to object, so she didn’t. She continued onward and downward to the main entry. The tangy sweet smell became overwhelming; Coletta had no option to brace herself.

  “We’ll head straight to the storehouse.” Whatever had happened here, Coletta would deal with later. For now, she’d show the gold she’d stolen from Loom, keep the illusion of a strong House Rok, and get Doriv out as quickly as possible.

  “Lead on.” The woman’s smile was knowing, frustratingly so.

  Coletta walked through the still passageways, trapped in by lattices of steel and iron, to a small storehouse not far from the outer edge of the refinery grounds. Coletta took a breath, unbarring the door.

  Were it not for the dozens, hundreds, thousands of people she’d killed over the years, her face might have cracked. The room that she’d filled to the brim with gold from Loom, stolen from storehouses revealed to her by the self-styled Fen King’s notes, was completely vacant. A large pennon hung over a pile of hearts, dull and fraying already with rot.

  Coletta read over the brief message, painted with the grease pencils the Fen used to mark various machines and walkways in the refineries.

  After a long moment of silence, Doriv was the first to speak. “Coletta’Ryu, who exactly is the Queen of Wraiths?”

  FLORENCE

  “I don’t call the shots, just deliver them.” Helen shrugged at a fuming Vicar Dove.

  “We sent one hundred men and women to be made into Perfect Chimera, and you bring us only three back and ask for fifty more.”

  “Again, just delivering the message.”

  Florence looked at the delivery summary in question. She knew, better than Powell or Dove, what the request meant. They had precious few Revolvers as it was; to ferry them by the tens to Ter.3 was putting a strain on their ability to defend themselves in Ter.4.

  “What are Willard and Ethel thinking?” Dove turned her attention to Powell and Florence.

  It was a question Florence knew the other vicar didn’t really want to be answered, but answer she would. “They’re trying to encourage us to consolidate.”

  “Then they should outright say it.” Dove pushed away from the table where the papers lay strewn, as if she was too disgusted by them to bear another moment in their presence.

  The Alchemists had been sent ahead to Garre to learn how to transplant the boxes, and then become Perfect Chimera themselves. At first, due to “tempering issues,” the process was painfully slow. But, as was the case with most new technology, things improved quickly and efficiency increased exponentially. From the whispers, it seemed the Alchemists were content to stay in Garre for a while; it was a hard point to argue when that was the site of the boxes.

  “I’m fairly sure they have.” Florence picked up the letter from Ethel that encouraged the rest of the guilds to come south. “It’s not an illogical proposition.”

  “We cannot keep moving people,” Dove objected.

  “And there’s the issue of Dragon attacks,” Powell added.

  “If we hadn’t already sent so many Revolvers south, that wouldn’t be an issue,” Dove seethed.

  “What’s done is done. There’s little point in arguing now.” Florence couldn’t believe she was younger than them both, especially not when they acted like squabbling children. “We should heed Ethel’s suggestion and relocate.”

  “We just got to Ter.4,” Dove needlessly reminded Florence.

  “We arrived at Ter.4 nearly eight months ago. And this move will be far less tedious with established rail lines. We can leave right through the guild hall. It’s a fairly straight shot south from Holx.”

  “But we did just finish fortifying the Underground.” As weak as the objection was, it was still an objection and Florence couldn’t remember the last time Powell spoke against her. She hoped it wouldn’t become a habit.

  “Fortifications in the form of blocking tunnels and building some doors,” Florence countered. “Hardly any significant investment of time or resources.”

  “And turrets,” Vicar Dove reminded.

  “We set up two turrets. Though I realize you may have gotten the number confused, since it doesn’t directly relate to your Ravens.” Florence was almost proud of how nonchalantly she delivered such a scathing remark.

  “Careful, Florence, or one might think that you are fostering separation between t
he guilds.”

  “I would never.” Florence returned them to the topic at hand, not wanting to risk further ire. “In any case . . .we cannot ignore these two attacks on Ter.3. The Dragons have finally realized our manufacturing there.”

  “Took them long enough,” Helen mumbled.

  “If only it took them longer,” Powell remarked with a pointed look.

  “We must protect the factories at all costs,” Florence continued, unbothered by the exchanges occurring around her. “They are a far greater priority than staying holed in the Underground.”

  “We can use those same lines you mentioned earlier to transport what we need here,” Dove insisted.

  “You can’t possibly mean that.” Florence was beginning to suspect that Dove was just fighting her for the sake of fighting now.

  “I do very much. The trains—”

  “The trains run on tracks easily targeted by Dragons.” Florence shook her head. “They can destroy the tracks and separate us. Remember the whole reason we banded together?” Florence held up her hand by her shoulder, palms out, fingers upward, mimicking the symbol that had come to represent the sign of their rebellion. “Five guilds, separate but connected, and together strong.”

  Powell sighed a sound that had a distinct tone of resignation to it. “There are more resources in Ter.3 than the Underground. We’re running thin on food.”

  “The Ravens’ Guild has storerooms.”

  “That have all been exhausted.”

  “Fine.” Dove threw her hands into the air. “We shall move again. But we do it slowly, one group at a time.”

  “No.” Florence shot down the idea immediately. “We take out all locomotives at once. We run them one after the other. And we move together, as one unit, safe and strong. That way, if the Dragons should take notice, they can’t find a way to block the lines and separate us on opposite ends of the continent.”

  The room was silent for a long moment. Florence took silence to mean victory, and she turned to Helen and Will. She barely recognized her old friends now. They had gone off to be emissaries of the seedy underbelly of Loom and Florence had become the Vicar Revolver. She wished them well, but there would be little more than that between them as the years progressed—if the years progressed.

  “Return to Garre with the requested manpower. Inform Willard, Ethel, and Arianna that we will be moving to Ter.3.2.”

  “Not Garre?” Powell interrupted.

  “No.” Florence shook her head and looked back to the edited schematics she and Arianna had been passing between them by way of Helen. “Garre needs to stay focused on making the Philosopher’s Box. We will set up in Ter.3.2, close enough that we are nothing more than a stone’s throw away and can exchange information, resources, and men with ease. But far enough that we can retrofit our own factories to make the guns. Are there any questions?”

  Silence.

  “No? Good. Let’s get to work.”

  COLETTA

  She was particularly grateful for Ulia’s help in undoing the intricate clasping on the front of her jacket that night. Coletta wasn’t sure if her hands had ever felt so shaky, and it took all her focus to keep them even, her voice level.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you?” Ulia asked as she slung the garment over her hand for proper cleaning. Even the girl, one of the most loyal among them, was nervous now. She had seen the refinery and the look on Doriv’s face when the pennon was discovered.

  “No, leave.” Ulia hovered for a half second, debate written on her face. This was not the night to be insubordinate. But Coletta had every faith that she knew as much; whatever made her falter was of the utmost importance. “Yes?”

  “It is perhaps nothing . . .” Ulia kept her eyes downcast. “I do not claim to know the greatness you weave nor would I ever dream of passing judgment—”

  “Out with it.” Coletta had no patience for floundering. Ulia jumped at the unusual strength in Coletta’s voice.

  “I noticed that Yeaan’s room has been empty for a few days now . . .I merely thought it odd that there has been no sign from her. I wondered, perhaps, if this ‘Queen of Wraiths’—”

  “How long has it been?” Coletta interrupted, formulating her own theories. She had merely assumed Yeaan had been focused on the eradication of the flowers. But now that she thought of it, it had been some time since one of her more favorite flowers had come before her.

  “Since I last saw her . . . a month, maybe more?” Ulia shook her head. “I apologize, my lady, it’s merely an estimate.”

  “You did well to tell me.” Coletta forced out the praise. Taking out aggressions on her most loyal for the faults of others was a very certain way to lose that loyalty. “Now, get out.”

  “Yes.” This time, Ulia did depart.

  There was truly no rest for the weary. Before Coletta even had a breath to think about Yeaan and the last update she had received on the Flowers of Agendi, another invaded her space.

  “Coletta!” Yveun roared.

  “I am here.” She kept her voice calm, almost monotonous. One of them had to keep it together.

  “What happened?” It was such an odd sight to see Yveun in her chambers that Coletta almost overlooked the fact that he was pacing like a wild animal newly freed from its cage. “Everything with the Tam’Oji goes well and then, just as they depart, Doriv’Ryu offers me her condolences for our loss? That there is no gold?” He stopped, and squared off against her. “You assured me there would be gold.”

  “There was.”

  “Then what—”

  “It was stolen.”

  “Stolen?” Had someone told Coletta what she was currently telling Yveun, her reaction would’ve been much the same. “Who would dare?”

  “The Queen of Wraiths.”

  Emotions swept across his face, one after the next, swirling until they reached peak speeds, turning the Dono into a twister that was prepared to kill everything in its path. “Queen of Wraiths? I told you that Arianna was dangerous. I told you she was the one we needed to hunt.” Yveun drew a finger like a Fenthri gun, casting it at her. “You cautioned against it, sent Fae to Xin. Now see what it has wrought.”

  Coletta’s mouth twitched and she fought to keep her face passive. It was hard to say if Yveun was right, but she also couldn’t assert that he was wrong.

  “These are unfortunate events, but—”

  “But? But? We are thwarted at every turn on Loom.” Yveun snarled out some nasty series of words and set to pacing once more. “Even on Ruana, we are struggling to hold Napole on resolve alone. Our men are dying of skirmishes in the night, or of boredom.”

  Napole. The “battle”—if it could be called that, as they were met with no resistance from House Xin—was over in a night, which Yveun had interpreted to mean that they could run through the island unhindered. Xin was, unfortunately, too smart for that. They had retreated into their forests and mountains, copying the strategy Loom had been embracing for months.

  Hiding was shameful for a Dragon, but it kept them alive.

  “That blue scum—” Cvareh, Coletta filled in mentally “—will not respond to my demands for a duel.”

  “Nor will he.”

  Yveun’s claws shot from his fingertips. Coletta allowed the ripple of his magic to send shivers up her spine, dotting it with goosebumps. It was a sickeningly sweet smell, rage ripening her mate.

  “He calls himself Oji! If he ever wishes to be recognized properly on Nova, he must respond to my challenge.”

  “Not if he seeks to topple Nova.” Coletta moved with all the grace she possessed, easing herself down on the ottoman in the center of the room.

  “He has no hope of toppling Nova. We shall win every duel!”

  “There are no duels to be had.” Nor would there be. Were she in Cvareh’s position, she’d wait until she held all the cards before making a public stand against Yveun.

  “This is unheard of. He’s acting like . . . like . . . ”

  “L
ike a Fenthri.” The statement drew Yveun’s attention. Finally seeing his eyes clear from anger, enough to listen at least, Coletta continued. “The Fenthri care not for proper society, as we know. They will do anything to survive, and Xin is no better. ‘The ends’—their ends—will justify the means used to achieve them, even if that means ignoring Dragon law. Why wouldn’t they? If they don’t, they die. If they do, they have a slim chance of victory.”

  “You must be truly mad to understand their twisted logic.” Yveun shook his head slowly, as if disgust weighted down his movements.

  “My madness is why you love me.” Coletta stretched her mouth wide, showing her teeth and reminding him of all the poisons she had endured for the sake of their greatness.

  “One of the many reasons.” Yveun hulked over her like a great mountain casting a long shadow on the ground below it. But Coletta didn’t mind being in his shadow—she thrived in it. She conducted her business in his wake, used his greatness to distract from her own, his massive frame her shield. “Our gray wards seek to overthrow us from beneath. The scourge of Dragon society fights against us and is gaining ground. Our key ally has left this day on fragile relations. And yet, you smile.”

  “I do.”

  “Why?” At last he asked the right questions. But Coletta didn’t know yet if he was ready for the answers.

  “Because we, too, can build an army. Xin isn’t the only house that can think like the Fen.”

  “Do you mean . . . ?” Eagerness hovered more potently than his words.

  “Xin has looked to the Fenthri to be perfect. Rok, we make our own perfection.”

  “You have met success.” It was not a question.

  “Come, my Oji, and allow me to show you my Gray Room.” Coletta started for the door, not even bothering to see if he was following. For she knew there was no way Yveun had escaped her mental tether. It was good that she had him enthralled for now. When he learned the bitter truth of her triumph, Coletta knew his rage would be uncontrollable.