The Rebels of Gold, Page 31

  She could be very frustrating. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing does unless we win.”

  “Until we win,” she corrected and stared out down at the Fenthri. “They’re doing a good job, seem happy enough.”

  “When the war is over, every Fenthri who wishes to return home to Loom will be ferried back. The ones who don’t will be treated the same as any Dragon.”

  “None will want to stay.”

  She sounded as if she had every confidence, but Cvareh wasn’t so sure. In the hybrid world that existed just beyond the horizon, there was a place for Fenthri on Nova to maintain the various mechanizations that would no doubt crop up across their landscape. The mere idea brought a smile to Cvareh’s mouth.

  “What?”

  “What?” he echoed.

  “That smile.”

  “Just imagining a Nova with Fenthri, and machines.”

  Arianna snorted. “The likelihood of that happening is about the same as the Alchemists giving up dissections.”

  “I don’t think so.” He leaned against the glass, following her stare. Even now, Dragons were beginning to walk among the Fenthri, work among them. “Plus, for the longevity of one world, we’d better hope that we get along enough to live on land or sky.”

  “Well, we will be living in both places soon, as Loom is about ready to ferry Perfect Chimera.”

  “How many?” Cvareh didn’t even bother to hide his desperation.

  “Ten.”

  Ten, the word echoed. “That’s not nearly enough.”

  “It will have to be.”

  “Ari—”

  “Loom isn’t sending anyone who isn’t ready to fight. If we send them up here prematurely, they will be slaughtered.”

  “It’s my people who are being slaughtered right now.” He knew it was a faulty argument, but he couldn’t stop himself. Logic and emotion didn’t always work well together.

  “Loom could always, instead, just fortify ourselves and leave Xin to fight alone.”

  Shock started with his mouth and rattled up to his brain. “You’d condemn us to death?”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “Isn’t it?” Cvareh pushed off from the sill and stepped into her personal space. He stared down at her, working to ignore the familiar scents of her. “You’d leave me to die by Rok’s hand?”

  Arianna stared up at him. Her chin stretched forward, as though she was about to fight him. But then her brow softened. What looked like conflict overcame her features, and Cvareh no longer had any idea what was going through the woman’s mind. He loathed the distance that had come between them, though he couldn’t quite identify when the chasm had started to form.

  Cvareh never had the opportunity to find out her answer.

  “Attack on the western side of Ruana!” Cain skidded to a stop in the open doorway. His eyes narrowed at Arianna and hers narrowed in reply, the defensive expression instantly back on her face.

  How the two most important people in Cvareh’s life ended up on opposite sides of the coin, Cvareh did not know. But he appreciated that they could put it all aside for their common enemy.

  “It’s close to Dawyn’s family’s vineyards.” Cain confirmed Cvareh’s worst fear.

  “I have to go,” he said to them both.

  Arianna pushed off from the window sill as well. Her hands went through their motions, an instinctual check of every tool of her trade. She patted her blades, her winch box, her breast pocket where there was, no doubt, some kind of gun or other weapon concealed.

  “I will go, too.”

  “What?” both men said in unison.

  She looked directly at Cvareh and he instantly regretted challenging her. For there was nothing more fearsome than an Arianna with something to prove.

  “I will go, too,” she reiterated. Her attention was solely on Cvareh. “And I will show you just how valuable one Perfect Chimera will be in your fight.” Arianna turned to Cain. “Lead on.”

  Cain obliged and Arianna followed, her focus entirely on Cvareh’s Ryu. Cvareh followed close behind, pushing his conflict from his mind. He needed to be focused for whatever battle awaited them. But for now, he felt some pity for whatever Dragons were about to face Arianna.

  FLORENCE

  The winter air pricked at her skin, turning it into gooseflesh.

  Florence rose from the bed she shared with Shannra, finally abandoning all hope of sleep. Instead, she tugged on a random shirt and skirt and padded lightly to the large window that overlooked Ter.3.2. Quietly easing open the latch, Florence leaned into the night air.

  The world was still. Somewhere, a Revolver kept watch, ready to raise the alarm if gliders were spotted against the darkened sky. But they didn’t make their hiding spot known.

  Florence rested her elbows on the sill. The metal was like ice under her flesh and shot daggers right to her bones. She inhaled deeply, allowing the cool air to meet the sensation of her arms and finish numbing out her bare toes.

  “You’re going to catch your death if you let in this weather.” Florence half-turned and was met with a blanket slung over her shoulder.

  “I didn’t hear you stir.”

  “I know.” Shannra nestled herself under the blanket at Florence’s side, closing it around them like a great cocoon. She’d thought she wanted to be alone. But Florence was proven wrong by the beautiful woman at her side. Her head gravitated toward Shannra’s shoulder, and she pulled the blanket more tightly around them.

  “How long do you think it will take?”

  “How long do I think what will take?” Shannra followed Florence’s gaze, looking at the factory in the distance. “The new weapons? Sooner over later, I’m sure. The revisions didn’t seem too complicated, at least according to the Rivets.”

  “That wasn’t what I meant.”

  “My mind reading must be rusty, then.” Florence didn’t even bother fighting a small smile at the woman’s jest. “What did you mean?”

  “All this.” Florence nodded to the city sprawled beneath them. The fractured homes, void of occupants. The sloping streets, empty and quiet. “How long until the cities are full again? Until steam clouds the sky at all hours of the day? How long until Loom is alive once more?”

  “Loom is alive,” Shannra insisted. “In no small part thanks to you.”

  Florence didn’t want to be placated. She wanted a real answer. She wanted to know if what she was doing would be enough or if she had only set the target for Loom’s revival too far away for anyone to hit.

  Ari would’ve understood what she was trying to say.

  “I’m not enough,” Florence spoke mostly to herself, to all the flaws she still had and everything that she still wanted to accomplish.

  “Where is this coming from? Flor, you can’t be discouraged by what happened here.”

  “I’m not discouraged, I’m motivated,” she insisted. “All those people died because someone wanted to leave me a message.” Florence scowled at the invisible killer who had laid waste to a factory producing a gun she had an important hand in designing. It was an attack on her even without the words on the doors. “I need to find the person who killed them and shoot them down for Loom. I need to be better for us all—”

  It dawned on her in a rush. “I need to be Perfect.”

  “What are you saying?” Shannra’s grip had relaxed some. Despite the blanket being around their shoulders, Florence felt very far out of reach.

  “I need to be Perfect.” Florence repeated. That was what she was missing. That was what separated everything she was, and everything she could become. It had been Arianna’s turning point, the thing that had made her so strong for so many years.

  “You don’t need to be anything but what you are.” Shannra squeezed her tightly again. “You’re already enough.”

  Florence opened her mouth to protest, when the wind shifted and a familiar scent tickled her nose. It was faint, so much that she could’ve ignored it entirely. Florence looked for the source
, turning her face toward the breeze. But Arianna was far away, and the scent was nothing more than a wisp on the wind.

  “My mind is made up.” Florence kept her eyes on the southwestern horizon, wondering if the smell was all in her mind. She would’ve known that aroma anywhere: Arianna’s magic. Perhaps, it was her mind finally telling her that with Perfection would come an understanding of something greater. She would see the world with eyes like Arianna’s and gain insights into all the corners of herself that she seemed to barely understand.

  COLETTA

  Four Dragons snarled from their respective pens in the observation room. Things had changed since Fae and Topann’s time. These were not loyal servants who deserved free roam, but bottom-dwellers. Dragons who had never seen the sun couldn’t be trusted not to kill each other, let alone leave unharmed the Fenthri charged with observing them for any signs of magic rejection.

  She watched as the Alchemist walked the length of the room, purposefully staying out of swiping reach of each of the cages. Coletta wondered what the world looked like to him. The only thing keeping him from certain death was her.

  From where she stood, it was a gorgeous world order.

  “And how are they?” Coletta inquired, growing impatient with the Fen’s endless humming, pen-tapping, and pacing.

  “None of them are showing the same signs as Yeann. It seems the Xin organs you have acquired work well.”

  “If only there were more. You said with one Dragon we could make another Perfect in how long?”

  The Alchemist thought a moment. “We’d have to time regrowth . . . too many organs out at once and the body won’t heal. One Dragon can make one Perfect Dragon in . . . I’d estimate two weeks? If all the organs aligned.”

  It was too long. She needed more Xin organs sooner over later. Coletta’s eyes settled on the Dragons in their cages once more. Even if there were more to sort, a success would still be a success, and she would do well not to forget it.

  Instead of allowing the limitations to frustrate her, she let them bolster her sails.

  “My queen.” Ulia appeared in the doorway. “Forgive the intrusion, but Yveun’Dono requests your presence.”

  “Where is he?” Coletta’s voice was impassive toward the summons.

  “The sun room.”

  “Continue as planned,” Coletta instructed as a final note to the Fen. Even if they’d only found one Xin Dragon to harvest organs from, Coletta would still have him move forward at whatever snail’s pace he could. It was better than nothing.

  “Right . . .” The man’s agreement trailed off as he looked at the other empty cells in the room, no doubt imagining what it would be like to have them all filled with swiping, snarling, rage-filled Perfect Dragons.

  The Fen’s greatest fear was Coletta’s sweetest wish.

  Yveun’s temperament had not much improved from their last interaction. The balm of Fae’s touch had done little, if anything, to soothe him, and her departure for Loom had only made matters worse.

  Coletta dismissed Ulia halfway to the room Yveun had made his center of operations for managing the various battlefronts they faced. She adjusted the beads around her neck, then entered. Yveun sat behind a low desk positioned in front of a great vertical circle, atop a pedestal, overlooking a balcony. Coletta saw it for what it was—fanfare. The real work happened in Gray Rooms and secret gardens.

  “That necklace is new,” Yveun observed with a glance.

  “I thought it fitting.” Coletta touched it delicately even though it was likely as sturdy as the bones in her fingers.

  “Taking Rider beads for yourself?”

  Sure enough, the necklace had been crafted from Dragon bone in the same fashion as the beads the Riders wore to mark their kills. “I think I have earned this many beads and more.”

  “It’s the ‘and more’ I am most interested in.” Yveun hoisted a folio and tossed it toward her feet. The papers scattered across the floor—transcripts of the reports from the Hall of Whispers. “I’m in need of much more from you, Coletta.”

  Coletta merely arched her eyebrows. “I’m not sure how making a mess of your notes helps me produce it.” She folded her hands and stood tall, hoping to convey that she had no interest in collecting up his documents for him.

  “We are thwarted at every turn on Loom, Perfect Chimera have begun to fight alongside Xin, and Tam’s interest in struggling against the abominations seems to be wearing thin.”

  Wearing thin because there was no more gold to tip the scales in Rok’s favor.

  “And you, what have you done?” Yveun approached with purpose. “You have played Alchemist with your Fen toy, doing little for our plight.”

  “I have given everything for our plight.” Coletta stretched her mouth wide, showing her teeth and reminding him of all she had endured for the sake of their dominance.

  For the briefest of moments, he softened into the man she was accustomed to seeing when it was just the two of them, alone. Yveun reached out one of his massive hands and ran it almost tenderly across her necklace. “It suits you.”

  “Thank you. Now, with regards to Tam . . .” Her demeanor shifted and the moment evaporated like fresh blood. She had his levelheaded attention and she needed to capitalize on it while she could. “We do not need them.”

  “Coletta—”

  “Yveun,” she interrupted. He had to hear her; everything hinged on him putting aside his prejudice and truly listening to what she said. “You know what Fae has done on Loom. With just her and two other Riders, she took down an entire Fenthri stronghold.”

  “A feat my Riders could always boast,” Yveun countered.

  “There were casualties then,” Coletta reminded him. “Fae thrives with not so much as a scratch. On Loom, a Perfect Dragon is the perfect predator. Think of what we could do with them here, on Nova.”

  “No.”

  “Without Tam’s assistance we must do something to sway the tides back in our favor.” Coletta had always known that pride made men stupid, but she never appreciated how stupid until that moment.

  “Then acquire more gold and buy back their loyalty.”

  “There is no more gold,” she said for what must have been the hundredth time. “We are sitting atop an army, yet you do not wish to mobilize.”

  “I will not see Xin organs in my house’s Dragons.”

  “Defeat them with what they are.” It would be glorious. The idea of thwarting Xin with their own organs sent shivers up her spine.

  “No.”

  “Yveun—”

  “Your Dono has decreed it!” Yveun roared. Coletta didn’t even flinch. “You will not put any more Xin organs into Rok bodies. That is not perfection; it is an affront to Lord Rok himself.”

  Coletta started for the door.

  “I have not dismissed you,” he growled.

  “I have dismissed myself.” Coletta stood as tall as possible. She was shorter than him, smaller and frailer, yet she could still look down her nose at the short-sighted man who claimed to be her mate. “I will only speak to you again once you are ready to see reason.” Her eyes dropped to the papers still scattered on the floor, nothing more than a pathetic list of failures. “I hope it will not be too late by then.”

  She closed the door gently behind her. Coletta would not give in to sudden outbursts or rage. She was not her mate, who, judging from the crash, promptly set to destroy what remained of his beautiful façade.

  Let him ruin it, she thought, starting down the hall. Perhaps once he had made a mess of the illusion, he would be ready to face reality.

  CVAREH

  “Arianna, what are we?” he moaned against her mouth, pressing his hips against hers.

  “You talk too much,” she sighed back in reply. For all the brilliance the woman could craft with her fingers, they seemed to be thwarted every time by the clasps Nova’s tailors could conceive.

  “What are we?” he repeated.

  “What does it matter?”

 
; He heard the fastenings holding up his trousers click open and Cvareh knew there was little more he could do. He was helpless before her, trembling like a mortal before a god whose altar was a small bed in the back of the refinery-turned-factory.

  Cvareh pushed her down and heeded her hands. His body swelled, enveloping hers. Arianna pushed and pulled, contorted herself to meet him until that moment when they both could breathe again, when he was fully immersed in her.

  It was the greatest feeling he’d ever known, though it would be impossible to attempt to explain to anyone else why it was so wonderful. He didn’t try. Cvareh kept them, and whatever they were or weren’t, between them. He kept this feeling between them.

  This blissful, all-too-short feeling.

  It was the fourth time he’d had her in two short months and the wait between each time became harder than the last.

  Every time was the same. Every time, she’d arrived to take flowers, bring resources. Every time, she’d ended up fighting alongside Xin men and women against Rok. Every time, she was met with the same apprehension from his people that Arianna would claim didn’t weigh on her until the day she died and yet, there was something to it. Some kind of jealousy that came over her like a shadow when those same people praised Cvareh for his actions as their Ryu.

  The more others learned of her, the more she withdrew. Her demeanor had even begun to earn praise from Cain, so much that the man had stopped pestering Cvareh at every turn about his fondness for Arianna.

  He never thought he’d actually miss Cain’s nagging. But at least when his friend complained, it meant things were as they had always been. His silence underscored the distance he felt growing between them.

  Cvareh lay at Arianna’s side, tracing the outlines of her ashen skin with a long finger. He graced over the scars of her body—the gash where her chest had been cracked open to allow room for his lungs, the ring on her wrists where the hands Finnyr had once carried met her natural flesh, the horizontal slit where her stomach had been scooped out. On and on, her body was pockmarked and flawed. But every curve, every gnarled scar, was hers. Her hands belonged to none but her. Even the lungs, still heaving from their lovemaking, he no longer saw as his own.