The Rebels of Gold

by Elise Kova

  She picked up the tool that resembled a pair of shears, steel on one side, flint on the other, and lit the two iron oil lamps bolted into walls on either end of the room. It was barely enough light to scare darkness away from the corners and, if anything, seemed only to accentuate the inky blackness that clung to the edges of the room.

  This will do nicely.

  She leaned against the table and passed the time by inspecting her claws until Topann arrived.

  “I apologize for my delay.” Topann gave a small bow as she entered the room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

  “You were not delayed,” Coletta pointed out. She knew how long it took to arrive at the Gray Room from Topann’s quarters among the flower fields on the opposite end of the estate. “If anything, you hurried.”

  “I do not like to keep my lady in wait.” Topann crossed the floor, taking Coletta’s hand in hers. The woman’s red fingers curled around her wrist and she brought Coletta’s knuckles to her lips.

  “A trait of yours I appreciate.” Coletta freed her hand from the prostrating woman. “Tell me, have we heard anything from our Fen traitor?”

  “He has acquired information on the stores of gold on Loom.”

  “Excellent.”

  “However, he seeks to negotiate before he shares this information.”

  “Negotiate for what?” she inquired.

  “I do not yet know.”

  Coletta thrummed her fingers against the table, annoyed. Her day had been going so well, so smoothly. She was not about to let a Fen be the blemish upon it.

  “Very well . . .” Coletta hummed. “You shall go see what he wants.”

  “Ryu?”

  No, she wouldn’t understand. “Yveun will go to Loom himself to bring the Fen to their senses.”

  “I see.” Her tone proved she agreed with Coletta that such a course was inherently foolish.

  “Yes, well, I would like you to go with him. Take the opportunity to squeeze this Fen for all the information he’s worth, and be my eyes and ears.”

  “Such a mission would be my honor.”

  “Before that,” Coletta continued, “I require your assistance with something.”

  “Anything.”

  Coletta knew it to be true. Topann was the oldest of her little buds and had bloomed into a loyal zealot. Though, zealots were easy enough to create. All it took was saving someone whose desperation to be free of something had reached a critical mass. Whether the shackles took the form of a person or a place, Coletta broke her flowers’ chains. Thereafter, they were hers.

  In that way, all her little flowers were the same. Buds that had grown on the underside of Lysip. Girls that would have sprouted from nothing, into nothing, and died nothing . . . and yet, they had been saved from their fate, given a taste for greatness.

  “I need you to find me an Alchemist from among the Fen.”

  “Ryu, with every respect, I did not think we kept Alchemists here—only Rivets to maintain the gliders.”

  Coletta ran her fingertips across her lips in thought. “I once brought an Alchemist from Loom to give me their knowledge on the plants and herbs of their world . . .”

  Extracting that knowledge had been bloody, at first. But there was an unsurprisingly direct inverse correlation between the willingness of a person to impart their knowledge and the number of toes they still possessed. So unfortunate for the Fenthri that they could not regrow body parts as a Dragon could. It truly was a wonder the gray race had survived at all.

  “But,” Coletta continued, “that may have been twenty years ago. He could be dead by now.” She sighed heavily. “Oh, the Fenthri and their life spans.”

  “I shall go to the Fen pens and search.” Topann was unswayed. “Should I not find one, I will bring one back for my lady from Loom.” She said it as though she were bringing back a souvenir from a leisure trip, not a creature, live and resistant.

  “Good. The other thing I require shall be easier to procure.” Coletta looked about the room again. Sturdy walls, thick, built to dampen sound. “Go below Lysip, and find me an organ donor.”

  “Any preferences?” It was not the first time Topann had received such a request. Coletta had been using organs to bargain with powers on Loom, and Nova, for years.

  “Yes. Where is your magic, Topann?”

  “Mine?”

  Coletta nodded.

  “Hands. Eyes. Ears.”

  It was a standard set of magic for a Dragon. Coletta was pleased. It would be simple to measure the effects on one such as Topann, who possessed so little magic to begin with. “Find a stomach.”

  “Of course.” There was the beginning of understanding hovering beneath Topann’s words. But the woman was undeterred. Coletta had long-held Topann’s life in her claws.

  “Good.” Coletta walked over to her loyal subject. She stretched out a hand and cupped the woman’s cheek in a sign of affection that was almost never seen. Topann stilled, taking a shallow breath. “You have been with me throughout the years, my flower, and I will reward your loyalty.”

  “You have given me more than enough,” Topann whispered. “You showed me the sun, Coletta’Ryu.”

  Coletta smiled fondly on her first test subject. “Yes. And now I shall show you what it means to be made perfect.”

  CVAREH

  Cvareh lay in bed, debating with the dawn. Was it too early, or not early enough? Was the sun duller than normal, or did it shine with its usual strength? He wondered if he could somehow delay time by whittling away the seconds, question by question.

  Today, Finnyr would arrive.

  Lord Xin’s presence was palpable in the manor. Cvareh could feel it in the stillness of his room, in the quiet that seemed to seep into the stones.

  He stared at the ceiling above his bed, wanting to scream. But his mouth could no longer make sound. He breathed slow, shallow breaths, until tears fell like tiny waterfalls off his cheeks and onto the pillow.

  He realized Petra would never see the Xin Manor completed. She would never see House Xin ascend the ranks of Dragon society. Though the likelihood of either coming to pass now seemed slim.

  One bright spot: She wouldn’t see their family crumble away to nothingness, either.

  Daylight inched its way across his ceiling, creeping in through his windows like an unwelcome guest. His attendants were not long to arrive. Cvareh wiped his face with his palms and sat upright.

  He could allow himself this weakness only in private. Among Xin, he was the face of his house. Every man and woman had made that abundantly clear with their silent expectation that he would duel Finnyr.

  Cvareh stood and went to his dresser. He pulled open his favorite drawer, running his hand over the silks and satins. All the beautiful colors clashed and complemented each other, a rainbow contained in a wooden box.

  “Cvareh’O—Ryu.” The attendant in the doorway quickly corrected himself.

  Cvareh didn’t spare the man a disapproving look. They could not call him Cvareh’Oji. “What did you have in mind for today?” the man asked, quickly moving between Cvareh and the dresser of fineries.

  What did one wear to meet his sister’s murderer . . . who also happened to be his brother?

  He rubbed his temples. Cain was right; he had learned a deep and profound sympathy and appreciation for Loom. For as backwards as the idea of not having a family was, at least on Loom they weren’t killing their own flesh and blood for power.

  Which world, again, was the uncivilized one?

  “White,” he finally decided on.

  “White?”

  “Yes.”

  “I—Well, I’m sure there’s something in here . . .”

  Cvareh honestly didn’t know if there would be. He couldn’t recall a time he’d ever worn white. But today, he needed strength. He had lost one woman who he thought was invincible, and wanted to feel closer to the other woman he knew who had the same power of conquest, the same bravery, the same drive.

  In the e
nd, it was as he suspected. Nothing in the drawer was white, or black, or grey. He wore a light seafoam color that had a rough-cut lace overlay in white.

  While it was a far cry from Arianna’s coat, the tight-fitting trousers that hugged his thighs and matching shoulder embellishments accentuated his physique, and seemed to give a deeper, richer hue to his skin—which he hoped also reminded Finnyr of their midnight-skinned sister. It wasn’t precisely what he’d had in mind, but as Arianna’s coat fit her for conquest, this was his own battle-ready armor.

  A woman appeared in the doorway, breathless. “Cvareh’Ryu, bocos have been spotted in the western skies.”

  Eyes were on him, expectant, waiting for his reaction. Cvareh waited as well, to see what rose within him. But the waters of his soul were dark and calm, concealing much in their depths, concealing his true feelings—concealing him.

  “Then we should go to the arrival platform,” Cvareh said, and strode past the woman to lead the way.

  The morning’s light had lost its luster. It shone through the windows as gray, bland, like the light filtered down to Loom. Cvareh adjusted his shoulder adornments, the beaded silver that dangled from them clinking softly, then dropped his arms limp at his sides. There was a danger to this dark ocean that House Rok had poured into the pit of his soul; it drowned his heart and overflowed into his mind. He didn’t hold anger in balled fists. He kept it coiled in the tense muscles of his wrists, ready to unsheathe his claws in a breath.

  More people followed as he ascended the stairs and halls of the Xin Manor toward the wide platform that was used to receive people of importance. Sculptures laden with rare gemstones and lined with gold rimmed the platform where the other half of the manor waited with Cain.

  They formed a wide arc, leaving the open end of the platform barren to the air and bocos off in the distance. Was this a receiving party, or a dueling ring?

  Cvareh, himself, did not know.

  “What will you do?” Cain asked. The man always seemed to know just where and how to push. There was never a question of Cvareh’s insecurities, uncertainties, or weaknesses when Cain was around. That made the man a strong ally. Invaluable.

  “Do you trust me, Cain?” Cvareh asked, loud enough for the house to hear. Cain had been a favorite of his sister, and it was not by chance that half the family had chosen to stand behind him.

  Cain studied him a long moment. Cvareh knew the man understood what he was asking, what he was saying. If they fractured and broke now, Rok could stab a fatal wedge into the foundation of House Xin.

  “I trust you, Cvareh’Ryu,” Cain affirmed. He didn’t hesitate, but the words betrayed his uncertainty. The truth was clear: Cain trusted him, but questioned his methods.

  “Good.” The bocos were close enough for him to make out their colors. His claws itched for release. “I will only do what I feel is best for House Xin. It is all Petra ever demanded of me.”

  Cain said nothing more on the matter, settling instead for a small nod. He looked forward again and couldn’t contain a growl. “He means to make war with his mere arrival.”

  The other man had no doubt seen the detail of Finnyr’s boco as well. “He seems to be having trouble doing it.” Raku, Petra’s trusted mount, was very clearly begrudging the notion of having Finnyr ride him. The bird squawked in protest, ruffling its feathers with every few flaps of its mighty wings.

  Cvareh was more focused on Finnyr’s companions. Two Riders, with only a handful of beads each, flew both sides, and the hulking form of a Tam woman flew closest to Finnyr. Cvareh recognized one of the Riders as the man who had delivered the news yesterday, and the other he’d seen in the king’s entourage . . . but the woman was new.

  She had but one bead. It should mean she was as green to combat as the color of her skin.

  But Cvareh didn’t believe the symbolism for a moment, and every look he took at her as she approached reaffirmed the fact. Yveun was playing one of his games with this one. He wanted them to assume the woman was no one of importance.

  Cvareh instinctively knew better.

  The party of four landed. Raku immediately bucked, trying to take to the skies again. Finnyr pulled hard on the reigns, only managing to upset the bird more.

  The rest of House Xin watched, saying nothing. Not one servant moved to help the Oji as he dismounted.

  Raku promptly flew away the first second he was able. Cvareh sympathized with the creature. He too wished to ruffle his feathers, cry indignantly, and take off for the horizon. Eventually, the bird would return; Raku was too loyal not to, and those hard-formed habits had long since turned into instinct.

  “Is this all the welcome the mighty House Xin can muster for their Oji’s arrival?” It was fitting the large Tam—no, she bore a Rok symbol on her cheek—was the first to speak. Finnyr couldn’t even muster the strength to look any of them in the eye for longer than a moment.

  “Welcome back to Ruana, Finnyr’Oji.” Cvareh wouldn’t allow himself to be a coward. He was better than his brother. But that didn’t mean that he could bring himself to say “home” to the man who had seen their sister, the best among them, die at the hand of Rok.

  The moment Finnyr’s eyes met his was the moment Cvareh knew that he was, indeed, capable of killing his brother.

  “It—” Finnyr coughed, trying to clear his throat. He continued, stronger, “It is good to return home to the land of my forefathers as your Oji.”

  At the word “Oji,” an unspoken tension coursed through House Xin. Every man and woman felt it. Even Cvareh’s chest tightened around the sound.

  It was a pull to the title, a desire to recognize the rank and file that every element of Dragon society had told them from birth was the only thing separating them from destruction and discord. But it didn’t feel right when directed at Finnyr, of all people.

  From the corner of his eye, Cvareh saw Cain looking to him.

  Cvareh’s legs itched to move, but his feet stayed. Something about this still wasn’t right.

  “I have seen your chambers prepared in advance of your arrival.”

  “At least someone on this dreary rock has sense.” The woman at Finnyr’s side sneered at the statues that surrounded them, at the men and woman assembled.

  “Thank you, Cvareh.”

  It was a testament to House Xin’s steadfastness that an audible, collective gasp didn’t rise like a wind at Finnyr’s disrespect. To speak Cvareh’s name without a suffix . . . to rob him of the title that had been there for so long . . . Cvareh hardly knew what his name sounded like without it.

  Cvareh’s hate for his brother worsened by the moment.

  Cvareh gave a small bow of his head, forcing the interaction to continue. There was nothing he could do, for now, and he wanted it over with.

  The people began to shift. There was a whisper, too quiet to discern clearly. Cvareh felt the weight of his family’s eyes on him again. Cain wordlessly heaped expectations on him like shrouds of lead.

  Cvareh knew what they wanted, especially now that a whiff of a potential slight was in the air.

  Finnyr began to walk forward; Cvareh and Cain both parted to allow him to pass. The woman remained glued at his side, always within half a step of Finnyr. Up close, Cvareh could feel her magic. And he could see her eyes—a beautiful, and unnervingly familiar, shade of lilac.

  “Are you going to let him go?” Cain finally snapped. His words were hushed and hurried, but anger distorted volume.

  “What’s this?” The woman turned. “Is this a challenge I hear?”

  Cain balled and uncurled his fingers. Cvareh knew the motion his friend made when trying to fight against unsheathing his claws.

  “Not a challenge.” Cvareh stepped between Cain and the woman. “Cain’Da is merely curious when Finnyr and I will find time to regroup on the current status of the house and affairs of Xin.”

  “I see . . .” The woman smiled, wide enough for her fangs to be a challenge in their own right. Her eyes were indeed famil
iar. Not just in color, shape, and shade . . . but in the level of bloodthirsty ruthlessness he had also seen in Arianna’s gaze. It was a lust for revenge he was starting to understand too well. “So good to have one so loyal to your house.”

  “We are lucky.” Cvareh held his position. He didn’t want to get into a brawl here—not with two Riders on the ground, with this mysterious woman, with Finnyr being a worthless coward the house could tear limb from limb, and especially not with a Dragon King only a half-day’s ride away, who was no doubt itching to unleash his full power and lay waste to House Xin.

  “Speaking of great loyalty . . .” The woman looked around at those assembled. “The Dragon King has sent me to stay with Finnyr during his transition as Oji. I am Master Rider Fae Rok’Da To, and I will ensure that there is no conduct unbecoming toward those who are, no doubt, loyal to his supreme rule throughout this trying time.”

  “We are to be babysat by—”

  “Cain, enough.” Cvareh hated himself. He hated that the moment his claws were unsheathed, it was to direct them at his friend, the most loyal among them to their name.

  But his hand drawn back, claws shining faintly in the sunlight, had the right effect. Cain was stunned into silence. He turned to Cvareh in a rage that was quickly quelled.

  Cvareh poured it all into his face now that he was turned away from Finnyr and the woman, and the other two Riders were on the far end of the platform, already mid-departure.

  They were all angry. Every member of House Xin was angry and bearing the uncomfortable badge of mourning. But he would not have them act in foolishness that would get them killed.

  “Forgive me, Cvareh’Ryu.” Cain lowered his eyes.

  “Shouldn’t you be seeking my forgiveness?” Fae’s voice sent shivers up Cvareh’s spine. “After all, I stand for Yveun’Dono here.”

  Cain was silent. Cvareh implored him without words. He didn’t want blood on these stones, not Cain’s.