by Elise Kova
Cvareh sighed heavily, closing his eyes. He pressed his forehead to the door. He could smell the bright, unique signature of her magic. It was overwhelming, no doubt from all the blood being spilled from the process of severing her own hands.
He licked his lips.
Clawed fingers curled around the door lever and Cvareh considered how much force he’d have to apply to earn entry. But even if he did, what then? What could he possibly do? He knew nothing of the ways of adding new parts to a Chimera. And somehow, even one-or no-handed, he suspected Arianna would have enough rage to still be a force to be reckoned with.
“Will you wait there all night?”
Cvareh’s eyes regained focus, peering through the dimly lit hall at the man who leaned against a far wall. Cain stared back at him, inquisitive. The question hadn’t been rhetorical.
“Perhaps.” Cvareh didn’t really know what he would do. Not when it came to Arianna. Just when he thought he’d figured it out, the woman elicited a different response from him.
“Why?”
Cain wouldn’t understand. All Cain saw was the Chimera from Loom, a wretched amalgamation of Dragon and Fenthri that was now stealing magic from one of their House. Cain had not been there on Loom for all the days spent journeying with the brash and beautiful woman.
“Because we need her.”
“More that you need her.” Cain crossed the hall with measured steps; his walk betrayed both his boldness and willingness to turn at dismissal. It was a delicate dance that only a Dragon could manage. But Cain had earned boldness around Cvareh. The two had grown up together nearly as brothers, and in the dark halls of the Xin Manor with no eyes upon them, Cvareh fashioned them closer to equals.
“Both are true,” he confessed.
“Why? What do we need with her?” Cain focused on the House first.
“She can make a Philosopher’s Box.” Confusion crossed his friend’s face, forcing Cvareh to elaborate. “A mechanism that will make perfect Chimera. It will give Loom the ability to stand against the Dono.”
“Do we want that?” Cain asked uncertainly.
“It will shift the tides for House Xin.”
“And then we will be faced with Fenthri who are emboldened against us.”
“We will let the Fenthri govern themselves. Petra has never wanted to be the Dono of Loom. In our great history, House Xin has never governed the world below. Our ends are entirely Nova. We don’t need to dirty ourselves with the rock—” Cvareh’s appeal to Cain’s distaste for Loom was cut short as Arianna let out a sharp gasp. He leaned against the door, listening carefully, holding his own breath while he waited to hear the continued sounds of her labors.
“Petra should be Dono of the world below and above.” Cain’s loyalty was unwavering.
“She will be the Dono of nothing if we do not gain an advantage over House Rok.” Cvareh had sat through too many discussions with his sister to entertain alternatives. They had turned over numbers, hypotheses, plots and plans every which way. Barring the Dono making some grave error—which Yveun was not known for—gaining strength from Loom was their only way to tip the scales and force House Tam’s hand.
“I trust you both.” Of that, Cvareh had no doubt. “But this does not sit easy with me.” Cain motioned toward the door. “You gave her your brother’s hands. Of all who would make that sacrifice for the House, she will have the magic of the direct blood of the Oji.”
“And it was the Oji’s choice.” Cvareh neglected to mention that she had already had the direct blood of the Oji from imbibing off him.
Cain sighed.
“I would think this would delight you, as it will mean you no longer need to waste your time illusioning her.”
“Am I pleased to be free of that burden? Yes.” Cain didn’t even bother denying it. “But that means she will walk freely among us. You have given her the ability to pass among our brothers and sisters, to mingle so long as the illusion can be maintained. I don’t trust her in my home.”
“Then trust in me, and the trust I place in her.”
Cain’s eyes, nearly a reflection of Cvareh’s own, studied him. He kept his height and didn’t waver. If he did, weakness would poison the waters of his authority. It was something Cvareh could not afford to have happen. Even though Cain was like a brother, the distance Cvareh held as Ryu needed to be maintained. Petra had worked too hard in crafting it; he could not let his sister down.
“The ends best be great, Cvareh.” The other man pushed off the wall he’d leaned against. “Because you are charting a dangerous course.” Cain rested a hand on Cvareh’s shoulder, a familial motion that showed his sincerity. “Keep both eyes open about this woman. She will gut you alive if it serves her.”
“No one knows this more than I.” He had seen Arianna’s ruthlessness first-hand on multiple occasions. “I’m the only one among us who truly sees her. I am the only one on Nova who knows anything about this woman.”
Cvareh looked to Cain with a silent challenge. Would the man think that the time he had spent with Arianna had given him more insight into the woman than he himself possessed? Cain narrowed his eyes slightly, but stepped away with a small bow of his head—deferring to Cvareh’s assessment.
Cain disappeared into the darkness, his figure fading in the diminishing light of the oil lanterns that lined the hall. As much as Cvareh wanted to defend Arianna further, he knew he couldn’t. Cain’s assessment was pointed, as an experienced tactician’s should be. But Cvareh still wondered how he’d gathered so much from the seemingly short and tumultuous relationship he’d had with Arianna.
An unusual emotion crept up on him, a jealousy of sorts for Cain’s unexpected awareness of Arianna—though it had been Cvareh’s decision for him to look after her in the first place. Cain was the only one Cvareh trusted to not be completely overrun by Arianna’s mannerisms, which seemed to hold true. Cvareh had thought he needed space from her to clear his head, but now regret for the decision to let anyone else stay at her side was sudden and swift.
The woman had been quiet for some time, but a sharp hiss of pain brought Cvareh’s attention back to the door. She continued on. His watch continued alongside her.
He sat, the back of his head resting against the barrier that kept him from her. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of her labor. Behind his eyelids, he remembered the first time he’d watched her hands work on the ship they rode to cross the inner sea between Ter.4 and Ter.5. They’d moved deftly, fixing engine problems with fearless precision.
Those hands would be gone, in their place something new. Cvareh had never thought about it quite under the same circumstances, but Fenthri had the capacity to change, to grow. Being a Chimera, adding new organs, they became something more. He had been born into his skin and he would keep it with him until the day he died.
But she was something more now than she was a mere few hours ago.
She was always something more.
His memories played like a soft lullaby in dark harmony with the sounds of her labors. Sounds that, for all their gruesome truths, told him she was still alive. A morbid peace took over him as he waited away the night.
Shifting stirred Cvareh from an unexpected sleep. He blinked his eyes open, wondering how and when he fell asleep. The echoes of Arianna’s labors played in his ears and Cvareh tried to make sense of when they’d quieted enough for him to slumber.
The hallway was illuminated with the brightness of dawn, windows cutting beams of light in the quiet corner of the manor. Just as his mind was shrugging off the haze of sleep, the door behind him opened. Cvareh toppled backward, catching himself at the last second with an elbow, nearly colliding with the pair of legs that waited on the inside of the door.
They were a pale blue color, not unlike his own. Leather shorts, similar to what Petra would fashion herself in, hugged mostly bare hips. Strips of
crossed fabric bound over her breasts, the dark wine color offsetting the hue of her exposed skin in a way Cvareh would’ve never himself attempted. And yet, he must commend her for it, as there was something quite striking about the color contrast. Her eyes were the same purple color, but her hair had gained a more golden shade, framing the only thing familiar about the woman staring down at him.
“Since you seem to be suddenly insistent on keeping my company, you can be the one to take me out of this place.”
The voice was distinctly Arianna. Nothing could change her tone and cadence. But it was a strange disconnect to see it coming from a Dragon’s mouth.
“Up with you.” She nudged him with her foot. “I want to see this Isle of Ruana.”
15. Yveun
Yveun tapped his quill mindlessly upon the desk as he looked out over the wide balcony to his left.
The world had been quiet, almost quiet enough to give the illusion that all was right within it. But Yveun knew better. He did not appreciate the silence from his guild advisers down on Loom. He certainly knew better than to think the relative silence from Petra meant the woman had given up on her foolishly grandiose ambitions.
But those were two areas over which he had no control. His advisers on Loom were doing the best they could, considering the current climate within the guilds. The one he’d sent to get a hold on the Alchemists had been put off time and again, enough so that Yveun was nearly at the point of applying force. And Yveun had never boasted a measure of control over Petra, which was part of the problem.
He looked back down at his papers, rubbing his temples. If he looked at the balcony, he saw the ghost of Leona, reminding him of his immense failure in losing one of his greatest assets. If he looked at his work he was reminded of the guilds on Loom and all their troubles.
It all left only one frustration for him to focus on: Fennyr.
The elder brother of his enemy had been given what Yveun considered a simple task. Sniff out some information, any information. It couldn’t possibly be difficult. But his lack of results reminded Yveun why, despite being older than Petra, Fennyr was not the Oji of House Xin.
Still, Yveun had cause for hope. Fennyr had finally been invited home by Petra. The Dono rarely let his wards return to their respective islands, but he was all too eager to make an exception in this case.
He had been patient, but his patience was finally running out. The man had been gone for three days now, and Yveun wondered what could possibly be taking so long.
He tapped his quill again.
He lamented over the state of Loom.
His mind tortured him with the need to find a suitable replacement for Leona.
He could even smell the stink of the Chimeras House Rok kept deep below from where he sat, wafting up to his wandering mind like a foul potpourri that perfectly complemented his rotten state.
The distractions were unkind and it took Yveun nearly twice his usual time to attend to the resource allocation of both Loom and Nova. It was a delicate balance, one that was getting marginally easier with time, albeit no less tedious. Now that Fenthri were raised and kept in the guild they were born into, there were more exact counts on what each guild needed to sustain itself. Enough years had also passed that it was becoming clearer how many would survive, on average, the guild tests at Initiate and Journeymen to then become part of the general population.
Before, the land below was running through resources like wildfire, uncontrolled and unabashed. Had contact with Nova not been made, Yveun doubted they would have been able to sustain themselves for much longer before reaching their limit. And yet the Fenthri remained ungrateful to the good changes he was trying to implement.
Yveun stood from his desk, gathering his monthly updates. Not much changed with each cycle of the moon, just small shifts in how he wanted to see trade managed. But year after year, progress was made.
Lossom, his current Master Rider, waited outside his room. Yveun had yet to allow the man into his space.
“Tell me of the happenings beneath Lysip,” Yveun demanded as they walked. There were precious few hours in the day to waste any. He had yet to grant the young man quarters in the great Rok Estate and, for the time being, it meant he would also serve as Yveun’s eyes to the underside of the island.
“There was a dispute between some no-titled and some Bek.” Such was par for the course. Two of the lower rungs of society fighting tooth and nail. “A Veh chose to involve himself.”
“A Veh?” Yveun was actually interested now. “Why would a Veh bother with no-ranked squalor?”
“Because the no-titled slew all the Bek and proceeded to feast on them before their families.”
Yveun considered this. When Lossom had originally said “some no-titled” he had assumed his Rider to be speaking of multiple people—not a single person whose name he merely did not know. That made it all the more interesting.
“And did the Veh put this no-name to rest?”
“The Veh was killed, Dono.”
Even after feasting on the hearts of fallen foes, for a no-name to defeat a Veh… This no-name had Yveun’s interest. “What does this no-title go by?”
“I do not know.” Admitting as much made Lossom nervous. Nothing pleased Yveun more.
“Find out,” Yveun commanded. “Or better, bring him to me.”
“Her,” Lossom corrected.
Her.
All the better. In Yveun’s experience, women were fiercer fighters than men. He had a list of theories longer than his claws on the why, but it made no difference. All he had to look at was the evidence around him: Coletta, Leona, Petra, Camile, and a handful of other Riders he’d seen come and die. Women approached every battle as though it was their last, and they had nothing left to lose but everything to prove.
“Bring her to me.” Yveun would be truly impressed if the man could. It was likely a matter he would pass to Coletta and her quiet flowers, whose unassuming roots ran deep.
“As you wish.” Lossom bowed, holding his position as Yveun entered the Hall of Whispers.
It was a long corridor with doors on either side. Emblazoned on every door was a plate that bore two names. The first was the occupant of the room; the second was the person with whom the occupant shared a whisper link. The Hall of Whispers served as the main communication hub for Nova and Loom, and it was entirely under Yveun’s control.
Yveun first went to the whisperer who had a link with the Harvesters’ guild, explaining the message that was to be delivered down to Loom. He repeated the process for every guild but the Alchemists. Yveun had been hoping that by throttling their resources, he would finally force the guild’s hand into accepting his advisement and oversight, but they remained as persistent as ever. They would not relish the alternative methods he would employ if forced.
He was halfway back to his quarters when a slave of House Rok stopped him with all the etiquette that could be mustered for one so lowly.
“Dono, Fennyr Xin’Kin To has returned,” the prostrating man reported.
Yveun’s triumph spread across his face. Finally, Fennyr had returned and he would have some answers. The slave held his reverence the entire time Yveun was visible. If he hadn’t, Yveun may well have killed him in a fit of delight.
The wildflowers of Lysip were in their second bloom. Their potent scent masked all others, effectively clouding magic and blood alike. It was one of the many reasons why the old Donos of House Rok had chosen this spot on which to build the estate. All manner of horror could be hidden behind the lovely petals of dragon snaps, lavender, honeysuckle, and the magical properties of Lord Agandi’s Flowers.
He entered Finnyr’s home without so much as a knock. The man nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight of the Dono. Finnyr was pale, almost Fen-like in his overall pallor. Even his muted gold hair seemed to lack some of its luster. More disconcerting were the br
uises that dotted his skin.
Yveun closed the door slowly behind him, assessing the frightened man-creature. He wasn’t concerned for the man’s well-being out of any friendly obligation. Finnyr was a tool in a greater game, a useful pawn and a powerful player when deployed properly, which meant Yveun cared about the picture all the signs added up to make. Some kind of trauma had clearly occurred, and Yveun wasn’t about to let any more of his chips be taken from him by unknown sources.
“Does Petra know?” Yveun asked foremost. If the rival Oji had ascertained Finnyr’s true loyalties, much would change.
“K-know?” Finnyr shook his head, pacing. “No, but her continued belief in my loyalty despite sleeping under your care has come at a new price.”
Yveun didn’t care what Petra charged her kin for their loyalty. “Did you find out the truth of Cvareh’s trip to Loom?”
“Not quite.” Finnyr spoke hastily as Yveun began to vivisect him with his eyes. It would be mere minutes before he was doing it with his claws. Given Finnyr’s generally depleted state, Yveun wasn’t sure how long the other man would survive. “She is suspicious of me, of my loyalty still. She tests me still. She doesn’t want me to return home often because she says I am more valuable to her here. But she does not give me any information on what is happening in the Xin manor.”
“Finnyr, I am not a man who has time for excuses,” Yveun snarled.
Finnyr wrung his hands, over and over and over again. “I know one thing.”
The fact the Yveun had yet to gnaw on his sinew and bone was encouragement enough for Finnyr to continue.
“She demanded my hands.”
“Your hands?” Yveun narrowed his eyes.
“Mine, specifically. She said she needed them, for the glory of the house.”
