by Elise Kova
“Lies . . .” the vicar whispered.
“Say it a bit stronger so maybe someone will believe you.” Arianna shook her head at the sad little man. “If Florence had fired, it would’ve done nothing but provoke the king’s wrath.”
“Something we already had.”
“And now we have something more: three days assured when we don’t have to worry about a Dragon attack.” Powell, ever the voice of reason. Arianna liked him more and more by the second. She used the distraction to jerk free of Florence’s grasp. The girl didn’t make a move to recover her. “We have a timeline for when our preparations need to be complete.”
“‘Ready’ may be a generous word,” Willard interjected. “Nothing can be made in three days with regards to the Philosopher’s Box.”
“Three days to plan, fortify.” She’d have to spell it out, apparently.
“Fortify with what?” Gregory snapped back. “There are no weapons.”
Arianna sighed at the lot of them acting like children.
“Let us resume the Tribunal,” Florence announced suddenly. She looked around at the crowd that had filled the hall, journeymen and initiates watching the vicars bicker like children. Arianna took a step away and Florence caught her as she was about to turn. “You too.”
Arianna was picking her battles, and she chose not to fight the girl on the matter.
Once more, the doors closed on the meeting hall. But the room was significantly less full. Only the vicars—who all stood—and a handful of masters clustered around the lowest floor. Arianna sat herself on the edge of one of the higher rows by the door, more than ready to make her escape at the first possible opportunity.
The vicars continued to squabble. Ethel withdrew from the conversation entirely, whispering to the other Alchemists. Willard tried to appeal to everyone’s collective sense of logic; Dove preached action, backed up by Gregory until she refused to agree to let him train all Ravens with a weapon. Powell looked lost and frustrated every time he failed as a peacekeeper.
Arianna rested her elbow on her knee, her chin in her palm, watching the chaos unfold.
“None of this would be an issue if she—” Gregory threw a finger in her direction and with it reminded everyone else that she was still in the room “—had merely given us the schematics for the box from the beginning.” Arianna wondered if his accusation was reason enough to kill him where he stood.
“How many times will you take that shot at me before you realize it’s missing?” Arianna quipped.
Gregory’s hand was at his gun. Let him fight her. She’d taken down Dragons twice his size and skill.
“Even if she had—” Willard started.
“Even if I had we would be in the same spot.” Arianna spoke over the man who was well her senior in years and experience. But she had no remorse. She didn’t want to be at the forefront, but if she was to be thrust there, then she would speak for herself. Gregory opened his mouth to speak, and she spoke over him as well. “If I had given you the schematics from the first day, it would have taken weeks to set up any kind of manufacturing to roll out on the scale we need. And that’s ignoring the fact that a key component cannot even be found on our world. A problem that the Vicar Raven still has not solved.”
The room had been effectively silenced, but Arianna didn’t want to stop.
“This, this here, is the reason I have held the box for years. This is what I tried to caution you against.” Arianna looked down on them all like the children they were. “From the first minute, it was all you focused on, to the neglect of other necessities.” She gave a nod to Powell, who seemed surprised to be addressed directly. “The Philosopher’s Box is powerful. I can’t deny it. Likely more powerful than any of you realize. But the box is a tool that strengthens people. Loom can have all the power in the world, but if we are divided and squabbling, it will matter little as the Dragon King makes sport of our disorganization. Even a Perfect Chimera can be picked off with little issue by a trained Dragon. There has to be a system around making Perfect Chimera, training them to fight, giving them as many organs as possible. Systems we just don’t have.”
“She’s right.” Florence was finally on the same page, and the relief of it was like cool water on fiery flesh. “Here we are, proving her right. Vicar Willard, how long to set up some kind of manufacturing for the box?”
The vicar looked back to her, but Arianna stayed silent. If they wanted her input, they’d have to ask. “Well, Arianna said weeks, so I would estimate . . . two months? But only after we have the flowers. And only if we can use the remaining machinery in Ter.3.”
“Vicar Dove, you have three weeks to figure out a secure way to get us flowers, and hopefully some stock.”
“Three weeks?” the vicar balked at Florence. “I don’t know—”
“I’m not asking you, I’m telling you.” Florence silenced the vicar from further objection with a look that Arianna didn’t know she could make.
“Vicar Gregory, are there any weapons left?” That was the moment Florence’s voice softened and the whole atmosphere of the room with it. It would take some time before the mere mention of the Revolvers’ Guild would not fill every man and woman on Loom with pangs of loss and sorrow.
“No. Not beyond what every Revolver carries on their person or had stashed in some alternative location.” Even the vicar lost some of his anger in reporting the fact. “Not unless there were any in transit through the Ravens’ routes?”
“It’s possible. There’d be a record at the guild hall.”
A record. Speaking of, she needed to get the copy of Louie’s ledger to Florence.
“Good, we’re all headed there anyway.” Florence continued in the wake of everyone’s surprise. “The king expects to find us here. He knows all of Loom has assembled. I have no doubt that when he comes back, he will do so with force, ready to attack the instant he finds us noncompliant.”
“So, we move.” Willard finally sat, a hand on his knees as he eased himself down.
“We take Loom underground.”
“Underground?” Vicar Dove repeated. “Florence, you cannot possibly mean . . .”
“The Dragons are a threat to us as long as they can use their gliders. If they cannot do that, our bullets can reach them.”
Arianna thought back to Leona’s glider crashing into the entry to the Underground they had escaped into months ago. It was solid logic grounded in proof, even if no one else knew it.
“That’s assuming the Dragons even know the entry point . . .” Vicar Dove murmured.
“The Ravens’ Folly? You can’t possibly expect us to go there.” Willard wiped sweat from the back of his neck.
“I don’t expect you to. You will go down to Ter.3 and begin to set up manufacturing for the box. It will be faster to use whatever remains at the Rivets’ Guild than start from scratch. And we can use the existing train lines for transport. They should mostly be intact.”
“Alchemists will be the first to go.” Vicar Ethel turned away from the masters she had been whispering with. “Train us to implant the box, and we can complete the organs for each Chimera, should we have enough of a farm to harvest from.”
“Can you harvest from Perfect Chimera?” Vicar Powell asked.
Arianna grimaced at the idea but answered anyway. “You can. My organs regrow as a Dragon’s would.”
“That’s convenient.” Vicars Ethel and Powell said at nearly the same time. Arianna was no longer going to allow herself to be in a room alone with either of them.
“Who are you to order us?” Vicar Gregory’s tone had lost some bite, but the question was still pointed enough.
“Do you have a better idea?” Florence held out her hands, as if to receive some great insight from the vicar. “If so, I’d love to hear it.”
Gregory looked to the other vicars and masters. None came to his defense. “It will be easier to fortify the Underground with less,” Gregory finally murmured. “Even if we’ll be fighting on two
flanks. Don’t know what I want to tangle with less . . . whatever could come from above, or below.”
The other vicars voiced their agreement, each one deferring to Florence. Arianna leaned forward again, inspecting the woman who stood in the center of the room. There it was, that same aura she’d sensed before—the one that showed the shaking girl she’d pulled from the Underground was no more.
And if that role was no longer needed in Florence’s life, what did that make them?
As if sensing her stare, and thoughts, Florence turned. They shared a long look full of questions that neither of them could answer.
“You will head to Ter.3 with Vicar Willard.”
Arianna knew it was coming because it was logical, and because logic could be used more effectively than the sharpest dagger. She wanted to object, to tell Florence that under no circumstances was she going to let the girl out of her sight again. She had gone to the world above and fell back to Loom below just for Florence.
“Go home, and make sure you know whose side you’re on.” Florence turned her back to Arianna and focused on the vicars once more. “We begin now. There’s no time to waste.”
None spoke for her and none objected. Arianna didn’t really expect them to. One of them saw her as a weapon foremost, another a traitor, and now two more saw her as their new harvesting experiment.
Arianna stood and excused herself without a word. She wondered if she was the only one who had just witnessed the true leader of the rebellion rise.
COLETTA
The Gray Room was progressing nicely. Coletta ran her hand along the back shelf, where all manner of wicked-looking tools had been laid out in careful order. A knife was one of the most beautiful creations that had ever come from a forge. It could kill, it could save—it was both famine and feast. She picked up the item, inspecting it by the firelight of one of the two braziers.
“Will all this do?” she finally asked, turning to the man who stood next to Ulia.
“It should be enough, yes.” The Fenthri, Thomas, blended in with the room around him—rock-colored and bland.
“What else will you need to conduct the surgery?”
The man brought his eyes upward from their respectful downward cast. He took one more long look at the shelf in quiet thought. “Nothing more comes to mind. But again, I’ve never done this before.”
“So you repeat to the point of disgust.” If she didn’t desperately need this little man, she would do away with him on the spot. Coletta had only interacted with him a handful of times, but it was already too many.
“I want my queen to be aware that it is possible there will be failures before we see success,” he said. Coletta could appreciate one thing about the Fenthri: Their logical minds didn’t allow things like emotions to cloud their resolve, usually. Thomas didn’t so much as blink when he said the word “failures,” when what he really meant was “deaths.”
“You will not see success,” Coletta said softly. “Any success is mine.”
“Forgive me for speaking out of turn, my queen.” Gold glinted threateningly from around the man’s neck, but the collar was tempered to Yveun, not her. Nevertheless, Coletta could kill him in a second if she so desired. “I merely do not wish to disappoint you.”
“Well, that is wise. You shall have some room for trial and error.” Coletta set the knife down. She didn’t want to give him that leeway, but even she could recognize it was unreasonable to expect otherwise.
The Alchemist Coletta had brought from Loom years ago was, indeed, deceased. Topann had done well, finding a suitable substitute. He was older, but his black hair was only sprinkled with salt, rather than completely white. Thomas was old enough, however, to be born before the segregation of guilds, and he had spent time in his early years studying with the intent to become an Alchemist. When that no longer interested him, he’d switched to the Rivets. Between his knowledge and the information Coletta could acquire through her contact on Loom, she had faith that their research would yield fruit. How hard could it really be to stitch up some organs in a Dragon? There was no need to worry about decay, and they had ample power to heal.
“When will we begin?”
Coletta eyed the man. The question was awfully bold, almost bold enough for her to give him a warning shot. But she permitted it because she believed it mere curiosity rather than an indication of the false notion he could schedule his own timetable of events.
“Soon.” Coletta waved him and her flower away. “Ulia, take him to his room.”
“My room?” Thomas repeated, looking between them.
“Yes, I have prepared a room for you.” Coletta enjoyed the look of shock on his face.
“M-my own room?”
“Indeed. Ulia will show you there.”
His mouth gaped open and he looked between them many times over, as if waiting for one of them to correct the statement and inform him that he wasn’t getting his own quarters after all and it was back to the squalor he had known his whole life.
“Of course, my queen.” Ulia bowed and escorted the man. Coletta’s flower avoided touching him, for which Coletta didn’t blame her.
The Fenthri were dirty, rotten creatures that smelled and looked of death. Plus, if he tried to run, any Dragon would be twice as fast and kill him three times more horribly than he could ever imagine. By working with them, he now had his own room away from the cramped quarters Nova’s Fenthri were confined within. Any Dragon would look at his accommodations and think them barbaric, but after spending most of his life in the darkness of the Fen barracks, Coletta suspected Thomas would find them palatial.
With her business concluded, Coletta started back through the estate to her gardens. She looked out the windows as she passed them, her eyes scanning the skies for traces of rainbow. Yveun had left early that morning and now the sun was halfway through the sky with still no sign of him.
Coletta didn’t want to think of the Fenthri as being able to slay her mate. But with numbers alone, they had him. One mistake, and that would be the end of it.
The garden was catharsis. Her flowers and their many concoctions kept her hands busy through the afternoon and into the evening, when the sun hung low and the sky began to fade into Lord Xin’s hour of death. Coletta knew the moment the gliders approached, rainbows arcing through the air with a flash of brilliance.
She finished her careful slices of the plant bulb and wiped her hands on the appropriate rag—one of four set out. Her laboratory was such a dangerous place that even a gesture as small as this, done carelessly, could cause a reaction that might kill her. One of the many reasons why she had been so diligent over the years with poisoning herself and building her immunities.
Coletta tapped on a golden panel embedded in the wall that made up one side of her outdoor laboratory. Not so far away, a discharge point flashed; soon enough, Yeaan appeared on command.
“You summoned?” She gave a deep bow.
“Yes. The Dono has only just returned. Tell the chefs to stop preparing dinner for him. He will need his space before he is ready to eat. They should resume when all light has left the sky. It is possible he will insist he is not hungry. Should he do so, I would like for you to deliver the food personally and inform him it’s at my request.”
“Understood.” Yeaan turned on her heel, quickly departing to execute Coletta’s orders.
Yveun would no doubt go to his tiny claw-scratched room and pace for a while. He would act the child and refuse food, thinking this a reasonable way to avoid his failures. She would give him space, and a peace offering, to show that they still stood together, even if his effort to bring Loom neatly under their rule did not go as well as he’d planned.
Coletta continued to clean and tuck away her laboratory. Everything had its place, and everything stayed in pristine order. Success wasn’t found in mayhem, but a strict maintenance of structure.
She looked up expectantly, her ears picking up the click of the door that led to Yveun’s quarters and the
main part of the Rok Estate. Sure enough, Topann appeared from around the corner. Coletta quickly assessed her from head to toe, her eyes falling on the small bound book in the woman’s hands.
“Yveun?” she asked first.
“The Dono is well,” Topann reported. “In a less-than-pleasurable mood. But there were no shots fired.”
“And Loom?”
“He gave them three days to decide if they will agree to peace, or if it will be war, at which point he will wage his first attack.”
Coletta sighed. Yveun was growing distracted by daydreams of fanfare and an arrival on Loom met with love, where they cherished him for all his contributions to their industrial world. He didn’t just want to be the king in function; he wanted to be it in form as well. He wanted the same affection and devotion that he enjoyed on Nova, which, simply, he would never find from an oppressed people.
“Then it shall be war.” She had no doubt.
Loom would fight until the only ones left of their abysmal race were chained in gold and kept in perfect servitude to Dragons who guided them with a firm hand. It’s how it should have been done from the start, but there wasn’t enough space on Nova for all the Fen. The best solution would be for the Dragons to colonize Loom and manage those that remained. But finding Dragons willing to live on Loom may be just as hard as squelching the spirit of rebellion.
Coletta let go of the thoughts, for now. That was all planning, which needed to occur later, when Loom was once more under their thumb. Now, she needed to remain focused on getting matters firmly in hand.
“Is that from our Fen King?” Coletta held out her hand for the journal.
“It is, but it’s . . . odd.” Topann’s voice was hesitant, but she wasted no time imparting the journal to her queen. Coletta knew exactly what her flower meant from the moment she opened to a page at random. “The little man said it was Raven code. Can you read it?”
