The Rebels of Gold, Page 37

  “For my boon, I want . . . I wish . . . I wish for you to heal, stronger than you were before, completely and utterly. Cvareh, for my boon, I wish for you to live.”

  The words echoed within him, and with them, magic exploded anew.

  ARIANNA

  She felt him return to her.

  Magic that normally smelled of woodsmoke took on a new depth. The rich aroma cleared, like a window being opened to some greater beyond, and a crisp smell like rain flooded the room. Arianna continued to cling to him, tighter than she’d ever admit in the future to any who dared recount this moment.

  She doubted doing so helped the magic. If anything, it likely hindered him, as she was giving Cvareh new bruises for his magic to heal. But she wasn’t exactly thinking logically. All she wanted was for him to return to her. Until that moment her every want and wish had been death—the death of Finnyr, of Yveun, peaceful deaths for her old friends and lover when there were no other options. But now she wished for life. A long and fruitful life, for him.

  It was a twitch at first. A movement in his biceps that could have been nothing more than instinct or involuntary reaction. But then it happened again.

  His arms found movement, coming back to life. Rain turned back to smoke, and Cvareh breathed normally once more. The sound of his life filled her ears—the shifting of his movement, of his exhales against her cheek. He wrapped her in his embrace, responding with as much fervor as she held him.

  Arianna didn’t want to open her eyes. What if she was wrong? What if somehow this was all some illusion of a desperate mind too broken to handle the loss of another love?

  “Arianna . . .” he breathed, soft enough that she could lie to herself and say she hadn’t heard it.

  But she did, and the sound had her choking in a sigh of relief. Emotion was raw in her neck and she wanted to scream or cry or laugh, but did none of it. She merely held on to the man she loved, and gulped down her relief. Cain was watching, after all, and there was only so much she’d allow the man to witness.

  Cvareh’s muscles gained strength, his back straightened, his breathing leveled. He continued to hold her as his heartbeat steadied once more, regular and strong. It was a sound Arianna could listen to for days—years, even.

  Finally, he straightened away and merely stared at her with a wonder she’d never seen on anyone before.

  “You saved my life.”

  “Well, it’d be really inconvenient for Loom if the man who has all the deals for our freedom just up and died.” She couldn’t say what she really felt—not even if she wanted to, which she didn’t. It was far too terrifying and grossly romantic to utter aloud. “Plus, I really, really hate that woman.” She nodded toward Coletta’s corpse, more than a little upset that was yet another death Cvareh had over her. “And I loved the idea of thwarting—”

  “I love you too, Arianna,” he interrupted boldly.

  Bloody cogs, he had to up and be the brave one, once again. Here he was professing his love for her in front of his right hand, as the King of the Dragons, and all Arianna could do was muster sarcasm. “That’s one way to say thank you, I suppose.”

  She forced her arms to go slack.

  King of the Dragons, the words repeated in her head, imprinting as fact. It had all happened so fast, and there was always one more enemy. But now that there were no more standing against them, the future was upon her.

  This man was the King of the Dragons, Dono, leader of Nova. He was not just Cvareh anymore; he had a far greater role to play. One dark corner of her heart uttered in reproach for its self-preservation: you should have let him die in Dortam.

  She’d been the one to save him, to deliver him to the Alchemists, to see his house succeed, to see him become King . . . only to have to let him go.

  Arianna stood quickly, before she could allow herself to be trapped by him. He would draw her in and then there would be no escape. She’d damn them both with her sentimentality.

  There was practice in her movements. Life had prepared her with an unofficial training to do what needed to be done, even when doing so was impossibly hard. She had dedicated her life to fulfilling her duty, and the dreams of others. It should be instinct, putting her wants second and doing what must be done. But all her preparation wasn’t enough now that the moment was upon her. Walking away, what should have been the easiest task of all, had never demanded more strength. For, if she stayed, he would focus on her. He would defer to her. He would hesitate, and pause, and steal moments with her. While his time was what she wanted to steal more than any other thing, it was a heist she wouldn’t allow herself to make.

  “Where are you going?” His confused, questioning gaze made it all the harder.

  “Back to Loom. My job here is done.” Arianna attempted to make her escape.

  “You can stay.”

  “I don’t belong here.” She didn’t know why she was indulging argument, but her feet had gone into mutiny against her brain. They were in cahoots with her ears to hear what he’d say next.

  “You have a place here,” he insisted.

  “Cvareh, she’s—”

  “She’s the one we owe the world to,” Cvareh snapped at Cain’s protest. “I am the Dono and I can decree it.”

  “You don’t get it.” She looked back at him and, for the first time ever, was thankful for every hardship she had endured. For it had all hardened her enough to survive this parting. It had given her enough training to turn her face, and her heart, to stone. “Cvareh, this is not something you as a Dragon can decree. I am made of steam. I am hot-blooded, strong and free. I was cast in steel, on Loom, and that maker’s mark is not something you can expunge from my soul.

  “I don’t belong here,” she finished. It was said with almost enough conviction to fool herself.

  “You belong at my side.” Arianna watched him deflate with every word, and had to tell herself that what she was doing was for the best.

  “I do not belong here, and you know it.”

  “What will you do instead?”

  “There’s always something to steal.” Arianna smiled nonchalantly, as if one option was as good as the next. If he dug in his heels now, that carefully crafted façade would crack. She would find some excuse to stay, she knew.

  But her bluff was good enough that Cvareh didn’t call it. He stared right back at her until she could take it no longer.

  Arianna turned and walked out of his room, past all the Xin gathered in the hall, as though nothing in the world were bothering her. Every bit of ease on her exterior hid the heartache inside, as she left behind the Dragon King she loved.

  FLORENCE

  There was no weapon like hope, and no ammunition for it like good news.

  Word of the victory up on Nova spread faster and thicker than the clouds overhead. Helen, who had been up with Arianna, had whispered back to Will—their decision to get Dragon ears and set up a whisperlink hadn’t been the least bit surprising to Florence. Will informed the rest of the Queen’s minions, who ultimately dispersed the news to Shannra.

  Florence knew the moment Shannra had appeared in her office that there had been victory, just by her expression alone. And because she had already had the information from someone else.

  “You already know.”

  “Emma was here not minutes before you left. Word funneled through the Revolvers who were up with House Xin when it happened.” Florence looked back at the list of tasks she’d begun drafting, already several items deep.

  “We have claimed victory, and you are still busy at work.” Shannra looped around the desk, draping her arms over Florence’s shoulders.

  “It is only the beginning—freedom is only the beginning for us. Now, we must rebuild Loom, not as it was but as it could be.” Florence was having a hard time deciding what to prioritize. Everything seemed like it needed to happen at once. And when everything was a priority, nothing was a priority.

  “There is to be another Tribunal?” Shannra had no doubt focused on
the first item on Florence’s list.

  “At Garre. Emma is spreading the word now.”

  Shannra sighed, though the noise was without any sort of real weight. “What is it with you and Tribunals?”

  “I am a vicar, after all.” Florence ran a hand up Shannra’s arm, starting at where her hand met the desk, helping prop her up, all the way to her shoulder and back.

  “You are the Vicar Revolver.” Shannra turned her head back to Florence. “Your place is in Dortam, not Garre.”

  “And so it shall be,” Florence affirmed. “Once we are all in agreement, every vicar will return to their rightful home to begin rebuilding.”

  “Will you return home alone?” Shannra asked, staring out the window behind Florence’s desk in what had become her makeshift office.

  “I think you know the answer to that.”

  “I want to hear you say it.”

  Florence didn’t bother concealing a smile. “You will accompany me, if you so choose, as a Master Revolver.”

  “Don’t think you can win me over with titles.” Shannra tilted her head coyly.

  “What can I win you over with then?”

  “I asked you once if we could share a flat in Dortam when all this was over. You never answered.” Shannra stared her down, as if trying to pin Florence with her eyes. “It’s all over now. I need an answer.”

  Florence stood slowly. She pushed in her chair, and leaned against the desk with Shannra, facing the window, at just one small scrap of the world that was now theirs.

  “Let’s see . . . A flat in Dortam, right by the Guild hall, I think it was.” Shannra hung on her every word. “I’m not sure if, as the Vicar Revolver, I can live outside the hall proper.”

  “I could be coerced into being flexible on the location.”

  “Could you?” Florence rounded the woman—her lover, in all her scarred and battle-weary glory. She reached a hand, cupping Shannra’s cheek, weaving her fingers in the tangled mess of hair. “What must I do to coerce you?”

  “I think you will come up with something creative.” Shannra’s voice had fallen to a hush, her lids heavy. She leaned forward, ever so slightly, and Florence felt herself moving to meet her.

  “I will certainly try, Moonbeam.”

  Shannra halted, brows furrowed, lips pursed, eyes alert. “Moonbeam?”

  “You asked me to be creative.” Florence smirked. “I can be dangerous when I’m creative.”

  “Spoken like a true Vicar Revolver.” Shannra was back to whispering. “I like you dangerous, Gunpowder.”

  Florence smirked at the equally heinous petname. She needed a partner who could roll with the punches and dish it out as well as she took it.

  Before either of them could conceive something worse, Florence claimed the woman’s mouth with her own. Shannra’s tongue was sweeter than any cookie Florence had ever eaten.

  “What about all your work?” Shannra asked after several long minutes, gasping for air.

  “It will keep.”

  Florence pushed aside her papers, scattering them to the floor. Yes, there was work to be done, decisions to be made, and things to be settled. But first, she had a woman to hoist onto the desk and more hard-earned flavors of freedom to relish.

  CVAREH

  She never told him outright that she loved him.

  She had fought at his side. They had made love countless times. He had invited her to stay on Nova and be his queen, his paragon for the new bond between Loom and Nova.

  In reply? She couldn’t even say that she loved him, even though he knew it was more than true with every beat of his heart.

  He wanted to point it out to her. He wanted to demand it from her. But it would mean nothing if he did . . . So, the words were left unsaid in her wake, where he lapped along the shores of all they could’ve been.

  Cvareh stared at where Arianna had just stood. He had done everything Petra had ever dreamed. He had accomplished the dream of hers he had adopted—a Xin’Oji now wore the title of Dono. He, Cvareh, of all Dragons, was now the Dono.

  It should have been a cause for celebration. His chest should have swelled with pride so great that his ribs would shatter and be rebuilt with magic now bolstered with the knowledge that he held all of Nova in his palms. But it wasn’t.

  There was no pride and no fullness. He had achieved everything, but he didn’t have the one thing he’d come to want more than anything else. He’d lost the one woman who made everything in his world worthwhile.

  “Well, I suppose that makes sense.” Cain reminded him of his presence.

  Startled, Cvareh half-jumped, as if pulling his feet from the tar of his own thoughts. “What does?”

  “You had a boon with her this whole time.” Disapproval ran rampant between Cain’s words, though his friend didn’t pursue it. There wasn’t much to be done now about it and the fact that Cvareh had forged such had just saved his life. “Explains your obsession with the woman.”

  “It’s more than that,” Cvareh mumbled.

  “Is it?” Cain asked, though Cvareh knew he was already aware of the answer so he didn’t dignify the question with a response. “Call her back, then. Make her stay.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not? You’re the Dono.”

  “You heard her.” Cvareh motioned to where the woman had been standing. “She can’t be contained here and I couldn’t make her.”

  “You’re the Dono,” Cain repeated, as though those three words should explain away everything.

  “It means nothing if she doesn’t stay of her own will. I can’t order her presence just as I can’t order her love.”

  Cain was given pause at the word “love.” Surely, his friend must have seen it already. The man’s brow knitted, furrowed lines digging over his eyebrows. “And that means something to you?”

  It meant more than Cvareh could ever put into words. But all he said was, “It does.”

  “Then, if you will not command her to stay or order her affections, you must stop giving her your own.”

  As if it were that simple. As if it had ever been that simple.

  He hadn’t chosen to love her. He simply did. It had become as undeniable to him as winter’s chill and as warming to his soul as summer’s sun. Trying to do anything but love her would be like trying to halt the seasons: pointless and impossible.

  “I can’t do that either,” he confessed in a whisper. Cvareh continued to stare after Arianna, the vacant spot where she’d once stood now filling with a new regret that he had not properly imprinted her image on his memory. With her as the Wraith on Loom, and he as the Dono in Nova, their paths were likely to never cross again.

  “Then learn how.” Cain moved into his field of vision. “Xin needs, deserves, an Oji who will celebrate this time and lead with all his heart.” Cain shook his head, his tone becoming even more serious. “All of Nova, Cvareh. Not just Xin, but all of Nova needs you now. We are fractured and bleeding, and we need a Dono who will unite us.”

  “You’re right,” Cvareh admitted.

  “We need someone who knows the Fenthri and is willing to work with them but still defend Nova’s interests,” Cain continued as if Cvareh hadn’t just agreed with everything he’d said. “Someone who can carry on Petra’s vision. Someone who has the esteem of our House. We—”

  “I know, Cain.” Nothing the man had said was untrue. But the whole of it had made Cvareh realize that he was not the only one who fit such a description.

  “I will be here for you. It will be my supreme honor to serve as Ryu to the Dono.” His friend squeezed his shoulder in a sympathetic display.

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  “What?” Cain’s brow was back to furrowing. Cvareh could almost feel the panic rising from him.

  Cvareh merely smiled at his friend’s confusion. “This is a tumultuous time, Cain. Kings are dying left and right…”

  FLORENCE

  Dear W.W.,

  Shannra tells me that I’m writi
ng to a ghost. Fear not, I corrected her that the proper term is “Wraith.”

  You’ve been very good at not being found, this past year. I can only presume it was intentional when all of my efforts to leave no stone unturned left me empty-handed.

  At first, I thought perhaps you were worried about my focus not being properly on my duties as Vicar Revolver. I could only imagine though, given the speed at which I’ve seen the hall and refinery rebuilt, that such was impossible. A distracted vicar does not make for an effective one. And, if I may be so bold, I’ve been fairly effective.

  So, I’m only left to think that you do not want to be found. I attempted to corner Helen on the matter, but she was only slightly less slippery to get a hold of than you. It seems she’s settling into her assumed role of rebuilding Mercury Town as well. Perhaps a little too well. (Do not make me send Revolvers down there to clean up any messes.)

  In any case, now that I’ve come to terms with such a realization, I’m left with only one final course of action—this letter.

  We are women of action, you and I, not words. Thus, I’ve toiled over what to put here for weeks now. You are aware, I am sure, of the overall state of affairs in Loom. And judging from the recent report of the “Queen of Wraith’s Grand Return to Dortam,” I think you’re keenly aware of the status in our city. (It’s a bit of a flashy title to re-assume, don’t you think? For a woman who supposedly died in the battles on Nova.)

  I digress, yet again… I want you to know, if nothing else, that I have looked for you. That I will continue to keep my eyes out for a woman in white at every corner I pass, every junction I cross. You, my teacher, my mentor, one of the most talented women I have ever known, will always have a place with me.