by Elise Kova
“The Dragons do enjoy their blood sport.” Arianna’s mind drowned her in images of Cvareh fighting—fighting and losing.
“Something about House Tam no longer assisting Rok—”
“What?”
Will repeated himself and, then, added, “Helen said to make sure you knew.”
Arianna’s eyes turned skyward at the battle that no doubt raged on just beyond the clouds. She’d learned of House Tam’s influence on Nova as the silent enforcers; if they were no longer assisting House Rok, that meant power could shift—was, in fact, already shifting.
“Will, see Helen is outfitted with more guns, however many we have. Take the airship to Ter.3.2 and gather any from there as well.” Her mouth moved fast, but not as fast as her mind. “Then, bring up all the Perfect Chimera who are ready and willing.”
“All of them?”
“A constant stream.” They had the manpower. If Tam was backing out from House Rok—for whatever reason—they had the numbers to overwhelm them. “It’s time to strike.”
“Where are you going?” Will motioned to the trolley approaching down the narrow rail.
“I’m headed up first. It’ll be faster for me to get to the gliders this way.” She paused on the edge of the platform, her clip already flying toward a far steam pipe. “And tell Helen that if she wants Louie’s ‘kingdom’ then it’s hers. But the title is mine.”
“More than fair.” Will gave a solemn nod.
Arianna returned the gesture a moment before her winch box sprung to life, pulling her in sweeping arcs around the outside of Garre to the hangar where gliders were kept.
FLORENCE
“Welcome back, Florence,” Emma greeted her the moment she stepped off the train.
“I should take your presence to mean that something has gone wrong?” Florence asked, barely taking time to sling her bag over her shoulder before they began walking off the platform.
“Quite the contrary, actually. The first batch of weapons have all been tested and not a moment too soon. Will arrived not long before you to pick them up.” Emma seemed pleased to report, and Florence was equally pleased to hear. Her tone shifted, however, on the next note. “It seems the timeline has been pushed forward to get as many Perfect Chimera to Nova as possible.”
“I trust you facilitated this transaction to be as quick and smooth as possible?” Florence gave no indication that she had not heard of nor approved things happening faster. Either Bernard had been included, or he had been told. No matter, it was too late now to change it and Florence silently praised Willard and Ethel for being able to accommodate the change.
“I did.”
“Good. I’m ready to see an end to this war.”
“As we all are.”
Florence gave a nod of agreement and produced a folio from her satchel. “I have new schematics here for the next round of manufacturing.”
“Another round of edits?”
“I have no doubt that there will be some moaning over having to re-tool the line again.” And I don’t care, Florence left unsaid. “But there is no point in making something unless we continually strive to make it better, make it right.”
“Agreed.” Florence believed Emma stood behind her on the matter. It was the Rivets who would protest.
“Inform the Rivets that these modifications come from Arianna.” Florence was still becoming accustomed to Arianna’s name meaning something to random strangers, but she’d use it to her benefit without reservation.
“Right away.”
“Take it on ahead. I’d like to put my things down and change out of my traveling clothes. I won’t be long.”
Emma gave a tip of her cap. It had a short, leather, rounded brim with a band over top and, unlike a top hat, the fabric sort of flopped over on one side. Florence had been admiring it since she’d stepped off the train and immediately regretted not asking Emma who had stitched such an interesting headpiece.
Later. Right now, her priority was elsewhere. It had nothing to do with changing her clothes or dropping her bag. No, she was on the lookout for a certain someone she had an insatiable urge to see in private.
The door to their adopted abode was unlocked. They had never made a habit of locking it, so Florence thought little of it when she entered the foyer. “Shannra?”
There was a long moment of silence and, just when Florence was about to leave, she heard floorboards creak from an upper floor. The building they had assumed as theirs was three stories. Foyer and living spaces on the first floor, workshops on the second, bedrooms on the third.
“Shannra, it’s me.” Florence called again as she rounded the first flight of stairs, not wanting to startle the woman if she’d somehow not fully heard the first time. Their respective work tables were vacant, which left the third floor as her only remaining option. She’d been hoping to get the woman in bed, and it seemed Shannra would make it easy on her.
Florence paused halfway up the second flight of stairs, when she heard the floor creaking again. The sound came with a second’s worth of hesitation.
Something was off.
The floorboards weren’t moving in the rhythms Florence had come to associate with her lover. Their syncopation, combined with the silence and . . .something else . . . something familiar…
Honeysuckle. It was unmistakable after being around Arianna. But where Ari’s floral magic was mixed with other scents—there was always the soft hint of something woodsy—this scent was cloying and powerful against the nose. Florence put her finger on the difference immediately as she rounded the last step and into the doorway of the bedroom.
Shannra stood at the double window, just where they’d huddled underneath the blanket the night before Florence left. She turned, greeting Florence with a familiar smile. The fading daylight glinted off her white hair and she opened her arms invitingly.
“It’s so good to see you.” Florence spread a smile across her face with great effort at the visage that was every bit as familiar as it should be, yet incredibly off-putting. She dropped her bag at the foot of the bed, rummaging through it. “I was hoping I would catch you.”
Every hair on Florence’s body stood on end. Magic was thick in the air, potent and powerful. It was overwhelming and unlike anything Florence had ever experienced before.
She didn’t quite know what specter was before her, but she knew it wasn’t Shannra.
Right at the top of her bag, where they should be for any self-respecting Revolver, were her canisters and weapon. “Ari did a great job.” Florence held up a canister, putting it on display. “They’ll be manufacturing these soon, I’m sure.”
Imposter Shannra kept her arms outstretched, motioning in a sort of “come hither” way. Florence popped her spare revolver into the empty slot on the left side of her under-arm hoister.
There was only one entry and exit to the room—the door she had come through. The creature would, no doubt, expect her to flee in the direction she came. Whatever magic this animal possessed, it was a safe assumption to think it could run her down. Until she knew what she was fighting, she wasn’t going to waste ammunition fending it off.
Until she knew what she was fighting, she also wasn’t going to give it the benefit of predictability.
Florence took a step toward the Shannra-shaped specter. She held out her hands as if to accept its embrace. Every muscle coiled with tension around her bones. At the very last moment, she let it spring.
The specter half-lunged forward, dropping her head. Florence drew her weapon and thrust it to the imposter’s chin. Her hand disappeared straight through—an illusion. The muzzle of the gun didn’t find the creature’s head, as Florence had hoped, but she brought the hilt of the gun hard against its chest, firing in the process.
It roared, a feminine sound, but not like those she’d heard from any Fenthri or Dragon before. She took advantage of the creature’s surprise, and bolted.
“Get back here!” Imposter Shannra grabbed for her wrist at the sa
me time Florence’s hand twisted the handle of the window. It swung open as she was grabbed back by a hand that felt much larger than what her eyes saw wrapped around her forearm.
Florence used the release of momentum to twist, crossing her arm over her, to draw her second gun. She pressed the muzzle into the air just above the creature’s hand, meeting invisible flesh.
Florence pulled the trigger and gold blood flew through the air—a Dragon.
Even still, the monster didn’t release its hold on her. Florence yanked her arm, once, twice; on the third time, it snapped free with the Dragon’s claws raking across her forearm.
Florence was face-to-face with one of the most unnerving creature she had ever seen. The Dragon was nearly the size of the Dragon King, but lacked the stoicism and composure of the man. She had a hooked nose and narrow jaw, adding to the severity of her overall look.
The eyes were the only familiar part of her. Like the smell of her magic, the woman had a nearly identical set of lilac eyes to Arianna. But the similarities ended there, as these sharp and angry eyes were framed by the rich green skin of a Dragon.
Florence had no doubt this was the animal who had killed everyone at the factory. The one who had called for her demise.
She didn’t spare more than that glance. It didn’t matter what foe she was up against. She’d kill it, or perish.
Florence launched herself over the windowsill. The roofing over the entryway broke her fall with a clamor. Florence’s knee popped painfully as she tried to soften the impact. The pitch of the shingles pulled her downward and she did a quick two-step, landing on the ground with a roll.
She didn’t waste time looking back at the Dragon. She had no doubt it would follow, and the loud thud on the ground behind her affirmed the fact. Florence loaded a cartridge into her gun, whirling around a lamppost as magic pushed into her knee, mending the torn ligaments and knitting flesh brutalized in the fall.
With a straight and steady arm, she aimed true at the woman who did little more than jog behind her. Arrogant Dragon. She no doubt assumed that it would be a bloodbath like last time. Florence squeezed the trigger. The Dragon was in for a surprise; last time, the Vicar Revolver hadn’t been in charge of protecting the factory.
The canister shot forward, the chemicals inside reacting to the sudden motion. It exploded halfway to the Dragon, a plume of thick purple smoke erupting from it. Florence heard coughing but could no longer see her assailant.
She loaded a different canister into her pistol and took aim toward the sky. This was another plume of smoke, but unlike the one before her, it exploded bright red and harmless—a signal, if the gunshots alone weren’t enough to alert other Revolvers to her plight.
Just as she was readying her weapon again, the Dragon exploded through the smoke. Florence dodged backward but underestimated the Dragon’s long strides. The woman was upon her in a breath, a clawed hand shooting straight for her face. Florence pressed the muzzle of the gun into the Dragon’s emerald palm, and pulled the trigger.
At close range, bone splintered and tissue was practically liquefied, exploding in all directions. With golden gore smattering her face, Florence dashed away.
The Dragon didn’t cry out in pain, didn’t hiss, didn’t curse. She began to laugh, so loud it echoed off every building and rattled Florence’s brain.
“You are everything I hoped!” the woman screeched, lunging forward again.
A chorus of gunshots alerted Florence that her men and women had joined the fray, stalling the Dragon. The woman brought her hands together, smashing two golden bracelets on her forearms to form a shining barrier that made her impervious to the hail of lead. Florence was almost to the factory and ran as though her life depended on it, because it did.
“I need a corona gun!” she shouted ahead.
A woman with wind-swept hair emerged from the doors. She was a sight to behold—a goddess of weaponry. Shannra was clad in tight-fitting pants and a double-breasted military vest, lined in gold piping. Emma’s hat wasn’t the only upgrade the Revolvers had received.
Florence let out a small choking noise, relief catching in her throat. She hadn’t given much thought to where Shannra had actually been, so she hadn’t realized the full power of the subconscious terror in thinking her lover had perished at the hands of the beast.
“Florence, here!” Shannra called. With a grunt, she hoisted the weapon toward Florence.
Florence’s hand almost gave out as she caught the gun. Her tendons were shredded still from the Dragon’s claws. They’d knitted some, but her magic had been pushed in too many directions at once to have any one singular thing be perfectly mended.
It would’ve been easier if she’d become a Perfect Chimera. But as Florence rounded once more to face the charging Dragon, she didn’t regret her decision. She didn’t need Arianna’s designs to find her ground and hold it.
“After my shot, you fire,” she commanded the men and women who were quick to flank her. “Then hold.”
Just as Florence issued the order, the sound of gliders roared through the skies.
“Right flank, to the airships after mark. We take down this one first, and then we take down the ones in the skies.” Florence leveled the weapon.
The Dragon continued her rage-filled charge. It was as though she’d gone crazy, like a fallen Chimera.
Florence poured her magic into the gun. She remembered the Skeleton Forest, her early prototype all those months ago. This was different—smooth and easy. It was how a trigger should feel under a trained hand.
She shot a beam of pure energy.
The Dragon hadn’t been ready for it, or had vastly underestimated the power Loom now wielded as the shot hit her square in the chest. Florence took a breath as the woman fell and then, the second her body hit the ground, shouted, “Fire!”
Gunfire pelted the ground around the prone Dragon, ceasing when Florence raised her hand.
“Right flank, to airships and higher marks,” Florence repeated. “Take down the gliders!” Half the group ran, the other half remained as her cover. Florence charged.
She drew a golden dagger. It was cast in nostalgia—originally crafted as a replica of Arianna’s own infamous knives. But this one was entirely her own. She wielded it as an homage—a testament to the woman she had been, and a tribute to the mentor who had helped her become something entirely new.
Florence mounted the dazed Dragon and cut out what remained of her heart, casting it far aside. Florence stood with a sway, looking to the skies. One of the three gliders had already been taken out and the other was under heavy fire.
Relief flooded her, and combined with exhaustion to make her suddenly dizzy. An arm wrapped around her ribs.
“Take it easy.”
“Shannra.” Florence turned, sloppy and half-delirious, but with all the purpose she’d ever had in the world. Her hand gripped the woman’s face and she pulled it to her.
Shannra smelled not of honeysuckle, but of gun oil and sulfur. The tattoo on her face was raised slightly under Florence’s thumb as she caressed the familiar lines. This was the woman Florence loved. This was her heart’s aspiration now—to have a partner, an equal.
“You didn’t become a Perfect Chimera.” Shannra, still breathless from their kiss, observed Florence’s wounds and their thin coating of black blood.
“I’m already the perfect shot; how much more perfect does one woman need to be?” Florence hoped her grin was playful enough to cut the arrogance of the sentiment. She hoped Shannra understood.
“My thoughts exactly.”
Gunshots echoed above them, drawing both their attention. The final glider was falling from the sky. Something swelled in her at the sight. This was their turning point. This was the moment when Loom’s revolution, at long last, finally took hold.
CVAREH
Lord Xin made no distinction between Rok or Xin or Tam, and so it seemed he had no qualms with Dragon or Fenthri.
Men and women littered t
he ground in shades of red, blue, and gray. But the hand of the Lord of Death wasn’t the only thing that unified them. Every corpse oozed gold blood, regardless of skin color.
The age of the Perfect Chimera would be ushered in with blood.
Cvareh pulled on Saran’s feathers, banking across the clouds, surveying the battleground below him. Rok continued to make attempts to push further into Ruana. But without the help of Tam, they were continually thwarted. It had been a stalemate for months, but he was beginning to see signs of the momentum shifting.
“Hold your position!” he cried over the winds, swooping low enough for the survivors to hear him. “Another wave comes from the west!”
In the distance, a swath of bocos cut their silhouettes against the skyline. At first, seeing ten to thirty attackers at once would have been cause for concern. But manpower made all the difference. Rok’s numbers were dwindling, Cvareh was certain of it. Meanwhile, his numbers were only increasing with every transport of Perfect Chimera.
Cvareh rose higher, squinting against the afternoon light. He saw no rainbow trails. That had been another evolution—the decreasing number of Riders. But from what he heard of the attacks increasing on Loom over the past weeks, he had every suspicion that Yveun was refocusing his minions on the lands below.
The cry of a boco had him twisting in his saddle.
“You looked like you were thinking of doing something reckless,” Cain remarked, flying close.
“Never.”
“Let them reach the island. We can take them on land.”
Cvareh nodded, realizing it to be true. As much as he wanted to cut his enemy right from the sky, they had the advantage on the ground. Perfect Chimera could pilot gliders, but the vessels were in short supply and were primarily allocated to ferrying more soldiers from Loom—not for fighting.
Like an explosion, a plume of clouds tangled in the rainbow tail of a glider breaking through the God’s Line far below. It curled upward, chasing after the single-manned vessel that shot toward the sky.
