by Elise Kova
“We’re going to die if we stay!”
“Two more, incoming . . .” Thomas moaned.
“Go on without us,” Willie wheezed.
“No!” Florence’s hands continued to move so quickly that she hardly had time to think between motions.
“Florence, is this about saving guildmembers? Or saving your pride?” Shannra grabbed her elbow. “They knew the risks. Don’t insult them. Save yourself. Fix it later.”
“I will not be like her!” Florence shouted, tearing her eyes away from the gun parts and bringing them to Shannra’s face. “I will not treat my guild like it’s expendable!”
“Her? Who? Your guild?” Shannra shook her head, standing and letting go of Florence. “What do you think you are?”
“I’m the woman who will save Loom.” Florence bent and heated gold, connecting parts with seams that would likely only hold for one or two shots. One or two shots would be all she needed. “Before anything else, I am a Revolver, and I will not let the death of my vicar—however much of an idiot he was—go to waste.”
Florence finished etching the runes she needed and stood. The footsteps were close enough now that even she could hear them. She leveled her weapon.
A Dragon bounded around the corner. One or two shots, that was all she had. She couldn’t miss. Florence kept her magic even, pouring it in slowly. Consistent, not a burst of power, but a steady stream, like a rope spun from runes and gold and steel.
Gunshots echoed as Shannra panicked. The bullets sheared off the haze of a corona. Florence adjusted her grip slightly and widened her feet. She had to wait until the last moment.
Another female Dragon rounded the corner, gaining speed.
Florence squeezed the trigger.
It wasn’t like a normal shot—fire and done. Florence continued to feed her magic into the weapon. Stay together, stay together, she repeated in her head as the beam shot out straight and true. The magic impaled the Dragon straight through the chest, his corona cracking and splintering off like an eggshell made of light.
The man fell dead, and Florence already had the other Dragon in her sights. Her magic was depleted from the first shot, and she locked her knees to keep them from buckling. Still, her hands were steady.
Florence waited two breaths after she thought the Dragon was in range.
It felt like the gun demanded every ounce of her, down to the very breath she drew to live. So Florence gave it that, and let the world go black.
CVAREH
His chest still ached. There was a sort of phantom pain scraping against his ribs long after his lungs had grown back from where the Alchemist’s knife had raked against them. Cvareh rubbed his chest again and thought of how many of his own he had condemned to harvesting. Cvareh had never lost an organ before and, now that he had, he was having a hard time seeing it as anything more than a deeply barbaric process.
For now, the ends still justified the means. But he wondered if the Alchemists in all their madness and wisdom couldn’t think of a way to grow organs in their tubes, or harvest from the dead. Something, anything, to prevent Dragons from enduring what he just had.
Suffocation. Death without death. Repeating again and again until his tissues had grown and mended enough to hold air again.
He said nothing of his pain. He was the rightful Xin’Oji, the man who would win the war for them all and become Dono, and he had made the choice willingly. Furthermore, Arianna had to endure much the same—at least half of what he had gone through, as she didn’t have to regrow—and she had yet to speak a word of discomfort.
It was moments like this one, when he looked at her readying her weapons, not more than one day from undergoing a major operation, that he was ensnared in awe at what she was—something more than he could ever aspire to be. Something different from anyone he’d ever met. And none of it had anything to do with the fact that she was now a true Perfect Chimera.
It was a fundamental construct of her nature, of her, that made her an unstoppable enigma. It was the same thing that allowed her to take organs and make them her own, like her hands, or ears, or now his lungs—motley parts that seemed so naturally incorporated into her body, like they’d yearned to be there all along. It was that nature which gave her the wisdom of Dragons four times her age, and kept her going with a profound, insatiable drive.
Cvareh wondered if it was something that could ever be lost. Or if she would forever pursue her ends with the march of a soldier to battle until Lord Xin finally came for her immortal soul.
It was something he wanted to embody as well, something he needed to possess to be worthy of her.
“When will you be back for more?” he asked, picking up the golden tube that would be used not to transport reagents, but flowers.
“I don’t know just yet,” Arianna said without looking at him. “As I mentioned, the Rivets were growing competent at making the boxes when I left. It’s been a few days since then, but there may still be just a few ready for the flowers.
“It may not be me, however, who comes back up.” That thought hadn’t occurred to Cvareh until the moment she said it. “If all goes according to plan, I won’t be the only Perfect Chimera in the world. Whoever comes, I’ll have them use that river passage through the island to hide the glider trail.”
“Will you come back?”
Her motions stopped. She must have heard his heart more than his words, the quiet panic that came at the thought of her leaving him and not returning.
“I’m sure you’ll need me to fight at some point.” Arianna sheathed her dagger behind her back. “The Perfect Chimera will take some time to train.”
“I need you for more than that.” He stood over her, looking down. If she could hear that nervousness in his soul at the idea of her trying to vanish from his life again, then she could also hear the truth of his words.
“Are all Dragons this insatiable?”
“Only the ones in love.”
Arianna huffed in amusement, shook her head, and stood. She collected her things and carefully loaded the tubes in her bag. But none of it was a gesture of her own feelings toward him, and Cvareh was keenly aware that she had never told him if she reciprocated his affections to the same degree.
“I should be leaving.”
He knew it was true. They’d kept each other for three days from the world. Cain had been covering for him, but Cvareh knew it was time to return to the Xin Manor. It was time to assume responsibility for his destiny.
“Whisper to me whenever you come. I will escape the manor to see you.”
There was a moment’s hesitation when Cvareh rightfully feared she was about to refuse him. But Arianna merely said, “Very well.”
“When you return, I will be Oji,” he swore. “And I will free them.”
Arianna’s expression looked as surprised as he felt in that moment. Cvareh had never said anything so bold, never uttered the slightest treason. Furthermore, it was faster than he’d first promised, originally saying he’d keep that vow when he was Dono.
But it felt right.
Right enough for him to know that he had to act on it before the day was done, before he risked losing his resolve.
“You will kill Finnyr?”
“I must.” He knew her, and he knew where her mind was.
“I’ll consider the lungs a trade for the kill that should be mine.” Arianna gave him a stern look, as if warning him not to argue. He wouldn’t have anyway. And he would have given her whatever she asked without a trade.
“I will end him,” Cvareh vowed.
“Make it terrible. If you let me down in this, I will never forgive you.”
Cvareh had never felt more motivated.
The feeling stayed with him the entire ride home. Cvareh knew he would be seen approaching the manor, and word would get back to Finnyr. He made a direct approach for Cain’s balcony. It was smaller than his own, and Cvareh ended up making the short leap from his bird as it perched on the ledge before swoop
ing back to the sky.
“The prodigal son returns.” Cain opened the doors leading out to the balcony.
“I need you to do something.” Cvareh wasted no time. The idea of challenging Finnyr, of assuming the role of Oji, of putting his house knowingly in harm’s way by outright starting war against House Rok, was already planting uneasiness in his stomach. If he didn’t do this now and seal it in blood, he risked losing his nerve.
“What is it?”
“I need you to find Fae, and keep her from Finnyr and me.” Cvareh somehow managed to keep his voice level despite the fear and apprehension that wanted to seep out with every word.
“Cvareh, does this mean—”
“I’m going to challenge him, Cain.” Cvareh clasped the shoulder of the man who had been like a brother to him. “I am going to take back House Xin from Rok. But I wish to do it by the laws of the gods. Even if Rok fights with shadows and deceit, I will challenge my brother in a forum befitting the title he claims to hold.”
“Then I will distract Fae. I will challenge her if I must.” The conviction was unsurprising, but also unwelcome.
“That is the one thing I must ask you not to do. I need you alive, Cain. I need you as my right hand, as my Ryu, should all this come to pass.”
He wasn’t prepared for the mix of surprise and emotion that crossed his friend’s face. But what did Cain think would happen? There was no other choice, as far as Cvareh was concerned, and he wouldn’t have chosen another under other less dire circumstances.
“I will do as my Oji commands.”
COLETTA
Fae had returned, and Yveun had indulged in his dark delights.
There was an easiness that settled over the estate when the king was pleased, not unlike the afterglow of the man himself. It was a collective sigh of relief for them all, none more than Coletta. Yveun wanted results. But he didn’t want the practical kind that careful planning and hard work yielded. He wanted fanfare and the kind of victories that would have minstrels singing for centuries to come.
Coletta merely wanted to see their longevity secured.
Fae’s arrival set in motion a series of carefully planned steps on Coletta’s part. Yveun knew he had his time with the woman. Ulia knew to wait and observe until the Dono was finished with his conquest, and then spirit Fae away to the Gray Room—the room in which Coletta now waited with an Alchemist and a long, glistening tongue centered on a tray like some new delicacy.
“My queen,” Ulia announced as she entered the room, Fae trailing behind. The green-skinned woman did little to demonstrate reverence to the Ryu, and Ulia could not contain a disdainful little side-eye. Coletta had the time to deal with neither, so she permitted both.
“Thank you for bringing Fae here. You may leave.” Coletta had yet to allow Ulia to watch any of the experiments that went on in the room, and it was an intentional play.
She wanted the youngest flower to fantasize about the possibilities and mull over the potential horrors of the procedure. Even though Ulia would never utter secrets, Coletta knew no one was perfectly tight-lipped. And she wanted just enough truth to seep into the bedrock of Lysip to know that something of a great and terrible nature was happening at the Rok Estate.
“Do you know what is about to happen?” Coletta did not want to mince words with Fae.
“I have some vague idea.” The emerald woman combed through her hair, still a nest from Yveun’s hands.
“We will begin with your tongue.”
“My tongue?”
“I do not believe you have magic there?”
Fae shook her head and sauntered over to the operating table as though she was doing little more than sitting down for a meal. Coletta admired the total lack of self-preserving instinct. It made the woman an ideal warrior to have in her arsenal.
“This will hurt some.” The Alchemist regarded Fae warily. She was nearly twice his size.
“Your tiny knives can’t hurt me, Fen.”
“Open your mouth, then.” It was almost as if he had accepted a challenge.
Coletta would never tolerate such boldness from a Fenthri herself, but there was something almost adorable about watching the gray people try to muster strength against their superiors.
Fae obliged and the man set to work. She didn’t flinch as he pulled out her tongue with a long pair of metal tongs, the flat paddles at the end indenting the organ he set about removing. Coletta didn’t avert her eyes from the moment the scalpel first cut into the flesh of the tongue to the last second before it was entirely severed.
The Alchemist tilted the Dragon’s head, allowing blood to pour from the corner of Fae’s mouth. Nothing more than a rough stub protruded from where her tongue had been, already beginning to ripple with magic to regrow the absent tissues. Even still, Fae’s breaths were even, unlabored, and Coletta was forced to admire her monster yet again.
She watched as the new tongue was stitched into place. Despite having searched for the best organs on Ruana, she could make none take to Yeann or Topann’s bodies. They all formed festering, agonizing wounds that her flower’s body refused to heal.
But Coletta wasn’t one to give up, not when there was so much to explore. It was the one thing she could count on the Fen agreeing with, and the man continued to carve up Dragons at her request.
The Alchemist pulled away, looking at his handiwork. Coletta could tell from his expression alone that something was different this time.
“What is it?” she demanded.
“I can’t be sure . . .”
“Out with it, or it’s your tongue that will be cut off next,” Coletta drawled, not even mustering the energy to threaten him properly.
“This was a success.”
“You can tell already?” He nodded. She knew almost instantly when a poison was right and when it was not. But the man’s mouth still formed a grim line. “What have you discovered?”
The man looked from Fae to her, as if jarred from thought. He swallowed hard. “I think I know why the other organs didn’t take.”
Given the amount of fear radiating off the Fen in that moment, Coletta was certain that she was not going to like whatever the explanation was.
CVAREH
Cain had gone ahead to distract Fae. Cvareh paced his friend’s room for what felt like forever, though he knew it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. When he could wait no longer, he stepped into the hall.
The halls of the Xin Manor seemed alive once more. Even though Cvareh didn’t see another soul for the first half of his walk to find Finnyr, the air seemed to pulse with an energy that he hadn’t felt since before Petra’s death. It was like House Xin was waking up from the grips of mourning at last.
Finnyr wasn’t in his room, and neither was Fae. So Cvareh went to the main hall. Again, Finnyr was nowhere to be found, but Cvareh ran into a servant, her hands laden with laundry.
“Have you seen Finnyr?” Cvareh intentionally left off “Oji,” an omission that did not go unnoticed.
The woman’s eyes widened. “I have not.”
He cursed, wheeling for another wing of the manor. Perhaps Finnyr had gone to claim Petra’s quarters as his own. Killing him there would be its own kind of pleasure.
“I did, however, hear two men who work with the bocos saying that the Oji had requested a flight. They could not decide which mount to give him.”
Cvareh stopped, only sparing a second. “Thank you.”
“Good luck,” the woman whispered.
If Finnyr was looking for a boco, there was a chance Fae had been called away and he was fleeing until his bodyguard could return. Perhaps he somehow had the instinct to know when death was coming for him. And it was coming.
Cvareh paused, turning. He saw the woman at the far end of the hall still, and called back to her. “Leave your task. Round up everyone you can to go to the departure platforms. I need witnesses. And I need to make sure he doesn’t escape.”
“As you command!” The woman prac
tically threw down her basket of laundry, sprinting away so quickly that Cvareh almost felt a wind kicked up by her feet.
Cvareh thought of Finnyr, his cowardly slip of a brother. If he were Finnyr—which was rightly near impossible to imagine—where would he go? He would want to flee back to the safety of Rok’s arms until Fae was no longer indisposed. But he would do so as he did everything else—with a coward’s weakness.
So Cvareh headed down through the back passages and thoroughfares to a modest platform. Unlike the one Finnyr arrived on, this had no sculpture, no foliage or design. It was primarily used for quick trips, deliveries, and trysts that were not to be observed by the watchful eyes from the manor.
Here was where he found his brother pacing back and forth, wringing his hands. Cvareh hated that his brother’s hands, of all people’s, were attached to Arianna. Finnyr didn’t deserve the honor. Maybe it was the gods above working in some weird way to see Finnyr’s hands put to good use. His brother would have never created anything meaningful with them.
Cvareh waited in the archway leading out to the platform. He knew he didn’t have time to waste, but he hadn’t thought about what he was going to say. He had to challenge, but he felt there should be more gravity to the situation, more impact.
“Where is my boco?” Finnyr snapped when a servant appeared at the door, two others in tow.
The servant said nothing, looking from Finnyr to Cvareh. That was what finally drew his brother’s attention. Cvareh wondered if he was having a waking fantasy, seeing his brother’s lip tremble slightly.
“Cvareh, good, I’m glad you’re here.” Finnyr tried to draw up his height, to make his voice stable. Both failed. Had he always been such a tiny man? “It seems as though we have an issue. They have not yet brought my boco as I commanded. Perhaps as the Xin’Ryu, you can sort this out?”
Three more people appeared from another doorway. Cvareh didn’t recognize any of them, but they all hovered with purpose. Their eyes carried a sharpness that seemed to pick at Finnyr with every glance.
