by Elise Kova
Time was hard for him to tell on Loom and the seconds smeared into tedious minutes. The thick layer of clouds above hid the progression of the sun, filtering it into a bleak and neutral light. Cvareh cursed himself for forgetting his timepiece back on Nova. He hadn’t really had time to pack anything.
He opened a small pouch at his waist and pulled the folded papers from it. They were old, or had been through a lot to find their way up to Nova. He expected the latter was more likely. The parchment was weathered and already delicate, the leaves beginning to tear at the folds. He didn’t dare spend longer than a moment making sure all were accounted for.
The delicate lines made up schematics that meant little to Cvareh, but they would mean something to a Rivet. However, he wasn’t headed for the Rivets’ Guildhall. The engineers of Loom had long been under the close eye of the Dragon King and, seeing as how Cvareh had stolen the documents from under said King’s nose, he didn’t think heading toward anyone or anything that was notorious for being under his thumb was a good idea.
The woman reappeared.
“You actually made a line in the slime.” She appraised where he’d been pacing. “That bored?”
“Well—” Cvareh didn’t know why he tried to answer. She interrupted him by tossing the cloak she’d had folded over her arm at his face, leaving Cvareh scrambling to catch it before it fell onto the grime-coated path.
“Put that on, pull the hood, and keep your head down.”
Cvareh did as instructed and followed her without needing to be told.
She led him up the hard dirt of the river’s embankment and into soot-covered streets. Welders worked in a nearby factory, their torches lighting up the cobblestones under his feet. He heard the occasional crackle of magic, but the world on Loom was quiet compared to the splendor of Nova. Mostly normal, un-augmented Fenthri surrounded him.
It made the woman in front of him stand out all the more. She seared his senses as wildly as the strongest Dragon Rider he’d ever met. Why would someone who hated Dragons so much choose to become a Chimera?
He dared a glance up at her back. She didn’t turn or slow, ignorant of his study. She may have been a Chimera, but she looked very much Fenthri. Her shoulder-length white hair, gray skin, broad shoulders, and dingy clothes fit in with the iron, brass, and sepia tones of the world around her. It was as though Loom itself had given birth to the woman.
He followed her down a side street and up a flight of stairs to a shut down, boarded up shop. She glanced at him from the corners of her eyes, wedging her body between him and the intricate door lock. Metal slid on metal and the door swung open.
“Welcome back.” Another Fenthri woman—barely more than a girl, really—jumped over a sofa in a haste to meet them. She skidded to a halt as the Fenthri in white closed the door behind Cvareh. “Is this the one?”
“Would I be around a Dragon if it wasn’t?” The woman who held his boon and still hadn’t told him her name unclipped her high boots and dropped them on the entryway tile.
Cvareh took in the room and was surprised to find it well styled, given his earlier assessments of the person he was now keeping company with. The floors were smoothed from being walked on for years—uneven in a way that seemed perfectly imperfect. Dark leather furniture was accented with heavy knit blankets around a crackling iron stove. Steam and water piping ran through the barren beams overhead, keeping the room warm and glinting in the midday sunlight let in by two tall, iron-framed windows.
“Did you draw the bath?” His boon-holder started for a side door.
“I did,” the younger Fenthri replied.
“Lovely.”
“Wait, what am I to do?” Cvareh asked, hovering uncertainly. “I’m filthy.”
The woman in white paused in the tall doorframe, unclasping the harness and shrugging out of her white coat. She wore a loose cotton shirt with ruffles at the collar under a tight black vest.
“Why don’t you just stand there, Dragon?” She pulled her goggles over her forehead.
The woman’s eyes were bright purple, a dark slit that matched his own instead of the usual rounded Fenthri iris. If Cvareh had needed any further proof that she was a Chimera, there it was.
“Your magic already stinks. I don’t want you dragging sewer sludge into my home too.” The woman threw the verbal jab at him before disappearing into the side room, working on the first button of her vest as she disappeared.
Cvareh looked at the remaining Fenthri, who was failing to hide her amusement behind a dark gray palm. Rolling his eyes, he started for one of the sofas.
“I wouldn’t do that.” The woman’s black eyes focused on where Cvareh’s still-booted feet crossed onto the wood. “If you track mud into the house after she made her proclamation, I fear she really will kill you.”
“Not if she wants her boon.” Cvareh was getting tired of repeating the fact, but he couldn’t take his offer back. She’d agreed; the magical contract was formed between them. He was at the mercy of this Fenthri woman until she delivered him to the Alchemists or willingly relinquished her contract with him.
“Then I may kill you, because I’m the one who cleans the floors.”
“Are you her servant?” Cvareh didn’t think Fenthri kept households. Judging by the woman’s laugh, he was right.
“Grind my gears, of course not.” She shook her rounded face, her boxy shoulders slowing from her mirth. “I’m her initiate.”
“Initiate?” Cvareh frowned. The outline of a raven had been tattooed on her cheek in black, almost blending in with her granite-colored skin. “You’re both Ravens then?”
“No.” Her demeanor changed completely. The girl regarded him coolly when she had been almost welcoming prior. “I am a Revolver. And my master is a Rivet.”
Now that made no sense. One of them was an unmarked illegal, out of place in the world, and the other was claiming to be something other than what she had been marked. “Assuming that’s true, a Rivet couldn’t teach a Revolver.”
“Indeed she can. And she is certain to get me help when her knowledge has gaps. We’re in the heart of the Revolvers’ Guild, after all.” The woman grinned. Cvareh continued to be unnerved by the image of flat teeth making a perfect line.
“It is against Dragon law to be taught outside your guild. Any marked who desert their duty could be punished by death. Going unmarked is no better.” Cvareh didn’t actually care. He was hardly about to uphold the laws when he was the one seeking out the Fenthri rebels at the Alchemists’ Guild.
“No one in Old Dortam would turn either of us in,” the girl hummed. “And people in New Dortam have more important things to worry about when the White Wraith shows up than the fact that she isn’t marked.”
The sun fell from Cvareh’s sky at three words. “The White Wraith?”
The young woman paused her ministrations at a back table. “Who did you think you were traveling with?”
Cvareh honestly hadn’t a clue. But his guess wouldn’t have been New Dortam’s most infamous criminal.
3. FLORENCE
“I’m Florence, by the way,” she introduced herself to the yet-hovering Dragon. “Take off your shoes and sit at the table. It’ll be the easiest to wipe down.”
The walking rainbow twisted off his ankle-length patent black boots and crossed over to the table in the corner of their flat by the small kitchen. At least he did as he was told. That would increase his chances of Ari not killing him before she got that boon.
Florence’s master had stormed into their home like an engine off its tracks, demanding the largest cloak they owned and rambling something about a boon. It wasn’t too long until Florence pieced together what exactly had her in such a tizzy. But by the time Ari had ranted off enough facts for her to do so, she had already left. Florence hadn’t had much time to inquire deeply about the nature of this agreement, but whatever it was, she trusted her teacher implicitly. Ari always knew what she was doing.
Florence finished hanging Ari
’s harness and coat then crossed to the kitchen. She felt the Dragon’s eyes on her as she rummaged through the upper cupboard.
“Here.”
“What is it?” The Dragon inspected her peace offering skeptically.
“A cookie.” Florence shoved one in her mouth for show. And then a second one, just because the first tasted so good.
“Why are you giving it to me?”
“Who questions a cookie?” She laughed, placing the confection on the table for the Dragon to decide if he wanted it or not. “But we will no longer be friends if you waste it.”
“Are we friends?” There was genuine surprise in his inflection.
“That’s your choice, Dragon,” she called back. Florence left the truth of it—that if he did anything to hurt her Ari, all bets were off—unsaid.
“I’m Cvareh Xin’Ryu Soh,” he replied quickly.
Florence glanced over her shoulder, looking at the man with the unreasonably long name. He wasn’t so different from a Fenthri, really. Instead of gray, black, and white, he was colorful. Like the paintings she had seen of the foliage called flowers. There was his color, then, and his pointed ears, elongated canines, talons, and slits for eyes.
But he had two arms, two legs, and one head. He spoke with the same sounds they did and moved in similar ways. She gave him a small smile of acknowledgment.
Florence eased the bedroom door shut behind her. A giant bed greeted her, still a mess from when she’d woken not long ago. Florence turned right and focused on the footed copper bath that stood steaming under a large window.
Ari was submerged up to her neck, her white hair slicked back and shining in the light. Florence smiled, tiptoeing over.
“I hear you.”
“I know you do.” Florence laughed brightly.
“What is the Dragon doing?”
“Eating a cookie.”
“You gave him a cookie?” Ari opened one eye. “That’s generous of you.”
“Is it?”
“You barely share your cookies with me,” Ari muttered, closing her eyes again. “I’m going to think you like Dragons more than me.”
“But you don’t like cookies at all.” Florence scooped salt scrub into her palms. She plucked Ari’s hand from the bathwater and massaged it over her skin, soothing the calluses created by her gold lines.
Florence loved everything about the woman known as the White Wraith. Ari was sharp and witty. Her skin was the most lovely shade of gray and her face had a beautifully healthy curve to it. Arianna wasn’t just pretty—she was strong too, broad shouldered and wonderfully stocky. Florence was of average build for a Fenthri, if a little too thin. Ari was perfect.
Florence kneaded stress out of the strong muscles that cut out from under Ari’s skin. “So how did this all come to pass?” she asked.
“I was on my grand escape from the refinery and ran into a Dragon, unconscious, with an exhausted corona.” Ari remained focused on the ceiling as she spoke. Florence could tell the woman was still debating with herself over the course of events that led them to having a Dragon in their home. The tension wasn’t giving up on her shoulders. “So I decided to cut out his heart. He woke up and offered me a boon instead.”
“You couldn’t just leave him be?” she hummed playfully.
“If you want enough dunca to keep affording sugar for your confections, you don’t want me to leave prone Dragons with all their organs intact.”
“Wasn’t that what the refinery job was for?” Florence waited with a drying cloth as Ari emerged from the bath.
“A little extra never hurts,” her teacher reminded her.
“A little extra will get you killed.” There was a heavy note to Florence’s words, one she couldn’t stop because it stemmed from a genuine fear of her master meeting an ill fate during one of her many dangerous jobs.
“Florence, look at me.” Ari placed her fingertips under Florence’s chin, guiding her gaze and giving her no other choice. Florence studied Ari’s eyes, the unnatural purple striking an odd contrast with her skin. They had unnerved her at first, but she had learned to see past them. They may have been harvested from a Dragon, but they were Ari’s now. “You know it would take a lot to kill me.”
“I know,” Florence mumbled, trying to look away.
Ari held her chin fast. “After all, I have some of the best canisters and explosives in Loom looking after me.”
“Oh, what did you use? The bomb of course, but a canister? I saw number three was missing. It was number three, right?” Florence ran over to the bed, jumping on it as Ari began to rummage through her wardrobe, dropping clothes she decided against into a pile on the floor that Florence would likely be the one to tidy later.
“It was number three, and it was one of your best yet.” Ari placed a tight-fitting white shirt onto the bed before returning to the wardrobe. “The disk had a nice blast radius. Incredibly effective but contained. Impressive destructive power.”
“Tell me about it?” Florence dreamed of someday watching Ari on one of her little missions. She had no interest in actually fighting herself. But just once, she wanted to see one of her explosions in person, not just as calculations on paper.
“The canister? Flash of white, red at the edges, and then it turned yellow when it hit the target. There was black smoke too.” Ari was awful at painting descriptions with words—she’d have had more success drawing it—but Florence hung on her every syllable all the same. “But it took a lot of energy and had a slow fire.”
“If you want explosive canisters that large, it will.” Florence picked at the white vest and silver necktie Ari had placed on the bed.
“You can do better, Flor. Make a canister like that, but designed for use with a refined gun by someone who isn’t a Chimera, and you’ll be a rich woman.”
“I know, I know.” Ari was right, as usual.
It had been two years since Florence had met Ari during her escape from the Ravens Guild and somehow convinced the woman to agree to be her teacher. In that time, Florence had been given ample opportunities to experiment with different ways to combine gunpowder, chemicals, refined metals, and even alchemical runes to create some of the best explosives Ari had ever seen. At least, that’s what Ari told her. But the woman wouldn’t lie, not even to spare her initiate’s feelings.
Their life was unconventional and mostly outside the law, but it was a life Florence had come to love. Ari was an acolyte of the old ways, unmarked on her cheeks and firm in her belief that every guild was connected. That overlap between fields of study was essential. She let Florence explore, create, question for the sake of it. It had all made the terror of escaping the guild worthwhile.
“Speaking of.” Ari adjusted the necktie, pinning it with a crossed wrench and bolt done in black iron—the symbol of a master in the Rivets’ Guild. “How many canisters do we have in stock?”
“I think I have thirteen made. Why?”
“We may need more for the journey.” Ari strapped the belt with her daggers and winch box high around her waist. “It’s a three-day train ride to Ter.5.2. Then a week-long airship ride to Keel.”
“We’re going to ride an airship?” Florence bounced to sit at the edge of the bed.
“Fastest way to get to the Alchemists’ Guild.”
“I’ll pick up materials in Mercury Town. But you better not blow up the first airship I ride on,” Florence mock-scolded.
“You never know what wrench could get thrown into the machine along the way, Flor.” Ari’s grin was playful, but her words were serious. “Use the dunca from the reagents to get what we’ll need for the trip. I trust your judgment. I’ll fill in the Dragon on the plan and the rules for travel.”
“He doesn’t seem bad.” Florence tried to smooth over the kinks she foresaw in their journey. After all the stories she’d heard of Dragons, she expected a horrible monster. While she wouldn’t call the Dragon handsome by any stretch—his colors were borderline headache-inducing—she wouldn’t c
all him evil incarnate, either.
Ari stilled. She crossed back to the bed and, with both hands, cradled Florence’s face delicately.
“Listen to me,” Arianna whispered. “None of them seem bad. But they are not what they seem. It’s that thinking that killed Loom, Flor. Don’t trust him. He will turn on you and kill you in a second if it suits him.”
Florence swallowed. She knew Arianna had real memories of the time before the Dragons, when the Five Guilds were free and the world was run by the Vicar tribunal; when Fenthri didn’t have to be marked—when they were free to study and learn as they wanted.
There was a terrifying lust for that time in Ari’s heart.
“Do you understand?”
“I do.” Florence nodded.
“Good.” Ari let go of her face and started for the door again. “Now, get to Mercury Town before it gets too busy. The ‘king’ will want his reagents before they get warm.”
Florence heard the muffled sounds of Ari and the Dragon talking on the other side of the door. She wondered if what her master said was true: if every Dragon was like the ones who had enslaved Loom and, if they were, why Ari had agreed to help one at all. But Ari would remain an enigma, and Florence knew better than to dig too deeply under her ashen skin. Florence said only quick goodbyes as she donned her favorite feathered top hat and grabbed Ari’s bag, heading out for Mercury Town.
Old Dortam had woken and the streets were busy with men and women going about their business. Lace parasols shaded faces and pearl pins adorned ties. Storefronts glistened, freshly washed and still dripping. The air smelled sweetly of welding torches and gunpowder, creating a welcoming potpourri to complement the sounds of metal on metal that echoed over the conversation in the streets.
It was as perfect as a schematic.
Mercury Town, on the other hand, was a schematic of a very different sort. The narrow alleyways and curtained windows created a heavy atmosphere that only grew weightier every time someone opened a door to a parlor and released thick clouds of scented smoke on the backs of jacket-clad patrons. Men in long frock coats stood at some doors, watching those who passed warily, casting a careful eye over the street for any who might feel bold enough to try to put an end to the shadowy dealings that occurred in this tiny pocket of Old Dortam.
