by Elise Kova
She dropped him into a heap on the floor in disgust.
In a display of how low she regarded him, she stalked away, her back to him. Let him lunge, Petra seethed mentally. If he dared attack her when her back was turned, she really would kill him. Right now, his death was merely a high probability.
“Cain.” Petra pulled open the door. The man was at attention. Cain was not perfect, but Petra was truly grateful to have him in that moment. “Go and have the word spread that all wine on the isle of Ruana is to be cast into the God’s Line. Every last bottle, cask, and vat.”
“As you command, Oji.” Cain made haste away.
Petra slammed the door shut and turned with a sigh. It wasn’t even sport to tear her brother into pieces. He had already healed, but he remained on the floor in a puddle of pale blue flesh. She should be done with it and send him to the refinery to function as Ruana’s personal reagent farm.
She squatted before him, assessing her broken prey. Petra reached out a hand and he flinched. She slowly began to stroke his hair, as if she were soothing a skittish animal.
“Now, Finnyr, tell me whose poison it was, and don’t lie to me.”
“Coletta’Ryu’s.” Finnyr swallowed, trying to wash away his weakness. It didn’t work. “It was Coletta’Ryu’s poison.”
“What?” Petra tried to make sense of this. The Rok’Ryu? Coletta was nothing, worthless, weak and small.
And that would be just the sort of person who would resort to such devious and underhanded means. The person who could not stand in the pit. The person who would attach herself to one of the fiercest Dragon fighters while still offering something of her own to match the bloodthirstiness of her mate.
“I know it was her,” Finnyr insisted. “She is known for staying in her gardens, but allows no one else in there. Most assume it’s for her privacy, to hide her frailty. But I began to suspect something else when a servant went in and wound up dead.”
Petra glanced at the servant she had killed hours ago, the body now cold. She could entirely understand killing someone for being in the wrong space at the wrong time. Especially when that someone was worthless.
“The man was killed without any kind of wound. His chest, head, all intact,” Finnyr clarified.
It made too much sense.
“How have you neglected to tell me this?” Petra raged.
“I did not think it important.” Finnyr tried to move away but Petra’s hand tightened into a fist, yanking him into place with force.
“You did not think it important for me to know that the Ryu of Rok is a shadow-master, a potion-mongering coward?” Their noses nearly touched as she verbally assaulted him. “That she is far more despicable than even her mate?”
“I did not connect the facts! I did not see what was there! Nameless die all the time.”
“That is because you are an idiot.” Petra slammed Finnyr against the wall. “A useless idiot.”
“Petra—”
She gouged out his throat with a hand, blood pouring, bubbling as his words escaped through the open holes as gasping wheezes. Flesh strung from between her fingers like taffy, stretching until it snapped.
“You are useless.” Petra let the one wound heal, pinning him down with her knees on his arms and sitting on his chest. She leaned forward, dragging a claw around his eye, watching the liquid ooze out alongside the blood, as she whispered in his ear, “Useless.”
She scolded herself as much as him. They had both failed House Xin. He had failed them with his incompetence. She had failed them for depending on it. His punishment would be her claws. Her punishment would be the shame of flaying her brother in a back room, hidden from the world.
“Useless.”
She reared back and struck him.
“Useless. Useless. Useless!”
She would slice him, once for every Dragon that had died this night, and then another hundred times for every Oji of House Xin he had shamed. His magic began to falter in its ability to keep up healing between her relentless blows. It reduced his flesh into little more than liquefied meat. He tried to struggle against her but Petra pressed herself upon him until she began to hear bones snap. If he died tonight, he would not die with a face any would recognize. She would see that she never had to look upon the shame of Xin ever again.
Her claws stopped, mid swing. Petra tugged, blinking from her blood-frenzied trance. A hand was wrapped around her wrist.
“Sister, enough!”
38. Cvareh
The woman pulled him in so many directions at one time that Cvareh was surprised his limbs were still attached. He had sensed her hesitation, her wish to withdraw, but she hadn’t rejected him outright and he didn’t know yet how to fully process the matter. Arianna was a woman who always knew what she wanted, what she fought for. A lack of opposition could mean support, or agreement.
Cvareh scowled to himself at the logic, dangerous in more than one way.
Perhaps she merely had yet to find the way she wished to outright reject him. It was confusing and laborious to try to reason through her mannerisms. But it was something he did gladly. The better he understood her, or tried, the better he could give her whatever it was she needed, be it revenge, or gold, or someone to whom she could finally confess the weighty secrets that she carried alone in her heart.
It would be his lot that the first woman he would design to take for his mate, his life-mate if she ever agreed to it, would be the first Perfect Chimera—and impossibly head-strong. Cvareh grinned faintly to himself. All the reasons he should find her tiresome made her all the more endearing. She had accomplished an inspirational amount in her short life. If Arianna could be all she was, then he could be a man she deemed worthy of her love.
She didn’t say she loved him.
She didn’t outright reject him.
Their magics and minds had been so close for the past day that he wouldn’t be surprised if she began to smell of him and he of her. Even if she said otherwise, he knew more of her than she gave him credit for, and what he knew and felt gave him hope. Cvareh paused, looking down the long stretch that would eventually lead back to her room.
The mere thought of her being near brought a smile to his mouth, a smile that quickly fell when he remembered her desire to leave Nova. The pain of being separated from her was like lightning in his mind, hurt its rallying thunderclap. But love would be the rain, soothing both.
There was a solution here, he merely had to find it.
“Cvareh’Ryu!”
Cain was the last person he wanted to see, especially after the increasing closeness he and Arianna had shared. “Cain, you have yet to recover my good favor,” Cvareh cautioned.
“We have far more pressing concerns,” Cain’s tone was grave.
Cvareh put all else aside. If it was enough to unsettle Cain, it was something serious indeed. “What has happened?”
“The wine on Ruana has been poisoned.”
Cvareh didn’t even have the capability to process the words Cain was saying. It made no sense. “Why would the wine be poisoned?”
“Think of who such a thing would benefit.” Cain scowled with murderous intent.
“Rok bastards.” Cvareh rolled another several curses off his tongue.
“All wine is to be discarded into the God’s Line. I am to spread the word.”
“Go with haste.” Cvareh would not keep him a moment longer. “Where is my sister?”
“Her sitting parlor.”
Cvareh started in that direction. He had to get to Petra. She would know how to make sense of this.
“She is alone with Finnyr’Kin.”
The words made Cvareh pause. He turned to look back at the Dragon who stood several steps away now, and whose words held an unspoken caution. Cain would say no more, clearly. He had been put too far in his place of late to do so. Furt
hermore, it was not a matter of the House’s safety. This was now a matter of family.
“Thank you, Cain.”
“Walk in the protection of Lord Xin.”
They went separate ways.
If Petra had called Finnyr, she suspected him to be involved, or to know something of the crime. She was dumping all wine on Ruana, which led him to believe the damage was widespread. Dread grew with his every step.
It wasn’t until the sharp smell of cedar drifted through the halls of the Xin Manor that Cvareh broke out into a run. He pushed slaves out of the way, focused only on his destination. The scent of blood grew to an overwhelming, pungent stench as he neared Petra’s parlor.
Cvareh broke through the door, skidding to a stop at the sight of the scene before him.
Petra was straddled atop what could only be described as the pulp of their older brother. Her claws dripped blood with every swing, spattering around her in wide arcs. She rocked atop his chest like death’s lover, a dark and primal savagery overcoming her.
“Useless. Useless. Useless!” she screamed the word over and over.
Finnyr cried and gasped through lips that were sheared back to bone. If he could make noise, then he was alive. That meant Cvareh wasn’t too late to save Petra from her own madness.
Cvareh ran to their side. He gripped Petra’s wrist, stopping her mid-swing. Petra snarled at his tether.
“Sister, enough!”
“Unhand me,” she growled.
“Petra.” Cvareh slackened his grip, but he still held her. He needed his sister to feel his magic, their magic, the magic that their brother also shared. “You will kill him if you continue.”
“It is because of him that Xin have died this night.” She spat the words. “Save him and you are no better than the cowards and butchers he works for.”
“Kill him, and neither are you.” Cvareh knew his sister. He knew when she needed to be pushed. He knew he was the one person in the whole world who could get away with it. “Did you intend to murder him without witnesses? Without calling his crimes? Without a proper duel? Will you stoop to the level of House Rok?”
Petra panted. Finnyr groaned. Cvareh was left to speak sense into the madness.
“You are the Xin’Oji. Your House needs your example.” Cvareh knelt. He focused only on his sister. “No one doubts your ferocity, Petra.”
“Move.” She pushed him away. Cvareh thought she was merely making space to strike at Finnyr again, but she stood with a small sway. The death of House Xin’s fighters and innocent alike had taken something from her. “You’re right, Cvareh.”
Cvareh remained silent, letting Petra speak. Just as he knew when to push, he knew when to back away. And this was a Petra who would skin anyone or anything alive that prevented her from being heard.
“He doesn’t deserve to die a death hidden away.” Petra bared her teeth. “Finnyr, I will challenge you at Court this day the moment it convenes. And if you run, I will still challenge you. I will leave it standing for all Dragons to hear.” Petra spit on their brother as he groaned, his flesh knitting sluggishly from the tax on his magic. “So that I may hunt you down and kill you at my leisure. There will be nowhere you can run from a duel called in Court.”
Cvareh did nothing to help Finnyr up as he tried to pull himself off the floor. Their brother locked eyes with Petra—one eye, the other was still a slow-healing, bloody socket—as if somehow he still thought he could fight her. The majority of his face had been scraped away down to the bone.
“I have powerful people who will stand for me, Petra,” Finnyr uttered darkly.
“Who? Yveun’Dono?” Petra scoffed. “Let him challenge me. I invite him! Let us settle this like Dragons rather than the coward he is, poisoning my men and women his only means of securing an advantage.”
“Do not cast me aside,” their brother cautioned. “I will be your undoing.”
“You undo nothing but my honor with your existence.”
“You never valued what I could offer this House!”
She snorted. “There was nothing to value.”
“House Xin does not need you or any information you can give us.” Cvareh interjected himself into the shouting match before it got out of hand again. Both sets of eyes were on him, but he looked only at Petra. “She will produce it.”
“Cvareh…” Petra gave a cautionary look to Finnyr. That was already saying too much in front of their brother. Not when they had just effectively disowned him and marked him for death. An animal in a corner could still be dangerous, even one as small as Finnyr. Especially when that corner was backed by Yveun’Dono. “You mean…”
“Yes.” There was no doubt they spoke of the same thing.
“Then the night was not a total waste.” His sister clapped her hands together as though she cheered for the arrival of the Lord of Death himself. “Cvareh, remove him from my sight. Keep him, tucked away where I can’t see him until the Court begins. Yveun wanted him to stay in the manor? Very well, he will stay, long enough for me to kill him.”
Cvareh stood over his elder brother. Finnyr glared up at him with the same coldness he’d always shown after Petra had named Cvareh Ryu over him. Cvareh wished it could have been different. He wished he need not look upon his brother with contempt. But he knew nothing else.
This was the conclusion they had all been marching toward from the beginning. This was the breaking point of the three Xin siblings. Their House only had room for two.
Finnyr stood without his help, limping away. Blood trailed behind him as he walked and Cvareh stayed at his side all the way out of the room, then closed the doors tightly behind them with a heavy sigh.
He looked at his elder brother with a weight in his chest, a vacuum left behind by the joy Arianna had placed there earlier. Petra wanted to see Finnyr locked away and then led to slaughter. It was a shameful death.
“So where will I be kept before my slaughter?” Finnyr rasped through his yet-healing wounds, blood dribbling from his chin. “Will I even have time to wash before Court? Or line my skin with the blessings of the gods?”
Cvareh swallowed hard, feeling oddly brave and very stupid. Petra would no doubt want Finnyr locked away in the sparsest, deepest room in the manor. “You will.”
He led Finnyr down the halls and away from his sister to the guest rooms usually reserved for noteworthy occupants. Finnyr was his brother, and a Xin; he would present himself well before court. Even if today was the day he would die, he would die a proper death befitting a child of the House.
Finnyr, to his credit, made no effort to struggle or escape. Even if he could overpower Cvareh, Petra wouldn’t hesitate to reduce him once more to a golden smear if Finnyr turned now. His brother kept his head bowed and his mouth shut, defeated.
“I’ll return in a few hours, right before the Court begins.” Cvareh assumed responsibility for the task. Even if Petra hadn’t designed it to fall to him, it should be one of them, and she wasn’t going to be in the right mindset to escort Finnyr anywhere.
“Little Cvareh, so good to his big sister,” Finnyr spoke with his back turned, making a show of dedicating more effort to looking around the room than his pointed comments. “Take a good look at me, Cvareh. This is the fate that awaits you. She’ll cast you aside the moment you’re no longer of use. She’ll destroy everything Xin for her ambition, if that’s what she must. The end Petra had designed for herself will stand before all her ideals, forever. It stands before me. It will stand before you. If you don’t stop her, she will lead everything you love to ruin and you will be left with nothing more than the feeling of Yveun’s claws ripping out your beating heart.”
Cvareh clenched his fists tightly and still his claws tried to escape. Blood pooled in his hands from his own palms, but he didn’t open them. If he did, he would strike Finnyr down where he stood.
“Everythin
g Petra does is for Xin.” Cvareh shook his head sadly, reaching to close the door. “It’s you who destroyed everything, Finnyr.”
Cvareh shut the door and summoned a servant from down the hall to fetch the key. He waited, guarding the room, until it could be sufficiently locked. Even then, he stalled, listening, holding his breath, waiting.
There were no outbursts of anger. No sobs. No screams of anguish. Finnyr was quiet, going about his business as though his impending expiration didn’t bother him in the slightest.
Cvareh gave a long sigh and stepped away. This was normal for Finnyr, being a prisoner among luxury, disposable nobility. And he was going to die as he lived—as nothing more than a captive.
39. Arianna
The list of her supplies was almost finished.
It was an extensive process to calculate out the amount of various elements she would need to get a satisfactory initial production on the boxes. For the first time in maybe her entire life, she wished she could talk to Sophie. The woman would know how many boxes were a reasonable number to produce. She was far better at planning tactically for things like that than Ari was.
But that was currently impossible, and Arianna needed to give something to the Dragons before she left. She wanted a sort of contract in hand, a written understanding of expectations. The comfort it’d give her would be literally paper thin, but it was something.
She operated under the thought that an initial run of a hundred boxes would be enough to begin to shift the tides in House Xin’s favor. Then they’d move into second-stage production, where all the tooling would be perfected and the workers on the line would know the full assembly process with ease. They could make more, faster.
She hoped it would be enough.
The waft of a scent hit her nose, distracting her. Arianna paused her pen on the page. It was the smell of Dragon blood, a sharper, fresher aroma than just trace magic. It wasn’t extremely close, but it was near enough.
She stared at her hands. She had decided to look to the future, not the past. She was going to craft a new world for Loom, for Florence. Arianna pressed her eyes closed. She was going to let herself hope and dream again for a future that she might design herself to be a part of.
